Benefiting from yet another FoodieRegistry.com gift certificate, this one from my college roomie Michelle and her family, Pat and I went to Pescatore in East Midtown last night. The place was hoppin'!
I had the Sicilian seafood couscous, with a wide variety of seafoods, and the flavor was great. I liked that it was ringed with clams and mussels in their shells. The shrimps were overdone, but the other elements were perfectly cooked. Pat had the salmon ala plancha, which was good and came with some interesting gnocchi. And we topped it all off with a satisfying order of tiramisu. We also each enjoyed a glass of wine, and in fiddling recklessly with the dessert menus, I spilled Pat's wine on his pants. He was very forbearing about this incident, which I appreciated. I tried to look on the bright side, noting that I believed this to be the first time I had spilled something on him, despite spilling things on myself constantly.
The diners seated next to us were amusing. On my left was a man who went on and on to his companion about the negative impact of austerity measures in some country whose name we did not catch; it reminded me of the type of conversation you would typically be subjected to in Washington. On my right was a couple with a baby and the baby's grandfather. The baby was extremely well-behaved but after they fed him they wanted him to go to sleep in his stroller, and he was clearly awake and eager to continue to be part of the conversation. It was funny.
I have had some work to do this week (yes, yes, I still occasionally draw a meager paycheck) and I didn't leave the house at all on Tuesday, so yesterday I dropped everything at 2:00 and went to Central Park. I took the subway allll the way to the top (110th St.) and explored some of the parts above 90th St., including the conservatory garden, which is nice, but not exceptionally nice. I saw a woodpecker and a small waterfall, and lay down on the grass for a while, marveling at the beautiful weather. It was bliss.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Cienfuegos, 95 Avenue A, Manhattan
I knew I had to go to Cienfuegos after Pat and I had been to one of the two bars downstairs, Amor Y Amargo, with which it shares a kitchen. For one thing, there was the delicious flan we had tasted earlier; for another thing, the Yelp reviews spoke of rum punchbowls that would knock your socks off. I was like a moth to a flame.
And so it was that we found ourselves ensconced in dramatic chairs at Cienfuegos, in the East Village, admiring the brilliant turquoise walls and chandeliers, a re-creation of Cuba at, presumably, its best.
The waitstaff was funny and helpful and personable. The food was very good - we really liked the croque cangrejo appetizers (fried balls of crabmeat), and we got to sample all the sandwiches, all of which were appealing. We obviously ordered the flan but this time the syrup on top was slightly burned and that was a disappointment.
The punch was great! There were many many options, but we settled on the North Mississippi variety, in a bowl to serve two. It was delicious - not too sweet - and plenty alcoholic, leaving us tipsy but still highly functional. Perfection.
The next destination for our tipsy selves that night was the Lakeside Lounge, where the Ks were playing. The Ks are my new friend Dan's band. I loved that the Lakeside Lounge is a dive, and we enjoyed the band. As a facsimile of a musician myself, I like seeing other reasonably ordinary - even geeky! - people exercising their right to be rock stars. The Ks take it to a higher level than my own band, of course, in the sense that they actually sound good and someone has condoned them playing in a bar, but our kinship is nonetheless there.
And so it was that we found ourselves ensconced in dramatic chairs at Cienfuegos, in the East Village, admiring the brilliant turquoise walls and chandeliers, a re-creation of Cuba at, presumably, its best.
The waitstaff was funny and helpful and personable. The food was very good - we really liked the croque cangrejo appetizers (fried balls of crabmeat), and we got to sample all the sandwiches, all of which were appealing. We obviously ordered the flan but this time the syrup on top was slightly burned and that was a disappointment.
The punch was great! There were many many options, but we settled on the North Mississippi variety, in a bowl to serve two. It was delicious - not too sweet - and plenty alcoholic, leaving us tipsy but still highly functional. Perfection.
The next destination for our tipsy selves that night was the Lakeside Lounge, where the Ks were playing. The Ks are my new friend Dan's band. I loved that the Lakeside Lounge is a dive, and we enjoyed the band. As a facsimile of a musician myself, I like seeing other reasonably ordinary - even geeky! - people exercising their right to be rock stars. The Ks take it to a higher level than my own band, of course, in the sense that they actually sound good and someone has condoned them playing in a bar, but our kinship is nonetheless there.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tomato & Basil, 226 4th Ave., Brooklyn
When Pat was out of town last week and I was lonely and bored, I made many plans for us for this week when he would be back. He accused me of "overscheduling" us, but we are New Yorkers, damn it, and we must go out and have some fun.
