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Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Mariam

  Vowing not to write off all West African food after my Ghanaian mishap at Meytex Cafe,  I was happy to attend a group dinner (Pete from Word of Mouth, Dave from Eating in Translation and a few message board regulars were also present) at Clinton Hill’s Mariam, not to be confused with South Brooklyn’s Israeli cuisine chainlet, Miriam.

The owners are from Guinea, and the menu reflects that country’s offerings as well as nearby Senegal’s. Frankly, I know little about either so sampling a wide variety was a must. Hopefully, I won’t misidentify too wildly. I’ll start with the high points.

Mariam fish

Poisson frit with achecke in mustard sauce was a hit and more complex than simple fried fish on a plate. I’m guessing the fish was tilapia because it’s common and it had that not unpleasant soil taste that you often get from the bottom-feeding species. The mild white flesh was encased in rightly crispy skin. Acheke is a fluffy fermented cassava-derived starch that only had the slightest tang, and it paired well with the sharp mustard-flavored onions.

Mariam oxtail

I really liked the stewed oxtails but how can oxtails be bad? The bones had a nice amount of meat attached as well as bits of gelatin.

Mariam potato leaves

Sauce feuille patate. Our first choice was cassava leaves, but they only had potato leaves. Not that I would be able to detect the difference. I didn’t even know potatoes had leaves—I do wonder if they meant sweet potato? This dish is described as containing meat, but I’m not certain what meat as I didn’t sample any brown hunks. Interestingly, a welcome fishy shrimp paste flavor colored this dish.

Mariam fowl

The guinea fowl was a bit dry and tough, not the most successful dish. We chose the same accompaniments that the fish came with. I did appreciate the half-cube of Maggi bullion even though I didn't understand its purpose. Were they attempting to display quality? A table across form us had an enormous jug of Maggi sauce sitting on it–this was clearly an MSG-friendly zone.

Mariam callaloo

We ordered callaloo but I swear this isn’t predominantly the leafy green, which is akin to chard. There was some serious mucilaginous action occurring that could only be attributed to okra.

Mariam couscous

They don’t only employ couscous look-alikes acheke-style, but the mini grains, themselves. The sauteed onions, hard-boiled egg half and green olive were a nice addition. There's something almost Moorish about this.

Thaikry

Ok, I wouldn't say that sweets were Mariam's strength. I wasn’t sure what to make of one described as being served with tomato sauce. That couldn’t have been a typo, right? We ordered one, which was essentially yogurt mixed with canned fruit cocktail. This was thaikry, couscous tossed with sour cream and vanilla extract. I wouldn’t say that it’s wildly cravable, but was slightly more satisfying and sweeter than I'd expected. I might occasionally eat it for breakfast instead of Trader Joe’s instant oatmeal or Greek yogurt if given the option but it’s not the most stellar dessert.

Unrelated to food, this restaurant happens to be a mere two blocks from that fancy condo complex that I'm mildly obsessed with. I strolled by and took at look since I had 20 minutes to kill before dinner. The building isn't shabby,  but it might be hard to justify a $1 million price tag with little more than car washes, storage units, 24-hour adult video store, check cashing joints, McDonald's, Golden Krust, and yes, a pretty nice Guinean restaurant, in the immediate vicinity. Well, I have always complained at the lack of 99-cent stores in Carroll Gardens…

Mariam * Fulton St., Brooklyn, NY

Dang Lai Palace

1/2 I accidentally took part in meatless Monday this week. Eating a vegan lunch and near-vegan dinner in the same day isn’t my usual M.O. It just turned out that I had the mid-day urge for Little Lad’s when I’d already planned to eat at Dang Lai Palace later.

I’ve only eaten at Zen Palate once (when I first moved to NYC, my sister, mom and grandma all converged here at the same time and my sister wanted to go to Zen Palate. My grandma made a stink about it being too expensive and how she’d just as well eat the Chinese food near my apartment on Fresh Pond Road. Well, somebody keeps those one-per-block takeout joints in business and the Union Square Zen Palate did go out of business, so maybe she was on to something) but that one visit was enough that I can see Dang Lai Palace is drawing heavily from their menu, right down to the names of dishes.

You kind of have to dig fake meat to appreciate this style of cuisine and there are plenty of people who would rather just shun flesh and not mess with blobs crafted from wheat gluten and bean curd. I happen to like the taste of mock morsels (though I’ll never understand the logic behind substituting Ritz crackers for real fruit in an apple pie). However, I’m not convinced that there’s anything particularly healthy about pseudo-meat from either a well-balanced diet or caloric perspective.

