I’m predisposed to like the work of Lewis Tsurumaki Lewis, even though in my first encounter — their submission to the 2000 Cooper-Hewitt Triennial — I found to be overly fussy (I say this not with critical authority, I just think prejudices should be clearly stated). Subsequent projects, most explicated via exquisite hand drawn perspectives, had a decidedly different effect. I was also unaware of their rather impressive professional credentials. I only knew they had office space in a pretty ramshackle storefront in my neighborhood, a work environment that has long been a fantasy of mine.
Rather than take the typical approach of the interested indie aficionado angered by the welter of attention they have received as of late, I’m pleased that they seem to be pervasive in the narrow world of architectural publications (even moving beyond). I’m consistently encouraged by the tactile and, frankly, fun, spirit imbued in their work. In an age where being avant garde seems to require a blob, they create compelling and original forms that do not require dogmatic intellectual biases to enjoy their visceral effects.
So I looked forward to the opening of their most recent work, Tides, a restaurant on Norfolk Street (just across from Tonic and what looks to be a positively abhorrent pending building from Tschumi) between Delancy and Rivington. Tides is quite obviously a seafood restaurant, and a small one at that. I’ll leave the final word on the food — though I had what to me were positively refreshing and tasty oysters and octopus on a steamy July night — to those with perhaps more skilz in this department. But don’t take my hesitance as an indictment of the food. I was there perhaps the fifth or sixth night they were open, and the food was comparable — to my limited palate — to that of Lure and the Oyster Bar. Instead, I’ll focus on what I presume to be my forte — the physical space.
The dominant element that will undoubtedly receive the most attention is the striking ceiling, which features thousands of bamboo skewers. Though the inspiration was literally a seabed, the undulating forms call to mind a range of ‘tidal’ inspiration, including, for me, the marshes where I spent my college years. Given the restaurant name, the resultant effect would seem to be a very literal interpretation, but the abstraction and executions supersedes this. With too much academic training, there can be a a fussy need to legitimate each decision, even as the most renown designers seem to operate on sheer formal virtuosity; here, it is a welcome admixture of the two poles.
As is notable in all LTL’s small space projects, it is not simply a ‘Big Wow’ moment surmounted by a very pedestrian space. Rather, the rest of the decisions are representative of the same degree of rigor — bordering on obsession — about every element one encounters. Opposing the sinuous forms of the skewers on the ceiling is a long band of highly polished wood that folds irregularly down the length of the space, forming two booths and the bathroom.
A clever visual trick is played by varying the heights of the booths, a necessity due to an intruding staircase, but also an idea so blindingly simple that it makes you wonder why it hasn’t been done more often. Even as the folds occur at varying heights and angles, the booths finish at a consistent height, topped by a hood that repeats over the bathroom. Due to the elevation of the benches and the small size of the space overall, it appears that the bathroom is undersized, which is not the case.
The bathroom itself is perversely understated and prominent. Not visibly marked in any way, it is also the only enclosed space in the room. The door slides, and is finished almost seamlessly (albeit set in) with the surrounding wood.
Inside, the underside of the last hood rises up to a dim but useful fixture, and the space is comfortable (even a nice respite, the most commodious space in the restaurant). The sink is always a place for designers to show their clever-clever props, and this doesn’t disappoint. I’m not one of those aggressive bathroom tourists who seek out the range of interesting solutions to be found in the city (I still haven’t been in a stall at Bar 89), and can only recall two memorable examples, that of the Royalton urinals (which has a superficial similarity) and sinks at Brasserie. Here one is faced with an interesting logistical challenge — how to preen as one’s visage is deformed by the sliding water — that is also a intellectual challenge to one’s vanity at the same time. The only real weak spot is the door handle, one those nice ideas that would work in a home, where you likely wouldn’t actually utilize it often, but here it is a little awkward to operate.
What made my visit exceptionally pleasant, both as a diner and putative critic, was a chance to sit and talk with one of the co-owners, Stephen Yee. Since I basically sandbagged him, it was a good test to explore how the client experiences the design process and to hear a relatively unvarnished presentation of the tribulations — or rewards — of working with an architect. It was gratifying because his comments reinforced the benefits a well-wrought collaboration can yield. He reported an enthusiasm and flexibility (the sketch of the booth concept was done on-site while trying to puzzle out a way to deal with the stair) in the LTL team that produced in him a similar commitment to realize as many of the ideas as possible, even those that presented budget challenges in a project that was a modest undertaking.
It seems I’ve gone on too long — is that so unusual? — and still haven’t mention still other details, including the tables (designed and manufactured by the LTL team) that feature a substrate of clear acrylic that is lit by a sunken candle, and light fixtures that have a similar ethereal finish. Even the required safety signage, placed so unfortunately when I was there, was due a revamp from the designers, along with a new wait station. If you go and it’s a bit warm, don’t blame the designers (as I wondered, looking at the fans clipped awkwardly to the booth hoods) — instead, it was the usual sad tale of a derelict contractor resulting in the wrong unit. It should be corrected by now, but if the HVAC gods looked unfavorably on Tides last week, fear not: a cool ocean breeze is certainly in their future.
So go: I recommend, unreservedly. I always feel odd when I get excited about a compelling interior. The first time I ate at Brasserie, I had the same sense of dislocation: I shouldn’t be getting so excited because I noticed something that perhaps wasn’t supposed to be so immediately evident. Rather than question my own perverse perspective, I’m going to let go of it, and accept that it is simply the wonder of encountering something that is simply good, endowed with all that such a simple and direct term implies. A good thing. Try it.
