tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37459357759947696432024-02-20T04:41:43.819-05:00e a t e r y R O Ww w w . e a t e r y r o w . c o mJon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.comBlogger423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-47775065352092511962019-03-04T17:36:00.002-05:002019-03-04T17:41:13.331-05:00LEVANTE<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://www.levantelic.com/"><b>LEVANTE</b></a></div>
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• 26-21 Jackson Avenue</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• Long Island City, NY 11101</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (718) 392-3885 •</div>
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A hop, skip, and a jump away from where Amazon had been planning to put its secondary headquarters rests Levante, an upscale trendy Italian restaurant that I decided to take Lutsy to for Valentine's Day. Frankly, I find little more boring than choosing food off an Italian menu. Chicken marsala for the nine-hundredth time will never get my panties wet and that's exactly why I chose Levante. They don't just serve up the tired standards. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSC80iNhk7CTamLQj8nQaiWTj0iEewcsp-wYp7JfMLJB7q4NcT2lTIDzxW9niHX_pzA_bFYkaQqsQmrGplkLz3aAGCfeNEe8EJIhjyKFiwQOIqw00Jhyzio8Buxb9AXdxiKY1hYqDcJU/s1600/Levanteout2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="1600" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSC80iNhk7CTamLQj8nQaiWTj0iEewcsp-wYp7JfMLJB7q4NcT2lTIDzxW9niHX_pzA_bFYkaQqsQmrGplkLz3aAGCfeNEe8EJIhjyKFiwQOIqw00Jhyzio8Buxb9AXdxiKY1hYqDcJU/s640/Levanteout2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Once you walk in, you immediately feel way cooler than you did on the sidewalk. The staff dresses like they work at a fashion magazine. The ceiling is about twenty feet high and a huge weathered brick wall dominates the space. It feels like it could be an art gallery if only there weren't people eating and drinking. In the back is a large open pizza oven where pizza chefs char up some quite pretty looking pies. </div>
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Lutsy and I were given the last seats available, which were at the bar. Honestly, I prefer bar seats, especially in winter so my long coat doesn't drag on the ground while resting on the back of my chair. We ordered some drinks, chatted about our day, and selected some appetizers. Unlike myself, Lutsy in fact <i>does</i> like dime-a-dozen red sauce joints and it gave her a little bit of joy to see something as "normal" as <b>Arancini</b> on the menu. Arancini, a deep-fried rice ball stuffed with cheese (in Levante's case, four cheeses) is not exactly what one orders to pretend to be healthy, and I do make the attempt at pretending. I ordered the <b>Indivia Salad</b>, a plate of endive greens, grilled shrimp, avocado, and radicchio under a lemon dressing. It was perfect. Light, slightly bitter, slightly sour, and perfectly balanced. Lutsy, for her part, loved her arancini. We were off to a good start.</div>
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My entree was the <b>Pollo</b>, a simple name for a not-so-simple dish. Levante says that the chicken (organic of course) is made "cacciatora" style, though it didn't seem that way to me. The chicken itself was excellent, if oddly spongy, and the jus was likewise very good. But the overabundance of olives, which overpowered much of the subtly flavor of the rest of the meal, was disappointing. Lutsy enjoyed it far more than I did, so maybe you will as well. The dish is also quite heavy and even if I wanted to finish it, I wouldn't have been able to. Lutsy ordered the <b>Manzo</b>, a grilled skirt steak with sweet peppers, chantarelle mushroom, and salumi. My terrible photo does not do the dish a service. It was quite good. Indeed, as it wasn't buried in olives, the meat had taste. Lutsy definitely won the battle of the entrees. Even though Levante has a whole selection of pizzas available, we did not get one. It would have been way too much. Still, they looked and smelled very good and with our seats right by the oven, I was sorely tempted to get one. </div>
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For dessert, we split a <b>Creme Brulee</b>, served independent of a ramekin and beautifully plated next to pomegranate and cream. Delicious, but as you can see, quite small. <br />
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My entree notwithstanding, Levante was a great meal. There aren't enough interesting Italian restaurants in the world and having one a few subway stops away is appreciated. They filled up so I definitely recommend making reservations. Sure, this was Valentine's Day, but something tells me that it stays full often.</div>
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Appetizers average $15. Entrees average $25. Pastas average $20. Pizzas range from $12 to $23 depending on size and style.</div>
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Copyright eateryrow.com 2019.Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-62645850465196962772018-12-17T13:42:00.002-05:002019-01-05T14:13:37.585-05:00LEGASEA<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://moxy-hotels.marriott.com/nyc/timessquare/dining/legasea-seafood-brasserie/#menu-4"><b>LEGASEA</b></a></div>
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• 485 Seventh Avenue</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10018</div>
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• (212)268/1888 •</div>
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Pike, who is psychologically prohibited from socializing without his wife's express permission (yes, I know you read this and I absolutely am teasing you) was free to grab dinner. Huzzah! When he suggested Legasea, near Penn Station, I didn't hesitate to say yes. It had been a while since having seafood at a seafood restaurant, and I needed a reminder on why I go so infrequently. Legasea gave me <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>that reminder</u></span>.</div>
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Upstairs, the dining room is nice and large, and like any seafood restaurant in a certain price point, could be converted into a steakhouse with little more than a menu swap. We were given a cozy seat next to some businessmen having a business dinner who made me feel poor, and interspersed with our bullshit session, proceeded to peruse Legasea's offerings. Nothing on the menu really stood out from what one would expect from an upscale seafood restaurant. Grilled fish, raw bar, a lobster tail or two; expensive comfort food, nothing experimental.<br />
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The first thing to come to the table were two warm and very tasty rolls served with a delightful herbed butter and less delightful ramekins of sliced pickles and coleslaw. Who, I thought, possibly out loud, will be combining these three things? Freebie aside, we started with a selection of oysters and clams from Legasea's <b>raw bar menu</b>. Raw bars are always pricey, but so long as the selection is fresh they tend to be a guaranteed good eat and this was no exception. Good, but, pound for pound, expensive. <br />
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After our oysters, the appetizers arrived. <b>Grilled Octopus</b> over olives, celery, potatoes, and pesto was Pike's choice. "Here, try a bite" he said. "What do you think?" Seemed okay. It could have been a little more tender, or used a little fresh cracked pepper, seems a little burned-. "It's burned." There was definitely more char than it needed. "And it's cold. It's grilled." It was lukewarm. "It should be hot."</div>
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Attempting desperately to be healthier than I normally am, I chose the <b>Candy Striped Beets</b> salad; beets, ruby red grapefruit, sunflower seeds and a vinaigrette. Normally, I love beet salads, but this was pretty tasteless. I kept wishing that it would become a bowl of grapefruit wedges, but the genie was out that day.</div>
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Pike's dinner were the <b>Diver Sea Scallops</b>, pictured below. Looks good. Wearing its little salad hat, it tasted like scallops tend to taste, but they, too, had more char than Pike would have liked. "These are also burned. For forty bucks, they shouldn't be burned." My entree was the <b>Wild Branzino</b>. It was tender, fluffy, and basically everything that I was hoping it would be. Cheaper would have been nice, but hey, I'll take what I can get. Something that I got that I should not have gotten was a side of <b>Broccoli</b>. Oh Jon, always trying to squeeze a hearty dark green vegetable into his meal. It came over a dollop of dijon mustard yogurt, which is an acquired taste, and under a heart glaze of charcoal, which is not. It seems that the kitchen really likes to burn things.</div>
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So, what can I say about Legasea? Is what we got worth $100 per person? No. Not to me. Not to Pike. Would I return? Sure, if someone else foots the bill and I've been everywhere else in the area. But would I recommend it? No. Will I stop asking and answering my own questions now? Yes, I think that I will. </div>
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Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-73526439725117812712018-08-29T15:27:00.001-04:002018-08-29T15:32:11.523-04:00LA SIRENA<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://lasirena-nyc.com/"><b>LA SIRENA</b></a></div>
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88 Ninth Avenue</div>
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New York, NY 10011</div>
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(212) 977-6096</div>
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For my birthday dinner, I had one rule: wherever we go, it had to have a Michelin star. Of the 24,000 restaurants in New York City, this simple edit cut out 23,950 of them. Eliminating all of those not available on OpenTable (gimme points!) pinched off another 20. Refusing to take a seat at a time I didn't like cut that number in half again, and finally my refusal to walk more than a few blocks from either the E or the F train narrowed it to a pleasant half dozen. It was basically between La Sirena and Rouge Tomate and I chose La Sirena because Lutsy loves Italian food more than all others and I'm a good boyfriend. Easy Peasy.<br />
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Nestled on the first floor of the boutique Maritime Hotel, a hideously ugly building that caters to the not-so hideous sexy tourist class for $400 a night is La Sirena, an upscale-casual-chic Italian restaurant that's about as far from Arthur Avenue's <a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2018/05/dominicks-restaurant.html">Dominick's Restaurant</a> as one could imagine. <br />
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If I started my meal wondering if anyone could realistically nurse a single drink for an hour and a half, La Sirena's $21 negroni taught me that it could indeed be possible. The rest of the meal actually wasn't too badly priced, especially not for a hip Michelin-starred joint. Our meals were pre-fixed four courses for $72 per person, and we actually left feeling pretty full.</div>
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For the first of these courses, Lutsy ordered a <b>Squash Blossom</b> appetizer stuffed with ricotta, anchovy, and honey. I initially didn't think I'd it like at all. When it arrived in front of us looking like well-plated dead cicadas, I was all but certain that it would suck. But who knew? It was fantastic! It was sweet and creamy, light and rich. There is literally nothing wrong with this appetizer. I ordered the <b>Verdure</b>, a salad with peas, fava beans, tendrils, pecorino cheese, and a pomodoro vinaigrette, which I also thoroughly enjoyed. It was refreshing and fresh and perfect for the hot as hell summer day. Semi-bitter. Semi-sweet. Minty.</div>
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Round two was the pasta course. Lutsy ordered the <b>Garganelli</b> pasta in a veal ragu with sun gold tomatoes and I ordered the <b>Pappardelle</b> in a heritage pork bolognese. Fun fact, "heritage" pork means that the animal is older, organically raised, and can trace its genes to pigs from the colonial times, thereby granting the pig a longer life, the consumer a more flavorful meal, and the restaurant a heartier tab. La Sirena gives you the option of spitting the pastas between two plates so they can be shared without having noodles swinging like sauce-dripping vines across the table and we opted for that. Both the garganelli and parppardelle were good, but we agreed that the pappardelle was the better of the two. That said, let me be bluntly honest here. The pastas were good. They were fine. They did their job. But they didn't blow my socks off and I kind of assumed that they would. The pappardelle pasta's sauce was a little too acidic and Lutsy's garganelle was a little too gritty and timid. I'm not telling you to skip the pasta course, but there are better pastas for the money out there.</div>
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For my third course I tried the <b>Quail Sangiovese</b> because how often do you see quail? The entree came with, as you can see, two of them glazed in an herb-cherry sauce and served on a bed of fennel. These are small birds, each smaller than half a Cornish hen. The chef did a good job carving out the vast majority of the skeleton to allow patrons to reserve a semblance of class while eating, but at a certain point one will have to roll up their sleeves, put down their utensils, and eat the bird KFC style. Lutsy went for the <b>Crispy Branzino Piccata</b> in spicy cherry butter, which she really liked. I'm not a skin-on-fish kind of guy, so I was a tad less enthusiastic, though I did like it. She recommends the dish whole-heartedly.</div>
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The desserts were small. Real small. My <b>Bay Leaf Panna Cotta</b> came topped with a little pistachio cookie thing and a spoonful of cherry compote off to the side. I love panna cotta, but this was genuinely mediocre and I really don't recommend it. It looked great on the plate and this dish wasn't altogether bad, but it also wasn't altogether good for much more than an <a href="https://www.instagram.com/eateryrow/">Instagram pic</a>. Lutsy got the <b>Tiramisu</b> with coffee mascarpone whipped cream and coated in a chocolate olive oil sauce. I do recommend this. Tiramisu is always a good choice.</div>
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In conclusion, I'm very glad to have gone to La Sirena and I do recommend that you go check the place out, but unless Gilt City offers a deal or I can put the tab on an expense account, I really doubt that I'll be back. The service was excellent, the atmosphere was top notch, and the price was <i>relatively</i> good. It's just that there were a few too many dishes that I found lacking in the oomph! department.</div>
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The total cost for the meal, which was the four course pre-fix, one cocktail and one coffee, was about $170 plus tax and tip.</div>
Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-26092017804733243912018-05-23T19:00:00.001-04:002018-05-23T19:01:22.585-04:00DOMINICK'S RESTAURANT<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>DOMINICK'S RESTAURANT</b></div>
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• 2335 Arthur Avenue</div>
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• Bronx, NY 10458</div>
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• (718) 733-2807 •</div>
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My girlfriend loves Italian food. Loves it, frankly, to an almost unnatural degree. So, me being the thoughtful guy that I am, suggested that we road trip it up to Arthur Avenue in the Belmont neighborhood of the Bronx. Arthur Avenue is often called New York's "real" Little Italy, and I suspect that this has as much to do with it's being an actually historically Italian area as much as with Manhattan's Little Italy dwindling into nothing more than a proud, albeit pitiful, part of Chinatown. In any event, Arthur Avenue's famous, Lutsy likes Italian grub, and I'd never dined up there. So I did some research, found that Dominick's on literally everyone's "must try" lists, and off we went. </div>
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Dominick's shtick, if you will, is that they're super old school. They're want you to feel like you've gone back in time and are having dinner at the restaurant that Grandma and Grandpa would have set up after sailing past the Statue of Liberty in 1925. They don't have menus, they just verbally tell you what the kitchen has decided to make that day. They don't have normal tables, they have communal ones where everyone sits next to each other, like we're all part of the community. They don't take credit cards; such things didn't exist in 1925. In fact, they don't even give you a bill. You're just shown a number on an index card and presume that the waiter did the math correctly. But even if he didn't,how would you know? There's no menu, so there are no prices. For all you know, they could have comped you a dish or charged you twice as much. Still, fear not. I'm sure that the IRS never audits Grandma.</div>
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So what's on this secret menu? Exotic dishes like fried calamari, veal marsala, and, on occasion (but not on this occasion) lasagna. Okay, yes, I'm making fun. But that's because Dominick's literally has the same menu that the pizza place down the block from me has, except that they don't serve pizza and they don't take credit cards.</div>
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When we arrived, a gruff guy at the entrance told us that the earliest table was a half an hour away, grunted a number at us like he was doing us a favor, and said that we could wait upstairs where there's a bar. They'd call our number when a table opened up. Heading upstairs, we found not just a bar, but an entire second completely empty and unused dining room. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to be waiting at all, but it looks impressive for their to be a crowd of people trying valiantly to get in. After all, if you don't have to wait for a table, how good can the food be? We took a seat at the bar and ordered some drinks while we waited for a walkie talkie to demand our party head down to the dining room. Lutsy ordered a glass of wine that, if I didn't see it come out of a bottle, I'd have sworn it came from a box. Meanwhile, I ordered a Peroni and will never again complain about Rolling Rock. </div>
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The table we were eventually shown to had a plastic sheet over it that reminded me of what my parents had on their kitchen table when I was a kid in the 1980s. Our waiter was a stereotype right out of central casting a la Mario Brothers, who started off by hovering over our table silently, expecting us to just tell him what we wanted. Remember, there's no menu, but I anticipated this and already had a decision squared away. "We'll split a baked clams and I'll have a lasagna," I told him. Sorry, no lasagna. That's a Sunday dish. "What else would-a you like? We have chicken, veal, seafood..." Translation. "We have meat. Then we put on sauce."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_BFd494ZoHUxS3a1L0JTCy0qqEuoZo77lSKUBj83rwe2ywFbSsIRDQjupblj5ywy1lkecpYp5n_LXhQW5sqPXh8lS4hCX4ZaDktGMlk8t8XuTNp4YKF8JeSKC-GhZ2JVF-CCbeNCo48/s1600/WP_20180505_19_25_45_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_BFd494ZoHUxS3a1L0JTCy0qqEuoZo77lSKUBj83rwe2ywFbSsIRDQjupblj5ywy1lkecpYp5n_LXhQW5sqPXh8lS4hCX4ZaDktGMlk8t8XuTNp4YKF8JeSKC-GhZ2JVF-CCbeNCo48/s640/WP_20180505_19_25_45_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The Baked Clams were legitimately very good. Served in a sea of garlic with a quartered lemon and a pound of bread, it was easily the best thing I'd eat that day and if you go (which you really shouldn't bother doing), then this is what you need to get. "Can we get some butter for the bread?" Lutsy asked. "I get you Parkay!" laughed the waiter, slapping my shoulder. "She no knows Parkay. Too young!" Suddenly the age difference between myself and my girlfriend was apparent. Margarine, having gone out of fashion when I was twelve means that nobody outside of a Glen Oaks nursing home has any idea what Parkay is. But I did. Foil wrapped bricks of frozen solid butter arrived a few minutes later.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwIuqkXXf2qCz-pkhrKjreTVtPVFSU-LI8m3jxN9Rrzseh6bl3iwFZNtwxJE5y7soV4CLpLSB-avu030QpqHVLx1xj_AHdID3oXc45lN0UiK_iJEUuqtsVihj2PoURjCUxWltMPGKnGc/s1600/WP_20180505_19_48_00_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwIuqkXXf2qCz-pkhrKjreTVtPVFSU-LI8m3jxN9Rrzseh6bl3iwFZNtwxJE5y7soV4CLpLSB-avu030QpqHVLx1xj_AHdID3oXc45lN0UiK_iJEUuqtsVihj2PoURjCUxWltMPGKnGc/s640/WP_20180505_19_48_00_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a> </div>
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For the first time in a long time, Lutsy ordered her entree, the <b>Chicken Parmesan</b> with the same sort of begrudged facial expression that one has when one finally settles on watching a BBC nature documentary after spending twenty minutes pouring through Netflix's seemingly endless morass of shitty stand-up comedy specials. It came on a plate, covered in cheese and sauce, over a serving of spaghetti. So exciting that I feel the need to mention that the plate was oval shaped and off-white. Are you on fire yet. The spaghetti made the sauce a little more watery than it should have been, but it wasn't bad. Of course, have you ever had bad chicken parm? For myself, I ordered the <b>Chicken Cacciatore</b>, a chicken and mushroom dish served wit a boiled potato. Our water made sure to tell us came with chicken "on the bone, the way it should be! Other places make it, but not with meat on the bone." Well, with such attention to detail, I'm sure that it will be simply magnificent, right? Nah. it was chicken, sorta bland, with a few mushrooms. Honestly, the potatoes were the best part of the dish. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8L4jIIvymK1mVYujt8cSgijvLUqQLRzWAQp2UPz2520HJdHImKbEGA05ZHA06gOMOrz8V8RPlLIxunfKyINdj5fmX2-fAVE5EvaZah1N0CNG2LBfpUXw25PJb9qyHSOwL38UUH-aAp0/s1600/WP_20180505_19_48_07_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8L4jIIvymK1mVYujt8cSgijvLUqQLRzWAQp2UPz2520HJdHImKbEGA05ZHA06gOMOrz8V8RPlLIxunfKyINdj5fmX2-fAVE5EvaZah1N0CNG2LBfpUXw25PJb9qyHSOwL38UUH-aAp0/s640/WP_20180505_19_48_07_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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When the bill came the waiter pulled out an index card and pointed to one of the many numbers on it and you just have to hope that you have enough cash to cover whatever number they pointed to. To be funny, our waiter pointed to a completely different number when showing the bill to Lutsy. "The wives are rich with our money!" he told me, laughing. But here's the bottom line: <b>every dish was $18.</b> The wine was $10 or $8, depending on whether you bought it at the bar or in the dining room. With tip, everything came to $100, drinks included. </div>
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In conclusion, if you like the kind of red sauce Italian food that they'll sell you at the
corner pizza place, served cafeteria style, a glass of cheap boxed wine, cramped quarters filled with
tourists, and smart-alecky semi-condescending waiters, all while basking in the old world luxury of
not being given the opportunity to check the cash-only bill to make sure
that you were correctly charged, then Dominick's is right up your
alley. </div>
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Epilogue:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZrvme9JrFSTi8q5VoX6N_eRZTCOTjC8aIpoKSUs-0wRUO6OCXjXPYX2khCu3xKNa6VXAe5CJmqB2efUI6IRPQISDmSPUycfNoiL_HAfF-XGllLTuxD3zNNVPvrx5rpxDZZnJ1HPEIjo/s1600/WP_20180520_19_31_45_Rich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZrvme9JrFSTi8q5VoX6N_eRZTCOTjC8aIpoKSUs-0wRUO6OCXjXPYX2khCu3xKNa6VXAe5CJmqB2efUI6IRPQISDmSPUycfNoiL_HAfF-XGllLTuxD3zNNVPvrx5rpxDZZnJ1HPEIjo/s640/WP_20180520_19_31_45_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The other day I walked around the corner from my apartment and went into Mike's Pizzeria on Yellowstone Boulevard. I ordered the Chicken Parmesan. It came with some bread, a large side salad, and was joke-free. It cost $18 and was worth every penny.</div>
Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-46391432029795254502018-03-26T14:45:00.002-04:002018-05-23T19:01:07.340-04:00LE COQ RICO<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.lecoqriconyc.com/"><b>LE COQ RICO</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 30 East 20th Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10003</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 212-267-7426 • </div>
