Has it really been three years already? With its black walls, Edison lighting and hunky waiters, the long room still feels as terminally cool as the day it opened. Claudio Aprile’s science-kissed cooking hasn’t changed much, either: it is radically creative, comforting and risky all at once, even though many of his dishes ply the same narrow flavour band. The best of them layer high wire tastes and textures in familiar ways, and without too much gastromolecular futzing. One of the most memorable dishes is a hunk of sweet-chewy fluke sashimi, a pool of salty, citrusy yuzu and miso vinaigrette, and—the sole, superb concession to science-driven cooking—unassuming little dots of ultra-light avocado that fizz, as though they’ve been carbonated, on your tongue. The worst dish: tough lobster pieces and salted melon overlaid with a sheet of transmogrified “chorizo” that looks like époisses but tastes like mayonnaise mixed with liquid smoke. (Consistency has been a problem in the past year.) There are more than enough winners: the aged cheddar soup with brown butter and compressed green apples and white grapes deserves a monument. Savvy servers do double duty as chemists, whipping up nitrogen lemon ice cream tableside—the 21st-century equivalent of crêpe Suzette. Mains $18–$45.