C as in Charlie

Galbi jus at the station

Galbi jus meets gruyere grits at the pass at C as in Charlie in NoHo, New York City. Executive Chef Eric Choi anchors the kitchen, one of three Atlanta-raised founders alongside Steve and Yun, and the family restaurant background he grew up in in Georgia still sets the terms. The cooking reimagines immigrant nostalgia through straightforward, earnest plates with bold flavours, holding Korean tradition and Southern comfort together with accessible American ingredients.

The discipline sits in the ordinary places. A sauce has to hold its texture. A garnish has to land with purpose. A plate has to leave the pass while the table is still moving through the meal. Choi's method leans on fun and precision at small-plate scale, with slow-roasted ribs on one side and rice infused in mushroom soy on the other, so savoury, salt and umami stay in balance. The menu grew partly out of family workarounds, and Yun has traced its evolution to exactly that, including the substitution of spaghetti in ox bone soup. C as in Charlie gives that instinct its grammar: ox bone, gochujang, butter, grits, spaghetti, pickled heat, and the memory of food made from what was available.

A compact menu with broth underneath

The kitchen works from a tight set of roughly 10 small plates, a structure that leaves little room for filler. Seoul'sbury steak carries the clearest statement of the house method: a Korean reading of Salisbury steak, tied to tteok-galbi and finished with galbi jus over gruyere grits. The gruyere is not a flourish; the kitchen tested it against the jus until the fat, salt, and grain settled into the plate.

Oxbone cream pasta takes another family logic and turns it into a station dish. Ox bone broth, cooked for 12 hours, becomes a cream sauce with bacon and scallion, using spaghetti in the place of Korean wheat noodles. The baby back ribs move through a slow roast, then meet harissa, gochujang, honey, plum, pickled jalapeno, and celery. Mushroom bibimbap keeps the vegetable work direct: rice seasoned with mushroom soy, butter-sauteed hen of the woods, shimeji, and maitake, a poached egg, and pickled shallots. The menu's fusion is not a decorative overlay. It is a method built from substitution, memory, and the pressure of service.

Red neon over close tables

The room is small, with 40 seats and tables close enough that the pass feels present even when the kitchen is not the formal stage. An open kitchen lets diners watch the prep, which suits a house that treats transparency as part of the meal. Red neon gives the space its glow. The noise rises quickly. Plates arrive in a rhythm suited to sharing, and the counterpoint between Korean pantry and Southern comfort makes sense in the movement of the meal rather than in explanation.

That intimacy matters for this kind of cooking. Galbi jus, oxbone sauce, grits, ribs, and mushroom rice all carry weight; the room keeps them from feeling solemn. Service has the easy cadence of an upscale casual place, but the bench work underneath is exacting. The restaurant holds a Michelin Bib Gourmand, with a spoon through gruyere grits, a rib pulled clean, and a fork turned through oxbone cream pasta.