Skip to content

Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Las Ramblas

Tapas are tricky. I love the little morsels, but I'm averse to the little rooms that usually go along with the package. It's not like I'm accustomed to large open spaces in NYC, but tapas in particular seem synonymous with long waits and being squished. Um, and I have my own issues with bar stools: one, my balance is horrendous, I feel like I'm going to topple over, and two, I have a fat ass, at least fat enough to mush over the sides of many stools' tiny circular tops.

I shied away from Tia Pol for ages because I thought it would be a nightmare, and it wasn't at all. Las Ramblas is more how I envisioned Tia Pol to be, if that makes any sense. Not a nightmare by any means, but bedroom-sized with a handful of nearly touching tables. When I arrived there were actually two spots open, but they wouldn't seat me without my dining companion so I waited the four-stooled bar. Of course, the place filled up in mere minutes and when James showed up we just ate at the bar because there was no telling if anyone was ever going to leave (we were asked if we wanted an open table about half way through, but we were already established where we were).

We didn't go wild with ordering, just four items, and pretty basic ones at that. Everything was likeable, but perhaps a notch below the dishes we had at Tia Pol (I'm only using them for comparison because it's the most recent tapas experience I've had, though it wasn't all that recent).

Ramblasshrimp
Simple gambas. There was something almost Caribbean about the preparation. Instead of simply sliced garlic, it was like they'd used a sofrito.

Ramblaspatatas
I'm scared of mayonnaise but love patatas bravas. And I never thought I'd say this, but these potatoes could've actually used a touch more aioli.

Ramblasmeatballs
Albondigas, plain and simple.

Ramblascheese
Serrano and idiazabal. I could eat this ham and cheese all day.

Las Ramblas * 170 W. 4th St., New York, NY

The Good Fork

I didn't go in expecting my socks to get knocked off–I just wanted to try a new nearby restaurant, hype, be damned–and well, my socks are still on. Not to say there was anything amiss with my food. I wanted it to be more distinctive. I think a lot of the appeal of places like The Good Fork stems from the quirk and trek factor. The same attention probably wouldn't be paid to a similar eatery in say, the West Village.

Forksalad I started with a glass of Malbec and a salad of bitter greens, cubed beets and an apple-potato latke type wedge, topped with goat cheese. These are the types of salads I enjoy, yet never make at home because there are too many components for my weeknight patience. Then I moved on to the roast chicken, which I know is usually the most boring thing on the menu, but I'd been eating pork all week thanks to Easter leftovers, and it was so hot out I didn't feel I should eat go too meaty.

The mashed potatoes seemed awfully sweet, and now I realize they were pureed with parsnips. Very nice with the carmelized, braised leeks. The black bean sauce was a touch salty, but it did punch up a potentially bland dish. The chicken was chicken, despite being from Cloonshee Farms. I'm sure if you put a plainly prepared Tyson drumstick and a free range hormone-less leg in front of me, I'd be able to detect a difference in flavor, but frequently fresh, organic meat is lost on me.

Forkchicken Surprisingly, we were seated promptly at 8pm. I got a little nervous when asked if we had reservations. The thought had crossed my mind, but I didn't call ahead out of principle–um, which principle, I'm not sure. Maybe the neighborhood joint principle. The staff seemed a little frenzied, though everyone was pleasant and accommodating. There was a slight insidery vibe, which is only to say that the host (owner?) seemed to know everyone. Maybe I'm just jealous because I'm not a regular even at places I go regularly.

$74 was a touch more than I'd typically spend on a Thursday night dinner for two, and I don't mean that in a Brooklyn should be cheaper than Manhattan way. People get up in arms if you complain about prices in the outer boroughs. I'm just thrifty. I wouldn't say The Good Fork is a prime destination spot (at least not yet–hasn't Red Hook been on the verge for the last decade? Who knows Fairway and Ikea will bring to the mix) but it is a nice option if you live in the general environs and are sick of the Smith St. offerings.

The Good Fork 391 Van Brunt St., Brooklyn, NY

davidburke & donatella

I'm more of a fast food salad luncher, but in a perfect world I could do a two-hour fine dining meal on a daily basis. The $24 d&d price fixe is a pretty amazing value. Unfortunately, the circumstances completely distracted from any joy I might've derived from an otherwise swank meal. As they say, there's no such thing as a free lunch. I knew that when my department's director asked my supervisor and me to lunch that it wasn't for leisure's sake. Let's just say that this is the most disgruntling office I've ever worked in, and leave it at that.

