go belly up

Molly Stevens, mon petit chou

2011-02-08T12:10:00.000-08:00

I am not alone in saying that Molly Stevens' book "All About Braising" is one of the best cookbooks produced in the last decade. It's a teaching compendium, true, but she is a also very kind cooking teacher and cheerleads the reader usefully through recipes. The very nature of one-pot cooking means that nothing is very complicated or requires too too many ingredients.

This morning I woke up and was determined to make use of the head-sized green cabbage I bought at the green market on Sunday. I've been wanting to make kimchi, but realized it requires Napa cabbage not the hard, green variety. I flipped open Stevens' book to the index: Cabbage, world's best, page 57. I have to say I was almost miffed at how simple it would be –– the hardest ingredient being patience. And that is my worst attribute. I am a stove-top, whiz-bang wok queen all the way. All I needed was a braising dish (finally a use for the 20-pound Le Creuset wedding present), salt, pepper, hot chilies, water, olive oil, carrots, onions et mon chou. Chop chop, grind grind, in it all went. Covered and braising at 325 for the next two hours.

I don't know what I was expecting as the apartment filled up with a homey, sweet smell. At the hour mark I turned the cabbage wedges over. At hour 2, I took the lid off, cranked the heat and sprinkled a few shakes of balsamic over the top. What emerged at the end of my wait was — is — a vote-winner for world's best. There is very little oil and the sweetness of the vegetables, so soft you can eat with a spoon, is practically dessert-like. I am very impressed with this recipe and recommend it. As I am too lazy to type out the recipe, you can find it here.

Granola 101

2010-06-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

Much like people, every granola smells and tastes a little bit different. Why else would the cereal aisle be spilling over with boxes of uniqueness? Dorset Cereals makes a fine (but slightly pricey) box of the stuff, but when you have developed a serious habit as I have, it's time to bake your own.

As usual, I turned to Google this morning to find a recipe. I took another search through Slashfood and came up with some inspiration. And this blog has a good stand-by recipe. Ultimately, I went off script and opted for a mish mash of my own device.

Fortunately, it’s hard to botch granola. Here are the guidelines: I use about 2 ½ cups of oats, tossed in cinnamon and salt, and then coated with a goo made from honey, vegetable oil, brown sugar (roughly a ¼ cup on each) with splash of vanilla or orange extract. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, turn, bake 10 more minutes and then mix in your favorite dried fruits and nuts. Today's add-ins included pecans, pepitas, cranberries, raisins and coconut. The taste: sweet and salty, perfect on plain yogurt. -CN

Spot Dessert Bar

2010-06-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

I am all for the expanding Asia-fication of Saint Mark's Place. The ongoing boom in noodle bars, sushi dives and the refurb of Panya (near St. Mark's Bookstore) into a full-fledged minimart is a good thing. Consider the other alternatives for late-night beer-induced grazing: falafel and gyro joints? more mediocre doughy pizza? I'll take make-your-own-cotton-candy and soba noodles at Kenka any night.

Chef Pichet Ong opened Spot Dessert Bar on the heels of shuttering P*ng earlier this year (see Belly Up review) and he adds to the swelling tide of alt foodie Asian eateries in the neighborhood. Located in a subterranean slot on the St. Mark's strip, Spot is all things darling: soft lighting, under age-friendly non-alcoholic beverages and a long bar of treats, bolstered by a tempting "look book" of past, present and future sweets near the cash register.

Knowing full well that that diners will come in groups prepared to share, Ong has organized the menu so that each dessert can be ordered tapas-like. An order of four desserts is $26, while single orders are $7 each. While the whole thing capitalizes on the cute appeal of dessert, it does so without overstepping into the weird cupcake fetishization that inexplicably continues (cupcake photo above excepted.)

Our cheerful waitress was eager to share her favorites (Yuzu Eskimo and Five Spiced Fennel Cake) as we compiled a hearty order. While the setting was distinctly 16-year-old-on-a-first-date, the desserts are anything but and can stand up to any of the downtown foodie temples. The savory-style desserts, such as the Avocado Parfait and Yellow Corn Crema are adventurous choices, but I personally stuck to my favorite flavor combination of chocolate, strawberries and cream in the Yuzu Eskimo. The sweet shop closes at 1 a.m. and all the baked goods (try the Chinese Walnut cookie) are half-priced in the hour before closing. –CN

Where: 13 St. Marks Place, New York, NY (212) 677-5670

HanGawi

2008-12-21T11:37:00.000-08:00

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

2008-08-17T08:01:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-13T10:32:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-26T14:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-21T10:02:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-24T09:22:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-22T07:53:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

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

2008-03-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

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.

Szechuan Gourmet

2008-02-28T17:56:00.001-08:00

Speaking of superlative ethnic food, a friend directed me to the Menupages link for Szechuan Gourmet, an outpost of a Queens restaurant. The Manhattan branch is located, inauspiciously, at 39th St. between 5th and 6th. But the uniformly ecstatic reviews on the site proclaiming this the most authentic Szechuan food in the city were more than enough to inspire a trip, since I'm always on the lookout for good Chinese food around here, and am often disappointed (in a post last summer, I wrote about my favorite Chinese restaurant in America...in that multicultural hub of Wellesley, Massachusetts). I don't feel like linking to that post because the internet scares and confuses me.

Anyway, I wasn't let down this time. First of all, I usually eat Chinese food in Chinatown, and the decor in places there usually doesn't rise to the level of a brothel. Typically, a Zagat listing will read something like "If you don't mind sharing tables and a hole-in-the wall atmosphere, the ethereal soup dumplings will wow you." Szechuan Garden, befitting its midtown setting, is a medium-nice-looking sit-down restaurant with tablecloths and stuff.

For appetizers, two friends and I ordered some diced rabbit (you know, the usual), vegetable dumplings, and scallion pancake; all were excellent, though the rabbit was extremely spicy, and I fear was the main culprit in the intestinal meltdown of the following morning. (Put that in your press clippings, Szechuan Garden!) For main courses, we had peppery prawns (pretty good, but could have been more flavorful), chicken in spicy garlic sauce (addictive, and a parter in crime with the rabbit in effect on my stomach) and a beef dish I don't remember as well as the other two. It was good, though. Service was typically brusque for a Chinese restaurant. I ordered one Tsingtao and the waitress promptly inferred "Three Tsingtaos?" Ok, then!

One long discussion about Obama and Israel policy later, I was nicely satiated. It was only the next morning that the reckoning would begin.

Sripraphai

2008-02-23T13:27:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-21T17:17:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-24T08:09:00.000-08:00

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

Di Fara, revisited

2007-12-09T07:32:00.000-08:00

Success. Axel, the BF and I made it. Best. Pizza. Ever. Food heaven. The deets:
Ordered: Regular pie with mushrooms
Wait time: 45-50 minutes
Beverage: Bottled coke
Added: Red pepper flakes
Slices count: Catherine, 3; Axel, 4; Anjum 4

Di Fara

2007-12-06T18:27:00.000-08:00

Can you smell the despair? Note to Belly Uppers: Before embarking on a food expedition to the outer boroughs - that would be Avenue J in Brooklyn - make sure the destination is indeed open. The legend preceeded Di Fara and our stomachs were growling on Monday as we made our way on the Q train to Midwood. But, like most normal things outside Manhattan, a case of the Mondays prevailed. Closed. Locked up. Pizza pies just beyond reach. After we licked our wounds and pressed sandies back in Park Slope at Press 195, we regrouped. Next Friday. Noon. The best pizza in America. We will not be stopped.

