HanGawi

One of the best things about eating and enjoying restaurants is the ability to pass on a great recommendation. And it is also a treasure to receive one and then make good on it. That is how our recent dinner at HanGawi came to be. “For special occasions,” said my co-worker Brett, who gave me the name of this Korean vegetarian “shrine”.

Special occasions indeed. For myself and Anjum (nee BF) it was a Friday night date. For at least three other tables there, a birthday. The wood-beamed, shoes-free temple-ish environment did two things: instantly transport you to another time and place (Zen temple 100 years ago) and create a peaceful calm in us.

After leaving your footware by the door, you are led across tatami-matted floors to low tables. The menu, all vegetarian, has delightful sounding items like Emperor Rolls and Vermicelli Genghis Khan. There are a number of treasures to be found: fresh plum juice, ginseng salad, crispy sweet and sour mushrooms (a real crowd-pleaser), and many different kinds of pancakes (leek, pumpkin, kimchee). The seasonal specialty was a Korean mountain root called todok. Like a more tender, much milder ginseng root, the meaty root was sliced and then grilled in soy ginger sauce and was quite tasty. It has, according to their menu, many medicinal properties that are appropriately vague such as strengthening blood, increasing energy, etc.

For dessert I ordered the ginger tea, which was strong and served with pinenuts, and blueberry coconut cake. Anjum went for toasted almond tofu ice cream (why dairy when you can tofu!) and the Royal Green Tea from Mt. Jilee. The grassy, mountainous brew is for only the most hardcore of green tea drinkers.

The whole experience was warm and delightful; we felt satisfied both in mind and body after this dining experience. What stood out as well was how well I slept that night and how good I felt the next morning. The post-dining glow instilled faith in me that all that ginseng and todok really do have medicinal properties, and those vague promises of 'health' hold some weight.

Where: 12 E32nd Street, between Fifth and Madison; 212-213-0077

Sokhna

Today's installment is filled on with many dos and one don't. It has has transportation instructions.

Getting there

This is the summer of 'The Bike'. I have been venturing out weekly on big expeditions, grazing along the way. Yesterday the itinerary took us up north along Riverside Drive (did you know there is a very old, very creepy graveyard at 155th and Riverside?) to Ft. Tyron Park (where a Mister Softee awaited). On the return, we crossed the George Washington bridge over to the Ft. Lee Historic Park on the Jersey side where there is a reenactment camp of colonial soldiers. Back in Manhattan, we decided to stop and check out some of the Chimichurri trucks (at least 6) parked along Amsterdam Ave. between 175th and 165th.

The Don't

La Vecina #1 is one of the many chimichurri trucks parked on the avenue. Like the others, it is tagged in graffiti and the menu is scratched out in places, but we could still read the offerings: Cerdo oreja, pata, corazon and every other yucky part of the pig. Also chimichurri torta, made with a wafer thin beef products (looked like a Steak'um to me). We went for one torta ($4), two limon jugos naturales ($2) and two fried beef empanadas ($1 each). Chimichurri - a type of South American sauce used for beef - in this case was Russian dressing with a few squirts of hot sauce. The limon was about four scoops of CountryTime on ice and the beef empanada? Who knows what was really inside. Anjum couldn't finish his, but I soldiered on. In the name of Belly Up.

I should mention, however, that the proprietor, who didn't speak English, was really nice and walked us through the pig parts by pointing to his ears, lips, etc..as I called them out from the menu. We had high expectations; taco trucks in the city are usually pretty decent. But this was a sore disappointment. The Vegas-like lights made these chimichurri trucks seem more enticing than the food really was. We walked a few block out of sight before dumping our too-sweet limon jugos and pedaled onwards. I patted my belly, silently apologizing that I am an 'adventure' eater and will try anything for the sake of a good blog post.

The Do

Redemption was on the horizon. We whipped down St. Nicholas Avenue, where there is a highway of a bike lane. Slowing at 135th, we noticed a large group gathered on the streets and parked on lawn chairs. What was happening? The Teddy Pendergrass Tribute concert! Luck was on our side! We parked it for a few minutes, wandered among the crowd and then slowly headed south again. Riding back through Harlem on a Saturday summer evening is tops, people were street-partying, street ball was being played, music blasting.

