Madaleine Mae

461 Columbus Ave at 82nd St (212-496-3000). Subway: B, C to 81st St–Museum of Natural History. Mon–Thu 8am–11pm; Fri 8am–midnight; Sat 8am–midnight; Sun 8am–10pm. Average main course: $22.

Chop Suey

714 Seventh Ave between 47th and 48th Sts (212-261-5200). Subway: N, R, W to 49th St. Daily 6:30–11:15am, noon–2pm, 5–9:45pm. Average main course: $30.

Butterscotch pudding with caramelized bananas at Madaleine Mae

Photograph: Jeff Gurwin

Aside from backup NFL quarterback and vice president of the United States, the world’s cushiest job must be “consulting chef.” If the restaurant succeeds, take a bow; if it fails, not your fault! Plus, you make money designing a menu and don’t have to quit your day job to do it—enticement enough for two of New York’s best, Jonathan Waxman and Zak Pelaccio, who recently traded their chef’s hats for respective consulting gigs at the Southern-fried Madaleine Mae and the East-tilting Chop Suey.

While neither spot lives up to its consultant’s reputation, Madaleine Mae is easily the better of the two. Located on Columbus Avenue just north of the Museum of Natural History, it’s not much to look at: a gussied-up one-room saloon, the bar occupying the entire back wall, TV on and rock music blaring, with narrow wooden tables filling the darkly lit dining area.

No doubt influenced by the recent expansion of his West Village restaurant Barbuto to Guadeloupe in the Caribbean, Waxman’s drink of choice (though not mine) at Madaleine Mae are a dozen or so infused rums—insipidly dubbed “rhum cures” for their purported medical benefits, including potency. Served warm and strong in large tumblers, they include the “Restoration,” a juniper-and-ginger-laced version that tasted like a holiday candle, and a vanilla-and-cinnamon number, the “Amour pur,” that burned in my mouth like an Atomic FireBall.

The drinks’ Caribbean bent is a bit of a stretch given the Louisiana-centric menu—half Southern, half Creole. Waxman, an early Alice Waters less-is-more acolyte, seems oddly cast here in artery-clog land. The backstory: He’s helping his longtime Barbuto deputy, executive chef Andrew Curren. Despite Waxman’s guiding hand, the results are extremely erratic.

The good news and the bad are lumped together—literally. Lots of Creole dishes means lots of shrimp, whether the plump-and-juicy peel-and-eat variety, humorously served on the New York Post, or the four big boys packed into a memorable gumbo with a creamy bisque consistency—still more crustaceans commingled with tiny cubes of ham in a peppery but unfortunately burnt jambalaya.

Chop Suey

Photograph: Jeff Gurwin

Also overcooked was the fried-chicken entrée, which was cloaked in a charred, fork-resistant coating—shameful for a Southern restaurant. A better crust: The toasty crushed pecans enveloping a slightly overcooked redfish. Even the sides proved inconsistent: Sweet potatoes were as homespun as Mom’s pumpkin pie, while the bland, crustless macaroni and cheese was on par with a boxed version. The clear winner: haute biscuits and gravy. Bountiful shavings of cured country ham replace the usual chopped sausage, topping a thick gravy that tasted more like fine port than drippings. The chewy grilled buttermilk biscuit at the base of this delicious tower was merely an accent.

Pastry chef Mary-Catherine James (also Curren’s fiancée) is clearly the better half of this duo, with her velvety Jack Daniel’s-spiked butterscotch pudding covered in caramelized bananas, and downy carrot cupcake, slicked with warm cream-cheese frosting.

Chop Suey, meanwhile, has something going for it that’s far better than Zak Pelaccio’s reputation (which has been on the wane since he started consulting—or “advising,” as he calls it—at duds like 230 Fifth and Borough Food and Drink). That would be the view, which is among the best in the world. The fourth-floor sits smack above the heart of Times Square, the cars on Seventh Avenue and Broadway converging under your meal. When my waitress told me a window seat on New Year’s Eve runs $1,500, it nonetheless struck me as a bargain.

Too bad the food appears to be an afterthought. The Pan-Asian offerings from executive chef Anthony Paris, who worked with Pelaccio at Borough, underwhelm, no matter which part of the continent he focuses on. A version of Korean bibimbap is almost all rice, the poached egg and hints of cilantro and basil swallowed up like an atoll in a typhoon. Meanwhile, short rib, sliced thin, marinated until tender in ginger beer and grilled Korean-style, tasted completely of smoke; perhaps the accompanying marrowbone that was promised on the menu would have helped, but that element of the dish was “sold out” when I ordered.

There’s also a heavy dose of Chinese: vermicelli noodles covered with slices of “twice caramelized” roasted pork were little better than what you find at a Chinatown storefront (a problem at $16); and a fancy-pants congee, the dark, slightly acidic porridge filled with designer mushrooms, fell short of impressive. The best savory dish crossed Japanese—a delicate striped-bass fillet covered in a daikon foam and mushrooms—with Korean—a bed of kimchi puree that balanced subtlety and spice.

Like Madaleine Mae, the best was saved for last: a gorgeous pomegranate poached pear filled with green tea-cream—a world-class palate cleanser. A condensed-milk-soaked sponge cake mimics Vietnamese coffee and came off like an Asian tiramisu. A cinnamon crème brûlée, while far from haute, had the guilty-pleasure aspect of a brown-sugar Pop-Tart. The architect behind these desserts? The talented Will Goldfarb. Yes, as a consultant. Sometimes, the guest expert pays off; just not often enough.