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Posts from the ‘Lower East Side’ Category

Kampuchea Restaurant

Kampuchea was considerably more winsome than bumbling Cambodia Cuisine, but it’s also one of those places where you order soup, sandwich and a salad and next thing you know your bill has snuck into the $80+ range. (Yes, alcohol has a way of adding up. As an aside, I’m still not sure how my request for Torrontes was interpreted as Cotes du Rhone. I just went with it because I’m easygoing that way.) Even though I’m not a recession panicker yet, I’m always price conscious.

I went in with every intention of trying a noodle soup (NY Noodletown was the original after work plan) but after skimming the menu I broke down from sandwich deprivation. And I honed in on the most expensive offering, the $15 oxtail that I will try to refrain comparing to a $2.75 banh mi (ok, they’re like four bucks now in Manhattan Chinatown, right?) because you don’t generally eat Vietnamese sandwiches amidst even a hint of décor and they’re probably not making their pate in house or using Duroc pork.

Kampuchea oxtail num pang

There was a large amount of tender beef, broken into large hunks, and a spiked mayonnaise that resembled Thousand Island dressing. At least I think it was mayonnaise despite the tamarind-basil descriptor to throw you off. I was not disappointed by this sandwich. While you can never recreate the toasty bread, warm meat and crisp vegetable combination the next day, I still was happy to have a softer room temperature half for lunch Saturday.I’m looking forward to creatively named Num Pang if it ever opens.

Kampuchea pork belly

Pork belly cubes were a must and had a high meat to fat ratio (one of my two squares was almost too lean for my taste). A sharp sweet-andsour effect was created with honey and apple cider vinegar. Strangely, all of the cracked black pepper made little impact.

Kampuchea smoked duck salad

Smoked duck was served carpaccio-style with ribbons of green mango speckled with salty dried shrimp. I only wish that the portion was a little more substantial.

Kampuchea pork katiev

This is an impressive looking bowl of soup chockablock with pork belly and shoulder as well as mustard greens and herbs. Unfortunately, I didn’t even try a sip so I can’t compare it to anything taste-wise. I immediately though pho, though the broth appeared cloudier, visually closer to a tonkotsu ramen base. I tend to think the ingredients were more flavorful than the liquid they were bobbing around in.

I left tipsy, well fed and still thinking everything on the menu could stand to have a few dollars shaved off the price.

Kampuchea Restaurant * 78 Rivington St., New York, NY

Allen & Delancey

Allen & Delancey was the site of a belated birthday dinner. Dining four days past the actual celebration was my only choice even with three-weeks lead time unless I wanted to eat at 6pm, which I didn’t. Not a big deal since Wednesday nights are preferable to Saturdays, anyway. Generally speaking, you don’t want your table two-inches from the types of crowds that descend on popular restaurants on weekends.

Allen_delancey_interior The cranky suburbanite in me hates being smooshed, and by the luck of the draw we ended up with a no-neighbors two-top. Sure, actually obtaining our reserved table required nursing an elderflower Prosecco cocktail, The Delancey, for a non-egregious spell. It’s strange that the room seems so empty in this photo taken around 10:30pm since the candlelit (the bane of my photo-snapping existence) urban-boho space (I refuse to say speakeasy) was at capacity when we showed up.

There’s something about the moody velvet-curtained frippery that gives off a decadent aura, yet the food is more straightforward and restrained compared to much of what’s currently in vogue. Uptown goes downtown, but not like LuAnn, The Countess from The Real Wives of New York City getting tipsy on margaritas at Little Giant and showing up with her 23-year-old hippie headbanded neice at Cakeshop. No, it’s substantive and doesn’t embarrass you.

Allen_delancey_bone_marrow_and_cavi Caramelized Bone Marrow, Caviar, Shallot Puree.

I mean, appetizers ranging into the $20s is certainly decadent. I tend to balk when my starter’s price is indistinguishable from my entrée. But I wanted the freaking bone marrow and caviar, $21 or not (hey, that Google adsense payout and all—I’m totally an internet tycoon).