Dang lai palace sampler

This is the Dang Lai Platter, which is meant to be an entrée, but functions as a perfectly nice starter to share. It’s a lot of food for two, though. The meatloafy rectangles are vegetarian duck, which taste nothing like poultry. I have no idea what makes autumn rolls fall-like; they’re crisp-fried just like a spring roll but the skin is made from bean curd sheets that happen to be red for some reason. Mushroom and cashews is a take on cashew chicken. Sesame protein in sweet and sour sauce is a fairly obvious rendition of sweet and sour pork but the chunks are pliable and soft rather than battered and fried. 

Dang lai palace tofu salad

We had to get some greens in so a fresh kale and tofu salad fit that need.

Dang lai palace spring comes to world

Spring comes to the world. It’s strange because real ham wrapped around vegetables would never appeal to me in a Chinese context but this dish was very satisfying. Strands of enoki mushrooms and zucchini slivers are wrapped in vegetarian ham and fastened with a black mushroom knot. The soft and crunchy textures were nice and the ham was very hearty. The sauce is very light and comes with wedges of tomato and gingko nuts. I gave it a boost with chile oil because it was almost too delicate for me.

Dang lai palace beef with broccoli

Orange-flavored beef with broccoli wasn’t mine, but the one bite I had was appropriately sweet, lightly spiced and gloopy. I mean that as a compliment, it’s like takeout but with springier blobs of protein.

I’m not clear on the alcohol situation. When I showed up Sherri already had cracked open a bottle of Malbec she’d been OK’d to bring in, then towards the end of our meal our waiter mentioned that we could have a free glass of wine. Huh? I wouldn’t assume you could byob if they had a liquor license and then I wondered if they meant “wine” in the same way they served “meat.” No pomegranate mock wine for me, thanks. But no, it was real red wine of some sort. I don’t turn down free drinks, even house wine.

One thing I’ll say about this type of food is that it’s filling as heck. Granted, we ordered a lot to eat and I ended up taking some home, but by 1am I was still so full I could barely fall asleep. The next time I eat vegetarian Kosher (did I mention it’s Kosher too?) Chinese food I will be less gluttonous.

Dang Lai Palace * 180 Third Ave., New York, NY

Tanoreen

3/4 On my first and last visit to Tanoreen a few years ago, I was underwhelmed. Not majorly, I just had high expectations and I think much of the so-so-ness had to do with poor ordering. I hate to say it, but misguided picks befell me again this weekend.
My main reason for heading to Bay Ridge was to satisfy a craving for Middle Eastern lamb that arose while reading an article on Turkey in this month’s Gourmet (I’m still in denial that there’s no alfresco photo spread). No, Tanoreen isn’t specifically Turkish. If I’m correct the owner is Palestinian and the restaurant’s cuisine borrows from all over the region.
But I knew they would have lamb, and specifically a lamb shank special. I had a precise image of the type of mutton I wanted, though I couldn’t place exactly where I’d had it before. It had to be on the bone, definitely not kabobs, and not a chop either. Nothing dainty.

It was with the appetizers that I went astray. There are tons of choices, both hot and cold and part of the regular menu and specials list. I got a little overwhelmed. Muhammara was an easy choice. I’d made the roasted red pepper walnut dip before but had never actually tasted how it’s supposed to be made. Tanoreen’s version was chunkier and nuttier than mine. I could see this rich, sweet spread as an ‘80s suburban canape layered atop a swath of cream cheese on a Ritz cracker. Who says I’m not classy?
James ordered something (I can’t recall the exact name) described as a pie topped with shankleesh, a Lebanese cheese, off the specials. This seemed ok, too.

Where we tripped up was deciding to share the lamb shank at the last minute (at $24 it’s the most expensive thing on the menu) and instead of getting two full entrees each to try a third appetizer. Normally, I never ask staff for suggestions because I’m a decisive person. Maybe I’m the weird one, but I can never figure out diners who spend five minutes asking their server questions. I should’ve just gone with my instincts and picked the Brussels sprouts or one of the many eggplant preparations. Instead, I asked our waiter what he’d recommend and was offered something called musakhan with chicken and almonds. I was a bit thrown off since it sounded so much like moussaka (which apparently, they also do) but I’m down with nuts and poultry.

The musakhan turned out to be kind of an Arabic pizza. Something about chicken on a pizza seemed kind of California Pizza Kitchen, but the spicing and almonds were very un-chain-like. This appears to be a modern interpretation of traditional dish using chicken, pine nuts and lavash.

