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Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

Zizi Limona

threeshovelIt didn’t seem right to lump Zizi Limona in with the recent Williamsburg batch. Partially because even though the newish Mediterranean-plus restaurant got
the Hungry City treatment and a Brooklyn Heatmap nod, whenever I pass by–maybe at the wrong times–I see a candlelit expanse of diner-less tables. And that’s just not right.

The above-mentioned plus is that it’s not just a falafel joint, something it might be getting unfairly pegged as. Recently when deciding where to eat with a group, I suggested Zizi Limona because it wasn’t likely to pose a seating trauma on a Saturday night. It was shot down with the supposition that a friend of a friend didn’t want kebabs because she’d just spent the past few years in Iraq. No arguments in this case–Williamsburg is rife with all-American food; fried chicken, burgers and bbq for miles–but the not wanting kebabs argument could be a problem. For what it’s worth, there are seven items in the section called Classic Big Zi’s (as opposed to less traditional Big Zi’s, Small Zi’s and salads) and only one involves kebabs, served with a mysterious sounding black babaganoush.

Zizi limona tershi

I may try the lamb eventually, but other dishes give a fuller picture of the border-crossing style. Take the Tershi, Jewish by way of Libya, a naturally sweet, gingery pumpkin mash grounded with cumin and stewed chickpeas. I don’t know anywhere else in NYC that serves it.

Zizi limona sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

Or the bourekas, called here Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar, flaky pastry cylinders stuffed with non-traditional mozzarella and basil and moved eastward with almonds and honey.

Zizi limona chicken liver

A special featured chicken liver, rich, unadorned (I thought it might be coated and fried) and served with Jerusalem artichoke (or sunchoke, if you rather) two ways: pureed as a base and slivered and fried to a crisp as a garnish gone wild. Hit with thyme and Santorini vinegar, like a less sweet balsamic, this was about as far from a kebab as you could get.

Zizi Limona * 129 Havemeyer St., Brooklyn, NY

Eaten, Barely Blogged: 11211

Le Comptoir It seems like just yesterday I moved to
Clinton Hill, but that was five months ago. Now it’s winter and I’m living in
Williamsburg where there is easily ten times the number of restaurants and I may as well be a grandma. That’s
one reason why Le Comptoir seemed like an odd choice to be name-checked in the
new rental’s glowing ad copy.
I wouldn’t consider the bistro notable enough to
convince anyone to move nearby and only went because I wasn’t in the mood for a
long Saturday night wait after a day of moving and it was empty (while Walter
Foods next door was at capacity) at first, then filled with drinkers up front.
I think they live on their all-you-can-drink weekend brunch. Service was
predictably wonky and my Sazerac, which I only ordered because it was listed,
was served iced like the Manhattans in Southeast Asia. My steak tartare with
salad was fine, if not generously portioned for $11. A fallback, not a first
choice.

Briskettown breakfast tacos

BrisketTown I’ve still not experienced the primetime
bbq (nor the just introduced lunch sandwiches) but during the day they serve
the brisket–and you should get the brisket–in Austin-style breakfast tacos.
The floppy flour tortillas make the creation feel more like an open-faced
burrito. Despite tales of lines for dinner and running out before closing time,
there was not another soul inside for the morning shift. Though the pulled pork
and brisket look similar (I did not try the vegetable, the third offering) each
had its own unique garnish: a slightly bitter cabbage for the pork and pickled
red onions for the smoked beef. The latter, blended with scrambled eggs and
chile sauce had the edge. I have never been to Texas so I can’t speak to any
authenticity–bacon or chorizo are the favored meats there–but the breakfast
tacos have been given thumbs up by more than one Austin transplant.

Forcella Part of the 2011 montanara pizza craze that
apparently has died down. And once again, we were the only diners on a
weeknight (not a good trend). I like the concept–it’s not as if they’re going
full-Scottish and battering and deep-frying the whole pizza–but it failed to
deliver. The whole center was sog, defeating the whole purpose of the fry. I
would’ve rather had a langos.

