Posts from the ‘Shovel Time’ Category

Jun 29

Frankies 457

Just yesterday I was talking with coworkers about my dislike of Italian-American food. I don’t even know how we got on the topic (oh, yes I do—July is national hot dog month and well, hot dogs are one of the only things in the world I don’t like to eat, along with melon and Italian-American food) but I don’t want to be known as a food snob so I was trying to temper my words. I had no idea that eight hours later I would be sitting down to a plate of pasta. Eating my words, literally.
It’s the heavy starch, cloying tomato sauce and glut of cheese that bothers me. Ground beef rolled into balls doesn’t help matters. As long as these components remain absent, I’m fine.
My friend Jessica had just started taking Spanish classes around the corner from my apartment (I should really get a referral bonus—this is the second pal who has taken up lessons) so I had a new Friday night dining companion. The thing is that I don’t eat much in my immediate neighborhood (though it would seem so based on recent write ups). I drew a blank on vegetarian-friendly venues.
I wondered if Frankies was still a pain to get into. I hadn’t been back since they opened in 2004, mostly because I’m bothered by crowds. Time has passed, and it turns out that you’ll still be quoted a 30-40 minute wait at 10:30 pm on a Friday. There were empty tables, too. We tried not to take it personally and enjoyed a glass of Torrontes at the backyard bar/waiting area they’ve set up on a driveway.

Normally, I would’ve picked out salumi but it’s not right eating a plate a cured meat by yourself. Instead, we chose three cheeses to share: a dry Pecorino, Pepato, a semi-soft sheep’s milk cheese studded with whole peppercorns and a creamy Tallegio. The walnuts and honey were a nice touch.

When I said I hated pasta that didn’t necessarily mean light handmade pasta, the airy kind that almost falls apart when bitten. I was going to take half of the cavatelli and hot sausage home, but next thing I knew 75% was already gone. It’s the sage butter that drew me in. I do have to say that the cavatelli kind of resembled sago worms, the kind of grub that takes some getting used to. (6/27/08)

Jun 28

Casa Cruz

I was inclined to pass up Casa Cruz, even though magazines and guidebooks love it and it was close enough to our apartment that I could wear heels without suffering. All the descriptions put me off, especially the notion of giant gold entrance doors (not actual gold, duh—I took a photo upon leaving but it was too dark and blurry). I was picturing cold Meatpacking district, but it was more plush Vegas. The scale of everything—those doors, towering floral arrangements, well-spaced seating—was grand. Trump would feel cozy here.

I didn’t encounter cocktails so much in Buenos Aires so I was intrigued by their list containing classics and unique specialties. No matter that The Cruz cost as much as a steak in nearby restaurants. ($10 give or take). I wanted to try something with Chartreuse since you don’t see it used as a mixer that often. The result was stiff, bitter and fitting for an aperitif.

This was the only restaurant we visited that had a sommelier, not that I tend to use them because I don’t like relying on humans. We chose a Torrontes, a crisp local white that I know little about and am trying to figure out. It definitely doesn’t have the same name recognition as Malbec.

I wish I could remember more about this amuse other than it tasted like Parmesan cheese.

Guidebooks list Casa Cruz as Italian, which isn't really true at all. I'm not sure what cuisine this is. Many of the ingredient combinations sounded wretched (Lisa’s peanut butter mashed potatoes on Top Chef immediately came to mind) but worked on the plate. You’ll see (at least hazily—mood lighting is death for furtive flashless pics).

black pudding * figs * scallops * sprouts salad * almonds…

I’m mimicking how dishes were listed on the menu, don’t blame the pretension on me. English descriptions were on the left hand side and Spanish on the right, which was interesting for comparison. I don’t think the average American knows what black pudding is or wants to know, and would probably be more inclined to order morcilla since it sounds nicer. Of course, I ordered it because I love blood sausage.

