Ruffian
A seasoned wine bar teeming with self-confidence
125 East 7th St. | East Village, Manhattan
Ruffian is a wine bar that knows itself. A murderer’s row of Eastern European wines. Delicious food on a seasonal menu that won’t be pinned down to one region. The chillest of servers hosting a convivial vibe. They’ve been doing this for a while and have the rhythm of a good night down pat.
It’s amazing how many restaurants have no idea who they are. There’s a sense of what they want to do, but then they go chasing diners and all of a sudden, a quiet Scandinavian comfort food spot is posting cheese pulls on Instagram and offering their “unique” spin on a smashburger.
It screams, “Love me!” Needy.
A ramble through the East Village will involve passing no shortage of ever-swiping 20-somethings—by next season they’ll have new outfits and causes. Ruffian avoids the side effects of youth with the conviction of a 38-year-old professional making real money and living her best life.
The playlist bops with Lilly Allen and Robyn. We’re having fun here, people. Servers all wear whatever they want and exude comfort as a result. Nothing is forced and the ease buoys your evening.
The wine bar is a deceptively tough nut to crack. Go too far with the food, and the wine becomes an afterthought. Go too broad with the wine and you’ll look like every other list in town.
The greatest indication to me of Ruffian’s well-earned confidence is in the details it chooses to focus on compared to the ones it chooses to let slide. Chief among these is stemware. I am not someone who believes that wine is wasted when not served in the proper glass. But unless we’re having table wine in Tuscany, I don’t want a little tumbler. I want to be able to stick my nose in it.
Countless other wine bars in the city now trot out stubby little tasting glasses. “If it’s good enough for French inspectors, it’s good enough for you!” some will argue desperately. But I don’t want to feel like I’m at a tasting, no matter how convenient those glasses are for them to store and wash. A nice tall stem with a bowl big enough for swirling in concert with your table’s good cheer—that’s what Ruffian offers. They understand there’s no point in having a wine bar if it isn’t a pleasure to take every sip.
On one side is a bar. Slender, concrete, functional. The focus is the wine and the food. A large painting of a horse in a lei invites you in from the end of the room—a mascot who appears to be the first one who arrived at the party. On the other side, the dining room achieves similar minimalism with lots of natural wood and white-painted brick. The character of the place appears as you go deeper into their offerings. Ceramic dishes, with a style evoking a Vermont workshop, lovingly hold your plate of paprika-spiked beets or chewy vegetable dumplings.
Here is Ruffian’s description of a Slovakian red wine:
Hardened criminal with a great smile. Will steal your heart and your Grandma’s jewels. Sweet strawberry and cherry with clove and the right kind of bitter that never gets cloying. One night with this, and no basic Pinot will satisfy you.
Fuck yeah. Do I know what every word of that actually means taste-wise? No. But my eyes cross on so many other lists reading about the third wine in a row that tastes like “dark fruit,” and let’s be honest, most of us are ordering wine off vibes anyway. Might as well capture them with some passion.
The consistent excellence of Ruffian’s rotating menu is a thrill to return to. We’ve all met the cautious middle-aged friend whose wardrobe has not changed the entire time we’ve known them, an air of clinging in their approach to life. They often tell the same stories, quote the same songs. But spend time with the forward-thinking grown-up, excited to amend the old with the new, and find yourself invigorated.
The succulent pork shoulder blanketed in crunchy Brussels sprouts and pops of pomegranate seeds may not be there when you go, but in its place will be an equally lovely offering for the season. The mood might not call for a warm chocolate rice pudding flecked with shavings of coconut, but your dessert will suit the weather all the same.
My last visit to Ruffian was with my Gen-Z friends (only one of them is actually Gen-Z), two absolute delights I met at an alumni function and now dine with every few months. I had recently decided to start wearing a beautiful, long string of my grandmother’s pearls which my wife was letting languish in a drawer. Only after following up about the choice deep into the meal did I discover how poorly they thought I was wearing them—I needed to double them up instead of dangling them in one long loop like Mardi Gras beads. The change was an immediate buy, a brand-new option in my arsenal for self-expression. Jewelry’s not my strong suit but I’ve got time. Maybe that’s what comes next.
Images:
Berkshire pork shoulder, sour plum, Brussels sprouts
White bean hummus, papadam
Smoked beets, heirloom pepita
The bar
The dining room
Sourdough dumplings, porcini broth, kimchi
Cabbage goulash, pomme purée
Chocolate coconut rice pudding, pickled pistachios