I certainly didn't take any food photos during this business-esque meeting, though the presentation would've warranted it. Initially, you're presented with popovers in adorable individual copper pans. I chose the lobster bisque with green apple essence ($15 alone at dinner) as my first course, which comes in a deep bowl with a long cylindrical lobster-filled egg roll laid across the top. The crisp skinny tube is designed to look like a firecracker with a little fuse sticking out one end that would be a mistake to eat.

Their market salad was speckled with shrimp, chicken, goat cheese, Asian pear, walnuts and bacon. I lost interest about 3/4 of the way through, the precise moment when the serious talking began. I didn't even finish the damn thing, which isn't like me at all. I was able to eat most of my generously portioned caramelized apple tart. One glass of Riesling was hardly enough to get me through this afternoon annoyance.

davidburke & donatella * E. 61st St., New York, NY

East Ocean

1/2 Despite working in the E. 50s for over three months now, I still haven't settled into a smooth lunch routine. And I'm still a bit disgruntled at the area's offerings.

While hardly amazing, I will make the half-block journey to East Ocean maybe once a week. They have one of those point and pick deals where you get rice plus two choices and a soda for $5.95. You don't have to get fried rice and fatty battered meat (though you certainly could–I'm just trying to say that cheap steam table Chinese isn't all unhealthy) They have things like simple greens in oyster sauce or lotus root stir fry, and most importantly, they have cans of seltzer. I have fits when you get a free drink, but it has to be a can, therefore a soda. I just want water (not out of health–I just don't like soda) and it seems cruel that water costs more than carbonated corn syrup. Silly as it is, including seltzer as a free drink option, boosts my opinion of East Ocean up a notch or two.

Eastocean
Here's an all-brown meal I got the other day. One entre is pork belly, the other is a bizarre combination of taro cubes and short ribs. I try to eat light lunches (primarily to justify eating hearty dinners) but some days you're just starving and need a meaty/starchy boost.
East Ocean * 159 E. 55th St., New York, NY

Lazy Catfish

There's a bizarre scene lurking in Williamsburg, and it involves Asians slinging southern food for hipsters. Well, primarily neighborhood residents, but the back room, where a friend threw a party, was also serving as a celebratory space for two other groups, both Asian (I don't know which ethnicity, though I'm leaning towards Chinese).

While service was sweet when we could flag it down, it was scattershot, to say the least. Menus were tough to get a hold of, we ultimately wrote down our orders on a piece of notebook paper to aid the lone waitress (I thought that was odd and it totally wasn't my idea) and the food arrived in starts and fits.

Actually, I was the one who started throwing a fit. It's unwise to drink excessively on an empty stomach, but I wasn't slamming beers by any means. The fact that I was on my third drink and still food-less was a testament to their pace rather than mine. What would be the odds that out of 13 people, I'd be the 13th served? (At last Christmas's gift exchange I also drew 13 out of 13 numbers–so I think I'm just lucky.)

By the time my simple bbq chicken with marshmallow topped yams and mini corn on the cob appeared, half the table was already finished eating and I was sloshed and disgruntled. Fortunately, they happened to have one of my favorite foods in the world on the menu, cheese wontons, a.k.a. crab rangoon! Awesome, yet not quite awesome enough to salvage the meal.

The food was really neither here nor there. It wasn't wretched, but reminded me of what you'd probably get in Hong Kong. Not that I experienced that first hand–I steered clear of anything Southern or Mexican when on vacation. They do have a Tony Roma's in HK (which I realize isn't quite Southern, but it's ribby, saucy and American).

I did perk up a bit when the karaoke kicked in, alas; it was time to move on to a new venue. They did give out free cake and a cocktail for the birthday girl, nice touches, but all in all it was a bit of a freak show. That's why I don't attempt large birthday dinners.

Lazy Catfish * 593 Lorimer St., Brooklyn, NY

Hornado Ecuatoriano

I don't think I've ever met a plate of roast pork I didn't like. Lechon, hornado, whatever you call it. Rich, fatty meat and nice crme brulee-crisp skin topping. It's nothing fancy (and certainly nothing healthy) but it's one of my favorite things. Maybe it's because I've never been able to reproduce the moist-crunchy masterpiece at home. And it's for the best, or I'd be digging an early porcine grave.