Maision premiere happy hour

 Maison Premiere A wild exception to the
everyplace is empty experience. Arriving at 4:05pm for the 4pm-7pm $1 oyster
happy hour was no prevention against waiting until 6pm until an iced tray of oysters
appeared in front of me. Whether or not this was the result of a
three-day-weekend Monday (I hope to god) or a normal Monday, I can’t say. And
the seating procedure was arcane, to boot. The initial 20-minute quote turned
out to be just to enter the restaurant, which was already at capacity, and not
for any guarantee of bar seating where you can order food (seats with ledges in
the bar are drinks-only). Said prime bar seating is a free for all and
predatory. If you wait another hour or so one of the real sit-down tables will
eventually become available. Logistics aside, a buck an oyster is a good deal,
and 18 varieties means you can get an education (I knew I liked Malpeques but
the super briny new-to-me Beausoleil and Totten Island oysters were the best)
even if it’s unlikely that I would return anytime soon (or could unless I snuck
off work early). The non-raw bar food is ambitious. Loup de mer crudo was
precious in size, though brightly flavored with grapefruit and marcona almonds
for a little richness. And I was not expecting a cloche and tableside saucing
with the langoustine and sweetbreads, especially not as the large group of
young men at the next table were doing their best impression of Dave Chapelle channeling
Rick James by shrieking “I’m rich bitch.”


Omg tacoOMG Taco
Technically 11206 (and no, this isn’t Bushwick) there is not probably any reason to eat
here other than being very drunk and/or needing food on the same block as the
Montrose L station.With that said, the bistec taco (pictured) could’ve been worse.

Taco Chulo There is not a strong argument to eat
here either, though I have done so many times. It is useful for large groups
with varying levels of interest in food–and there’s no harm in a margarita and
queso-drenched  nachos every now and
then.

WD-50

threeshovelThere are times when I’d like to start a gimmick blog, only eating at restaurants run by fellow Leos, traveling to every Bonefish Grill around the country, or subsisting on nothing but carbs for a year. Decaded, or maybe Aluminum Anniversary, would chronicle my mission to only eat at restaurants that have been open at least ten years. Or maybe ones where I haven’t been back in ten years? (Gael Greene is on this trend.)

I would have to wait a few months to include WD-50, but it would make for a worthy example. A lot can change in a decade.  My last visit was at the end of 2004 before the dilemma of whether or not to act like a civilized adult and leave the camera at home was a thought. Back then I only used words, I talked about the food even less than I do now, I didn’t do the tasting menu, and the restaurant seemed very upscale. I also thought I was too old to be drinking on the LES in 2004. Now, that’s a given and I’ve moved past it, so I hit Barramundi’s happy hour first just like
last time.

As to what upscale means now, WD-50 still is in price and intent, but as far as fine dining goes it’s relaxed (I ultimately opted for the camera, obviously, and it was no big thing), service is just friendly enough and the chef was hands on in the kitchen, despite Alder’s impending opening.

We’re at a contrarian moment regarding tasting menus. I’ll admit that I shy away from them more than I used to, but they have their place when marking  the periodic special occasion (in this case Valentine’s Day not on the 14th and not technically with someone who is my boyfriend any longer). Or when someone else is paying, of course.

I’m not so much of a nostalgist that I needed to dip into the vault, as they’re calling the smaller tasting menu that reprises classics. I wanted the modern version, the only other option, that was introduced last spring. Some of the dishes still bear a resemblance to the original iterations (I was extremely relieved to see that the honeydew had been dropped in the chartreuse dessert, but I wouldn’t have minded trying the root beer ribs).

I chose an Oregon pinot noir (after starting with a Rye Not?), Elk Cove’s 2010 Clay Court, because lighter reds are solid fallback if you’re going to stick with one wine for multiple courses, I have a soft spot for my home state, and West Coast pinot noirs made up a good number of the red wines on the list. Bizarrely, the couple next to use who only asked for “a red,” were steered toward Oregon pinot noirs. Is it a varietal and region for beginners?

Wd-50 nigiri, salsify, seaweed, sesame

Nigiri, salsify, seaweed, sesame. Cream cheese and seaweed are turned into spheres that mimick the trout roe, and that’s salsify not rice as the base. My original WD-50 visit prompted the created of the Eclectic/International category because I didn’t know where this food fell. I would be more inclined to just call it American now, sushi or not.