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To my mind, there are few meals as satisfying, simple, and versatile as roast chicken. Adjusting a basic recipe by one teeny bit can turn your baby-it's-cold-outside wintertime comfort food into a hot-time-summer-in-the-city beercan chicken barbecue dish. And while it takes almost no skill whatsoever to make a good roast chicken, it takes a ton of practice to get it perfect. So when I learned that a three-star Michelin chef (Antoine Westermann) was shifting gears away from frou-frou French cuisine and turning to his true passion - roast chicken - I knew I needed to get over there. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCZh-XtwtXRQ7SD7oRiful28Ev3fWR9kHfpzVUyU7wOVIsCCaIVbM94urkjW9WFfw1Neyu2xwYcceErDt6mtoXfs_GxIEqChRlLrLnmETZHX8EUEbtwEe3c8Qc7N9Rk7z7bIbY-HTZc4/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_9396054c00064ea5b45f3128b8172875.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCZh-XtwtXRQ7SD7oRiful28Ev3fWR9kHfpzVUyU7wOVIsCCaIVbM94urkjW9WFfw1Neyu2xwYcceErDt6mtoXfs_GxIEqChRlLrLnmETZHX8EUEbtwEe3c8Qc7N9Rk7z7bIbY-HTZc4/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_9396054c00064ea5b45f3128b8172875.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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A bit of backstory as to why one would shell out bocu bucks on a chicken. The typical chicken you get at the supermarket is young. Chicken grow up fast; the average time from infant to adulthood is about seven minutes. You know those ads where the cute little chick pops out of the egg? By the end of the day, that bird is using a walker and complaining about hipsters. The thing about chicken is that the meat adds flavor over time, so the older the chicken, the better. If you're the kind of person who complains that chicken is bland, this is why. The thing is, the longer the chicken stays on the farm before it winds up in your kitchen, the more expensive it gets, so the reason that Le Coq Rico's birds SEEM as expensive as they are is because the restaurants wanders the country looking for farms that will raise them to the ripe old age of three months instead of three weeks. In Europe, some farms will hold onto them for a year or so, but that isn't financially tenable here. The days of a $400 chicken dinner are a ways away.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel3p9X2m4kMeypfzzRubLAiThexD4l0ZVAj1R7TSk4is9usS86D9pU7NJmg_TUL4QHg88RkqBndu4ekuPT9uzo1c65baLyQ8e0Rc0dlPTyBkbeK9iKHNoW53cYkQocM-eic-1OHdQ4cU/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_5da71e8ce5d24c37b6f21681513385d0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel3p9X2m4kMeypfzzRubLAiThexD4l0ZVAj1R7TSk4is9usS86D9pU7NJmg_TUL4QHg88RkqBndu4ekuPT9uzo1c65baLyQ8e0Rc0dlPTyBkbeK9iKHNoW53cYkQocM-eic-1OHdQ4cU/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_5da71e8ce5d24c37b6f21681513385d0.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I arrived with my parents and Bro around 7pm to a packed house and a lost OpenTable reservation. But for the fact that I did the manager a solid a few days earlier, there was no way we were getting a table until ten. But he remembered me, told the hostess to ignore the missing reservation, and we were whisked off to literally the next available table. </div>
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The interior and the clientele of Le Coq Rico is upscale, as one would expect from it's Gramercy/Flatiron locale, but it's also relaxed. You won't be out of place here in a sport jacket or slacks, but you can easily get away with jeans and a sweater, as I wore. The waitstaff was upbeat and happy, attentive and helpful, but not hovering to refill your water after every sip, or scrape the table of crumbs between bites. We ordered a few glasses of wine while debating which chicken to get and we enjoyed a basket of bread that came to the table. "This bread is amazing!" my mom remarked. "We make it here," said our smiling and clearly quite proud waiter.</div>
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Le Coq Rico is, at it's heart, a roast chicken place, although they do have a few other dishes (duck, guinea fowl) for people who think that chicken is beneath them. It was not beneath us. When you order the bird, you order them whole, and they come diced for the table. Should a whole chicken be too much for your table, or perhaps you're dining alone, or perhaps you're with a handful of whiny brats who insist on having just a salad or the scallops or some other such inane nonsense, they do serve a portion of their menu as individual plates so that you can enjoy their signature dishes while plotting a way to never eat with those people again.</div>
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We ordered the bird that the waiter most recommended, the <b>Brune Landaise</b>, a chicken aged 120 days, as well as a side of mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. The whole birds come with nothing but a small salad, so side dishes are extra. The chicken came diced into chunks and we served ourselves from the cast-iron skillet. It was very good. Moist, tender, perfect skin, no grease. At no point while enjoying the meal did either myself or anyone else regret ordering this dish. The best way to describe the difference between this bird and your "standard" chicken is in the richness of the breast meat. The breast meat was almost like a thigh. It was almost dark, which makes sense, given that the reason that thigh meat is dark is because it's used more than the breast. The older a bird is, the more use each muscle gets and the darker its meat becomes as a whole. </div>
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Our only complaint was with the sides, and the complaint there is that they're just too small. Our waiter said that each side could be shared by two people and, unless you only need three bites of mashed potato or one Brussels sprout, this just isn't the case. Order one side dish per person. That said, the sides were good and the mashed potatoes specifically were fantastic. Easily the smoothest I can remember having.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKocl5upSStZOE2Nw7Kge-I2_vVIVXTjwzAWAVmGo8xmS6nPSGkugNGuWy5Q6Pt9f_6T0izYQLbkgZVMCd_99W6IcJXiH1KpxwpnjuklobAQS6tSxalHrKfu5HuUm7SHH0Bzdx3drrzDk/s1600/WP_20180208_21_26_09_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKocl5upSStZOE2Nw7Kge-I2_vVIVXTjwzAWAVmGo8xmS6nPSGkugNGuWy5Q6Pt9f_6T0izYQLbkgZVMCd_99W6IcJXiH1KpxwpnjuklobAQS6tSxalHrKfu5HuUm7SHH0Bzdx3drrzDk/s640/WP_20180208_21_26_09_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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For dessert, the table split two desserts, the <b>Creme Caramel</b> and the <b>100% Chocolate Profiterole</b>. In my mind, the creme caramel was better. It was light and sweet, creamy and guitless-feeling (though it's all sugar, so really it's still pure guilt). The caramel pudding came with little candies fruits buried within, though I didn't really notice them. The profiterole was fully chocolate. Chocolate puffs over chocolate cream, and with a warm drizzle of chocolate sauce to round it out. But I'm not a chocolate guy, so take my mom's word for it that she recommended it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcxQZ6vWDs5PA94qT6tgX2WJ-vTK3KVUFGVSIqD9dSFXvnZoOn2DkGvPS5Y_oTtNxQN0cm2IX6wVm3e0iIw0W9UJL38WV8A5RKRPHqQuWDt_VM_CLo3Nwj8u8LrlVSQMsD0TF9ZOowyA/s1600/WP_20180208_22_15_16_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcxQZ6vWDs5PA94qT6tgX2WJ-vTK3KVUFGVSIqD9dSFXvnZoOn2DkGvPS5Y_oTtNxQN0cm2IX6wVm3e0iIw0W9UJL38WV8A5RKRPHqQuWDt_VM_CLo3Nwj8u8LrlVSQMsD0TF9ZOowyA/s640/WP_20180208_22_15_16_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The chicken was $100, the sides and dessert were around another $15 each. <br />
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Earlier on, I said that $100 for a chicken SEEMS expensive. Here's why that's an illusion. We divided the chicken between four people. That's $25 per person. That's not quite as good a deal as the Pio Pio near me, where a whole chicken and five sides is $36, but a quick scour of the menus of nearby restaurants of this class-level will show that $25 is pretty average.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4MNLUYn_rvlFQ4YN0bA22pZ0Ifmi6nhTFcn8fSE2_ex8b1-89jvRKr0DCmuRgnG7X12LD7nB9Zo7i_HlH8q-LAoTeh9atkjjjIiBlPhHjAGEiMavXpwiDx787QTl0DhJrQFt75w0I1E/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_60bbbae427cc4880a50436fc9ad33631.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4MNLUYn_rvlFQ4YN0bA22pZ0Ifmi6nhTFcn8fSE2_ex8b1-89jvRKr0DCmuRgnG7X12LD7nB9Zo7i_HlH8q-LAoTeh9atkjjjIiBlPhHjAGEiMavXpwiDx787QTl0DhJrQFt75w0I1E/s320/AdobePhotoshopExpress_60bbbae427cc4880a50436fc9ad33631.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-523896685094180492018-02-12T16:34:00.004-05:002018-02-12T16:36:56.634-05:00JONGRO BBQ<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><a href="http://www.jongrobbqny.com/">JONGRO BBQ</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 22 West 32nd Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10001</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (212) 473-2233 •</div>
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I've always liked Korean barbecue. It's nothing like American barbecue, so put away your checkered tablecloth and set aside your handiwipes. Korean barbecue is more like the love child of a steakhouse and a hibachi. The meat (pork or beef, typically) gets grilled right at the table in front of you amidst a panoply of fixings, from onions to kimchi to sprouts. Wrap your meat in lettuce and eat it like an Atkins taco or bury it in a bowl of rice and soy sauce. The joy is that you get to mix it up any way you like. Actually, I'm probably eating it completely wrong, but the food doesn't
come with instructions so in my blissful ignorance I just cram it
lovingly down my pie-hole and tell everyone how much fun I had doing it. Feel free to email me with the correct dining method. No, really.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOE7wXLjy8qXz19AdS_T_QaEb6p56EHYf1T_ifdCQhW3xmA5FwYus5o73SoV9rW-xn4QTebSADmRnJAKG5hB0a3dLhdV88exVCREFsBSmyrmAgbbiZLYs38x5OzWTEpUvYYyFOdf_8o0/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_ccf16607b8ef45d698f9c52792588c5d.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOE7wXLjy8qXz19AdS_T_QaEb6p56EHYf1T_ifdCQhW3xmA5FwYus5o73SoV9rW-xn4QTebSADmRnJAKG5hB0a3dLhdV88exVCREFsBSmyrmAgbbiZLYs38x5OzWTEpUvYYyFOdf_8o0/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_ccf16607b8ef45d698f9c52792588c5d.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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New York City has two hubs of Korean restaurants, and there's a Jongro BBQ in both of them. The first is in eastern Flushing (aka, Murray Hill) and the other is just off Herald Square in Koreatown (aka, <i>north</i> of Murray Hill). Mr Dogz and I chose the latter because, despite the throngs of tourists, it didn't require a car.</div>
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Jongro BBQ is on the second floor and, arriving at 6:30pm, we waited patiently on the long line for the elevator. Taking the stairs is off limits, the elevator comfortably holds six or so people, and we were about fifteen people from the front. This was not a fast moving line. Eventually, we did get upstairs, and then got on yet another line. No reservations are taken, so we gave them a phone number and twiddled thumbs for, oh, forty minutes. Thankfully, God invented gossip, so time passed pretty quickly. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77N3rxvdmR8ivM4cFbykQAMDK2jYF_l34iIsiEN3zeYn0OGyvOwiJkqmC-cxjpdGSesgzuwPAVwMVFM_B-jles2C39sj4wzWkdnFcv7I7SGXMls2jDyfKFQtYowCAuahxOJIa6Fk6UH8/s1600/WP_20180124_20_33_27_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77N3rxvdmR8ivM4cFbykQAMDK2jYF_l34iIsiEN3zeYn0OGyvOwiJkqmC-cxjpdGSesgzuwPAVwMVFM_B-jles2C39sj4wzWkdnFcv7I7SGXMls2jDyfKFQtYowCAuahxOJIa6Fk6UH8/s640/WP_20180124_20_33_27_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Like many Korean BBQ restaurants, Jongro is set up with lots of wooden booths and wooden beams. It seems that, from Montana to Seoul, steak and wood go hand in hand. It's built into our DNA to enjoy the two things together. Each table has a stove built into it where the meat is grilled. The menu consists of a platter of beef or pork, a larger platter of beef or pork, or a marinated platter of beef or pork... and there's soup. Meat meat meat... and tofu kimchi soup. We ordered the <b>Beef Platter</b>, which is a selection of a few cuts of beef, along with all the goodies that you add to it once it's been cooked, plus a round of tofu kimchi soup.</div>
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The soup was crazy good. I cannot stress that enough. You must get the soup. It should be sold by the gallon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-U-HC6MDlyIXa46PuI-D9pjLxLL99jxjn0NSVQ6AG1Vz2dcSd1aumnQTIfPvY7zdghuINFnfBzZwqiqO8drVRC129fiYK7W7NIgH1qCd8XzGwJDGx2-tr3pvewLtocKufSOc52ExH5k/s1600/WP_20180124_19_48_04_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-U-HC6MDlyIXa46PuI-D9pjLxLL99jxjn0NSVQ6AG1Vz2dcSd1aumnQTIfPvY7zdghuINFnfBzZwqiqO8drVRC129fiYK7W7NIgH1qCd8XzGwJDGx2-tr3pvewLtocKufSOc52ExH5k/s640/WP_20180124_19_48_04_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Almost immediately after you place your order, the food arrives. This makes sense since the cooking is done at the table. Dogz and I spent as much time waiting for a table as sitting at it. Turnover time here is quick. Our beef platter order consisted of a thin-cut skirt steak, ribeye, brisket, and short ribs. By and large, since the cuts are all pretty thin, nothing was marinated, and everything was cooked medium to medium well - by the waiter at the table, not by you - I don't really think that you'll be paying that much attention to the cuts of meat themselves. In all likelihood, you'll be experimenting with various condiments to eat the meat with. Egg and soy sauce, rice and onion, lettuce and sprouts, scallions and egg and pepper and rice and onion and soy sauce... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ntvxS0T2po1e9dqNgOpb4HjkSE_8qDRr6yYAK0ipi7TE2BdWOXdKsCAi804C77OBonu5qA29LIm_F3ts_SYI4PIbp5ndC7pI3V0kTZX_r0o3s2YsWEZi_LxJnpp8eDo_TmN2nv5XmcQ/s1600/WP_20180124_19_46_55_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ntvxS0T2po1e9dqNgOpb4HjkSE_8qDRr6yYAK0ipi7TE2BdWOXdKsCAi804C77OBonu5qA29LIm_F3ts_SYI4PIbp5ndC7pI3V0kTZX_r0o3s2YsWEZi_LxJnpp8eDo_TmN2nv5XmcQ/s640/WP_20180124_19_46_55_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQS7rg47_jsSntM9wive2mAFzUz4QzBK4TLUsHBAwfuHQkqoHdmEkz79EYNYbwPf24sWobxgQZxEafcwXFJ-2VlkgpgOdrCAY8WMAwdP0KZ1hD_Yb-7Bgrdfl562JUkD3L-70hz_xhamU/s1600/WP_20180124_19_56_46_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQS7rg47_jsSntM9wive2mAFzUz4QzBK4TLUsHBAwfuHQkqoHdmEkz79EYNYbwPf24sWobxgQZxEafcwXFJ-2VlkgpgOdrCAY8WMAwdP0KZ1hD_Yb-7Bgrdfl562JUkD3L-70hz_xhamU/s640/WP_20180124_19_56_46_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Again, I don't know that I was eating anything the right way, but I felt like the waiter was giving me a "thumbs up" smile. Hey, it's possible that the waiter's approving look as I ate my lettuce wrapped cow was instead the same kind of look you would give to the dipshit who eats their pizza with a fork or the child who tries to drink soda through their nose with a straw. But ignorance is bliss and I thoroughly enjoyed my rice-kimchi-egg-sprout-beef lettuce-taco with a dash of salt. </div>
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If I had to choose between Jongro and <a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2015/08/kang-ho-dong-baekjeong.html">Kang Ho Dong Baekjeong</a> in Flushing, where Dogz I went a few years back, I'd go with Kang Ho. It's less touristy, costs about the same, I feel that the meat was a little higher quality, and telling people that you went someplace with such a mouthful of a name will grant you an immediate raised eyebrow that silently states "hey, I'm impressed. You're a real pro at this eating thing." But you'll need a car.</div>
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With tax and tip, and no drinks, our meal came to $55 per person.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYuuxrHglTB6Vy9U96uwBuVuhELxzijYpfl7hoEUYgQsd7Ztx9FKtfs3tC2PcWwHucI0OaKA81vytdKtTtXvE59gavmod73cw22Ned_JOb1I0lX9kwqQ_dWWLKh_KwMcHmScu9_sRZXI/s1600/WP_20180124_19_41_35_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYuuxrHglTB6Vy9U96uwBuVuhELxzijYpfl7hoEUYgQsd7Ztx9FKtfs3tC2PcWwHucI0OaKA81vytdKtTtXvE59gavmod73cw22Ned_JOb1I0lX9kwqQ_dWWLKh_KwMcHmScu9_sRZXI/s640/WP_20180124_19_41_35_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-29809451078620664152017-09-13T20:00:00.003-04:002018-02-12T16:36:05.696-05:00FARMER & THE FISH<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.farmerandthefish.com/gramercy"><b>FARMER & THE FISH</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 245 Park Avenue South</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10003</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (646) 998-5991 • </div>
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I like fish and fishing (deep sea bluefishing, specifically) and I like farms (are vineyards farms?), so it made perfect sense to suggest going here when Dudeman and Shrink mentioned going out to dinner. Seafood. Farm to table produce (they even own the farm). What's not to love? When I first walked past Farmer And The Fish, I wondered if they were
going to get sued by the popular Philadelphia restaurant The Farm And
Fisherman. I still wonder this. Will they exist by the time I publish this article? Time will tell. Probably. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5UYoX16ZDYO3lNxhVqhnLJzztf72HOZ1_DzMSOusdPBvwK7YtCmDbtjTapS9HzoUAtkqBMjm56pyddd0qwjg3GlGzROQHmXvEVCaOdLH5P0aYdpQ3ovNRUyukukx9wMq4CwOFQlFhiQ/s1600/WP_20170901_19_16_05_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5UYoX16ZDYO3lNxhVqhnLJzztf72HOZ1_DzMSOusdPBvwK7YtCmDbtjTapS9HzoUAtkqBMjm56pyddd0qwjg3GlGzROQHmXvEVCaOdLH5P0aYdpQ3ovNRUyukukx9wMq4CwOFQlFhiQ/s640/WP_20170901_19_16_05_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Farmer & the Fish sits on Park Avenue South near Union Square, right next to L'Express, the best place I know of for steak frites at 3 in the morning. Inside, the decor is classy and modern, without tacky seafood references like nets and mock buoys, instead opting for black and white photos evoking Long Island Sound and the New England coast.</div>
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I arrived first, as I pretty much always do, and was given a seat while I waited for Dudeman and Shrink. I was surprised at how few people were there at 8PM on a Saturday. Over the course of the evening, more folks came in, but it never filled up. Service was spotty. We started the meal with one waitress, and then they changed tables on us and we got someone new who was not nearly as on the ball. Of course, I didn't come to make friends with the staff. I came for food.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_QLQxLNYtnKAGkEI-7RllVln69MszvJgyDzpyAXzfpPwhmeaPfR-wMTjCrzx9lFngFavyJavCp-HwB1oc82pClR-_LW7wggdHDjh-BzIiA7MBu1n2j0cg6d9kYbzs8pvqvgOOrUimTE/s1600/WP_20170901_19_18_07_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_QLQxLNYtnKAGkEI-7RllVln69MszvJgyDzpyAXzfpPwhmeaPfR-wMTjCrzx9lFngFavyJavCp-HwB1oc82pClR-_LW7wggdHDjh-BzIiA7MBu1n2j0cg6d9kYbzs8pvqvgOOrUimTE/s640/WP_20170901_19_18_07_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPcG3kqWbZyodLK0-L0cFkIBKtZ7V8Ak_A4BImxi0bvyBLQ-f-0nRPjbZ7kc1jmeDdzINsmuMCvV3yKmKUClTwoCXHH5rkCJa3fSOAydLqJHas0u2D8E9F4eSOIP9sxHExlCYK3uULwtk/s1600/WP_20170901_21_29_11_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPcG3kqWbZyodLK0-L0cFkIBKtZ7V8Ak_A4BImxi0bvyBLQ-f-0nRPjbZ7kc1jmeDdzINsmuMCvV3yKmKUClTwoCXHH5rkCJa3fSOAydLqJHas0u2D8E9F4eSOIP9sxHExlCYK3uULwtk/s640/WP_20170901_21_29_11_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I started my meal with what I believed to have been a beet salad. But I was sloppy and didn't read me my words good. I ordered beets. On a plate. Specifically, <b>Beets</b> with mascarpone and pistachio. And they were delicious. Would I have liked a dish a bit more refreshing and substantial, like that aforementioned salad? Sure. But this was fantastic. Tangy and sweet and nutty. Just a wee bit small. It forced me to chew my food and savor it rather than shovel it into my mouth. In contrast, Dudeman ordered a bowl of <b>New England Clam Chowder</b>, made with house-smoked bacon and topneck clams and it appeared to have come in a gallon bowl. All kidding aside, it might have been a liter. A huge bowl. Huge and heavy and filling. He passed the bowl around the table for everyone to try, as one would expect when presented with a liter of soup. We all liked it. It wasn't the most amazing chowder I've ever had, but no one complained.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCcEJEkPMPaSfgkx_MRmIwOeQC8cDfZs-6Quk6axgWAbWYTfPA3rDYJvB7bO48dTF4eX-8GY8eoqgSVDK6H1cApJwohrHg0joCGcga6omQRRovXp4NPxvVMpzJmy1mKKeFWFeqG0K4XI/s1600/WP_20170901_19_44_04_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCcEJEkPMPaSfgkx_MRmIwOeQC8cDfZs-6Quk6axgWAbWYTfPA3rDYJvB7bO48dTF4eX-8GY8eoqgSVDK6H1cApJwohrHg0joCGcga6omQRRovXp4NPxvVMpzJmy1mKKeFWFeqG0K4XI/s640/WP_20170901_19_44_04_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As Dudeman went with the traditional seafood shack appetizer, so did he choose when it was time for the entree. No roast swordfish with a sage rhubarb demi-glase. He got the <b>Lobster Roll</b>, served Maine style (ie: warm and mayo) with a side of <b>Steak Fries</b>. Speaking of steak fries, Shrink also ordered a side of them all on her own. My take on the lobster roll was that it was good, but for the money, I'll drive to Red Hook (for the Lobster Pound). My take on the fries was that they were wayyyy too salty and wayyyy too loaded down with Old Bay. Some people love Old Bay, but hey, a little goes a long way. Shrink loves soft shell crab and thus did she order the <b>Soft Shell Crab</b> served with a side of shaved radish and cucumber and pesto and buried under an excessive amount of garnish. She liked it a lot, as did Dudeman. I found it a little bland. I still count the crab at P<a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2014/07/perry-street.html">erry Street</a> as the best available (which it may not be anymore, since I was last there many a moon ago). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdkZXUfgQ4Zu0cNk6ZSvnWPxYFsiux6Hj5bv350HLDf_Y8vVuFtjhvykcYH27_nNdv-DWHTnuMrdAHagyqZtWWSGUqkeQl6rzyIkjaGIemJErRWGZIOaDBaS1fnRo1vcXoYvpIP4MAq8/s1600/WP_20170901_20_30_31_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdkZXUfgQ4Zu0cNk6ZSvnWPxYFsiux6Hj5bv350HLDf_Y8vVuFtjhvykcYH27_nNdv-DWHTnuMrdAHagyqZtWWSGUqkeQl6rzyIkjaGIemJErRWGZIOaDBaS1fnRo1vcXoYvpIP4MAq8/s640/WP_20170901_20_30_31_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2mTEF-In3BsOtUdT6bteDMVAo_OnZuj-s5hHjXbdHIjEFXnO9tdRH74IGcDhkCwMO1-jJaJlGsYhT31MTwT4iyVJCUOMzxNmPgqH96i4cQsGxV4bQifWMpAZ50ykBiuDEpuSTozo60Q/s1600/WP_20170901_20_30_16_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2mTEF-In3BsOtUdT6bteDMVAo_OnZuj-s5hHjXbdHIjEFXnO9tdRH74IGcDhkCwMO1-jJaJlGsYhT31MTwT4iyVJCUOMzxNmPgqH96i4cQsGxV4bQifWMpAZ50ykBiuDEpuSTozo60Q/s640/WP_20170901_20_30_16_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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So I might be coming across as a little critical of Farmer And The Fish, but that all gets turned on its head for my main dish, the <b>Nova Scotia Halibut</b> with green pea risotto. I was blown away. It was so good. So light. So flavorful. Almost sweet. It had that perfect center under a crisp crust and it hurt me to share even one bite with others (but I did). The risotto was delicious too and paired perfectly. The only complaint that I have is the size. I wanted it to be about the size of a manhole cover. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTRMWkYEbRyDFaXFfIpAW1HF33HBPJ0Ypo7Mo9eh78g9TP67nGwWj7CAsSTTvqa8SybbnOVCkw9GGZqviQm5f2eqg-TrRL8iasAHimF_F9HkBoy7aAuZ1l1Cpwa3qsX5jCwkF0QvIF7g/s1600/WP_20170901_20_29_52_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTRMWkYEbRyDFaXFfIpAW1HF33HBPJ0Ypo7Mo9eh78g9TP67nGwWj7CAsSTTvqa8SybbnOVCkw9GGZqviQm5f2eqg-TrRL8iasAHimF_F9HkBoy7aAuZ1l1Cpwa3qsX5jCwkF0QvIF7g/s640/WP_20170901_20_29_52_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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While we had thought about getting dessert, Dudeman was stuffed from his soup and lobster and Shrink was iffy about the calories after the steak fries. In the end, the flakiness of our waitress gave us our reason to head out without sweets or coffee and save a few bucks.<br />
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Speaking of bucks, this meal, which consisted of two appetizers, three entrees, a side, and some drinks came to $165 before tax and tip.Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-61558471590833553442017-08-13T22:08:00.000-04:002017-08-13T22:08:16.333-04:00FATBIRD<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://fatbird.com/"><b>FATBIRD</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 44 Ninth Avenue</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10011</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (212) 633-2473 • </div>
