The food arrives, lush with fresh herbs, mint and cilantro gradually releasing their crispness into hot broth amid a tangle of noodles. Rau ram, or Vietnamese coriander, creeps up the side of a bowl like ivy; a vertical papaya salad wears a crown of dill. The herbs are in the cocktails, too, potions of lemongrass gin and curry-infused bourbon, sprigs clipped to the side of the glass with cunning miniature wood clothespins. This room is a berth, in deep greens and blues, jungle fronds painted on a dark wall that opens to reveal chef Rachel Miller’s kitchen. The restaurant’s neon sign pulses, delightedly anatomical, the logo a flower with petals proudly spread.