And I’m glad I ordered it. Eating bone marrow loose rather than scooped from the bone is kind of like eating mussels freed from their shells, no work and kind of obscene. But the saline caviar mixed with the fatty meat essence was perfect with char-grilled toast. This dish managed to taste supremely beefy though you’d never guess it by looking at it.

I’m not sure if I’m just bread deprived or if the rolls were completely amazing (I took a horrible photo I can’t include). I’m sick to death of fibrous multigrain bread and Wasa crackers; sometimes you just want a warm, crusty, yeasty starch bomb slathered with 80 percent-plus butterfat butter. 

Some menu descriptions were more illustrative than others. I was curious about the starkly described Cabbage, Beef, Onion because you know it’s going to be cool (and I love corned beef and cabbage) but that’s the type of thing I wouldn’t take a chance on unless someone else was paying.

Allen_delancey_sea_troutTasmanian Sea Trout, almond cream, haricot vert, parma ham gastrique.

As often happens, I was intrigued by the sides so I opted for the trout even though I’m blasé on the fish. I don’t dislike fish in a ew, seafood way, but more of a ew, dull way. Fish tends to be too delicate for my liking,

However, this sea trout was awesome. pink and rich like salmon with a crackly exterior (crisp skin does it every time) The strange thing was that I’d forgotten that the menu said almonds and thought the sauce was creamed peanuts. Peanuts seemed very wrong but as soon as I adjusted my brain back to almonds it tasted correct. The vinegar in the beans helped cut the oil and nuttiness. I’ll admit that I didn’t notice the ham, though.

Allen_delancey_chocolate_peanut_butChocolate Peanut Butter Tart, Malted Milk Sorbet, Whiskey Vanilla Shake.

I wouldn’t have chosen the peanut butter and chocolate dessert (I wanted the carrot cake thing, which I’m sure wasn’t a simple square of cake with cream cheese frosting) but it wasn’t up to me since it wasn’t my birthday dinner and ordering my own just didn’t seem smart. I was surprised at all of the women with their own desserts (I thought ladies only ate cupcakes) and the same one we chose. I usually share or shun altogether, which has little to do with caloric corncerns or out of control blood sugar (my blood is sweet enough, thanks). I just don’t always feel like a chocolatey barrage after a substantial meal. But I was thankful for something warm, cocoa-laden and gooey that wasn’t a molten cake.

Allen & Delancey * 115 Allen St., New York, NY

Kuta Satay House

Newish Kuta Satay House and year-old Kampuchea Noodle Bar seem cut from the same ikat cloth. Both are on Rivington St. and serve less-than-common Southeast Asian cuisines in modern settings. Sounds like trouble. I’ve meant to try semi-Cambodian Kampuchea since it opened late 2006, yet I made it to the semi-Indonesian restaurant first.

Kuta_satay_house_interior

You could survive on plates of multiculti satays (Korean kalbi and rosemary tandoori lamb are on the list) and sake cocktails (not my favorite beverage breed) or eat a full meal, presented Western-style, entrees for one with sides. They were promoting a four-course $25 prix fixe which isn’t a bad deal but I’ve been trying to tone down my consumption.

Kuta_satay_house_satay 

We easily could’ve ordered another dish or at least another pair of satays. Malaysian curry chicken was kind of uninteresting while the Indonesian Madura flank steak was sweet with kecap manis (one of my favorite condiments) and genuinely spicy. I don’t take heat warnings from waiters in Lower East Side restaurants seriously, but the beef had enough kick that it could set off sensitive palates. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I feel like there should’ve been dipping sauces not just cucumber relish. Strangely, their menu notes three sauces if you order the twelve-skewer platter.

Kuta_satay_house_duck_salad 

"Bandung" duck salad is completely not an Asian salad, which I understood from the description listing spring greens, grape tomatoes, goat cheese and walnut pomegranate vinaigrette. James doesn’t read so he asked, “what’s the white stuff?” It’s clearly a vexing addition because I got the same question from Bill, who I can’t blame because he didn’t have a menu in front of him, regarding my Flickr photo.

The goat cheese sounds strange but it’s not grotesque. If anything, duck is the oddity. I like making seemingly healthy things like salads unhealthy, so this worked for me.