A strip of Senegalese restaurants on 116th street awaited. We chose Sokhna, for no other reason than it looked welcoming. The food gods were helping us redeem the chimichurri experience. Sokhna is a family restaurant, bustling with take out business, and has a television pumping out African hip hop at the back. We ordered the chicken brouchette platter ($9), a fresh, house-made bissap juice and ginger juice ($2 each). The platter can easily feed two people and the chicken was excellently tender and well-marinated. The accompanying mountain of cous cous, flecked with raisins and pinenuts, was topped with stewed onions and olives. A pile of spicy, pickled onions accompanied the brouchettes. We mopped up the salty jous with fresh white rolls. The juice was amazingly good - I was so sorry I didn't buy several to bring home. We also ordered a baobab juice. This is a specialty African fruit, when made into a juice is a thick, sweet milkshakey thing. I preferred the strong ginger juice. The grand total was $18 for the feast, without a doubt one of the best food deals I have encountered in the city.

Where: Sokhna, 225 West 116th Street, 212-864-0081

King Sauna

King Sauna Lounge.

What brings to mind a well-deserved pig out like hanging out naked with dozens of strangers? King Sauna, the reigning monarch of bimbibop and jimjibang, sure does.

I decided to make the most of a recent summer afternoon and treat myself to some TLC. Cheap TLC. I contemplated a Chinatown $1/minute massage followed by dim sum. But I hankered for something more adventerous.

It was then that King Sauna entered my radar. It is a massive Korean sauna/wet spa emporium in Palisades Park, NJ, where you can get scrubbed raw and slapped around by a couple of tough Korean ladies for a feeling like no other. TLC, the hard-core version.

The Koreans love saunas. And King Sauna aims to out-Korean all of them. To get there I took a 20-minute bus from Port Authority ($8.10 round trip). It is $35 for a day pass and they assigned me a locker, a towel, pink shorts and matching tee-shirt. After I stripped down and stopped feeling self-conscious (sort of), a spa attendant instructed to bathe on a little stool and then jump into one of the many tubs (hot, warm, cold). After I was soaked, I went for the body scrub or wet massage ($70 for both plus tip). A row of tables at the back of the 'wet' spa is where the real experience happens. The spa workers, wearing black lingerie as a uniform (not the sexy kind) use scrub mits to exfoliate you everywhere (yes, *everywhere* and big yucky rolls of old skin will literally fall off your body - gross huh) and then, through an almost-hostile massage, reinvigorate your circulation and muscles. It's bit like being reborn.

After an hour of abuse, they released me back to soak in the steam room or move on into the many sauna rooms. There is one room, the Mugwort room, which is quite possibly the most masochistic experience on earth. My lips started sweating and I felt I might die after about 60 seconds. I donned my pink outfit and moved into the more tolerable co-ed sauna rooms (a men's wet spa is seperate).

By this time, I had worked up some major hunger for a bowl of bimbibop. The lounge/restaurant offer some pink 'royal' seating arrangements where you can dine with other pink-tee-shirt clad spa goers. A bimbibop will cost you $8, and it's advisable to wash it down with a jug of water, and finish with a fresh papaya smoothie. After a relaxing meal while watching a Korean soap opera, I took one more spin through a sauna room, showered, and dressed. Three hours after arriving at King Sauna, I was sufficiently TLC'd and glowing like a newborn, all for the princely sum of less than $150.

Truck stop boom

There is a truck for every gourmande in Lower Manhattan these days (15 at last count), from the iconic joe vendors at the Mud Truck on Astor Place to the newly opened Van Leeuwen ice cream truck, which started dishing fancy scoops at Prince and Greene streets this week. Then there is The Dessert Truck, which exploded on to the eater scene last spring with a barrage of media attention.

But the ice-cream truck model has been around for decades, so why the boom now? These are not fresh-off-the-boat operations, people. These are legit businesses with a slew of MBA number crunching. (Pepto truck anyone? I put money on 48th and Park for that one.)

As I licked my tasty, if pricey, Slow Food scoop the other day, I pondered the boom. The Internet has revitalized the old park-and-sell model. Some web sites and blogs - such as Yum Tacos, Los Tacos Trucks and Taco Hunt - are dedicated to tracking and mapping the mobile kitchens (and their turf wars), freeing them from geographic confines.