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Who doesn't love Southern food? It tastes great, doesn't have a dress code, rewards you for eating with your hands, and because saying it once simply isn't enough, tastes great. So it was with great anticipation that some friends and I were slated to dine at Iron Chef winner Chef Cat Cora's new Meatpacking District restaurant, Fatbird. I mean, who doesn't love Southern Food? Oof. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUxzJpRdLx0xxZEl4d_BkHb24jin4E0y90H0mEfuI_qXvpBhdnyAohfXW6Nt-15Ftc3JTZSs2kasVGxSarYRwwhH_Pnm3oqMb5IFizIQQsa1xRrd0wXeLbJujFZhVMpUiYOryGYp_6KQ/s1600/FBout.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUxzJpRdLx0xxZEl4d_BkHb24jin4E0y90H0mEfuI_qXvpBhdnyAohfXW6Nt-15Ftc3JTZSs2kasVGxSarYRwwhH_Pnm3oqMb5IFizIQQsa1xRrd0wXeLbJujFZhVMpUiYOryGYp_6KQ/s640/FBout.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I arrived early and the hostess didn't play that game where they won't seat you until your whole party arrives. She gave a sweet table where I could people-watch, read a book, nurse a beer, and wait for everyone else to arrive. So far, so good. But from the moment she walked away, the dysfunction became apparent. I'd been given a menu then abandoned. No one came to take my drink order until I eventually flagged someone down, asked him if my table was one that he was responsible for, and ordered something. It didn't come. He just forgot about it. Later in the evening, when one of our party ordered a glass of wine, she was told that they were out of that wine. "Okay, I'll take this one instead." Sorry we're out of that, too. "What about this one?" No, sorry. "Maybe you should tell me what you <i>actually do</i> have and save us both some time," she said with irritation. I ordered a beer, but they were out. The head bartender came to our table to apologize. The wine and beer supplier didn't come. Here, have a glass of prosecco and a beer <a href="http://media3.popsugar-assets.com/files/2014/07/07/864/n/1922507/32afd613bedac164_giphy19bIXO.xxxlarge/i/Person-Who-Only-Free-Food-Booze.gif">on the house</a>.</div>
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Come time came to order grub, similar problems occurred. They were out of some appetizers and one of the most Southern of Southern foods, ribs, was all gone. "So did the meat supplier not show up either?" someone murmured. The waiter was AWOL most of the time, but I got the impression that he was the only one on duty at the time. We began asking the staff that was clearing tables to place our orders or flag down someone who could place them for us. When we did get a waiter, he told us that the there were six hushpuppies in the appetizer. Five arrived. One entree was incorrectly put into the system. One entree was missing a biscuit and it took half an hour for the staff to bring a replacement biscuit. They brought two and we turned down both. Meanwhile, the table behind ours called the manager over to dispute the bill.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwN-_ifiN4qQmSwvuHpvjr9eRxb_OH5JmCRNoPxiTQxjddLR7gJ1WSeUlXU7nRxCHsSMCc0ZVXPFRMN8Ts08pPzX_aXMj_gR4cw_cWe6IWlKBXdyRTHmIcybv1NEfEVaTpN8hiVrEXog/s1600/FBin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwN-_ifiN4qQmSwvuHpvjr9eRxb_OH5JmCRNoPxiTQxjddLR7gJ1WSeUlXU7nRxCHsSMCc0ZVXPFRMN8Ts08pPzX_aXMj_gR4cw_cWe6IWlKBXdyRTHmIcybv1NEfEVaTpN8hiVrEXog/s640/FBin.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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After two months, growing pains and hiccups should have long been addressed, but there were a shit-ton of them; far more than I would have expected from a chef with enough celebrity cred to score a prime piece of NYC real estate. At least the food was good - Fatbird's saving grace.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsD_Nk-hXXZbWddMhz1vdv_TrvMO52Mu7v0iZNmujFqkiojd4ItRByUp9-ThNXqDvA9XpvQbiKgObbRxbRpNReJyxxlOM8gED-3lgjZSnRfzI83Nmyt2bdf5cfa46f23iyUyzpgN0PL4/s1600/FBapp2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsD_Nk-hXXZbWddMhz1vdv_TrvMO52Mu7v0iZNmujFqkiojd4ItRByUp9-ThNXqDvA9XpvQbiKgObbRxbRpNReJyxxlOM8gED-3lgjZSnRfzI83Nmyt2bdf5cfa46f23iyUyzpgN0PL4/s640/FBapp2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCQCQl0J_sWyzTem41bmnDy3YCBhcQM-Ml5g5Lf5OCIY8ienI9eJ8t6i2ZN7fWeQdzx33W8HCVYlxOK7cTu9xzFKaIYkfvV4dNbzKE7_y15xNadXmnT_3U-ZpwCq6S_XDkwjcYiutD_0/s1600/FBapp1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCQCQl0J_sWyzTem41bmnDy3YCBhcQM-Ml5g5Lf5OCIY8ienI9eJ8t6i2ZN7fWeQdzx33W8HCVYlxOK7cTu9xzFKaIYkfvV4dNbzKE7_y15xNadXmnT_3U-ZpwCq6S_XDkwjcYiutD_0/s640/FBapp1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five. Yes, I am a small man, Bart. A small, petty man. Three months detention.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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We ordered a round of <b>Crab Hushpuppies</b> on a cabbage radish salad, and <b>Crispy Pork Belly</b>. on a bed of <b>Malted Kale Slaw</b> (available as a separate side dish). The crab hushpuppies were roundly praised, with Mr. Dogz saying that they were maybe the best he'd ever had. The pork belly was good but the meat was far, far too small and the taste ended up getting lost when eating it with the slaw. That said, Sparkles was enamored by said slaw. "Hey Jon, make sure to tell people I like this!" Silly me, I ordered a side of white cheddar <b>Mac & Cheese</b>. The mac and cheese was extremely heavy, and sat in my stomach like a brick. This shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, since there's no such thing as light mac and cheese unless you order that vegan gluten free shit that tastes like wet cork in rotting yogurt. As for how it tasted, it was good, but didn't stand out. In fact, I forgot I ordered it until ten seconds before writing this sentence. Lutsy asked for a side of <b>Fried Green Tomatoes</b>. They were good. Tender, crisp, and sour, like they should be. They came with a very pleasant "Green Goddess Dressing" whatever that is (some kind of aioli), which rounded the whole dish out. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmFCZ_vumH0oVwipq10RI6dOXsg5YiGhyLoXj-kX7ZW093xHdhZJpFxE9qNofx_u07xF3netn2Erk_hMvHNXTrZF2ygYuKVNsMPVbfxDY8YcYqbHWRfJPC6dkwmOD_gpowA7W1dbvLFg/s1600/FBchicken.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmFCZ_vumH0oVwipq10RI6dOXsg5YiGhyLoXj-kX7ZW093xHdhZJpFxE9qNofx_u07xF3netn2Erk_hMvHNXTrZF2ygYuKVNsMPVbfxDY8YcYqbHWRfJPC6dkwmOD_gpowA7W1dbvLFg/s640/FBchicken.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I wanted the ribs, but like I mentioned, they were out. Instead, I got a plate of the <b>Famous Fatbird Fried Chicken</b>, a fried half-chicken served with a biscuit (pretty good) and the kale slaw we all liked. The chicken was flat-out delicious. Crispy, flaky, not greasy at all, moist. <a href="http://gothamist.com/2017/06/27/fuku_vs_fatbird.php">Gothamist panned it</a> but I suspect that the writer was jut pissed that he had to leave the comfort of his fellow beardo manbuns in northwest Brooklyn. If I hadn't had that damn mac and cheese, I might have been able to finish the chicken, but it just wasn't possible. Lutsy and Mr. Dogz ordered a plate of the <b>Nashville Style Hot Chicken</b>. Comparing the two, I surprisingly much preferred the not-hot version. While the Fatbird fried chicken was not greasy, a pool of orange grease pooled under the hot chicken. The skin wasn't as crispy and the heat was too high relative to the light taste of the meat. I liked the hot chicken to be sure, but I <i>loved</i> the regular chicken. Sparkles was the only one not to order fried chicken, instead opting for the <b>Spicy Shrimp & Grits</b>. With this dish, I didn't really find there to be that much spice, oddly. Actually, I thought it was pretty bland and I don't recommend this dish unless you're reaalllly craving grits for some reason.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_mySMRaYPeZpBoowd8ismon7uiwbqdPY2gC5BqSoKZPJIFPT51FBcBphXiruuYd1H49NmG3Aq7AzLUu1z4HCRgcj0y3zjaoXmGNpmijWS3byytM1PiXZCp0-fDjp0M1jqIbkcCpKdcM/s1600/FBshrimp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_mySMRaYPeZpBoowd8ismon7uiwbqdPY2gC5BqSoKZPJIFPT51FBcBphXiruuYd1H49NmG3Aq7AzLUu1z4HCRgcj0y3zjaoXmGNpmijWS3byytM1PiXZCp0-fDjp0M1jqIbkcCpKdcM/s640/FBshrimp.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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We didn't order dessert, though the menu did have a bunch of comfort foods like bananas foster and strawberry shortcake that I could have easily been in the mood for had I not been so full. <br />
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This feast, for four, after tax and tip, cost about $250. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMQChjjucwh8rbZQSClkYt2jaWzsw-d2avcJNEc7QYh-W4sXCtI8ra9dklN7odpba0r6kyxkRmVkf4P_tZO5Qzzpiv0KS7Nj0TJbiDkDcMbwwjFWj7CA9rU4LQjp282HSbRZy23wCP9A/s1600/FBcard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMQChjjucwh8rbZQSClkYt2jaWzsw-d2avcJNEc7QYh-W4sXCtI8ra9dklN7odpba0r6kyxkRmVkf4P_tZO5Qzzpiv0KS7Nj0TJbiDkDcMbwwjFWj7CA9rU4LQjp282HSbRZy23wCP9A/s640/FBcard.jpg" width="640" /></a>Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-32973603680351717652017-06-14T21:35:00.000-04:002017-06-15T22:17:00.577-04:00NICOLETTA<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://nicolettapizza.com/new_york/"><b>NICOLETTA</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 160 Second Avenue</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10003</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (212) 432-1600 • </div>
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Once upon a time, famous chefs limited themselves to opening chic restaurants for those who wanted to see and be seen and who didn't mind dropping a hearty buck to do so. But the age of reality television, paired with the reality that catering exclusively to the 1% is seen as a sort of shitty thing to do these days has meant that there is a surge of famous names behind relatively inexpensive food. David Chang started Momouko Milk Bar, Todd English opened a mid-priced restaurant in LaGuardia Airport, Daniel Meyer created Shake Shack, and Michael White has Nicoletta, a pizza spot in the East Village that I went to with a handful of friends. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9RoFrvAjzZ4TSm07yBN1pkw-1OQLZC8Jar9ZOaOxFIsRpMWj6E96tW2BnWm57jfGNxyXJGuF7zxelctM4Y0PjNWkv_MR-WFInRWy5t7VEGHYQlBMb7gZuJVlRs7gueOKhpzA__7em_I/s1600/nicout.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9RoFrvAjzZ4TSm07yBN1pkw-1OQLZC8Jar9ZOaOxFIsRpMWj6E96tW2BnWm57jfGNxyXJGuF7zxelctM4Y0PjNWkv_MR-WFInRWy5t7VEGHYQlBMb7gZuJVlRs7gueOKhpzA__7em_I/s640/nicout.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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This particular trip was for Emma's birthday, and we were extremely surprised how sparsely crowded the place was. Other restaurants in the area that day had waits of up to an hour. But hey, that just made getting a table that much easier. A round of drinks was ordered (Mr. Dogz and I split a small growler, and white wines were ordered by the others) and we began debating the menu. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AEvZNi81I67s9Esx44ZgsdWlFwUvcliF9IhoEOf48ZtscEJ2VFJXuY1m0QdSyH0VRsJBx9D0R4ZqSqZqKisktsetXOWikED_vY5LMcIn90ij7e0HnXvHexy7rN5HZeI4vli6y9bdK-s/s1600/nicin.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AEvZNi81I67s9Esx44ZgsdWlFwUvcliF9IhoEOf48ZtscEJ2VFJXuY1m0QdSyH0VRsJBx9D0R4ZqSqZqKisktsetXOWikED_vY5LMcIn90ij7e0HnXvHexy7rN5HZeI4vli6y9bdK-s/s640/nicin.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The vast majority of the menu is pizza, but like most New York pizzerias, there's a smattering of your standard red sauce Italian food. Lasagna, chicken parm, and the like. We did not order them. Unlike most New York pizzerias, these pies are a little less generic-feeling. Nine times out of ten, you can neither tell the difference between two halfway decent pizza joints, and nor do you care to try. This ain't that. But I'll get to the pies later. First, the appetizers. The table ordered a plate of Fried <b>Calamari</b> and an order <b>Arancini</b>, which is porcini risotto balls, also fried. This was not a healthy meal. The calamari were devoured by us. Flaky, crispy, tender, perfect. The arancini was likewise praised across the board. A couple of people considered ordering another round. Those of us watching our waistline thought the better of it. But rest assured, you'll like them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NwGWaDbzkOeYAT_HjEjqiyzI-1uLXwEd80qW_RvgvSxfN7FfFQ5w3PzV_9OKucYLMsJSqedhkTGGzs3lER7M93qKeMLqYESTYoH_5MF6wF8DuEpLIbv3aZGJvDxLCIptw78fiR05OsE/s1600/niccalamari.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NwGWaDbzkOeYAT_HjEjqiyzI-1uLXwEd80qW_RvgvSxfN7FfFQ5w3PzV_9OKucYLMsJSqedhkTGGzs3lER7M93qKeMLqYESTYoH_5MF6wF8DuEpLIbv3aZGJvDxLCIptw78fiR05OsE/s640/niccalamari.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrB5mvFJiQeqjp0_E3P2VaG150_ElNMGeKdRiEttzeWwKU1aDN4rK9whkTMnEP5EbcABJBFYhHF1DBEC3DDQgk917BHBNzErQgWnEy84ZZtyugQ2DhoYzFxMHWnGR-dInduBm4WWojeVE/s1600/nicballs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrB5mvFJiQeqjp0_E3P2VaG150_ElNMGeKdRiEttzeWwKU1aDN4rK9whkTMnEP5EbcABJBFYhHF1DBEC3DDQgk917BHBNzErQgWnEy84ZZtyugQ2DhoYzFxMHWnGR-dInduBm4WWojeVE/s640/nicballs.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The pizzas were similarly delicious. As I said before, these are not your standard fold-n-go NYC pies, though I wouldn't be a tool and eat them with a knife and fork, either. Without beating you to death with the details of an entire pizza menu, take it from me that you'll do well to follow our example and order one red sauce pie (in this case half <b>Classica</b> - plain with mozzarella, parmesan, and fresh basil - and half <b>Calabrese</b> - pepperoni, fennel sausage, red onion, pomodoro and mozzarella) and one white sauce pie (the <b>Prosciutto</b> pie - prosciutto, caramelized onions, and ricotta cheese). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4E6SCtPGks4YQKO46rMc4x0HcKEUP_350AuPHsCLryF7eRH0tHaKqWd7tCVEYzn9k9ADrFQFbmohH9VMuiTjJOoiZQ5HBl5fbKYxYo1ifEP0H9AS1ESxIhk6mLFP2NkycbgGJZKfMAE/s1600/nicpie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4E6SCtPGks4YQKO46rMc4x0HcKEUP_350AuPHsCLryF7eRH0tHaKqWd7tCVEYzn9k9ADrFQFbmohH9VMuiTjJOoiZQ5HBl5fbKYxYo1ifEP0H9AS1ESxIhk6mLFP2NkycbgGJZKfMAE/s640/nicpie1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xVfUzn1FNxbZCUWSvP-dm6YI6eHKBCGdco-Uko3pMlCE1rXv0OHF8wNQnX97aYT3ofprdXi5Y5uyan_HV0o92adksxwdwBjb3RB5f-_me6T4UKQU3DqubzZiTEm6zyEZXtYBRs6X7So/s1600/nicpie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xVfUzn1FNxbZCUWSvP-dm6YI6eHKBCGdco-Uko3pMlCE1rXv0OHF8wNQnX97aYT3ofprdXi5Y5uyan_HV0o92adksxwdwBjb3RB5f-_me6T4UKQU3DqubzZiTEm6zyEZXtYBRs6X7So/s640/nicpie2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Finally, we ordered a last round of proseccos, and a couple of cute desserts to pass around and share. A <b>Strawberry Shortcake</b> and a <b>Brownie</b>, served in little cups with ice cream. Fun. Emma the birthday girl was also given something just for herself with a candle. And then we sang and embarrassed her. It was glorious.</div>
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Pizzas average $24. The smaller plates average $10. One pie would be too much for one person unless that person is very hungry. But two people could easily split one if they also got a small plate as well.</div>
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<br />Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-63159714860040280362017-05-18T17:57:00.003-04:002017-05-18T17:57:56.267-04:00UNION FARE<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.unionfare.com/"><b>UNION FARE</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 6 East 18th Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10003</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (212) 633-6003 • </div>
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Many families go out to brunch on Mother's Day and I can't tell you how many times I was told to enter a 1-800-FLOWERS promo code in the past month, but neither of those things are really what my family does. We're more of a "let's go out to dinner, on a day that's not Mother's Day, then <i>call</i> it 'Mother's Day', then go home and burn through what we have stored on our TiVo and eat popcorn." It's not because we eschew tradition, which we do, or because we abhor tropes, which we also do, or that my mom actively dislikes brunch because it means waking up on a weekend earlier than she wants to, which she certainly does. It's really that we just aren't very big on going out on hectic, every-one-eats-out-today days and having to wait for a table while being bumped into by every Michael Kors bag this side of the Hudson. </div>
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And thus did I suggest Union Fare. It's got tons of seats, the menu looked good, the prices were high but not eyebrow-raising, and it was a short walk from my parent's TiVo. I arrived early, which I do as a matter of routine these days, and nursed a beer in the cacophonously empty dining hall. Strike that. I should say "restaurant". The Union Fare Gastrohall is actually another part of the restaurant. A food court of sorts adjacent to the restaurant itself. I nursed a beer in the restaurant. A porter, if you must ask, as it was a chilly evening and not the humid goddamn oven that it is today. </div>
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When Mom (Shrink) and Dad (Dudeman) arrived, we were led through the open tables to one with a generally decent view of our surroundings, and proceeded to ponder the menu. A bottle of something Spanish was chosen because (1) my elders went on a trip there recently, and (2) at $60 it was one of the cheaper bottles. Tempted by the $80 Royal Seafood Tower appetizer that included octopus, but balking at the $80 part, Shrink ordered the <b>Grilled Octopus</b>, served over a salad of fennel, oranges, and arugula, with a few droplets of an olive aioli. It was delicious. The lobster was tender and robust and perfect in every way. The salad might have been ignored, as green foodstuffs aren't her cup of tea, but, she said, "it's saved by the oranges, which are delicious." Dudeman went for the <b>Duck Egg & Shrooms</b>, a quite delicious, if heavy, creamy bowl of sauteed mushroom grits, hidden under what can only be described as a haystack of shredded fried potato (topped with the egg). Was the haystack good? Yes. Did it add to the dish? Yes. Am I glad it was there? Yes. Could it have been literally halved? Yes. Order this appetizer though. It's creamy, it's rich, it's a blast of umami and salt and fat and you won't regret it. I endeavored to be healthy and had the <b>Beet Salad</b>. The fifteen seconds of near panic I had thinking I came down with colorectal cancer the next day notwithstanding, I liked my salad. Huge, foot long ribbons of beet in a puddle of pistachio pesto sat under a bouquet of watermelon radish, edible flowers, and tete de moine cheese. Absolutely fantastic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IySEpkCh2gyoY83hyphenhyphenQSadWbYkdcQnRN8-TzBmq4Qt73_AO6nXYkFxTnu5J6_L51WihIAtOcW2MzGRsFgyiE4MhGkshdqrPl1N21n1buyEL1gpeyyIRQ7S8dCHRG0_Lp47xPQ6JPy5hY/s1600/WP_20170513_19_16_07_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7IySEpkCh2gyoY83hyphenhyphenQSadWbYkdcQnRN8-TzBmq4Qt73_AO6nXYkFxTnu5J6_L51WihIAtOcW2MzGRsFgyiE4MhGkshdqrPl1N21n1buyEL1gpeyyIRQ7S8dCHRG0_Lp47xPQ6JPy5hY/s640/WP_20170513_19_16_07_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The entrees were less mind-blowing, but all were good. Shrink chose what was, in my opinion, the least impressive of the dishes, the <b>Whole Brook Trout </b>with rosemary fingerling potatoes. That's what she ordered and, on a wood cutting board, that's what came. A quartered lemon and sprig of parsley garnish was pretty low rent plating, especially when compared with the edible flowers that came with my beet salad. The fish was tender, cooked exactly how it should have been, and it was light as a cloud, but for $36 it's just a trout on a plate. Soooo... The potatoes were very nice, and the trout came with plenty of them, but the overpriced dish seemed to scream "menu-filler". Medium rare <b>Grilled Skirt Steak</b> with chimichurri and served with a side of watercress salad was Dudeman's choice and it was a vast improvement over Shrink's. Maybe I'm just more of a steak guy than a fish guy, but the taste jumped off the plate and hit you with both fists. Like the trout, it was cooked perfectly and, like the trout, the plating was something stolen from the Outback reject bin. </div>
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My entree was the <b>Grilled</b> <b>Pork Chop</b>, an inch or so thick medium rare pork chop surrounded by a ladel's worth of dill mustard, and, lest the salad not be able to complete it's job in the hypochondria department, a few beets for, ahem, color. Unlike, the skirt steak, the flavors didn't beat you over the head. It was subtle, but not lacking. Pork chops are difficult to do right, so I was relieved that this was on the list of those that I can wholeheartedly recommend. My only complaint, and feel free to ignore it since it's an admittedly unnecessary one, is that there was a little too much mustard. As with the shoestring potatoes over the mushroom grits, a little goes a long way, especially with something as subtle as this particular pork chop.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgHidEZdcF4OExHxNxrrE09UtSfIWnX4SFjz2EysQMZZJl13ZYSIBSTGZDCfsdJ6lh0OgDRhU5f4f3frpPVyCwQKKs25seJnxKxQ9hLKZG8KSngf1vj-F9BzQVOGvPlf8jYDujPtV0dQ/s1600/WP_20170513_19_57_19_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgHidEZdcF4OExHxNxrrE09UtSfIWnX4SFjz2EysQMZZJl13ZYSIBSTGZDCfsdJ6lh0OgDRhU5f4f3frpPVyCwQKKs25seJnxKxQ9hLKZG8KSngf1vj-F9BzQVOGvPlf8jYDujPtV0dQ/s640/WP_20170513_19_57_19_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvOapUFZshWS1IXiyOiSkDPaKyj1p-dDsMbtUNBU-lzHR7F7ntKEWb5ToUQXYuDha-sLvEnTI0eWNkleDRFnlU2-0AJNkDGkvgKb8J7RDF5BrEQ0-Wg0rWIO3H6Ler3W9Qnbb1UEIsac/s1600/pork.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvOapUFZshWS1IXiyOiSkDPaKyj1p-dDsMbtUNBU-lzHR7F7ntKEWb5ToUQXYuDha-sLvEnTI0eWNkleDRFnlU2-0AJNkDGkvgKb8J7RDF5BrEQ0-Wg0rWIO3H6Ler3W9Qnbb1UEIsac/s640/pork.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Dudeman didn't want anything after the entree, but Shrink and I were determined. She ordered a cappuccino, I ordered the worst espresso in the world that wasn't made from garden soil, and we decided to split a dessert and the waiter recommended a <b>chocolate mousse cake</b>. I lost my notes but, it's basically a layered slice of chocolate cake with a scoop ice ice cream on top and, for good measure, encased in a sugar web-ball that literally has to be chopped through if you want to eat anything. It took about twenty five or thirty photos worth of time before we were actually eating the little thing, which I'm sure is the point. The cake itself wasn't more than good, but the whole process was hilarious. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjGOnIit1KItFkwWLf2v0ifw77yLzjfeWbno4uY7ZprzkScIN3CUxOSuF8ZvBO3J3y1wf64oU8mM8OoI_VPM5R6fIdY3fisUh6DQZCrZceAuq7K6c-1tOHTrjjvdQsgIYbHZrr3z3PJo/s1600/WP_20170513_20_42_13_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDjGOnIit1KItFkwWLf2v0ifw77yLzjfeWbno4uY7ZprzkScIN3CUxOSuF8ZvBO3J3y1wf64oU8mM8OoI_VPM5R6fIdY3fisUh6DQZCrZceAuq7K6c-1tOHTrjjvdQsgIYbHZrr3z3PJo/s640/WP_20170513_20_42_13_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeaO6GFn5oJlzpHDU7tpyqzCD0Vat-p3OAupiXkR2o8TYb74Tsu5OvJR8VTPpOe1Y6VKZayaCbzAm3dh3RFkiN_-xO2y_QT_-Fn5K3v9eRDAIW-HDw-4Yy9zaXsx9zoYkqx-RLb_AEHI/s1600/WP_20170513_20_46_18_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeaO6GFn5oJlzpHDU7tpyqzCD0Vat-p3OAupiXkR2o8TYb74Tsu5OvJR8VTPpOe1Y6VKZayaCbzAm3dh3RFkiN_-xO2y_QT_-Fn5K3v9eRDAIW-HDw-4Yy9zaXsx9zoYkqx-RLb_AEHI/s640/WP_20170513_20_46_18_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Certain parts aside, we all really enjoyed Union Fare. It was fun, the food was very good, and it lively without being loud. When we sat down at 7, it was all but empty. When we left an hour and a half later, it was packed to the brim. Price-wise it's easier on the wallet than nearby Gramercy Tavern, but with appetizers averaging $15 and entrees averaging $30, plus a bottle of wine, dessert, tax, and a 20% tip, don't expect to spend less than $100 per person.</div>
Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-24299590403460311102017-04-24T15:14:00.002-04:002017-04-24T15:15:33.321-04:00TOTTO RAMEN<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://tottoramen.com/"><b>TOTTO RAMEN</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 464 West 51st Street</div>
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• New York, NY 10019</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (646) 596-9056 • </div>
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Rent is expensive, taxis are expensive, Ubers are surge-priced, cigarettes are $13 per pack, cocktails are $15 each, parking your car in a garage is ridiculous, homeless people hang out at the ATM and ask if you have a spare twenty, dating requires taking out a personal loan. Is it any wonder that New Yorkers cherish the our subway (go anywhere for $2.75) and the simple slice of pizza (priced to match the subway), flock in droves to free movies in the park, love our free museums (you should donate though), wait for hours to get access to sample sales, and line up down the block for halal cart lunch? Is it any wonder that this city has embraced ramen soup, a huge bowl of deliciousness for a fraction of what one would expect to pay based on a price-per-square-taste-bud of flavor? No longer limited to a home where NYU students roam, Ramen spots have
exploded across the city, even finding their way to my roost in Forest
