Posts from the ‘American’ Category

Sep 1

A&W

It had to be done. James became fascinated by this mall A&W with semi chic design, not fast food style at all. I liked the idea that Malaysia was teeming with forgotten American brands–Orange Julius, Long John Silvers and Body Glove, too (and actually not that forgotten, I had no idea there was a combo Long John Silvers/A&W in Canarsie).

Having been put off root beer floats for life after a childhood stomach sick experience, I refrained from their signature beverage, which seemed to be popular with fellow diners. We ordered a double cheeseburger meal with curly fries and plain root beer. Not bad and perfect for an American food craving (even being S.E. Asian food crazy I still had urges for things like bagels, tacos and pizza).

A&W * Suria KLCC, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

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Aug 27

KFC

Yes, I ate at KFC in Penang. So sue me (jeez, the ‘80s bug just bit me). Everyone has conniptions when you tell them you ate at American fast food chains while on vacation. I understand, it weirded me out that my grandma ate at Planet Hollywood in Beijing (never mind the fact that the woman visited mainland China at all—she always struck me as more Branson).

KOMTAR was giving us the heebie jeebies. It was like an Eastern Bloc, cold war era shopping center, but Muslim, if you can imagine. James started getting sick, claiming the entire place smelled like hair spray (there were lots of little eerie beauty parlors inside). I think it was more like bug spray or disinfectant. No matter, he needed to sit (normally, I'd think he was exaggerating about not feeling well, but hed said the same thing on our flight from NYC and then proceeded to pass out) and well, KFC was recognizable and air conditioned. Plus, who can resist fried chicken, Malaysians love fried chicken, how bad could it be?

So, we ordered combos containing one regular and one spicy piece of chicken, soda and a little something called Cheezy Wedges, which were fried potato chunks drizzled with nacho cheese and mayonnaise. So wrong. (They also had a Cheezybon at their Cinnabon, which was also doused in a Cheez Whiz-like substance). The chicken itself was perfectly tasty, and I'm a total sucker for the “sos chili” a.k.a. sweet chile sauce that's served at most S.E. Asian fast food joints. The portions were notably smaller than not just American ones, but Singapores (the only country that seemed to have Big Gulps at their 7-Elevens) as well. The small amount of food we actually consumed made me feel slightly less guilty about frequenting KFC.

KFC * KOMTAR, Penang, Malaysia

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Aug 12

Sweetwater

1/2
Williamsburg so rarely has its act together food-and-service-wise. You might get one, youre not likely to get both, and you just might get neither. I dont know if my standards have risen with my age, but my tolerance for cramped ill-thought-out seating, same table entrees spaced twenty minutes apart, and so-so dishes, isnt what it used to be.

I liked the idea of eating in a restaurant called Sweetwater that used to be the bar Sweetwater, at least for the sake of novelty. Not being wowed by any of the cooked offerings, I opted for a charcuterie platter and frisee salad. I guess thats French, though I wouldnt say this is a French restaurant. My food was perfectly fine, but James had a different feeling about his fish that almost never arrived.

I was more irked by the person seated haphazardly behind me. I was properly seated, squarely at a table. His chair had no proper place and had been added onto the corner of a table diagonal to me. The backs of our chairs were just shy of touching, which created blockage for anyone trying to get through the restaurant. I'm not the restaurant designer, it wasnt my idea, yet I managed to garner dirty looks all evening from patrons insistent on squeezing past. Perhaps this wouldnt have gotten under my skin so much if earlier, on the subway ride home this fat guido hadnt been shouting at me “Sweetie! Sweetie! Move ovah” from the complete other end of the row like it was my responsibility to give his ass space. I take these things personally.

Vibe matters, and it overshadowed my dining experience. I so rarely eat in Williamsburg anymore anyway that Sweetwater wouldnt warrant a return visit.

Sweetwater * 105 N. Sixth St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jul 30

Carl’s Steaks Downtown

Tony Lukes let us down a second time. The first time I attempted a sandwich it was too late and they were closed. This time it was a Saturday afternoon and the gate was down. It's not looking too good, I'm afraid. We were driving home empty handed, heading down Chambers St., just about to get on the Brooklyn Bridge when I remembered Carl's other branch. To the rescue. Phew. And they do a pretty good rendition too.

