Harlem is probably the last place in New York City where you would expect to find a Thai-Latin fusion restaurant. Such culinary blending seems like it would find a natural home in a place like Sunnyside, Queens, where it is possible to purchase a café con leche and a bottle of fish sauce at the same little corner shop. But executive chefs Phet Schwader and King Phojanakong are gambling that Manhattan is where the concept will flourish.

Talay, which means ‘waterfront’ in Thai, occupies a massive space with views of the Hudson River and the Henry Hudson Parkway; the building plays host to three bars, stacked one atop another, and a bamboo-and-bling sunken dining room where most of the room’s light comes from blazing blue and green LED tracks that ring the space. Every inch of the restaurant, from the foyer to the bathrooms, feels like a nightclub. And perhaps this is the intention–the loudness of the ambient music and the pounding seismic bass rhythms certainly do give the impression that Talay’s primary focus is drinking, not dining.

Thankfully, the food makes up for much of the discomfort of having to shout across the table. Talay’s menu is split into large and small plates, with all food delivered at once–no traditional courses, no traditional pacing. This works well if you can create your own meal tempo by ordering dishes that require a bit of a wait, like the smoky-sweet arroz valenciana (pictured left, $24 as a main dish), a delightful Filipino-influenced take on paella, loaded with savory sausage chunks and plump shrimp; along with a few others that take less time, like the tart and ultra-garlicky Thai beef salad with shredded green papaya and green apple (pictured on Flickr, $11) an acid-trip hybrid of a fajita and som tum. Or even the simple, crunchy wok roasted bok choi (pictured on Flickr, $8).

The unusual non-rhythm of the meal made us realize early on that, if you are not careful, it is possible to order an entire meal and have everything served to you within five minutes. For diners in a hurry, this works out beautifully, but if lingering is more your style, we’d recommend hanging on to a menu and staggering the meal, tapas-style.

One dish that arrived quickly was the crispy shrimp with fried plantain discs (pictured right, $12), a winning combination of tender, sugary plantains with several super-crunchy deep-fried shrimp. While the shrimp were intended to be the stars of the small plate, the plantains were the best thing about this dish. We would love to see the quantities inverted, especially as the plantains really do emphasize the Latin elements of the menu, elements that are sometimes tricky to locate.

One example of this is the ginger cod and rice noodle special (pictured left, $19), a large plate featuring a generous eclair-sized fillet of marinated cod atop a pile of toothsome rice vermicelli. Staring at the plate, none of the three people at our table could figure out the Latin influence in the dish, but one bite of the buttery, moist cod and we spotted the adobo rub, albeit one made with a generous handful of aromatic Asian spices. On the other hand, the Thai elements were there for the smelling–it is hard to ignore the mule-kick of an intense ginger-galangal broth as rich and concentrated as the one drizzled over the cod. Not that you would want to; all the flavors worked splendidly together, even down to the unexpected and tart garnish of two pickled ramps. Even though this dish was one of the evening’s specials, and not a permanent menu item, it typifies what Talay is ultimately all about: creative and playful fusion food that does not take itself too seriously. It is a concept that pays great dividends–despite a venue that reads as more Limelight than lime leaves.

Talay, 701 W. 135th Street (at Twelfth Avenue), 212-491-8300.

This weekend, TVGal and I left Nosher in Hell’s Kitchen with his reading and embarked upon a quest to find some great Southern cooking in New York. TVGal, a die-hard Brooklynite, had a few recommendations in Kings County, but in the end, we ended up meeting in Harlem, a neighborhood with a perhaps unsurpassed concentration of Southern and soul food cooking. I had heard of a few of the best-known purveyors of soul food in the area, such as Sylvia’s, Miss Maude’s, and Miss Mamie’s Spoonbread restaurants, but TVGal had eaten at Amy Ruth’s before and was stark-raving mad about returning there, so to how could I argue?