Hills, Queens. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaC_feNKTaOFDx9C5Z1EOeWTXUHLIU7EpLAgMNhm9eNd0L7-0zs7vYWbqiT4JBMcnsewU-HTrdjJaYuIPnIKdGeZUbrBfF1mt8dQ3Qqwf2XhmNfVT8NM-F6eQdmtgzHpb3-rOzvWCytpg/s1600/tottoout.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaC_feNKTaOFDx9C5Z1EOeWTXUHLIU7EpLAgMNhm9eNd0L7-0zs7vYWbqiT4JBMcnsewU-HTrdjJaYuIPnIKdGeZUbrBfF1mt8dQ3Qqwf2XhmNfVT8NM-F6eQdmtgzHpb3-rOzvWCytpg/s640/tottoout.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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This particular excursion was to Totto Ramen, which routinely makes it to the top of best-of lists. Totto may have started off as a decrepit hole-in-the-wall, but it's expanded into a mini-chain with three NYC locations, two Boston locations, and one in Taipei. Mr. Dogz and I headed over to the Hell's Kitchen location, which is larger than it's original location a couple blocks away, though, as you can see in the photo, "large" is relative. As is common with almost all Ramen spots of any worth, the waits at Totto are routinely long and a table for two was a half hour long at 6:30pm. Arrive early.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PqZDzTl5w3h4bGulCsviMk249GtV8IKBlQWSyFCMi6c4zrlPotrUru-C_vF6rCouyJOBf2toDd7T0LzXaztXYVDfuSLqnUayG0S6MzeY3_uyX3BOTqlUXRwmsDmzejlXR2Rq6mw9lGM/s1600/tottoin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PqZDzTl5w3h4bGulCsviMk249GtV8IKBlQWSyFCMi6c4zrlPotrUru-C_vF6rCouyJOBf2toDd7T0LzXaztXYVDfuSLqnUayG0S6MzeY3_uyX3BOTqlUXRwmsDmzejlXR2Rq6mw9lGM/s640/tottoin.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Upon sitting down and choosing a bottle of sake, we first ordered the <b>Takoyaki</b> to start. Takoyaki is dough-wrapped octopus drizzled with a sweet soy glaze and healthy amount of mayonnaise. Dogz liked it, but I'll be frank, this was not my thing. I take that back, it was pretty bad. I've always had a penchant for wacky Japanese food (or wacky any food, for that matter), but alongside pig-placenta juice and bacon-bubblegum soda, I'm taking a pass on any future mayo soaked fried octopus dishes that come my way.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHc89MEXm-1vhN5kRDgxnaqNIhv-Q3srGKsBhKc3loMs4NIvE7Gpv2usUtTJAx4LaHvrRQgjzR5vQtvK3Pn_OeB1GCjskVxm3A2VMjcIhKdSNmWJXcbQLhMFzKBfVqfMoO4zWzfvJrdM/s1600/tottoapp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHc89MEXm-1vhN5kRDgxnaqNIhv-Q3srGKsBhKc3loMs4NIvE7Gpv2usUtTJAx4LaHvrRQgjzR5vQtvK3Pn_OeB1GCjskVxm3A2VMjcIhKdSNmWJXcbQLhMFzKBfVqfMoO4zWzfvJrdM/s640/tottoapp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The ramen was another story. Totto serves its ramen paitan-style, meaning "creamy". Compared to other ramen places that I've been to, it's very apt. The broth at Totto is extremely rich. Not merely heavy, but HEAVY. Umami to the umamiest degree. Dogz ordered the <b>Miso Paitan</b> (bottom pick), ramen in a rich miso broth with yellow noodles, egg, bean sprouts, scallions, onion, and pork. I ordered the <b>Spicy Paitan</b>, the "signature" ramen broth with spicy sesame oil, straight noodles, scallions, bean sprouts, seaweed, and a slab of pork. Of course, I also ordered a soft-boiled egg because if you don't like adding an egg to your ramen, then there's something missing in whatever hollow rock you've got buried in you masquerading for a soul. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmmJ0oNYeABO2T5sfXadYzZ7JlahBpi0hY2Fu9pYJxRSJHo5Z0mnPyB5X7kF-5Fd8h4jlq9zedE32yxEu4COQLIoKuRnvaYMtmh40FK4qhKFzbZ1oQjxGr6mIe1hsmj0csmY0cVHBl-8/s1600/tottoramen1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmmJ0oNYeABO2T5sfXadYzZ7JlahBpi0hY2Fu9pYJxRSJHo5Z0mnPyB5X7kF-5Fd8h4jlq9zedE32yxEu4COQLIoKuRnvaYMtmh40FK4qhKFzbZ1oQjxGr6mIe1hsmj0csmY0cVHBl-8/s640/tottoramen1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO9tqv0VkFYjBMy-CszzsulUmBR9bFNb6Uggwxiv09-HFj762ZBeDuthCF6OHM1_79SH3GXNLhTqIf9anzMT4eXWK5DFkfkI29Ypym77F3Z1z4EUuzp1uxBRJRQ7DMZanmylIqksZAtk/s1600/tottoramen2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO9tqv0VkFYjBMy-CszzsulUmBR9bFNb6Uggwxiv09-HFj762ZBeDuthCF6OHM1_79SH3GXNLhTqIf9anzMT4eXWK5DFkfkI29Ypym77F3Z1z4EUuzp1uxBRJRQ7DMZanmylIqksZAtk/s640/tottoramen2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I found that my spicy ramen was less hot-spicy than tangy-spicy, so those of you with an aversion to hot food should not have a problem. To put it crudely, I did not feel the heat the next day, if you catch my drift. So how hot could it have been? Both ramens were delicious and, like I said, rich and heavy and coats
your mouth in flavor with each sip like melted butter. I left winded and
could not finish the bowl. If anything, the broth was <i>too</i> rich. The pork was delicious and tender but the noodles were a little stiff for my taste. I'd have loved Totto to have loaded more veggies into the soup, but for a few extra bucks you can throw plenty more in, the way I did with my extra egg. </div>
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Totto Ramen did not bump Long Island City's <a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2016/02/mu-ramen.html">Mu Ramen</a> from the top spot in terms of flavor in my personal opinion, nor is it as sexy as the trendy and refined <a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2014/04/ippudo.html">Ippudo</a> near Union Square. Cost-wise Totto's ramen is $12 per base bowl, while Mu and Ippudo cost $16. Hardly enough of a difference to sway anyone who isn't destitute, so try them and base your opinion on what you think tastes best or suits your desired atmosphere, but make sure try Totto. It's good. Very good. And I'd certainly go back if I was in the neighborhood.</div>
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Totto Ramen is cash only.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUkgO0mjW2kxujwj6XarPVI3NwlB1vXk92y7hJELLvjWATJebkk5JLplAJrAVBRVqm6EWUotZ3eONRP0mMJtrVzyJhIZVFoL9fGRpACxcok3kuJjF7kYu49HNtMFO8gG2FNTIIT0l4wI/s1600/tottolamp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUkgO0mjW2kxujwj6XarPVI3NwlB1vXk92y7hJELLvjWATJebkk5JLplAJrAVBRVqm6EWUotZ3eONRP0mMJtrVzyJhIZVFoL9fGRpACxcok3kuJjF7kYu49HNtMFO8gG2FNTIIT0l4wI/s640/tottolamp.jpg" width="640" /></a>Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-69499199340058191892017-03-16T00:37:00.001-04:002017-03-16T13:32:08.996-04:00DIRT CANDY<div style="text-align: right;">
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</style><a href="http://www.dirtcandynyc.com/"> <b>DIRT CANDY</b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">• 86 Allen Street</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">• New York, NY 10002</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">• (212) 228 – 7732 •</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know a vegan restaurant you’d love!” is not something I'm often told, but it was the text message
I received a few days ago. As some of you out there are likely aware, I’m not a
vegan. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Or a vegetarian. Or a pescatarian. Or an anythingbutredmeatitarian<span style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></span>Indeed, I take great pride in being willing to <span style="font-family: inherit;">consume </span>just about anything,
even telling the food allergies I have to piss off and go bother someone else. That said,
I do know a vegan or two and one of them, Sweet Pea (she chose the name) wanted
to go out<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span> </span>Dirt Candy was where she wanted to take me. Dirt Candy isn’t
technically vegan, but they’ll veganize most of their dishes if you <span style="font-family: inherit;">say pretty ple<span style="font-family: inherit;">ase</span></span>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dirt Candy, on the Lower East Side, has actually been on my
list for quite some time<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">- </span>since b</span>ut it’s both vegetarian and far from cheap, most people I know would <span style="font-family: inherit;">only go under duress</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - s</span>o this was a welcome <span style="font-family: inherit;">suggestion</span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuekhwTU4r3ezIxXnB8h1w_F5XdamDFgVmkMWz7EBRrsC7Y7khB0Z4wqN-frSi4KKaf-HNLsok34d8b_0G3VJ69i4XY_BEq4yPVhuaUbumSKmE2C_WJ9K0vpF8_z3cmRiHAUAwcDTV68/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_665f5a66300a41ab98c804b091daa844.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuekhwTU4r3ezIxXnB8h1w_F5XdamDFgVmkMWz7EBRrsC7Y7khB0Z4wqN-frSi4KKaf-HNLsok34d8b_0G3VJ69i4XY_BEq4yPVhuaUbumSKmE2C_WJ9K0vpF8_z3cmRiHAUAwcDTV68/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_665f5a66300a41ab98c804b091daa844.jpg" width="640" /></a></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dirt Candy's</span> interior is modern and dimly lit. A large open kitchen
dominates the center of the space and nearly half of the seats line th<span style="font-family: inherit;">at</span> kitchen
like a bar, allowing patrons to watch all of the action. My attempt to make a reservation
earlier in the <span style="font-family: inherit;">day</span> was for naught, with the earliest time available being 9:30 or 10:00pm. This
was too late for Sweet Pea who, like most teachers, isn’t <span style="font-family: inherit;">qui<span style="font-family: inherit;">te the </span></span>night owl t<span style="font-family: inherit;">hat I<span style="font-family: inherit;">'d like her to be</span></span>. We
decided to risk it and hope that <span style="font-family: inherit;">a couple</span> of the few first<span style="font-family: inherit;">-</span>come-first<span style="font-family: inherit;">-s</span>erved
seats would open up within a reasonable time. We ordered a glass of wine<span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span>
began our wait, and as luck would have it, didn't even wa<span style="font-family: inherit;">it that long</span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga7ydWAaLS8iSE_hc_bAlreN0TrWpjOvmmt8q0PCH2IPsH0s83x-9bZsuSKuyNHNwk9Efm-q6uTw1-adSvXwSt_kTM_tOcR2pAmyEvB0y2HHK8nXXP0DOgjT_O857BxGt02Q3jtJiS-E/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_17ce36c8598945aab182f85595a1b762.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga7ydWAaLS8iSE_hc_bAlreN0TrWpjOvmmt8q0PCH2IPsH0s83x-9bZsuSKuyNHNwk9Efm-q6uTw1-adSvXwSt_kTM_tOcR2pAmyEvB0y2HHK8nXXP0DOgjT_O857BxGt02Q3jtJiS-E/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_17ce36c8598945aab182f85595a1b762.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So as a quick spoiler, the food at Dirt Candy was excellent.
The drinks were… less excellent. The wine, by and large, <span style="font-family: inherit;">is</span> th<span style="font-family: inherit;">at</span> unfiltered
organic <span style="font-family: inherit;">plonk</span> which, in private, you'd spit out and pour down the sink<span style="font-family: inherit;">. <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, in public</span></span></span> you grit your teeth and pretend to like because you<span style="font-family: inherit;"> h<span style="font-family: inherit;">ave</span></span> to demonstrate how much you support <span style="font-family: inherit;">non-GMO</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">, fair trade, carbon-footprint-<span style="font-family: inherit;">neutral</span> vineyards. I tried two wines<span style="font-family: inherit;">:</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">t</span>he first one was vile and I sent it back<span style="font-family: inherit;">;</span> the second one was <span style="font-family: inherit;">okay</span> enough not to join it's brethren, <span style="font-family: inherit;">but</span> that<span style="font-family: inherit;"> was</span> a low bar. Our second round of drinks were cocktails. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The mixed drinks at Dirt Candy are alcoholic versions of <span style="font-family: inherit;">the things you'd find on the menu<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of</span></span> an Equinox gym juice bar. Bright colored<span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span>loaded with pureed vegetables, and a little gritty, they actually <span style="font-family: inherit;">don't taste too bad</span> despite looking laughable. While they'd get <span style="font-family: inherit;">jeered out of Death & Co.<span style="font-family: inherit;">, they do come with the </span>benefit of being abl<span style="font-family: inherit;">e to pretend<span style="font-family: inherit;"> that you're being</span></span></span> healthy. The orange one below is the <b>Autumn Library</b>, a carrot smoothie with whiskey, and the green one in the oversized wine glass is the <b>Celery Rickey</b>, a celery smoothie with gin. Sweet Pea loved her carrot smoothie; I was a fan of the celery one, though it could have used some St. Germaine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcETZ0g3K9GPYI6p-qBS57ysu01Cg-gP8E0BkgoOPYSanAxjRBkfSsi-11SXpEY1nJQXhSl6kY5wngPNbk41-WKrtVW48oYiFazrUoCmCFin9BeC7ufwsiQwgzJp9omkniDfPVgotqkX4/s1600/WP_20170310_20_17_28_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcETZ0g3K9GPYI6p-qBS57ysu01Cg-gP8E0BkgoOPYSanAxjRBkfSsi-11SXpEY1nJQXhSl6kY5wngPNbk41-WKrtVW48oYiFazrUoCmCFin9BeC7ufwsiQwgzJp9omkniDfPVgotqkX4/s640/WP_20170310_20_17_28_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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The first food to arrive at the table was a little <b>Whatever Pickles</b> snack that we ordered. <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's <span style="font-family: inherit;">a random pick<span style="font-family: inherit;">led vege<span style="font-family: inherit;">table that could be actual pickles one day and pickled carrots the next. <span style="font-family: inherit;">On the da<span style="font-family: inherit;">y that we went, it was (I believe) picked kale with sesame. A<span style="font-family: inherit;">nd it was <i>amazing</i>. <span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved it. <span style="font-family: inherit;">You only get a shot glass worth of the stuff</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>, so chew sl<span style="font-family: inherit;">owly, but you will not regret this one. If only they made a large dish out of this<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQ1Ym6SmKhiWVWQp2z_A8FoZS2AMbX8BH9S1C409nzsKuneJH3W59Hbas_7ipdBpWcDFUHPSl3JTgTmbHNWXkqEkdYitDclHtPL-GdoI7_QWMzZVTEBbHFepi1QB3kcX1mzNHJajp0Ss/s1600/WP_20170310_20_15_31_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQ1Ym6SmKhiWVWQp2z_A8FoZS2AMbX8BH9S1C409nzsKuneJH3W59Hbas_7ipdBpWcDFUHPSl3JTgTmbHNWXkqEkdYitDclHtPL-GdoI7_QWMzZVTEBbHFepi1QB3kcX1mzNHJajp0Ss/s640/WP_20170310_20_15_31_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></span> </span></div>
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That was followed by two small plates, the <b>Mushroom</b> and the <b>Broccoli</b>. Dirt Candy may be complex in the kitchen, but they phoned in the dish titles. The Mushroom was a dish primarily based around a truffle toast, upon which one would "layer as many different flavors as possible" according to our server. There are little balls of portobello mousse, sauteed pear, and dollops of cherry reduction. Mushrooms play a small role when one spells it all out, but actually, that flavor dominated the dish, which was fantastic. Every bite was both rich and smooth, both tart and umami. My only complaint was that the toast was sharp and kindasorta cut into my gum.<br />
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The Broccoli dish is the honest vegetarian's version of a hot dog. As I've said in the past, too often, vegetarian food tries to be meatless meat. Chick'n and facon and beefless beef stew. Too often, vegetarian food wants to try to convince vegetarians that they're still eating meat when in reality they're eating some sort of processed soy slop. But not this broccoli dog. Nuh uh. Dirt Candy grills and smokes broccoli stalks, puts them in little buns, layers it with a broccoli slaw and a mustard sauce and it is flat out good. There's a nice sweet tang in the sauce, which the plays well with the natural mild bitterness of broccoli, and there's a satisfying crunch when you bite down. "Maybe they could serve these at a baseball game?" said Sweet Pea. I don't think I'd go quite that far, but take my meat-eating word for it, this was good.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_v9laG0V_xzU4UIzTIjD67wpoJX8xyLgCVq59YY8SJ-5wNcxJ4nDz62fsncO9od8l4YSPLM5KphFRNgw810Hx4_KFdg05WsWT0W4BLtpHi3RhHxuR9yWIZYi_Q4zB8T0aASDmF2E-j4/s1600/WP_20170310_20_26_22_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_v9laG0V_xzU4UIzTIjD67wpoJX8xyLgCVq59YY8SJ-5wNcxJ4nDz62fsncO9od8l4YSPLM5KphFRNgw810Hx4_KFdg05WsWT0W4BLtpHi3RhHxuR9yWIZYi_Q4zB8T0aASDmF2E-j4/s640/WP_20170310_20_26_22_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNpEKYybuveqPfqs6zD98OC-bIHa9NapID2w_Sqzb2DSyS6Ly99xYu6fUHMpitpA-6i4s6rs4FqK03EpUUF_7ooAqhyphenhyphenFPAiTUNgyNQw6_AYwFWZ83qSz6yEkubStJaaSEw3D-wxW98CQ/s1600/WP_20170310_20_35_08_Rich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNpEKYybuveqPfqs6zD98OC-bIHa9NapID2w_Sqzb2DSyS6Ly99xYu6fUHMpitpA-6i4s6rs4FqK03EpUUF_7ooAqhyphenhyphenFPAiTUNgyNQw6_AYwFWZ83qSz6yEkubStJaaSEw3D-wxW98CQ/s640/WP_20170310_20_35_08_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The last dish we shared was the <b>Brussels Sprouts Tacos</b>, a build your own "taco" dish where the primary filler are seared brussels sprouts. The taco is appropriately a lettuce leaf, and it comes with guacamole, little corn chip shreds, jalapeno, radish, pickled onion and some hot sauce. The brussels sprouts themselves are served shredded on a scalding hot stone that continues to slowly cook the vegetable as it sits in front of you. Personally, I found this to be the least impressive of the dishes (I mean, it's just a taco you build yourself from relatively standard ingredients), but it was the most casual. There wasn't any hoity-toity explanation from the server, it was just slapped down in front of us with an "enjoy". Don't get me wrong. I like hoity toity. It makes me feel better when I know I'm gonna drop a half yard or more at the end of the meal, but I liked this too. This made the meal more fun and interactive.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluoYo1azRB7Wc9y8hsxXuuPql487RFG2GcNkUhIGDXUqM-cZrmTddjghUKFnA9czrunhl6b5vGTrlb1tl-Jrm-hbjTvBMTtibeKUbx-MCt1KkcjVeBOaSMV-1yiZkshCFDWnR_hRKFYE/s1600/WP_20170310_20_52_14_Rich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluoYo1azRB7Wc9y8hsxXuuPql487RFG2GcNkUhIGDXUqM-cZrmTddjghUKFnA9czrunhl6b5vGTrlb1tl-Jrm-hbjTvBMTtibeKUbx-MCt1KkcjVeBOaSMV-1yiZkshCFDWnR_hRKFYE/s640/WP_20170310_20_52_14_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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These three dishes might have been relatively small, but they didn't feel it. While we weren't stuffed, we felt perfectly sated. So when the dessert menu was provided, we passed, opting instead to cab it across town to spend the rest of our money at Pegu Club.<br />
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If you're a vegetarian tired of saying "oh don't worry, I'll find something on the menu", and want to go somewhere more upscale than a pizza place, Dirt Candy is definitely for you. Sweet Pea enjoyed the cocktails, but as for me, while they were a cute and fun diversion, they felt contrived. A sazerac would have been just as vegetarian here as it would have been in a steakhouse and boozed up smoothies just don't do it for me. That aside, all of the food was excellent. A meat-eating guy like me could easily enjoy himself if he went on a date here and not think twice about why there isn't pork belly on the menu.<br />
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I had a great time and I definitely recommend Dirt Candy.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One snack, two small plates, one large plate, two glasses of
wine, and two cocktails came to $137 with tax. Dirt Candy is ahead of the curve
in that it does not allow tipping.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/dirt-candy-lower-east-side" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Dirt Candy, Lower East Side and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Dirt Candy Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16782596/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-1311878798324827362017-02-13T19:58:00.000-05:002017-02-14T13:21:37.595-05:00PARK AVENUE WINTER<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://parkavenyc.com/"><b>PARK AVENUE WINTER</b></a></div>
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• 360 Park Avenue South</div>
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• New York, NY 10010</div>
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• (212) 951-7111 •</div>
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Like many people in our fair and illustrious burg, I have the unreasonable and unreachable fantasy of eating everything and everywhere. As a result, Park Avenue is both constantly enticing and constantly frustrating. Every season, the menu changes and it doesn't get recycled. So while you're always getting a varied menu that will never be boring, the flipside of this is that you can never eat what you like ever again. So I apologize in advance for not being useful come spring (or next winter). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QHSaAYJt-c6pGUC_6N57-VFIbSqobmXqJV0kUcH_z8Gfeh6rfHC9EaLnM6sxq6nj4sdO7ewoA3jgMHZ2NiuuccQotyQDORiWnKiiLJ-2hYRsq5veJngCQEyC5cOS-2OdvRqev6nZ7oA/s1600/WP_20170212_20_58_42_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QHSaAYJt-c6pGUC_6N57-VFIbSqobmXqJV0kUcH_z8Gfeh6rfHC9EaLnM6sxq6nj4sdO7ewoA3jgMHZ2NiuuccQotyQDORiWnKiiLJ-2hYRsq5veJngCQEyC5cOS-2OdvRqev6nZ7oA/s640/WP_20170212_20_58_42_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I chose to treat the 'rents to Park Avenue Winter in part because the restaurant has been on my list for a long time and I'm a selfish person and this was all about me, but also because my parents are not exactly millennials. I didn't want them to feel like fish out of water eating alongside tattooed hipsters discussing their latest kombucha brew recipes whining about how they'd have totally voted if only they knew Trump might win fer realz lol. I may be selfish, but I'm not a dick. Well... maybe I kinda am. Anyway, the age demographic runs the gamut here and pretty much anyone can feel comfortable.</div>
