César Ramirez—a name synonymous with the Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare—brings his enigmatic touch to Hudson Square with his new flagship restaurant, César. I’d planned much of my trip around hitting New York’s culinary heavyweights, and this was near the top of my list. The set menu for the evening came at a staggering ($365), with the wine pairing priced at ($280). Unfortunately, arriving about twenty-five minutes late meant the first few courses would be sped up—a fair concession, though it did cast a slight shadow on the start of the night. Oddly enough, my inquiry about the wine pairing was met with a simple “no,”. Interesting start to the night.

Service, too, quickly showed signs of strain. Rather than the lively, confident rapport one anticipates at this level, the staff seemed uneasy and reserved, as though they were treading carefully. The dining room lacked the palpable buzz or sense of welcome that defines a memorable night out. Only the front-of-house staff exuded genuine warmth, but the overall atmosphere felt stilted, raising early doubts about how the rest of the meal might unfold. It was rare to notice someone and believe they truly wanted to be there.

Our first snack arrived as a crisp piece of feuille de brick filled with sturgeon rillette, perched on a small pedestal as though it were the star of the show. Regrettably, its unremarkable flavor matched the underwhelming presentation, leaving me to wonder if this was a mistake. (7.0 /10)

Next came a single bite of nigiri—a slice of raw sawada resting on lightly seasoned rice, accented with wasabi and ginger, and wrapped in toasted nori. Surprisingly, the fish itself didn’t take center stage as one might expect from nigiri, yet the overall composition was intriguing enough to make it my personal highlight thus far. It was an improvement over the lackluster first snack, suggesting that perhaps the evening still held promise. (8.4 /10)

The next snack featured kisu (Japanese whiting) dredged in rice flour, deep-fried, and placed atop a simple potato chip with just a sprinkle of salt and lemon. The fish itself was underseasoned, and overpowered what little flavor was there. In a more casual setting, it might have passed as an decent bar bite, but here—at a restaurant aspiring for their third star—it felt underwhelming. A small piece of fish on a potato chip, with no real depth, left me questioning how this “fish and chips” riff ever made the cut. (6.8 /10)

The final snack—a Norwegian langoustine tartare nestled in a crisp rice cracker—brought a pronounced punch of acidity that initially piqued my interest. The interplay of caviar and tangy notes was appealing, but the delicate langoustine ultimately got lost in the mix, leaving the bite feeling a bit unbalanced rather than truly memorable. (8 /10)

Next came César Ramirez’s much-talked-about Hokkaido uni and brioche truffle mousse toast. While it was enjoyable enough—something I’d happily eat any day of the week—it failed to live up to its lofty reputation. The luxurious creaminess of the uni ended up overshadowing the truffle, and the brioche didn’t offer much beyond a basic bread canvas. The dish simply lacked the creativity I’d hoped for, especially given how prominently it’s been praised. (8.2 /10)

At last, a dish that genuinely made me smile. Sliced golden eye snapper (kinmedai) arrived in a beautifully artistic presentation, dressed with a citrus vinaigrette and ginger emulsion, a tomato water gelée, chili oil, finger limes, and paper-thin slices of watermelon radish. Visually, it was one of the more striking plates I’ve seen in a while—innovative and meticulous in its composition. Though the flavors didn’t quite push boundaries, the dish was undeniably thoughtful, showcasing a level of finesse and balance that felt like true “solid cooking.” (8.7 /10)

Next came a seafood flan—a curious mix of peekytoe crab, foie gras, wood ear mushrooms, and Burgundy snails. Most of my dining companions found the dish off-putting, though I was somewhat less disenchanted. It felt like a hodgepodge of strong umami elements: the random bits of flan and assortment of proteins leaned more toward a “crock pot soup” vibe than a refined, cohesive course. While the flavors weren’t entirely at odds, the concept felt muddled and ill-defined, lacking the clarity and finesse one would expect at this level. (7.4 /10)

Next was a clever nod to surf and turf: a hand-dived scallop paired with a ravioli filled with sunchokes and finished with a Pinot Noir reduction. The flavors harmonized well—no real surprises, but everything worked together in a solid, satisfying way. Though the dish played it safe, it demonstrated thoughtful execution and offered a pleasant reprieve after the previous, more experimental course. (8 /10)

The next course signaled a turning point in my diminishing faith: a madai dish accompanied by chanterelle mushrooms and a paprika sauce. Regrettably, the fish tasted overly fishy, bordering on off-putting. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish it. With so many high expectations riding on this meal, this particular course was a miss. (6.2 /10)

By this point, my patience was wearing thin. The four story hill farms duck arrived overcooked, served alongside a purée of maitake mushrooms and quince that failed to inject any excitement into the dish. Ultimately, it felt like yet another missed opportunity. (6.8 /10)

To cap off the evening, we were served another of Ramirez’s signature creations—one that nodded to Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare. This time, it was a white chocolate soufflé with chocolate pearls and a chocolate cremieux. Although the concept was intriguing, the lingering aftertaste when the soufflé dissolved on the palate detracted from its overall appeal, leaving it more of a curious finale than a triumphant one. (8.0 /10)

Overall, the experience fell drastically short of expectations. Priced at three-star levels but delivering cooking that barely nudged the quality of a solid one-star, it left me feeling genuinely shortchanged. The staff’s palpable lack of enthusiasm only underscored the restaurant’s struggles, making it difficult to overlook the myriad missteps. Even the petit four—a mint chocolate piece—felt uninspired, recalling nothing more than a run-of-the-mill after-dinner mint. (6.4 /10)

At least the night ended on a high note with a detour to Prince Street Pizza—a comforting, delicious slice that may have been the best bite of the evening.