Kachka

We came to Kachka on a Tuesday because the calendar was kinder than the weekend. The room was three-quarters full and somehow more honest for it.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: cozy Eastside, infused vodkas on every table. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with a wedge of iceberg with blue cheese, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Burgundy that arrived too cold and rewarded patience, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: beef tongue and short rib, the dish that puts Kachka on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — Russian-Georgian beef preparations, all in one room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for thick-cut onion rings, stacked and skin-on fries, twice-fried. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

Some places earn their reputation. Kachka earns it twice over.