Where: 1424 Avenue J, Brooklyn, NY 11230, 718-258-1367

Crispo

2007-11-30T07:03:00.000-08:00

On Axel's recommendation I went to try Crispo, a cavernous basement level Italian place on 14th Street (next to, I should mention El Rey, which has the best margarita-drinking patio ever). Crispo has nothing to jinx or wow you in terms of space or decor. It's your basic restaurant and the menu has many many choices.

The place to stay on the menu is the small plates - I made the mistake of ordering the orchiette with rabe and sausage ($20). It was mediocre, too oily and was an enormous, hip-widening, mid-America portion that seemed unecessary. We had pickled beets and crostini to start, which were just fine, and then "Artichoke alla romana" which was serveed with almonds, mint and fontina. This was quite tasty. The Boyfriend went for the Veal with lemon and artichokes, served with potato croquettes - which was tasty, though lacked anything special. Overall, it was fine. A B+ you might even say. (Boyfriend says this is generous rating; or rather my rating scale changes from place to place.) The kind of place that serves its central location very well or would be a good in a group situation. We ordered the hazelnut praline for dessert and it was terrible - there's no need. Stick to the antipasti and small plates and you'll have a very nice meal.

Where: 240 W. 14th Street

Bettola

2007-11-29T16:55:00.000-08:00

It's the plight of the local; the place you go over and over again but you kind of forget about until the moment you know you need something reliable and good and simple. It's only taken me six years to figure it out: Bettola is that place for me.

Went with the Ex last night for our monthly chew and chat (yes, we are still friends). And we always go here or across the street to Swagat Indian. The menu, laquered on a board, never ever changes - six pasta dishes, a selection of wood-stove pizzas and some meat plates. They do always have daily specials and I always order that. Last night it was flat pasta with wild mushrooms and goat cheese ($15). You can just never go wrong here - the environment is warm and inviting, with the heat from the pizza oven keeping it cozy. In the summer they open to a full people-watching gallery with sidewalk seating. The waitresses are always from some Eastern block country, barely understandable and gorgeous. Anyway. It's my local. Go find yours now and write me back and tell me about it.

Where: 412 Amsterdam Ave., 212-787-1660

Bun

2007-11-29T16:37:00.000-08:00

Given my mediocre experience with Bao 111, I was eager to see if I could have a better Vietnamese experience with Bao 111 founders Michael Bao Huynh and his wife Thao Nguyen at their newest venture, Bun, in Soho. We trotted over for lunch on Tuesday around 1 p.m. and it was quite empty. The space is pretty and modern and displayed the open kitchen to lovely effect.

We ordered the shrimp and Berkshire pork summer roll ($6), which is really too small for sharing (I was desirous of BOTH diminutive rolls). Then I ordered Pho Ga ($11), in a ginger and anise broth and Axel F. went for the Bun Fish ($11). The Pho was the winner - the broth flavorful, but light, and with a squirt from the lime wedge and a dollop of chili sauce it was one tasty meal. It's a success - simple and to the point, as good food should be!

Where: 143 Grand St., nr. Lafayette St.; 212-431-7999

Momofuku Noodle Bar

2007-11-18T18:43:00.000-08:00

First of all, I'll Momo your Fuku. You got that, asshole?

Alright, onto the food. I had been to Momofuku Ssam bar twice, opting for the place's signature "Asian burrito" both times. With the white hot hype surrounding it, I had expected something transcendent, and had come away mildly disappointed. The concept was unique, but the actual good only good--nothing special. I pronounced the Momofuku mini-empire a casualty of the New York hype machine (as in, it couldn't possibly be as good as you expect). Still, if you read websites like Eater, it's hard to avoid a lot of talk about "genius" David Chang--and with the original Momofuku Noodle Bar moving down the block to more spacious digs on First Avenue, and dinner with a friend who lives in the area, I decided to give Chang another shot.

This time was different. My coeditor of this blog, Catherine Niu (don't you know it's the new hotness to misspell things intentionally?), had warned me to stay away from the ramen noodles, which are the centerpiece of Momofuku's menu. "Try the small plates," she counseled. "The Shins will change your life." Oh wait, that was Natalie Portman in Garden State. But anyway, it turned out to be sage advice. My friend and I split three dishes: octopus salad, roast pork buns, and veal sweetbreads. The roast pork buns were probably the best of the lot, though the portion was a bit small for what they charged. The octopus in the salad was succulent and the dressing (or whatever it was) even succulenter. When I ordered the sweetbreads, I knew I was getting something exotic, though I didn't realize it was pancreas until I looked it up when I got home. (Isn't "sweetbreads" an odd name for something like pancreas? When i hear "sweetbreads," I think of down-home Southern cooking, not veal viscera.) The sweetbreads came out looking like something you might get at a Cape Cod seafood shack--deep fried golden nuggets in a basket. They were pretty damn good, though after eating most of the portion myself, I got a little sick of them and couldn't finish all the breads.

I also enjoyed the atmosphere of the place--bustling tables and an open kitchen where you can watch Chang's minions cook your victuals. Long story short: I've finally come around to Momofuku, and will now Momo your Fuku on demand!

Momofuku--163 First Avenue (212) 475-7899

Hecho in Dumbo

2007-11-16T09:17:00.000-08:00

Boo. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. All things pointed to greatness here – amazing, tranquilly lit loft space in the hip heart of Dumbo and perfectly located for post-gallery noshing. But then they were just kind of stupid: to wit, the Pellegrino arrived pre-poured over a large amount of ice in a high-ball. Sparkling on ice is yuck. Point 2: I was told I could mix and match the tacos and burritas for the $8 trio plate. I ordered three different ones for my plate, and instead received three whole different orders, which the waiter insisted I had asked for. I looked at him as if to say “Do I look like an obese pig who would order three entrees all for myself?” His waifesh self seemed to "Yes, maybe you might." Aghhh! We had to argue to get him to take two of the orders off the bill. The food was fine, delicious even, despite the over-salt of annoyance. I can say this: check it out at your own peril.

Where: DUMBO General Store, 111 Front St., Brooklyn, NY 11201, 718-855-5288

9 ways to eat

2007-11-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

I have been lazy. So so lazy. You might even say "getting fat and lazy" when you find out that my lack of reviews has nothing at all to do with a lack of eating at restaurants. I have been eating plenty and will turn this exercise of laziness into an exercise in tight writing. The 50-word reviews (next week, I will write haikus).

Indochine
Their man-candy waitstaff serves beautifully plated and sumptious Vietnamese fusion that does not feel trite. The Seafood Bouillbase and Grilled Prawns were excellent, if pricey; and their extensive and creative list of mocktails was appreciated. Overall, a pleasant surprise despite an overwhelming amount of Euro-trash and Upper East Side frat-folk.

Sapphire
I thought I liked this UWS Indian staple until I looked around the dining room – it is packed with middle-class white people, nary a desi to be found. And Boyfriend, who grew up on curry and daal, declared it "Spiceless!" And though the waiter sprinted us through the meal, my mid-western tastebuds secretly thought it was ok.