Wd-50 sweet shrimp, 'pine needles,' chestnut, cranberry

Sweet shrimp, ‘pine needles,’ chestnut, cranberry.  A little Nordic, a little Christmas. Pine needles freak me out in a good way, and these aren’t coniferous but crafted so they nearly dissolved in the mouth rather than offending with menthol chew.

Wd-50 pho gras

Pho gras. One of my favorites, maybe because it’s a play on a familiar dish. The rice noodles were almost superfluous; what mattered most were the foie gras torchon and beef tendon chicharron that could be doled out into the cinnamon-and-star anise-spiked consomme to melt and transform into a seriously luxe soup. The little dots of combo hoisin-and-Sriracha and microgreens only helped matters. No making fun of tweezer-style plating here.

Wd-50 bone marrow, potato, pomegranate, pepper streusel

Bone marrow, potato, pomegranate, pepper streusel. I liked the idea and presentation of this more than the reality. I may be mixing up where the potato and marrow end up, but if I’m correct the edible bone is made from the animal product and had a cartilagey, powdery quality while the invented marrow lacked the unctuousness the brain expects.

Wd-50 bay scallop, pear, oatmeal-nori

Bay scallop, pear, oatmeal-nori. Then again, this also played with that chalky texture in the form of oatmeal and it worked. I would never put a single one of these ingredients together, a blend that created a tamped down sweet-saline effect.

Wd-50 pig tail, artichoke, olive oil jam, hazelnut

Pig tail, artichoke, olive oil jam, hazelnut. There’s always a dish or two that slips past me. That description is from the website (somehow I didn’t get the paper menu) but I’m not convinced that’s what this was. Compressed meat, likely pork, yes, and there were definitely hazelnut overtones, but also lemon, and what looks like fluffy grated cheese and melting more like Monterrey Jack than parmesan, is bone marrow, maybe the bone marrow I missed in the potato dish.

Wd-50 bass, squash, cherry, juniper, couscous

Bass, squash, cherry, juniper, couscous.

Wd-50 squab, tomato hummus, pickled turnips, tzatziki

Squab, tomato hummus, pickled turnips, tzatziki. I was not expecting Mediterranean flavors. “Green liquid falafel right on,”  as my disjointed notes read. I’ll stick with that. There was also a pleasant livery flavor, likely from the game bird.

Wd-50 flatiron, mushroom jerky, grape, verjus

Flatiron, mushroom jerky, grape, verjus.  The meatiest course was also the most straightforward. Dried mushrooms and grapes and the umami and sweetness they added weren’t out of line with the thick cut of rare beef.

Wd-50 coconut, cucumber, pineapple, chartreuse

Coconut, cucumber, pineapple, chartreuse. The doom dessert that wasn’t, though it still was startlingly vegetal for my liking.  Barely sweet from the pineapple, it’s a bridge more than a dessert.

Wd-50 walnut, sweet potato, coffee, plum wine

Walnut, sweet potato, coffee, plum wine.

Wd-50 s'mores, bitter cocoa, meringue, blackberry

S’mores, bitter cocoa, meringue, blackberry. Ok, a real dessert. I don’t always remember the sweet courses like the one above, but this one with the smokiness, chile heat, fruit tartness (I tasted cherry rather than blackberry) and gooey texture stuck with me.

Wd-50 beer, malt, pretzel

Beer malt pretzel.

Big mac

How many times (don’t tell me never) have you heard the “I had to eat a Big Mac afterward,” cliche used to deride the sorry effeteness of tasting menus? I have never ever had that experience, but we hit the
McDonald’s on Delancey (Shamrock shakes are back!) afterwards anyway just to make the trope complete. I wasn’t hungry even an hour later,  safely home watching The Americans, but it had to be done.  What I took away after not having eaten this burger in at least two decades was that even if you’re not hungry after a tasting menu, you can always make room for a Big Mac.