Kuta_satay_house_crispy_fish

If I hadn’t started with fatty poultry I would’ve tried the duck curry. Instead, we split the crispy striped bass a.ka.ikan goreng asam manis. I know enough Malay food words that I could deduce this would be fried fish in a sweet and sour sauce. I love the Vietnamese version, and I was sick of steaming and baking seafood at home. Crunchy skin is where it’s at. And 1/3 of the three potatoes was purple, so that made my night.

Kuta_satay_house_purple_potato  

We arrived early on a Friday and the only other diners were a loud already drunk (seriously, how are you trashed by 7pm?) work party, so I can’t speak to the atmosphere. However, the food was a little better than I’d anticipated, based on the surroundings (and shrieking office ladies). From the open rectangular slit in the wall, I could see an older gentleman doing all the cooking. Perhaps, I shouldn’t assume that wizened Asians in the kitchen guarantee goodness, but it made me feel a little better about what I was eating.

Kuta Satay House * 65 Rivington St., New York, NY

Rayuela

1/2 Cocktails might just be the star at Rayuela-at least that’s what the few reviews I’ve seen so far say–and I can see why. I tried three drinks and was most swayed by the simply named sherry, and not just because of the pyrotechnic flaming orange zest. The gesture wasn’t all flourish; a distinct bitter citrus flavor permeated the cherry heering, pomegranate syrup, brandy and Palo Cortado sherry. I would never think to combine those components (nor the ginger ale, Mountain Dew and Sprite in their sangria—that’s a lot of soda).

I guess pan-Latin and Nuevo Latino are over. Rayuela is mixing those 90s concepts with modern Spanish flair and calling it Estilo Libre Latino, a.k.a. Latin Freestyle. (Alex Ureña also leans this direction, though his food is more creative than trendy.) And for the most part, it works.

I rarely attend press dinners, not out of any ethical obligation, I just don’t get invited to many. It is kind of hard to be fair, even in a casual blog, when plied with a good portion of the menu and warmly treated by all levels of staff. So, of course I had a nice time.

I’d be curious to see how the bite size hor'dourves I sampled translate to their proper portioned salads and appetizers. The plantain encrusted oysters with poblano aioli and served on the half shell was hard to manage without cutlery. But the bolo de mofongo atop pork vaca frita was kind of genius. Tackling a full size mofongo will put you in a carb coma, but when miniaturized you get lots of crisp and softness, not just bite after bite of porky mash.

Rayuela_cevichesOf the three ceviches: tiradito de scallop, lobster revolution (the name made me guffaw a bit) and tuna in watermelon, you’d think the lobster would stand out (at least to me—I’m swayed by descriptions like ginger, sage, lemon leaf, and lemongrass infused coconut water and Uruguayan caviar, even though I have no idea what that type of roe might be like or why the coconut water needs so much infusing) but the general consensus was that seemingly odd matching of scallop with kiwi was the best of the three. The sweet-salty balance and texture (the lobster was a little mushy) was just right. What I thought were bacon bits on top turned out to be crispy Serrano.

Rayuela_steak_and_duckIt seemed that the churrasco con cangrejo (grilled beef tenderloin, oven roasted Peruvian potatoes, wild mushrooms, bone marrow, crabmeat chimichurri and Tetilla fondue) was the crowd favorite. Unless you’re a vegetarian it’s hard not like a medium-rare steak. But I was more excited about the other entrée, pato con arepa (breast of duck marinated in sugar cane, confit of duck leg, spinach , quail egg and pan seared foie gras on a yellow corn arepa) because I love, love sweet and meat, and this preparation was borderline candied. I would’ve chosen it if given the full menu. Not seeing prices, I pegged this dish at $28. I’ll admit that the actual price of $30 is on the high range of what I would normally pay. For me, that’s more of an occasional dinner, not a mid-week meal. But how often do you get to eat arepas with foie gras?

Rayuela_sweetsDesserts came in two waves: regular and boozy. Despite the interesting hyper-basil and lemongrass ice creams, the standards were nothing to yell about (obviously, since all I can remember are the tiny scoops of accompanying ice creams and not the chocolate and coconut cakes they were meant to compliment). The tequila-chocolate injected strawberry was a hit. The simple pisco gelee was refreshing. I would’ve liked more avocado flavor from the shot. It was appropriately pale green but if no one told you it was avocado, you’d never guess.