When I end up on Roosevelt Ave., eating is a must. The tough question is Asian or Latin American? I could easily go either way, but my two top choices along that strip would be Thai or Filipino.

Hornado I never know if it's a language issue or if I'm just hard to understand, though I got what I came for. English isn't really spoken and most of the menu isn't translated, so you kind of have to know what you want (or speak Spanish, duh). James got all weird and randomly ordered arroz con pollo, which I wouldn't do at an Ecuadorian restaurant. The massive chewy yellow rice had bits of chicken strewn through out and a sweet fried plantain draped across the oval dish. He wasn't thrilled, but it's not my fault he ordered poorly.

Me, I had a nice heap of pork, generous pile of white hominy and two little arepas with a side salad that was tasty enough to not completely ignore. This food is filling to say the least. And they say Americans are corn crazy. I love hominy, maybe more than corn. It's chewy and more satisfying on the teeth you can really bite into it. I didn't get one of the fruity batidos that seemed to be on every table (there were a few pitchers of sangria being consumed, as well) though they did look refreshing.

Hornado Ecuatoriano * 76-18 Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights, NY

Beast

1/2 Though hardly far away (maybe twelve minutes by car), Prospect Heights feels a little like a trek. I only ever head that direction to occasionally hit the Target, which I usually eschew in favor of the nicer Elmhurst location, anyway. I liked the idea of Beast, a pubby, neighborhood tapas place, but have never been inclined to pay a visit (I was supposed to go to a birthday party there maybe six months ago, but that afternoon our tire got punctured and blew. And yes, I realize there's such a thing as public transportation in Brooklyn, but this was a celebration thrown by people I barely knew, hence the lack of extra effort. It's tough going east-west).

Maybe it was an off night. (For me, I mean. I was feeling hot and cranky for inexplicable reasons. I don't like spring, I guess.) There's something off-kilter about Beast. I felt unsettled, even after two pints of beer. I can't put my finger on it. I'm not sure if it's the service, the clientele, the atmosphere or what. But most importantly, it seemed like the food had no taste. I can barely even recall what I ate beyond the main ingredient.

We ordered escarole that was studded with pine nuts and raisins. All I can remember is soupiness. There were also cocoa-dusted venison skewers, but all that's coming to mind is meat cubes and grapes on a stick. They rested on beds of something–red cabbage sauerkraut? Sweet potatoes? There was a purple patch and an orange one. James thought the mussels had gone off, I thought they were ok, but strongly flavored. The winey, buttery, tomato tinged broth was the most flavorful thing we tried. It was perfect for dipping crusty bread into.

Oh, the sticky toffee pudding was a late showing highlight. It's nice to find a warm dessert that's not chocolately, oozing and molten.

Beast * 638 Bergen St., Brooklyn, NY

Yuva

I usually just go along with what everyone suggests for business type coworker lunches (which are very, very rare in my world) because I'm very grin and bear it (I hate that phrase and have used it enough as a joke that it's starting to permeate my normal conversation) in the workplace. But this time I was saddled with choosing the restaurant, wasn't in the best of spirits, so wanted to make sure I got to eat something I actually wanted. (I really didn't care if no one else wanted Indian food, because I wasn't about to slough through an overpriced chicken caesar salad with dressing on the side.) I'd intended on trying Yuva for dinner for a few weeks, but because it's only three blocks from the office it never made sense for anyone to come up to midtown just to meet me for an evening meal.

Normally, I wouldn't dip into the teens for lunch, but since it wasn't coming out of my pocket the prices seemed reasonable. The quality and presentation was much higher than you'd expect from a run of the mill midtown Indian place. The decor is subtle and leaning towards neutral.

I wish I'd had my camera (though I would've been reluctant to whip it out in front of my new-ish boss and colleague) because the nine three-by-three chutneys and sauces that were brought out on a square platter, were amazingly hued. Brilliant greens, sunshiney oranges, raisin browns, and flavored with green peppers, mangos, mint, yogurt, and obviously more. I felt bad not being able to try them all. Work lunches are never really about enjoying the food, are they?

