Aquavit

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

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

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

Di Fara, revisited

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

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

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

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

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

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