Don’t forget the ones shaped like little baby stingrays.
Introducing Red Farm, an admittedly deranged dim-sum-driven kitchen (from Chinatown Brasserie’s
A-team) that treats its pot stickers like edible balloon animals, opening next week.
Not since the genetic engineering of baby corn has Chinese cuisine been so gosh darn adorable. So if it’s
whimsical (and truffle-okra-chicken-soup-filled) shumai you want, then you came to the right refurbished
19th-century town house.
You’ll start by wedging your way above a West Village laundromat and securing one of the 40 seats in this
intimate, rustic-barn space. If you’re looking for a menu: turn toward the ceiling. The menu, along with
your chopsticks, some votive candles and a few potted plants, will be dangling from an overhead gas
pipe.
Once you’ve carefully lowered your dining tools down to safety, it’ll be time to wave over some
dim-sum-packed bamboo steamers. There’ll be spring rolls folded to appear as mushrooms, dessert dumplings
shaped like porcupines and a shrimp-filled number that bears a striking resemblance to Pac-Man.
Or if you squint really hard, a young Paul Newman.
