Nina May is dialed into diners desires in Logan Circle
Owners can plan and predict all they want, but ultimately, customers decide what flies in a new restaurant. Just look at Nina May, the contemporary American eatery from chef Colin McClimans and Danilo Simic in Logan Circle. The business partners anticipated a young, value-conscious audience that would appreciate, among other touches, a bar with high-top tables.
Not so much, they learned. A month or so after Nina May launched in November, they swapped out the tall seats for cozier booths. Customers let the owners know they preferred the feel of a dining room over a bar, says McClimans, and they were ordering full dinners where he imagined maybe a single plate. And as much as diners enjoyed the option of a family-style meal for just $39 a person, an older demographic than the owners had expected said they would be happy to spend more for a loftier experience. Roast chicken is nice, but diners can do that at home. Indeed, the chef says Nina May is being used as an “every occasion” restaurant so much, he felt compelled to upgrade his dessert list to showcase baked Alaska.
Birthing a restaurant, says McClimans, is “like having a kid. There are so many things to do, and they’re constantly on your mind.” Thus the ever-present question: “Am I doing the right thing?’” (Speaking of children, the entrepreneurs, who met when they worked at Equinox downtown, combined the names of their daughters for their joint venture. Nina belongs to Simic; May is McClimans’.)
Their two-floor corner location does not overthink the decor. An antique sign hanging in the ground-floor dining room (“Fresh/Clean/Seed”) sums up the look, designed with the beach and a certain wholesomeness in mind. Hence all the light, plants, clean lines and friendly blues.
If you like surprises, or simply want to leave dinner decisions to someone else, chef’s choice is the best choice, even at the new price of $44. Everyone at the table has to participate in the deal, and it appears customers are happy to share. McClimans says 80 percent of diners opt for the community project, which typically puts six to nine dishes on the table, although the chef says he sends out more food if anyone is still hungry. Meals start with salt-sprinkled rolls that more than once have been so slick, I initially thought they came pre-buttered. Nope. They were just underbaked.
Nina May does much by hand, including breaking down hunks of meat and rolling out pasta. The chef’s choice game plan typically includes a couple of noodles, the most memorable of which is feathery fettuccine tossed with chopped greens, sweet littleneck clams and heat in the guise of ground chorizo. The runner-up is cavatelli tinted with carrots, its surface strewn with charred Brussels sprouts, toasted walnuts and Parmesan, which turns into lattice from the heat. On a cold night, agnolotti plumped with butternut squash and presented with braised lamb and pickled shallots plays the role of Mister Rogers’ sweater. It’s an unfussy creature comfort.
Salads — roasted beets with grilled radicchio, kale with poached pears — are all big events. The chef says he’s surprised by the popularity of his fricassee of mushrooms, and on paper, the assembly reads like a head-scratcher. The mushrooms, infused with cognac, are joined by crisp sauerkraut and a soft scoop of pastrami-spiced whipped cauliflower and Gruyere. It’s a kitchen sink, for sure, but one of the neighborhood’s more substantial and curiously satisfying meatless dishes.
If there’s a course that needs some TLC (TNT?), it’s fish. Fried blue catfish on a potato roll served with carrot kimchi sounds like a score, but the bread is indifferent and the messy sandwich fails to deliver anything approaching that of the revered catfish slider at the Dabney in Blagden Alley. Give an even wider berth to fluke in a cloying honey glaze plated with bitter grapefruit and little pucks of daikon radish braised for too little time in orange juice. Everything seems to clash. Titanic, meet iceberg.
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And yet! The chef ought to enter his porchetta in a pork cook-off. He starts with pork belly attached to loin, seasons it with fennel, herbs and dried chiles, then rolls it up and roasts it until the skin crackles every time you slice into it. A swipe of sweet potato puree serves as the base; a topper of cabbage slaw is dressed tableside with buttermilk vinaigrette. The tongue picks up cumin and sweet, acid and heat — why, your heart might even skip a beat. The perfect cold-weather dish meets its ideal sidekick in a sweet potato given the Hasselback treatment and embellished with tarragon gremolata and hickory nut dukkah — a zesty mash of herbs and warm spices, respectively. (Once you’ve experienced the crispy edges of Hasselback potatoes, or anything else, it’s hard to go back to uncut.) Another robust pleasure is dry-aged beef carved into crimson slices, decorated with thick slices of purple onion and flanked with popovers that look like floppy chef’s toques. The kitchen also serves a tartare, with chopped bison rather than the usual beef, on a plank of brioche. It’s handsome, if muted for my taste.
The dessert that calls to me loudest is baked Alaska, promoted with a caveat by the server. “The only thing is,” she says, “we don’t fire it at the table.” Flames might be missing, but the confection has flavor in its favor: Almond cake, cardamom custard, vanilla ice cream, Swiss meringue and an apricot coulis — a hint of summer — are plenty entertaining.
It takes a village to nurture a restaurant, and Simic, a genial host, pitches in with some lip-smacking drinks, arranged in categories that set expectations. “Smoky + Spicy” is pretty much my speed, although “Rich + Powerful” has fine moments, too. Simic delivers with a teasing twist on a margarita (ask for Heat From Mexico) and a riff on a Manhattan made with plum brandy and Cocchi Americano (the Rakija).
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You can’t say the restaurant isn’t trying to cover all its bases. Just as this share-all was poised for publication, Nina May added cafe service — a light breakfast and lunch menu — to its hours of operation. Drop by now, and you’ll find croissants, a breakfast sandwich, salads, a burger and more as early as 7 a.m. on weekdays.
Nina May might not be the neighborhood restaurant of our dreams — yet — but it’s a baby that already shows a lot of promise.
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