This is the appetizer James ordered, also a pizza. Hmm…I didn’t really need to eat two pizzas for dinner, not that they both weren’t good and distinct from each other. I’ll admit that I’m not a Middle Eastern cuisine know-it-all, I rarely ever cook it, and this innocent looking pizza was complex. It took me a while to figure out that the tartness was coming from sumac. The overriding flavor was pungent and floral goat cheese, almost creepy (to me, because I don’t like flowery tasting things) in its funkiness. One notch stronger and the taste might’ve been offputting but it was just enough to encourage another bite to figure the combination out. I’m fairly certain that the brown hue, which makes the topping look like ground meat, was za’atar, a spice blend that includes a lot of everything with thyme and oregano shining through.

Ah, the lamb. If you ignored the accompanying rice and preceding dishes, you could almost picture yourself sitting down to a British Sunday roast, carrots, potatoes, parsley and all. The meat was moist and almost too juicy, a fine specimen but not what I was looking for, no fault of the poor lamb shank. I was thinking of something less saucy, maybe stringier and kind of charred, closer to what I’ve encountered at Yemen Café and A Fan Ti.
This was a strange case of perfectly good food that didn’t satisfy my particular craving. We definitely encountered more interesting items than on our first visit, and perhaps three times will be a charm.

Flaky, not syrupy-sweet baklava taken to go.
(10/3/08)

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Five Leaves

Last week my friend in Greenpoint, Sherri, suggested we check out Five Leaves and say hi to our mutual pal who was one of the chefs. Strangely, just minutes before her email I received one from him mentioning that he’d already moved onto another job. I don’t think it had even been three weeks. (For some reason I equate hasty throwing in of the towels with west coasters, which both he and I are. I’ve always had the same compulsion. Even after getting my master’s degree in 2004 and trying to be serious, I’ve managed to breeze through four jobs.) No matter, the new restaurant was still in need of a visit and as the only New Yorker who seems to enjoy riding the G train, it was a journey I didn’t mind.

At 7pm it was still early enough to have a choice of three open tables. Being of the wobbly chairs wedged inches from your neighbor school of style, we picked one of the single two-seaters in the front near the takeout window. Honestly, it didn’t matter; it’s a tiny place. We were still in the line of traffic and next to the bar. I’ve never been to Moto, but Sherri remarked that they looked similar right down to their triangular shapes. That was astute since the same person designed both interiors.

Five leaves ricotta We started with ricotta flavored with thyme and honey (at least I thought it was honey–the sticky substance looks more like marmalade in the photo) and topped with a few fig wedges. The fresh crumbly cheese paired well with the sweet raisin-studded bread. I think the smaller plates might be where they excel.

Five leaves burger It looks like the Five Leaves burger is a classic Australian rendition (though I recently read somewhere that this peculiar item is actually a New Zealand invention). I hadn’t heard of the beets, pineapple and fried egg combo until Sheep Station opened in Park Slope a while ago, and now it seems like these burgers have been creeping up throughout the city. It’s the beets that are the strange component, I think. I declined a bite so I’m not sure how this version was.

Five leaves frisee My frisee was heavily dressed but not off-puttingly oily. The unusually meaty lardons were the highlight of my meal. I know it would be grotesque to eat even a small bowl of cubed pork belly as a meal (well, I guess that's what lechon is but there's nothing remotely Australian about it) but really the egg and lettuce were nearly superfluous. I also ordered a side of truffle fries, which were a little on the underbrowned and soggy side. I do love starch, salt, and I guess the occasional drizzle of truffle oil, so it didn’t faze me much.

The overall consensus was that the food was average, and so too the service—at least by Williamsburg standards (yes, I realize this is just over the Greenpoint border, but it’s still on Bedford Ave.). You may wait eons for food, you might never get what you ordered and that phantom item will most likely show up on your bill anyway. It was hard to tell if the crowd that amassed outside during our hour-and-a-half there was due to sheer popularity or lackadaisical pacing inside.

Sherri described this service type as typically Brooklyn, but I think the cute and well-intentioned yet negligent staff is more uniquely Williamsburg and environs. I wouldn’t incriminate the entire borough. But no one who lives in 11211 seems to care, so no harm is really done. And if you happen to be one of those laid back types who live nearby, it’s worth a stop in for drinks and snacks but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the place for a serious meal.

Five Leaves * 18 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Little Lad’s

Nooooo! Little Lad's has packed up its basket and is moving to Delancey St. I can't walk there for lunch. (8/16/11)

Last month James mentioned some half-secret subway passage he’d discovered that connects the M train at Broad Street to the 4/5. I’m still not convinced that that’s true (would it be the 4/5 at Wall Street or Fulton? Neither seem that plausible). I work a block from the M but that still doesn’t do me any good since I live on the F/G. I’m always trying to find ways of streamlining my commute and will stop at nothing. Even after a year-and-a-half at my present job I’m still in denial that four subway stops can take 40 minutes (an experiment of two F stops, then a one-block walk to the R, then another two stops took me 50 minutes this morning, I’m dead serious. I left home at 9:15 and didn’t get to my desk until 10:05).