The almonds, and even the figs made sense, sweet/savory and kind of Spanish. It was the scallops that seemed weird. They didn’t clash with the rich charcuterie at all, though.

grilled shrimps * potato and pear warm salad * shrimp nage

I’m a control freak and don’t like to let James take his own photos because they tend to come out as blurred as a palsied photographer’s. He also doesn’t get close enough. I didn’t taste this dish.

white risotto * truffle oil * duck confit * pickled mango * portobello mushrooms

I never ever order pastas or risottos. The ingredient combination must’ve grabbed my attention, the pickled fruit specifically. Garlic and truffle oil dominated a bit, but only a bit because this dish was sumptious on all levels. It’s not like you can play down cream and duck confit. It seems odd to be recounting this item now when it’s a gazillion degrees outside and the thought of this makes my stomach hurt, but it made sense for fall weather when I was craving something substantial.

red tuna * chimichurri * bone marrow * raspberries * potatoes

Raspberries are obviously the odd man out in this combination. James insisted that the fruit was absent and I can't detect any hint of it in this photo either.

This was a basil tomato granita. I guess that's Italian.

corn crème brulee * black currant * dulce de leche * cinnamon sugar

This was a take on crema Catalan, a flatter, spread out Spanish crème brulee. The sweet corn kind of gave a rice pudding effect while the dulce de leche didn’t register at all. I was really hoping for more caramel flavor.

I expected more scene than substance from Casa Cruz and was wrong. The setting felt luxurious without being stuffy and the food was genuinely good. Of course my perception might be clouded by the amazing exchange rate and foreign locale. I wouldn’t like this restaurant in NYC at all. It just wouldn’t work.

At the very least, I was happy for the chance to wear my new cute/tacky Target earrings with laser cut lions (I'm a leo, I can't help it). I don’t normally wear much, if any, jewelry, and never gold-toned, so these might’ve languished in a drawer for months. Thank you, Casa Cruz for the opportunity.

Casa Cruz * Buenos Aries, Argentina

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Jun 27

Guerrin

This is definitely not New York pizza. Just look at all that cheese. I only had time to try pizza once in Buenos Aires and consequently chose what I thought was the most common style: Pizza a la piedra. Pizza a la parrilla, grilled, thin crusted (and probably most to my liking) and pizza al molde, a deep dish pie, can also be found in the city.

Guerrin sells slices up front where diners stand at counters. Table seating is beyond the fray in the back of the restaurant. The multi-paged menu you’re handed lists a ridiculous number of combinations categorized by headings, some which mystified me. Roquefort had its own section, and yes, all the pizzas beneath it contained blue cheese.

The most common toppings consist of green olives (whole with pits, which are tricky to eat), morrones (red peppers) and faina, a thin chickpea cake that people just plop on top of their slices. I purchased a lovely product called Fugafaina, which I'm assuming is the chickpea flour used to make these garbanzo bean delicacies.

This is the Especial Guerrin with ham, red peppers, and those tricky green olives. The brininess and the generous cheese really get to you and demand pacing. There’s nothing dainty about these pizzas. I think Americans would really dig Argentinean-style pizza. In fact, Americans would like Argentinean cuisine across the board if they knew more about it. We have a lot in common with this meat and potatoes loving culture.

I ordered one whose name I can’t recall. This used red peppers and ham, as well as a ton of sliced onions. You had better like those onions. A generous sprinkling of oregano spruced up the pizzas.

We ordered two smalls, but really should’ve just shared one. I was inclined to just leave our leftover four slices but our waiter insisted in wrapping them to go. As I’ve mentioned before, I appreciated Buenos Aires’s no food wasting spirit. I’m a glutton but that doesn’t mean I have an insatiable appetite.

Guerrin * Corrientes 1368, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Jun 26

Lucky Mojo

3/4 Cajun, Tex-Mex, bbq and sushi? Sounds like kitchen nightmare waiting to happen. The cuisine at Lucky Mojo is about as convoluted as the restaurant’s history. This cavernous bi-level, barn-like space is the current incarnation of the now-shuttered Upper West Side Jacques-Imo’s, which was an offshoot of a popular New Orleans restaurant.

I liked my meal on a visit to Louisiana some time ago, never heard anything good about the NYC version and was even more scared of this Long Island City mishmash. It’s not the kind of place you go out of your way for, but if the urge for sushi and etoufee strikes while you’re at the Water Taxi Beach, Lucky Mojo is your place.

