In the years since the Eagle landed on London’s Farringdon Road and spawned the gastropub phenomenon, that word’s definition has been interpreted in an increasingly liberal fashion amongst restaurateurs on this side of the pond. Case in point: the Ravenous Pig. The place in no way resembles a humble watering hole where commoners can indulge in high-quality meals; rather, it’s as sexy-cool as its clientele, and its frills are just as sophisticated as its fare. Granted, chef/owners James and Julie Petrakis (of Greens & Grille) make a point of calling their latest venture an “American” gastropub, ostensibly justifying the expansion of the definition.
The Pig, like its predecessor Popolo, is divided into three distinct rooms: the bar area where the suds do flow; a central dining room; and an adjunct room with brick wall and kitchen view. The latter resembles a comedy club, but the situation around complimentary fresh-baked gruyère biscuits is what proved amusing. The three humble little lumps were, admittedly, scrummy, but we were politely declined when we requested for more. Evidently, they only make a limited number of these cheesy numbers, which is cool and all, but no effort was made to accommodate us with, say, some regular ol’ bread.
Appetizers, thankfully, were seriously better. Succulent grilled quail and herbaceous house-made sausage ($13) crowned with delicately sweet Champagne grapes and shaved fennel underscored the talent in the kitchen. The trio of lobster tacos ($13), an item off the “pub menu,” were deemed deemed “insipid” by my pal. I went with “disappointing.” Regardless, the overwhelming crunch of cabbage certainly didn’t help matters. Being told TRP was one of only three restaurants in town to serve Nantucket Bay scallops ($14) practically necessitated an order of these coveted, incredibly sweet mollusks. Served in a balsamic brown butter, the glistening orbs were perfectly opaque and pillowy.
In terms of portions, entrees aren’t much more substantial than the appetizers, but that didn’t mean mains like loin of lamb ($25) and steak frites ($22) didn’t satisfy. The former featured meaty, olive-crusted lamb rolls in a light basil-infused jus. My only complaint: The dish was served under the desired medium-rare, giving the lamb a slightly sinewy texture. The latter, a wonderfully tender porcini-marinated flatiron steak, may strike patrons who’ve dined at Greens & Grille as somewhat familiar (G&G offers porcini-marinated flank steak). Deftly executed béarnaise and a beer glass of thinly cut truffle fries rounded out the dish.
For a place named the Ravenous Pig, there are surprisingly few dishes devoted to that singular, magical animal. There is, however, roast suckling pig ($23) that will satiate with its tenderloin chunks bathed in stout and served over a bed of collards; the rye gnocchi flecked with caraway seeds, however, drew a mixed reaction.
Chocoholics will undoubtedly rave about thick chocolate-chili pot de crème ($7) and the pig tails ($7), funnelcake-like fritters shaped like rear appendages and served with a comforting chocolate-espresso sauce. A tepid cappuccino ($3.50) could likely be blamed on a malfunction of an inferior push-button contrivance or, possibly, server negligence. You’re better off sampling an après-meal microbrew ($5 for a pint) seeing this is a gastropub.
Service could use a bit more polishing; our waitress seemed somewhat distracted and inattentive. Our group spent a fair bit of time staring at the bronze ceiling tiles waiting for her eventual return. Still, my sincere hope is that the Ravenous Pig won’t succumb to the curse that plagued the space’s many predecessors, and if the gastropub’s moniker turns you off, don’t let it – it’s a misnomer. The conservative, maybe even European, portions ensure no patrons indulge in piggish behavior.
This article appears in Dec 12-18, 2007.