Posts from the ‘Shovel Time’ Category

May 9

Amarin

It's funny because Amarin was the first restaurant I ate at when I moved to
NYC (almost exactly) five years ago. It's all a blur, I didn't know what I
was doing, and barely knew the girls I was staying with. It was hot, humid,
I was overdressed (not formal, too many layers) and nervous, the cab got
lost on the way to the apt. and the driver called everyone "Poppy" so I
figured that must be a Brooklyn thing though I've only heard it maybe once
or twice since, and think it's actually spelled Papi. We ordered
take out and two of us got a chicken thing that came as a whole chicken leg.
I was fine with that but the other person was upset that there was skin on
it. I sensed trouble from the get go. What possible friendship could be
forged with someone who's scared of chicken skin? I only stayed with them
for about a month, but they must've liked Amarin because we went in person a
second time (I later discovered that's very Williamsburg, like people only
know a handful of places and only frequent those places in this peculiar
provincial way). This time the skin-shunner ordered the $9.95 fish entre,
which I thought was pretty ostentatious. She'd just started a new, fancy
internet job at Sidewalk.com and was making what I thought at the time was
big bucks (amusingly, I've yet to make that much). It's hard to remember a
time when $9.95 seemed outrageous for dinner, but that's the beauty of
pointless remembrances.

Anyway, I hadn't been back since '98. In fact, I didn't even know where
it was other than in Greenpoint on a main street. It's weird because I
frequent Williamsburg and have friends in Greenpoint, but like a good
visitor I never go over, past McCarren Park. It was only recently when James
was driving around Greenpoint, scoping the neighborhood for a potential move
that I re-discovered Amarin. The food's nothing to write home about, but
it's likeable, nonetheless. They employ oddball touches like serving mashed
potatoes, and putting carrots, zucchini, and bean sprouts where I don't
think they belong, but it's OK by me. I felt comforted like I'd come full
circle, back to where I'd started my NYC food journey. Everybody likes
closure, right? I would've ordered the skin-covered chicken, but now I'm
watching my weight like a true pathetic New Yorker. Jeez, at least I'm
eating carbs. Five years makes a world of difference, no?

Amarin * 617 Manhattan Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

May 4

Minado

1/2

Minado is clearly the Japanese version of East
Buffet. And if you're familiar with East Buffet, I barely need
elaborate. It's an over-the-top, horn-of-plenty feeding frenzy. The dcor is
definitely more restrained than it's similar Chinese all-you-can-eat, but
being in a Long Island strip mall, you could hardly call it tasteful. It's
not someplace I'd normally frequent, but it's near the Hicksville Ikea and a
person can only take so much meatballs and lingonberry after a hard day's
shopping.

Of course, there's a sushi bar with all sorts of varieties including one
baffler with pink rice. There are also standards such as teriyaki, wakame,
and edamame. But like any good "ethnic" buffet, there must be American
banquet pleasers a la lobster thermador, and pasta. Being a lover of tiny
not-quite-sweet-enough Asian desserts, I was happy with the rows of light
layered sponge cakes flavored with mocha and green tea.

Load up, but don't waste (throwing out uneaten sushi will net you a 20%
surcharge) and don't overstay the 1.5 hour limit. Ha, we always end up past
the two-hour mark without even realizing it. It's not a matter of being
piggish, it's just that normal, i.e. myself, people eat at a reasonable pace
(you may be aware of my "shovel time" grade school lunch trauma). Everyone
around us came and went, new crops filled the tables while we held our slow
and steady ground. And slow and steady wins the race, right?

Minado* 219 Glen Cove Rd.,
Carle Place, NY

Share on Tumblr

Apr 26

Battery Park Applebee’s

1/2

Feeling good in the neighborhood…I'm not sure that Battery Park City
really qualifies as a neighborhood, but you know. I just thought I'd give
the briefest mention of my first Manhattan Applebee's experience. There's
nothing finer than downing massive nachos, riblets, quesadillas and
mozzerella sticks (and that's just the appetizer) catty corner from the
World Trade Center crater. We will rebuild!