I was more interested at his description of a dated subterranean greasy spoon that time had forgotten. Really? I envisioned 99-cent patty melts and woodgrain formica. Maybe you could even smoke at your table.

But I have a tendency to disbelieve people, James in particular because he’s not very observant. All he thinks about is work and his high maintenance mother. I might mess around in a subway passage during the middle of the day (actually, I wouldn’t either—I tend to use my lunchtime to write crap here but haven’t even had the time for that in the past week) but he wouldn’t. It must’ve been remarkable enough that he noticed at all, so a lunch meet up was in immediate order because this sounded good.

We entered the subway station on Nassau Street, below the Chase building. I can’t recall how many levels we descended or how many twists or turns we took, but we ended up in a narrow passageway that no more than two people could fit in at a time side-by-side. And then we were there.

Little lad's exterior

Hmm…faded, kind of like a Denny’s that hadn’t been remodeled since 1981. And photo murals and stained glass too? Even more perfect, the restaurant was called Little Lad’s. There didn’t seem to be menus, no one greeted us when we came in and there didn’t appear to be a counter or cashier. We sat in a booth-for-two and waited. This didn’t seem right. It wasn’t even close to crowded at prime lunch time either. I made James peek around the corner.

Little lad's interior

As it turned out, we came in the back door; the main dining room was on the other side of the L-shaped room and the centerpiece was a small buffet. Signs indicated that whatever you could fit into (no, overfilling) a Styrofoam bowl and plate on a plastic tray would be yours for $3.99. Yes! People mock my $5-or-less weekday lunch rule but it’s really only so I can splurge on dinners–they just don’t see me during the evening.

The food was odd, though. One section appeared to contain cold salady items and the other cart had what I guess you could call main dishes. Two pots of soup sit off to the side with a bag of hearty multigrain bread between them. I then noticed that meat seemed suspiciously absent but this wasn’t even ordinary vegetarian fare. Frankly, everything looked kind of boiled like prison slop. After I heard the girl restocking the blobby dressing respond, “that’s tofu, we don’t serve cheese” to a flirtatious inquisitive customer, I realized everything was vegan.

Maybe the clientele would give me further clues. There seemed to be large number of black patrons, office ladies in groups and solo gentleman. Ok, so this um, soul food? Not like I’ve ever seen before. Or maybe like a rasta vegetarian thing? But everyone was too clean cut. Should I be here?

Well, there were some white people who looked like the types who work in the Financial District but insist on commuting by bike. And a youngish Indian dude in skintight flared slacks, shades and sporting muttonchop sideburns and a pompadour. The staff seemed bizarrely mellow and polite. Too polite.  Something religious, kind of Amish, was definitely at play and I hoped I wasn’t going to be sucked into a modern day cult.

There also appeared to be a window where you could order food cooked on the spot. I wasn’t sure what to make of the first item on the list called a “handburger.” Or the “haystack” at the bottom of the sign. I’m guessing a handburger is a meatless sandwich, but they probably shouldn’t use such a fleshy word in the name. I’m still not sure what the hell a haystack is.

Little lad's lunch buffet

The food has grown on me during my two visits. It’s not really hippy but more bastardized Midwestern. I mean, three-bean salad and raisin-carrot slaw? I'm surprised they don't have animal product-free jello (I guess that would be agar agar, which is the base for crazy-pretty SE Asian desserts). The strange thing is that many of the items taste kind of pickled or fermented. The zucchini was tart and fizzy, so too the tomatoes. Mushy is the overriding texture. I like the beets, tofu dressing and how all the scoops of mysterious substances blend into a big wholesome blob. Their flyers and signage make all sorts of health claims. I don’t fall for hyperbole but my wild blood pressure and elevated sugars can use all the help they can get.

Little lad's entry way

The foyer in what I think is the main entrance has a tv playing sermons and lots of baked goods and fresh fruit on display. On my second visit, I picked up a naturally sweetened apple-cherry pie and James grabbed a bag of lemon herb popcorn. We were rang up by a clean cut middle aged white man that seemed very bible belt and extremely un-NYC. We didn’t get proselytized, just asked, “How did you find us?” A good question.

I later found out that the restaurant is Seventh Day Adventist. I didn’t think that they had any particular dietary restrictions so that is peculiar. The only Seventh Day Adventists I’ve ever known were the family who lived kitty corner to me growing up. I’m certain that I’ve mentioned them before. They stood out, not simply because they were the only African-Americans in our neighborhood but also because the wife had multiple sclerosis and rode around on a motorized scooter, baked cakes from scratch (which my mom thought was outrageous) and the husband was a male nurse. I’m still not sure why male nurses are such a strange concept to people, but they most definitely are. Same for guy librarians.