 WD-50 * 59 Clinton St., New York, NY

Bonefish Grill Staten Island

If I were a paid mystery shopper for Bloomin’ Brands
Inc. or a fake employee on Mystery Diners (that show is so staged, right?) I’d have to report some underperformance at NYC’s first Bonefish Grill. One could go as far as saying I’m a Bonefish aficionado (no one should go as far as saying afishianado) since I’m unabashed about it being my favorite casual dining chain. Sometimes it even gives me feelings. Staten Island’s attempt, though, left me feeling that they weren’t quite following New Jersey’s model.

They do take reservations, unusual for a chain, and it’s an amenity not fully advertised so it’s great for  pissing off people who’ve been waiting close to an hour for their beeper to go off while you get seated straightway (this is how you induce envy in the suburbs).

So, with said reservations at 8:30pm on a Friday, intentionally arrived early to scope out the bar scene. The restaurant, a former Carrabba’s (there’s also no Olive Garden in S.I. which makes me wonder if the Italian-American contingent won’t abide chains) was far less bustling than its New Jersey counterparts. And while less crowded, it still felt understaffed. It took 15 minutes to get a drink, we weren’t given the list of specials (I’m not going to order a White Winter Cosmopolitan anyway, but you should offer) and I was asked if I wanted the blue cheese olives in my “Three Olives” Martini (quotes, all theirs) a not uncommon New York-ism where you order something as described on the menu and then are asked what you want in it. So, yes, I want the three blue cheese olives. Of interest, they were serving Brooklyn Sorachi Ace and lager, a nod to NYC not found at Garden State locations.

Bonefish grill staten island bread

I started getting panicky (ok, not really) when the bread and pesto dipping sauce didn’t automatically arrive after being seated and I didn’t see evidence on anyone’s table. Once again, like the cheesey olives, we were asked if we wanted bread instead of it arriving by default. Why do they not understand that America is about excess? Would Red Lobster ask if you wanted Cheddar Bay Biscuits? Of course not because the biscuits are the only reason to dine at Red Lobster. Bonefish’s warm cibatta is no Cheddar Bay Biscuit, but it’s part of the routine. The loaf eventually came, but naked on a plate instead of swaddled in the usual white poly-blend napkin in a metal basket. Is this approved by corporate?

Bonefish grill staten island bang bang shrimp

The signature Bang Bang Shrimp arrived minutes after ordering, suspiciously fast. And suspiciously soft.

Bonefish grill staten island lobster thermidor

I don’t go to Bonefish for pin-pricks of sauce or tweezered micro-herbs artfully arranged on the plate, but I wouldn’t mind a little symmetry. My Lobster Thermidor Dorado (a not bad mahi mahi filet smothered in cream sauce, crab meat and lobster claws) is about to escape off the plate.

True to form, they did play moderately obscure alternative songs (It was “Shellshock” that originally endeared me) that now sound adult contemporary like Echo and the Bunnyman’s 1996 past its prime, “Stormy Weather.”

Cadillac hubcap

On the way back to Brooklyn, a Cadillac exploded or I don’t even know what and a flying hubcap shredded our tire. And then the flat replacement had a hole. I can’t help but think that waiting two hours for AAA to do something (they won’t rescue on the BQE, by the way; you must get your car up an exit onto a service road unless you want to pay extra for the tow) in teen temps (no surer way to sober up after a few Zombies) was a sure sign that suburban chains are best left to the real suburbs, just as a Dallas BBQ would make no sense in Westchester, a working theory that needed to be made concrete. Go try some of that Times-approved Sri Lankan food, instead.

Bonefish Grill * 280 Marsh Ave., Staten Island, NY

Three Letters

When I heard “70’s French Truck Stop,” my first
thought was Restaurant Madrid, a ramshackle diner along the route between Quebec City and Montreal with monster trucks and
dinosaurs in the parking lot, even though that's French-Canadian, not French French. My second thought was "that's
likely bullshit," though to be fair they did temper their vision with "vaguely." (I had similar thoughts when The Third Man
was described endlessly as inspired by the Loos Bar, a description I
wouldn't have questioned if I hadn't just been in Vienna and knew better. I
also see I'm not alone in my grumbling.)