Balthazar
It's best for breakfast, unless you go late for the seafood tower and champagne. Like I even need to put in a review. If you have not had the pleasure of breaking fast there: arrive around 8:30- 9 a.m., get your bowl of cappuccino and a croissant and preen. Just do that, and you'll be happy.

Da Silvano
http://www.dasilvano.com/
Speaking of preening, I was feeling especially buoyant on a recent Sunday. "Da Silvano?" I queried to Boyfriend as we tromped the brunch trail. Soon after, nestled on the heated terrace, we feasted on crostini, steamed artichoke ($24!), pumpkin ravioli and ossobuco while watching euro-trash navigate cocaine hangovers and display themselves. Love it.

Cafe Gray
http://www.cafegray.com/
Gorgeous Columbus Circle views, open kitchen, cougars galore. The steak tartar with katjup tasted fancy-pants McDonald's; the poussin was nice but unremarkable and the key lime tart could have come from Miro, the ubiquitous downtown coffee shop. Service failed to clear our finished dinner plates for 23 minutes after the last fork had been settled, and failed to ask for our coffee order. Verdict: tourist trap.

Bao 111
http://bao111.com
I wanted to like this place, I really did. But the Crabmeat Noodle Soup was a muddy mess with so much salt it burned my mouth. It makes me sad when food is completely inedible and I want to cry with disappointment. Other savory nibbles, such as the Truffled Tuna Spring Roll and Lollipop Chicken did sort of make up for that. Maybe I'll try again.

Degustation
http://nymag.com/listings/restaurant/degustation/
Despite Eater's deathwatch, or because of it, this was one of the most engaging and rewarding dining experiences in recent weeks. The dark and intimate setting – sexytime! – and amazing menu was a true restaurant experience in every way. To wit: you select 3-4 small plates, exquisitely rendered, with brilliant Spanish reds playing back-up, to get wonderfully soused.

Momofuku Noodle Bar
http://www.momofuku.com/
I love me some pork products, and finally got my own oink on at this place I keep hearing so damn much about. The noodles were eh but really why noodles, when you can have hot, braised pork rind dripping in hoisin squeezed into a steamed bun? Or roasted brussel sprouts with kimchee puree and bacon? Enough said.

Ronnybrook Milk Bar
http://www.ronnybrookmilkbar.com/
It would be easy to get Shanghai-d by all the choices at Chelsea Market, but keep your head on and beeline to Ronnybrook. I exalted my inner farmgirl and lapped up the eggs, milk and cheese like a crack head from Wisconsin: egg salad, egg-in-a-whole, cream in my coffee, a couple cookies. And everything is under $8.

Fette Sau

2007-10-13T14:21:00.001-07:00

I'm not a huge barbecue guy. Partly, this is due to my hailing from the Northeast U.S., and my attendant lack of experience with the genre. But that's not the whole story. First of all, there's at least one pretty good BBQ place in the Boston area (Blue Ribbon BBQ), which I never visit when I go home (a sign that I'm not craving it, you see). Second of all, on my sole trip to the Deep South (aka "Scaryville), I visited a locally famous barbecue joint outside Atlanta with my ex-girlfriend and her parents. And--maybe it was the high expectations going on, or maybe it was the framed pictures on the wall of the restaurant's owners at the White House proudly serving up ribs to G.W. Bush--but I didn't come away very impressed.

Fast forward to 2007. Barbecue is suddenly all the rage in New York, though most southerners think it still sucks here. (As an aside, is there anywhere where more people complain about the lack of "authentic" this or that cusine than this city? I think it's because New York is supposed to be the best at everything, and when it isn't, people from some dumbshit small town say "I can't believe you can't find a decent (insert regional cuisine) here. New Yorkers are such a bunch of fucking whiners sometimes. And yes, I've been reading a lot of Chowhound lately.) Also, the Big Apple BBQ at Madison Square Park was quite disappointing in terms of taste, offensively long lines, and level of rip-offery.

ANYWAY, as a guy that enjoys food that tastes good, I decided I should at least one of the better establishments, The place I'd heard the most consistently good buzz about was Fette Sau in Williamsburg. My friend Dave had nothing but great things to say. So, after wanting to go for a long time, I finally made it last week after watching the Yankees get pounded in Game 1 of the ALDS (yee-haw).

At around 10:40, twenty minutes before closing time, we ventured into Fette Sau, which is in a large, garage-y space befitting its post-industrial neighborhood. You eat at communal benches (I usually don't like this, but for this type of grub it does seem appropriate). There's a large TV screen with a fireplace displayed, and after a few minutes of not looking directly at it, you sort of forget the difference between it and the real thing. Finally, there's an impressive selection of whiskey and beer behind the long bar next to the troughs of food.

Oh, yes, the food. The point of this post. With Dave's guidance, we ordered the pulled pork, ribs, pastrami, and bread. I ate that shit like I was a death row prisoner about to walk down the Green Mile. I inhaled it. It was flavorful and delicious. I especially enjoyed soaking the bread up with the pulled pork and ribs. That's all I can really describe--just go.

The next morning I felt as though someone had hit repeatedly hit me in the stomach with a hammer the night before. But you know what? It was worth it.

Jewel Bako out; Momoya In

2007-10-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

Several days ago The BF and I strolled over to the East Village for more late-night Japanese. We landed at Jewel Bako for no particular reason other than he seemed to remember it – though it turned out he remembered something else, but no matter. The place at 10:10 p.m. was completely and totally empty (a Monday night), however they were still serving. So we sat down and watched the surly waiter clunk around soullessly, hitting my wineglass with silverware at least twice, I commented that it would probably close soon. It was too pretty, too pricey, too trendy and waaaaay too empty. The rage when it opened was all those things, but like a kewpie-doll showgirl, it ages, and you don’t want it anymore. My suspicions were confirmed on Eater today.

As a post-script: I thought the food was pretty good. We had braised (in parchment) salmon and mushrooms; and then we ate two of their $16 large sushi specialty rolls. We finished with a green tea profiterole. I don’t think the restaurant deserves a wretched flameout, but it does desperately need some adrenaline and joy.

In sharp contrast, the Upper West Side is trying really, really hard to be cool. Frankly, it will never be cool. But, did you know that UWS Jewish intellectuals love one thing more than public radio? It’s sushi! There are a stunning number of amazing sushi joints here (Gari, Haru, Sushi Planet – yum yum) and now we have Momoya. Straight from Chelsea. I had to cry a little tear at first as the restaurant moved into carriage-house space previously occupied by a great Korean green market where I bought my blackout six-pack way back when. After a 9-month renovation it’s now opened as the super bougie resto with gorgeous décor created out of blunt, sawed-off ends of 2x4s in differing heights. I loved it the minute I walked in.

They also have creative large rolls not dissimilar to Jewel Bako's in taste and presentation. I loved the Nakamura roll with yellowtail, jalapeno, salmon, tuna cucumber, scallop tartar with a beet sauce and almond sliver ($10). I also ordered my usual sashimi set: salmon, tuna and tomago – all were beautifully sliced. The service – a young Eastern European guy – was extremely good. The round booths at the back of the restaurant are very private for talking, or what have you, and hypnotically lit. Or is that the delicious Shirakawago Sasanigori? Mmmm. That is some cloudy cloudy sake. A++ for dates.