Part of the appeal of Little Lad’s is that going there feels like I’m snarking out. My favorite book in middle school was Daniel Pinkwater’s “The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death” because I was/is that kind of a dork. The misfit teens would sneak out at night to watch schlocky movies and find places like hidden beer gardens constructed of abandoned railroad cars where they also served baked potatoes.

I guess I can’t truly call Little Lad’s excursions snarking out because out of the blue during a recent company dinner an office mate started talking about the vegan restaurant she goes to every week. It’s definitely a secret, though. When I mentioned that I wanted to write about it she begged me not to and I completely understand why. Luckily, my audience is infinitesimal enough that a mad rush at Little Lad’s will never ever occur as a result of this missive.

Little Lad’s * 120 Broadway, New York, NY

Little Pepper

1/2 Sometimes thwarted plans don’t bother me. Saturday night I had intended to try Flushing’s Hot Pot City. All you can dunk hot pot with unlimited beer? A place after my own heart. But unfortunately it was no more, literally, a dry erase board at the bottom of the staircase read “no more hotpot.” And they hadn’t simply run out of soup--the second-floor space had morphed into a foodless bar.
Ah well, that left me with two nearby favorites: A Fan Ti or Little Pepper. When in doubt it’s always Sichuan. Plus, last time I attempted Little Pepper it was full and I had to settle for Spicy & Tasty (which isn’t really settling).



I’ve been enough times now that I was determined to try new things. However, the cumin lamb was a necessary repeat. I’m still not sure why it’s served in foil, the char-edged meat and onions are clearly the mark of high heat sautéing. Sometimes pools of orange oil are alarming, but not so with Sichuan food. You need that oil.

Also sitting in a wonderful pool of spicy oil was the largest serving of dan dan noodles I’ve ever seen. Normally, these pork-dotted coils come in a small vessel similar in size to a single rice serving. It’s hard to tell scale from the photo but this was practically a salad bowl, and I’m pretty sure they cost less than $5.
I don’t recall portions being so huge in the past. We only ate about a third of each of our dishes and had so much left over that the to-go containers were bulging. But I order with future meals in mind. I noticed the other twosome sitting near us only ordered one braised dish and a vegetable. That’s probably more normal.

I tried branching out and asked for the ox stomach in mashed garlic. That didn’t sound terribly appetizing but I figured it was just tripe, and I wanted to see what a cold appetizer would be like with mashed garlic rather than the usual chile oil. Sadly, it was a no go. Maybe next time. The one thing I noticed was that the tingly peppercorn effect was very muted in all of the dishes that normally would showcase it (these tendons, the noodles and lamb). Maybe it was just an old batch of Sichuan peppercorns—I have the same problem at home.

Cauliflower with smoked pork was one of two pale-on-pale white dishes. I was imagining a crispy, roasted vegetable, which is kind of silly because Chinese do not oven roast (hmm…and this amusing thread appeared right after I wrote this). No, this was a steamed, soupy dish with most of the flavor coming from the very smoky meat. It seemed kind of like an excuse to nibble fatty meat under the guise of eating your vegetables.

Venturing into the braised section of the menu was new for me.  I wasn’t ready for organs, so fish it was. Enough fish for six people. This was also a chile oil-free presentation. The flavor was delicate with a very mild flaky fish (I did not ask what kind). The secret to livening things up is to get a bit of the salty-hot pickled chiles in each mouthful. It’s the difference between a staid and tongue-searing. (9/13/08)

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South Brooklyn Pizza

If I am offered free pizza a few blocks from my apartment, the odds are that I’ll say yes (though I might balk at Papa John’s chicken bacon ranch, also nearby). And so I sampled a few of South Brooklyn Pizza's new offerings  this weekend. I'm cheap and lazy. Why not?
On my first and last visit to South Brooklyn Pizza I was a little put off by the unabashedly burnt crust. But that was my only beef—there weren’t any service glitches and I wasn’t wildly bothered by the margherita-only menu (I never did get a cookie, though).
Not that I didn’t think it was odd to serve only one style of pizza. Now they are trying to rectify the situation with three new pies. Clams and oregano appear to be the highlight. In addition to the clam pie there are also clams on the half shell and baked breadcrumb-topped clams oreganata.

Having never tried Frank Pepe’s New Haven original or even a new-breed Brooklyn version a la Franny’s, I can only judge this on its own. The flavor was a touch salty, though I’m not sure if that came from the clams or the pancetta. I tend to think it was shellfish brininess and not unpleasing. I liked this pizza, but I’d be curious to hear other opinions on it.

