Marcus Samuelsson is the celebrity chef behind Marcus B&P in Newark. (Liz Clayman)

By Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media

A celebrity chef opened a restaurant in Newark, and we're all still trying to figure out what it means.

For Newark and the state, it at least means someone from outside likes us, really likes us! (Are you listening, Amazon?) It's also another sign of the new Newark story being told — development is up, crime is down and there's lots to see and do here in this city that was once called the unfriendliest place in the world.

For Marcus Samuelsson, it means doing what he's done before. When the Food Network chef opened his restaurant Red Rooster in Harlem in 2010, some called him crazy, imagining that Manhattan diners wouldn't venture there, even for a superstar who served the Obamas’ first state dinner. Try to get a table at Red Rooster today and you'll see who got the last laugh.

It also means being a mentor, filling 80 percent of his staff with Newark residents, trying to give back and shunning that whole “celebrity” thing.

When I ask about the pressure of being dubbed “a restaurant that’s going to transform the city,” Samuelsson demurs, remembering how he got here. The Ethiopian-born chef was adopted by a Swedish family and worked in Europe before finding fame in NYC.

"I still remember the day I came to this country with 300 bucks," he says with a laugh. "Now that was pressure."

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The bar at Marcus B&P. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

'Twas the night of the Bon Jovi concert

When our bartender asked us if we were here for the show, we were perplexed and intrigued.

"What show?" I replied, excited.

"Bon Jovi," he said. "He's at the Prudential Center."

That's when I finally noticed the above-average quotient of leather jackets — then the chokers, ripped jeans, airbrushed T-shirts. Time stopped. It all made sense.

I sat in awe of these folks who exist in what I imagine is the Venn diagram sliver of people who have good taste in new restaurants and people who freaking love Bon Jovi — until I went to the bathroom and was smacked (figuratively) right out of my smugness.

On the wall, below the Naughty By Nature and Whitney Houston albums, was, of course, Jon Bon Jovi, appearing like a ghost, rebuking me for being a snob.

Lesson: Marcus B&P is a restaurant for everybody.

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(Liz Clayman)

What in the heck is a B&P, anyway?

Back pocket. And also bar & provisions. My advice — don't get too caught up in this.

Here's how the website explains it: "Named for the Swedish concept of BP or 'back pocket,' this is a spot where you can meet your family, friends, or coworkers at the Bar (the 'B') or take home some delicious locally grown Provisions (the 'P') any night of the week."

Do check out some of the local "provisions" for sale, like the Mazi piri piri sauce, an award-winning Portuguese hot sauce made in Asbury Park.

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A peek inside the dining room. (Liz Clayman)

Newark-inspired flavors -- and a trip around the world

There is such variety on the menu — pizza, fried chicken, steak, pasta, ribs, seafood and even a spicy meatball — it's almost confusing, until you realize there are two things going on here: Newark-inspired flavors (Italian, Portuguese and soul food notes) and Marcus-inspired flavors (that signature cornbread, fried chicken and Ethiopian spices).

Even Google isn't sure what to make of it, labeling the restaurant "Mediterranean" when you call up its listing. Ehh, not quite.

I'll give the same advice here as I gave about trying to figure out the "B&P" concept: Don't. It doesn't matter. Just eat, because everything is so damn delicious, and the whole night will be like a trip around the world from right here in Newark.

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Local art hangs from the walls. (Liz Clayman)

The vibe

Marcus B&P is not cozy or intimate or precious — it's casual, hip and food-focused. Chefs towels (those white cloths with the blue stripe down the middle) replace napkins. Pizza stands help make more room on the small tables. It all screams: You. Are. Here. To. Eat.

We're in the newly redeveloped Hahne building. Whole Foods is inside. NJPAC and Rutgers-Newark are around the corner. Audible's headquarters are a few blocks away. It may well be ground zero of the changing Newark.

The restaurant is teeny-tiny compared to Red Rooster, which seats more than 200. There's a blue-lit bar with a cool oxidized copper top, a few booths and then several tables in the small dining room space just outside an open kitchen.