Where: 427 Amsterdam Ave., 212-580-0007

Rickshaw Dumpling Bar

2007-10-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

I am not going to say we were unexcited. Whenever a dumpling shop opens up feet from your front door, it’s cause for celebration. Ok, it’s not my front door, it’s my boyfriend’s. But that’s good enough for me to jump up and down and raise my hands over my head and declare once again that dumplings are, like, the greatest food on the earth.

So we walked down 8th Street last night, half past seven and just about an hour before heading to the Iron & Wine concert, to get some at the newly opened Ricksahw Dumpling Bar.

Overall, I like Rickshaw better than Dumpling Man. The wrappers here are more glutunous and less doughy; the fillings more varied. We had the Szechuan Chicken (with chili and soy beans), Peking Duck (with shredded cabbage and scallion), and Shrimp (with jicama and scallion). Six dumps costs you $5.55 (they have a kitschy pricing system where everything is in multiples of the same figure, except the Waterlemonade, which is exorbitant at $3.95).

The dumplings were good (but not transcendental; that requires a lot more pork and duck fat). The best were the Peking Duck with a side of hoisin sauce (aka Chinese ketchup). There is a photo booth in the back where you can get six black and white photos for $3.

I have one major beef with this dumpling shop – and it had nothing to do with the food. It’s the massive amount of trash each meal produces.

We ate at the restaurant. “Stay in!” we told the cute-as-a-button cashier, who was bizarrely a dead ringer for my college friend Sonja.

But that does not mean you get real silverware and real plates and little dipping pots for your sauces. Everything is wrapped the same as if for take-out: for our meal, we had three paper boxes, each with a plastic dipping container; the noodles came in a plastic bowl and each drink came in a plastic cup. We went through a pair of wooden chopsticks each and two plastic spoons and a pile a napkins. It was a gooddam Glad packaging convention by the time we were done.

Anyway, in case Rickshaw hasn’t noticed – earth space is precious. Why can’t they use re-usable supplies for sit down dining? Would the cost of a Hobart and dishwasher cost them so much more than the cost of providing huge amounts of plastic and paper ? Even though I liked the dumplings a lot, I felt like a middle-class shithead with all the refuse a few bites produced. Ekeing it out on the margins, like some of the places in Chinatown, not only produces damn tasty dumplings, but also produces vastly less serving crap. My verdict: I would rather go to Joe’s Ginger for some pork fat dumplings served in a bamboo basket that’s as old as time.

Where: 53 E. 8th Street; 212-461-1750

Cha-An

2007-09-25T21:20:00.000-07:00

A real authentic Japanese tea house has such a pleasant and reassuring atmosphere you feel like you're in the pages of a Murakami novel. Minus the man with the mid-life crisis ruminating about all the crazy suicidal beauties in his life.

We strode into Cha-An tea house for some late night light fare in the East Village tonight. Tea is obviously the thing to come here for. They have dozens of varieties, from woozy oolongs to stinky pu-ehrs to jasmines, which once I declared "tasted like girls". That sounds weird and perfect at the same time. I am especially a fan of the gorgeous Jasmine Pearls that bloom in your cup. (You can get six pearls for $8.)

But the bites were fantastic too: the six appetizer plate (small bites of six flavors) included bean skin with seaweed, roasted and salted burdock root, tea-smoked sashimi salmon with radish and mustard sauce, roasted shrimp, basil marinated cap mushrooms and a fish cake for $11. Take a peek into the meticulous kitchen and you'll notice something different for a Japanese restaurant: the chefs are all women. And there is - without getting stereotypical - something very feminine and lovely about the food choices and preparation. For dessert I had a green tea macaroon and a sake mojito ($7).

I can't imagine a more charming place to steal away with a book alone or to go on a mellow date. Or for the three of us tonight, a place for a nibble. Noriko, our waitress, was ebulliently sweet. Go Japan, go! Take me to your leader!

Where: 230 E. 9th Street, East Village, 212-228-8030

Eating on the UWS

2007-09-24T10:18:00.001-07:00

I have been remiss in the past 10 days and have provided you nothing to feast on, but don't worry, I have still been eating. For some imprecise reason I have been eating a lot in my neighborhood, hence the good, the bad and the ugly below.

Kefi

I loved Onera, I love Anthos, I love Kefi. Chef Michael Psilakis as I wrote once in a Metro review is the George Harrison of cooking. It's a charming, delicious, and affordable family-style Greek cafe. Crisp Greek white wines are around $6/glass; meze are under $10 and entrees around $15. Recommended: Cuttlefish Stuffed With Spinach & Manouri ($8.95) and Flat pasta, Pulled Braised rabbit, Graviera Cheese ($10.95)

Where: 222 W. 79th St., 212-873-0200

Hudson River Cafe

It's Buppie central on this sleek and charming patio cafe and restaurant under the bridge with amazing views of early 20th century riveting. While the food is ok, the place is definitely more about the ambience and cocktails ($10). The food advertised as "local" didn't seem all that local to me (horseradish crusted salmon and tostones?) - the portions were ginormous, and all suffered from a little too much of everything (sauce, salt, fat, etc...) But the package - and live jazz on Sundays and Wednesdays - all together makes this a great destination place.

Where: 697 W. 133rd St., 212-491-9111

Wine & Roses

I'm just going to say it: the Upper West Side is filled with annoying d-bags and the women who chase after them. And so when a wine bar opens up (this is one of several new ones), they all come running in their effort to be "classy" for their $18 glasses of Barolo while listening to "Crazy" at a too-loud -to-talk volume and zoning out to a flatscreen tv. This is "Time Out" sports bar in a different disguise. In sum: too many cougars; cheesy people; overpriced wine. Can someone please get it right up here?

Where: 286 Columbus Ave., 212-579-9463

Sidecar

2007-09-17T09:25:00.000-07:00

An oasis has opened up in the culinary desert (ok, maybe that's an overstatement) of South Park Slope (the actual South Slope, not Catherine's warped definition). On 5th Ave between 15th and 16th St. just down the street from Buttermilk, one of my favorite bars in New York, is Sidecar, a classy joint specializing in classy cocktails, and with a very solid menu heavy on comfort food. Under the irrestible heading "elixirs" on the menu is a list of specialty mixed drinks that I had never heard of, except for the titular sidecar, which I ordered and was delicious. My friend opted for the Old Cuban Bruggal, which consists of rum, mint & bitters, topped with champagne. There's a cocktail called "Dr. Tucker's 59", and the description on the menu simply reads "for all pain." The bartender told me that a poster with these words was found during the renovation of the building, and they decided to use the phrase for a cocktail. Cool. Hey, if you're gonna have a hook to your restaurant, this is a pretty good one. And it was fun to watch our heavily tattooed bartender expertly mix the drinks.

As for the food, apparently the chef used to work at Blue Ribbon, and he makes almost everything himself, including the mayo. Impressive, no? My friend got a solid cheeseburger and fries, and I opted for the fried chicken with root mash and bacon succotash, which was delicious. I had not eaten non-Popeye's fried chicken in ages, and this hit the spot. The only negative, which was not really a negative, was that a photographer was snapping pictures of my friend and me eating. Finding this a bit odd, I approached her and found out she worked for the Park Slope Reader, and that she was using us as her "foreground" for photos of the establishment. So if Sidecar gets more publicity, I won't mind that readers of that venerable newspaper (aka the "Paper of Record") will get an eyeful of my messy chicken bone-eating style.