I started doubting myself when I was told that this was an oregano pizza because there was no way all that arugula-looking foliage was said stemmy herb. It turned out to be pizza verde.
Now, this is a slice of oregano pizza. The classic pizza herb comes on strong. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to eat it.
The crust has much improved. Now there’s just a little char, enough to stave off doughiness. Hopefully, this is a new standard and wasn’t a one-night-only fluke. I wouldn’t say that South Brooklyn Pizza is a destination pie like Lucali’s but I think it’s a fine enough addition to the lower end of Carroll Gardens. We don’t have much down here. (9/15/08)

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Park Avenue Autumn

1/2 Park Avenue Autumn turned out to be the opposite of Cambodian Cuisine, which was a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I did. I imagined a little upper midtown stodginess mixed with seasonal worship…and not even the right season (yes, I’m still stuck on the public’s refusal to acknowledge September as part of summer). But the food was great, service professional without veering uptight and the menu was on the quirky side.

Or should I say menus. There was a hefty main menu, a giant wine list that was all over the place with call out boxes with titles like “It’s Hunting Season.” I was sold on a Columbia Valley Merlot based on a section called “Merlot’s Great Comeback.” If they say it’s ok to order this shunned wine again, I’ll believe them. And then there was a tiny square pamphlet of a menu featuring Indian Summer specials.

Ah ha, at least they were acknowledging my current pet peeve. I picked Park Avenue Autumn partially for this very reason. (See, this was a ninth anniversary dinner [dating, not marriage. I’m officially a crazy person because nine years is a heck of a long time to still refer to your significant other as a boyfriend. It either makes you sound teenage or like you’re casually dating, which I guess I’m not. But you can’t say partner because straight people who use that term are creepiest of creepy]. Blue Hill was the original choice presented to me but as the partner/boyfriend/roommate always does things last minute, they only had 11pm availability on a Saturday. Perhaps it’s not proper etiquette to meddle in celebratory meal plans, but after nearly a decade there’s no stepping on toes by just making the damn reservation myself. I always have my own plan B.)

I wanted to embrace the wrongness of changing an entire restaurant’s décor and menu over Labor Day weekend when temperatures still hovered in the high 80s. It didn’t even feel gimmicky, though. There’s something smart and utilitarian about the unsnapping, Velcroing color scheme switch every three months.

The room was glorious in earth tones, all right. The bubbly copper lamps were like a lighting version of the Bloomindales’s font. Chic ‘70s. Rope and leather ornaments lent texture while cranberries in glass vessels and pear and cider flavored cocktails let you know it was fall inside these doors. I direct you to the photo on their site because I cannot do the room justice with my point-and-shoot camera. Attempting to capture even so-so shots of my candlelit food was difficult enough.

Park avenue autumn fig carpaccio

Fig carpaccio, hoja santa, goat cheese. This was the most boring thing I encountered all evening. James’ salmon tartare was much more impressive. I’m just not one who gets worked up over produce even when I try. The Mexican herb was a nice touch as well as the mild goat cheese and scattering of almonds I think what threw me off was how cold the fig slices were. I know that “carpaccio” doesn’t imply warm. It just didn’t come together for me.

Park avenue autumn kentucky fried quail, dips and biscuit Park avenue autumn kentuck fried quail

Kentucky fried quail, pear slaw, warm biscuit. This exemplifies what I mean by fun food. Mini fried chicken-style quail legs are not only cute but flavorful, all dark meat with a high crust to flesh ratio. And the little bucket bearing their autumn logo was fitting. Two dips were included: honey and a honey mustard. I preferred the soul foodish plain honey, which wasn’t as cloying as it could’ve been since the diner controls the amount of sticky sweetness. The biscuit wasn’t nearly as good as the warm rolls presented at the beginning of the evening, but the bar had been set high by a cheesey spiral bun that was flecked with what I think was sage. Maybe I had a little too much Merlot but I kept thinking that the magenta-tinged pear slices were beet-dyed pickled eggs.

Park avenue autumn sweet potato fries with ranch

We were tempted by the broccoli with Cheetos. How could you not be? I saw the neon orange squiggles on the table next to us. But sweet potato cottage fries with ranch dip were perfect, non-greasy and crispy-edged. They weren’t too sweet like these starchy tubers sometimes can be. I only wish that there was more ranch for dunking.

Desserts came in yet another menu more like a catalog with glossy color photos, showcasing confections from seasons past. Luckily, I like looking at images of cakes and pastries.

