Monterey

Whole animal work at the pass

The charcuterie board carries tongue, gizzard, leg and breast because James Tracey, Executive Chef and partner at Monterey in Midtown Manhattan, New York City, keeps the animal in view. He has described the work plainly: “We utilize all the parts. It’s all on the dish: the tongue, the gizzard, the leg, the breast, and on the charcuterie board.” That sentence gives the kitchen its line of discipline more clearly than a manifesto would. Tracey’s path to this pass ran through Red Sage and Vidalia in Washington, D.C., then Luma, Gramercy Tavern, Lespinasse at The St. Regis Hotel, and Craft in New York City. From 2010, his work moved through head chef, executive chef, operations and culinary director roles before Monterey and Isabelle’s Osteria. At Monterey, the lineage shows less as quotation than as habit: the steakhouse form is treated as a structure to work inside, not a costume to wear.

Carts, spice and the American brasserie frame

The program turns on recognisable brasserie and steakhouse gestures, then asks the kitchen to make them hold. The prime rib comes from a cart and is carved tableside, placing the pass partly in the room. Barbecued prawns arrive with a 25-spice blend and Anson Mills grits, a dish that moves the menu away from a narrow chop-house reading of American cooking. Truffle lasagna uses house-made pasta and black truffle fonduta, bringing pasta craft into the same room as dry-aged steaks. Bananas Foster finishes with flaming rum and candied pecans, another cart-side act where timing matters as much as presentation. The beverage program follows the same theatre: a martini cart opens the meal, while the wine list leans French and Californian and has earned a Wine Spectator Best of Award of Excellence. Beverage Director Aviram Turgeman oversees that side of the house, with sommeliers working the table alongside the food rather than after it.

Golden light, marble and the room

The room is built for the old New York steakhouse grammar, but the palette is softer: dusty pink banquettes, crisp white tablecloths, warm golden light, rosy tones and a marble bar with enough polish to slow the eye. Scott Kester and Dudi Sasson shaped the design, and restaurateurs Simon Oren and Dudi Sasson brought the restaurant into the Midtown dining rhythm near Rockefeller Center and St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The setting matters because so much of the craft happens in front of guests. A martini needs the bar’s cold discipline; prime rib needs the cart’s pause; Bananas Foster needs a flame that can be read from the table without turning the room into spectacle. Monterey lets those gestures happen at service speed.

The craft holds in the open

Monterey’s most specific argument is not that a steakhouse can be modern, but that its older tools still have use when the kitchen gives them work to do. The cart is not decoration when it carries prime rib. The board is not ornament when Tracey keeps tongue, gizzard, leg and breast in the kitchen’s vocabulary. On the pass, Monterey offers tongue, gizzard, leg and breast.