There’s a full on sushi bar upstairs, which churns out standard rolls in addition to specialties like this one using crawfish and Tabasco.

I was not weirded out by the shrimp and alligator cheesecake because it’s a Jacques-Imo’s signature that I’ve had before. It only sounds creepy because they call it a cheesecake, which it is–oh, and because alligator meat doesn’t sit well with some. The alligator is in sausage form and with all of the cream and spices you would have no idea you were eating a water reptile unless someone told you. No, this is not healthy food but split among four it was reasonable.

Bbq shrimp is another frighteningly rich New Orleans dish that has nothing to do with barbecue sauce or grilling. I’ve had a wonderful rendition of this buttery, Worcestershire and black pepper drenched treat, and this didn’t quite match. The rice was on the undercooked side, too. And they forgot my side of collard greens.

I did not taste this shrimp po boy.

Nor the catfish sandwich.

Vegetarian taco. What more needs to be said?

As we finished our meal, my dining companions and I began discussing a movie we were about to watch, The Great Happiness Space: Tale of an Osaka Love Thief, about gender reversal host bars where young Japanese women pay good money for the attention of hired men. The Japanese propensity for fantasy indulging and role-playing gave us a brilliant idea: Beta Kappa McPaddysteins.

This would be a faux frat house where Japanese girls would shell out big bucks for a simulated American-style date rape experience. Don’t worry, no sex would actually occur, this would be a professional establishment. First, our patrons would be serenaded by Dave Mathews and sloppily wooed by gentleman in cargo shorts, flip flops and baseball caps. Beer pong would be played and jello shots would be in abundance. Good clean fun, a little cosplay never hurt anyone.

Huh, and then our waiter broke up our genius business plan when he stopped by with a tray of shots. Did he overhear? Did he want in on the action? No way, mister, Beta Kappa McPaddysteins is all mine.

Read my less date rapey take on Lucky Mojo for Nymag.com

Lucky Mojo * Long Island City, NY

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Jun 25

Viva

It’s a shame that the only passable Mexican restaurant in South Brooklyn shuttered last year, but I must admit that I always turned to other neighborhoods when in need of a taco so I wasn’t exactly a El Huipil loyalist. (I also just noticed that I only gave them 1.5 shovel, which was kind of harsh. Maybe I've grown into a softie because now I tend to give even mediocre places 2 shovels.)

Now the space houses Viva, more in a Tex-Mex vein. I’m inclined to think that the new proprietors aren’t Mexican—black beans and yellow rice feel more Caribbean and the back page of the menu lists “Latin” food—but I’m hardly an ethnicity detective. And it’s not like the clientele, seemingly made up of non-Hispanic families with lots of kids and locals looking for cheap takeout, care who’s cooking their chimichanga. The fact that we had to ask for salsa, suspiciously absent from the table, was also telling.

I’ve been exploring western Carroll Gardens and Red Hook a lot lately. I like the area and I’m frequently too lazy to leave 11231. We wanted to drive by the Ikea (and peek at an overpriced house for sale on Van Brunt Street) and get the crap scared out of us. There’s no way I was setting foot on the property opening weekend, but we wanted to witness some mayhem. The parking lot had filled and cars were backed up in all directions despite traffic cops. On the short drive from our apartment to Ikea we witnessed I don’t know how many wrong turns down one-way streets, general scared confusion and pleas for directions.
I’m not anti-car, obviously, but people shouldn’t be allowed on the road if they have absolutely no idea where they are, where they’re going or how to follow signs. I thought everyone had GPSs and we were just too cheap to spring for modern navigation devices. And that was just outside. Poor drivers make even worse pedestrians so I can only imagine the trouble inside those blue and yellow walls.

I perked back up after seeing the handwritten “$1.99 margarita with entrée” scrawled on Viva’s brief paper menu. This turned out to be a strong drink (yes, I equate strong with good). I prefer my beverages on the rocks rather than blended, which wasn’t an option, but apparently frozen cocktails are now all the rage so they were ahead of the curve.