I still wanted to see what Three Letters was about,
if only because Clinton Hill is a little new restaurant-deprived. I was not
alone in my curiosity. At 7pm on a Saturday there was already a half-hour wait
and by the time I was seated it was getting a little traumatic (many of the same people
were still waiting for tables by the time we vacated). Buzz, they have it.

Meanwhile, The Wallace, just a ways down Fulton is
always empty and now a daily deal staple (couples on both sides of my table,
British, deeper-middle-aged and not impressed with Three Letters, and the two younger men who liked
things fine, mentioned this dichotomy, one to me intentionally, the other overheard) which makes me feel bad because the food at the Wallace is
solid and the newlyweds who run it seem earnest. It's just not a cool place.

Perhaps its the bar with a good number of seats and lots
of inexpensive snacks, including everyone's must-have: pickles, as we're now
all living in a "fried pickle environment." (About those pickles–I
got into an elevator conversation with coworker I've never really spoken with
before and it turns out she lives nearby, had gone on opening night and took issue
with what was described as fried pickles on the menu being fried pickled
vegetables, not pickled cucumbers, i.e. how the average American thinks of
pickles, and got condescended to by the bartender when asking about it.) The
prices don't hurt; the most expensive thing on the menu is $18 and bottles of
wine topped out at $45.

Three letters venison rissoles

Rissoles are like savory turnovers, and stuffed with
venison are not wildly dissimilar in concept to Do or Dine's fawntons. Served
with a smoked cherry jam, the $4 hors d'œuvre is one of those aforementioned
bites that could be fun to nibble at the bar.

The smaller dishes had more appeal on paper, though
I didn't get to fully test out this theory. Moules poutine, mussels, fries and
gravy, came from the kitchen in a steady stream, landing on what appeared to be
every table but ours (yet still made it onto the check–we were scolded for not
saying anything about not receiving it sooner). So, not all French French,
after all.

Three letters chicken st. james

I never order the roast chicken, but thought I'd
test out a basic, here called Chicken St. James and accompanied by grilled
broccoli and a potato gratin, described as pommes alene. I got nervous when
warned that it was "cooked to order" and would take 20 minutes, since
I would expect everything to be cooked to order. I remembered why I don't order
roast chicken unless it's pollo a la brasa: it's really boring.

The food, overall, is just ok. I'd rather eat at a
French truck stop in France, but I wouldn't discourage anyone in the vicinity
from stopping by (it's really a neighborhood restaurant, not the destination it
was being treated as). I would go back if someone suggested it. I don't know that they will. The service
could use a little softening around the edges, despite the allowances I can
make for a super-slammed opening weekend.

Three Letters * 930 Fulton St., Brookyn, NY

 

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Crickets, Chicken Combos, Salted Caramel

La popular quint

La Antojeria Popular We'll always have the
hole-in-the-wall taquerias (and despite what West Coasters argue, NYC has
plenty of Mexican food that doesn't suck) even as flashier entrants come in
waves. La Esquina to Hecho in Dumbo to Tacombi, and more recently El Toro
Blanco, Salvation Taco and La Antojeria Popular, the latter being the newest offering from the
owners of Taka Taka, the Mexican conveyor
belt sushi restaurant in Soho. As the name implies, the menu is made up of
antojitos, a.k.a. little snacks or "Mexican tapas," some more
traditional than others. Pictured is a sampling (gratis, in the name of full disclosure)
that includes the Guerrero (raw tuna cubes and mango tossed in serrano
mayonnaise on a jicama round), Michoacan (chicken in mole sauce with toasted
sesame seeds and crema on a corn tostada), Zacatecas (sirloin, salsa verde,
chihuahua cheese, also on a corn tostada) and Tamaulipas (steak, beans, chihuahua
cheese, pasilla mayonnaise–mayo is definitely a thing–in a pita sort of like
a taco arabe). For obvious reasons the Oaxaca topped with crickets–a little salty and chewy, not so
scary–and avocado on a blue corn tortilla, has gotten the most press. There is
also a small selection of ceviches and sides like the Distrito Federal (a mix
of shrimp, tilapia and beef) and Morelos, which are esquites (corn, mayonnaise,
chile, lime topped with a square of queso fresco). Desserts include a flan with
cajeta and increasingly omnipresent La Newyorkina paletas.