Another reason, overhead is low. The young and hungry can start a business with elbow grease and truck rental.

And lastly, a food truck offers entreprenurial freedom and lifestyle that brings business back to basic. It is literally where the rubber hits the road. Except instead of schilling lemonade, it's lunch. For the record, the ice cream from Van Leeuwen is very good - much better than Grom - because it remains light, fresh and creamy without going overboard on sweetness and milkfat. I didn't have the scoop 'coma' that so often follows a heart-clogging lick. I recommend splurging the $3.75 on a scoop.

Dallas Jones Bar-B-Q

For those that understand bacon makes everything taste better: this is your mothership. And for you others, it's still a worthy satellite. This button-sized BBQ joint, which can seat 10 people max, is a taste of southern heaven on the south side of the West Village. It is the opposite of Dinosaur's bigger-than-life operation uptown (my other fave BBQ joint), but the taste is eyes-rolling-in-back-of-head delicious. I got an order of the St.Louis-style pork ribs (recommended by the super-nice waiter) with a side of collard greens and beans. It was accompanied by a corn muffin, which sadly I had no room for. There was pork grease running down my chin and the bacon bits in the chopped collard greens were so salty and tender that I ordered a second side of the vegetable dish. The beans were soaked in tomato sauce (maybe some ketchup?) but they brought the sweet to the bacon's salt. My pork-free BF went for the beef ribs and a quarter chicken, also drenched in their spicy sauce. Tasty! I was amazed/impressed that this little hole-in-the-wall kitchen produced such a mighty and authentic BBQ meal. When you've already well passed the 1,000-calorie meal mark, it's best to just pile it on. So we did. A pecan tart a la mode sealed the deal. Washed down with some lemonade, the whole mess came to $63 for both of us. Bottom line: good place to stuff your belly, but be prepared to spend the next few hours in a sticky food coma.

Where: 178 West Houston Street, 212-741-7390

Eighty One

Eighty One is not just the name and address of this new restaurant. It is also perhaps the age of many clientle. Their spiritual age at least. The new restaurant was opened several months ago by Ed Brown, formerly of the Sea Grill (see Go Belly Up review).

Frank Bruni issued two stars last Wednesday, and I was tucking into the acclaimed vitals on Thursday. You don't always have a chance to follow so closely on Bruni's coattails. My interest also veered into personal territory because it is located stumbling distance from my apartment.

So how was it? Well, it was very "Upper West Side-ish." Go figure. The food was an entirely separate issue from the restaurant. The food was very, very good, though not quite mind-blowingly good enough to merit its very expensive price tags (most entrees over $35).

Or rather, with the food at this price, there just seemed to be a little something missing. It's hard to say what that "something" was: the service was attentive and friendly, the food excellent, the desserts beautiful. The "something", I suspect, was atmosphere. The other diners were older, tight-faced doyennes and then, strangely, a huge stroller (the massive kind with a built-in mobile) was parked in the dining room (along with attendant baby). Buzz kill.

I don't know about you, but when I come to the Upper West Side, I want to be reminded of its cool parts: the park views, the planetarium, the intellectual aspects, the characters. It should be a respite from downtown, as the leafy north, rather than an uncomfortable stay with relatives you neither knew you had nor do you really want to be around. It's one-long dinner with the in-laws.

Granted, the front of the restaurant, with its sliver of window overlooking the Natural History museum, is more clubby and welcoming to young couples. Understandably, other reviews, including Bruni's, bypass the creepy dining room in favor of the bar area. This has atmosphere; one almost wishes the whole restaurant had its dark-paneled elegance throughout.

The food: I started with the Baby Montauk Calamari ($17), grilled tendrils dressed in a very spicy pimento, which were tender and succulent. The BF went for the Sea Scallop and Foie Gras Ravioli ($17), generous and buttery, but not the best foie ravioli I've ever had. It didn't have that pop in your mouth whereupon your limbs melt, eyes widen and you have a moment. But good. He also ordered the White Asparagus and Marinated Leeks ($19) which was also wonderful and I could very much taste the Spring season. I couldn't resist the special crispy soft shell crabs, which are being served everywhere for the next week or two (in season). And he ordered the Casco Bay Codfish, one of Chef Brown's signature dishes. It tasted refined, perfectly measured and above all a real-crowd pleaser. A totally inoffensive dish at the height of its perfection. For desserts, the Greek Yogurt Cheesecake, with berries, was fantastic.