Chicken enchiladas were perfectly adequate, no complaints. However, I’m not sure why the waitress warned me that they come topped with melted cheese. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Clearly, there have been lactose-adverse complainers in the past. The one thing I’ve never understood about Tex-Mex restaurants–at least in the North because I’ve never been to Texas–is why filling choices are usually limited to chicken, ground beef and cheese. Where’s the pork?

Viva * 116 Sullivan St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jun 24

Cumaná

1/2 Not all Argentinean food revolves around steak and pasta. In fact, there are quite a few regional specialties that I wish I had more time to learn about. Cumaná serves food from the northern part of the country and standouts include empanadas and hearty casseroles dubbed cazuelas for the clay vessels they’re cooked in. I don’t know that you’d want to eat heavy, steaming bowls meat and legumes in the middle of summer, but this was perfect for June sweater weather.

This was the only restaurant other than La Cabrera where we had to wait for a table, about 20 minutes around 1pm on a weekday. It’s clearly popular, the tables are a little squished and I guess it’s noisy, all par for the course here in NYC. (The dreamer/hipster guy who worked for our apartment management company and who was fixated on showing us camera phone photos of his restored Fiat and describing a fantasy wine bar he wanted to open, told us he lives right near Cumaná but doesn’t go because it’s too loud. He also won’t visit NYC because he likes “everything to be perfect.” He was totally a Williamsburg boyfriend; seemingly easygoing, slacker on the surface, and it’s all a façade hiding how fussy and high-maintenance they truly are.)

We started with empanadas, and once again had the portion perception problem. I only ordered two fearing they might be gigantic. They weren’t. And lots of tables had big piles being served to them on circular wooden trays.

Argentinean empanadas are baked, so it didn’t feel as unhealthy as the greasy crescents you find in these parts. We split a lomo picante, chopped beef that unsurprisingly was not spicy at all, and another containing calabaza, corn and white cheese, which was sweet though not dessert sweet. They were thin and charred like mini-calzones (which was a separate menu item—I would’ve been curious to see the difference).

I have a decent Spanish food vocabulary though I hardly know every ingredient. I knew I wanted locro, a classic stew of corn, squash and meaty bits but I couldn’t decipher every cazuela listed. I was fairly certain mondongo featured tripe, a soup I associate more with the Caribbean than South America. Who knew?

Locro seemed a bit dull on paper—I can be biased against seemingly simple food—which wasn’t the truth in person. The kernels turned out to be hominy, which I love and small chunks of smoked pork permeated the stew.

James was hemming and hawing over lentejas, which he thought might be lentils but worried that it could be liver. I could think of the words for kidneys, hearts, intestines, sweetbreads, tongue and brain but was blank on liver. Hígado, as it turns out, so lentejas were beans and not offal.

We were brought grated parmesan and I’m not sure if it was intended for a particular dish or if aged cheese is appropriate for everything. This is the stuff you don’t think about when eating unfamiliar food. I expect to be stymied by condiments and proper eating procedures in Asia, but it’s not something I counted on happening in Argentina.

Cumaná * Rodríguez Peña 1149, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Jun 23

El Trapiche

I was hesitant to stray from steak, but I’d gotten it into my head that matambrito, something mysterious and porky, was the thing to order at El Trapiche. I’d read it in more than one place and it was advertised on a board posted outside the front door. It must be true.

I’ll admit that I wasn’t fully sure what matambrito was. I’m still not sure. I thought it would be a big solid edible object, possibly like a miniaturized matambre (stuffed flank steak).

There were at least three different versions of matambrito on the giant menu. We picked matambrito al verdeo mainly because that was the one advertised outside, and figured it would have to have some sort of green component. That was as good as I could come up with.

And it was fairly accurate; the green came from scallions. The pork appeared to have been grilled, sliced and sauced, not cooked in the liquid, which kept the crispiness and smoky qualities intact. It was a perfectly likeable dish, yet there was something about it that felt just slightly Chinese even with roasted potatoes instead of rice. We referred to our leftovers we carried around the rest of the night as Chinese food.

We started with jamon crudo. Why not double up on the pork intake? We also drank a bottle of Trapiche Malbec, a bodega that has no relation to the restaurant.