In addition to the Jersey artist albums in the bathroom, a poster of Lauryn Hill hangs in the dining room. Joining her on the walls are gorgeous black-and-white portraits of Red Rooster regulars and lots of cool modern art.

There's an industrial vibe, too: chandeliers made with rope and Edison bulbs; giant elevator gears salvaged during the remodel of the building; and subway and hexagon tiles that make it all sort of train-station-y.

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The Ironbound and the Halsey hooch. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

What to drink

Your options are beers (including a few on draft with some local options), signature cocktails (almost all priced at $12) and a handful of wines by the glass or bottle.

From the cocktail list, we liked the Halsey Hooch (the only cocktail that's $9) with whiskey, sage and Ethiopian honey wine, muddled with berries – strong and not too sweet.

"Marcus has been obsessed with hooch the past couple of years," Executive Chef James Bowen says.

But the bartender screwed up our first round: We ordered the hooch and the Ironbound (tequila, ginger, pineapple and lime, topped with fernet), when I realized my drink tasted like whiskey and my friend's tasted like tequila. The bartender had simply swapped the liquors and apologized when we pointed it out.

We ordered a replacement round that he got right, but I was surprised we were charged for all four drinks, given the mix-up and how pricey they are.

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The cornbread is perfect in every way. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

The crunchy cornbread

Because there was a wait, we started at the bar with the cornbread ($6), and the chicken and waffles ($11). Both were damn near perfect.

The cornbread was baked in one of those little cast-iron skillets and served upside down. It was warm and crunchy and not too cakey. It reminded me, in the best way, of one of those Thomas corn muffin tops you toast. The cornbread was served with visible salt flakes, whipped butter and made-in-Jersey Tassot honey.

Knowing we were sampling lots of things on the menu, I tried to hold myself back from finishing it to save room, but I just couldn't.

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Plantains in the waffle batter add a sweet touch to the chicken & waffles. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

The chicken & waffles

It's only a few bites big, but they're great bites.

Here they've added plantains to the waffle mix, which makes the waffle nice and sweet. Then the chicken is fried and covered in a sauce made with Portuguese piri piri (like a hot sauce), honey and olive oil.

It was more sweet and sour than spicy, and topped with fresh cabbage for crunch.

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I can't wait to go back for the Dorowat rigatoni. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

The rigatoni that will mess with your mind

I'm Italian; this ain't my first rigatoni.

The Dorowat rigatoni looked like a million other pasta dishes I've had, but a bite later, I was in a whole new world.

Looks like tomato sauce. It's not. It's chicken and sweet potatoes stewed and seasoned with berbere — an Ethiopian spice mix near and dear to Samuelsson's heart. (It's made of a dozen different spices, including chilis, ginger, fenugreek, cardamom, paprika, cinnamon and others.)

Looks like ricotta. It's not. It's ayib — a queso fresco-like Ethiopian cheese, made in house.

This dish had warmth and depth and spice, and the chicken falls apart. This is the plate I cannot wait to go back for.

"The chicken and the spicy berbere, these are the drumbeats of Ethiopian cooking," Samuelsson says.

Samuelsson says adding the pasta is a homey addition, something he had in his back pocket for cooking for his family or for staff meal, but he hadn't put it on a restaurant menu.

My only gripe? I want MORE, especially for $21. (What you see above is the untouched portion, with a spoon for scale.)

Thankfully, the waiter surprised me by bagging the four last noodles I left on the plate, a discovery I made the next morning. I squealed and then ate them for breakfast.

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A tower of beef ribs, anyone? (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

The Brontosaurus-sized ribs

We had already eaten so much when the giant pile of seven beef ribs stacked log-cabin style were propped up on a pizza stand at our table. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or proud.

A bite later, I didn't care. I was going in, using my hands, sauce everywhere, and they were so tasty.

Not only were the brontosaurus-sized ribs ($52 - portioned for two people) cooked perfectly, with yummy bits of fat still on them (these are the ribs attached to a ribeye), but they sat above a pool of sticky-sweet caramel soy sauce and were dressed up with Fresno chili peppers, fried shallots, scallions and coriander seeds.