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Park Avenue Winter is posh and expensive, but it's relaxed. There's no jacket-and-tie dress code, the music playing through the sound system is the Rolling Stones, and there's no guy offering to blast you with cologne in the bathroom, but everyone looked sharp. Keep the jeans, lose the Slayer t-shirt. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPel7pFt25mmw4y64JPa9ekCUTidtY8Qcb3aST0ioBqZAiBAI9YSVepNruxKlvoGwFAds8pvefNeRMRkQjuSjpUHLN6mgPy27AM3uLrRr-w-fqN2lknOf_XGBsGV-k0piemDKeNPghjCE/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_82624bf784cb4ddba3db7cc8bf5ae401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPel7pFt25mmw4y64JPa9ekCUTidtY8Qcb3aST0ioBqZAiBAI9YSVepNruxKlvoGwFAds8pvefNeRMRkQjuSjpUHLN6mgPy27AM3uLrRr-w-fqN2lknOf_XGBsGV-k0piemDKeNPghjCE/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_82624bf784cb4ddba3db7cc8bf5ae401.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I arrived a little early, grabbed a seat at the bar, and treated myself to a $16 cocktail (the <b>Festivus</b> pictured below. Fruity and mild, it's really more a summer drink than a winter one, but get it. Trust me.). Soon thereafter, Shrink and Dudeman (Mom and Dad) arrived, checked their coats, and we were led to a table where we snacked on cornbread and a truffle amuse-bouche while we pondered the menu. I immediately zeroed in on the <b>Brussels Sprouts Leaves</b> salad. I really enjoy salads, but never make them at home, instead opting to just take a head of lettuce, dip the whole thing in balsamic vinegar, and eat it like a corn-on-the-cob. Dining out allows me to have the real ones. This one came with pecans, goat cheese, pomegranate, apple, and apple mustard and was everything I wanted it to be. Very light but very complex. Guiltless. Shrink ordered the <b>Roast Butternut Squash</b> Soup, which she liked a lot, but which I was indifferent towards. It was served with a lobster "crouton" on the edge of the bowl, which actually tasted more like bacon than lobster. Dudeman ordered the <b>Seared Hamachi Crudo</b>, a salad-like smoked fish dish, served cold, with almonds grapes olives. Both he and I thought that the fish was delicious. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTe3axa8Yy7DiPvhnmnuuyBahiAllpt0bJRoDMvtuc3nLppKJIzd_Vb15-Y2p-TvLNqp_AXTvyfoSx4VuxSJvmZGSqU58cgaB4U5qBaRtRpUfWkbtSiPmBt5WdSnVz7xGs5AaqMs79kEA/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_a49966d8dff9420ca21dbcdfe6ac7dfe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTe3axa8Yy7DiPvhnmnuuyBahiAllpt0bJRoDMvtuc3nLppKJIzd_Vb15-Y2p-TvLNqp_AXTvyfoSx4VuxSJvmZGSqU58cgaB4U5qBaRtRpUfWkbtSiPmBt5WdSnVz7xGs5AaqMs79kEA/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_a49966d8dff9420ca21dbcdfe6ac7dfe.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfqlWYu2jaDtVvSq8BRQ3j27Ou7zn0oxf9vXGGmzLExbogBM-mQMS59bz75U1pNv8uL1SgJDSEMbC2iBKmw-H6WpTJpChHUuR4PiZ7T65g6rGpGfbbjdrTF_DHpyMN_1Fn68KVz2DHyA/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_08b0e945134045569709a077e4c4d762.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfqlWYu2jaDtVvSq8BRQ3j27Ou7zn0oxf9vXGGmzLExbogBM-mQMS59bz75U1pNv8uL1SgJDSEMbC2iBKmw-H6WpTJpChHUuR4PiZ7T65g6rGpGfbbjdrTF_DHpyMN_1Fn68KVz2DHyA/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_08b0e945134045569709a077e4c4d762.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEzsic_LfBHcwrbpU94vJvoXEM63RUHQN-1pEl-cLoIHSQnXHksFRYFmkIDxTX7P8uvTOoHQSX7N9LC11d_pnxUFrH0YOO2gIDpItTodbbkVdAV6-HiADB1sGgNoc_KeqJQ6Fk0B_m6Q/s1600/WP_20170212_19_05_37_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEzsic_LfBHcwrbpU94vJvoXEM63RUHQN-1pEl-cLoIHSQnXHksFRYFmkIDxTX7P8uvTOoHQSX7N9LC11d_pnxUFrH0YOO2gIDpItTodbbkVdAV6-HiADB1sGgNoc_KeqJQ6Fk0B_m6Q/s640/WP_20170212_19_05_37_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Shrink ordered the <b>Long Island Duck</b> entree, served with grapefruit, roast quince, and juniper. The duck itself was perfect, though I was of the opinion that the grapefruit and trimmings were excessively bitter. I was alone in this assessment. My entree was the <b>Red Wattle Pork Loin</b>, served medium rare, with lemon and bacon popped sorghum over a pesto. Bacon popped sorghum? Think mini-sized popcorns that have virtually no flavor but look cool when plating. The dish itself was delicious and I'd absolutely order it again. BUT. But the pork was tough. Chewy. Cutting through the filet took energy and the slice had to be thin to be easily chewed. If it was tender, I'd be recommending this dish and shoot off fireworks to emphasize my point. On the other hand, Dudeman chose the <b>New Zealand King Salmon</b>, cooked so tender that a stiff wind would cut in into pieces. it was almost creamy. Pecans, smoked miso, apples, and greens round out the dish that we agree was the winner of the evening. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcT8-r0iN2mPWX3r1FH-L_mpMg2w-8mf7MTnTB3ZBJZWBUIDGv4FZGmxJsMaMwspKQJTWLMFXpowMRRkrSfN1MIq9UBzVmIYlt6l6Q6p_YETr1kBHKfHKQZpKImGnJ7Dga6nqpfYO7OY/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_9f6723170cf34d428a51a17e99649471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcT8-r0iN2mPWX3r1FH-L_mpMg2w-8mf7MTnTB3ZBJZWBUIDGv4FZGmxJsMaMwspKQJTWLMFXpowMRRkrSfN1MIq9UBzVmIYlt6l6Q6p_YETr1kBHKfHKQZpKImGnJ7Dga6nqpfYO7OY/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_9f6723170cf34d428a51a17e99649471.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Shrink ordered the <b>Winter White Sundae</b>, a huge scoop of mint chip ice cream with a white chocolate snowflake cookie under a drizzle of chocolate rum syrup. I've never been a mint ice cream person, so I'm biased. She liked it. I was more annoyed that the server poured the chocolate rum syrup over the snowflake, totally blowing the cool photo I was about the take. Like, if it coated the dome of the scoop and added a backdrop of contrast to the lily white snowflake, then great! But... anyway. What's done is done. Lesson learned. Always put your own syrup on. Dudeman skipped dessert but I asked our server for a dessert that was the opposite of heavy, so imagine my surprise when she suggested the <b>Bases Loaded</b>. On the menu it was the kind of kitchen sink dessert one might find at TGIFriday's. Chocolate mousse layer cake topped with peanut butter, pretzels, and toffee with a scoop of ice cream and a chocolate covered potato chip. Nope. It was totally what I wanted. Fluffy, sweet, not too big, perfect with a cup of coffee.</div>
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This grand feast, three appetizers, three entrees, two desserts, a coffee, and six drinks clocked in at $361 including tax and tip. <br />
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FYI, there is no bathroom attendant. Bonus points!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPZbKu3CEEWCpfYRuEAU6iWpmyWZL_k1dLRj4h_0QQbkDR6lY2dYQguMXhyUqKGhQ9A73Oux8vRnveSf3LNWxpCkUeHbMk4PskMpcO063aGofdCinj2YO-IEQCvd4x66Wx5HOmfaQehQ/s1600/WP_20170212_20_52_03_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPZbKu3CEEWCpfYRuEAU6iWpmyWZL_k1dLRj4h_0QQbkDR6lY2dYQguMXhyUqKGhQ9A73Oux8vRnveSf3LNWxpCkUeHbMk4PskMpcO063aGofdCinj2YO-IEQCvd4x66Wx5HOmfaQehQ/s640/WP_20170212_20_52_03_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a>Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-9713751656129740242016-12-09T18:43:00.001-05:002016-12-09T18:50:55.473-05:00ROBERTA'S PIZZA<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.robertaspizza.com/"><b>ROBERTA'S PIZZA</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 261 Moore St.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• Brooklyn, NY 11206</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (718) 417-1118 •</div>
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As everyone knows who hasn't, by either accident or design, been living in a cave since the election, there is something called "Pizzagate." Pizzagate, for those still ensconced and snuggled in said cave, is the cooked-up allegation by Republican conspiracy-mongers that the Hillary Clinton campaign was running a network of child-sex-slavery rings out of a variety of pizza shops across the country. Most people with two brain cells to rub together would find this laughable on its face, but for a bunch of folkels, this was no laughing matter and, just recently, a concerned citizen crawled out of his trailer, cleared the Miller Low Life cans off the front seat of his car and drove over to DC to shoot up a restaurant and liberate him some chilluns. After his arrest, he admitted that, perhaps, his "intel wasn't 100%." This hasn't stopped people from continuing to accuse other pizza places on the list, though, among them Roberta's Pizza in Brooklyn. </div>
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Like our hick friend, I had to investigate.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uG_aMvewhb1w-iUD6bvYMLF0PYLcR9TcvHKjET2Kt0pZ8hxQhHyIrfYoTrzI2Se_Si-JT1rqoICNAw2p9NuQbmwKjJBH2oGU_5-8235GWQ89HtDF9AW8DqIaeklKVe7AzIppWA2LvLI/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_a9a67b7a173d4dc1b654ae61d492d1fd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uG_aMvewhb1w-iUD6bvYMLF0PYLcR9TcvHKjET2Kt0pZ8hxQhHyIrfYoTrzI2Se_Si-JT1rqoICNAw2p9NuQbmwKjJBH2oGU_5-8235GWQ89HtDF9AW8DqIaeklKVe7AzIppWA2LvLI/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_a9a67b7a173d4dc1b654ae61d492d1fd.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Roberta's is located on a grungy, industrial-ish block on the Williamsburg edge of Bushwick, past a youth hostel and a shipping depot. Covered in so much graffiti that the entrance to the restaurant is all but invisible to the naked eye, one could imagine nefarious things within this secret brothel. Would a violent gang be running the place, clad in leather and chains and mohawks? Would they demand a password I didn't know? Would I be beaten and left broken and bloodied in an alley? Would child hookers be on the menu like they were whiskeys? "I'll have a Canadian. 12 year." The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping as I
stepped over the curb to cross the street. A brisk wind caught the back of
my neck and gave me a chill. I yearned for the kind of comfort that can only come from
eating warm (pizza) pie. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIiTo8wNiejt1ex1N-yDMmqSJlUd-8Wh9QqAq3str_yQ_YWV6TJIcertPaGt2weQKoF-N4__4bxB0rBJ3ho4Tm6zDId1ODDjCy64r3cOqleJkNW9BXXmfEdaPUBvT0kaU0PwLg6YJLNM/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_3ea2e3be4f6d44d987fc48b17f2593ce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIiTo8wNiejt1ex1N-yDMmqSJlUd-8Wh9QqAq3str_yQ_YWV6TJIcertPaGt2weQKoF-N4__4bxB0rBJ3ho4Tm6zDId1ODDjCy64r3cOqleJkNW9BXXmfEdaPUBvT0kaU0PwLg6YJLNM/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_3ea2e3be4f6d44d987fc48b17f2593ce.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you were to imagine a hipster pizza joint, it would be Roberta's. Roberta's sandwiches every stereotype possible between its walls. If you can think of one, they have it. And if they don't, call them up and let them know. They'll add it to the mix. I mentioned the graffiti outside. It's intentional; an homage to the old gritty Brooklyn that Millennials idolize (I'll never understand the morbid craving to be surrounded by heroin-addicted rapists covered in their own excrement). Inside are long, dark-wood communal tables and dim lights, paintings by local artists and scratchiti, cinder blocks and Edison bulbs. Drinks come in mason jars. Unless you count tattoo sleeves, not a soul in the joint wasn't white; but Roberta's soundtrack is uncensored rap. As the exterior is an homage to dirty Brooklyn, the inside is an homage to the dive bars that used to be there. But I've been to dive bars. Bars where the bartender will sell you a loosie and the toilet in the bathroom is missing the seat. Bars where the wine list is just Boone's and there's a guy sleeping in the corner booth. This ain't no dive bar any more than Rainforest Cafe is actually in a rainforest. And it ain't a brothel. And there were no mohawk-wearing gang-bangers swinging chains like lassos.</div>
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By this point, you might be thinking that I didn't like Roberta's. Actually, I did like it. It had a warmth. The staff was nice. There was a pleasant energy. I went alone, sat at the bar, ordered a craft IPA and a pizza to start with, and read the New York Times on my phone. I'd do this again in a heartbeat! But didn't I beat up on it for being either a transparent parody or utterly clueless to its own stereotypography? Well, I pointed it out. Once you recognize and accept the tropes for what they are, you can roll your eyes and enjoy them. Think of it as you would think of going to a certain kind of ethnic restaurant. Like, you don't think twice when you see sliding paper doors at a Japanese restaurant or red checkered tablecloths at you local red sauce spot. Maybe "Urban Hipster" can be its own subcategory.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGofT-rXCZUc9LV47aG3iBcaP8aT6ezOPD6y6m_x_gPCp6uSPgEGoY5Ov6917ERRFdOsw0_UO5stkWhSsxOFcHVTzEDpVGQLjEAAEikZD8FIOgLLCKAYFXUkDI7G7KC1dqqsnoYy488g/s1600/WP_20161208_17_29_07_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGofT-rXCZUc9LV47aG3iBcaP8aT6ezOPD6y6m_x_gPCp6uSPgEGoY5Ov6917ERRFdOsw0_UO5stkWhSsxOFcHVTzEDpVGQLjEAAEikZD8FIOgLLCKAYFXUkDI7G7KC1dqqsnoYy488g/s640/WP_20161208_17_29_07_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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So besides drinking beer and failing to find underage prostitutes, did I eat? I did. Roberta's has a decent menu. Craft beer, wine, cocktails on the one side. Salads, pastas, pizzas, cheese plates and charcuterie on the other. There's plenty to choose from, but the smell of the wood burning oven was enough to push me into pizza territory. I ordered the <b>Famous Original</b>, a relatively classic pie made with tomato sauce, oregano, a mix of three cheeses, and some chili peppers for a little bite. The pizza was perfect. It had just the right amount of everything, including oven char. I had to force myself to nurse it over the course of half an hour or so. The pie, at about 14 inches in diameter, looks bigger than it is. </div>
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When the pizza was gone, I found myself hungry still and I didn't want to leave. It felt like I'd just arrived. I decided to get something healthy and picked out the <b>Romaine Salad</b>, made with candied walnuts and shaved pecorino cheese. You have to like traditional caesar salads and the anchovy-heavy dressing that they don't mention on the menu, and the fact that the lettuce leaves are uncut makes eating it awkward, but while it won't win any awards any time soon, it wasn't bad. </div>
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Pizzas at Roberta's are about $16, the salads average $15. Factor in two drinks, tax and tip, and at $63, this was not a cheap pizza joint dinner. But it's a good pie, a fun place to hang out, and if it was singled out by Right Wing lunatics, it was well worth my, and hopefully all of your support.</div>
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/robertas-east-williamsburg" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Roberta's, East Williamsburg and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Roberta's Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16781877/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-51336478648108174622016-09-29T20:59:00.000-04:002016-09-30T10:37:16.105-04:00BY CHLOE<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><a href="http://bychefchloe.com/">BY CHLOE</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 60 West 22nd Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10010</div>
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<i>• no phone •</i></div>
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I don't care what your vegetarian friends say, being a vegetarian is tough and shitty. "I can always find something on the menu," they say with a smile, despite the fact that it's a totally baldfaced lie. Yeah, they can have the mashed potatoes at the steakhouse or the collared greens at the barbecue joint or the garnish when it's wings night. Being a pescatarian makes life a tad easier, but let's not kid ourselves. These people live as second class citizens. If "finding something on the menu" means eating culinary hand-me-downs then you can't find something on the menu. The vegetarian has two choices: they can suffer in silence, or they can eat food pretending to be meat. Tofu, for all that meat eaters deride it, at least it's honest. Mock duck, fake ground beef, chik'n, tofurkey... it would be funny if it weren't so pitiful. </div>
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So I understand the popularity of a vegetarian restaurant. I get it. Finally, equality. No more asking if there's meat in the lasagna or whether beef stock was used in the soup. No more picking out bacos from your salad or being forced to have three side dishes of asparagus. By Chloe is the chain that is banking on the trendy vegetarian market, the market sick of playing second fiddle to everyone else, to pull it into the black. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptYimHNBQNFa7rnpIxD5LsIqAwlaXd_ynTZysEB60f-Mb9L4tzdz5WpvDX7sJJ0pPnceIFzWE8GfihmrsrowXqfbCWNGXhAZTrF21tiE77e2A9JFyvUG9j3KM8odbOZG2hjlOdGdxf6E/s1600/WP_20160929_15_35_42_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptYimHNBQNFa7rnpIxD5LsIqAwlaXd_ynTZysEB60f-Mb9L4tzdz5WpvDX7sJJ0pPnceIFzWE8GfihmrsrowXqfbCWNGXhAZTrF21tiE77e2A9JFyvUG9j3KM8odbOZG2hjlOdGdxf6E/s640/WP_20160929_15_35_42_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Technically, By Chloe is vegan, which is a political diet more than it is a dietary one. And, since By Chloe sells coconut water in the coconut for $5 a pop they're making good bank. One cup of coconut water for a fiver? That's less than a can of soda for five times the price! I guess vegans have more money because they haven't spent it on cheese and eggs and honey.</div>
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Anyway, there I am in Flatiron and I saw a By Chloe restaurant (they have a handful of locations in a few states). I've heard good things about them, so I decided to give them a try. Actually, I gave them three.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF88YDoAthVfRZ0HwHh_SFf3kel9Sb8UncC66fMKzjNqhd_qzlwR51WQKKzELz7Ve7Ad8jXKr6OSiHCzM5XzD8IFZ4wuN2t8F5T5bJR2QQkRmLaxuxnRhkl9J6uA33SeD8LSb31CdZq6w/s1600/WP_20160929_15_50_06_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF88YDoAthVfRZ0HwHh_SFf3kel9Sb8UncC66fMKzjNqhd_qzlwR51WQKKzELz7Ve7Ad8jXKr6OSiHCzM5XzD8IFZ4wuN2t8F5T5bJR2QQkRmLaxuxnRhkl9J6uA33SeD8LSb31CdZq6w/s640/WP_20160929_15_50_06_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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By Chloe is a cool, hip, trendy, rad semi-fast food spot. No getting around that. You may order from a big board and fight for a seat somewhere, but you won't be confusing this place with a Chipotle or a Boston Market anytime soon. Look at the photo. Huge mirrors with a mercury backing for atmosphere. Plants. Varied wall textures. It feels like a steampunk bistro. I love it. And there the love ends.</div>
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The service is polite, but awful and chaotic and irreverent. I cannot stress how slow getting your meal is. Are they growing the bean sprouts in the kitchen from seedlings before they serve them? Sorry, but at no point should a burger, veggie or otherwise, take twenty minutes. This happened every time. Once one orders, which takes all of thirty seconds, every customer crowds around waiting for their name to be called. Bring a book while the staff has a good time chatting with each other behind the counter and the bags start piling up on the counter.</div>
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My experiences left much to be desired from a UI point of view. How abou' the chow?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXojUSlAglN12U51tPU8PT0lqNap8_e6ZlYtr0opwPUgjp9l-yGbl92KMZTt284lcqTcJMisNn0TjEc4tiZmNv-h_cm0u1lFYowZXao-kxmHqfnIcCp5MyBpUDjx70WYwNzTvEXkSRrU/s1600/WP_20160729_16_16_58_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXojUSlAglN12U51tPU8PT0lqNap8_e6ZlYtr0opwPUgjp9l-yGbl92KMZTt284lcqTcJMisNn0TjEc4tiZmNv-h_cm0u1lFYowZXao-kxmHqfnIcCp5MyBpUDjx70WYwNzTvEXkSRrU/s640/WP_20160729_16_16_58_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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For the record, I'm the kind of meat eater caveman who really <i>does</i> like veggie burgers. Hell, I'd sooner eat a veggie burger than a turkey burger, (Don't get me started on turkey burgers. I want to punch whoever came up with those right in the throat.) so I don't just treat vegetarian food like its fracking and immediately assume it's terrible. The thing is though, having had three sandwiches here...</div>
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Okay, so of course I started with the<b> Classic Burger</b>, pictured above. Lookin' good, burger! Bright red tomato, soft bun, perfect purple onion, bright green lettuce with those little squiggly ends that look so delectable. Now <i>that's</i> a burger ripe for Instagram! Mmmm. Did everyone take their photo and get all of their likes? Okay, good. The next step is throwing it in the garbage, going to Gristedes, getting some Morningstar patties and starting all over. This burger was made out of sawdust on a good day. It was dry, tasteless, hard to swallow. For the record, the <i>beet ketchup</i> did not do it any favors. And for only twice the price of a Shake Shack burger!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmM7YoVq9ah62H0Cs8NKKHIAc_q9YB2HyBWH4TALHKe97LWmczMiKAVUQ-XnKjoktONZZ3CVtP-DH0ccfgSCR0j3yGZ0vmtQcOTe9qDE6QIPnS8iyH0aIc0B6lslzAi19Hd1jB3U-p1cY/s1600/WP_20160810_15_20_06_Rich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmM7YoVq9ah62H0Cs8NKKHIAc_q9YB2HyBWH4TALHKe97LWmczMiKAVUQ-XnKjoktONZZ3CVtP-DH0ccfgSCR0j3yGZ0vmtQcOTe9qDE6QIPnS8iyH0aIc0B6lslzAi19Hd1jB3U-p1cY/s640/WP_20160810_15_20_06_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Up next was the <b>Whiskey BBQ Sandwich</b>. Well sheee-it! I do love me my barbecue. And my whiskey! And not in that order. So here comes this 'un. Portobello mushroom and seitan, kale, and pineapple. Everything on that list sounds great. I like mushroom. I like seitan. I like kale. I like pineapple. But no, another loss. The sandwich was so sour and so sickeningly sweet and so reliant on barbecue sauce that it lost everything. Pineapple BBQ Tang on a bun. Ugh. I felt like ordering a classic burger to use as a sponge. </div>
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But by God I will give By Chloe another chance! ...not that she needs my money. <b>Pesto Meatball Sandwich</b> time. I won't lie. It looked nice on the plate-slash-little greenhouse box it comes presented in like it's a gift from Tiffany's. The meatballs might have been good. Who knows? The sauce was far too tart, and the sweet peppers only made it worse. The bun was the opposite of soft. It was toasted to that perfect place where it turns to sharp glass in one's mouth, spraying bread shrapnel with one bite and slicing through your skin with the other. Half of the sandwich went to me, half went to whatever pigeon picks it out of the garbage can on the corner of 22nd and 8th.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNeNX5CI4LloyvvAEDwUDIct45m3BYnhfZgO-I0mFFvl7PLSXzE5F_1V-elDUoO81xzne87SGWFnITMcG9KNwue5WQ4FT1ZJnMZLk_K4S2tSB7ms3-IVSWEx-pc0lxzs8ie1cqMgJ7PI/s1600/WP_20160929_15_50_49_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNeNX5CI4LloyvvAEDwUDIct45m3BYnhfZgO-I0mFFvl7PLSXzE5F_1V-elDUoO81xzne87SGWFnITMcG9KNwue5WQ4FT1ZJnMZLk_K4S2tSB7ms3-IVSWEx-pc0lxzs8ie1cqMgJ7PI/s640/WP_20160929_15_50_49_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In conclusion, By Chloe is a cute, twee place for people (vegan Millennials) who have the privilege of being able to afford paying twice as much as something better, yet wind up with something worse, but whose dining experiences are these fluid things where outcome matters less than the feel-goodyness of being in the club of people who would eat there. It's the Jill Stein of fast casual restaurants. </div>
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There will soon be seven By Choe's in Manhattan, Boston, and LA.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6toclA02jQ2Hv_x6-AOR98W4FS_U9IOCp1nnq8ekHOoTDzk0J-AFsfNVOWktxDTH9thVP72J6XkalBASyCF_prLVHmf93GUpOkCWmJtBAHkZ0_GvAPDgDU-h5E3lnrDWKFfNLjwnH7-c/s1600/WP_20160729_16_09_24_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6toclA02jQ2Hv_x6-AOR98W4FS_U9IOCp1nnq8ekHOoTDzk0J-AFsfNVOWktxDTH9thVP72J6XkalBASyCF_prLVHmf93GUpOkCWmJtBAHkZ0_GvAPDgDU-h5E3lnrDWKFfNLjwnH7-c/s640/WP_20160729_16_09_24_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyhyphenhyphen2HwJjsW36-H_mKLTpKV_OzIe6mupIGN19JwaEbvcx4RHAcqrP2JOmDg4DsCDradrRlPYaZHkjRGoISCh-Bi4O7RqYDm3rarigfSPLjZzjZtJJKCPGWA2H4FQRvphyphenhyphenog3XuYjjlvM/s1600/WP_20160729_16_14_31_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyhyphenhyphen2HwJjsW36-H_mKLTpKV_OzIe6mupIGN19JwaEbvcx4RHAcqrP2JOmDg4DsCDradrRlPYaZHkjRGoISCh-Bi4O7RqYDm3rarigfSPLjZzjZtJJKCPGWA2H4FQRvphyphenhyphenog3XuYjjlvM/s640/WP_20160729_16_14_31_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/by-chloe-greenwich-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about By Chloe, Greenwich Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="By Chloe Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16793976/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-75997821247038737732016-09-08T12:30:00.002-04:002016-09-30T10:12:02.719-04:00BLUE FIN<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.bluefinnyc.com/"><b>BLUE FIN</b></a></div>
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1567 Broadway</div>
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New York, NY10036</div>
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(212) 918-1400</div>
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Times Square this past Friday was <i>packed</i>, as usual. Mimes and topless women and dance troupes and buskers of all typed vied for attention as tens of thousands of people wandered aimlessly, soaking in the neon and the noise. But in this morass of people, two people had a purpose. A destination. Dinner. Tourists and traffic and Tickle Me Elmo be damned, they weren't missing their reservation just because a few folks from Somewhereelseville wanted to take selfies with a person in gold bodypaint. Emma and I all but jogged single file, in zig-zag formation, around
every type of person humanity has to offer, from the R train subway station
