Today’s column was meant to be a hand-holding skip through Kwãnt, where I understand a combination of the name, the precision and price of the menu, and the great big bouncer scowling on the door can all be a little intimidating. I would have heard your concerns, nodded thoughtfully, and then, instead of trying to decipher the difference between amaros, I’d have cheated and asked owner Erik Lorincz to take care of everything.
Only at dusk, as I was striding purposefully to Kwãnt’s new home on Stratton Street, I got lost, and found myself grateful that Chinatown still has restaurants that serve come 2am and don’t look too closely at your eyes. Kwãnt — the thing to say is “quaint” by the way— can wait.
