The Shining at Duo


A taro chip butterfly atop sea bass echoes a butterfly motif on the wall. Photo: Steven Richter

       I’m stepping on the welcome mat. It says “Duo Restaurant & Lounge Saturday.” I’m impressed. That means they change the doormat every day.  How classy can it get?  We’re led past the curving bar – hot looking and stylish, though not exactly throbbing on a near-summer Saturday night. Now we’re standing in what could be a duo of narcissists’ loft: all plush leather circular seating, a duo of sensuous paintings on the wall evoking the duo of owners here, Russian sisters Lorraine and Sabina Belkin, as fairy tale princesses, one blonde, one brunette, as lush and exotic as the tropical flowers they wear, not quite Penthouse, but close.  

I’m grateful for the reading light but want to hide from the ghostly glow. Photo: Steven Richter

       All of it might have come from the closet of rich shopaholics. The velvet wall studded with Swarovski crystals, the gold leaf accents, crocodile skin columns, a donut shaped chandelier glittering like a giant diamond choker. Minions tote chunky little wooden stools to tucked next to your chair for stashing your purse, three-star noblesse. The Belkin’s previous bedroom, oops, I mean the lounge, Duvet, where the tables were mostly beds you could stretch out or dance on, was closed in 2009  by the State Liquor Authority after a patron was raped in the bathroom by the bouncer who turned out to be an ex-con.

Battered calamari rings lurk in a lively salad of vegetables and mango. Photo: Steven Richter

        But the Belkins are a restaurant family. Make no mistake. Duo is meant to be more serious – a restaurant first - though I get a jolt when the room is suddenly rocked by throbbing music and I spot the d.j. bopping about on a parapet above. This loud already!  It’s only 8:30!  The server can’t hear our order. I beg someone to tone it down.  And amazingly, after first turning it up instead, the d.j. switches to low.

        I’m not your congenital lounge lizard in case you can’t guess. In my prime I was more of a disco queen. When clubs evolved into standing around and drinking cocktails instead of bogeying till 3 a.m., nightlife became strictly eating out for me. And much to my surprise, tonight in the first week, most of what we’re eating is surprisingly good.

Apricot-duck sausage and white asparagus soup are an odd duo. Photo: Steven Richter

       What got me here so fast was the illuminated menu.  After endlessly complaining that I can’t read most menus without my pocket flashlight, I liked that the sisters had focused on how to light up the menu without compromising the romantic gloom that has become increasingly trendy. Is it sexy? I don’t think it’s sexy. For one thing, it’s heavy. And you’ve got two leather encased lightboxes: one just for cocktails.  And you can’t put them down without knocking something over. The light casts a sickly Goth glow. Across the room even young beauties look ghostly. We all look a little undead.  Of course that’s supposedly sexy now, too.

The rigatoni lacks something but I rather like the salad on top. Photo: Steven Richter

        Seeing the menu is just the beginning. You have to figure out that a Duo is sometimes two items on a plate and sometimes a choice of this or that.  And if you’re out tonight because you couldn’t face cooking, you might not feel like designing your own carpaccio from a dozen ingredients. A busboy brings small loaves of brioche, one for each of us, house made daily with sage and pink peppercorns, I’m told, but ruined in the re-warming, alas.

        The blood orange Margarita our server said would be straight up comes on the rocks. “Tell us about the black truffle pizza,” we inquire. Well drilled, he answers at length. We order it, eager to turn off the funereal glow. He tries to get Steven to order parmesan truffled fries with his rigatoni.

        “Are you kidding?” I ask, “Potatoes with pasta?”

        “You’re right.  Maybe the ratatouille.”  He sounds less convinced, leaves selling only one side to our companion. Wild mushrooms with caramelized pearl onions, a well done basic that goes with everything.  He returns a bit dashed. “We’re out of the pizza,” he says.  “At 8:30?” I ask. No big sin that the crew is still a bit green. As I said, this is a first impression.

Honey ginger ponzu and peaches work well with rare duck breast. Photo: Steven Richter

        The Road Food Warrior’s calamari salad is good, the crisp and lightly crumbed loops hiding in a refreshing toss of fruits and vegetables, baby arugula, frisée, sweet peppers, shaved fennel and red onion with mango in a yuzu vinaigrette. An odd duo of apricot and pistachio studded duck sausage marinated alongside a small cup of asparagus soup is more whimsical than brilliant, but not as annoying as the goat cheese and beet terrine deconstructed to insipidity.

        Steven complains that his market basket rigatoni is just another salad with not enough pasta desperately needing some olive oil. I have to agree. But I am enjoying the small seasonal carrots and baby corn, asparagus, favas, English peas and the cherry tomatoes with a faint hint of truffle oil. Honey ginger ponzu and caramelized peaches compliment meaty rare slices of duck on a nest of green lentils.

        Expecting so little, I am amazed by the huge triangle of honey-tamari glazed Chilean sea bass sitting on wilted pea shoot leaves and broccolini, slightly undercooked as I requested, with a subtle barbecue-like sweetness.  I know it’s probably still on the don’t buy list of non-sustainable seafood, but here it is and I’m happily eating it. As for the fish’s taro root chip wings, “See, they match the butterflies on the wall,” says one of the ubiquitous ever chatty managers.

Pastry chef Gregg does fabulous apricot trio: tatin ,cobbler and jelly. Photo: Steven Richter

        Pastry chef Geneva Gregg, recently revolved through the Four Seasons restaurant and The Astor Room in Queens, is a real find if our one dessert tells the tale. It’s a splendid trio of peach tatin, peach cobbler and peach gelée with ginger ice cream.

        If you feel like dressing up in your own Swarovski crystals for a night with the girls or nibbling your date’s ear in the murk (once you’ve slammed that ridiculous menu shut), you’ll want to know that appetizers range from $13 to $21 (soup of the day at $10), and entrées $22 to $42. Since I’m not into hanging out and no longer prowl the dating scene, this sexy stage set probably isn’t going to entice me back to taste more.