Last night's fun was a comedy show called "Mr. Coconuts," at Union Hall in Park Slope. This was recommended by my friend Ann, who is a fan of Mr. Coconuts' blog. There were five comedians including the host, and for the most part they were genuinely funny. We arrived a little later than planned so we had to sit in the second row, and Pat was nervous about being the butt of any jokes, but the hipster sitting next to him pointed out that we were safe because the first row featured three old ladies who were clearly comedic material. They started giving each other uneasy and disapproving glances as soon as the second comedian began joking about being gay, and after his set they left, saying to the host, "bedtime for us!" After that the jokes about them were merciless, obviously, and just lucky for them that they were not there to hear them.
We were late because Pat had come from a work function and we still needed a bite before the show, so we went to Tomato & Basil pizzeria, right above the Union St. subway stop. We each had 2 slices; mine were the Grandma Slice and a tomato and mozzarella slice. The first was quite good and the latter was excellent, with a lovely crisp crust.
Last night's fun was a comedy show called "Mr. Coconuts," at Union Hall in Park Slope. This was recommended by my friend Ann, who is a fan of Mr. Coconuts' blog. There were five comedians including the host, and for the most part they were genuinely funny. We arrived a little later than planned so we had to sit in the second row, and Pat was nervous about being the butt of any jokes, but the hipster sitting next to him pointed out that we were safe because the first row featured three old ladies who were clearly comedic material. They started giving each other uneasy and disapproving glances as soon as the second comedian began joking about being gay, and after his set they left, saying to the host, "bedtime for us!" After that the jokes about them were merciless, obviously, and just lucky for them that they were not there to hear them.
We were late because Pat had come from a work function and we still needed a bite before the show, so we went to Tomato & Basil pizzeria, right above the Union St. subway stop. We each had 2 slices; mine were the Grandma Slice and a tomato and mozzarella slice. The first was quite good and the latter was excellent, with a lovely crisp crust.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Bon Chon Chicken, 104 John St., Manhattan
Having resolved to never again eat out alone, I turned last night to my trusty sidekick SeamlessWeb for some fried chicken and french fries from Bon Chon on John, in the Financial District.
The chicken was crispy and had a delicious sauce on it. The fries were plentiful and good. I was happy. Delivery was under 45 minutes, from half a mile away.
Today I made my first-ever trip to Queens. My friends Adriana and Todd, whom I know from Washington, were passing through New York with their kids on their way from their home in North Carolina to vacation in Italy. They have several New York friends so a gathering was designed at the Sunnyside home of their friend Dan, an artist and musician with a broken ankle and a heart of gold. Well, a broken ankle, anyway. I just met him so I can't vouch for his heart, but it sounded poetic, didn't it?
Queens apparently has great restaurants but I was not there to taste the local fare; I was there to see old friends and insist that my old friends' friends (Dan, Sophie and Jack) become my friends too. Before I even met them, I invited them to the party Pat and I are throwing on July 9.
The reunion/friend-conscription was fun. Bagels and sausages were consumed. A walk was made to a park and children were drenched under sprinklers. Songs were sung and pictures were taken.
The chicken was crispy and had a delicious sauce on it. The fries were plentiful and good. I was happy. Delivery was under 45 minutes, from half a mile away.
Today I made my first-ever trip to Queens. My friends Adriana and Todd, whom I know from Washington, were passing through New York with their kids on their way from their home in North Carolina to vacation in Italy. They have several New York friends so a gathering was designed at the Sunnyside home of their friend Dan, an artist and musician with a broken ankle and a heart of gold. Well, a broken ankle, anyway. I just met him so I can't vouch for his heart, but it sounded poetic, didn't it?
Queens apparently has great restaurants but I was not there to taste the local fare; I was there to see old friends and insist that my old friends' friends (Dan, Sophie and Jack) become my friends too. Before I even met them, I invited them to the party Pat and I are throwing on July 9.
The reunion/friend-conscription was fun. Bagels and sausages were consumed. A walk was made to a park and children were drenched under sprinklers. Songs were sung and pictures were taken.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Delmonico's, 56 Beaver St., Manhattan
I hate going to a restaurant by myself. I feel very self-conscious and lonely even when it is a good experience. I am going to stop torturing myself thusly in the future.
