Posts from the ‘Shovel Time’ Category

Aug 21

Shun Lee Palace

Shun Lee Palace is a total time warp, though not quite nostalgic. It
probably wouldn't be unless you were an Upper East Side Jew with a taste for
expensive, not very authentic Chinese food circa 1976. This was one of those
out of the blue dining ideas James gets every now and then. I'd never had
any inclination to visit the place, but he had gotten it in his head that we
needed to try upscale Chinese food.

But I think he was thinking banquet food that Chinese people themselves
would actually eat, not overpriced renditions of Chinese-American fare. Not
that we didn't have a good time. In fact, it was a gas. Shun Lee is a weird
scene that I could appreciate, even if it scared me a bit. While the dcor
is opulent early '90s, the vibe is totally '70s. At our 9pm seating, the
room wasn't terribly full, but the clientele we did eyeball had
personalities big enough to fill the room. There was a nice combo of
caricatures, tourists, wealthy foreigners, and the inexplicably curious like
us.

I was a little unnerved by how they make couples sit side-by-side at
tables facing out towards the room. We've always made fun of twosomes who
choose to next to each other while eating instead of just facing each other.
But we had no choice in this situation. In a way, we were lucky because we
had equally good views of the goings on. I'mmediately to our right, were two
cranky, over-the-top, 60-ish women who were apparently regulars, highly
demanding and totally of a New York I do not know (nor want to). Like they
get together every Saturday night and kvetch (did I just say kvetch?)
about their kids, exes and dead parents, then harass the waiter because they
were told there'd be an eel special and there wasn't.

To our right and down the row was a creepy, troll-like older Indian
gentleman and his much younger, serene Eurasian lady friend. They didn't
really talk, and they also were grumpy, she let the waiters know that he
didn't like fish. A few young-ish white bread couples seemed dazzled by the
ambience. One took photos of her food (I know "photoblogging" is all the
rage, but I just can't abide snapping pictures in restaurants. Maybe that's
an issue of my own) while the other duo ate quickly then paid with
traveler's checks (I didn't know that people even used those anymore).

My favorite table included a dapper Telly Savalas look-alike in a
yachting type sport jacket with a middle-aged woman wearing a bold-patterned
turban scarf and big, tinted frameless glasses. Very Cosmopolitan,
thirty years ago. She could play a rich eccentric on an episode of
Rhoda.

I was impressed by the carved daikon swans that certain tables received
as garnishes (we didn't get any fancy frills). The food, not so much. We had
slippery chicken, which is chopped chicken with spinach in a garlicky sauce,
and curry prawns, which were swimming in a curry powder, peanutty gloop. I
actually liked the gloop, it was studded with things like peas, water
chestnuts and red pepper. James insisted it also contained creamed corn,
which is ridiculous. I also had a hot and sour fish soup, which was what it
sounds like.

We barely made it out under $100, which is why this isn't the sort of
novelty meal you can do on a regular basis. And that's why the idea of
regulars and eating Shun Lee takeout is so bizarre to me. Do people just not
get out? Once you enter the uptown vacuum, do you lose all sense of right
and wrong? People love Seinfeld reruns and Woody Allen flicks, so
maybe I'm the one whos warped.

ShunLee Palace * 155 E.
55 St., New York, NY

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Aug 14

Harbor Crab

I've really only eaten whole crab, cracked from the shell, once. And the
memory is hazy, and the circumstances a little odd now that I think about
it. I tagged along with my best grade school friend and her parents to
Astoria, Oregon where a crab festival in session. Long tables, plastic bibs,
wooden mallets, the works. But I don't actually remember eating crab, just
the surroundings, and how eating crustaceans in this manner must either be a
black or an affluent thing (Ha, not that there were any other black families
there. Really, I figured eating fresh crab must be for rich people. We never
ever ate seafood at home, except maybe fish sticks and canned clam chowder.
This friend's family had a big house, Corvette, and leather couches. They
were classy, though I did find their drinking Pepsi [and eating grits] for
breakfast peculiar—to my knowledge they weren't Southern.)