My final verdict: do as Bruni, and sit at the bar to eat. The food is excellent, but the dining room might suffocate you.

Were: 45 West 81st Street, New York, NY, 212-873-8181

Maccu or Fava Bean Puree

What says recession more than dried beans? Exactly. In the spirit of economizing, I decided to venture more deeply into the dried legume department. Fava had come across my radar recently and so I bought a 10 oz. bag for about $4 at Whole Foods. I used this recipe from Cucina de Calabria by Mary Anabile Palmer as my guideline, but I made several major mistakes: I shelled the beans after cooking, not before, which was messy; I also sautéed the onion in olive oil and added to the cooked, shelled beans. I used sea salt with rosemary, and added a little water while pureeing. However, the result is delicious.

Crostini (or crackers)
10 ounces dried fava beans
1/2 small onion
2 tablespoons pecorino or Parmesean cheese
1 tablespoon olive oil (I used more like 3-4 tbsp.)
1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds
freshly ground pepper and sea salt

Soak the beans overnight. Drain and slip off the outer skins.

Put the beans and onion in a medium saucepan. Cover with cold water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover and cook for 3 1/2 hours to 4 hours or until beans are soft. Put in a food processor and pulse until beans are completely pureed. Add cheese, olive oil, fennel seeds and pepper. Mix well and serve on crostini.

Blue Hill v. Allen & Delancey

A&D has all the pretensions of the LES neighborhood it resides in. It tries to fly under the radar with a windowless, dimly lit interior of rustic details (read: rickety uncomfortable chairs) while still sweeping its Brit-styled snobbery all around. To wit, the beautiful yet dumb wait staff is not yet sure who to fawn over and how to do it. The food is a culinary fashion victim in the current taste for super-foodie things: fois gras with abandon (and not just a little, the whole goose it seems); tasteless sea scallops the size of albino hockey pucks and massive slice of fatty, chunky rabbit terrine served with a wee slice of toast. These appetizers were very large, which justified their exorbitant prices at least (but then were too big to leave sufficient room for the expensive entrée coming next). The main plates were quite small in contrast, which was baffling. They came and went without much anything remarkable (a bad thing, when you're paying $35 plus.) In short the meal was completely and utterly blah, veering towards bad.

In stark contrast is Blue Hill. On Monday night the West Village organic-seasonal resto was hopping. Tables were filled with a wide variety of people: older academics, a mother-and-son discussing a recently departed husband, a pair of pretty young German professionals and some rock-and-roll types squirreled into the back corner. We started with the fennel soup served with sweet Maine crab chunks and candied lemon ($10) and followed with fresh poached farm egg served over wild mushrooms and herb broth ($14). Freshness and delicacy reigns here; even hands in the kitchen render the dishes simple and succulent. My entrée of grilled hamachi with crispy green cabbage and mustard ($34) was fantastic; the fish was unbelievably fresh; it was delicately creamy and matched thrillingly with the surrounding mustard and mussel juice. Steamed cheesecake for dessert and wild mint tea completed the experience. Service was attentive and smiling, and it was all-in-all a class act at a top restaurant.

Here's the bottom line: Blue Hill is the real deal and A&D is a gauche knockoff.

Where: Allen & Delancey, 115 Allen Street, 212.253.5400
Blue Hill, 75 Washington Place, 212-539-1776

Ali's Kebab Cafe

Ali is a friend of a friend. The Alexandria native is also a local Steinway Ave. legend, which was cemented into fact by a recent appearance on "No Reservations" (after many mentions on food blogs and local magazines.) His Kebab Cafe anchors Astoria's Egypt row of hookah and kebab houses. Yesterday, he made us a special dinner for Easter: we started with pita and various dips, on to duck liver on lentils, marinated sardines, poached egg on braised lamb cheeks, sweetbreads with peppers, and then the piece de resistance: a spring lamb roasted with squash, potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, wild celery and herbs and spices. We finished with with a struffoli, from a nearby Italian bakery, which we brought ourselves. It was amazing; we were the only ones on the restaurant and Ali outdid himself with his amazing hospitality and muscular love of life and eating.