Named after the proprietor’s grandmother, at whose Alabama home he spent childhood summers learning all the restaurant’s recipes, Amy Ruth’s is a Harlem institution. We arrived late Saturday morning– still early for brunch in New York– and found a long line of people already behind a velvet rope, waiting for a chance to enter this temple of home cooking. The clientele at Amy Ruth’s is a cross section of this diverse part of New York: black and white, young and old; everyone seems to go to Amy Ruth’s, and everyone receives an equally warm reception from the hostess at the door.

Menu items all bear the names of prominent African-American cultural and political figures: the Atty. Michael A Hardy (Savory Turkey Meatloaf), the Dr. Walter I. Delph (Fisherman’s Platter), and I swear I saw a Miss Beyonce Knowles sandwich, but then again, there was a mind-boggling array of dishes on the roster, so I can’t really be sure. While TVGal and I made up our minds about what to eat for lunch, we made short order of the moist yet crumbly cornbread and ordered drinks: one glass of the restaurant’s famous homemade lemonade and another of the Kool-Aid of the day (on Saturday, it was lime).

TVGal hemmed and hawed over her order while regaling me with a very entertaining story about her recent dismal speed dating experience. She finally chose a classic, the Rev. Al Sharpton ($10.95), which turns out to be chicken (fried or smothered–you can get most chicken dishes here prepared either way) served on a crispy-on-the-outside, fluffy-as-a-pillow inside, freshly made waffle. I watched as she poured a long, slow rivulet of Amy Ruth’s homemade syrup over the whole thing. TVGal also opted for the fried, dark-meat-only chicken (you get a choice of white or dark, too) because, she told me later, she often finds white meat often disappointingly dry. She needn’t have worried.

My order of Councilman Bill Perkins ($13.95)– Southern fried chicked dipped in honey from Amy Ruth’s own bees (the restaurant’s apparently illegal rooftop apiary is the subject of much discussion) was nothing but tender and juicy below incredibly crispy, sweet and sticky skin. While I usually shy away from ordering chicken in restaurants–I remember the mother of one of my exes wagging her finger and braying, “Never order chicken out because you can get it at home.” That relationship ended in the late 90s, but the dictum has stayed with me– this was clearly a case where an exception had to be made. And I think now this was one of the most successful fried chickens I have tasted. My only problem was finding enough napkins to deal with the honey which, in spite of my best efforts, I managed to get absolutely everywhere. Speaking of the home-cultivated honey, you can buy jars of it yourself at the restaurant ($10 for a small jar), just in case your hands aren’t tacky enough by the time you leave.

But believe it or not, even these delectable main dishes were outshone by the variety and consistency of the side dishes, two of which are offered as accompaniments to most of the entrees. We both went for the macaroni and cheese, which arrived baked and piping hot, part creamy and part crusty– more like a casserole that can be sliced into squares than the soupy, stew-like mac n’ cheese that finds its unfortunate way onto New York restaurant tables under the guise of ‘comfort food.’ We also made sure to order a side of candied yams, which came as hot as the chicken, slightly flaky and approaching the color of garnets.

Regrettably, we had no room left for dessert, a real tragedy given the looks on the faces of the diners around us happily making their way through sweet potato pies and red velvet cakes. But portion sizes at Amy Ruth’s are Olympian, and I had barely gotten over the previous night’s adventure at Soba Koh. Skipping dessert was probably the only thing that kept the restaurant’s management from having to roll me out of there like Violet Beauregarde. Looking back, there was very little at Amy Ruth’s not to like: from the pretention-free service and honest Southern cooking, to the emphasis on homemade ingredients, to the at-times raucous atmosphere, I am itching to go back and try something else (like the short ribs: another TVGal recommendation). On the other hand, Harlem has so many good places to eat these days, I really feel spoiled for choice.

Amy Ruth’s Home Style Southern Cuisine, 113 West 116th Street (at Lenox Avenue, also known as Malcolm X Blvd.), 212-280-8779