Applebee's * 102 N. End
Ave., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Apr 18

Taqueria La Campirena

I so rarely venture up (I say up because it's up a hill and the street
numbers are increase that direction, but geographically it's south so I
guess that makes it down, not up) into the 40s and 50s, but on a boring,
lonely Friday night I filled my time with laundry at the shiny 24-hour place
and porky tacos, al pastor and carnitas. There are worse ways to spend an
evening, I suppose.

Taqueria La Campirena * 4010 Fifth Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Apr 10

Rai Rai Ken

Who says the obnoxious practice of bombarding apartment buildings with take
out menus doesn't work? I'd always meant to try Rai Rai Ken, but it's tiny
and it just never seemed to be the right moment…until James had a menu
slipped under his door. I'm not a huge ramen fan, and yes I know ramen is
not all like Top Ramen, but this soup was on the tastier side. What was
truly baffling were the list of extras: green onion and roast pork I
understand, but butter?! I knew those Japanese had a fetish for
mayonnaise, but apparently they're nutty for dairy in all its inappropriate
forms.

RaiRai Ken * 214 E. 10th, New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Mar 29

Les Halles

Duck leg confit and crispy potatoes coupled with a side order of fries. I
swear I didn't know I was ordering double fries (the menu didn't mention
potatoes with the confit). It seemed like an acceptable indulgence,
considering it was to be my last pre-weight watchers brunch. Gluttony was
the least of my sins that morning. James chided me for talking about nurses
raping patients at the breakfast table. I was only discussing the previous
night's bit of arts and entertainment, Talk to Her. Jeez, people just
need to keep their eyes on their own plates. I was disgusted with the nearby
Midwesterners with moustaches' mundane conversation, but I kept my ugly
expressions to myself. It's all about composure, see?

LesHalles * 411
Park Ave. S., New York,NY

Share on Tumblr

Mar 23

Monk’s

First off, I'm not a beer person. Not that I dislike it or anything, but I'm
certainly not an expert. I'm not sure if this Belgian place is more
restaurant or bar. Size-wise you'd think restaurant, but they're pretty
obsessive about their Trappist brews. During the 30 minute wait for a table
(which would lead you to believe food is the emphasis), I was able to pour
over one of their pamphlets, complete with glossary, categorization by
styles, and price list by country. It was all a bit overwhelming if you ask
me.

When all was said and done, I tried a Rodenbach Flemish Sour Ale and
Boon Kreik, a bright red, sour cherry brew. I guess I must like tangy, red
beers since they were both in that vein. But I was there for the mussels and
fries, which were good even though there were a few duds in the bucket. A
smoked salmon appetizer with Boursin and a tart cucumber dill salad was
refreshing. It's a fun night spot, and one of the few places I found in town
to serve real food till 2am. (5/12//01)

This is the place for beer, mussels and fries. But apparently not the
place for brunch. I only say that because I'm not a terribly critical eater,
I don't love everything, but I rarely dislike anything either. With that
said, their eggs Benedictine totally disturbed me. They came on heel ends of
very hearty, crusty, peasanty bread that were impossible to cut through, so
logistically they're impossible to eat (I did see someone eating them out of
hand like a sandwich-the correct procedure?) and then the hollandaise was so
sour (vinegar? Lemon juice?) it was unpleasantly tangy. The spinach was
doing that grainy thing on the teeth it often does, but coupled with the
awkward presentation and too-tart sauce, I had no desire to finish my food.
And in a food city like Philly, there's no reason to fill-up on mediocrity.
(3/23/03)