Where: Read the second sentence of the post.

Pacific Standard

2007-09-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

A love letter to the west coast

Once upon a time the living was good. Deep into the autumn season we still enoyed seeing our tans arms, casually hanging outside the car window, as we drove down the 280. Maybe Sublime was in the car stereo. If the evening got chilly, we threw on a cardigan sweater and went over to a friend's house to smoke bong hits. On the weekends, there was a show at Bottom of the Hill or some flick at the Roxy, followed by beers, cebollitas and carne asada burritos at El Farolito. Oh yeah, the boys were nice to look at too.

Now, it's fucking hot as hell and the subway feels like feverish cess pool. The streets smell of urine and more than 50 percent of the boys are just plain out ugly. I have doled out The Finger at least twice today. A wannabe Black Elvis is singing me a love song. Except he's singing a Stevie Wonder tune; and behind him there is a small Latin man salsa dancing with a blow up doll. Man, I love me some New York City.

But sometimes, I just want a small hit of that west coast pipe again. Just a wee bump to tide me over. So I am happy to say that I was introduced to Pacfic Standard last night. They are Cal people. It's west coast microbrews, some of which are good and some taste like a leftover skunk. And it's located in the dirty heart of New York's own version of Oakland, South Park Slope.

It's campy and rec roomy. I especially enjoyed the owner's very own early 80s era baseball collection in the "Atlantic" loo; they also have a pretty awesome book collection for browsing. But the piece de resistance? On an altar-like table under the big screen (playing the Oakland A's game last night, who were slaying Texas) is the complete OED, small magnifying glass and all. MIMP: noun, a pursing of the lips. I did not know that.

Where: Pacific Standard, 82 Fourth Ave.

Prince St. Cafe

2007-09-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: Today on our fourth or fifth visit now, the chef was like "I see you guys in here a lot." It's true. It's become our lunch spot of choice. Today: the Tahitian coucous salad with roasted vegetables over greens ($10) and Axel had the sandwich/soup combo ($8) with wild mushroom soup and ham sandwich. I stole bites, it was delicious.

The great thing about catching a restaurant in its opening throes is that you can watch it either get better or watch it simply face plant. Yes, I am that sadistic. Prince St. Cafe opened two weeks ago and it appears to be accelerating in the former category.

Axel, nee Ben, and I found this cafe the day after it opened. Located in a long slot-like space on Prince and Elizabeth, it was opened by Gary Volkov, formerly of One if by Land...(which is overrated I think). The place is comfortable, benefits from two high-def TVs quietly playing baseball on one and NY1 on the other, and the service is awkward and European and refreshingly sweet.

And the food is good! And the prices very good (for Nolita)! We like it! Axel likes sauteed shrimp quesadilla wrap ($8) and I've made a running start on the sandwich board (all $7.50): grilled chicken with avo and cilantro aioli one week, and a grilled cheese on baguette with fig confit and pancetta the next.

They have other tempting things: Homemade gnocchi with wild mushrooms; Ukranian borscht and red velvet cupcakes. In addition to being comfortable it's un-prententious unlike the other neighborhood haunts Cafes Gitanes and Havana.

Prince St. is your basic upscale cafe and feels gourmand without feeling bourgeois. It's perfect for eating alone or with others. There is a great backroom where you can escape from the street and is illuminated with massive skylights. I like it. Go there if you are in the neighborhood.

Where: Prince/Elizabeth Streets

Mullane's

2007-09-11T14:13:00.000-07:00

You know what I like more than the average guy? A juicy, delicious burger. And lemme tell you, a good burger in Brooklyn is hard to find. Great, sophisticated New American cuisine? Sure. A workingman's cheeseburger? Not quite so easy. Despite its considerable charm, Bonnie's on 5th Ave. in Park Slope doesn't quite deliver for me--its burger is simply too large and charred, and usually falls apart before the consumption halfway point. DuMont Burger in Williamsburg, despite ludicrous lists like this one, I found to be overrated, delivering a slightly better than average burger in a fun. outdoor setting.

It was with great surprise and pleasure, then, that the folks over at Chowhound guided me to Mullane's on Lafayette Ave. in Fort Greene (near where my Ipod was recently stolen) for a pre-theater dinner on Saturday night. Mullane's is an Irish bar and restaurant where some of the waitstaff actually appear to be Irish. It's more suburban in its setup and execution than many Brooklyn eateries, and you know what? I like that. Sometimes I miss big, free-refillable cokes, space between tables, and TV's on in the background. Because I yearn for Chili's weekly, does that make me a bad person? I don't think so. I think it means that I want to have my burger and eat it too (I want an occasional taste of the suburbs in the city, in other words), and at Mullane's I can do that--before catching me some Chekhov (aka culture) over at BAM.

Like at Chili's, the burger at Mullane's seemed almost perfectly calibrated to my eating potential (meaning that when I was done I felt very pleasantly full). I chose the "Bamburger," which came with cheese, bacon, and mushrooms, and a pleasantly soft (but not soggy) bun. What else can I tell you other than that it was tasty and just what the doctor ordered? People on contentious message boards would probably want to shoot me for saying this, but I'd probably put this in the top niche of burgers I've eaten in New York.

Mullanes--71 Lafayette Ave., Brooklyn

Duryea Lobsters

2007-09-10T07:12:00.000-07:00

Lobsters are one of the most misunderstood sea creatures. They are, to be frank, giant sea bugs that comb the sea’s surfaces for tasty eats. They eat dead stuff. They were once upon a time, quite literally, junk food – victuals for the workingman, according to my favorite lobster meditation by David Foster Wallace.

Then someone got the bright idea to make them fancy and they are ubiquitously served at every fine restaurant in New York City. I believe Le Bernandin serves them at least six different ways, always under some light foamy sea urchin sauce or whatever. At some point in culinary history, the lobster became the food that signaled that you had arrived. For some communities, it’s shrimp. For the upper middle class, it’s lobster. The luxury lifestyle explosion and climate change in the past 10 years have nearly drained the east coast dry of them. Prices are soaring; catches are pathetic, according to the New Haven Register.

However, it’s a fine food, don’t get me wrong. But I also don’t think it’s all that. Chances are it’s overcooked and tough and lacks all the delicate buttery-ness that crab has. Anyway, the only real dishes I think lobsters are suited for are bisque (served with a nice shot of sherry) and lobster rolls.

And that brought me to Duryea Lobsters, at the tip on Long Island in Montauk this weekend. It has a legendary reputation; locals, including the Barefoot Contessa herself, were shoulder to shoulder on the deck with their BYOB of pink zin and yellow chards getting busy with the sea beast. Our group, six in all, also tucked into lobster rolls ($17.95). They were served on a toasted sesame roll, cole slaw and potato chips and we washed them down with lemonade. Duryea makes a damn good lobster roll: the lobster filling is a plentiful; meaty chunks well-covered in mayonnaise, seasoned amply with dill and black pepper. The roll buttered and each bite was a delicious bite of sweet meat, salty butter and mayonnaise and the tickle of spices.

