The super popular Salt & Straw has finally opened in NYC

Salt & Straw — a national chain of quirky ice cream shops based in Portland, Oregon, backed by Danny Meyer — launched its first Big Apple spot at 360 Amsterdam Ave. last month to breathless media excitement.

But his weirdest desserts should have stayed in Portland, a city with perhaps the most important culinary scene in the country.

Some “salt and straw classics” like double vanilla are good, even at $21.20 for two double-scoop waffle cones.

The vanilla is deliciously creamy, but the flavor is one-dimensional compared to the airier, rum-and-nutmeg-tinged Madagascar vanilla at the Gelato Factory a block away on Broadway.

Salt & Straw is a long, airy Upper West Side storefront, as icy as a frozen food aisle, adorned with a mural by Brooklyn-based artist Dan Funderburgh. (They really are in New York, get it?) Despite Eater.com’s warning to “be prepared for long lines,” I saw no crowds on my three visits.

Salt & Straw traffics in the unknown repertoire of the ice cream world—a palate-punishing style typified by the infamous Fernet Branca ice cream sandwich at the old Pearl & Ash. It tasted worse than actual Italian digestif.

At least S&S creations are based on foods you like in the real world.

But there was no joy in the “pastrami on rye,” where butterscotch ice cream is topped with pastrami sourced from Carnegie Deli. The only distinct flavor I detected was mustard. The meat scraps “turn to dust,” my horrified colleague said.

At least another New York-themed flavor, “pistachio ricotta,” had no savory overload to overwhelm the indulgent sweetness (these things are supposed to be desserts, after all).

But that’s a trick: if I’m craving pistachio ricotta, I’ll find the real thing at an Italian bakery.

I loved the caramel ribbon sea salt on the “classic” list. This is what great ice cream once meant, an unquestionable delight in the interplay of sweet flavor and texture. Fleur de sel from Guatemala and hand-burnt dark caramel are partners in simple pleasure that cannot be compared to laboratory tricks.

Whatever flavor you order, give it time to melt for a few minutes. Varieties sold by the pint or by the spoon or cup were almost frozen, a condition that dilutes the good, the bad and the indescribable.

The venue hits the bottom of this month’s special Halloween lineup. The Pumpkin Jack o’ Lantern is comparable to any Starbucks Pumpkin Latte.

But “Candytopia” lays a minefield of Kit Kat, Reese’s, Heath Bar and Snickers fragments beneath a salted butter ice cream that would be great on its own. The candies, some hard enough to damage a tooth, surprisingly all tasted the same.

And beware the Creepy Crawlies at all costs. I don’t know if the candied insect fragments under the matcha ice cream were chocolate-covered crickets or fragile coffee mealworms—but the happily dead organisms felt like they were squirming on my tongue and down my throat.

I threw the whole thing away before taking the time to investigate – and you probably will too.