Where: 25-12 Steinway St., Queens, NY, 718-728-9858

Spicy Mina

Axel/Ben (the other belly in this blog) is a devoted reader of Chowhound and, as such, has been spearheading our Queens eating adventures. Last night: Spicy Mina, which is just a few blocks away from the Thai destination, Sriphiphai, where we went several weeks ago. Mina's is traditional Bangladeshi food and according to the message boards has an uneven reputation. Yet our meal last night was fantastic. Bangladeshi cuisine is similar to Indian food, but more lemongrass and ginger and less gravy. We ordered samosa chat ($5) to start, followed by fantastic chicken soup for two ($5) - make sure to generously add the fresh chopped green chilies in vinegar for heat - and then two mains: shok ponir, $9.95 (aka palak paneer or saag paneer and in English: spinach)and shrimp dopeaja, $15.95 and a couple of garlic nans. The total came to $46 before tip. The entrees were great; the shok panir was made with whole fresh spinach leaves, easy on the paneer, and dotted with red chilies. It was extremely fresh and unbelievably tasty. The shrimp was also full of flavor, with a spicy ginger sauce, and was perfect wrapped in a little nan. My only regret that there was not more sauce to mop up. For the most part the restaurant was quiet and the service was languid. No beer served, but they do have fresh lassi. We highly recommend trekking to Mina's!







Where: 64-23 Broadway, Woodside, Queens, NY, (718) 205-2340

Ed's Lobster Bar

There has been some recent excitement in my family. My father, who is semi-retired, has taken on geneology with gusto. In his research he found his mother's maternal grandmother, it appears, came from Russia and was a physician (and had a surname of Melowitz). In remarkable powers of extrapolation, we concluded she must have been a Jewess. Which confirms what I have always known deep down in my heart, that I am a Jewish! This is great news to me. No matter that I'm like 1/116 Jewish, I am still claiming it.

"I always knew it," said Ben (nee Axel). "Welcome! We're the best!"

Rebecca said, "it explains everything."

So in the spirit of my newly-discovered bi-furcated multi-religious heritage, I did what anyone would do. I went to see a holocaust movie with Ben. We saw The Counterfeiters (excellent) at the Angelika. However, lest I forget my goy-ish roots, we promptly skuttled ourselves over to Ed's Lobster Bar on Layfayette Street afterwards for a decidely non-Hebrew dinner of lobster rolls and raw oysters. The decor is a Martha Stewart fantasy: Hampton's white picket fence with sea-faring and preppy accents,; it has a long counter for dining and a hand full of tables in the back. We didn't imbibe, but the bar looked substantial and full of goodies, including fresh muddled (virgin) limeade. I went for the lobster pot pie ($18) that was something of a diet buster with full cream, sherry and nuggets of the sea beast with potatoes and carrots. Ben chomped down on what looked to be a supreme lobster roll (and his fries were excellent.) We slurped down a few raw oysters to top it all off.

Noodle Bar

Last night upon leaving the IFC, after a screening of Blindsight - a doc about blind Tibetan children who climb a mountain (yes, I cried all over myself) - I declared I wanted noodles. Then magically Noodle Bar appeared on Carmine Street, looking about as third-worldly as you can in West Village. Perfecto. We walked in and took one of the three tables-for-two (counter space is king) and ordered some vitals. We started with the excellent chicken roti ($3.5), and crab rangoon ($5), before moving on to five-spiced fish and chip ($9.5) and roast duck broth noodles ($10). In short: everything was great and as it should be except for the fish 'n chips. Ugg. Five-spices? They were soggy, tasteless over-fried lumps of veiny fish. But the roast duck noodles saved me. Spicy, salty, duck-fatty, egg-noodley, enough-veg-to-not-feel-guilty.  The place is great, and what the nabe needed (and I like to think a eff-off to over-hyped Momofuku schlop over on the east side of town.) My only complaint is that it closed promptly at 11 p.m. and IMHO, noodles are great late-night food. Stay open later Noodle Bar!