We ate silently, wiped our lips and trekked home. A lobster roll like that has only one kind of dessert: a long-nap in a shaded hammock. Done and done.

Where: 65 Tuthill Road, Montauk, NY, (631) 668-2410

West Taghkanic Diner

2007-09-06T07:41:00.000-07:00

Road tripping – for New Yorkers – is a past-time that comes far too infrequently. The challenges are many; the rewards far away. But if you have the wanderlust, as I do, you find a way to hit the open road every now and then and make, ideally, an escape upstate. In which case you need to know about the best kept driving secret in all of New York: you take the Taconic, not I-87. It’s scenic, winding and was purposefully made for picnicking drivers headed to Bear Mountain.

Parkways also do not have a lot of roadside crap. There are no Sbarros or fossilized Roy Rogers for your cartripping pleasure. They have diners instead. The old-school kind, made with aluminum siding and barstools. Take the Exit at Route 82 and you will find the West Taghkanic Diner, with a neon lit Indian chief sign offering respite in the otherwise dark wilds of the New York City frontier.

I could offer you a treatise on diners. But today, I’ll offer you pie instead. When you sit on a barstool in a diner, or in a pleather banquette, you must drink coffee and eat pie. The Taghkanic offers seven flavors, four of which are the fruity variety. It is $3 a slice and a buck for endless refills of coffee. They also offer rice, tapioca pudding and delicious caramel flan.

Frankly, the pie – blueberry – sucked. It was cold; the crust too dense and not flaky and it was factory-made with generic canned filling. But I kind of didn’t care. The open road; the diner and it’s $4.99 meatloaf special s and 99-cent coffee; the pregnant teenage waitress: this is what I really love. That’s what I came to the diner for. A big serving of red, white and blue. They know that; they sell tee-shirts displaying as much. Diners weren’t ever really meant to serve good food; their selling point is location and convenience and streamlined good looks. On that front the West Taghkanic wins. Maybe next time I’ll try the chocolate cake and a glass of milk.

Where: Exit Route 82; West Taghkanic, NY, 518-851-7117

Rice to Riches

2007-08-22T15:45:00.000-07:00

I was on a Kozyshack bender this weekend. A four-pack down the hatch, foil seals licked clean; evidence recycled. A real puddin' head.

We all know and accept that Kozy's rice pudding is great stuff. So great, that it can become a problem. First you're buying a two-pack, then four packs and soon you're eating whole tubs. Just like an alcoholic before a work week, I went in for one final binge at 10:54 p.m. Sunday night. Someone mentioned the geeked-out Nolita spot, Rice to Riches. I waddled my rice-pudding engorged thighs over there to see if it could stand up to the Shack.

The rice pudding emporium has been open on Spring Street for a couple years now (joined, like yesterday, by a PinkBery next door.) Similar to an ice cream counter they offer dozens of flavors. Some ok, some gross and some pretty good. They have toppings – fruits, nuts and crouton-like poundcake squares. The "solo", at $5, is their single-serving option. The molded-plastic dish can hold a lot of rice pudding, but the real question is how much of their pudding do you really want?

Here's my pud with Rice to Riches: the fruity flavors (e.g. mango and banana) tasted fake, and if you're thinking this going to be like a yummy sticky-rice and mango thing, then you're going to be disappointed. Rice is too soupy. Kozy's rice-to-pudding ratio is much better, and that gives Kozy more structure and texture in your mouth. Lastly, even for glutonous me, I just couldn't finish a single serving at Rice to Riches. I felt like I was eating a bowl of banana-flavored snot by the end. (Ok, I ate the rest later at home. Because I like leftover snot.)

Here's the verdict: Kozy 1-Rice 0. It's not that Rice is that bad, but it's just Kozy is that good. Rice to Riches has the disease that many New York places have. It takes some perfectly good comfort food and tries to spruce it up into hipster gourmet. I like my rice puddin' just fine. It didn't need no sprucin'. Next you come around, I'll be on my make-believe porch, too fat to get off it, and spoonin' puddin' in my mouth. Delicious, grocery-store bought, pre-packaged rice pudding from The Kooz.

Where: 37 Spring Street, 212-274-0008

Special Massachusetts edition--CK Shanghai

2007-08-19T14:51:00.000-07:00

As i write this, I'm lying on my bed in my hometown of Lexington, Massachusetts, where the lawns are well-manicured, the voters are reliably Democratic, and even the Dunkin Donuts' have a "colonial" look about them. Yesterday I returned from a week in utopian Martha's Vineyard, where the most exciting dining out experience I had (my family ate in most nights) was seeing Spike Lee at the local pizza joint. I was reminded of "Do The Right Thing", minus Radio Raheem and a trash can through the window. (Actually, I ate at a pretty good diner in MV, which I may deign to write about later this week.)

Anyway, dear reader, let me put this question to you: why can the best Chinese food I've ever eaten outside of London be found not in New York City, but in the small (even whiter and richer than Lexington) town of Wellesley, MA? WHY? Why can't CK Shanghai move next door to my house, dammit??

Sorry, I went a bit off the rails there. But good food should have the power to make you angry, I think. And CK Shanghai is damn good. It's not that the menu at this pleasantly laid out Cantonese (sorry, I wanted to sound like Zagat for a second) is that inventive, just that the quality of the ingredients must be light years beyond your standard Chinese restaurant. Everything I've eaten there, and I've been there four or five times now, has been excellent. My favorite is probably the classic crispy spicy shrimp, which is plesantly soft and succulent (mmm, food porn!). The tangerine crispy beef, double fried pan noodles, and vegetable dishers have all been winners, too. The appetizers, as always are just as good if not better than the main courses, from your standard spring rolls to pork dumplings. And for what feels like gourmet eating, the prices are extremely reasonable.

After the meal--and I mean no offense to Chinese restaurants writing this--you don't have the feeling you've just eaten Chinese food. You feel very pleasantly full. You could have eaten veal scallopinne or a cheeseburger. Service is a little brusque but nothing to complain about.

In conclusion, if you're a chick and you plan on attending Wellesley College, I highly recommend CK Shanghai.

Roasting Plant

2007-08-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

The other day another editor at Flavorpill commented on the awful-ness of New York coffee. He just arrived from Australia and was stating what every immigrant soon learns. Coffee sucks in New York. I have ultimately grown to secretly love deli coffee 'regular' full of sugar and cream and horsepiss-colored liquid. But that took me seven years to do - even then, it's really a hot beverage rather than a cup of coffee. Iced coffee from delis, is, a whole other topic. Today I am talking hot, delicious coffee.

My NorCal roots are strong and I usually french press a cup at home every morning before heading out. It's cheaper and way better than Starbucks, which I loathe though have been know to visit. I generally feel their coffee is crap - it's too thick and burnt to taste coffee and requires a gallon of cream to make it palatable.

And everyone from the Bay Area, at least, remininsces about Peet's and Mission Street burrittos. In a stroke of genius, my dad gave me 'Peet's Coffee of the Month' club for Christmas in 2005, which I managed to nurse out into late 2006. But a few weeks ago, I ground my final beans and let out a long sigh. Where was I going to my beans now? There are a few places that pass - Porto Rico in the East Village for one. But I needed the juice, the good stuff. Primo beans. God wanted me to find the Roasting Plant, so he set it in my path as I made my way up Orchard the other day. The man who started it, is quite frankly a little insane. Figures, he's an engineer from Boston and was one the 'Director of Profit Improvement' for Starbucks. Which makes me shudder. But he made a good thing.