Rayuela_spiked_dessertsThe strength of these fun alcohol-fueled sweets, smart cocktail list, creative appetizers and pricy entrees tend to point towards a lounge-driven clientele. And the modern design centering around show-stopping live trees sprouting through the bilevel room is built for that scene. I just hope that the cuisine doesn’t get overshadowed because it feels like a lot of thought went into it. The half-breed Latina in me wishes culinary success for Dominicans (chef Maximo Tejada and pastry chef Bruni Bueno) and Mexicans (mixologist Junior Merino) because lord knows we have enough dishwashers and prep cooks.

Rayuela * 165 Allen St., New York, NY

El Castillo de Jagua

It’s not like El Castillo de Jagua’s food or decor setting screams out for a photo essay (unless you were documenting the gentrification of the Lower East Side, which I’m not). You’ve likely seen fluorescently lit meat, rice and beans before. But photos are a fun crutch; it’s not always easy describing how food looks and tastes. Unfortunately, my batteries died.

I’ve always had a problem with that. I had rechargables that never stayed strong so I burn through double As now. Despite my camera being adequate (I’m fine with 3.2 megapixels. 7 and beyond is lost on me), I’d really like something smaller, lighter with a wider angle lens that can handle low light, a freaking foodie camera (actually, foodies use SLRs and mini tripods and shit). I’m acclimating to this new expendable income concept but I broke down this afternoon and bought a Canon PowerShot SD800 IS online. Whether or not the device will actually make it into my hands is the real issue (my current camera got lost in the mail the first time it was shipped, and if you don’t believe the horror that is the Brooklyn P.O. just read these accounts from last week [yes, I added my two cents]).

The restaurant’s no frills approach extends to their menu. There are only two appetizers: shrimp cocktail and chicken wings, and dessert is whatever cakes might be in the diner-style glass domes on the counter. But that’s superfluous; the main attraction are the hefty daily specials. There’s a lot of overlap between days so if you like pernil like I do, it’s available more than once a week (in fact, I think it’s on the permanent menu too). Supposedly, they also make a strong cubano but I'd just eaten one earlier in the week and couldn't justify it.

Their roast pork is super porcine, the opposite of white, bland supermarket chops and loins. A single plate is dedicated to a pile of soft, dark juicy-oily meat topped with a good sized square of crackling skin. Soupy fat brown beans and white rice (I’m not crazy about the more traditional yellow) come separately in a little bowl and on another plate. I’d ordered a very similar Cuban-style combo a few days before at Sophie’s, a block from my new office. Their version was better than acceptable and also around $8, but it couldn't compare to the old school Domincan rendition. And I tend to think that the tastiness level is directly correlated to fat grams.

El Castillo de Jagua * 113 Rivington St., New York, NY

Congee Village

Congee_village_congeeI’m not sure why congee gets associated with health other than that it’s bland and not terribly caloric. Last year I went on a short-lived congee binge where I was convinced that if I ate porridge for dinner I’d shed a few pounds. It might’ve worked but I got bored after a few nights. A couple weeks ago a friend who’s not much of an adventurous eater asked if I’d been to Congee Village. I hadn’t, which seemed kind of criminal (I’m more of a New York Noodletown gal). I was trying to figure out how Congee Village had even gotten on her radar. It seems that through her massage therapy studies, she’d been reading up on Chinese medicine and congee was recommended somewhere in a text. It beats corn silk and pig pancreas, so I was game.

Congee_village_chicken_black_mushroomI was just happy to be able to go to a restaurant we could mutually agree on because eating with vegetarians isn’t always a treat. Of course, congee is merely one part of the menu but it had to be tried. I went for a sweet and chewy squid and ginger sauce style while the friend opted for crab. This posed a problem because she’s one of those people who gets squeamish about eating creatures when you can tell where they come from (though it’s not nearly as bad as another friend who won’t eat chicken with bones in it). The crab came hacked up, shell-on, not pure meat nicely strewn throughout the porridge and this induced a little trauma. It was a good thing I didn’t order goose intestines, fish head or duck tongue if this caused balking.