Where: 26 Carmine Street, West Village, 212-524-6800

ED NOTE: This photo is shamelessly stolen from the ChowHound web site.

Sripraphai

The best Thai food in New York City, as per Bruni, Chowhound and the rest not only met, but exceeded expectations. Ordered: Beef tendon soup (dark), roast duck salad, beef with spicy sauce, southern style beef curry (pictured), BBQ chicken with papaya salad, drunken noodle with chicken, mushroom salad with calamari. It was a feast (it came to $82 total) like no other. I cannot recommend it enough. Photos before, during and after!

Where: 64-13 39th Avenue, Woodside, NY, 718-899-9599
How to get the there: 7 train to 61st Street/Roosevelt Ave., Queens

Winter Feasting

I don't care what people say about this so-called 'mild winter'. It's cold out there. Really cold. And that makes me hibernate and eat like a sad, cooped-up person. To wit, today I ate: A banana, some yogurt, two bowls of Rice Crispies, four cups of coffee, Tasty Bite Spinach Dal (in a foil bag), eight wasa crackers. And so on. I just couldn't do it. Go out there. Not after last night's resto debacle. Graffiti, a literal hole in the wall in the East Village, was a sore disappointment. Trying hard to be an Indian/Spanish fusion wine bar meets tapas, it was just a little too funky. Bright spots included the Green Mango Paneer ($7) and the hamburger sliders ($15); low points were anchovy and seaweed pizza ($12) and chili shrimp ($15). However, the desserts were primo.

Other recent excursions:

Hearth: Loved, loved, loved it. I would go here for the Californicated Tuscan cuisine again and again. They have a tasty assortment of non-alcholic bevs, including vintage grape juice.

Extra Virgin: Friends in from out of town, and it did exactly what we needed: suitably impressive dinner, with hip atmosphere on a show-off block in the West Village. A staple.

Caviar Russe: For power brokers in midtown and us on V-Day. Skip the menu, go straight for the Osteria and don't look back (or at the prices.)

Brown Cafe: Cute as a button seasonal, organic fare in the East Broadway nabe; poster child for "Stuff White People Like".

Franny's Pizza: Mouth-gasm. Did I say that? But much like a hot Russian hooker, I didn't want to pay as much as it actually cost. It was still good. Too good. Give it to me!

Mr.Chow's: To my surprise, it was not over-rated. I loved it and its terrible 80s decor. There was some tender buffalo thing and succulent shrimp, and fish dumplings. Go for it. Drop the cash. (No menu, but it's $65 each and then some.)

Grand Sichuan: The cumin beef was crazy good and different. And the Sichuan Dumplings fiery hot. Cheap, surly and tasty.

Aquavit

Duck tongues are black and slightly curled at the end. These snippets of muscle looks wicked and cunning yet luckily, they taste nothing like they appear. Indeed, they have an almost creamy texture. It is just one of those small reminders that at extreme latitudes they eat everything. Aquavit, the Swedish destination restaurant helmed by Marcus Samuelsson, does what not all haute cuisine shops do in the city: it is fun, exquisite and relaxed without indulging in trends or snobbery.

The tasting menu - $110 for six plates - mapped out a savory tour of the kitchen's offerings. The aforementioned duck tongue was served with yellowtail and sea urchin, and was followed by foie gras ganache, beautifully sinful and last-meal worthy. Of the dishes in the tasting menu, the standout was the hot-smoked trout served in an apple horseradish broth - the fish's delicate husky flavor was sensitively rendered and served well with the spiky sweet and sour of the broth. The fish and seafood plates were generally far superior to the meat. The venison loin was particularly tasteless, and the short ribs not as tender as one might hope. Perhaps the only disappointment is that the cuisine was not overtly Swedish enough - a Wasa-like cracker here and the pickled herring there - were not quite convincing that the fare had a distinctly Scandinavian flare. The desserts, while enjoyable enough were not memorable. However, the final Swedish touch - a box of ginger snaps for the road - added a sweet punctuation to a fine meal worth the expense.

Where: 65 East 55th Street, 212-307-7311