Great Seafood, Without the Hook

“Ocean umami.” Photo: Noah Fecks

For restaurateurs, the simplest way to attract instant attention (and some valuable buzz) is to open a business with an immediately understood hook. Look, for example, at Ilis (Noma guy in Greenpoint), or Stretch Pizza (Wylie Dufresne does pizza). Esse Taco is “Cosme’s taqueria”; Rowdy Rooster is “Indian fried chicken.” In so many ways, it’s the superhero-movie approach to restaurant marketing: Give the people something they already know. “Food media has begun to trade almost entirely on a sort of minor-key celebrity,” says Jon Bonné, the managing editor of Resy. “It’s the chef, or the restaurateur, or the meme-y dish.”

It is much more difficult — or at least a longer road — to simply be good and hope that an audience materializes. These are the hidden gems, but the city’s restaurant history is littered with the remains of places that didn’t find their footing before their financing ran out.

Don’t shoot the messenger, but I could see either fate befalling Kin Gin, a seafood-focused izakaya-ish spot that opened in early April on the first floor of Hotel Rivington. You would be forgiven for thinking, like I did, that it was destined to become a nondescript Japanese place in a neighborhood filled with similar spots, and only a few tables were filled the first night I went. It was only after I passed the bar that the vastness of the space hit me with the main dining room sitting under a high-ceilinged skylight. A dedicated raw bar lies at one end of the room, while the rest of the space is outfitted with cute cushioned seats upholstered in bouclé and velour fabrics, centered around a fireplace in the back of the room like a springy chalet.

The first sign that all is not as it appears is the cocktail list. Kin Gin means “gold and silver,” but, in addition to a comprehensive collection of sakes, there are several Global G&Ts served, in the Spanish style, inside bulbous, heavily garnished glassware: A Japan is accented with yuzu. The Italy is based on orange-flavored gin and garnished with strawberries and peppercorn. It made me smile.

So did the freshness of the seafood at the raw bar. A $32 dish called “ocean umami” was raw scallop with uni and ikura, artfully interspersed on a scallop shell. Amberjack sashimi, five thick slices of firm, buttery fish, were shingled with blood-orange suprêmes and surrounded by a juicy dashi with peppery heat. The kitchen has a knack for sauces and dips, I would learn. Agedashi tofu’s seasoned broth was so good I spooned every drop out of the bowl. Grilled quail, butchered off the bone, was finished with a sweet-and-salty lacquer of dark-soy glaze. I picked up each quarter with my chopsticks and dunked them into a honey-cured egg yolk.

Less saucy but no less excellent was grilled mackerel that had been butterflield, soft fillets under the slightly charred skin, and served with a few pickled perilla leaves and a mound of grated daikon. I loved it, but I don’t envision it will light up TikTok since what makes it so good is its straightforward simplicity.

If any dish is going to break out on social, it could be the sweet-potato brûlée, for which a whole potato is scooped and filled with a pool of custard before a dusting of granulated sugar is flamed over top. But any coverage wouldn’t capture the entirety of Kin Gin’s quality, and a restaurant’s success shouldn’t have to depend solely on the hyperactive caprices of social media or the expectations of a single dish.

The management seems to understand this because the menu does not contain any rice or a single noodle dish — catnip for influencers. When I asked my server whether I was missing something, he confirmed this was the case. “It’s really been throwing a lot of people off,” he said.