Congee_village_bean_curd She proceeded to also order a braised tofu dish and I had steamed chicken with black mushroom. That sounds dull, but it was very flavorful (thanks to those pesky bones, I suspect) and also contained sweet, caramelized jujubes and other dried mushrooms, as well. The menu is fairly far reaching, it would take numerous visits to try everything that sounded good.

I’m afraid that all congee health benefits were canceled out by their $4 cocktails. After two whiskey sours there, I ended up on a near Lower East Side bender. I can’t do the six-drink weeknight thing as well as I used to, but I’m not ready to give up yet.

Congee Village * 100 Allen St., New York, NY

San Loco

Ooh, I can’t believe I ate at San Loco. Sometimes I have to let my guard down and lower my standards so I don’t ostracize and annoy friends with what I call little kid palates. So, a chicken chipotle burrito before The Organ show at Rothko didn’t kill me. I will admit being disturbed by my dining companion ordering a rice burrito. I’ve always abhorred rice in burritos, it so doesn’t belong there, and neither does spinach. But a burrito entirely centered around the grain?! What the fuck? Ha, and then she ordered a rice krispie treat to cap things off. But I love those, so it was ok, albeit a lot of rice for one meal. (4/27/05)

San Loco * 111 Stanton St., New York, NY

WD-50

1/2 Dinner at WD-50 was better than expected, really top-notch and fun. I'm always afraid I'm going to be disappointed by popular restaurants (like a couple weeks ago we went to Mermaid Inn, which isn't quite in the same league, but was a hot spot last year, and I was under whelmed. Plus, the waiter called me ma'am, where at WD-50 they had the good sense to use miss. It's the little things, you know.). Maybe that's why I tend to give them a good six to twelve months to mellow out.

The disturbing yet entertaining portion of the evening came from the couple one table away (luckily it wasn't so packed that you have to do the classic NYC crammed thing where you can barely squeeze into your seat because it's set up with about 3" of space between tables. The waiters always pull the table out for diners, but still you have to either scoot your crotch or butt right up against your neighbor's table. It doesn't really matter how svelte you are, settling in is going to take a few awkward seconds.) At first I thought we were witnessing a flaccid date, but it felt a little too strained for that.

The duo was made up of an Asian guy who exuded finance industry with his blahness and a so-so blonde woman who probably thought she was prettier than she was. They could've been anywhere from 28 to 34–it's not always easy to peg that demographic. I was obvious that the gentleman was trying to impress her, it was transparent enough that she was subtly egging him on in a manipulative way. She wasn't going to hump him (though James thought there was a slight chance she might) she just relished the attention…and probably the free meal, he did order a $145 pinot noir (we opted for a sauvignon blanc that was exactly $100 less). She only ordered one thing, a cod entre and didn't even finish her tiny portion, while he ordered two appetizers and an entre for himself.

He proceeded to bring up his fiance, and it was clear that he was fishing to see if there was any chance things might work between him and his dining companion. We guessed they were college friends, or old acquaintances, not likely coworkers. He was saying stuff like, "if circumstances were different…" and he brought up babies like three times, it was totally gross, and how this woman would make a good mother. Nothing gets a girl wet faster than pregnancy banter. I almost barfed up my pickled beef tongue and fried mayonnaise (and not because I was eating pickled beef tongue and fried mayonnaise).

He then began schooling her in the history of avant-garde cooking and saying how the chef Wylie Dufresne, was a protege of Ferran Adria who is like the progenitor of all the current culinary trends (he invented using foam, you know like carrot foam, but has now moved on to essences, seriously, you don't even eat them, you just breathe them in and experience them) and is chef at the impossible to get into (though not so impossible that this guy wasn't able to eat there and brag about it) restaurant in Spain, El Bulli. Anyway, Wylie Dufresne isn't a protg of Ferran Adria (doesn't protg mean you studied under the person?), I wanted to tell him so, but that was hardly even the point.