The way they stood up from the sauce made for a choose-your-own-adventure situation — would you just dip a toe in or dive deep? Up to you.

Samuelsson credits the flavor of the dish to braising.

"Chefs go to it all the time. Cooking on the bones. There’s a reward for that, right?" he says. "That’s what that dish is. You want to suck on the bones. You want to go back and double dip in the sauce. It gets sticky on your fingers a little bit. I’m getting greasy, I’m putting my elbows up, but in a chic way."

My friend, a home cook herself, asked to keep the bones, lying to a bus person about how she has a dog. Truthfully, she was taking them home to make a bone broth.

When I tell this story to Samuelsson, he is absolutely tickled.

"She’s my favorite guest of all time!" he says. "We need her picture, and she should be next to Bon Jovi in the bathroom. Every chef would love that. She gets it. She totally gets it."

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Putting the 'festival' in the 'festival fried chicken'

I thought we had made a scene by ordering the ribs.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared a Roman-candle-like sparkler atop a chicken atop a full-size cutting board being ceremoniously carried to a table.

"A birthday?" I asked our waiter. He smiled and shook his head.

That was the moment I remembered the menu had called it the "festival" fried chicken. We had just witnessed the festival.

There was no bottle service. There was no birthday. Just a spatchcocked fried chicken and two embarrassed yet delighted people, one struggling to get his iPhone out in time to record it before the sparkler inevitably died (he was too late), and the rest of us staring and mouthing "Wow!"

The whole thing is the finale of the "downtown feast" $35 prix fixe. It comes with several other courses, including the cornbread, a salad and a Ramen-style noodle bowl.

I don’t care if it’s a gimmick or even a fire hazard. It was so fun. Kids would love it. And it made for some drama in the dining room.

"I want it to be festive to be in the restaurant because the ingredients that we pick are very simple," Samuelsson says. "So where’s the up? Where’s the celebration? It’s not only the execution, but also how we deliver it, with a sense of joy and tongue-in-cheek. In that experience you get reminded: This is why I went out tonight. This is why I put that dress on. I see you. Maybe some people think it's tacky. I think it’s fun. We're creating a level of memory."

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The 973 pizza is topped with Taylor ham, egg yolk, cheddar and chili oil. (Liz Clayman)

Here's what a famous chef thinks of Taylor ham

Did I mention there's pizza?

Several kinds, in fact. We had a lovely margarita pie, with fresh, tart sauce and done right with those signature Neapolitan black bubbles on the crust, made by the restaurant's Izzo electric (believe it) oven.

The real hit is the 973 pizza, topped with Taylor ham, egg yolk, cheddar and chili oil.

What does a celebrity chef like Samuelsson think of Taylor ham as an ingredient?

"We do the homework about the place where we’re cooking, and it's somewhere I have the most fun," he says.

After his 15th or so visit to the Ironbound, he started to ask: "What's the low-end food? What's Joe who drives the truck eating? What do the kids have after they're drunk?"

Enter Taylor ham.

Chef Bowen describes it as "the best bologna in the world" and said it reminds him of the fried bologna his grandma used to make.

"The very first time I had it I’m like, 'Hmm Spam, OK,'" Samuelsson says. "I said let's not do it as a regular sandwich. Let's slice it and put it on the pizza. It's a fun way to acknowledge it and do it with a wink-wink. We're not putting a precious note on it."

When I ask if Taylor ham would ever make the state dinner menu, Samuelsson just laughs.

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This chocolate brownie dessert was a fudgy delight. (Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

Dessert, if you have any room left

We tried the Dorthaan's mini donuts, which tasted like zeppolis and are made from pizza dough. They were warm, tossed in powdered sugar and espresso (the latter helped keep them from being too sweet), and served with an airy banana pudding.

For chocolate lovers (ahem, me), there was a nearly flourless chocolate brownie, covered in chocolate sauce, caramel and toasted coconut. Fudgy, rich goodness.