I chose the chicken tikka masala, which comes with a bowl of rice and dal, each in small round white bowls that are more like coffee cups without handles. They were set atop individual square plates, which rested on a larger square plate like the chutneys had been. The clean geometry and pale monochrome tones elevated the food. It's likely you'd detect a higher degree of care by taste alone, but the impression gained from a meal served on ceramic rather than in Styrofoam is obviously higher. Getting take out, which you can here, might feel different.

You're given a choice of soup or salad, but being ladies we all chose the salad. I was curious what the soup was. We were also given grilled yogurt chicken wings and onion kulcha on the house. What I think was kheer, a cardamom laced rice pudding, came unexpectedly at the end. It was a bit much for an afternoon workday meal. The funny thing is that one of the coworkers in attendance, happens to live up the street, and ended up bringing her girlfriend to Yuva later that day for dinner Eating two meals at the same restaurant, hours apart, by choice is pretty indicative of its allure.

Yuva * 230 E. 58th St., New York, NY

Mug’s Ale House

Mug's is weird because it exists with such little fanfare, kind of like nearby Teddy's. I'd almost forgotten about Mug's, myself, until I was at relatively nearby Western Beef on a weeknight and dying for a cheeseburger. Yes, there's the respectable DuMont Burger, but I wasn't feeling up to the woody, zen smallness of the whole thing. I wanted noise, beer and space. The kind of place you should be able to smoke in, but can't.

I hadn't been to Mug's in nearly eight years, which is a frightening fact. Not because the establishment is any great shakes, but because Mug's is where the near strangers I stayed with when I first moved to NYC used to hang out (which seems odd now). I associate it with the scared but eager greenhorn me, which honestly doesn't feel like eight years ago. Now I'm more scared and anxious and jaded, and strangely, the only person who's remained in the city from that crew of people. I don't know if that's because I'm resilient or dumb.

But the food…yes, it was fine. No brioche or gruyere or parsley sprinkled frites. The burger and fries are standard burger and fries, just what I'd been craving. Maybe I'll go back again in another eight years, if I'm still in NYC when I'm 41. Jesus, just typing that number makes me feel nervous. See you in 2014, Mug's.

Mug's Ale House * 125 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Saigon Banh Mi So 1

I went a little sandwich crazy this Saturday. In less than thirty minutes I purchased a bocadillo from Despaña and two banh mi from this place. It was a bready Broome St. kind of afternoon.

Living in Sunset Park for a decent spell, Ba Xuyen has always been my go to spot. I think I've only tried So 1 once or twice, and years ago. I'd forgotten how many choices they had and how vegetarian friendly (lots of fake meat, gluten stuff) their banh mis can be. I was intrigued by a handwritten sign advertising chicken curry banh mi, but went with the classic, which is almost always a #1.

It's hard not to compare the Brooklyn and Manhattan sandwiches. Both are from the upper echelon of Saigon subs, but I'm partial to the Sunset Park style. I could be totally wrong, but Ba Xuyen's bread seems crispier, while So 1 has a softer style, more like an Italian roll. So 1 also uses more sausage, which I think is liberally laced with five-spice powder. Not a bad flavor, but it gives the sandwich an overall Chinese-y flair.

Like when I was in Hong Kong, certain stores just smelled Chinese, which I finally deduced meant five-spice powder to my senses. Much of Malaysia smelled, well, Malaysian. You'd be in a mall, walk past a store and get a whiff of Malaysia that I ultimately narrowed down to being toasted shrimp paste. I'm not sure what Vietnamese smells like–maybe lemongrass? Fish sauce, too, I guess. Nuoc cham?

Maybe it was just luck of the draw, but this banh mi had cilantro that was all stem, no leaf. I hate to admit that I have a stem phobia because it's very childish. But I've gotten much better, now I'll eat romaine no problem when ten years ago I'd nibble around the ribs. I'm a low maintenance eater, I swear, but there's something unsettling about biting into a wad of stems, not severing them neatly with your incisors, and then pulling the thin green stalks out of the sandwich with your mouth as you start to put the sandwich down.

Despite all my nitpicking, So1 still makes one of the better banh mis in Manhattan. If only the much revered banh mi would start popping up in midtown, all my problems would be solved. But you know they'd cost $7 and somehow manage to be pressed like a panini. (3/18/06)

Saigon Banh Mi So 1 * 369 Broome St., New York, NY