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Johnny’s, a neat new eatery in East Williamsburg that debuted in July, shines in chifa, a Peruvian-Cantonese merging that stands as one of the globe’s supreme comfort foods: pot stickers, sautéed dishes, prepared rice, the coal-fired rotisserie fowl dubbed pollo a la brasa, and unlimited servings of aji verde, a zesty, cilantro-heavy green-chili condiment—all of it fulfilling, striking, and generous. The establishment carries the name of the late father of the proprietors, the sister-and-brother team Stephanie Tang and John Tang. Johnny inherited the trade of pollo a la brasa from his very own progenitor, Yuen Jam Tan, who relocated his family from Hong Kong to Peru in the nineteen-sixties, mastered the skill of the rotisserie, and consequently, in the seventies, introduced it to Queens. In a recent discussion, Stephanie conveyed to me that Tan’s initial dining spot, Peking BBQ, in Woodside, remains operational, now managed by one of her maternal uncles. By her calculation, there are roughly twelve rotisserie joints across the New York City zone run by associates of her extended kin. A majority of them are “somewhat humble locales,” Stephanie noted: unpretentious, high-traffic storefronts that prioritize takeout and rapid service. Her mother, who holds two rotisserie restaurants, one situated in New Jersey and another in Sunset Park, sought to unveil a second Brooklyn locale when she stumbled upon this corner storefront in Williamsburg. Stephanie, who is employed in the fashion realm and resides just a handful of blocks distant from the corner location that transformed into Johnny’s, commenced imagining something beyond the traditional model. This place would remain laid-back, but it would additionally be a sit-down eatery, complete with mixed drinks, fashionable illumination, artwork adorning the walls, a particular atmosphere—why not encase chifa in more stylish, improved surrounds?
Birds are visible through a window from the dining room.
Why not, indeed? Chifa isn’t excessively elaborate, though there’s no grounds for a splendid half-chicken or yielding, tangy braised ribs to not merit a superior presentation. The area is open and with lofty ceilings, incorporating vast panes that permit the sparkling beams of vehicles on the adjacent B.Q.E. to pour in. A timber banquette operates alongside the boundary, and tables are positioned adjacent enough that one might feel compelled to order the jalea (a significant dish of pan-fried seafood) upon observing it on a neighboring diner’s surface, yet with ample space for the dining place to integrate additional tables as the need arises. An elegant, arched bar, incorporated into the structure of the area, acts as a central attribute: a plush llama figurine overlooking from an elevated rack, a couple of icy beverage devices upon the counter always rotating. One features a chilled Pisco Sour enriched with lychee; the other, a hazy flower-petal magenta, is chicha morada, a beverage composed of purple maize flavored with cinnamon and cloves. (Savor them if you’re able to: as per Stephanie, a refreshed beverage selection sans the frozen choices will be instituted shortly.)
The lomo saltado sits on a pile of fries.
The kam lu wantan gets an elegant presentation.
The culinary offerings, as well, execute some clever reinterpretation. Kam lu wantan, for instance, constitutes a quintessential chifa course of pan-fried wontons that are combined in a saccharine-and-sour dressing with meat and various greens. At Johnny’s, they are presented with all of the standard constituents in a wholly divergent manner. The meaty element is solely present within the pot stickers, which remain pan-fried (perhaps a touch excessively), displayed rather stylishly atop a brushstroke of the sauce, and adorned with jaunty petite wreaths of red chili. Lomo saltado, a uniquely Peruvian steak stir-fry, which is traditionally accompanied by French-cut potatoes, is arranged with the fries concealed beneath delicate slices of meat and onions, soaking up the sum of the savory residues and rendering an accompanying portion of airy white rice virtually extraneous. In a conventional fashion, tomatoes undergo wok-based sautéing alongside the beef and onions, their flavor enriching and mellowing. Here, large, vibrant segments of tomato are treated to nominal cooking; perched atop the flesh, they impart a lively, tart punch.
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Nevertheless, our focus lies with the chicken. Several dozen birds can be observed, by way of a plate-glass portal to the culinary space, in gradual revolution upon horizontal railings ahead of a charcoal glow. There exists no fascination quite comparable to the perpetual rotating ballet of the rotisserie: legs elevated, legs descended, the barely perceptible gradual bronzing of the skin, the alluring discharge of liquid fat. Stephanie Tang confided in me that her relations have decided upon nearly three pounds as the optimized size for a specimen: any grander, and the proportion of char to flesh becomes imbalanced; any more diminutive, and it courts the likelihood of desiccation as it cooks. At Johnny’s, akin to the majority of the family’s dining spots, the kitchen employs a fundamentally unaltered rendition of her grandfather’s marinade. It’s subtle, bearing a hint of cumin and a scattering of garlic, conceivably so as to not dominate the other protagonist of the spectacle: aji verde. By the culmination of a repast at Johnny’s your table will be strewn with petite metal containers of the matter. It is additionally furnished with the ribs; with the starchy yucca fries and the pleasant, auric tostones; and with the creamy, chicken-flavored croquettes that compose an optimal initiation to the meal. (I’m genuinely delighted to witness croquettes materializing with increased regularity upon menus—they’re the quintessential miniature morsel, and such a satisfying avenue for cuisine scraps. It’s regrettable that North Americans haven’t rendered them as ubiquitous an appetizer as mini-burgers or fried mozzarella sticks.)
The sister-and-brother pair Stephanie Tang and John Tang own the retaurant. Members of their extended family run about a dozen other rotisserie restaurants in the N.Y.C. area.
No dining spot exists without its imperfections, yet Johnny’s approximates flawlessness exceedingly. It exudes an inviting and simple vibe. The culinary creations are clever and dependable. The portions prove sizable. The rates are notably equitable: all commodities on the menu are valued at under thirty dollars, and a quarter poultry combination, complete with a bounty of vivid-tasting vegetable prepared rice and a fresh side salad, is a respectable nineteen dollars. While a fair quantity of seats appear to be inhabited by trend-attracted dining patrons and cross-borough foodies, the locale holds the clear atmosphere of a genuine neighborhood fixture; were I to reside in closer proximity, I surmise I’d frequent it constantly. It emanates a sense of ease, intimacy, a meal molded by the Tang siblings’ familial lineage, undoubtedly, yet additionally by their individual enthusiasms and particularities. A sesame-rich Caesar salad is intensified in crunch by pulverized saltines. Cans of bubbling yerba maté derive from the indie Hong Kong soda enterprise Mezzanine Makers, and spirited refreshments are playfully decked with cocktail umbrellas. Solely one sweet offering graces the menu, a liquid-centered skillet cookie, capped with a scoop of frozen confection and sprinkles of black-sesame caramel and dulce de leche. Upon my query to Stephanie Tang as to whether that, too, was drawn from the chifa assemblage, she responded with laughter and stated, “Truthfully, I just harbor a profound fondness for chocolate-chip cookies.” ♦
Sourse: newyorker.com