Come Hungry, Leave, um, Hungry. A Zen Palate review

A Zen Palate haiku, because I am nothing if not embracing of the concept, if not the execution:

vegetarian
meals cooked lukewarm if at all
nosh pizza after

I've been to Zen Palate twice now, at the encouragement of the Alien Monkey, who contrary to her charming blood-thirstyness, is a vegetarian. Once at the bar, once at a very charming table, I suffered through what I have to say is at least an admirable experiment.

Zen Palate is a completely vegetarian restaurant. It enjoys a primo location in Union Square at 16th Street, with ample views of the street but a peaceful, knockabout vibe on the inside, keeping you safe from aggressive foot and wheel traffic. To hear devotees tell it, it is the mecca of all veg-friendly dining. So it would be a knockout on a restuarant scale if they served anything remotely resembling food, instead of reconstituted bamboo.

Yes, Zen Palate is the gourmand equivilant of Ikea: hip, popular, and utterly useless. Both times, perhaps because it is downtown and a schlep for me to get to, I have been starving upon arrival. Seated quickly and politely, served quickly, I was still starving when I paid my bill. Admittedly not an expensive restuarant, though the point rapidly becomes mute when you hit the streets and your stomach still growls.

They do know their way around a light, airy dumpling, and it is a small mercy that though they steam most of their offerings, they do fry others, and provide a delectable soy-based sauce in which to dip them. The crunch of the careful blend of veggies inside provides the tantalizing sensation of actual eating, but even after six, it boggles the mind and stomach that you are still full and have been suffering somewhat pale versions of the famed Dumpling Man (another Alien Monkey favorite, and mine as well).

Of course this is in no way meant as a screed against vegetarian dining. I am not so dedicated a carnivore that I cannot admit a well-fed belly after a dinner of wagonwheel pasta with spring veggies or a large bowl of potato leek soup. Zen Palate however has reduced so much from its food, particularly in the area of balancing starches with protein that you feel as if you are at one point chewing on roughly ground vitamins lovingly flavored with pond scum. Not a charitable conclusion from such a noble experiment, particularly one so beloved, I realize but I believe that to give yourself over to this place for actual nourishment is doomed to failure.