Meanwhile I gave it a whirl tonight. A month or so I got a free $25 gift certificate from restaurants.com when I bought some contact lenses (I know, random) and I thought, as if I had never been down this road before, "this would be perfect for some night when Pat is out of town but I still need to eat." So I chose Delmonico's, in the Financial District.
It was good. The staff was very nice to the self-conscious, lonely woman dining alone, and the filet mignon and creamed spinach were up to par. It turns out $25 does not go very far at Delmonico's, but at least it was really good and I have leftovers. I got so into the New Yorker story I was reading that I largely forgot how pathetic I felt.
But in the end, I miss my husband, and what am I trying to prove, dining out alone as if it doesn't bother me? It bothers me! So that's enough of that.
Meanwhile I gave it a whirl tonight. A month or so I got a free $25 gift certificate from restaurants.com when I bought some contact lenses (I know, random) and I thought, as if I had never been down this road before, "this would be perfect for some night when Pat is out of town but I still need to eat." So I chose Delmonico's, in the Financial District.
It was good. The staff was very nice to the self-conscious, lonely woman dining alone, and the filet mignon and creamed spinach were up to par. It turns out $25 does not go very far at Delmonico's, but at least it was really good and I have leftovers. I got so into the New Yorker story I was reading that I largely forgot how pathetic I felt.
But in the end, I miss my husband, and what am I trying to prove, dining out alone as if it doesn't bother me? It bothers me! So that's enough of that.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
A Spice Route, 88 Fulton St., Manhattan
Pat proposed Indian last night so we ordered from A Spice Route, in the Financial District, via SeamlessWeb. It was decent. The chicken vindaloo, despite being ordered "medium spicy," was a little too fiery, and its pieces of chicken were on the dry side, but the sauce had a nice taste. The chicken tikka masala tasted perhaps a little too chickeny and not really Indian-y enough, but it was pleasant. And we got a lot of nice jasmine rice; we only finished half the rice and will be enjoying the leftovers today, which I always appreciate. The restaurant is a half mile from our home and the delvery was wonderfully quick - 25 minutes.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The Standard Grill, 848 Washington St., Manhattan
Making the most of every last sweet drop of Matt's unemployment before it dries up later this month, we met this morning to walk the new part of the High Line. It is just great. As with the last time I was there, I knew the experience would be likeable in the way that a visit to a pleasant place is likeable, but I was again surpised to realize that it does go above and beyond that. It is a legitimate destination just to admire the design. It also turns out that Matt is something of a botany expert. Who knew?
Our aim was for lunch and a beer afterward at the Standard Hotel's beer garden, in Chelsea, but we were informed it does not open until 4:00. So we enjoyed lunch at the grill instead. I had an "almost Cubano sandwich" that was very good, if a little bland, and an unhealthy quantity of the fries that came with Matt's lobster roll (reportely very good as well).
But what I will most remember are the humorous minor, yet plentiful, waitstaff mishaps. From the moment we sat down, our amiable waiter was returning to the kitchen a salmon dish he had served to a customer next to us, and we then were witness to salads being brought to us in error, a waiter on the verge of removing my not-yet-finished Standard 69 cocktail (which was, by the way, luscious), water droplets spattering everywhere when a bottle was placed on our table, and finally a coffee being brought to us in error (by a different waiter than the wayward salad man). I may even be forgetting some other foibles. We were good-spirited about it all and had a good laugh or five, but it was remarkable.
I was not intellectually equal to the challenge of determining which side of the restroom, curtained down the middle, was men and which was women. I stood at the curtain and looked wildly around for some clue and saw none, and a man washing his hands took pity and pointed me to the left. Thinking I must have overlooked some signage, on the way out I paused and searched again, and again came up empty. Matt informed me on my return to the table that the designations are actually on the floor. Sneaky. Very sneaky, Standard.
Our aim was for lunch and a beer afterward at the Standard Hotel's beer garden, in Chelsea, but we were informed it does not open until 4:00. So we enjoyed lunch at the grill instead. I had an "almost Cubano sandwich" that was very good, if a little bland, and an unhealthy quantity of the fries that came with Matt's lobster roll (reportely very good as well).
But what I will most remember are the humorous minor, yet plentiful, waitstaff mishaps. From the moment we sat down, our amiable waiter was returning to the kitchen a salmon dish he had served to a customer next to us, and we then were witness to salads being brought to us in error, a waiter on the verge of removing my not-yet-finished Standard 69 cocktail (which was, by the way, luscious), water droplets spattering everywhere when a bottle was placed on our table, and finally a coffee being brought to us in error (by a different waiter than the wayward salad man). I may even be forgetting some other foibles. We were good-spirited about it all and had a good laugh or five, but it was remarkable.