My crab exposure tends to come via others. James grew up in the D.C.
area and lived in Maryland, so he's a blue crab person. It was his idea to
find a crab shack one Saturday, and I was up for it since I don't have much
experience in the area. It seemed like no biggie, but apparently crab isn't
a hot commodity in the NYC region. We thought Long Island would be the way
to go, but no one specializes in crabs, though there are a few lobster
places. As it turned out, only one place fit the bill, the appropriately
named Maryland Crab House. The clincher was that it's in Sheepshead Bay,
Brooklyn. We didn't want to go to Brooklyn, we're already in Brooklyn.

So, Harbor Crab was a random choice and predictably so-so. Their crabs
were tiny and consequently listed on the appetizer menu. They were also
cheap, but the amount of meat picked out for the energy and time expended to
extract the goodness was no bargain. At least it was fun to sit outdoors on
a floating wooden deck over some body of water, and watch wild ducks and
swans swimming nearby, and drunk locals (or least folks with seemingly local
accents) harass the waitresses and light up cigarettes after being told
there's no smoking on Saturdays (wouldn't it seem like Saturdays would be
prime smoking day?)

The only memorable crab meals I've had have been in Singapore and
Thailand. Maybe I should just steer clear of the American renditions,
altogether.

Harbor Crab * 116 Division St., Patchogue, NY

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Aug 6

Galanga

I reviewed Galanga for the Time Out NY Eating & Drinking Guide earlier this
spring, but I don't have the edited version yet and don't feel the need to
rehash. (Here
it is.) So, the consensus was that it's stylish, full of potential and
better than your average Ameri-Thai. But you really have to ask for spice
and not let the presence of chopsticks put you off (that has always been a
serious red flag for me). I wouldn't go out of my way for it, like
Sripraphai, but I'd take it over the gazillion mediocre Thai places plaguing
my neighborhood (which isn't the W. Village, so I've only been three times).

Galanga * W. Fourth St., New York, NY

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Jul 31

Chuck E. Cheese’s

I don't even want to think about the E. coli factor in the place, you'd be insane to do the salad bar. Babies in diapers and nothing else were crawling all over tables, the air conditioning appeared to be nonexistent. I'm not a germ freak at all, but this was a serious breeding ground. I could imagine the strep and pink eye brewing in the already filthy kiddie habitrail (it had only been open seven days and already looked sticky and worn out). I didn't dare brave the bathrooms (though I entertained the notion of leaving a big, messy dump somewhere inside it and preferably not in the toilet).

The fact that adults with children are given a different hand stamp than the childless grown ups is telling. I couldn't figure out the logic at first, how would that keep anyone from kidnapping? I don't think nabbing kids is the fear so much as parents will taking off without their children. I'd certainly be tempted. But to be fair, I have to admit that despite the madhouse atmosphere, both kids and parents were in surprisingly good spirits. It was kind of shocking. I didn't witness any yelling, spanking, threatening to spank, or general rudeness from any grown ups, and I while I saw lots of wrestling, kicking and hitting, I didn't see or hear a single crying child, which is pretty miraculous. I guess they were having a good fucking time, and who can blame them? Their tagline is "where a kid can be a kid," after all.

What strikes me about experiences like this is the demographics, and how uniquely NYC it all is. I don't understand how white people know not to go there, and why black people do. There's always been a bit of the same at NYC area Red Lobsters too. Certainly, there arent any hard and fast rules, anyone can go anywhere, they just don't. It's not so much of a race thing as a culture issue, like there's a strata of people who think they're above chain restaurants (I'm fascinated by Trading Spouses. So far they're only swapped two moms, but both of the richer families eat out at Japanese restaurants, and shun carbs, of course. The lower income moms are freaked out by sushi [this has also been recently employed as a look-at-the-differences device on Amish in the City. The Amish, and of course, the one non-Amish black girl have never eaten sushi.] Low fat and exotic equal classy, didn't you know? Lowbrow people love fried food and starch! Heck, I do.) and taste tends to align with income and perceived notions about what they're supposed to enjoy and disdain. And high taste people have strong ideas about what's good for children, and Chuck E. Cheese's probably doesn't align with their values.