Pio pio matador comboPio Pio My favorite Peruvian chain. Ok, maybe NYC's
only Peruvian chain (I guess there's similarly named Pio Pio Riko too?). The
Matador Combo is $34 well spent, and minus the hot dog fries there's nothing terribly offbeat about Peruvian food, despite it winning the top "exotic" spot among US consumers surveyed about Latin American cuisine. Of course you get the chicken, burnished,
garlicky and salty (I think soy sauce is a not-so-secret ingredient) and no
matter how many birds they churn out (it will never not be crowded on a weekend night) still
moist, plus salchipapas, everyone's favorite french fry and wiener dish, avocado
salad, rice, beans, tostones, and the all-important green sauce (mayonnaise
being the not-at-all-secret ingredient). I like the metal bucket crammed full
of Heinz mustard and ketchup, even if I don't what the condiments are meant to go with.


Big gay ice cream salty pimpBig Gay Ice Cream Shop So, I've never been. Some
people think I don't like desserts, which isn't true at all. I just rarely go
to sweets-only shops and never patronize food trucks or street fairs or carnivals or whevever it is that sugar is sold in multiple formats. The Salty
Pimp with its chocolate-dipped vanilla ice cream and salted dulce de leche is
pretty perfect, and they even offer to put it in a dish for you, a flourish I
like because I'm fussy (yes, a fork-and-knife pizza-eater). Don't go after 11pm,
though, if you want something more elaborate like the Monday Sundae (similar
flavors to the Salty Pimp but in a bigger Nutella-lined waffle cone and
smothered in whipped cream) because they won't make it. And there was more of
that Fany Gerson and her La Newyorkina paletas–she gets around.

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Cold-Fighting

Taste good malaysian trio

Taste Good Malaysian There are many directions you
can go if you're a spicy soup to ward off a cold type: soondubu jjigae, hotpot,
menudo (for some reason tom yum doesn't appeal) or Singapore laksa, a.k.a.
laksa lemak, the rich coconutty style. Somehow the combination of heat and
creaminess just makes sense for a sore throat. Elmhurst's Taste Good Malaysian
is as good as anywhere to get a fix. Their version filled with bean curd puffs,
half a hardboiled egg, chicken shreds, a few small shrimp, fish cakes, bean
sprouts and fat, round translucent noodles is a meal in itself (always a
problem because it's too filling to allow for any rendang, nasi lemak or sambal
shrimp) though a shared roti canai and popiah won't hurt. I only regret having waved off the scrappy gentleman trying to sell a
bottle of Robitussin in front of the Queens Adult Care Center on the walk to
the restaurant because I'm still sick (the laksa didn't work, but it was tasty)
and too beat to walk the eight blocks to the nearest drug store.


Die kolner bierhalle bratwurstDie Koelner Bierhalle The Park Slope beer hall with
a surprising amount of seating (communal, of course) is more for drinking and
sporting, though a simple bratwurst and big plate of spaetzle and speck (not
pictured) are fitting winter accompaniments. Just don't try to order the bauernwurst
or you'll be steered away with "Nobody orders it. We're removing it from
the menu." What's wrong with the bauernwurst?

Blaue Gans You could also get a bratwurst here (no
bauernwurst, sorry) but it will be $7 more than in Park Slope. While relatively
casual, Blaue Gans is still more of a sit-down affair. If you order the blood
sausage, you might be asked if you've had it before. (Do you see a trend
forming? During three recent meals–including Qi Grill, not mentioned here–I
was essentially told that I didn't really want what I said I wanted, which
makes me testy.) Or maybe the server just meant it's not presented in cased
sausage form, but loose and molded into a circle. No one warned me away from
the calves liver with apples and bacon, thankfully.


Cafecito bogota cartegena arepaCafecito Bogota If you find yourself in upper
Greenpoint on Sunday during dreaded brunch time, you could do worse than an a
la carte arepa (though feel free to order the $16.99 three-drink with food special
if you're into mucho mimosas, sangria or refajo, an unseemly blend of Colombian
beer and cream soda–they weren't able to make a bloody mary). The Cartegena
comes with a big mound of scrambled eggs, shrimp and cilantro.

