Trestle on Tenth

photo by David Penner

The hat-tip to the High Line meandering along the other side of Tenth Avenue carries its own metaphorical weight: As a disused freight-carrying framework reveals itself as a pedestrian oasis, so does an unprepossessing Chelsea corner open into an eater’s Eden. The dining room at Trestle on Tenth — diminutive bar, comfortably scattered tables, low-key service — eschews ostentation in favor of a philosophy we’ll take the liberty of calling diners’ ergonomics. The menu betrays chef Ralf Kuettel’s classical European training but with an eye toward local seasonality and a commitment to care and feeding. His wine list is blessedly concise and vividly imaginative — a true standout. Kuettel’s Swiss, but “Fondue Sundays” notwithstanding, it’d be a disservice to label his food as such. To what nation should an appetizer of duck necks, hacked into three-inch lengths, dredged in a heady rosemary breading, and crisped to the meat-melting point, claim allegiance? We won’t even guess, but we’d apply for citizenship in a heartbeat.