uptown to Blue Fin. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmNK8aOZKZPj4ytXyh018gtZ3na_q9v3NskkyUUyrGNzPTOZsTpZRgy0RZRWYGl0PEdprBnfhbQGgXrecTh3mNgDXVMb2C-T0T30R0z5rtU-xY2P6tzswOov1YXIIVruwNFI5tWp2KUY/s1600/WP_20160902_23_04_16_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmNK8aOZKZPj4ytXyh018gtZ3na_q9v3NskkyUUyrGNzPTOZsTpZRgy0RZRWYGl0PEdprBnfhbQGgXrecTh3mNgDXVMb2C-T0T30R0z5rtU-xY2P6tzswOov1YXIIVruwNFI5tWp2KUY/s640/WP_20160902_23_04_16_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Blue Fin is a sprawling, upscale Asian fusion seafood restaurant located at the W Hotel. Its first floor is a cozy, relaxed bar where I could imagine escaping the bustle of the city for lunch if I was here on vacation and my non-existent wife and even-less-existent kids wanted to say hi to the street performers while I ate and had a cocktail. Up the glass-lined staircase lies the main dining area and that's where Emma and I were seated. We were given a huge booth and a loaf of bread, ordered some drinks, and took a little time to soak in the menu.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi002o8vizGLyekLYIILgcqufYtFhZyIUOmu9u4uhRc_FWR6gmWOXhUotchTn1nw5lyTS4WW84cQ9R4dPIuaoCw_b7LE2NqnvL2abyCq4HMomHuoY7mAg4TkzjWHzGEX0Jmo8EpqZSxWjY/s1600/AdobePhotoshopExpress_4c8ea82fa6304e46bfa8f566be089afa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi002o8vizGLyekLYIILgcqufYtFhZyIUOmu9u4uhRc_FWR6gmWOXhUotchTn1nw5lyTS4WW84cQ9R4dPIuaoCw_b7LE2NqnvL2abyCq4HMomHuoY7mAg4TkzjWHzGEX0Jmo8EpqZSxWjY/s640/AdobePhotoshopExpress_4c8ea82fa6304e46bfa8f566be089afa.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The vast, vast majority of Asian fusion restaurants go out of their way to be trendy. It's almost like there's a law requiring them to give off clubby vibes. They have to be the kind of place where people who just turned 21 - who had spent their whole college lives drinking blue and green cocktails made from the bottled mixers you see in the supermarket - would feel like, despite an emoji tattoo and despite totes spending their whole meal on Snapchat or Instagram ("Check the cray manbun by bae has!"), they're hundo p grownups. Blue Fin is more refined... though there was a dude there with a manbun. There's no dress code, per se, but everyone was dressed nicely. I wore jeans and a collared shirt. Emma had an LBD. We fit in just fine. No one looked they had just rolled out of bed or was dressed like they had just come from a Yankees game. Like all but a select few restaurants these days, the dress code is simply: don't be a bum. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcR7PNZVg9yYcNrl1Bj_FGv-JTlsM500z_7J7AM4yFgBlBVdWFuVXNjB12h3RD8pPO5pqIvLAie32N3aIFsy2nHXqQuyWQrlLoG9gvfR2raTZ6pNFl-7CIqxfFlTaOgeEjiSon3RrhwQ/s1600/WP_20160902_22_58_39_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcR7PNZVg9yYcNrl1Bj_FGv-JTlsM500z_7J7AM4yFgBlBVdWFuVXNjB12h3RD8pPO5pqIvLAie32N3aIFsy2nHXqQuyWQrlLoG9gvfR2raTZ6pNFl-7CIqxfFlTaOgeEjiSon3RrhwQ/s640/WP_20160902_22_58_39_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNMdzh6OAVQ2EEh_xEw3hI5oLMXgXhPNIq2eTI7k5_yLSJ0t3vWyIWVpoDKan0HomZGnUGQ92lBoo7RnvzMPxNRmTOA6GSJw5P214DaZPwds2U2lTrehTIW4b1bN85cXF8cIcWQ2NDNU/s1600/WP_20160902_22_58_24_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNMdzh6OAVQ2EEh_xEw3hI5oLMXgXhPNIq2eTI7k5_yLSJ0t3vWyIWVpoDKan0HomZGnUGQ92lBoo7RnvzMPxNRmTOA6GSJw5P214DaZPwds2U2lTrehTIW4b1bN85cXF8cIcWQ2NDNU/s640/WP_20160902_22_58_24_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYBUGZGlpgfKrLnSUoesewNkiV-nFfAVHuJxfj2y6Kb00NhSxAV6UELgaQHEo8jpWUASsjv3BOybb3wqIKRWnx7DPKR9URv9T5XCEAAQAa9i-PSmzhnbd0MlJeQEPW8ogb1lwWf2DMsw/s1600/WP_20160902_23_02_07_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYBUGZGlpgfKrLnSUoesewNkiV-nFfAVHuJxfj2y6Kb00NhSxAV6UELgaQHEo8jpWUASsjv3BOybb3wqIKRWnx7DPKR9URv9T5XCEAAQAa9i-PSmzhnbd0MlJeQEPW8ogb1lwWf2DMsw/s640/WP_20160902_23_02_07_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GRDvyo6OrqqYk4O-xlvQpmxmO3F0o4M3Znu2tkRINxY7JvWpywkMW3wvEJsUwUBqWVFgA9MxsziikyZkRbBKwS5cwK56GKiiGkEBXaLXSuH-Oo8KmyuALFmtmbISC3RS7Ratw6tjces/s1600/WP_20160902_20_15_55_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GRDvyo6OrqqYk4O-xlvQpmxmO3F0o4M3Znu2tkRINxY7JvWpywkMW3wvEJsUwUBqWVFgA9MxsziikyZkRbBKwS5cwK56GKiiGkEBXaLXSuH-Oo8KmyuALFmtmbISC3RS7Ratw6tjces/s640/WP_20160902_20_15_55_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Emma ordered the <b>Tuna Tartare</b> as her starter, diced raw tuna in yuzu juice with ginger, Japanese chili pepper, and lotus root chips. The tartare was perfect; slightly tart and the consistency of Jello, as it should be. The chips and pepper basically served as decoration. I for one couldn't taste any spice and the chips were the definition of flavorless. But they look nice and plating matters. For my appetizer, I ordered the <b>Red Hot Lobster Maki Roll</b>, a lobster roll with avocado and topped with salmon and a spicy creamy sauce that they term "Chile bean sauce"... but which I don't think exists... mostly because Chile beans don't exist. I suppose that it's possible they meant chili beans, but that would imply a can of Bush's. Let's reword this. By "Chile", they meant chili; by "bean", they meant pepper; and by "sauce", they meant aioli. Regrettable typos notwithstanding, the roll was excellent. Emma scraped off the aioli because she found it too hot, but I enjoyed it. </div>
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For my entree, I ordered <b>Prime Filet Mignon Tataki</b>, a filet mignon, cooked medium rare, sliced and served sushi roll style beside their Japanese eggplant salad. The steak was very good. Butter tender and with a little bite from a slight pepper crust. My only complaint was that it was a little cool. Cool as in not-quite-warm, like it had been finished before Emma's entree was ready and sat in the kitchen for too long. The salad was good if you like baked eggplant dishes, which I personally am indifferent towards. Also I'm slightly allergic to eggplant and it makes the back of my throat itch. I still ate it, because I'm not going to let the food win. Emma went for the <b>Miso-Yake Chilean Sea Bass</b>. This dish was the winner of the night. The fish was amazing. Under its miso-yaki glaze (sugar, mirin, and miso), it couldn't have been cooked more perfectly or been more tender than it was. If you enjoy light but hearty, rich and slightly sweet fish entrees, then this should absolutely be your choice. Sharing the plate was a green tea noodle salad with edamame and asparagus. The noodle salad was pretty good, but next to the fish, all but forgotten.</div>
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For dessert, I ordered the <b>Yuzu Panna Cotta</b>, a tart panna cotta (yuzu is similar to lemon) topped with raspberries, blackberries, and a sweet sesame brittle candy. Perfect. All it needed was an espresso, but I was still on my wine. Emma ordered the <b>Trio of Mochi</b>, three rice cake dough balls filled with ice cream. From right to left in the photo they were Strawberry which Emma liked the most by far, green tea, which was sweet with the slight hint of green tea dry bitterness, and Mango, which Emma tried to eat but failed because it was still frozen solid as a rock. She attempted to warm it some by cupping her hands to create a little igloo dome, but to no avail. </div>
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So in conclusion, Emma and I had a great time overall, and were glad we went. The atmosphere was great, from the very polite and warm staff, to the chic decor and all of its hundreds of little lights glimmering like stars. It was neither too loud to have a conversation, nor so quiet that it felt awkward to talk. The food was, on average, excellent, as it should be for the restaurant's price point. However, there were a few missteps, such as my a-little-too-cold steak and Emma's frozen solid dessert. And finally, though we did order each dish with a wine pairing, there was no coordination of that and the wine just came whenever our current glass emptied. It was slightly annoying, but truth be told, I was so relaxed eating here that beyond mentioning it here, I can't really complain. Others will though, I am sure.</div>
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Our meal, cocktails and two pre-fix dinners with wine came to about $225 before tip.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwgzPnxR1rhVb2HxikJiDQ6awuyuRHRWYNRzi0WTqY5cG4wxk6I0ukv8JDVXoduNZ0aIqfVA8eY_ECHpKFnh3xQh6F0e833bqrcc6f5PUuXsb1kxn1xb5Tm-bt2LNtJ8vczswcivC6oE/s1600/WP_20160902_23_03_28_Rich.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwgzPnxR1rhVb2HxikJiDQ6awuyuRHRWYNRzi0WTqY5cG4wxk6I0ukv8JDVXoduNZ0aIqfVA8eY_ECHpKFnh3xQh6F0e833bqrcc6f5PUuXsb1kxn1xb5Tm-bt2LNtJ8vczswcivC6oE/s640/WP_20160902_23_03_28_Rich.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/blue-fin-theater-district" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Blue Fin, Theater District and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Blue Fin Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16760867/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-60010749436230890372016-08-19T11:40:00.000-04:002016-09-30T10:13:42.683-04:00FLINDLERS LANE<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>FLINDLERS LANE</b></div>
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162 Avenue A<br />
New York, NY 10009</div>
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(212) 228-6900</div>
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The heat wave last week was a part of everyone's conversation. The sun's scorching ray charred both man and vampire alike, the humidity drowned people in their own sweat, subway platforms became ovens. If that wasn't enough: flying cockroaches. It was into this hellscape that Bro and I actively chose to go to Alphabet city for Australian food. Bro spent some of his college days in the land down under and had, I deduce, such a bloody right time that he cracks a fat just about every time it comes up. To this day, his rain gear of choice is a waxed-leather outback hat. Ergo, it wasn't too difficult to convince him to join me for dinner here at Flinders Lane (not possessive). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQK48U-jljoVKSOmiPTSd51QqPw41vLagEifjwl9b-S3XpePuZ8_RHE5JlbVN8kaYRApWId2t8pUx62XNddNFbvlvYb7GA-FMXB4I4YI3cVQFLkauj0T0JknA7pX2oKSkiqH_VSeM41I/s1600/FlinderOut.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQK48U-jljoVKSOmiPTSd51QqPw41vLagEifjwl9b-S3XpePuZ8_RHE5JlbVN8kaYRApWId2t8pUx62XNddNFbvlvYb7GA-FMXB4I4YI3cVQFLkauj0T0JknA7pX2oKSkiqH_VSeM41I/s640/FlinderOut.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The interior of Flinders Lane is just about what one would expect from a restaurant that caters to people in their mid-30s with a few pennies to rub betwixt their digits. It's very post-Millennial Brooklyn despite it East Village locale. It's very my generation. Coming in from an outside that was shockingly hot and unbreatheably humid, the first thing I noticed was that Flinders Lane needs a better air conditioner. It was better inside, but by no means as brisk as I would have liked. Bro and I didn't have reservations, so we sat at the bar. I inhaled cool glasses of water as fast as they could be poured. The drinks aren't cheap but they're not Wall Street expense account expensive and (except for the dish I ordered) the food is about the same. The menu is small and varied, but it's neither culinarily nor culturally focused. Australia, like the United States, is a melting pot and the Flinders Lane menu reflects an appreciation of that particular flavor of fondue. No two dishes are in the same ballpark.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiyUaI4mMQJh0GOpTcTlkJ52roLQcbTemtoLfSsl5CruW6DrdC97ay6C08zQrSmT8_NWYsk9a5EG_3TgPoachLnnCRnwIcprJ3FvrgpRrIXG5fMWE1pPf7FvLeZkIdDDLq90xMgpNroo/s1600/FlinderIn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiyUaI4mMQJh0GOpTcTlkJ52roLQcbTemtoLfSsl5CruW6DrdC97ay6C08zQrSmT8_NWYsk9a5EG_3TgPoachLnnCRnwIcprJ3FvrgpRrIXG5fMWE1pPf7FvLeZkIdDDLq90xMgpNroo/s640/FlinderIn.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Starting with drinks, of course, while we picked over the menu, Bro ordered an Australian beer. I ordered a <b>Chamomile Old Fashioned</b>, made with rye whisky and cognac. This was a boo boo. It was thin and made my tongue feel weird. See that woman in the photo above wearing what looks like a orange tie-dye bib? She was sitting next to me at the bar and when she went to the bathroom, I snapped a photo of her drink. I don't know what it was but I should have gotten it instead. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmaUQ6VU77nZpYnQ2s_gXAf1ETAJPxrhpvYjuzZWGV4J1zglSlJePHylY80MDnYloNMvNZr3kAP5TfiQOs2brcw6vm1rBEb6ROC6oC4jdux1GxwcXKu6ClVUIg2K-H951fV4YWNTDRKM/s1600/FlinderDrink.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmaUQ6VU77nZpYnQ2s_gXAf1ETAJPxrhpvYjuzZWGV4J1zglSlJePHylY80MDnYloNMvNZr3kAP5TfiQOs2brcw6vm1rBEb6ROC6oC4jdux1GxwcXKu6ClVUIg2K-H951fV4YWNTDRKM/s640/FlinderDrink.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMedwP5oglSG8cSJHFM2qB-GI5KliMZmqGKX8ReJmT-CGcumvIH3cBT8oDPjK7FcHwIs2vukZzRrHSSN0sP1H1PgWQglHfWplgKLCp9h1Lq1Hmp2laFNvaMrco1GJ90CDFijSydqHrNFw/s1600/FlinderDrink2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMedwP5oglSG8cSJHFM2qB-GI5KliMZmqGKX8ReJmT-CGcumvIH3cBT8oDPjK7FcHwIs2vukZzRrHSSN0sP1H1PgWQglHfWplgKLCp9h1Lq1Hmp2laFNvaMrco1GJ90CDFijSydqHrNFw/s640/FlinderDrink2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Bro didn't want a regular appetizer like a regular person in a regular restaurant, so he ordered a side salad. It's basically arugula and dressing, but it was huge. And quite delicious. Not filling. But huge and delicious. I ordered the <b>Salt and Pepper Squid</b>, a dish of lightly fried squid in a hot and sour dressing mixed with shallots, grapefruit, and mint. Fantastic. Perfect for summer. The dish was cool and tart, sweet and herbal. Rest assured that this will not be like any other calamari appetizer you have this year (unless you order it twice).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5IqAw8nTQGGj5W1yCFUW_XsBKJI2j9CpxRS3rO2vuAVmQo2P7x8UrESsSpYVd-5pSkHuYjp7bKpW4v8nT85ZNtgl3lK99lMa3f3xwzD11sev7z0DvhZ2Rt7jCPPLi5YaOibNiaI-b2k/s1600/FlinderApp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5IqAw8nTQGGj5W1yCFUW_XsBKJI2j9CpxRS3rO2vuAVmQo2P7x8UrESsSpYVd-5pSkHuYjp7bKpW4v8nT85ZNtgl3lK99lMa3f3xwzD11sev7z0DvhZ2Rt7jCPPLi5YaOibNiaI-b2k/s640/FlinderApp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The<b> Coconut Curry Laksa</b>, a curry stew of tofu, rice noodles, and crab was Bro's entree. It was just fantastic. Bro loved it and immediately commented "how is this Australian?" Yeah, if you got it at a Thai restaurant, you'd simply say "what great coconut curry", but at an Australian place you're more likely to cock an eyebrow. Because I can't see something unique or rare and not eat it, I had to have the <b>Kangaroo Loin</b>, a pair of pan seared kangaroo filets, a slab o' falafel, lemon yogurt, parsley salad, and onion. This was a Mediterranean entree but with kangaroo. The dish itself was very good. Very good. Buuuuttttt... it would'a been better if it was made with lamb. Kangaroo is a little gamey. A little hard. </div>
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These dishes are, according to the staff, "Australian entrees inspired by" other cultures. So like I said, Flinders Lane reflects the cultures that have worked their way into the Australian milieu. This might irritate some ultra-liberals who see it as a watering down of "authenticity" or might irritate some ultra-conservatives who see it as a corrupting of "the way things used to be." Well, fuck the both of you. Anyway, then we got dessert. This was a four scoop variety pack of <b>ice cream</b>. I don't remember what it was called, but each flavor (vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and ... umm...) was amazing. Definitely delightful. Especially in the </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPB0fTCir2h8Hr-eOzoj-uFTQLxQuNfOyV2-Hnv_uhKc3p5rirsAynKqCw2kcjFxTQNj9ED271M6WdbJdgLdYvBOej80FUA9mJQ4AP_48RLOYncdOlYG7WakMXBn3xbJmPTyETD3SdKKU/s1600/FlinderDessert.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPB0fTCir2h8Hr-eOzoj-uFTQLxQuNfOyV2-Hnv_uhKc3p5rirsAynKqCw2kcjFxTQNj9ED271M6WdbJdgLdYvBOej80FUA9mJQ4AP_48RLOYncdOlYG7WakMXBn3xbJmPTyETD3SdKKU/s640/FlinderDessert.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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There's also a $60, five course prix-fix menu which I did not get <i>but should have</i>. Our meal, which was three drinks, an appetizer, a side dish, two entrees, and a dessert, plus tax and tip, came to $145. Since my kangaroo entree was $32 (ouch), you should expect your bill to be a bit lower.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCbfvEgLQaa_T5Ne8moO2jho3jo6A9BrC9A1Ivbtoz0yJSJbKZQOMS_d1Tb2LIRL39hWrumDSbPHwPEH6Qxq8ei3W8AOW1rfBTuBtb_qBheQ0J_lzpl3ocaN8K3Yd5kkHXlT1V__1vJY/s1600/FlinderCard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCbfvEgLQaa_T5Ne8moO2jho3jo6A9BrC9A1Ivbtoz0yJSJbKZQOMS_d1Tb2LIRL39hWrumDSbPHwPEH6Qxq8ei3W8AOW1rfBTuBtb_qBheQ0J_lzpl3ocaN8K3Yd5kkHXlT1V__1vJY/s640/FlinderCard.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/flinders-lane-alphabet-city" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Flinders Lane, Alphabet City and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Flinders Lane Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16790931/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-655352173796641642016-07-27T14:57:00.000-04:002016-09-30T10:14:27.801-04:00DINNERTABLE<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.dinnertable.nyc/"><b>DINNERTABLE</b></a></div>
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• 206 Avenue A</div>
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• New York, NY</div>
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• <i>no phone</i> •</div>
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I love speakeasies. I'm not particularly rich, powerful, influential, popular, tall, imaginative, attractive, or interesting. Indeed, half the time, I don't even smell very good. But when I go to a speakeasy, I can pretend to be. See, I'm somewhere that the average passers-by on the street have no idea exists. But I'm there. I hit that buzzer, get led inside, and suddenly my brain starts firing these unused neurons of coolness. I'm sure that's why people go to invitation-only raves under bridges in Yonkers, or play poker in underground clubs in Whitestone, or sneak into construction sites to take selfies in Hells Kitchen, or go to sex parties in Tribeca. Thing is, I don't dance, or want get arrested in a raid, or want to fall to my death, or... actually I can't think of any reason to avoid that last one. Long story short, I like speakeasies. And Dinnertable is a speakeasy, except for food. Win-win!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInn5d_rLsgUY-2v4v0ag8plUKNVCB1avrh64vexoRnph_x59smSLKY6wwTI7NJQaSKZmfNN9e5iLnay_bptIDGLgk7uBywELyxnEpPwzWTKGfPe6fuxY-OXwsUd7929tcrsnr2GHXIIM/s1600/WP_20160721_17_11_23_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInn5d_rLsgUY-2v4v0ag8plUKNVCB1avrh64vexoRnph_x59smSLKY6wwTI7NJQaSKZmfNN9e5iLnay_bptIDGLgk7uBywELyxnEpPwzWTKGfPe6fuxY-OXwsUd7929tcrsnr2GHXIIM/s640/WP_20160721_17_11_23_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Hidden behind a heavy grey curtain inside of the Garrett cocktail bar in Alphabet City, Dinnertable is small. Two tables for couples. One large table for a communal dining or a big group. Some seats at the bar/open kitchen where you can watch the chefs do their magic. I'm not one for hyperbole. Rest assured, you will be eating magic at the end of it all. The staff was excellent and my one complaint about them is petty, superficial, and ate at me the way a single bead of sweat slowly running down the small of my back while waiting for the subway on a hot platform would eat at me. They all wore baseball caps... cockeyed. I know. It's petty. </div>
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Dinnertable takes both reservations and walk-ins, but reservations were limited to the first seating at 5:30 and the last seating at 10:30. Photogirl got us a reservation for 5:30 having had a friend tell her that they showed up once upon a recent-time and were told that the wait would be two hours. We walked into The Garret at 5pm, grabbed a drink at the bar (you can't bring your drink in with you, as they are technically separate establishments), and waited the requisite half hour. Despite the warning of crowds and waits, on this particular Thursday evening, we were the only diners when we walked in, and nobody had joined us by the time we had walked out. <br />
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If I was going to classify Dinnertable, I'd call it an eclectic small plates restaurant, for all intents and purposes. The menu is small and not divided into categories. Instead, it's ranked from lightest to heaviest. I did ask about portion size, since we planned to share everything, and were told that four items would be enough. Well, by the end of the meal I was satisfied, but by the time I got home a few hours later, I found myself rummaging my freezer for leftovers. So I recommend five items or six, depending on how much tummy-growling you have. </div>
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The first dish to arrive was the <b>Sicilian Red Shrimp Crudo</b>, perfectly cooked shrimp in an incredibly light tomato broth with buttermilk, basil, and toasted breadcrumbs. The flavor explodes through this course. Everything blends perfectly, almost to the point of putting one in awe. It's sweet, it's tart, it's soft, it's crunchy. The only downside is that there are only six shrimp when there should be six hundred. This was immediately followed by the <b>Garlic Pretzel</b>, which is everything you think it might be. It's a fresh sesame seed coated pretzel, halved and perfectly seasoned with garlic butter, and served with a cool, light cheese dip. Don't think pretzel from a cart, think bagel made with pretzel dough. </div>
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The following "larger" dishes were also pretty small, so do get another. First, <b>The Dumplings</b>. This course is a potato dumpling served with peccorino cheese, basil, dill, and a hearty dusting of poppyseed. If your ancestors were like mine and hailed once upon a time from Soviet-bloc nations, then you probably grew up with pierogis of one form or another. This is the evolution of what grandma made. Lighter, svelter, smoother, made from locally sourced organic ingredients instead of whatever was on sale at D'Agostino's, but just as amazing. ...(side note, please don't call them "peroshkis". That's a different thing. Just like a macaron is not a macaroon, a pierogi is not a peroshki). Finally came the <b>Black Sea Bass</b> with a tomatillo puttanesca. Every dish thus far has been light and summery and this was no exception. It was delicious and we all but licked the plate clean, but it was the least robust. I mean, it's a grilled fish, so it's not like it's supposed to smack you in the face like a hot wing would. But it was a little timid relative to everything else we ordered. </div>
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The weakest dish, in my opinion, was dessert, the <b>Taco Cioccolato</b>, a gelato taco covered in hard dark chocolate and hazelnuts. It didn't seem particularly unique, though that's not my problem with it. After all, a cheesecake from Veniero's isn't unique, just delicious. It was very salty but otherwise plain. I had a bite and I was done. "I tried it," I told Photogirl. "The rest is for you." Unlike me, she loved it and devoured the rest. </div>
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Our five dishes and one glass of wine came to a little over $100 with tax and tip. Note, loyal readers may remember that I went to the West Village Garrett and gave it a... uh... less than positive review. I stand by the assessment of that. But the easternmost Garrett may prove different. Dinnertable being right inside helps, but I will reserve this judgement until I return specifically for drinks.</div>
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/dinnertable-east-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Dinnertable, East Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Dinnertable Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/18091987/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-853774611974760002016-07-10T19:04:00.003-04:002016-09-30T10:15:39.535-04:00POMMES FRITES<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.pommesfritesnyc.com/"><b>POMMES FRITES</b></a></div>
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• 128 Macdougal Street</div>
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• New York, NY 18812</div>
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• (212) 674-1234 • </div>
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Once upon a time, there was a quint little East Village french (Belgian) fries place called Pommes Frites. Then <a href="http://ny.eater.com/2015/3/26/8296671/sushi-park-destroyed-in-massive-east-village-building-explosion">the building it called home blew up</a>. Pommes Frites, understandably, had to close. Thankfully for many of us who enjoy deep fried potato sticks and hearty sauces, the hiatus only lasted a year and now we find it in the West Village, on Macdougal street, smack at the crossroads of NYU drunkard territory and stoner hippydom. I think they found gold.</div>
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The new location is small, with literally only three tables and a ledge at the wall for which one may stand to nosh. Still, this space is double the size of the old one. Decked out with a Tudor wall on one side and a stone wall decorated by stained glass and torches on the other, you can almost imagine that you're eating in a narrow European alley. All that's needed to take you back to the good old days is someone pushing a plague cart. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7aN4f7s9NWokAjHlFC_UCOInTsoH6jxTNQdigV4T8wnI0txlgRu_QNBzlFFRqsCwfhU-5mQVO5wSlWUzBSfpM184Ea6FroONvvKxb-aHQJ8pgqH5DFFkDPurYVkv17He_qFoxf8rpNQ/s1600/PFin.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7aN4f7s9NWokAjHlFC_UCOInTsoH6jxTNQdigV4T8wnI0txlgRu_QNBzlFFRqsCwfhU-5mQVO5wSlWUzBSfpM184Ea6FroONvvKxb-aHQJ8pgqH5DFFkDPurYVkv17He_qFoxf8rpNQ/s640/PFin.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />
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As I mentioned, Pommes Frites serves fries, and they serve them in three sizes: regular (which is large), large (which is larger) , and double (which is largerer). If you just want ketchup or whatever, then all you pay for is your huge cone of potato sticks. The thing is, there are over thirty sauces to choose from, and you can soak your fries in malt vinegar anywhere. The whole point is to try something new. So I tried five. </div>
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On my first trip I tried the <b>Irish Curry</b> sauce and the <b>Sweet Mango Chutney</b>. The Irish curry sauce was rich and spicy (but not hot) and smooth. Meanwhile the mango chutney was light and fruity. Come my second trip, I tried three of my round one runners up. The weakest of the three was the <b>Bordeaux Wine, Fig, and Sage Mayo.</b> While the name certainly gives it an air of opulence, there wasn't a whole lot of there there. It was good, but extremely mild, bordering on dull. The <b>War Sauce</b> (made from mayo, peanut satay sauce, and diced onion) was interesting, but a little less mayo and a little more peanut would have been preferred. The <b>Wild Mushroom Mayo</b>, was the best. It was rich and filled with flavor. If you're like my brother and dislike anything mushroom or mushroom related, then I'd skip this. But if you're me, then I highly recommend it. </div>