Carl's Steaks 79 Chambers St., New York, NY

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Jun 8

Gravy

People always lump Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill together. Perhaps its the
blur of homogonous residents (the minor exception being the freaky front
yard, social club, right leaning, elderly Italian contingent, whom I happen
to share a neck of the woods with). But even only being one subway stop
south of Bergen, I'm still out of that more bustling loop. To me, Gravy
popped up out of nowhere, I had no inking. But it's kind of hard to ignore
(and dislike) a giant neon gravy boat. Gravy is now the cornerstone
(literally), connecting Pacifico to La Rosa in some labyrinth-like near
gimmick. I don't have issues with the whole Alan Harding empire, La Rosa
pizza tastes good to me, Schnack is fun and cheap. Pacifico supposedly
sucks, and thats why I've shied away.

Gravy falls into the affordable and light hearted camp. No new ground is
broken with the updated diner concept, but thats okay (it certainly beats
the hurl inducing Sonnys). The interior is bizarrely vast, even by Brooklyn
standards. A Friday night table for two was no problem.

Unfortunately, the operation wasn't completely up to snuff yet. Not all
menu items were available, for instance the vegetable muffaletta I'd wanted.
After striking out, I changed my second choice Monte Cristo to the more
routine Rueben just to preempt any additional disappointment. It was a
perfectly respectable rendition, skewered with toothpicks bearing a black
and green olive. The fries, sprinkled with shredded parsley, were also nice.

The entrees include what you might expect: chicken fried steak, meatloaf
and macaroni and cheese, which every table of white guy/Asian girl duos (to
be fair, there was one table with the reverse ethic combo, but they were
both wearing flip flops so my initial positive impression was soured) in the
room seemed to have a plate of.

Mac and cheese is one of those gross comfort foods that I don't get, but
everyone seems to love (I also dislike hotdogs, so maybe somethings wrong
with me). Noodles and cheese just don't thrill me, but perhaps thats not the
point. I noticed a lot of faces being made, complaining and picking at food
by the women, which was kind of baffling. But the men werent much better,
the gentleman next to us didnt know what chicken fried steak was, and he
didnt even touch his vegetables, which appeared to be fresh picked and
decent looking not frozen.

The desserts, however, were not freshly made as I'd been hoping. The
adequate choices, which included Reeses cheesecake and apple pie, came boxed
and ready to slice. I know because the woman prepping them with sliced
strawberries and whipped cream was stationed mere feet from us.

When I originally heard that Gravys stayed open until 2am I got excited
because there's nowhere for late night dining in the neighborhood. I was
super thwarted on a recent Sunday when I wanted dessert after 10pm and we
walked blocks and blocks of urban ghost town. I had visions of eating
homemade lemon meringue pie in the middle of the night, but it looks like my
sugar fix might more along the lines of a defrosted cheesecake slice.

Gravy * 102 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

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Apr 17

Banania

I think this place is closed/in flux (4/06)

I'm not a brunch person. I like the concept, but the dining event takes
effort. And really, its a social affair. Friends meeting friends from the
neighborhood. Youngsters placating visiting parents. And depending where you
live, brunch is a playground substitute. If anything I shy away in Carroll
Gardens because I find strollers, drool and colic less than appetizing.

But we ventured out on a sunny Sunday morning anyway. Banania is one of
the more popular brunch spots in the area (my out of town sister and
boyfriend nosed it out unaided on their last visit), I'm not sure why, the
food is standard fare, I guess the prices are fair, there is outdoor seating
and a complimentary bread basket, complete with chocolate croissant. Thanks
to the nature loving throngs who adore dining al fresco (I generally don't)
there were actually free tables inside during prime time. No complaints
there. James and I went Hollandaise crazy and ordered eggs benedict and
Florentine, respectively (I never realized people had such issues with
Hollandaise. The woman on my right ordered Florentine minus the sauce,
though clearly wasn't fat-phobic since she ordered an extra plate of bacon.
The woman on my left wanted her Hollandaise on the side. Why don't they just
order egg white omelets and be done with it?). They were pleasant enough
renditions and came with home fries and salad greens. It's doubtful I'd
return any time soon, no fault of Banania, brunch is just a very occasional
thing.

