One way to avoid the lumbering tunnel traffic in my usual long junket to the next hot place in the nether world is to head uptown for dinner. This is not to seem overly flippant or insult the triad behind Flat Top in the hills east of St. John the Divine.

          Our Upper West Side triumvirate is impressed by the ambition of this homey little spot. House baked brioche with the marrow. Homemade macarons on the sundae.  Jewel-like poached egg, panko-crusted, on the Caesar, though I wish it had less soggy greenery and more crispy white romaine.

Owners and family assemble at a front room table for a late supper.

          And the locals seem grateful too for this friendly retreat between Morningside Heights and Manhattanville. Do they all know each other? Or is this the green room for OKCupid? There’s a blast of revelry as millennials gather up front, sipping wine or beer or an iced Blue Bottle latte at tall tables. It’s easy enough to persuade the hostess to push two conventional little tables together in the quiet back room for our threesome. I scan the list of liquids. Dum de dum dum. No cocktails here. So it’s Syrah for me, and a white Grenache for my pals.

House-baked brioche to spread with oozing marrow and caramalized red onion jam.

          A busser drops off a sad little bowl of bread, precisely three small slices, with a tiny ration of what looks like chimichurri sauce alongside: It’s a wonderfully garlicky green olive tapenade with hints of lemon. And it keeps us alive in limbo land while someone figures out who’s our waiter. There’s a longish wait for starters too. I imagine the chef, startled that someone has ordered the marrow, possibly was forced to send out for a fatted calf.

          That would be Chef Charles Cho, Korean and Cordon Bleu-trained, auteur of what the press release bills as New American: strongly French, Italian and Asian with whiffs of Mediterranean and Spanish.

Porcini and beech mushroom risotto with arugula leaves under a parmesan foam.

          There is prosciutto di Parma fluttering atop my Caesar too, and heirloom cherry tomatoes with the burrata.  Essence of powdered porcini and beech mushrooms flavor the risotto,  where sherry vinaigrette-dressed arugula rides a parmesan foam.  A case of more is less, in my book.

          We’re happily scraping away at the oozing, lemony marrow, plopping it on toasted brioche, piling on sweet caramelized onion jam.  And extra points for dispensing Maldon salt in this latitude.

Marvelous rice noodles and snow peas nest beautifully rare duck that alas, lacks flavor.

          The Maple Leaf Farm duck breast, blush pink with a little edging of fat, is gorgeous but strangely lacking in flavor atop marvelous udon noodles embedded with snow peas.  My companion’s striped bass is too cooked for me, but then we gave no special instructions.

          We’re all sharing the skirt steak, with a stylish rivulet of chimichurri puree, easily enough for two to share, with broccoli rabe, cherry tomatoes still on the vine, and fried yellow creamer potatoes.

Skirt steak wears a stripe of chimchurri puree, with yellow creamers and broccoli rabe.

          At the next table I watch a quartet of what look like students to me finishing burgers and beer. The half-pound couturier Pat LaFrieda Flat Top burger on a house-baked truffle brioche bun with spicy aioli and Parmesan russet potato wedges is $17. None of the house’s entrees top $24 but it strikes me that our three courses and seconds on wine at $75 per person could seem steep to some for a casual Tuesday.

House baked strawberry macarons with Maldon salt on a peanut butter and jelly sundae.

          Still, that peanut butter and jelly sundae with toffee chips, chocolate sauce and strawberry jelly-stuffed salted vanilla macarons too, has to be a loss leader at $8. I might not return from the southern shoals of 73rd Street – it’s far for me -- but the mix of bonhomie and house baked brioche ambition could win the neighborhood.

          As we left, one of the owner’s families had gathered for dinner at a window table.  A good sign, don’t you agree?

I asked for spicy tonkotsu ramen with corn, tofu and roast pork add-ins. Great choice.

          There’s an overlap of owners at Flat Top and Jin Ramen, a small, no-reservation Michelin bib winner in Harlem. Fear of long queues had kept me away. I’d been recognized at Flat Top. Sam Wong, one of the owners remembered me from Chin Chin. And another stopped me on the sidewalk to pose for a photo. (Hatless, alas. I borrowed his).

We put away an order of house-made chicken gyoza, but left petrified fried chicken bits.

          Surely, we were the only soup slurpers over 35 Thursday night. I saw couples sharing a single bowl and a solo bottle of beer. We went for a festive tasting: The house-made chicken gyoza dumplings were unremarkable.  And the fried chicken tasted leftover from Monday. You don’t want to make a Federal case over $6 worth of Styrofoam chicken.  But just so you know.

Our friend from Flat Top urged us to have these fabulous blistered shishito peppers.

          The marinated kelp salad was positively refreshing. I used it as a palate cleanser between dishes. And shishito peppers sprinkled with yuzu salt and tempura crisps, recommended by our friend from Flat Top, were a hit all-round.

Wondrously refreshing Summer Snow sangria piles fruit into peach-apple infused sake.

          I loved my sake sangria, too, with, according to the menu, macerated Asian pear, Fuji apple, strawberries, Bosc pear, pineapple, orange and lemon in white peach-and-apple-infused sake.  Did it really embrace the entire Garden of Paradise? I can’t sign an affidavit,  but I did see grape halves at the bottom. And the fruity slurp lasted a long while. Big glass for $8.

Hiyashi Chuka, cold noodles and vegetables in kelp seaweed stock is a seasonal special.

          Shio (chicken) ramen and the miso version (with chicken stock, pork and chicken sausage) paled next to my sensational spicy tonkotsu soup made with fortified pork bone stock.  I asked for add-ins ($1 and up) too. Corn, tofu and two slices of char siu pork. I gave everyone a taste and still couldn’t put away more than a third, even given my enthusiasm.  I’m not an expert on ramen. I loved it at Ippudo and almost fainted with joy in a Tokyo fast food ramen joint.  I sprinkled hot pepper so quickly on this one, I didn’t really have a chance to judge the chef’s delivery. In the end, it was thrilling.

Michelin gave this Harlem ramen joint a bib listing for good grub at a good price.

          I would have taken the rest home to savor for breakfast if I hadn’t been booked for the 9 am jitney to East Hampton.