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Ordering a bite for yourself, expect to shell out about $5 for a regular sized cone of fries. The sauces are either an extra $1.50 for one, or $3.25 for a sampling of three. You should expect to leave with your belt one notch wider.<br />
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/pommes-frites-greenwich-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Pommes Frites, Greenwich Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Pommes Frites Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/18074247/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a>Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-23356284823040233412016-06-28T15:18:00.003-04:002016-06-28T15:27:22.422-04:00THE QUEENS INTERNATIONAL NIGHT MARKET<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>THE QUEENS INTERNATIONAL NIGHT MARKET</b></div>
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• Queens Hall of Science</div>
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• Flushing Meadows Park •</div>
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A short walk from the 111th Street stop of the 7 train is the Queens International Night Market. Like the popular Smorgasburg, in Brooklyn, QINM is hosts collection of foods and goods from Queens businesses. Unlike Smorgasburg, it replaces hipster-chic-ness with a sense of global community. After all, Queens is the most diverse patch of land on the globe. Where better to showcase this diversity than at the World's Fair grounds? Chilean hot dogs, Japanese rice balls, Korean noodles, Caribbean shark sandwiches, Transylvanian desserts. Fried ice cream, mac and cheese balls, kebobs, rice krispie treats, bubble tea, grilled pork belly, empanadas, corn on the cob. And a beer garden. </div>
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The Night Market is every Saturday, opens at 6, closes at midnight, has no admission, and just about everything costs five bucks.<br />
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Special thanks goes to Photogirl, who accompanied me on this excursion and provided many of the pics you see here! Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-88608252228375647332016-05-25T11:42:00.002-04:002016-09-30T10:17:06.947-04:00AI FIORI<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>AI FIORI</b></div>
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• 400 Fifth Avenue</div>
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• New York, NY 10018</div>
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• (212) 613-8660 •</div>
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Mothers Day is an excuse for most people to take Mom out to brunch. But ours is not a brunch family. Hell, on weekends, you'd be hard pressed to see my parents showered before 3 o'clock in the afternoon. So I did the next best thing. I took the Rents out for dinner. Ai Fiori, the Michelin starred Italian from Michael White, has been on my list for a while and now was the time to dust off the ol' wallet and head to what I think should be renamed The Hotel District, midtown, north of Herald Square.</div>
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I was slightly surprised that on a weekend night the place wasn't more crowded and the hosts were willing to seat me almost immediately upon arriving even though I was alone and early. As an aside, the staff was exceedingly nice. No pretension whatsoever. Those of you who recall my unfortunate tiff with the staff at Beautique know that politeness and high end restaurants don't always go hand in hand.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoCvrqwFd_4zHtGQkL89a-Buba8yFBYiZZ4qv04fcvw3DJiwowFO0vOL6Bg1W5ZYnpQsGMLas9SmbA6EnrUfqlovAYGKkOwM_Av4_vrepmWRSCxm1fU6UZPDtbfiW9c-N6SMyMTckfVQ/s1600/WP_20160508_18_54_31_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoCvrqwFd_4zHtGQkL89a-Buba8yFBYiZZ4qv04fcvw3DJiwowFO0vOL6Bg1W5ZYnpQsGMLas9SmbA6EnrUfqlovAYGKkOwM_Av4_vrepmWRSCxm1fU6UZPDtbfiW9c-N6SMyMTckfVQ/s640/WP_20160508_18_54_31_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3opQx0gACWlRe9EEg5JM0DuI1AiFb_gKuAn-_fyMy1tUfxM4TNaCh02YvibacQJlf7uMGTetzCMTg3lRRxhxpNENwN5_h6T5GctYMSJjg_w3nJ33PKnHUPuJrUF852hacOZF8JYPnVts/s1600/WP_20160508_19_09_06_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3opQx0gACWlRe9EEg5JM0DuI1AiFb_gKuAn-_fyMy1tUfxM4TNaCh02YvibacQJlf7uMGTetzCMTg3lRRxhxpNENwN5_h6T5GctYMSJjg_w3nJ33PKnHUPuJrUF852hacOZF8JYPnVts/s640/WP_20160508_19_09_06_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Shrink, aka Mom, ordered the <b>Vellutata</b> as her first course of the night. It's a lobster soup with truffle and tarragon. You won't be disappointed, but this isn't your standard lobster bisque. It's more herbal. Dudeman's appetizer was the <b>Insalata di Astice</b>, a Nova Scotia lobster salad with turnips, pea tendrils, grapes, and pine nuts which he liked quite a bit, although he wished it was somewhat larger. I, in keeping with the crustacean theme, ordered the <b>Moleche</b>, a soft shelled crab with watermelon, lemon yogurt, prosciutto, and pine nuts. I won. I remember loathing soft shelled crab, but in the last few years, if I order it at expensive restaurants, it always tastes great. Who'da thunk? This version was soft, yet crispy and warm, but with the watermelon very light and seasonally appropriate. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvN-wCKXlLuoxUYUw_KDRN5HSxyrrjFXB7baFsSYqmncsWpx1OVnfmwz5RKIAWnV_CIYXvViojjHevft1OWxXwC_GMvftc-xIxOQadX-gjz6h8ymVqoROgTkzSSOSajuya6nQ99J1I2hg/s1600/WP_20160508_19_38_38_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvN-wCKXlLuoxUYUw_KDRN5HSxyrrjFXB7baFsSYqmncsWpx1OVnfmwz5RKIAWnV_CIYXvViojjHevft1OWxXwC_GMvftc-xIxOQadX-gjz6h8ymVqoROgTkzSSOSajuya6nQ99J1I2hg/s640/WP_20160508_19_38_38_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The second course, which Dudeman skipped and shared with Shrink, was the pasta/rice course. The carb load course. I ordered the <b>Risotto,</b> riso aquarello, spring vegetables, prosciutto, and tallegio which was fantastic. Smooth, cheesy, and perfect. Unlike most of the dishes, it wasn't plated to look like much more than a lump of barf. But don't let that fool you. The pasta course which Dudeman and Shrink shared was the <b>Trophie Nero</b>, a black pasta with a ligurian crustacean ragu, seppia, scallops, and spiced mollica. They loved it. Shrink called it "the best dish of the evening," though I wasn't nearly as impressed. While they found every flavor swoon-worthy, I found it slightly dull. As an aside, if you get the pasta as a main course, the portion size doubles. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHYntC8BIF9L5vwktM1wQBIK9uxuyqflZCVjZWXma1bUWSPsu_CsUs0QP4WMDUhYwmvbrFaPA6uVJY0c5mlZvKPk6YHCAvGSSbOqbTiOngGBc5WjjMiH_EdLgSxflAk5bJDZo1ZlWX7E/s1600/WP_20160508_19_58_00_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHYntC8BIF9L5vwktM1wQBIK9uxuyqflZCVjZWXma1bUWSPsu_CsUs0QP4WMDUhYwmvbrFaPA6uVJY0c5mlZvKPk6YHCAvGSSbOqbTiOngGBc5WjjMiH_EdLgSxflAk5bJDZo1ZlWX7E/s640/WP_20160508_19_58_00_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uuzJO0nZ6N_3pytqmXzWo-tZ2VKVz2TG6Eb8Nk83XZ9EXQqvlJcIJ6G6G7JxwGxCgJIdqeevJ4mzt-znSsWOjpmiF-kRatsJC9lfcuP0bM5jAwHeblffWreENyDRQMqcHzZGj7kuRUU/s1600/WP_20160508_19_57_52_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uuzJO0nZ6N_3pytqmXzWo-tZ2VKVz2TG6Eb8Nk83XZ9EXQqvlJcIJ6G6G7JxwGxCgJIdqeevJ4mzt-znSsWOjpmiF-kRatsJC9lfcuP0bM5jAwHeblffWreENyDRQMqcHzZGj7kuRUU/s640/WP_20160508_19_57_52_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Shrink's main course was the <b>Faraona</b>, a guinea hen dish with porcini mushrooms and cipollini. The guinea hen is served two ways. Part of it is served more traditionally, seared in whole pieces. Another part is served in a way that reminded me of a sushi roll, except that this roll was made out of a combination of dark meat, white meat, and herbs. In theory, I'd love this novelty, but in practice it was unfortunately dry and somewhat bitter. Meanwhile the whole pieces of the hen her incredible. Dudeman ordered the <b>Spada</b>, swordfish poached in olive oil and served with artichoke, prosciutto, and a basil pesto. This was the weakest of the entrees. Other than looking good on the plate, nothing really stood out. The fish itself didn't have any flavors that seemed particularly unique to this recipe and the ornamental side dish was no different. Far from tasting bad or even less than good, I've made swordfish steak at home that's tasted pretty similar and the whole point of going to a restaurant of Ai Fiori's caliber is to get something I can't get elsewhere, let alone twenty feet from where I'm sitting right now. On the exact opposite side of the spectrum, I'm happy to state that the best entree that was ordered was mine, the <b>Anatra</b>. Long Island duck, broccoli rabe, kohlrabi (a kind of cabbage. I had to look that up, too), pecans, and plums. Every flavor exploded without a thought to mildness. Tart fruit, crisp duck fat, mellow nuts. They all worked in perfect concert with each other. I cannot recommend this enough and neither could one of our waiters.</div>
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Shrink and Dudeman's shared dessert was the <b>Budino</b>. Chocolate mousse served in a chocolate tube with a little bit of cake and a small scoop of gelato, this was delicious. This creamy dessert was perfection. Heavy, but not too big. Decadent, but not over the top the way a twenty layer chocolate cake would be. My dessert was the <b>Créme Glacée</b>, a sort of sorbet cake served with pine nuts, razor thin apple slices, and a scoop of . It was ice cold, very sweet, and pleasantly light. If you tend to be one of those folks who eschew desserts that are heavy and rich, then this would be what I would recommend. I didn't love it. It didn't blow me away. But it was nice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-i54RBWMbs2qZGoBrYnJgGXuP5CXZX9Fo8Ho68CQbmSRDfbuWwioaTaTx3-See0EfbcAZdSJr9z_bLnylgnidmvKXLsnW_qD7lgxQnGRbZPtZGxaNArcMm_DgbEFU3nu7ppx71Nj8vPo/s1600/WP_20160508_20_55_44_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-i54RBWMbs2qZGoBrYnJgGXuP5CXZX9Fo8Ho68CQbmSRDfbuWwioaTaTx3-See0EfbcAZdSJr9z_bLnylgnidmvKXLsnW_qD7lgxQnGRbZPtZGxaNArcMm_DgbEFU3nu7ppx71Nj8vPo/s640/WP_20160508_20_55_44_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The four course prix fix cost is about $100 per person. Cocktails clock in at $16. Wines by the glass range from $12 to $50. The grand feast you see here came to a bit over $400 with tax and tip.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzQhjqljkKgdaMDkauxSRNhQqgfIPAVbhiAEaWxz2ajzP06VrGwj_e7CuX_sFRkiQCneEeH3mc3-KsKmXiLCGtquIgRpIxVC3jfhZm68Oy4MWqsps6PQ8_wIenRimXIQp5qAyGi7qPE/s1600/WP_20160508_21_22_08_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzQhjqljkKgdaMDkauxSRNhQqgfIPAVbhiAEaWxz2ajzP06VrGwj_e7CuX_sFRkiQCneEeH3mc3-KsKmXiLCGtquIgRpIxVC3jfhZm68Oy4MWqsps6PQ8_wIenRimXIQp5qAyGi7qPE/s640/WP_20160508_21_22_08_Pro.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/ai-fiori-midtown-east" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Ai Fiori, Midtown East and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Ai Fiori Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16785926/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-87151400075367016792016-04-11T16:28:00.003-04:002016-04-12T10:33:05.734-04:00TASTE OF SAMARKAND<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.tasteofsamarkand.com/"><b>TASTE OF SAMARKAND</b></a></div>
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• 62-16 Woodhaven Boulevard</div>
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• Middle Village, NY 11379</div>
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• (718) 672-2121 •</div>
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There aren't very many times that the New York Times can convince itself to spread its palate beyond Manhattan and a few key neighborhoods in Brooklyn. So when they take it upon themselves to write a glowing review of a spot on the edge of Middle Village, a place that I almost can walk to (admittedly it's a long walk), then it behooves me to go and see for myself. Cutting through the borough from the Queens Center Mall south towards JFK, Woodhaven Boulevard is far from the sexiest of streets. It's about ten lanes wide, has no cute, tree-lined center island, is less bike friendly than the Belt Parkway, and is almost always packed with traffic. But what it does have is variety. Queens, the most diverse, if not the coolest of boroughs, is well represented by the Boulevard. Taste of Samarkand is Uzbek. Down the block, a bar flies an Irish Flag. Pio Pio, the insanely good Peruvian restaurant group, started here on Woodhaven. Keep going and there's the seafood place London Lennie's, a Colombian bakery, an Indian restaurant, and the cigar lounge Havana Dreams. But I'm getting distracted.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJKpPO7vrzmLNVK5i87yTvghuQ9ySMgbqaUFrNT1mnAZzFyWGUVd-0Dwpw_plmk4azutJrPesy1bOljvbHMQ4RfcuLjQnjtNk-2EWJNNSLjYBZea_ymU5sKVKoE1Mldh1L5XEUriXMoA/s1600/Samarkandout.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJKpPO7vrzmLNVK5i87yTvghuQ9ySMgbqaUFrNT1mnAZzFyWGUVd-0Dwpw_plmk4azutJrPesy1bOljvbHMQ4RfcuLjQnjtNk-2EWJNNSLjYBZea_ymU5sKVKoE1Mldh1L5XEUriXMoA/s640/Samarkandout.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Taste of Samarkand, despite what the menu might allege, is not Mediterranean. For those who don't know, <a href="http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/commonwealth/caucasus_cntrl_asia_pol_95.jpg">Uzbekistan is here</a>, all but landlocked in the middle of Central Asia. What is Uzbek food like? Well, if this menu was any indication, it's mostly meat and starch. Pastries filled with meat, meat on sticks (kabobs, as it were), meat not on sticks, bread, rice... It's a cuisine designed by Darwin to stave off starvation in the lean months and freezing to death in the cold ones. </div>
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When I arrived with Seth midweek around 7pm, it was relatively empty. A couple of televisions played a foreign dance program; the lights were bright; the music was so low as to be all but inaudible. Our waitress, dressed in a traditional brightly colored outfit with a beaming but shy smile, led us to a table and took our order. Eventually, people started filing in. Soon, the tables were full and it got surprisingly loud. Families with strollers, groups of guys ordering plates of kabobs. A table with a handful of elderly folks pulled out a bottle of Ketel One from a bag. Ah, Taste of Samarkand is BYOB. We did not know that and tried a central Asian pear soda. My second drink was a Diet Coke. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSJ9Ps8c8KTnTZ2CSRjJMIUjWdOI4RYFm2vZl26gmn3NOU0l2GdGGmTVIOmbbFwnRb8b8uLcsyL5jfmarTFU4Ze3UaNpViJZ3kIYjeHSEyGiIhI4TVNQiUn2dJec0T_wFwIP-w4xfVUQ/s1600/Samarkandin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSJ9Ps8c8KTnTZ2CSRjJMIUjWdOI4RYFm2vZl26gmn3NOU0l2GdGGmTVIOmbbFwnRb8b8uLcsyL5jfmarTFU4Ze3UaNpViJZ3kIYjeHSEyGiIhI4TVNQiUn2dJec0T_wFwIP-w4xfVUQ/s640/Samarkandin.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The first thing that we ordered was a bread. This bread was an off-menu special and I don't think I can recommend it. The size of a Frisbee, it's not small but it is dense and tough and bland. Had it been cut into strips and served with a soup, I'd understand getting it. Our waitress explained that its supposed to be torn at by hand, eaten piecemeal, eventually succumbing to death by a thousand cuts. This was not the highlight of the meal.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGG7_qKTRYO0XWyQmIjDH33ivIceIrPibXDen2lhGC4cMQdLBOOEPFAvrgUmnBHAg07wfLcOIHxsfzhhAgwJTkfG_VJ9v7nzqkscVSeXTeTArIOWYuH4qKEi5DvEoKdGtbm0UvvH8c70/s1600/SamarkandBread.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGG7_qKTRYO0XWyQmIjDH33ivIceIrPibXDen2lhGC4cMQdLBOOEPFAvrgUmnBHAg07wfLcOIHxsfzhhAgwJTkfG_VJ9v7nzqkscVSeXTeTArIOWYuH4qKEi5DvEoKdGtbm0UvvH8c70/s640/SamarkandBread.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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The appetizer I wanted was the Hasib, "beef intestine stuffed with ground beef, rice, and savory spices and flavors". Had Taste of Samarkand simply called it a beef and rice sausage, Seth might have been interested, but they didn't and so he wasn't. Alas, for me, they were fresh out. Instead, we ordered three other appetizers, the <b>Samsa</b>, the <b>Uzbek Manti</b>, and the <b>Meat Cheburek</b>. All three are pastries sold individually. The samsa and the manti use the same filling ("meat" that I assume is beef, onion, spice) but where the samsa is in a crispy fried dough, the manti is in a steamed dumpling. Seth preferred the samsa, which was akin to an empanada and very good. The filling was indeed quite flavorful and I challenge any of you out there to be disappointed, but my pick was the manti. I felt that the steamed dumpling and it's dusting of dill had a bit more oomph. Our third appetizer, the cheburek, took up half the plate and had a slightly different meat filling. Make no mistake, this is a huge pastry but, like a pillowcase holding a bean bag, it's mostly empty. Seventy five percent of it is dough and the meat takes up just a portion of the bottom. The thing is, in the cooking process, the meat steams and the inside fills with a broth. When you bite in, the broth pours out onto the plate. It's a light but filling, very aromatic start to the meal.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFCXde_STV-EP9hsHvM0G8A0wzdie-64fLacbJShS_sCApQ8UZkn4yzsTwtzZVNc1fsLrDEJeiOng1hlFKR6eEWIWA0IONnKmiBKASOH_Yln3Er01iMKjp5JXH2jXtL1rSzTI-Ga5Rrk/s1600/SamarkandApp1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFCXde_STV-EP9hsHvM0G8A0wzdie-64fLacbJShS_sCApQ8UZkn4yzsTwtzZVNc1fsLrDEJeiOng1hlFKR6eEWIWA0IONnKmiBKASOH_Yln3Er01iMKjp5JXH2jXtL1rSzTI-Ga5Rrk/s640/SamarkandApp1.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKOW0RycXPZSrR3r-wpE-gV5T2puYwiNVL3i0MNFoWY-pI5hJSFN2zi-9RkFcOLIMHbbO6lgx-Y-KuYwvBL8rXNo3LHbIFvImQOMTCGz0sBMrvuY9c1aUVuOSEbGWbob7UYB_SuqR0QU/s1600/SamarkandApp2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKOW0RycXPZSrR3r-wpE-gV5T2puYwiNVL3i0MNFoWY-pI5hJSFN2zi-9RkFcOLIMHbbO6lgx-Y-KuYwvBL8rXNo3LHbIFvImQOMTCGz0sBMrvuY9c1aUVuOSEbGWbob7UYB_SuqR0QU/s640/SamarkandApp2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y4TGRa7xcx0XveFlSL2pgDRsaKHOYFOCf9G7xdvmk_J4SuaAhjh3jP5_GEvhjlzL55QzbekqOBsaPVN8fM-d5H7h92NZXvXF3QPY7PDXa0GIqv1mWDd1aOJq_-Pe2MY4dGhQv0oIXis/s1600/SamarkandApp3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y4TGRa7xcx0XveFlSL2pgDRsaKHOYFOCf9G7xdvmk_J4SuaAhjh3jP5_GEvhjlzL55QzbekqOBsaPVN8fM-d5H7h92NZXvXF3QPY7PDXa0GIqv1mWDd1aOJq_-Pe2MY4dGhQv0oIXis/s640/SamarkandApp3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Kebabs are popular at Taste of Samarkand. At some tables it was all that they ordered. For some reason we were going to skip them, though I don't know why. But then I saw <b>Quail Kabab</b> on the menu and there was no hesitation. It wasn't really a kebab though. It was just a flame-grilled quail with shoestring fries. Seth had a bite and moved on. Quail is a lot of work, but I liked it. Given its small size, you're fighting through a maze of bones all the time, never really getting a lot of meat. Still, I liked the charring and the spices and was glad to be able to try something that most other restaurants don't bother to offer.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLn4hKkC4dWobMoF2fPK4xwAd4wBQvVFLf4WUtPIbfbbAewEQkQVVmirwmNJVLOCoPVuaUk3_4QTZJBFtGD8tRv-7JPuem8Ri5qKu19y2VmdyUJvRc_TE0x4P1UiktF3lSEO0LLpDTdy0/s1600/SamarkandQuail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLn4hKkC4dWobMoF2fPK4xwAd4wBQvVFLf4WUtPIbfbbAewEQkQVVmirwmNJVLOCoPVuaUk3_4QTZJBFtGD8tRv-7JPuem8Ri5qKu19y2VmdyUJvRc_TE0x4P1UiktF3lSEO0LLpDTdy0/s640/SamarkandQuail.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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For our entrees, we ordered an <b>Uzbek Pilaf</b>, a rice dish cooked in lamb fat with scallions, carrots, and lamb, and the <b>Chicken Tabaka</b>, a butterflied pan fried cornish hen "with an Uzbek twist". The pilaf was quite good. It was rich and heavy, but not in the way that made you feel as though you'd eaten a brick. Making the rice with lamb fat infused each grain with flavor. Odds are, you could eat this every day and never get sick of it. The chicken tabaka, on the other hand, was less impressive. I don't have any idea what "an Uzbek twist" is because it was basically just a standard cornish hen. The spices didn't particularly stand out, the meat was too dry, and the addition of fries was just too much. Seth enjoyed it more than I did and even he gave it a mediocre rating. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVGrmKAW5AMBTEhOqp_oyU2anA6dB6svWYAOjFDg5lSr-i48LH9bsqt_Hjj5MxLE7HIOuMcsc2oghkybtfmBo5ZUduNAGsMjMSSIhKpghxP8tZkaIgDzZnvVrnuiw7WzGNr9U-M5FX2A/s1600/Samarkandpilaf.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVGrmKAW5AMBTEhOqp_oyU2anA6dB6svWYAOjFDg5lSr-i48LH9bsqt_Hjj5MxLE7HIOuMcsc2oghkybtfmBo5ZUduNAGsMjMSSIhKpghxP8tZkaIgDzZnvVrnuiw7WzGNr9U-M5FX2A/s640/Samarkandpilaf.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZyG-Ci3eIYLe5DouzWRrqSihVeua-O5F93BEyvGwN813b8bvTn9Lh7w_WEgXpBpkHgALVsm75IxQwJPLwYeHCcULxQCUTcIZo9ZL3PkhzJQEbQY6IrOFRayqIcOYTVUDrhx79XxWvqk/s1600/SamarkandHen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZyG-Ci3eIYLe5DouzWRrqSihVeua-O5F93BEyvGwN813b8bvTn9Lh7w_WEgXpBpkHgALVsm75IxQwJPLwYeHCcULxQCUTcIZo9ZL3PkhzJQEbQY6IrOFRayqIcOYTVUDrhx79XxWvqk/s640/SamarkandHen.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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On the whole, Taste of Samarkand is a good place to go and check out, though I can't really fully agree with the New York Times' gushing opinion. There was too much hit or miss and very little in the way of inspiration. Perhaps that's a function of being "traditional"; the food is less about the chef than about the recipe. Clearly, the restaurant has a following and attracts a lot of people whose family trace their roots back to the Uzbek region, and this is their comfort food. I would go back and get the appetizers again while loading up on some other kebabs. But I'd skip the bread and bring a bottle of vodka.</div>
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One can't complain about the cost. Our entire meal including tax and tip came to $60.<br />
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/taste-of-samarkand-middle-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Taste of Samarkand, Middle Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Taste of Samarkand Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/18303532/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a>
Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-61536751375379188522016-03-18T12:25:00.004-04:002016-03-21T23:11:42.035-04:00MCSORLEY'S OLD ALE HOUSE<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>MCSORLEY'S OLD ALE HOUSE</b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 15 East 7th Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10003</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (212) 473-9148 • </div>
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New York City, like most cities that have been around long enough, is peppered with cultural anchors that tie us to a history and root our collective identity to the greater whole. Even someone from far away can feel like like part of the group. As the city modernizes and changes at breakneck speed, these anchors are a security blanket keeping us from feeling swept away. McSorley's Old Ale House, like a folded slice of pizza or a huge pastrami sandwich is, to some, one such anchor; a reminder of an old New York that has miraculously never gone the way of FAO Schwarz and the Ziegfeld Theater. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCP8KFYGZvDchtfZqygIib_u9tzDOO_NnLdHXkhnfIJELfN3mRWiRwcOQ71G8XSBjV3vEU97wIUeDIDXBVSFIkAAkdYaV7oxpTD0o6j4_ntEv4wzArPjJlzBOQLuD9TMnRVttiK6mYoXA/s1600/McSout.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCP8KFYGZvDchtfZqygIib_u9tzDOO_NnLdHXkhnfIJELfN3mRWiRwcOQ71G8XSBjV3vEU97wIUeDIDXBVSFIkAAkdYaV7oxpTD0o6j4_ntEv4wzArPjJlzBOQLuD9TMnRVttiK6mYoXA/s640/McSout.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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This is only half true. McSorley's is like FAO Schwarz. See, in real life, the only people who shopped at FAO were tourists who wanted to go someplace quintessentially New York, like they were in a movie. And, if my trips to McSorley's are proof of anything, that's who goes here too. Sure, there were a few non-tourists. Me, for example. And the guy reading the paper in the corner with the cheese plate. We were in the minority. </div>
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See, McSorley's is a theme restaurant - pardon me. Theme bar. An old
interior with old brass, old glass, sawdust, and a worn, disheveled bar
that, elsewhere would be a sign of decrepitude. The walls of the rear
dining room are wallpapered with newspaper articles and posters about
the bar, dating back through time. The place is a showcase to it's age.