Amusingly, after dinner we walked past a Chinese restaurant, Yan Kie, on our way to Acabar for a drink (where I was baffled by their playing Best of The Cure followed by Best of Paul McCartney and 1:30am closing when I wasn’t ready to call it a night yet). If I had more than a week to burn in Buenos Aires I might’ve eventually broken down and tried arrolladitos primaveras and cerdo saltado con salsa agripicante, which I’m guessing are spring rolls and sweet and sour pork.

El Trapiche * Paraguay 5099, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Jun 20

Don Julio

Steak for dinner is logical. It’s even an appropriate breakfast partner for eggs. But somehow steak just doesn’t seem like a lunch food. I quickly got over my narrow minded thinking, though.

Don Julio was intended as full-blown dinner destination the night before but after walking all day I was too burnt out to walk the 25 minutes or so to get there (we went to El Trapiche instead). I couldn’t let this parrilla slip of my schedule completely.

I started feeling uncomfortable about the lack of vegetables being ingested in vacation so we ordered an arugula salad. Well, it came with a shitload of provolone and sun-dried tomatoes, so no, not terribly healthy. We were brought olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a tiny pitcher of lemon juice to craft our own dressing. This seemed to be commonplace in the city. I was just going to mention how you never see crap like thousand island dressing, but I take that back. There’s a popular condiment called “golf sauce” served with things like hearts of palm and avocados and it’s totally mixed mayonnaise and ketchup.

Being the middle of the afternoon we split an ojo de bife, we didn’t want to get bogged down, but frankly we could’ve easily eaten one each no problem. There’s definitely a problem with sizing consistency in Buenos Aires. We never knew if we were over or under ordering. If you’ve been following along, the first ojo de bife we ordered could’ve served six.

This is the amount of fat I like on my steaks. Is that wrong? It’s kind of a different beast than the NYC Peter Luger (no S on the end of I’ll gouge you with a dull steak knife) porterhouse standard. I didn’t encounter much bone-in meat, but that’s probably due to my ordering. I really shouldn’t reminisce about food like this while eating. I was totally fine with my tilapia and blue berries (on the side, not together) until I started thinking about charred edges and grilled smokiness.

Chinchulines (intestines) were mine, and mine only. This was a half order and it was plenty. I would’ve loved to sample a whole range of offal: sweetbreads, kidneys, tripe and so on, but that’s just not doable without a crowd joining in. I honestly don’t find organs offputting. These weren’t tough, just chewy with a bit of snappy bite and a creamy texture. These are not the same type of long, skinny intestines you get a parrillas in NYC.

This is the first place where we received condiments: chimichurri and a chunky onion one. I’m still not clear on when they crack out the chimichurri. In my brief experience, it seemed that we only got the herby sauce when we ordered meat in addition to steak. Things like innards or sausages.

Don Julio * Guatemala 4691, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Jun 20

Grand Sichuan House

I’m not sure how I managed end up with spice-less food at Grand Sichuan House. I was having an off night, not them, and ordered strangely. I’ve been here more times than I’ve documented (and wrote a review for Nymag.com) and on my last visit enjoyed Chongqing chicken and beef with cumin, both spicy.

This time I fell back on pork with leeks (or garlic chives as I think the menu says) because it’s essentially stir-fried bacon and that’s irresistible. I also ordered the duck with string beans because I was curious. It’s really the same as any Sichuan string bean dish but with a less typical meat. They certainly present it prettily. But I needed a dish that contrasted more with the pork.
We also had eggplant, which is rich and garlicky but not spicy. The vegetable doesn’t have to be fiery but it didn’t help balance anything. One of these days I’ll order the loofah just to see what one of those sponges tastes like before its all dried out.
At least the wontons had heat from the chile oil. I really wanted my usual beef tendons, but the last time I ate those I threw up violently the rest of the day (not as a direct result, but because I was already sick) and strangely, I had been throwing up the night before this visit because James poisoned me with undercooked jerk chicken so I had bad connotations with those tendons. I missed them, though.
I have observed that there seems to be three types of diners (or attempted diners) at GSH: groups of young Chinese, groups of young loud boastful foodies and locals looking for fried rice and chicken wings. They do serve Chinese-American food but it was kind of uncomfortable seeing a Latino guy asking for “beef and fried rice” and angering the counter woman who demanded, “what kind of beef?” Neither were English as a first language and I hate misunderstanding-style traumas even when I’m just a bystander. The guy ended up leaving. There is a typical take-out joint just across the street so I hope he found what he was looking for. (6/13/08)