The whole place is like a Rube Goldberg mahcine, with pipes and whistles and bean shoots to roast the beans on site. It borders on being too precious, but eh, who cares. I got a half-pound of the house roast for about $7, not the cheapest coffee ever, but I am willing to pay for my drugs. I took it home and waited the suggested 24-hour 'settling' period before brewing my first cup.

Here's what is tastes like: It's roasted, but not burnt. Enough Arabica to be full and round in your mouth but some Central American in there for a little more kick. It tastes - like coffee! Not the roasting machine! It's spicy and peppery and chocolatey in all the right ways. Three cups of this and you'll have wings.

Where: 81 Orchard Street, at Broome, 212-775-7755

Grom

2007-08-14T13:28:00.000-07:00

There is a vicious frozen yogurt craze happening on the streets on Manhattan. No fewer than three new, equally tempting fro-yo chains have opened up in the past year (Yogurberry, Pinkberry and Yolato). So where does that leave the real stuff - cream and eggs and all the rest? For starters, well over the $6/scoop mark.

Safely nestled among the ruling classes with glasses on the Upper West Side is the one-off Grom gelateria. They serve gelato, sorbet and granitas. They are from Italy. It is the Gucci of ice cream. Call in the rollers of big cigars! On Sunday, after a particularly harrowing screening of The Bourne Ultimatum (with Demi and Ashton seated just feet away), we spotted the line up. Twenty deep at 10:27 p.m. We waited, we scooped and we licked. Eh.

I have a lot of issues with Grom

1)It's on a dorky stretch of Broadway, bolstered only by the fact that if you are eating at Big Nick's or drinking at Yogi's, your kind is not welcome at Grom.

2)I don't like paying this much above 14th Street.

3)They are a wee-bit self-congratulating in their literature about how they are Slow Food medal winners, only use cage-free organic eggs, sugar milled by young virgins, etc. …

4)It's a creamy mess. If I wanted a milkshake I would go to a diner, if I wanted sugar I would eat a pixie-stick. It is, I say, too much of a good thing. I like to struggle a little to find the beauty of my frozen treats.

5)Save your money. Buy a Sponge Bob ice cream pop.

Where: 2165 Broadway, 646-290-7233

Vasconcellos

2007-08-14T12:30:00.001-07:00

This is from my friend Jesse .... he's got A+ tastebuds, so I think we're safe.

Also, there is teensy-weensy dominican place in midtown that is worth visiting. The sign looks like they sell second hand heavy metal cassettes but this turns out not to be true. For 5 bucks you get a choice of beans (red, white, black or lentils) plus a choice of white rice or yellow rice and your choice of the meat or fish dishes that have been cooked up that day. Typically they include: pernil, goat, bacalao, king fish, beef stew and stewed chicken. Plus some good juices. The place is just a kitchen with about 8 bar stools on it. Yes, on it. I used to eat here 3 days a week when I worked in the area and now I miss it 3 days a week. Perfect place for a hearty weekday lunch. And character abundant.

Where: 313 West 37th Street

Resto

2007-08-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

After New York Magazine wrote that Resto had the "burger of the year," and posted an appetizing picture, I had to try it out. So, the other day, after a rather stressful day partly caused by the New York transit system being brought to its knees by a fucking rainstorm, I decided to treat myself by heading up to 29th St. and eating alone (something I've been known to do).

The place was crowded for a Tuesday night, and I had to wait a while for a seat to open up at the bar. The flamboyant maitre'd told me to stand in a specific place where he thought one would open up, so I perched awkwardly next to two towering bankers (or part of that species, at least) who were discussing domestic matters and, later, the new Bourne movie (one of them had tried reading the Robert Ludlum books and complained that they were "too wordy.") When a third pal appeared, the giant at the bar graciously offered me his seat at the bar so I could sit down and eat, and my opinion of the trio improved immediately.

Anyway, the place was loud but convivial, and there was a pleasing selection of (expensive) Belgian beers on tap, this being a Belgian restaurant. As for the star attraction, the burger, it was...well, good. Nothing out of this world. You can blame the NYC hype machine for that, I guess. My main complaint was that the bun was Mcdonalds-y...a high class burger like this should have a toasted bun made of high quality bread. This one seemed average at best. Also, when I ordered the burger, the waiter (who admittedly, was the bartender for me) didn't even ask how I wanted it cooked. The rest of the ingredients--gruyere, pickles, the mayo they provided--were good, though lacking in onions or the option of mushrooms (a burger standby for me). Strangely, the pickles proved to be the highlight, which I can't say for any burger I've had before.

Suba or An Open Letter to Frank Bruni

2007-08-09T09:49:00.001-07:00

Frank Bruni gave Suba - a Spanish-y type place on Ludlow, deep in the heart of hipster Disneyland - two stars this week. He prefaced his review with a very sad story of culinary triumph over tragedy, namely chef Seamus Mullen's battle with rheumatoid arthritis while still managing to run a downtown hot spot. So that slightly dampens about what I am about to say next: Suba is one of the worst restaurants I have ever been too. Mr. Bruni! They KNOW WHO YOU ARE and of course made you something wonderful and worthy of your overwritten prose. For the rest of us, here's what you can really expect. I have been to Suba on two recent occasions, in early May and again in late July. Both times I sat in the beautiful but under-ventilated subterranean room, not in the splish splash room, where the menu warns you they are not responsible for your shit falling into the open pools of water. The bathrooms - also a telltale of a restaurant's general quality - were smelly and messy.

On our first visit the service was intermittently rude and haughty from the maitre'd and just erratic and bad from the server, who forgot dishes and drinks, got orders wrong, had a badditude, etc...we had much better service on our second visit, when we went as a group and the server deftly dealt with our group of 10.

However, for the price points - $10 to $15 for a small tapas - you need to expect greatness from Suba. And the food quite simply was not good. On our Saturday night group dinner the server informed us they were out of a number of items, including the crispy calamari and lamb meatballs, which were two of the most appealing tapas selections. We ordered a poached farm egg, the crudo - which the server forgot - the cod fish jowls and an entree of arroz negro ($26) to share between two people. Nothing was served at an appropriate temperature or really had any taste. It looked ok - but everything tasted bland. The one stand out was the deliciously fatty cod jowls. The arroz negro was especially disappointing - too sticky and dense and was flavorless, even with a squirt of sea urchin on top (one bite of flavor a full entree does not make.) As our party finished there was a call to jaunt over to the creperie, "To finally get something to eat."

Sorry, Mr. Bruni, you've been had. In comparison to my lovely recent dinner at The Modern Cafe, which is similar in tone, structure and ambiance, Suba is a disaster. Dinner dollars aren't cheap and Suba is hugely disappointing - the clientele also, I should point out, seem to be a hodge podge of cocky young bankers and the anorexics who love them.