Park avenue autumn banana crepe

Caramelized banana, frozen maple mousse & crunchy bacon crumbs. Played out or not, the dessert incorporating bacon was a must-order. The Blue Hill at Stone Barns banana fritters and pork cracklings dessert is lighter and cleaner. This trio was down and dirty, super porky, unrefined and kind of oily. And tasty, too.

* * *

 

Broccoli wtih cheetos

Unbeknownst to me, while I was writing this James was recreating Park Avenue Autumn's broccoli with Cheetos dish based on a description he heard the waiter relaying to the couple who were sitting next to us. All I know is that it involves smoked gouda and parmesan. No, he didn't go so far as crafting his own puffed cheesy snacks from scratch.  And neither of us have any idea if this concoction even approximates the original in taste (it does resemble the glimpse I caught) but it’s the thought that counts.

Park Avenue Autumn * 100 E. 63rd St., New York, NY

Cambodian Cuisine

1/2  It's closed. (12/08)

I really hate it when you want a restaurant to be successful yet they do everything possible to mess up your first impression. Cambodian food is crazy scarce in NYC. We only have Kampuchea on the Lower East Side (which I’ve always avoided for no good reason) and the aptly named Cambodian Cuisine on the Upper East Side which was formerly located in Fort Greene where Smoke Joint is now.

The Brooklyn spot was a semi-hole-in-the-wall that also did generic Chinese food, mostly for take out. The new incarnation has more aspirations. The bi-level room is big and sort of minimalist zen with brick walls and a few baskets and folk art sculptures carefully placed throughout. The entrée prices are well into the teens. It’s all keeping in line with owner’s wish for a “real restaurant” as mentioned in a Salon article from last year about the dearth of Cambodian food in the US. 

 Thai food has been a runaway hit for years, Vietnamese is pretty mainstream too. Cambodian? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it. A good friend in middle school, Valida, was Cambodian and never once did she offer up any window onto the cuisine. (As opposed to our mutual friend Lema whose Filipino family fed us constantly.) I have no idea what her family even ate (other than Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal) because they were secretive and odd; she never wanted me to come inside their house, which was a lone mobile home off of I-26 in this woodsy patch of nothing.

I could never figure them out. They had chickens running around outside but drove a Peugeot, and Valida always wore way more expensive clothes than I did. My family never shopped at Nordstrom like hers. I had the sense they were well off but lived weirdly, and from what I gathered her parents were mentally unstable and physically abusive. I suppose if you’d escaped the Khmer Rouge, you’d probably be testy too.

Valida was a super smart goth outcast who was clueless about middle school things like shaving, makeup and menstruating. After we ended up going to different high schools she turned totally hot and started dating jocks and eventually joined the military and (unintentionally) married a gay marine when she was still in her teens. I haven’t seen her since the early ‘90s but I’m fairly certain she’s still in the military. And more to the point, I never got one clue what Cambodian food was like from her. Asking such a mundane thing seemed off limits.

I was surprised how crowded Cambodian Cuisine was. Sure it was a Friday night at peak dining time but the entire first floor was filled. That was a good sign, I figured. Manhattanites must like Cambodian food. We were given one of the only remaining tables way in the back and provided with water and menus fairly quickly. Our order was also taken in timely manner. Not so for the twosome who came in after us and walked out after being ignored. Things started falling apart around that point.

We ordered cocktails because they had a list and it seemed like a novelty. I don’t know if that was the mistake. But 45 minutes later we still only had our glasses of water. Oddly, the table next to us ordered at the same time we did and had already gone through an appetizer and beers. I started getting antsy. There only appeared to be one waiter who was understandably flustered (and bizarrely, I swear he was our waiter last month at a restaurant called Asiana in Murray Hill that I never wrote about because it wasn’t worth mentioning) and like ten guys bussing tables and topping up water. I never take things out on servers, and I didn’t on this occasion, but this was starting to get out of control. If it were up to me I would’ve left but I was getting paid to write a review. Maybe the kitchen was backed up but could they not at least pour a drink?

We never got our mai tais, nor the beef salad starter. After nearly an hour, the three mains finally showed up all at once. Was it worth the wait? Eh, not so much. It’s not like Spicy Mina where you stew for an hour in exchange for supposedly mind blowing Bangladeshi fare (I have never been to their new location because I was so traumatized on my initial visit). The food was fine, perfunctory, what I’d expect Southeast Asian on the Upper East Side to be, a solid two shovels but not cravable.

Cambodian cuisine chhar kuey teo koke

Chhar kuey teo koke. The noodles were nothing like their Malaysian namesake char kway teow. They tasted as pale and ghostly as they appear on the plate. They were in desperate need of a chile-based condiment. I do not waste leftovers, even so-so ones, and plan to doctor these up with some nam prik for lunch today.