And its not a simple matter of people living closest to this Chuck E. Cheese's being black because that's not true at all. The Atlantic Terminal mall is in a part of Brooklyn that falls under Community District 2. That district includes a variety of neighborhoods: Brooklyn Heights, Fulton Mall, Boerum Hill, Fort Greene, Brooklyn Navy Yard, Fulton Ferry, Clinton Hill (I have no idea what Fulton Ferry is, I'm just going by what NYC Gov tells me). The composition of that district is: 34. 4% white, 40.5% black, and 16.8% Hispanic. The minor 6% white/black difference certainly isn't reflected by Chuck E. Cheese's clientele. So, where are all the white families going on Saturday nights? Probably somewhere precocious in my neighborhood. When it comes down to it, I think I prefer my children penned-up and concentrated in mall spaces.

No, its not video installation art. We managed to snag a few seconds on Chuck E. Cheeses creepy TV camera toy before hordes of tiny riff raff commandeered it again.

Chuck E. Cheese's * 139 Flatbush Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jul 26

Kittichai

This year I was lucky enough to have my formal birthday dinner at brand new uber-chic Thai restaurant, Kittichai. I don't really have a strong desire to eat at of-the-minute, trendy and intimidating restaurants (like Spice Market, which I did for James's birthday in May), but I do like trying innovative and/or upscale takes on S.E. Asian food because I'm crazy fixated on the cuisine and use special occasions to check out what's going on at the higher end of the spectrum.

I wasn't so concerned about the scene (apparently, it has been closed on Sundays so people like Alek Wek can throw parties), but had read an article in an Oct. 2003 Saveur about Bangkok chefs including Ian Chalermkittichai, who is the chef at this Soho restaurant using half his surname. I was fascinated by the idea of a Thai celebrity chef (in Thailand, I mean) and that he was the first-ever Thai executive chef (as opposed to the usual European choices) at a Bangkok five-star hotel, the Bangkok Four Seasons. (What I havent been able to figure out is why Jean-George took the name Spice Market for his MePa [I'm joking, I'm joking, like I'd ever seriously acronym Meatpacking District] restaurant, when that name is already used and associated with one of the restaurants in the Bangkok Four Seasons. I didnt have a chance to try it, having reached my quota for fancy dining with Blue Elephant and Celadon) Plus, his recipe for poo khai kem, a take on Singapore chile crab, peaked my interest. It's not the sort of Thai food you really get in NYC, so I was curious.

I was pleased to sample their cocktail of calamansi juice (I told you the fruit was going to be the It citrus of 2004), coconut milk, Grand Marnier and Skyy vodka. It was tart and creamy without being cloying. A very refreshing summer cooler. And I'm still not sure what the difference between tapas and appetizers is. The prices are similar and the portions seem close as well. We tried a tapa of Southern Thai ceviche with diver scallops, caviar and lemongrass in an egg nest, which while tasty didnt really highlight the scallop. It was more tangy and eggy. The crispy rock shrimp, grilled eggplant with chili lime appetizer was right on. My entre of short ribs in green curry was a nice choice. It was traditional in a good way, while using an atypically Thai cut of meat. James chose the special of dorado, which was cubed, dusted in tempura batter (they made the point of saying it was dusted, not heavily coated) and presented between the head and tail with a sweet chili sauce. I loved the accompanying fried basil and lime leaves, but then, I'm a sucker for fried herbs (or fried anything, really). For dessert we shared the kaffir lime tart with coconut ice cream and palm sugar syrup, which was enjoyable. The grated lime rind (I think that's what it was) added a nice punch of color to the little rectangle.