Where: 109 Ludlow Street, 212-982-5714

Pinkberry

2007-08-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. I didn't actually get to eat at the dingle-berry. Just take a look at that picture. See how long that line is? Waiting in that kind of line is reserved only for special occasions, like peeing and Justin Timberlake tickets. It's freaking frozen yogurt! Ok, it is clearly a notch about Tasti-D-Lite (bleck. who eats that?) and I did have a moment of fro-yo zen when I tried pinkberry in Los Angeles last Spring in Japantown. But, this line freaks me out. I let those Pilobus-loving spoonfuls line up on their own. I heard a rumor there's one in Koreatown. Will investigate promptly.

Where:170 8th Ave, (212) 488-2510

Go! Go! Curry

2007-08-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

The other day I found myself in one of my least favorite areas of New York--The Garment District, including Herald Square and environs. Though I enjoy Lazzara's Pizza Cafe on 38th St., the area is seriously lacking in non-chain food options compared to most of the rest of NYC. Not to mention the oppressive crowds around Penn Station and the whole 34th St. corridor.

If I ever find myself working in this hellscape, I will definitely frequent the diamond in the rough I visited the other day--Go! Go! Curry. This is a small outlet of a popular Japanese chain that, bizarrely enough, is centered around Yankees left fielder Hideki Matsui. Go means "five" in Japanese, and 55 is Matsui's number. The last four digits of the place's phone number are 5, and it opens at 10:55 and closes at 9:55. It was written up in both New York Magazine and Time Out New York's "Cheap Eats" issues in the last couple weeks--I discovered it in the former's pages, where I learned the aforementioned information about the obsession with "5." The specialty at Go! Go! Curry is a black gloppish substance upon which rice and toppings of your choice are mixed. The glop ounds kind of gross, but it's actually pretty zesty. The menu, which incorporates pork, chicken, shrimp, and possibly something else, includes "single, "double," "triple," and "grand slam"--did I mention there's a baseball theme? I chose the fried pork cutlets to go over the curry, and those succulent cutlets haunted my daydreams for days after I ate them. Always a sign of a good meal. I wish to Allah I had a place like this in my neighborhood.

The decor, other than Matsui articles all over the walls, is clean, bright, and inviting, and the woman at the counter was charmingly overfriendly and even cautioned me against ordering too plain a dish when I initially went with the most spare option on the menu (if she hadn't spoken up, I wouldn't have feasted on the pork).

In the end, for just over 10 dollars--or clams, or bones, or whatever you call them--I enjoyed a memorable lunch in the midst of a culinary wasteland. Huzzah!

Where: 273 W. 38th St., (212) 730-5555

Requsite seizure-inducing website: http://www.gogocurryusa.com

Elephant & Castle

2007-07-31T20:34:00.000-07:00

This post has less to with this restaurant – which is a slightly-above average locals type place found in every neighborhood – but with restaurants of like this one. And it has to do with salad. Like many people, I eat a lot of salad. Sometimes because I like it, and often because I am supposed to be watching my weight. Dressing on the side, never the Caesar, yada yada yada.

So tonight I ordered the smoked chicken salad ($13.75, which is a little spendy in my book, for this kind of a place). It came in a salad bowl the size of a mixing bowl, with whole leaves of lettuce and then quarters of avocado, a few big chunks of tomato and some roasted hazel nuts. And a big lump of the smoked chicken placed on top. All the mixings were there, but here’s my gripe: how to eat a salad like this? Bowls are are not meant for cutting. And if you’re like me, you like a little bit of each ingredient on every forkful. So I sent the salad back and asked them to chop it. I really really hate salads served in mixing bowls. It makes me feel like I am eating out of a trough. I am not a farm animal. I am human. With a human sized mouth that needs small little pieces so I can fit them gracefully into that mouth.

Anyway, they brought the salad back with only the chicken chopped, so I hacked away at it and made it into something manageable. And it tasted good. But in any event, the place only gets one belly up.

Where: 68 Greenwich Ave., (212) 243-1400

Totonno's

2007-07-29T09:15:00.001-07:00

On Friday, as part of a long-delayed trip to Coney Island, I ate at Totonno's, a classic New York pizzeria with a long history--the original founder once worked at Lombardi's, acknowledged as the first pizza joint in American history. Totonno's is on Neptune Avenue, a few blocks away from Astroland and the rest of the Coney Island boardwalk hullaballo. And, like much of the area, Neptune Avenue is fairly dilapidated, with Totonno's surrounded by auto parts shops, check cashing places and the like. (Ok, maybe not the check cashing places, but I needed another cliched sign of a low-rent area to fill in the blanks.) One wonders what Neptune Ave. looked like when Totonno's opened, and how depressing it must have been to watch the transformation of the neighborhood.

The decor in the restaurant is quite spare, with a few tables and the main attraction, the pizza oven, at the end of the room. An extremely loud employee of the restaurant was jammering on her cell phone during much of our stay. Classic New York pictures and restaurant reviews dot the walls, with a disconcerting picture of both Bushes (Presidents 41 and 43) perched above our table.

I'm not as good at describing victuals as Catherine, so I'll just say that the ultra thin-crust pizza (with mushrooms) was excellent but not quite transcendent. The ingredients tasted fresh, and the place prides itself on using only bread baked that day. I ate five slices, so it obviously did satisfy the hunger beast inside me. Also, they serve you soda in dixie cups. Charming! Though not so charming when you finish the soda in 15 seconds and have to ask for a refill.

I find that a lot of the "best" NYC pizza tastes quite similar--Totonno's reminded me of Grimaldi's, Lucali (the upstart place on Henry St. in Carroll Gardens that you must try if you're a self-respecting pizza eater), and of course, Lombardi's (which is very hit or miss). After eating some deep dish pizza in Chicago a couple of weeks ago, it's striking to see just how thin New Yorkers like their pizza. I fall squarely in the thin crust camp myself, though variety is the spice of life and I wouldn't mind one viable deep dish option in the area.

Where: 1524 Neptune Avenue, Brooklyn, New York (718) 372-8606

p*ong

2007-07-27T14:01:00.000-07:00

Pichet Ong wants to know if it's too much dessert. We are sated and tipsy, having nibbled our way through the 13 course suite ($79). Nah, we tell him, it was just right. We are the last diners in the restaurant on a Thursday night and he has come out from the kitchen to chat.

Ong's new restaurant p*ong is 9 weeks old and after the glowing review in the Times, we went for a test drive. The menu is divided into three parts: savory, sweet and savory and sweet. Plates are priced between $10 and $15. He is famed for his desserts, as his roots are as a pastry chef. But it was the dessert-like preparations of savory dishes that I personally liked the best. Foie gras brulee is a 1" round of foie on a toast and torched to crunchy perfection and served with cherries and a biscotti jelly, which is deliciously light and translucent. The burrata with the frozen roasted tomato was also a wonderful combinations of temperature, taste and texture. Our least favorite was the stilton souffle, which was a little too heavy for a summer evening, although the basil-arugla ice cream was delicious and worth having a scoop on its own. The fresh dates seemed a little too simple - served with shards of aged Spanish mahon - after the artistry of the other plates. As we finished our sparkling black muscat we chatted with Ong. He told us he is planning to open an ice cream shop next door in the near future and signed a cookbook for us. The service was wonderful - both the host and our server were very friendly and warm, creating a great and comfortable experience. I give p*ong four belly ups.

Where: 150 West 10 Street, 212-929-0898