Just like Chef Kwame Onwuachi, I used to get off the 1 train at 66th Street and Broadway, in the middle of commuting from Queens to Brooklyn, and be surprised by the world I found myself in—the heart of the Upper West Side. The first time I realized a place like Lincoln Center was the cultural hub of New York City was when my older brother was graduating high school and we had to arrive at Avery Fisher Hall (now David Geffen). The opulence of Lincoln Center, and by extension the Upper West Side, was palpable to me. No place I had known included so many shows, music performances, and of course, well-dressed individuals. But that isn’t the point. The point is that seeing a place I was unfamiliar with allowed me to dream about the possibilities in my own life: that one day, I too, would feel a sense of belonging as opposed to confusion about a place like Lincoln Center.
And isn’t that what the American Dream is all about? Not necessarily achieving monetary wealth by itself. Rather, exploring an unfamiliar place, learning more, until you realized you have evolved to call a new place home, with all its flaws. I don’t believe in American exceptionalism or the American Dream, necessarily, but I am the strongest believer in loving and living in New York, which is the foundation of my own version of the American Dream. Diners are jolted and brought to the less insulated New York City as experienced by immigrants who have transformed into native New Yorkers, to lead the only life they’ve known.
Tatiana embodies this. Chef Onwuachi has publicly spoken about the importance of opening an Afro-Caribbean restaurant in the heart of Lincoln Center. Let’s call a spade a spade. The traditional uptown residents and people who frequent Lincoln Center are not usually trying to eat egusi dumplings or a truffle chopped cheese. The majority of these individuals are also white and probably don’t know what “egusi” is; perhaps they don’t even care. Opening Tatiana in such a space not only garners attention and notoriety in the traditional sense but also, more importantly, breaks the monotony of the type of third space that is celebrated in such a neighborhood. I’m all for that.
Stepping into Tatiana feels like moving forward and backward simultaneously. Chef Onwuachi personally created his 162-song playlist, consisting of music mostly from the ‘90s and 2000s, the best time period. Multiple times throughout my dinner I found myself singing along to songs with the people sitting around me. Everyone had a shared understanding of the space we were in; it wasn’t a stuffy French restaurant that has always been here—it was inhaling a breath of fresh air, maybe smelling progress as our honeynut peri peri salad came out.
If you are unlucky and do not know, peri peri sauce is traditionally a tart spicy sauce made from the malagueta pepper. I suggest you try it with your Chicken, a la Nandos, immediately. The freshness of the peri peri sauce perfectly complimented the succulent and saccharine grapes in the salad. One of my dining companions retorted: where do they get these grapes from?! We nodded along. I want the contact of the farmer who grows these grapes. The curried goat patties excited us even more than these mysterious grapes. The flaky crust paired perfectly with the intensely flavorful goat. The patties were served with a mango chutney, which was a little too sweet, and a far superior green seasoning aioli. Even having opened for only six days, the staff knew that no diner will leave the green seasoning aioli unfinished. Unlike this, the scallops were unremarkable. I can’t even recall what the main tasting profile was. We almost forgot it was on the table.
The salmon was the star of our appetizers. It was served with roasted okra that fortunately was roasted to perfection, meaning it was not slimy. I could taste the African and New Orleans influence in the gumbo panade that accompanied the salmon. It transported me back to The Gumbo Shop in New Orleans, where I had been years earlier. One of my dining companions commented that the Salmon was the creamiest she had ever had, suspecting that it was sous-vide or poached.
The entrees transported me to eating around a dinner table at a close friend’s home. It is accurate to say that Mom’s Duke Shrimp may arguably be the last meal of my two dining companions. You get what you pay for: two incredibly sized head-on shrimp, with creole butter and a side of brioche. Just like a friend who knows your eating habits and wants to see you experience joy, Chef Onwuachi is encouraging you to sop all that sauce from the shrimp. Shy or self-conscious diners need not dine. Leave the reservations for those who are not afraid to get messy in their Sunday best before a night at the Opera. Tatiana encourages you to live in multiplicities in this way. Suck the head on the delicious shrimp at one moment, so you don’t come home regretting leaving even a bite left on the plate, and attend the Opera at another moment.
The take-out mushroom dish is the perfect entrée for vegetarians and vegans. One can instantly recognize the Chinese take-out influence. The plum sauce makes you, again, want to lick your fingers. Biting the mushrooms releases a tacky feeling, one you’d expect when eating a duck or chicken entrée on Mott Street in Chinatown. Describing the accompaniment as a scallion pancake is incorrect. It is a flakier roti-like dough with no scallions. It is unclear if this was an error or an intentional change. Either way, give it to me how it is. You can taste the butter as evidenced by the thin crispy layers that caramelized on top of each other. Eating the mushrooms reminded me of an experience one might have when eating traditional Peking duck. The duck is cooked to perfection, served only with a side of bao, plum or hoisin sauce, and mandarin pancakes. Chef Onwuachi turns this dish on its head with the mushrooms.
One of my dining companions is obsessed with Italian rainbow cookies. So naturally, we had to finish with the only dessert option that evening: the rainbow cookie panna cotta served with Dukkah almonds, rainbow jam, and chocolate. It was an interesting take and certainly took me back to eating a traditional Italian cookie on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. Though the real star was the espresso coquito, which felt perfectly appropriate for the impending holiday season. I suggested that the Bar Manager start to bottle it up and sell it.
I am ecstatic to have Tatiana in the neighborhood I once used to be a stranger in but now call home. I am even happier to be able to feast with a frequent dining companion who can talk about eating Caribbean and West Indian food at home in relation to dishes being served to us, a conversation topic that does not come up very often because of the lack of such restaurants on the Upper West Side. Before we left, Chef came out to greet the diners in the packed restaurant. He exclaimed “welcome home” as he passed by our table. Knowing he had not cooked in New York City in recent years as a Bronx native, I subconsciously retorted “you too!” I saw a smirk in response as he moved on to the next table. Give this man his flowers. I am already planning my return.
The Eating House 