I was not intellectually equal to the challenge of determining which side of the restroom, curtained down the middle, was men and which was women. I stood at the curtain and looked wildly around for some clue and saw none, and a man washing his hands took pity and pointed me to the left. Thinking I must have overlooked some signage, on the way out I paused and searched again, and again came up empty. Matt informed me on my return to the table that the designations are actually on the floor. Sneaky. Very sneaky, Standard.
Locanda Verde, 377 Greenwich St., Manhattan
It is with a heavy heart that I report the good news that my daytime partner in crime, Matt, shared with Pat and me last night: he has found a job. Our midday, weekday jaunts around New York's splendid restaurants and watering holes will come to an end on June 27. Not that we did it so many times, but still, the OPTION was always there.
Now I guess I'm just going to have to drink alone at 11:00 AM on a Tuesday. Just kidding. Actually Matt's news coincides nicely with my determination that I really should find a job of my own, darn it. I have started to reach a point where I would get to the end of the day and not only feel totally unproductive (expected) but also feel kind of disappointed, like I wished I had made better use of the time, somehow. If I am no longer going to revel in my laziness, then it is time to stop being so lazy.
We learned Matt's bittersweet news at Smith & Mills, a very small cocktail joint at 71 N. Moore St. in Tribeca. I had a Dark & Stormy and it made me plenty happy.
We went across the street to Locanda Verde for dinner, and despite their polite warning that we would have to wait a while for a table, the wait was not bad at all. We sat outside. The mixed fried seafood appetizer was outstanding, and the burrata was also delectable. Each of us had pasta entrees and each of us was very pleased with ours. Mine was "Grandmother's Ravioli" stuffed with a mix of pork and beef. The portions were modest but the appetizers helped to fill us up.
Now I guess I'm just going to have to drink alone at 11:00 AM on a Tuesday. Just kidding. Actually Matt's news coincides nicely with my determination that I really should find a job of my own, darn it. I have started to reach a point where I would get to the end of the day and not only feel totally unproductive (expected) but also feel kind of disappointed, like I wished I had made better use of the time, somehow. If I am no longer going to revel in my laziness, then it is time to stop being so lazy.
We learned Matt's bittersweet news at Smith & Mills, a very small cocktail joint at 71 N. Moore St. in Tribeca. I had a Dark & Stormy and it made me plenty happy.
We went across the street to Locanda Verde for dinner, and despite their polite warning that we would have to wait a while for a table, the wait was not bad at all. We sat outside. The mixed fried seafood appetizer was outstanding, and the burrata was also delectable. Each of us had pasta entrees and each of us was very pleased with ours. Mine was "Grandmother's Ravioli" stuffed with a mix of pork and beef. The portions were modest but the appetizers helped to fill us up.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Luke's Lobster, 26 S. William St., Manhattan
You already know that Pat and I are obsessed with Luke's Lobster, but I'm making a new entry for it because they opened a new location, in the Financial District, just a couple blocks from our apartment only two days ago, and obviously we went, and obviously we will go over and over and over again. Our lobster roll worship knows no bounds.
We weren't quite sure where it was so we were hesitating on a street corner, and a passerby helpfully asked where we were going. My first reaction was chagrin because I thought "do I look like a tourist?" but then just as I got over that, I adopted skepticism because there was no way this samaritan would know where the brand-new Luke's Lobster was, but I asked him anyway. And lo and behold, he and his companion had JUST COME FROM LUKE'S, and they pointed us down the block, and as a bonus I got to pet their puppy too. Let that be a lesson to me about cynicism.
Being brand new, Luke's was practically empty! Pat and I are priding ourselves on being one of the first on the scene lately (see the post on Shake Shack). Trendsetters, we are. Now how do we prevent the word from leaking out? (You might argue that blogging about it is counterproductive, but then you would be vastly overestimating this blog's readership.)
We weren't quite sure where it was so we were hesitating on a street corner, and a passerby helpfully asked where we were going. My first reaction was chagrin because I thought "do I look like a tourist?" but then just as I got over that, I adopted skepticism because there was no way this samaritan would know where the brand-new Luke's Lobster was, but I asked him anyway. And lo and behold, he and his companion had JUST COME FROM LUKE'S, and they pointed us down the block, and as a bonus I got to pet their puppy too. Let that be a lesson to me about cynicism.
