There are people who might never find Billie-Jean, much to the delight of devotées who want to keep it a secret. The small black-on-black storefront is so nondescript, the signage placed so high on the ebon awning, that the best directions might be “right between Sadie’s Alterations and Protzel’s Deli.”
The 32-seat restaurant is a tribute to owner Zoë Robinson’s parents. It joins Robinson’s other two restaurants, I Fratellini and Bar Les Frères, on Wydown Boulevard. As to a stellar black hole, you’re drawn inside, to subtle shades of black: walls, ceiling, banquette…even the kitchen equipment. A series of spotlighted Robert Motherwell prints lines the seats along the dominant wall, above tables of two and four. The only pops of color are the simple fronds of green atop the white-clothed tables where chef Ny Vongsaly mixes such longtime favorites as mahogany-glazed spare ribs with potential new classics like a lemongrass–and–lime leaf pork dumpling soup. Robinson dresses down the fine napery with servers dressed in Billie-Jean-the-song-themed “lover not my lover”–emblazoned T-shirts, cardigans, and gas station jumpsuits—as well as Adidas and Vans sneakers.
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From the connotative name to the playful uniforms to the music (which meanders from the King of Pop to Pitbull as the evening progresses), Robinson and staff are playing a different tune. “She told me her name was Billie Jean, as she caused a scene.” You’ll find yourself singing the song—and the restaurant’s praises.