Once you realize that it's all just a big show, it loses its appeal as a
neighborhood haunt... to me. To the throngs of folks who jam their way
inside here, the appeal is very apparent. Don't pay attention to these
photos below. Two of the three times I went recently, the place was
wall-to-wall people. Mostly tourists, you can tell, but them's the ones
what pays the bills.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYII0ffDLk-gDiPThcb5THEt50BR_NbxqVLtdNmXLVTZ4KztXBZNsg0wPeLGGPWWZcv33E5soBtCMbLDw-q8MkoojaJSveQZ2pR8TRssefSUlemHwn_ytBFLAKJwvrn8tVX5kfo9GhlEI/s1600/McSbar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYII0ffDLk-gDiPThcb5THEt50BR_NbxqVLtdNmXLVTZ4KztXBZNsg0wPeLGGPWWZcv33E5soBtCMbLDw-q8MkoojaJSveQZ2pR8TRssefSUlemHwn_ytBFLAKJwvrn8tVX5kfo9GhlEI/s640/McSbar.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPTj8aaYFfMfMJEHl075OzRT8p9pBztVXs1YWqJUT_XEV-7Hp-ts53oRgPZbIL7RYZkxYc7hcQgwCDZHjL1Ij6ITzzutPSMieqrWBtm6z0-UxxS9MoP01sL81WDarn-dISpLkwFu00YQ/s1600/McSin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPTj8aaYFfMfMJEHl075OzRT8p9pBztVXs1YWqJUT_XEV-7Hp-ts53oRgPZbIL7RYZkxYc7hcQgwCDZHjL1Ij6ITzzutPSMieqrWBtm6z0-UxxS9MoP01sL81WDarn-dISpLkwFu00YQ/s640/McSin.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Anyway, this isn't a blog for Lonely Planet or Fodor's, so let's talk about the food. I went to McSorley's a little after lunchtime to avoid the crowds and met my dad, Dudeman, who was interested in seeing how much, if at all, the spot had changed since her was last here in the 1980s. We grabbed a seat just inside the rear dining area and waited for the waiter to notice or even care. He did not. The service at McSorley's is both atrocious and immediate. It took forever for anyone to pay attention to us, but after that, our glasses were never far from full.</div>
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There are two beers at McSorley's, an ale and a porter. There is no third choice. No tripels or IPAs or sours. When you order a pint, they give you two half pint glasses, each one-third filled with foam and half of it will spill on the table when they slam it down in front of you. Both are rather thin, extremely light, and almost nonalcoholic. We ordered three rounds and I could have driven home. Taste-wise, I give them a five out of ten. For lunch, Dudeman got the <b>Corn Beef Sandwich</b>, which he thought was pretty good and I was indifferent towards. I got the <b>Cheeseburger with Fries</b>. Their food menu is rather... limp. The fries were fine, although the burger was actually pretty good, but also totally laughable. As soon as it landed in front of me, I felt crushed. I wanted some kind of vintage burger. Something to take me back to 1875. Instead I got a clearly frozen meat patty with a slice of unmelted cheese on a store-bought bun. This is the hamburger you'd get at a cafeteria when the pizza sliced rotating in the carousel looked too old to bother with. At least it was cheap.</div>
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McSorley's is less a local bar run by
stubborn Luddites refusing to bend to the will of time than it is a
museum with beer. It's a place for tourists, like a restaurant in Colonial Williamsburg, but with fewer tri-corner hats. That's how it's survived. And with a lower overhead than FAO Schwarz, it seems likely to be here for another hundred years. Faux nostalgia, however, cannot substitute for the real thing, and there are plenty of places out there that are real, even if they aren't as old. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWPB90fMVz2IKRwmeZDuQ9xnAwrJozHzBXaZmMBzYjNuX6sRbDH3rxN9myNS5bGhkJw11tujDiavYaneTnippcem97rpg3WDmD4fqbEw7f0aUEQ17MF7u639mwvxG9d3LXlCv8U047dU/s1600/McSbeer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWPB90fMVz2IKRwmeZDuQ9xnAwrJozHzBXaZmMBzYjNuX6sRbDH3rxN9myNS5bGhkJw11tujDiavYaneTnippcem97rpg3WDmD4fqbEw7f0aUEQ17MF7u639mwvxG9d3LXlCv8U047dU/s640/McSbeer.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/mcsorleys-old-ale-house-east-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about McSorley's Old Ale House, East Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="McSorley's Old Ale House Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16772221/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-28033680289720749372016-03-08T11:24:00.002-05:002016-03-25T00:37:13.632-04:00VAUCLUSE<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://vauclusenyc.com/"><b>VAUCLUSE</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• 100 East 63rd Street</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• New York, NY 10065</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
• (646) 869-2300 • </div>
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If being more or less single for well over a year does anything, it cuts dining out way, way down. This is especially the case for the fancy, white-shoe places typically frequented by the older, moneyed set that regularly gets profiled in the Times' Style section or the expense account people for whom the meal is basically free, only actually costing them time that could be spent with people they actually enjoy being with. As I fall into neither category, Emma's unexpected desire to eat out someplace swank was pounced on the way a hyena, having wandering the desert for days, would pounce on a succulent seared fois gras under a light but tart orange demi glace. </div>
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Vaucluse is not the <i>most</i> expensive of the chichi Upper East Side luxo-haunts of the wealthy, but that doesn't mean that you'll be doing your wallet any favors by choosing it over, say, a Denny's. There's no tasting menu, a trope that the shmancy spots love; the wine list averages between $100-200 per bottle and doesn't drop below $60, but it has almost nothing that I saw of the ridiculous $1000+ variety which, in real life, only exists so that certain living irritants out there can prove that they're able to multi-task by demonstrating how they can eat a meal while waving their dicks at the same time.</div>
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Vaucluse is big. There are two large dining rooms separated by a bar area complete with the kind of soft comfy chairs one would read a paper in while smoking a pipe and sipping a glass of port. Everyone on staff was friendly and smiling; there were no dirty looks when I started snapping pictures. If you don't count the hostess, Emma and I, both in our 30s, were the youngest people here. Maybe because it was a Friday night so the Millennials were debating craft IPAs in the Village and the GenXers were at a Vinegar Hill wine and cheese party. Here in the East 60s, it was us and the Me Generation, eating escargot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP1UJ8WCuMpvTbelaWjCVgs2x2B_EfxTASlZAR59Y7Y4IiJvKm_C337LCyAJdDopj0eJQatZkTaASkZKRplmE8i0ml7ehKarMOP2bShK5ntmSf-3NuBTDnsv-RMrjLz4yk6vxXQNyg-4/s1600/VauIn1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP1UJ8WCuMpvTbelaWjCVgs2x2B_EfxTASlZAR59Y7Y4IiJvKm_C337LCyAJdDopj0eJQatZkTaASkZKRplmE8i0ml7ehKarMOP2bShK5ntmSf-3NuBTDnsv-RMrjLz4yk6vxXQNyg-4/s640/VauIn1.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXVaBXf4zvUlAe7dUipxZqRY575y5EfxT883mMMUiFqjeyVmvzKII2-p9r8GobJWJch_rb-Lk6CcRPgrPOE4SGH5PTIpUrvdJZoLUsaTLqlZxbjCB1vJxP65YoyPPTjdCjWCNJk5kmY8/s1600/VauIn2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXVaBXf4zvUlAe7dUipxZqRY575y5EfxT883mMMUiFqjeyVmvzKII2-p9r8GobJWJch_rb-Lk6CcRPgrPOE4SGH5PTIpUrvdJZoLUsaTLqlZxbjCB1vJxP65YoyPPTjdCjWCNJk5kmY8/s640/VauIn2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Vaucluce is one of Michael White's restaurants, but unlike Marea and Ai Fiori, does not carry a Michelin star. Indeed, since its opening, the press has rather consistently called it inconsistent; the literary equivalent of pivoting your palm like a see-saw, thumb pinky, thumb pinky. I try not to read too much about a restaurant before I go to one and was unaware of this opinion at the time, but they weren't wrong. Allow me to explain. </div>
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Below you will see the amuse bouche, which was a salmon pastry, and below that you will see the butter than came with our bread. The salmon was thoroughly pleasant and inoffensive and dull and I even forget if it even salmon. After the meal, another amuse bouche arrived, some kind of cube of tangerine gelatin that was also forgettable. Emma took a nibble and gave the rest to me with a somewhat upturned lip. The bread (I chose sourdough) was perfectly fine without being more than fine. But the butter was very cute. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIamwKCg6OpisRb9EGgi721ZNa1tS0jXJbHkSzFlmEu3QkiuCZLo1qhzNEDVIv0BmPzsODqEAFl7dVgPubfYdMO9z3BGYOj_hCqMeVAxGY3U0y0FrfyM4CzivWugLrPGoUnDAEh9QjDs/s1600/VauAmuse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIamwKCg6OpisRb9EGgi721ZNa1tS0jXJbHkSzFlmEu3QkiuCZLo1qhzNEDVIv0BmPzsODqEAFl7dVgPubfYdMO9z3BGYOj_hCqMeVAxGY3U0y0FrfyM4CzivWugLrPGoUnDAEh9QjDs/s640/VauAmuse.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtbxKO4omUEDosPBNVDlS2BLk4v9Rp50JIaHk6Buis61noiWw9s0vBK3Och5OUZ5NruCL_AjwEycdIgS2FY-isJ6f_OF2DsfGNqm8v-pTRa05g9NQ3TAYEIMaH88_2tYGfZY9IGoOaVE/s1600/VauButter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtbxKO4omUEDosPBNVDlS2BLk4v9Rp50JIaHk6Buis61noiWw9s0vBK3Och5OUZ5NruCL_AjwEycdIgS2FY-isJ6f_OF2DsfGNqm8v-pTRa05g9NQ3TAYEIMaH88_2tYGfZY9IGoOaVE/s640/VauButter.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Emma ordered the <b>Tartare de Boeuf</b>, beef tartar. Seasoned raw beef with capers, a little pickle, and some toast on the side. This was a different style that I was used to. Typically, the beef tartars I've ordered are sliced very thin, like wispy sheets of meat. This was more like a raw hamburger patty. I'm not lying when I write that the first thought that crossed my mind was "that thing needs a Weber". It even has the pickle. But humor aside, it was good. Not the best I've ever had, but don't tell that to the guy at the table next to us, who took it upon himself to let us know that he gets this dish all the time and it's the best he's ever had anywhere. Emma, to be fair, also swooned. I got to swoon with my appetizer, the <b>Escargots a la Bourgulgnonne</b>, snails in a veritable stew of red carmargue rice, feta cheese, and garlic parsley butter. It was far from the traditional escargot you might have in your head. The escargots, usually a conduit for garlic butter and pesto, were just one important part of an otherwise incredible whole. Creamy, tangy, and rich, this was unlike any other snail-based dish I've ever had, and was the standout winner of the evening. "Just close your eyes and think of England" I told Emma, holding a fork out. She who was wondering if she would like escargot wondered no more. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvSYmJqFQ-ZX_3nNHez6HYHvMS-n5LhCkp8iH6TUedyB0Z69L43Z9dxNhHHOb3UtpSdLWuv3ehYcA0DdhPa02t2u8K52pVTHYhTJqWiUopRenzZnpniIHvmlQr2osC47gP3qy9oRTpvU/s1600/VauTartar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvSYmJqFQ-ZX_3nNHez6HYHvMS-n5LhCkp8iH6TUedyB0Z69L43Z9dxNhHHOb3UtpSdLWuv3ehYcA0DdhPa02t2u8K52pVTHYhTJqWiUopRenzZnpniIHvmlQr2osC47gP3qy9oRTpvU/s640/VauTartar.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0egA8TDnIpl48AsSNkNnnNXTnqx11CdwzSxxqoKQWwEkAIOLOw_S7hRc-KZX8lmjtX2RtnP1Kv7cNYtQ5XWcs_1J_GBLVZbJ1Zdb0Aavh842B9WukgudAOxEMzMp-DhVhlWerNha46Bs/s1600/VauEscargot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0egA8TDnIpl48AsSNkNnnNXTnqx11CdwzSxxqoKQWwEkAIOLOw_S7hRc-KZX8lmjtX2RtnP1Kv7cNYtQ5XWcs_1J_GBLVZbJ1Zdb0Aavh842B9WukgudAOxEMzMp-DhVhlWerNha46Bs/s640/VauEscargot.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Not wanting an entire entree, Emma was delighted to learn that Vaucluse offers its pasta dishes in appetizer or entree size. So for her entree, she ordered the appetizer version of the <b>Epaulettes</b>, a rabbit and cheese ravioli with a black truffle sauce. Amazing. We loved it. You should get this. I stuck with the rabbit theme and ordered the <b>Lapin a la Moutarde</b>, a roast rabbit leg with barley, bacon, and a dijon mustard sauce. This was all but impossible to eat. The rabbit leg was perfectly cooked. It was so tender and so juicy that it was almost like eating rabbit cream. But the dijon mustard sauce was so heavy, so present, so powerful, that it overwhelmed the entire dish. Here's how I can best describe it: imagine that you're at the supermarket and you see a bottle of Grey Poupon, the kind with the whole seeds. Now imagine eating a big spoonful straight out of the bottle. That's what this was like. But with rabbit and barley. I ate as much as I could, and finished the rabbit by and large, but the vast majority of the rest was left on the plate. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCq3SZ0S0EPz2dptQe-sWH4T51ZMg8xqz6nfgG1PytzlQJTTrd40sMoyDFzlkA5Xy9Zg_tnRB_lgsQeJabqADazbGNnSN6BCJji9Jlb3qd56XHjmQNAC4YTD1KcWck6MsfbVhswlEXko/s1600/VauPasta.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCq3SZ0S0EPz2dptQe-sWH4T51ZMg8xqz6nfgG1PytzlQJTTrd40sMoyDFzlkA5Xy9Zg_tnRB_lgsQeJabqADazbGNnSN6BCJji9Jlb3qd56XHjmQNAC4YTD1KcWck6MsfbVhswlEXko/s640/VauPasta.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmQNQuADlSMsxudxU7V-FOruAIUy_GiCDIEvTXVhvwTvgccOh3NnM-Uci_i2HQA0n4FXc7TGo-f0VjeKur60M-xYPWCXOhfsyTyKlxL1SnHq-wB6dne_WhTL4YRxcDkseHfHfu6S5whY/s1600/VauRabbitLeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzmQNQuADlSMsxudxU7V-FOruAIUy_GiCDIEvTXVhvwTvgccOh3NnM-Uci_i2HQA0n4FXc7TGo-f0VjeKur60M-xYPWCXOhfsyTyKlxL1SnHq-wB6dne_WhTL4YRxcDkseHfHfu6S5whY/s640/VauRabbitLeg.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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But then came dessert. You can't go to a fancy spot and not get at least one dessert. So we did. We ordered the <b>Tarte au Citron</b>, a lemon cream dessert in a brown sugar crust with a little bit of lemon sorbet on the side, random dollops of cream and meringue, and a candied slice of lemon. Everything about the dessert was fantastic. The candied lemon slice was perfect. The cream itself was neither too tart to too heavy. They crust was delicious. The sorbet was... well it was sorbet. We loved dessert.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4KGLCowx4meMpt-mAs-vFn4_ZI2f0_tY1WqAlxyb5nboSuLcUONwGipaXYVBMKVDIzonWJL4ryWdRyeswqK6RX3iFbZmwCgjrTC77cJ5eZbe0cwvEP4ZrkD4sXnn-uQ9qd1xKJmvsdE/s1600/VauDessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4KGLCowx4meMpt-mAs-vFn4_ZI2f0_tY1WqAlxyb5nboSuLcUONwGipaXYVBMKVDIzonWJL4ryWdRyeswqK6RX3iFbZmwCgjrTC77cJ5eZbe0cwvEP4ZrkD4sXnn-uQ9qd1xKJmvsdE/s640/VauDessert.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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So, can I recommend Vaucluse? Kinda. Some things were excellent. Bar none. Some things needed barring. For the price, this means that you could wind up walking away feeling like you just landed on the moon, or feeling like you got swindled. It's a crap shoot, but some people love to gamble. I personally have my doubts that I'd return, at least on my own dime. But if I do, I'm getting the escargot. Actually, I might return <i>just</i> for the escargot. I'll grab a seat in the bar with my pipe and my port and have them arrive in perpetuity.</div>
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Our meal consisted of three glasses of wine, two appetizers, one appetizer, one entree, and one dessert. Add tax and tip to that and we came in just shy of $200.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxfXMGxKDyuL8r9-C2eo8R6PnlboSjy2D98Z-ofHFH1POtEr_be90FfwmVR-PTh5zgcAjtIyDF6u8j_G8z_8R8PjzY2l6hxnZ8v3wKUOL8z4F-WQwGyBCdjOeNUbI9B35BPv7snNLIKk/s1600/VauMenuPic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxfXMGxKDyuL8r9-C2eo8R6PnlboSjy2D98Z-ofHFH1POtEr_be90FfwmVR-PTh5zgcAjtIyDF6u8j_G8z_8R8PjzY2l6hxnZ8v3wKUOL8z4F-WQwGyBCdjOeNUbI9B35BPv7snNLIKk/s640/VauMenuPic.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/vaucluse-upper-east-side" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Vaucluse, Upper East Side and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Vaucluse Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/18071864/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3745935775994769643.post-45976325469492848062016-03-02T19:01:00.001-05:002016-03-26T12:24:20.124-04:00THE GARRETT<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.garretnyc.com/"><b>THE GARRETT</b></a></div>
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• 296 Bleeker Street</div>
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• New York, NY 10014</div>
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• (212) 675-6157 •</div>
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The modern speakeasy doesn't have a password, but it doesn't announce its presence either. With its website, recipe books, constant press, and completely public listing in the yellow pages right where any self respecting shamus could find it, <a href="http://www.eateryrow.com/2008/11/death-company.html">Death & Company</a> is hardly hidden. But the odds are that the first time you go, you'll miss it. The Garret does it one better. To get into The Garrett, you walk into a completely nondescript Five Guys Burgers & Fries, walk all the way to the back and turn up a stairwell. It's somewhat amusing to see people eating 1000 calorie greaseburgers looking on with some confusion as a stream of well-dressed folks wander inside, bypass the food line, and disappear in the back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubqN7mdfAbhTDr1KwrqNzNNovov6tmScq0hHCM_TRJtP0L-Y1EHSd0ALGL940O6hDiyZitwumvFz4fxqweVcTTI5WNu2xlf5ftejZm9c8KqPsPQJThbzEnAIbemrXUABctr_bVaUgTNo/s1600/Garrettstairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubqN7mdfAbhTDr1KwrqNzNNovov6tmScq0hHCM_TRJtP0L-Y1EHSd0ALGL940O6hDiyZitwumvFz4fxqweVcTTI5WNu2xlf5ftejZm9c8KqPsPQJThbzEnAIbemrXUABctr_bVaUgTNo/s640/Garrettstairs.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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My amusement ended there.<br />
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There are a precious few things that I take non-prurient pleasure in. Crisp fall air. Mystery novels. Thunderstorms with lots of thunder. Included on this list are cocktails and the bars that know how to serve them. The Garrett was supposed to be that kind of place, serving that kind of thing.</div>
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I took Bro to The Garrett because, as I said, I get a kick out of its kind of place. We arrived on a Saturday afternoon, figuring that we'd be able to avoid standing on a line if we arrived early in the day. The music was funky but chill, there were quite a few seats at the bar, and there was an eclectic group of people hanging out, chatting with friends. We ordered some drinks. Good ones. The bartender, who looked more like a skateboarder than a speakeasy drink slinger, knew his business and we didn't once feel ignored or forgotten. But, in short order, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd grew, the music got louder. Before we knew it, the Garrett stopped being a cocktail lounge.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3z-Wpig7rGvVfSwxbJv4libZ5IjiABEjY7VXirbdTncQD17J9o8V2i-FjrUUKIbq4-DpRqGtc1sfpPkMFTqikbZqZc3GvJWmkHOiyOeVyLXGwOgbAhxf5no_kZMjUPWhgqJQ5UoMhP4/s1600/GarrettIn1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3z-Wpig7rGvVfSwxbJv4libZ5IjiABEjY7VXirbdTncQD17J9o8V2i-FjrUUKIbq4-DpRqGtc1sfpPkMFTqikbZqZc3GvJWmkHOiyOeVyLXGwOgbAhxf5no_kZMjUPWhgqJQ5UoMhP4/s640/GarrettIn1.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-Pkee2MB844Q515W7V8IFzTj7fG-x6MC9GkuUPRP5kxMPaiwh7H8C5ulnzlsaBNPN9RiIU14OoKHUTQTRIAAg7K8qHAGw7ioADO_nnG8ikUGfRM_puQjiUveCpUkPrLfK42guOODu6U/s1600/GarrettIn2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-Pkee2MB844Q515W7V8IFzTj7fG-x6MC9GkuUPRP5kxMPaiwh7H8C5ulnzlsaBNPN9RiIU14OoKHUTQTRIAAg7K8qHAGw7ioADO_nnG8ikUGfRM_puQjiUveCpUkPrLfK42guOODu6U/s640/GarrettIn2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Two of the lowest forms of city denizen are Finance Brah and Arm Candy Girl. They're locusts that swarm into an area and rape it of its charm. Finance Brah, with his wannabe GQ Brylcreem haircut doesn't order a <b>Paper Plane</b> (bourbon, amaro, Aperol, lemon juice), or a <b>Beatles at Shea</b> (black tea and peach infused bourbon, drambui, chipotle agave, ardberg, lemon and mint), he orders a beer. In a bottle. This enables Brah to clink said bottle with the bottles that the other brahs are holding while screaming "yeah brah!" Arm Candy Girl doesn't order a <b>Black Alps</b> (rye, pur blood orange, Cynar, orange oil), because OMG, like what are those things? Cray ingredients LOL! She'll take a vodka cran because, like, it's totes her drink. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-JStuaZvfr179vhVRwgfpqKupEzETES1MtdOXrjA3Gr_xrgDuvCeqrs6docB6NCpB60xSNx_T0CS8o9qnPLaam3U3DbYa6kLE3LXQZpBRC41eDdp6n_9Rmt2yu2hopdVHGrXFxy0xCA/s1600/Garrettdrink1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-JStuaZvfr179vhVRwgfpqKupEzETES1MtdOXrjA3Gr_xrgDuvCeqrs6docB6NCpB60xSNx_T0CS8o9qnPLaam3U3DbYa6kLE3LXQZpBRC41eDdp6n_9Rmt2yu2hopdVHGrXFxy0xCA/s640/Garrettdrink1.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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There's no host, so there's no one to police the volume of patrons; no one to say, "sorry, guys, you'll have to wait downstairs until we get some free space." There no server, so there's no one to serve anyone not directly at the bar. Everyone standing waves credit cards around attempting to get the bartender's attention and everyone sitting at tables has to get up, wade through the crowd of brahs and candies and do the same. Arms will shoot past your face to pick up drinks. Someone will hit your chair. Someone else will hit your chair. A third person will... What's supposed to be a cute hidden lounge; a place where the chandeliers, cushioned chairs, copper ceiling, top shelf hooch, and skilled craftsmen create an oasis of refinement on Seventh Avenue instead turns out to be the pricier cousin of a Murray Hill Solo-Cup douchebar.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHLyYYUd4iacVXC6q6T5LU9cp45x8Ea9yc1GGqLC9zECsYjj7Y_jEtkSfcVBvY_vjZiNlyGc8G9w8k3pBrhePFoajc-9CR6K9XRHEg0VBrNbNJSVUj8k6ZnOc7OSqfrxlWG0Magy7woo/s1600/Garrettdrinks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHLyYYUd4iacVXC6q6T5LU9cp45x8Ea9yc1GGqLC9zECsYjj7Y_jEtkSfcVBvY_vjZiNlyGc8G9w8k3pBrhePFoajc-9CR6K9XRHEg0VBrNbNJSVUj8k6ZnOc7OSqfrxlWG0Magy7woo/s640/Garrettdrinks2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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So... conclusion... You have to ask? Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to like this place? I mean, it hits all the marks, almost. In a sense, I guess I can't blame The Garrett for the quality of its customers, but then again, <i>of course I can</i>. They make up a huge part of the atmosphere. It's like saying that there's absolutely nothing wrong with staying a that particular hostel, except that the other residents will steal your bags while you're out sightseeing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with Corona Park, it's just the people who use it litter like it's their job. The <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/20/nyregion/regulars-at-a-manhattan-mcdonalds-arent-there-for-the-fries.html">McDonalds by the Port Authority</a> is centrally located and recently renovated and you'll love it if you ignore the junkies who camp out there and the drug dealers in the bathroom.</div>
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By the way, that fourth cocktail is a custom one Bro asked for. Don't ask me what's in it, but it was a bastardization of something he had once upon a time at STK.</div>
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Drinks at The Garrett are $14 each, on average. There is also a second location in Alphabet City.<b></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_1C1JV1IMjPcBAqUVOIJMNbnHJMoanf8GTu4NVVHWmNdVTX6BEvQr09MTVY9kvLqxGoxT-EE2nxXwSDdnnxoVJVPeYBo2ZRpMPvMv-nrWJlPhKnB_FH161q5p509jLvyBiKXBE1Mv24/s1600/Garrettcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_1C1JV1IMjPcBAqUVOIJMNbnHJMoanf8GTu4NVVHWmNdVTX6BEvQr09MTVY9kvLqxGoxT-EE2nxXwSDdnnxoVJVPeYBo2ZRpMPvMv-nrWJlPhKnB_FH161q5p509jLvyBiKXBE1Mv24/s640/Garrettcard.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.zomato.com/new-york-city/garret-greenwich-village" target="_blank" title="View Menu, Reviews, Photos & Information about Garret, Greenwich Village and other Restaurants in New York City"><img alt="Garret Menu, Reviews, Photos, Location and Info - Zomato" src="https://www.zomato.com/logo/16793494/biglogo" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a> Jon Parkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04728136630493588196noreply@blogger.com0