Cambodian cuisine chicken ahmok

Ok, this was good. If I’m correct, ahmok is more commonly made with fish and is akin to Thai haw moek or Malaysian otak otak. The meat, in this case chicken, is blended into a mousse-like consistency, mixed with a lemongrassy curry paste and coconut milk and steamed. The taste is rich, creamy and a little hot. This version was kind of freeform like a big omelet instead of being parceled in banana leaves.

Cambodian cuisine mekong fish chop

Fried tilapia was nothing special. Now that I’m looking at the menu I realize that it states filets but I had been hoping for a whole skin-on crispy fish. My mistake. The sauce was lightly spiced and a little gloopy sweet, not far off from Chinese take out.

Getting the bill was also an exercise in patience, and as I’d feared our phantom beef salad was on it. The harried waiter told us he’d never seen so many people in the restaurant at once and they’d had “six times as many customers than usual.” I’m not sure what to make of that. It is a large space but you would think they would be equipped to handle the room if it actually filled up. I mean, that’s the size they made the restaurant.

Taking nearly two-and-a-half hours from sit down to departure, it was one of the longest simple meals I’ve ever experienced. And the poor timing bit me in the ass the entire sweaty, grueling ride home. Once a night begins to go out of whack, the rest of the evening tends to follow suit. Did I upset some cosmic balance? Every single subway was pulling away the second we got to the platform. We missed the 4 by seconds, then the 6 took off instead of waiting for transfers at Union Square and the clincher was the F at Broadway Lafayette shutting its doors when I was only a foot away.

I don’t think I will be spending an hour traveling to try Cambodian food any time soon (I might cave and try Kampuchea, though, especially since I hate creating a category with only one thing in it–it's the librarian in me). But I wouldn’t want to discourage anyone who happens to live in the immediate area from giving them a chance. Maybe this Friday was an unfortunate fluke and I would love to be proven wrong.

Cambodian Cuisine * 1664 Third Ave., New York, NY

Zabb Thai

1/2 “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” was all I could spit out while approaching Roosevelt Avenue. Even from a block away I was getting an unpleasant eyeful of at least 40 diners-to-be swarming the sidewalk in front of Sripraphai. Seriously?
I know the place’s popularity seems to grow exponentially each year and that you get what you’re asking for on a Saturday night even on a holiday weekend, but no, I wasn’t buying the insanity. It’s not Sripraphai’s problem that they’ve become such a success but I can’t tolerate the hour waiting thing even for my most favorite salad in the world (next to Resto’s crispy pig’s ear). I felt tired and defeated without even stepping into the fray.
Quick plan B: Zabb just down the road. No crowd, and in their favor they keep late night hours and are BYOB (which I didn’t realize until we’d already sat down). Curries aren’t their strength, as the focus is more Northern Thai, but fiery herby salads and stir-fries are good too.

Moo dad. I was thinking these would be crispy like skin-on pork belly in little chunks, but these pork strips were breaded and fried and served with chile sauce. This could’ve been heavy and greasy a la chicken fried steak but the coating was light and the meat was juicy. And I really liked that we got a full container of the sauce with our leftovers. I’m always disappointed when I bring home uneaten steak from Argentine parrillas and there’s no chimichurri included in the bag.

I always mean to order the catfish mango salad at Sripraphai but can never forgo the crispy watercress, it’s a catch 22. I love how the fish has been fried unrecognizably into fluff. I once made this at home a million years ago. Getting the catfish into this state wasn’t the hard part—it was shredding the mango properly. I need a tool like this. Crisp, salty and fatty hit with sweet fruit and rich cashews? I love that combination.


No, this duck salad wasn’t a replacement for my beloved awesomely rich duck, eggplant and bamboo shoot curry. The flavors were all there, maybe I just wanted those particular vegetables mixed with the poultry.

We weren’t asked about spice levels and forgot to make any mention. The chicken larb was the only dish that seemed too mild.
I have zero business sense but judging from the freak show in front of Sripraphai there is clearly a market for authentic Thai food for non-Thais. And even though there’s a glut of so-so Thai already in my neighborhood, that would be my target area. If I knew how to open a restaurant and import cooks from Thailand I would channel my inner Chodorow and make it happen.
Which reminds me, I’m 99% sure I’m going to Thailand later this year. I’d been planning on Malaysia but had my mind changed at the last minute. Why not Thailand? At least I that’s what I thought until all hell broke loose this week. But I went to Singapore during the SARS scare, particularly because the flight was dirt cheap. Maybe I can work this civil unrest thing to my financial advantage. Ha, there's always the free food for protesters angle. (8/30/08)

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