Being brand new, Luke's was practically empty! Pat and I are priding ourselves on being one of the first on the scene lately (see the post on Shake Shack). Trendsetters, we are. Now how do we prevent the word from leaking out? (You might argue that blogging about it is counterproductive, but then you would be vastly overestimating this blog's readership.)
Friday, June 10, 2011
Some restaurant & bar suggestions from Daily Candy
Daily Candy posted the following today and it seems like it has some good options:
http://www.dailycandy.com/new-york/article/104760/Editors-Neighborhood-Guides-Eat-and-Drink-Local
Our Editors Break Down Their Neighborhoods:
Friday Night Highlights
It’s Friday. We asked five of our editors to spill their ideal plans for tonight, without leaving their respective neighborhoods.
Crown Heights
Emily W., assistant editor
Warm Up: The gigantic rotating selection of craft beers on tap at Washington Commons never disappoints.
Main Course: Chicken enchiladas with mole from Chavella’s makes a strong case for Mexican.
Next Level: The best way to interrupt skee ball games at Franklin Park? A BLT from Dutch Boy Burger next door.
Fort Greene
Lauren L., editor
Warm Up: Order a raspberry pepper tequila or two at No. 7. Maybe a broccoli taco if things get crazy.
Main Course: Locanda Vini & Olii’s never-faltering Italian is worth the short walk to the edge of the neighborhood.
Next Level: Slink into Kif for the romantic outdoor tables and cushy couches in back. It’s Moroccan (no, not as in Mariah Carey’s child).
Hell’s Kitchen
Lauren B., editor
Warm Up: Sake and pork belly sliders spiked with Kochujang chili paste and scallions at Danji.
Main Course: Tehuitzingo Deli Grocery’s back window for pineapple-flecked roast pork al pastor and classic arroz con pollo. Wine down at cheese temples Casellula or Ardesia.
Next Level: Flights of house-infused rums and frothy cocktails at subterranean surf den Réunion (chased by late-night toasted marshmallows on Nutella toast).
Soho
Jay B., managing editor
Warm Up: The elevated garden at David Burke Kitchen gets you closer to the late-afternoon sun. The wine gets you closer to an awesome night.
Main Course: Smoked ricotta ravioli and monster peel-and-eat shrimp at The Dutch. You’ll need an extra napkin. Should you need a late-night dinner, try Blue Ribbon Brasserie.
Next Level: Imperial No. Nine’s garden for the caramel popcorn ice cream and the No. 7. Pegu Club to fight the crowds for a Penicillin (favorite cocktail in NYC, but not always on the menu).
West Village
Jordan B., New York editor
Warm Up: Highlands. Egg white-spiked whiskey sour or bubbly at the bar. Fat, mellow, buttery oysters if there’s an open table.
Main Course: Joseph Leonard (skate and cauliflower) or, with foresight, L’Artusi (garganelli with mushrooms).
Next Level: Pause at Empellón for a Por Que No, get weird at The Jane Hotel, or shoot the s*it and play shuffleboard at Fat Cat.
http://www.dailycandy.com/new-york/article/104760/Editors-Neighborhood-Guides-Eat-and-Drink-Local
Our Editors Break Down Their Neighborhoods:
Friday Night Highlights
It’s Friday. We asked five of our editors to spill their ideal plans for tonight, without leaving their respective neighborhoods.
Crown Heights
Emily W., assistant editor
Warm Up: The gigantic rotating selection of craft beers on tap at Washington Commons never disappoints.
Main Course: Chicken enchiladas with mole from Chavella’s makes a strong case for Mexican.
Next Level: The best way to interrupt skee ball games at Franklin Park? A BLT from Dutch Boy Burger next door.
Fort Greene
Lauren L., editor
Warm Up: Order a raspberry pepper tequila or two at No. 7. Maybe a broccoli taco if things get crazy.
Main Course: Locanda Vini & Olii’s never-faltering Italian is worth the short walk to the edge of the neighborhood.
Next Level: Slink into Kif for the romantic outdoor tables and cushy couches in back. It’s Moroccan (no, not as in Mariah Carey’s child).
Hell’s Kitchen
Lauren B., editor
Warm Up: Sake and pork belly sliders spiked with Kochujang chili paste and scallions at Danji.