Hudson Yards Cafe This might be the most inoffensive lunch place closest
to the Javits Center. Never mind that all the
other badge-wearers (you've taken yours off, of course) are drinking iced tea
and Diet Coke. Stick to your guns and down two pints of Stella with your
fontina (spelled fontana) and prosciutto panini; it'll endear the older bartender who's also midday tippling to you. If you're a certain age being referred to as a "good girl" isn't offensive.


Taco chulo rajas hashTaco Chulo I don't normally eat restaurant
breakfasts (despite contrary evidence above) especially not on weekdays, but I
had time to kill before looking at a nearby apartment (I didn't realize how
many area restaurants are dinner-only) and rajas hash with chorizo was right on,
greasy and yolky with a bit of heat. Of course when I showed up to the
apartment on time, a twentysomething couple was also waiting even though their
appointment was a half-hour after mine and so I was forced to look at their
out-of-my-budget apartments with them (and vice versa). Why kill time, waiting
your turn when you can just be a twentysomething in Williamsburg?

 

 

 

Qi Thai Grill

Qi Thai Gril is Williamsburg’s latest attempt at Meatpacking the neighborhood. The enormous stage set restaurant could simply be ignored if the food wasn’t actually pretty good. Though I can’t say that’s true across the board, since I was careful to mostly order things that sounded interesting, no green curry or pad thai. And if our server’s cock-blocking of multiple dishes ordered is any indication, no one’s opting for the stuff that’s worth trying.
(Overheard at neighboring table: “I don’t like coconut milk.” What?)

Ignore the chopsticks, order the small dishes and specialties, don’t for the love of god be a couple who each orders one thing and eats it like an individual entree (the worst!) dig the statuary and ambient Asian boutique hotel chillout music while pretending you’re at an upscale Bangkok restaurant for foreigners. Then laugh because you’re in beardo Brooklyn. Whatever Qi is, it’s not Fushimi.

Qi thai grill spicy beef tendon salad

“Do you know what tendon is?” is not what you expect to hear after explicitly ordering tendon. No one should be scared off because I suspect this is one of the more intriguing things on menu, if you know and enjoy eating tendons, of course. In fact, it’s the first thing on the first page of the menu (from the list of Sripraphai-created small plates). The tendons are not thin strips more common to Sichuan preparations, but fatty blobs that are a chewy foil for the bright lemongrass and kaffir lime and creeping heat that’s mighty. The roasted rice powder adds a toasty finish.

Qi thai grill ovaltine ribs

Minus the chile dipping sauce, there’s nothing particularly Thai about the Ovaltine ribs from Pichet Ong’s grilled selections. Rich with five spice–or at least star anise and cinnamon–the malty chocolate blends into combination that’s almost Malaysian. Like rendang on a bone.

Qi thai grill fiery pork red turmeric curry

When you see verbiage like “Perhaps the spiciest Thai dish that NYC has to offer” it’s hard to let the claim go untested. I’ve yet to encounter anything hotter than the brutal Southern curry at Sripraphai that no one should order more than once every half-decade, and the Fiery Pork Red Turmeric Curry is a little kinder. The split bird and dried red chiles are tamed by a soupy amount of coconut milk, though the heat is certainly on the serious end of the Scoville scale by Brooklyn Thai standards. Plus, I’m always happy to see those apple eggplants.

Qi thai grill pad kee mao

Noodles are always underwhelming, and the pad kee mao fell into that carby and comforting but ultimately unexciting category. A little chile-spiked fish sauce might have helped.

Qi Thai Grill * 176 Ninth St., Brooklyn, NY

 

 

Onyx

On vacation, if there's a Michelin star in town I'll
try it. It's certain to beat the Nobu or Buddha Bar that every international
capital now advertises. In Budapest it's an easy decision because there are
only two choices, one star apiece. My inclination was to go with the restaurant
serving lentil foam, though both Onyx and Costes, the other option, do two
tasting menus, one using more traditional ingredients and one more
international. I'd have to be on a second visit before branching out into
pineapple and avocado.

