Megu ended up being surprisingly fun--maybe thats just the alcohol talking—somehow meals always become more fun in proportion to the amount of imbibing that occurs. Yes, the food was tiny and expensive, but it was creative and mostly satisfying. The service was gracious and completely unpretentious. As might be expected there were plenty of white guy/Asian girl and wizened male/nubile females combos dotted throughout the starkly plush room (yeah, its possible to be simultaneously minimalist yet decadent). The tables and white leather banquettes were pleasantly spaced and intimate, which lent to the luxurious feeling. Arm room and the ability to hold private dinner conversations are not inalienable rights in NYC. A gargantuan iron bell hangs from the ceiling, hovering over a large ice carved Buddha, but somehow it seems Ok, despite verging excessive.
We were seated near the sushi bar, which frankly made for a better view than looking out over a sea of lovers. Raw fish beats painful attempts at impressing dates, any day. We opted for the prix fixe, of which many of the dishes and their proper names have vanished from my memory, not that they were unmemorable. These things just tend to blur, particularly when preparations have lots of little components. And hey, Megu is known for its thirteen-page tome of a menu, they don't make it easy. We started with a glass of complimentary Veuve Clicquot (which I couldnt turn down because, well, its alcohol, but I'm so grossed out by all the recent press given to their CEO the sepulchral author of French Women Dont Get Fat).
Things progressed from there with an amuse of custard in an eggshell that was flavored with the ol one-two punch of black truffles and foie gras. Then came a champagne risotto dusted with gold leaf, a lobster ravioli, kobe beef with six ground peppers (this was the funny part because while normally non-questioning diners, we inquired about the differences between the miniscule pillars of pepper positioned at the edge of the plate. The waitress laughed, then admitted she didnt know and had to pull out her notes. I don't know if that was unprofessional, but it made her seem more human than many waitress-bots these places often employ), yellowtail sushi, a rock shrimp tempura, I think, an edamame soup, perhaps another course was in there. Like I said, it was a whirlwind and the sake and cocktails didnt do much for bolstering brainpower.
There sort of were two desserts. I say sort of because I'm not sure that “slightly sweet egg” counts or not. It came precariously presented in this whimsical dish/cup combo that magnetically held the shell at a 45-degree angle. While trying to crack the top to get to the tofu custard I managed to drop the egg onto my lap and then the floor. The staff was totally eagle-eyed because I thought I'd rectified the mishap before anyone noticed, but a waiter immediately came over to replace my oddball treat. A “real” dessert crafted into a heart and made of a chocolate crme caramel covered in spun sugar followed it. I was also given a small box of chocolates at dinners end, then managed to unexpectedly score a second box while at the coat check. It's the little things, you know.
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