Monk's Cafe * 264 S. 16th
St., Philadelphia, PA

Share on Tumblr

Mar 23

Friendly’s

1/2

This wasn't my first Friendly's excursion, that would've been my maiden
voyage into Staten Island with the specific goal of trying Friendly's (it
was mildly traumatizing, lots of dirty, misbehaved kids and older, hefty
adults in wheelchairs). I've since tried one in Connecticut, one in New
Jersey (I never know the specific cities) and one in Saratoga Springs. I
know Friendly's is nothing special, but it played a pivotal role in my
mental well being when I first moved to NYC. I was poor, friendless, jobless
(huh…five years later and not much has changed) and would sit in the
sweltering heat on the ratty left-behind mattress on the floor and watch my
little TV. I'd see all these ads for Friendly's with candy sundaes and it
just seemed so suburban and safe. I'd never heard of Friendly's so I wasn't
identifying with it specifically, just the genre, and became hell bent on
finding one. But as it turned out the only location in all of NYC is at the
Staten Island Mall, which I didn't have the luxury of visiting until two
years later when I was privy to a car. Now that I have a boyfriend with a
shiny automobile, Friendly's can be mine any time I'd like. But jeez, one
wouldn't want to become spoiled and jaded. I play it conservatively with my
Friendly's excursions.

Friendly's* somewhere about
45 min. NW of Philadelphia

Share on Tumblr

Mar 22

Tony Luke’s

1/2

Pork, provolone, broccoli rabe. This sandwich is the shit. An Italian
sandwich, in their words. I've also enjoyed the version at Tommy DeNic's,
but there's something to be said for the ambience of the take out window and
picnic table style dining, a la Geno's and Pat's. Such a phenomenon. I've
never lived anywhere with this whole tradition of brusque, window service
sandwiches. (I've also never lived or visited anywhere where people can just
park in the middle of the street-it's totally bizarre to see cars sitting in
medians, facing all different directions.) The rabe has the tendency to make
the sandwich soggy and most un-dainty (but good) so I often refrain, but I
noticed what they call a "green sandwich," which I'm thinking must be
provolone and rabe. That even sounds good, and probably the only thing a
vegetarian could eat in this damn town of fatty fast food delights.

Tony Luke's * 39 E. Oregon
Ave., Philadelphia, PA

Share on Tumblr

Mar 22

Morimoto

With these name brand restaurants, I hem and haw over what to say, as if
seriousness of mission is ever reflected in my recounting. Whatever.
Morimoto was a spur of the moment birthday dinner choice. All I knew was
that New York City was not the place to be for James's 33rd birthday. Not
after the past few years of fiascos. I randomly made out of town
reservations. Perhaps not the brightest financial move, but hey, what's a
whole week's wages for a meal ($12/hour part time doesn't get you far when
it comes to high end dining)? That's right, the world is this library
clerk's oyster.

We ended up taking the middle ground, trying the $100 omakase (the
others being $80 or $120) and probably ordered a bad wine, the waiter seemed
curt and unimpressed with me. But that could've had more to do with how
every time we go to a restaurant that serves a Willamette Valley wine James
makes a big point of asking how to pronounce it because invariably they'll
say Willa Met as he also incorrectly says it. It's Wil
LAM ette, the correct way, my way. I'm from the Willamette Valley, for
crying out loud. Anyway, the ruse always alienates staff and pisses me off.

It's definitely a thrill to see the plates coming out, not knowing what
you'll get. The trouble is not having a menu to refer to, and only the
verbal descriptions. I tend to forget subtle ingredients, nuances and feel
self-conscious about scribbling in a notebook like an foodie who needs to be
put in his place. The first course was toro tartare with caviar wasabi and
what they called a Japanese peach (more like a pitted berry), then a palate
cleanser of wasabi-yuzu sorbet with a beignet (not a pillowy New Orleans
goodie, but a miniature, sweet breadstick), third was hamachi with
microgreens and a yuzu vinaigrette, fourth halibut steamed with sake in a
banana leaf, fifth Kobe beef with Japanese potatoes (sweet), and a final
sushi course served on a board (I don't remember the individual varieties,
there were about six in the style I think is called Nigiri-sushi). Dessert
was a long thin strip of yam cake with a postage stamp-size square of lime
gelatin, drizzles of balsamic vinegar and a thimble dollop of ice cream, the
flavor I can't recall.

Morimoto wasn't in the house, but I'm not one of those folks who goes to
celebrity-chef type restaurants looking for snapshots. I do fall for
over-the-top dcor, however. Sure, all that Stephen Starr plastic, glowing,
color-changing, space-age crap is gimmicky. But it works on me.

Morimoto* 723
Chestnut St., Philadelphia, PA

Share on Tumblr