Main Course: Tehuitzingo Deli Grocery’s back window for pineapple-flecked roast pork al pastor and classic arroz con pollo. Wine down at cheese temples Casellula or Ardesia.
Next Level: Flights of house-infused rums and frothy cocktails at subterranean surf den Réunion (chased by late-night toasted marshmallows on Nutella toast).
Soho
Jay B., managing editor
Warm Up: The elevated garden at David Burke Kitchen gets you closer to the late-afternoon sun. The wine gets you closer to an awesome night.
Main Course: Smoked ricotta ravioli and monster peel-and-eat shrimp at The Dutch. You’ll need an extra napkin. Should you need a late-night dinner, try Blue Ribbon Brasserie.
Next Level: Imperial No. Nine’s garden for the caramel popcorn ice cream and the No. 7. Pegu Club to fight the crowds for a Penicillin (favorite cocktail in NYC, but not always on the menu).
West Village
Jordan B., New York editor
Warm Up: Highlands. Egg white-spiked whiskey sour or bubbly at the bar. Fat, mellow, buttery oysters if there’s an open table.
Main Course: Joseph Leonard (skate and cauliflower) or, with foresight, L’Artusi (garganelli with mushrooms).
Next Level: Pause at Empellón for a Por Que No, get weird at The Jane Hotel, or shoot the s*it and play shuffleboard at Fat Cat.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Shake Shack, 215 Murray St., Manhattan
Everyone will tell you the Shake Shack is a New York institution. "You'll wait in line for two hours," they'll say, "but it's worth it." As a barely employed New Yorker, during these glorious spring days of late, there was no reason for me not to brave the line. I do love a good milkshake.
Still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. There are a lot of other ways to occupy two free hours in New York. Also, we heard they opened a Shake Shack in Washington, which was just kind of an insult. What's the point of living here if you don't have exclusive access to the best of everything? Why should staid old Washington get in on the action just months after we left? Maybe Shake Shack is just not as cool as everyone insists. (We also heard that a Luke's Lobster opened in Washington, but I haven't been able to bring myself to google it to verify this potential outrage.)
But mere days ago, they opened a Shake Shack in Battery Park City, and Pat and I stumbled upon it in its infancy. Which is to say, the line is quite short. We plunged in. Each of us had a Shack Burger and a caramel milkshake, and Pat also got an order of fries. It was all very high quality. The fries were crispy and delicious. The shakes were the perfect consistency - thick yet slurpable - and the flavor was impeccable. The hamburgers and their buns and toppings were juicy and fresh. Both of us thought the Shack Sauce did not improve the burger; I found it excessively salty. It is interesting that they standardly cook their burgers to medium doneness, whereas Five Guys cooks them well-done, presumably to avoid any possibility of giving their customers food poisoning. The fact is, since I was a kid, I have liked a well-done or even an over-done burger. That is just the way I like them to taste. But I respect that Pat and others are pleased that Shake Shack presents a pinker alternative. That is just the way he likes his burgers to taste.
Now that I have experienced for myself what all the hoopla is about, I can still say I would not stand in a long line at Shake Shack, but I'd say it's worth a short wait. It is also encouraging that they have a separate line if you just want cold items.
Still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. There are a lot of other ways to occupy two free hours in New York. Also, we heard they opened a Shake Shack in Washington, which was just kind of an insult. What's the point of living here if you don't have exclusive access to the best of everything? Why should staid old Washington get in on the action just months after we left? Maybe Shake Shack is just not as cool as everyone insists. (We also heard that a Luke's Lobster opened in Washington, but I haven't been able to bring myself to google it to verify this potential outrage.)
But mere days ago, they opened a Shake Shack in Battery Park City, and Pat and I stumbled upon it in its infancy. Which is to say, the line is quite short. We plunged in. Each of us had a Shack Burger and a caramel milkshake, and Pat also got an order of fries. It was all very high quality. The fries were crispy and delicious. The shakes were the perfect consistency - thick yet slurpable - and the flavor was impeccable. The hamburgers and their buns and toppings were juicy and fresh. Both of us thought the Shack Sauce did not improve the burger; I found it excessively salty. It is interesting that they standardly cook their burgers to medium doneness, whereas Five Guys cooks them well-done, presumably to avoid any possibility of giving their customers food poisoning. The fact is, since I was a kid, I have liked a well-done or even an over-done burger. That is just the way I like them to taste. But I respect that Pat and others are pleased that Shake Shack presents a pinker alternative. That is just the way he likes his burgers to taste.