Banania * 241 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

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Mar 5

TGI Friday’s Springfield

I'd been drawn to this Route 22 Friday's because of its funky '60s-style sign and lack of their usual red and white barber pole stripes and yellow lettering. But what's not noticeable on stress-filled drive bys (James and I always get into a fight on Rt. 22, it's the lamest traffic pattern ever with weird u turns, no traffic lights and relentlessly speeding cars. I'm always afraid we're going to get killed and we always end up pissed off at each other) is that they aren't original signs but crafted to look old. The whole restaurant is weird, stylistically different and very '90s with distressed metal, though all the same crappy memorabilia glued to the walls. Sizzling platters may sound like a good idea in corporate test kitchens, but they're not so great in practice. I'm always fascinated by the propensity to cheese smother every thing at chain restaurants. I'm so not a seasonal, market menu purist, but a few unadorned items wouldn't kill anyone. Nevertheless, I went for the bruschetta shrimp and parmesan potato wedges adorned with "Mexican cheese" (at least it wasn't nacho topping). The so-called Mexican cheese was out of control, not merely pleasantly bubbling, but popping and burning on the bottom. I know some people intentionally create cheese crisps and call them frico, but this is Fridays' not a classy Italian joint (like the Olive Garden down the highway). I tried to stir the white lake of cheese that was becoming a cracker but I only half preserved the cheese's original integrity. And yet strangely, the entree was still more appetizing than the Yoda puppet glued on the wall above our booth.

TGI Friday's * 40 Route 22 W., Springfield, NJ

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Jan 7

DuMont Burger

I don't know why I spent the past two weekends traipsing around Williamsburg
(I've tried to avoid the area for the past few years. I had a couple of
innocent beers at Zablozki's and was totally scared by the riff raff, all
entourage minus the star teeming out of SEA onto N. 6th St. Where do these
baseball capped phantoms come from? It doesn't seem worth the travel effort
from New Jersey or Long Island. Or from Bay Ridge or Bayside, for that
matter) but at least this Saturday I managed to keep my food and drink in my
stomach and out of public spaces.

Always the pessimist, I didn't have much faith that DuMont Burger, which
somehow became the out-of-the-blue focus of two of the four members I was
with, would still be open after 1am, but we were in luck.

The room was comfortably sparse, woody and counter and stool style. I'm more
of a booth gal, but eating at the bar felt more personal like our burgers
were being crafted just for us (well, technically they were since after the
first ten minutes we were the lone diners).

We ordered various permutations, a veggie burger, a mini and
two regular burgers, fries and a salad chosen for sides. I can only speak
for my own, a medium-rare gruyere topped burger with fries. Having a few
drinks under your belt always makes food a little tastier, but I truly think
this meal was top notch. The meat was juicy, if not more rare than medium (I
like a pink patty, but sticklers should probably order a notch more done
than usual) and slightly sweet, perhaps from Worcestershire sauce. I don't
think the sweetness of the brioche bun alone would've caused this. They come
thick, and with the addition of tomato slice, onion rounds, sweet pickles
and lettuce leaf it's a tad too tall. I guess the baby-mouthed could opt for
the mini, but I wanted my full 9 ounces, just squished down slightly.

The parsley flecked fries pretty were right on, neither too thick or
thin, nor too soggy or crispy. I've never been able to order a side salad
when fried potatoes are an option. Though as of January 9 I'm supposed to be
eating healthier, I'm not sure how DuMont Burger might fit into my proposed
betterment plan. Moderation, right? (1/7/05)

DuMont Burger * 314 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jan 5

Bryant Park Grill

1/2

It wouldn't be my first choice for a company lunch, but its not as if I'm in
an expense account industry (well, advertising: yes, but a librarian within
such an organization: no). Per Se, Masa—not happening. As a
post-Christmas present our department was taken out to lunch by a former
company CEO who still holds court, at least figuratively, on some oak-heavy
floor that I've never ventured on. I didn't want to look a gift horse in the
mouth despite the host and the two employees who ordered after him all
asking for the exact same Caesar salad and cheese ravioli special. Weird. I
got the boring womans choice: roasted chicken, though primarily for the
french fries that came on the side. And since I wasn't paying I didnt feel
much guilt about only eating half of my food (not by choice—everyone
else just ate faster and I had to stop too). Isn't that the French
way everyone seems to smitten with lately? Eat whatever you want, but
just a few bites. Waste is so chic.