I thought the food was to be served family-style, this is what I'd heard, and we were both given small plates before our food arrived. But when it came to the table, our plates were removed untouched and the large bowls were placed in front of us, according to whom had ordered what. I wouldve preferred to share, though this seems to irk some people.

None of the food is terribly spicy, despite the slinky waitstaffs unnecessary warnings. And thats where I'm unclear. I'm not sure how upscale Thai food is supposed to be spiced. I know people have the tendency to equate authenticity with heat level, but not every dish is meant to eat the glaze off its artfully crafted ceramic plate. I felt disappointed with much of the fine hotel food we ate in Bangkok, it seemed tame, and one of our waitresses at Celadon confirmed that the menu was "for tourists." (Though that didnt stop a table of Middle Eastern men to choke and yell for water.)

The most amusing aspect of the evening (apart from James sharing the rest room with Mario Batali) was being seated next to the May/December table. First, it was the classic couple: a 50-ish guy with a super tiny, large breasted, early-20s blonde who drove me nuts because she called the kaffir lime key lime. They were replaced by German equivalents. They were more subtle, the Euro female had simple, chin length brown hair and minimal makeup (and thankfully since she wasn't speaking English I couldn't deduce if she was mangling the pronunciation of ingredients). She was wearing a ribbed white tank top that covered her up to her collarbones instead of a low-cut lacy camisole top like the other trollop, but after sneaking a few glances, I did note that it was quite snug and that she also had quite large breasts in proportion to the rest of her body. It must be nice to have a sugar daddy to woo you through costly coriander and lemongrass concoctions. It sucks that that my much older boyfriend never, ever ate (seriously, he had some intestinal problem–the guy had a 27" waist).

Kittichai * 60 Thompson St., New York, NY

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Jul 13

Praline Connection

1/2
I do think they sell pralines here, but it's really more of a restaurant.
I'll admit that Praline Connection wasn't my first choice, but it wasn't a
bad decision. It was our last night in town and I was crushed because the
place where I had wanted to eat, Dick and Jenny's, was closed for the summer
(same with Ugelisch's–what's up with these Southerners and their casual
ways?). I started feeling desperate and James began to threaten Gumbo Shop
or Bubba Gumps. This had to be nipped in the bud, pronto. I scrounged up
Praline Connection from the deep recesses of my back up to do list.

It wasn't that late, maybe 9pm or so, but as we walked in, the few
filled tables were finishing up. Eating in an empty room always makes me
uncomfortable, so I was a little stressed. I wanted fried chicken (even
though I'd overloaded on crispy birds during our week below the Mason-Dixon
line) but James had a plan to head to Popeye's later that evening, so I held
off. I probably should've just ordered the chicken because the stuffed crab
I did try was pretty bready and so-so (and we never even ended up going to
Popeye's).

But the $4.95 fried chicken livers with sweet hot pepper jelly were
insane, the star of the evening. The serving plate was filled with the
little crispy nuggets, it easily could've served four, and this was
primarily for me since James wasn't keen on eating battered organ meat.

This was also my last chance to try fried pickles, something I'd meant
to do while on vacation, but there was too much breading and frying already
going on in my stomach. I settled for dill pickle flavored chips from the
grocery store. It does make me wonder why the pickle flavor is so popular in
the South (and ketchup flavored chips up North in Canada). I'd never seen or
imagined it before.

Praline Connection *
542 Frenchmen St. New Orleans, LA

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Jul 13

Tee-Eva’s

For some reason we ended up on Magazine St. more than any other road in the city, and yet I almost missed this little place. That would've been a shame. In a touristy fit, I decided I needed pralines but was put off by all the overpriced pecan confections on Decatur St. James surprised me by remembering a big bright store-side mural touting pralines that we'd passed the night before.