They exchanged gifts, he gave her a L'Occitane gift set (the same one James is giving his mother–does that make it any less romantic a present?) and she offered a wine bag and what must've been a fancy bottle of wine because he couldn't stop thanking her for it (though he probably would've jizzed himself over a jug of Gallo of as long as it came from this woman). We were appeased when this guy seemed to become unnecessarily humiliated when the sommelier wouldn't allow him to open this bottle of wine and share it with his lady friend, the mood was totally ruined, and he got all snippy and asked for the check when the waiter subsequently inquired about dessert. "We're not dessert people," he snapped, and they left in a huff. He probably figured that extra wine might've been adequate to lower his companion's defenses enough to impregnate her. Such an uplifting holiday tale.

Yes, the food. We did eat more than eavesdrop and just because I've neglected to discuss our actual dinner doesn't mean the meal wasn't noteworthy. As mentioned, I had the pickled tongue with little fried mayonnaise cubes and sprinkles of crumbs that were supposed to be onion streusel, there were also dehydrated scattered grains of what formerly was lettuce. If you created a bite using all components it tasted like a sandwich. A small beef tongue sandwich. Being a pork belly fiend, that entre had to be done. Sure, it was rich and I was pleasantly surprised by the decent portion. Even though pork belly is best in small doses, I feared the artistic giant plate/tiny serving syndrome. The five meltingly unctuous slices were more than adequate and accompanied well by fatty antitheses: turnips and soybeans. We shared what was probably the most pedestrian dessert, "chocolate cream, coffee soil, tonka bean ice cream," which was a conglomeration of vanilla and chocolate shapes and textures, cakey and creamy. I was tipsy enough at this point (I'd already downed a few pre-dinner cocktails at the new Barramundi across the street) that the idea of eating chocolate dirt seemed like the ultimate nightcap.

WD-50 * 50 Clinton St., New York, NY

‘inoteca

I'd just gotten over a week-long severe stomach illness and was ravenous,
and strangely my normal food cravings were totally absent. Not wanting any
form of Asian food isn't like me. I feared my body had gone through some
bizarre realignment after barely eating for seven days when I found myself
wanting either German, English or Italian cuisine. I think it was their
perceived heartiness that was appealing.

I love the idea of lots of little things, but invariably small plates
leave me eating leftover Thanksgiving turkey a couple hours later. We
should've ordered at least four things, but I felt like we were being capped
at three, like that's when the waitress seemed satisfied with our choices.
But then, I'm self-conscious about things like eating alone in public (which
I wasn't) and looking gluttonous (which I am), so maybe I was being
hypersensitive.

I'm bad with Italian food, seriously, pardon my ingredient ignorance,
but I'm going with English terms. The first thing that came from the kitchen
was a warm brussels sprout salad with pancetta, a soft white cheese shaved
into squiggles, and a balanced vinaigrette (I'm not a fan of severe
tanginess). We also shared a special of lamb that came sliced and was
surrounded with a sweet/savory chutney, and prawns wrapped in prosciutto.
The prawns might've been my favorite, though all of it was quite tasty. I
just could've eaten more, that's all. An accompanying polenta might've rounded
out the meal.

I never see celebrities, I'm not sure if its because I don't pay attention
to my surroundings or that I don't frequent their lairs. And oddly, whenever
I do spot one there's a Coen brother connection. Not too long ago Tim Blake
Nelson sat next to us at Lombardis. This evening Frances McDormand and two
gentlemen were seated at the table across from us. They came after us and
left before we did, so obviously they were fine with eating even less food
than we did, or else they're really fast eaters.


'inoteca* 98 Rivington St., New
York, NY

Suba

I'm not sure what I'd expected for my Valentine's Day treat (though I'd
hinted at AZ) but I wouldn't have predicted Suba. I think I was just scared
because of their gimmicky dinner in the dark thing, and that I'd heard the
Valentine's dinner came with a blindfolded dessert tasting. Who needs all
that forced sensualness? All was fine, the duck with coriander (I usually
don't like whole coriander seeds), avocado, scallop, and potatoes was nice,
and thankfully, the dessert sampler came with an optional sans blindfold.
This is another one of those special occasion dinners where I drank enough
to make detailed food recall fuzzy.


Suba* 109 Ludlow St., New
York, NY