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Patrons can grab a quick bite at the bar. (Liz Clayman)

The service

Our adorable waiter, also named Marcus, joked that he was the Marcus — at least when the Marcus isn't around. He had an infectious enthusiasm, was totally on his game and seemed like he was eating vicariously through us, excited by each item we ordered. One time, he passed us while shuttling a heavy, dirty bus pan and then literally took three steps backward to ask if we needed anything.

He was also so thrilled when we took his suggestion of the potato salad, which we hadn't planned to order. What a great choice, though: It was crunchy but at the same time creamy — and warm, with bites of peppers and onions and crispy bits of skin.

Instead of mealy potatoes turned soup-like with mayonnaise and served cold, these are boiled, smashed and fried, and never go back in the fridge, Samuelsson says.

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The Laurel salad. (Liz Clayman)

Next time

Oh, I'll be back. Especially for Sunday Jazz Brunch, where the Dorowat chicken is served with an egg over the cornbread.

For dinner, I would try the festival fried chicken, Mangalista pork chop (a regular special), the spicy meatball and the tempura broccoli, which was also dinosaur-sized.

Also, the Laurel garden salad (in photo) has gotten raves on Yelp.

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The street view. (Liz Clayman)

Hours, location, other details

Marcus B&P is in the Hahne building at 56 Halsey St. in Newark.

Hours are 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Monday to Thursday; 11 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. Friday; 5 p.m. to 11 p.m. Saturday; 11:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. Sunday, with brunch until 3 p.m.

There's a DJ on Friday nights and a jazz band for Sunday morning brunch. They also do outside catering.

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(Liz Clayman)

Marcus Samuelsson <3's N.J.

To open Marcus B&P, Samuelsson went method. He listened to Jersey artists nonstop, he ate in the Ironbound countless times, he came to terms with Taylor ham. He says if he weren't a chef, he'd like to be a roadie with Springsteen. I suggest it's a decent retirement plan.

I said we were grateful a celebrity chef was willing to cross that giant ocean New Yorkers call the Hudson River.

"When I was listening to Naughty by Nature as a kid, I always thought Newark was New York," he says.

Samuelsson was quick to defend the state at every turn.

"New Jersey has always been the bread basket for Manhattan," he says. "For resources and talent and culture and ingredients. Think of all the vegetables and produce we get, so much of it from New Jersey. Why not just plant a home in Newark and have a starting point?"

Amen.

And with that, and all the powers vested in a food critic at one of several media outlets in the state, I told Samuelsson I was making him an honorary New Jerseyan.

"Yes! Absolutely! I will accept!" he replied.

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A view of the Newark skyline at night. (Aristide Economopoulos | The Star-Ledger)

What does it mean that a celeb chef opened a restaurant in Newark?

In his memoir, Samuelsson talks about how his Harlem restaurant was received. He's stopped on the street twice, once by a guy who thanks him and says he's coming in to apply for a job; another man scolds him, seeing him as the tip of the gentrification iceberg, telling him he's the reason the rent in Harlem is up.

How do you open a restaurant and help to improve a city while also not alienating the locals? It's what keeps Samuelsson up at night.

He hopes Marcus B&P can straddle the line — for a few bucks you can have a beer and a bite at the bar or you can go big and really settle in for a destination restaurant meal.

And it is a destination. My dining companion and I thought about the last times we were in Newark — if you're not working or living in the city, you come for the airport, to see something at the Prudential Center or for Portuguese food.

Could Samuelsson be the start of a different culinary story in the city? One that draws folks in from, dare I say, the suburbs, while still feeding the lifelong residents, the young folks working at Audible, the older crowd heading to NJPAC and, of course, the Bon Jovi fans?

Would his restaurant bring you out to Newark for dinner?

It should.

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(Jessica Remo | NJ Advance Media)

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Jessica Remo may be reached at jremo@njadvancemedia.com. Follow her on Twitter @JessicaRemoNJ. Find NJ.com on Facebook.