Right, it was Tee-Eva's. Pralines are in their name, but I was afraid it was no more than a snowball (snow cones minus the cone) stand. And I wasn't sure it was even open, so I kept surveillance in the comfort of our air-conditioned rental car. The small brightly painted structure only has a take out window, and while scoping it out, customers paused for icy treats, not brown sugary disks.

As it turned out, they not only had pralines, but mini pies (pecan being my all-time favorite) and daily savory specials like catfish and macaroni and cheese, too. Everything was homemade and freshly baked and crafted. And their snowballs werent bad either.

Tee-Eva's Famous Pies and Pralines * 4430 Magazine St., New Orleans, LA

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Jul 12

Mr. B’s

I'd heard about barbecued shrimp, but didn't really know what I was in for. Who knew it would end up being one of my absolute favorite New Orleans delicacies? First off, they're not barbecued as in grilled, nor barbecued as in zestily sauced. They list their recipe online, so it's no secret (though they might not want everyone knowing that one serving contains a stick and a half of butter. Jeez, no wonder it's so tasty). The giant head on shrimp come swimming in a brown buttery sauce spiked with lots of black pepper, Worcestershire sauce and assorted Creole seasonings. I could easily just eat sauce sopped up with crusty French bread. The only embarrassing part about ordering the bbq shrimp is how the waiter puts a bib on you with much fanfare. I don't like drawing attention while dining and feel self-conscious when it seems like I've ordered the manly, messy, eaten with your hands meal (James managed to choose a light, girly fish entre, so I looked particularly gluttonous). But it's worth suffering a little indignity for a bowl of rich, spicy shrimp.

Mr. B's Bistro * 201 Royal St., New Orleans, LA

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Jul 11

Morning Call

Being my second New Orleans visit, I thought I'd branch out from Cafe du Monde and try the other 24-hour beignet place. It's smaller, indoors, and woody in an old-timey style. The beignets arrive naked, and you shake on the powdered sugar to your taste. It's a nice touch, considering how overboard they go with the confectioners sugar at Cafe du Monde, but to be perfectly honest the fried dough just didn't match up. It lacked the crispy, fried exterior and was merely a soft sweet chewy rectangle. As popular and tourist crazed as it is, Cafe du Monde makes a better beignet.

Morning Call * 3325 Severn Ave., Metairie, LA

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Jul 10

Liuzza’s

On this trip, Liuzza's was our first stop in town. Not because we were
familiar with it first hand, or that it was even at the top of our list, we
simply wanted gumbo and it's the way the itinerary fell. And the gumbo,
fried seafood platter and ice cold Abita were a perfect introductory meal.
(For some irritating reason I always get sick when I eat battered, fried
seafood, and yet I couldn't help myself this time.)

The menu is a mix of regional favorites and Italian-American staples. It
reminded me of Philadelphia (not that andouille and remoulade are rampant in
Philly, it's just the atmosphere). We did poor boys elsewhere during our
trip, but I was completely fascinated by some of their unique offerings. If
time had permitted, I definitely would've tried the fried chicken liver
rendition, as well as their french fry and gravy filled one. That's totally
a Cajun chip butty–who knew?

That they seemed to have a police officer permanently planted out front,
keeping guard, made me a little uneasy (we discovered during our stay that
the city only has 1600 police officers, which is so totally insane I can't
even believe it). New Orleans really has a sporadic, ominous feel to it,
much as I'd imagine NYC used to before my arrival in the late '90s. But all
in all, the cop only added to the ambience.

Liuzza's * 3636 Bienville
Ave., New Orleans, LA

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Posts from the ‘Shovel Time’ Category

Shun Lee Palace

Harbor Crab

Galanga

Chuck E. Cheese’s

Kittichai

Praline Connection

Tee-Eva’s

Mr. B’s

Morning Call

Liuzza’s

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