The South Asian food scene in New York isn’t just heating up; it’s truly hit a fever pitch. In a world where the New York Times calls Semma #1 on their top 100 restaurant lists, I think the cuisine has hit critical mass in its attention.
Making a ranked list of 100 restaurants will always leave itself open to criticism, as numerous gems are left out, and one such gem is Lungi: a Sri Lankan restaurant on the Upper East Side, which has recently made Michelin’s Bib Gourmand list. I’ll leave my thoughts on everyone’s lists for another piece, but I don’t think I’ve ever been faced with a place on a Michelin list of any kind that was a miss, and this continues the trend.
Lungi is one of those unique restaurants that offers a menu similar but unique from any other South Asian restaurant in New York. Lungi is helmed by Chef Albin Vincent, who hails from Kanyakumari, India, and has strong connections to Sri Lanka. It’s one of the few restaurants in the city that dives deep into Sri Lankan home cooking and street food, balancing spice, soul, and storytelling in every dish. I have it on good authority (from someone from Sri Lanka) that the main place to get good Sri Lankan food in NYC is Staten Island, and to be honest, how often are any of us New Yorkers taking a ferry down there anyway?
Now, onto the meal, which we began with the mutton roll, a golden croquette-like parcel that set the tone for everything to follow. Crisp on the outside, yielding to spiced, finely textured meat within, it was one of those starters you immediately want to order again before you’ve finished the first.
From there, the Pepper Yera Varuval arrived. The prawns were tender, coated in a peppery spice blend that left heat lingering on the palate without overwhelming it. Each bite struck that elusive balance between fire and delicacy. Most importantly, the prawns were perfectly cooked. Often at any South Asian style restaurant, shrimps and prawns are often overcooked and covered in spices, which helps to overlook the lack of finesse, but not here. To me, this is always an encouraging mark that the chef helming the restaurant runs a tidy and professional kitchen worthy of NYC prices.
The standout of the night, however, was the short rib black curry. Deeply spiced, unflinchingly bold, and impossibly tender, the meat surrendered with barely a nudge of the fork. The flavors unfurled slowly, layer by layer, with an intensity that stayed with me long after the last bite. For diners with a low tolerance for spice, this dish demands a good bit of caution—but for those willing to embrace it, it’s a dish that borders on unforgettable.
The hopper provided a gentle interlude: a delicate bowl-shaped “crepe”, its lacy, paper-thin edges giving way to a thicker, almost star-like center. There was a subtle sweetness to it—soft and milky—that made it feel both rustic and refined.
Then came the chicken lamprais, a Sri Lankan specialty served in a banana leaf, its contents a feast in miniature. Inside: richly flavored rice studded with chicken, a boiled egg, a fish cake, and braised eggplant. The components mingled but never muddled—each distinct, each perfectly cooked. The rice was perfectly cooked and spiced, set in the center, with the different stars of the dish perfectly situated in the corners of the plate, even after the banana leaf was unfurled. Everything was cooked incredibly well, even the eggplant, which I usually avoid, was so luscious and savory that I found myself wishing for more. It was a dish that felt both celebratory and comforting, like opening a carefully wrapped gift.
For drinks, we had the Caribbean Sean and the Inji Margarita, made for a fitting accompaniment—both vibrant, spiced, and refreshingly unsweet. They didn’t steal attention away from the food, but rather added subtle accents, the way good cocktails should.
I love writing about restaurants, and I believe, for the most part, I take it quite seriously. An example of that is how I often invite someone familiar with the cuisine to dine with me to ensure I come to the restaurant with an educated perspective, especially if it’s something I’m unfamiliar with, such as Sri Lankan cuisine. My company for this evening, who again was Sri Lankan, liked it so much, she went as far as to recommend it to other Sri Lankans to try. And more importantly, they liked it too. I know I loved it, but when natives of that cuisine are enjoying it and recommending it, that is the biggest and most resounding seal of approval I or any other writer could ever give.