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Good Tidings.
I’m predisposed to like the work of Lewis Tsurumaki Lewis, even though in my first encounter — their submission to the 2000 Cooper-Hewitt Triennial — I found to be overly fussy (I say this not with critical authority, I just think prejudices should be clearly stated). Subsequent projects, most explicated via exquisite hand drawn perspectives, had a decidedly different effect. I was also unaware of their rather impressive professional credentials. I only knew they had office space in a pretty ramshackle storefront in my neighborhood, a work environment that has long been a fantasy of mine.
Rather than take the typical approach of the interested indie aficionado angered by the welter of attention they have received as of late, I’m pleased that they seem to be pervasive in the narrow world of architectural publications (even moving beyond). I’m consistently encouraged by the tactile and, frankly, fun, spirit imbued in their work. In an age where being avant garde seems to require a blob, they create compelling and original forms that do not require dogmatic intellectual biases to enjoy their visceral effects. So I looked forward to the opening of their most recent work, Tides, a restaurant on Norfolk Street (just across from Tonic and what looks to be a positively abhorrent pending building from Tschumi) between Delancy and Rivington. Tides is quite obviously a seafood restaurant, and a small one at that. I’ll leave the final word on the food — though I had what to me were positively refreshing and tasty oysters and octopus on a steamy July night — to those with perhaps more skilz in this department. But don’t take my hesitance as an indictment of the food. I was there perhaps the fifth or sixth night they were open, and the food was comparable — to my limited palate — to that of Lure and the Oyster Bar. Instead, I’ll focus on what I presume to be my forte — the physical space. The dominant element that will undoubtedly receive the most attention is the striking ceiling, which features thousands of bamboo skewers. Though the inspiration was literally a seabed, the undulating forms call to mind a range of ‘tidal’ inspiration, including, for me, the marshes where I spent my college years. Given the restaurant name, the resultant effect would seem to be a very literal interpretation, but the abstraction and executions supersedes this. With too much academic training, there can be a a fussy need to legitimate each decision, even as the most renown designers seem to operate on sheer formal virtuosity; here, it is a welcome admixture of the two poles. As is notable in all LTL’s small space projects, it is not simply a ‘Big Wow’ moment surmounted by a very pedestrian space. Rather, the rest of the decisions are representative of the same degree of rigor — bordering on obsession — about every element one encounters. Opposing the sinuous forms of the skewers on the ceiling is a long band of highly polished wood that folds irregularly down the length of the space, forming two booths and the bathroom. A clever visual trick is played by varying the heights of the booths, a necessity due to an intruding staircase, but also an idea so blindingly simple that it makes you wonder why it hasn’t been done more often. Even as the folds occur at varying heights and angles, the booths finish at a consistent height, topped by a hood that repeats over the bathroom. Due to the elevation of the benches and the small size of the space overall, it appears that the bathroom is undersized, which is not the case. The bathroom itself is perversely understated and prominent. Not visibly marked in any way, it is also the only enclosed space in the room. The door slides, and is finished almost seamlessly (albeit set in) with the surrounding wood. Inside, the underside of the last hood rises up to a dim but useful fixture, and the space is comfortable (even a nice respite, the most commodious space in the restaurant). The sink is always a place for designers to show their clever-clever props, and this doesn’t disappoint. I’m not one of those aggressive bathroom tourists who seek out the range of interesting solutions to be found in the city (I still haven’t been in a stall at Bar 89), and can only recall two memorable examples, that of the Royalton urinals (which has a superficial similarity) and sinks at Brasserie. Here one is faced with an interesting logistical challenge — how to preen as one’s visage is deformed by the sliding water — that is also a intellectual challenge to one’s vanity at the same time. The only real weak spot is the door handle, one those nice ideas that would work in a home, where you likely wouldn’t actually utilize it often, but here it is a little awkward to operate. What made my visit exceptionally pleasant, both as a diner and putative critic, was a chance to sit and talk with one of the co-owners, Stephen Yee. Since I basically sandbagged him, it was a good test to explore how the client experiences the design process and to hear a relatively unvarnished presentation of the tribulations — or rewards — of working with an architect. It was gratifying because his comments reinforced the benefits a well-wrought collaboration can yield. He reported an enthusiasm and flexibility (the sketch of the booth concept was done on-site while trying to puzzle out a way to deal with the stair) in the LTL team that produced in him a similar commitment to realize as many of the ideas as possible, even those that presented budget challenges in a project that was a modest undertaking. It seems I’ve gone on too long — is that so unusual? — and still haven’t mention still other details, including the tables (designed and manufactured by the LTL team) that feature a substrate of clear acrylic that is lit by a sunken candle, and light fixtures that have a similar ethereal finish. Even the required safety signage, placed so unfortunately when I was there, was due a revamp from the designers, along with a new wait station. If you go and it’s a bit warm, don’t blame the designers (as I wondered, looking at the fans clipped awkwardly to the booth hoods) — instead, it was the usual sad tale of a derelict contractor resulting in the wrong unit. It should be corrected by now, but if the HVAC gods looked unfavorably on Tides last week, fear not: a cool ocean breeze is certainly in their future. So go: I recommend, unreservedly. I always feel odd when I get excited about a compelling interior. The first time I ate at Brasserie, I had the same sense of dislocation: I shouldn’t be getting so excited because I noticed something that perhaps wasn’t supposed to be so immediately evident. Rather than question my own perverse perspective, I’m going to let go of it, and accept that it is simply the wonder of encountering something that is simply good, endowed with all that such a simple and direct term implies. A good thing. Try it.