Now that I have experienced for myself what all the hoopla is about, I can still say I would not stand in a long line at Shake Shack, but I'd say it's worth a short wait. It is also encouraging that they have a separate line if you just want cold items.
Artisanal Fromagerie and Bistro, 2 Park Ave., Manhattan
Our friend Marti is a regular at Artisanal, in Murray Hill. She chose it for dinner on Saturday and secured us the single coveted table in the glorious "cheese cave," lined with refrigerated shelves of all the cheeses. In addition to chance for cheese-gazing, and the feeling of being superior to the other diners, the cheese cave also offers a quieter atmosphere than the main dining room. What did Marti have to do to get us this table? She told us, but I'll never repeat it.
The food was top notch. Pat had a gnocchi appetizer and Marti had a dazzlingly attractive salad. I had the tender and juicy "chicken under a brick" entree. I am not a lamb fan, but the looks of Pat's lamb dish made even me want to sink my teeth into it. Marti had a steak that I can vouch was good because she put her leftovers in with mine and I enjoyed them the next day. Her fries were very seductive, too.
Dessert was where we really got down to the task at hand: cheese. We consulted the restaurant's cheese expert (I forget the exact title - fromagier, perhaps?). He came off as a little recalcitrant at first but did open up a bit and we ended up with a selection of five cheeses. First was Nettle Meadow Kunik, a creamy goat and cow blend from New York, with a little tang and a lot of butteriness. Then there was the stronger Truffle Tremor, from California. The Ossau-Iraty, from France was perhaps most conducive to picking up off the plate and popping directly into one's eager mouth. The gooey Epoisses, from France, was very pleasing, and we finished with the no-holds-barred Roaring Forties Blue, from Australia. The fromagier (or whatever he is) paired these with bread, apple, and pear. It was a great finish to a great meal.
The food was top notch. Pat had a gnocchi appetizer and Marti had a dazzlingly attractive salad. I had the tender and juicy "chicken under a brick" entree. I am not a lamb fan, but the looks of Pat's lamb dish made even me want to sink my teeth into it. Marti had a steak that I can vouch was good because she put her leftovers in with mine and I enjoyed them the next day. Her fries were very seductive, too.
Dessert was where we really got down to the task at hand: cheese. We consulted the restaurant's cheese expert (I forget the exact title - fromagier, perhaps?). He came off as a little recalcitrant at first but did open up a bit and we ended up with a selection of five cheeses. First was Nettle Meadow Kunik, a creamy goat and cow blend from New York, with a little tang and a lot of butteriness. Then there was the stronger Truffle Tremor, from California. The Ossau-Iraty, from France was perhaps most conducive to picking up off the plate and popping directly into one's eager mouth. The gooey Epoisses, from France, was very pleasing, and we finished with the no-holds-barred Roaring Forties Blue, from Australia. The fromagier (or whatever he is) paired these with bread, apple, and pear. It was a great finish to a great meal.
Pera Mediterranean Brasserie, 303 Madison Ave., Manhattan
When Pat and I got hitched, one of the places we registered was www.foodieregistry.com. It was practically tailor-made for two people who a) already got rid of vast quantities of stuff when we moved to New York, and STILL have more things than places to put them, and b) eat out constantly in the Big Apple.
My lovely friends Kirsten and Matt gave us a certificate to Pera Mediterranean Brasserie, in Midtown. Our meze sampler had lots of intriguing options, like a spicy beef tartar, fresh-tasting stuffed grape leaves, and a flavorful fish spread. My hanger steak entree was just what this carnivore had been hungering for (and the leftovers were just as satisfying the next day in a wrap with spinach and cheese). Pat found some elements of his mixed grilled meats (heavy on lamb, for which he is a fiend) to be better than others.
I must protest a little about the drinks. Pat's cocktail should have been a hell of a lot more memorable for $14, and my little bottle of tonic water should not have cost $5.
My lovely friends Kirsten and Matt gave us a certificate to Pera Mediterranean Brasserie, in Midtown. Our meze sampler had lots of intriguing options, like a spicy beef tartar, fresh-tasting stuffed grape leaves, and a flavorful fish spread. My hanger steak entree was just what this carnivore had been hungering for (and the leftovers were just as satisfying the next day in a wrap with spinach and cheese). Pat found some elements of his mixed grilled meats (heavy on lamb, for which he is a fiend) to be better than others.