Jun 18

Reds Produce

1/2 Knew this was bound to happen. Reds is no more. (1/10)

At some point–I couldn't tell you when–the name changed to the more fitting, Reds Tapas Bar. (5/09)

I do appreciate new dining options in Carroll Gardens because I have a fantasy of one day getting excited about eating in my own neighborhood. I was curious about this supposedly authentic tapas bar on Columbia Street, though I couldn’t find much written about it other than a few not terribly positive mentions on Yelp, a site I don’t trust for shit.

Maybe I was just in a good mood because even without well-functioning air conditioning (I don’t like my air au naturel when it’s sopping with 90% humidity) I enjoyed the place. It’s what it is; very simple and inexpensive (most items are $5, the most expensive are sharable $8 salads). This isn’t fanciful Spanish food served preciously. What you’ll find are mostly room temperature pre-prepared snacks displayed at the bar. Little bites to eat with drinks like at old-school taverns in Spain.

I did make a meal of it. Jessica and I ordered a bottle of Albariño. The weather was just too sticky and gross for something red and tannic.

Though it might not seem so, I’m relatively easy to please and was up for anything on the menu, but to be fair to the vegetarian dining companion I couldn’t be too meat-centric because I like sharing. Stuffed vine leaves were her idea and not something I would order because I’m not eating rice, not that fond of dolmas (with the exception of sushi, I think cold rice is creepy) and well, they’re not terribly Spanish. I did eat one, though. The creamy feta was nice.

Manchego

Murcia

I wanted to try two cheeses so I ordered an aged Manchego and what they call drunken goat (I’m pretty sure it’s Murcia) but that was a lot of cheese for two so I got leftovers wrapped as a midnight snack (afterward, we watched Cloverfield enhanced by homemade cookies not made by me. Let’s just say that those cookies make you hungry later). I’m still stuck on all the New Yorkers grossed out by leftovers. If you only ate half of this cheese, you would really just have it thrown away? I preferred the crumbly Manchego.

The jamon serrano was mine only and I thought it was quite good, much less salty and more substantial than the jamon crudo I’d been eating in Buenos Aires recently. I wasn’t paying attention to see if they were hand-slicing it. They did have a hoof-on pig’s leg on display but I wasn’t sure if it was just for looks. I tend to think it was machine cut because it was so uniform and thin. Anytime I’ve ordered jamon in Brooklyn it turns out chunky and mangled.

I like membrillo with my Manchego and did order some. This is the one thing I might say was overpriced. It seemed weird to pay $5 for the ham and only one dollar less for some thin blocks of quince paste. All of the accompaniments like fig cake and marcona almonds are $4, which isn’t outrageous but worth noting.

We split the beet and Cabrales salad. Jessica complained that it was too tart and didn’t contain golden beets as advertised (true). She also thought there was too much cheese, which I couldn’t disagree with more. We have different tastes. The sherry vinegar didn’t bother me so much but I think it was because I had been interspersing it with bites of tortilla and the starch neutralized the dressing. Once I did get a big mouthful, swallowed quickly and I choked from the acidity, so perhaps they could’ve eased up a bit on the vinegar.

Tortilla always seems dull in theory: eggs, onions and potatoes? Eh, but they always meld into something more.

I do plan on going back, and not just because it’s only five blocks from my apartment. I’d like to try the pan con tomate, another deceptively simple dish like the tortilla, but it really only works if your tomatoes are super ripe and it’s not quite their season yet.

Read my write-up for Nymag.com

Reds Produce * 289 Columbia St., Brooklyn, NY

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Posts from the ‘Shovel Time’ Category

Frankies 457

Casa Cruz

Guerrin

Lucky Mojo

Viva

Cumaná

El Trapiche

Don Julio

Grand Sichuan House

Reds Produce

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