Bryant Park Grill * 25 W.
40th St., New York, NY

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Dec 20

WD-50

1/2 Dinner at WD-50 was better than expected, really top-notch and fun. I'm always afraid I'm going to be disappointed by popular restaurants (like a couple weeks ago we went to Mermaid Inn, which isn't quite in the same league, but was a hot spot last year, and I was under whelmed. Plus, the waiter called me ma'am, where at WD-50 they had the good sense to use miss. It's the little things, you know.). Maybe that's why I tend to give them a good six to twelve months to mellow out.

The disturbing yet entertaining portion of the evening came from the couple one table away (luckily it wasn't so packed that you have to do the classic NYC crammed thing where you can barely squeeze into your seat because it's set up with about 3" of space between tables. The waiters always pull the table out for diners, but still you have to either scoot your crotch or butt right up against your neighbor's table. It doesn't really matter how svelte you are, settling in is going to take a few awkward seconds.) At first I thought we were witnessing a flaccid date, but it felt a little too strained for that.

The duo was made up of an Asian guy who exuded finance industry with his blahness and a so-so blonde woman who probably thought she was prettier than she was. They could've been anywhere from 28 to 34–it's not always easy to peg that demographic. I was obvious that the gentleman was trying to impress her, it was transparent enough that she was subtly egging him on in a manipulative way. She wasn't going to hump him (though James thought there was a slight chance she might) she just relished the attention…and probably the free meal, he did order a $145 pinot noir (we opted for a sauvignon blanc that was exactly $100 less). She only ordered one thing, a cod entre and didn't even finish her tiny portion, while he ordered two appetizers and an entre for himself.

He proceeded to bring up his fiance, and it was clear that he was fishing to see if there was any chance things might work between him and his dining companion. We guessed they were college friends, or old acquaintances, not likely coworkers. He was saying stuff like, "if circumstances were different…" and he brought up babies like three times, it was totally gross, and how this woman would make a good mother. Nothing gets a girl wet faster than pregnancy banter. I almost barfed up my pickled beef tongue and fried mayonnaise (and not because I was eating pickled beef tongue and fried mayonnaise).

He then began schooling her in the history of avant-garde cooking and saying how the chef Wylie Dufresne, was a protege of Ferran Adria who is like the progenitor of all the current culinary trends (he invented using foam, you know like carrot foam, but has now moved on to essences, seriously, you don't even eat them, you just breathe them in and experience them) and is chef at the impossible to get into (though not so impossible that this guy wasn't able to eat there and brag about it) restaurant in Spain, El Bulli. Anyway, Wylie Dufresne isn't a protg of Ferran Adria (doesn't protg mean you studied under the person?), I wanted to tell him so, but that was hardly even the point.

They exchanged gifts, he gave her a L'Occitane gift set (the same one James is giving his mother–does that make it any less romantic a present?) and she offered a wine bag and what must've been a fancy bottle of wine because he couldn't stop thanking her for it (though he probably would've jizzed himself over a jug of Gallo of as long as it came from this woman). We were appeased when this guy seemed to become unnecessarily humiliated when the sommelier wouldn't allow him to open this bottle of wine and share it with his lady friend, the mood was totally ruined, and he got all snippy and asked for the check when the waiter subsequently inquired about dessert. "We're not dessert people," he snapped, and they left in a huff. He probably figured that extra wine might've been adequate to lower his companion's defenses enough to impregnate her. Such an uplifting holiday tale.

Yes, the food. We did eat more than eavesdrop and just because I've neglected to discuss our actual dinner doesn't mean the meal wasn't noteworthy. As mentioned, I had the pickled tongue with little fried mayonnaise cubes and sprinkles of crumbs that were supposed to be onion streusel, there were also dehydrated scattered grains of what formerly was lettuce. If you created a bite using all components it tasted like a sandwich. A small beef tongue sandwich. Being a pork belly fiend, that entre had to be done. Sure, it was rich and I was pleasantly surprised by the decent portion. Even though pork belly is best in small doses, I feared the artistic giant plate/tiny serving syndrome. The five meltingly unctuous slices were more than adequate and accompanied well by fatty antitheses: turnips and soybeans. We shared what was probably the most pedestrian dessert, "chocolate cream, coffee soil, tonka bean ice cream," which was a conglomeration of vanilla and chocolate shapes and textures, cakey and creamy. I was tipsy enough at this point (I'd already downed a few pre-dinner cocktails at the new Barramundi across the street) that the idea of eating chocolate dirt seemed like the ultimate nightcap.

WD-50 * 50 Clinton St., New York, NY

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