I must protest a little about the drinks. Pat's cocktail should have been a hell of a lot more memorable for $14, and my little bottle of tonic water should not have cost $5.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
E.A.T., 1064 Madison Ave., Manhattan
I have been an Alexander McQueen fan for many years, so Pat and I went to see the exhibit of his runway stuff at the Met on Monday. We waited about 45 minutes in line, a liability of coming on Memorial Day when the place was crawling with tourists.
I feel confident that the vast majority of people in line had no idea what to expect; probably many of them were in line just because they assumed there must be something cool at the end of such a long line. I feel particularly confident that the family behind us did not have well-hidden fashionista leanings. Sample conversations:
Father: "You're back so soon?"
Son: "Yeah I saw it [another exhibit] and I'm back."
Father: "What, you saw it already? How could you see it so quickly? What's wrong with you?"
Son: "I was there for like 30 minutes!"
Father: "That was no 30 minutes. You barely saw it. You can't have seen a thing."
Son: "I saw it!"
Son (on cell phone): "Mom, tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE...we are in the room past the paintings...Tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE, Mom....If you follow the line you'll see us. Dad will have his hand up....Mom, tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE."
Father (to mother, who has sat down): "Are you tired? You look tired. Are you bored? Are you hungry? Do your feet hurt?"
We endured 45 minutes of that sort of thing before we were rewarded with entry to the exhibit. I think the family behind us and all the other unsuspecting tourists were probably taken aback but not necessarily disappointed, because the Met did a great job of infusing drama into the exhibit - it was kind of like a runway show in itself.
There were dozens of outfits and they were unbelievably splendid. It's kind of like there is style, and then there is another dimension that represents something more ideal and fantastic, and that's where you find yourself in front of a McQueen ensemble. And then "style" just seems dismissably earthly, even though in real life no one goes around wearing antlers and dresses that look like a cross between a butterfly and a football uniform. But you WANT to.
We ambled around the Park for a while afterward and then went to E.A.T. on the Upper East Side for dinner. Pat had seen this place a couple days before and made the connection between it and Eli Zabar's grocery chain, and then it turned out E.A.T. was in the NFT bible as well. It is a cafe connected with a gourmet food store where the food did look very scrumptious.
I had the grilled stuffed salmon; Pat had the pot roast. Both were good, but overpriced. Not worth the respective $28 and $24 pricetags. Plus my salmon really had too much dill, and I'm not much of a dill fan. The breads were great.
I feel confident that the vast majority of people in line had no idea what to expect; probably many of them were in line just because they assumed there must be something cool at the end of such a long line. I feel particularly confident that the family behind us did not have well-hidden fashionista leanings. Sample conversations:
Father: "You're back so soon?"
Son: "Yeah I saw it [another exhibit] and I'm back."
Father: "What, you saw it already? How could you see it so quickly? What's wrong with you?"
Son: "I was there for like 30 minutes!"
Father: "That was no 30 minutes. You barely saw it. You can't have seen a thing."
Son: "I saw it!"
Son (on cell phone): "Mom, tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE...we are in the room past the paintings...Tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE, Mom....If you follow the line you'll see us. Dad will have his hand up....Mom, tell me EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE."
Father (to mother, who has sat down): "Are you tired? You look tired. Are you bored? Are you hungry? Do your feet hurt?"
We endured 45 minutes of that sort of thing before we were rewarded with entry to the exhibit. I think the family behind us and all the other unsuspecting tourists were probably taken aback but not necessarily disappointed, because the Met did a great job of infusing drama into the exhibit - it was kind of like a runway show in itself.
There were dozens of outfits and they were unbelievably splendid. It's kind of like there is style, and then there is another dimension that represents something more ideal and fantastic, and that's where you find yourself in front of a McQueen ensemble. And then "style" just seems dismissably earthly, even though in real life no one goes around wearing antlers and dresses that look like a cross between a butterfly and a football uniform. But you WANT to.
We ambled around the Park for a while afterward and then went to E.A.T. on the Upper East Side for dinner. Pat had seen this place a couple days before and made the connection between it and Eli Zabar's grocery chain, and then it turned out E.A.T. was in the NFT bible as well. It is a cafe connected with a gourmet food store where the food did look very scrumptious.
I had the grilled stuffed salmon; Pat had the pot roast. Both were good, but overpriced. Not worth the respective $28 and $24 pricetags. Plus my salmon really had too much dill, and I'm not much of a dill fan. The breads were great.
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