Onyx is plush and glossy, that mix of tufted
banquettes, chandeliers, oversized chairs, damask wallpaper that's Vegas
Versailles, but with unexpected glowing surfaces and space age metal wall
installations that are more of a cold climate Miami. Somehow it wasn't too
much. The diners were almost exclusively young couples from countries with even
more favorable exchange rates (the menu is priced in Euros, not Forints) with a
business dinner where the local underlings slowly nursed glasses of wine and
laughed more than they had to at American khaki bosses' stories.

Onyx bread & spreads

They do
not skimp on the bread. The basket comes with butter, pork rillettes and fresh
cheese. The wedge right in the center was mauve from red cabbage like a piece
of Hungarian ube pan de sal.

Onyx amuse

A puzzle
piece of squid is accented by dots of paprika sauce and a foamy milkshake, also
red pepper.

Onyx danube salmon, luke warm potato salad, crispy veal

Danube
salmon, luke warm potato salad, crispy veal.
That fried veal nugget showed up
again. When I first encountered it at Csalogány 26, I assumed it was a creative touch, but maybe it has Hungarian roots, after all.

Onyx marinated goose liver with plum textures

Marinated
goose liver with plum textures.
The puck of lacquered foie gras (you knew there
was going to be goose liver–even pubs and mom and pops in Budapest serve it) was
a lot of richness early on.  If I could
only eat one dish again, it would be this one, plus the bread basket. I basically want to eat nothing except fat and carbs for every meal.

Onyx hungarian sturgeon caviar with cauliflower puree, vegetables, “black soil”

Hungarian
sturgeon caviar with cauliflower puree, vegetables, “black soil.”
Thankfully,
the vegetable patch came next. I don't actually know what the dirt was crafted
from; I was more preoccupied with the world's tiniest melon hiding out near the
caviar.

Onyx mangalitza marmalade with lentil foam, and charbroiled mangalitza loin with lentil

Mangalitza
marmalade with lentil foam, and charbroiled mangalitza loin with lentil.
It
wouldn't be a survey of Hungarian cuisine without the beloved mangalitza. As often happens, the meatiest course shows up when you're fuller and less appreciative.

Onyx lentil foam

The foam,
with more of a pea soup body, got its own plate–and dark breadcrumbs.

Onyx intermediate dessert

Intermediate
dessert of forgotten ingredients.

Onyx 21st century somlói sponge cake

21st century
somlói sponge cake.
On the final night of my week in Budapest, I was now on my
third version of somlói. With a thick layer of real, dense chocolate, not syrup,
this non-traditional style was my favorite.

Onyx bar cart

Now here
is where it gets weird. The staff was mildly obsessed with getting people to
try the tableside Chemex coffee service. No one was biting. I kind of wanted to
peek at what was on the bar cart I'd seen making the rounds earlier, so I had
sour cherry palinka first. Maybe this upset the balance and order?

What I
really wanted was the petit four cart. Throughout the evening it has been
wheeled up to everyone's tables and I'd stealthily looked to see how many
treats they'd take (diners get shy when given no limits) and make a mental note
of which I wanted. The lavender marshmallows, for sure. Also, the mini canelés.

Onyx chemex presentation

The
coffee is done with flourish on a portable induction burner. I'm truly not a
coffee aficionado, no Portland roasting obsession ever rubbed off on me. Do you
know what would've went well with the coffee? A lavender marshmallow.

And that
was it. No treats (minus the box of two you're sent home with). Did they run
out? Were they trying to close?  At this
point, not yet 11pm, there was only one other couple in the dining room,
another anomaly since I didn't consider 8pm an unusually late hour to begin an
evening meal.  They were not brought the
sweets cart either, but a plate with a small selection on it. In hindsight, I
should've just said something. If you're paying hundreds of dollars (this was
very much NYC-priced) you don't need to be a mignardises martyr. This exact
situation played out during an Eleven Madison Park lunch back before they went
four star, and it soured me on them; I've never wanted to go back. It's not the
note to end on.

On the
way out the door we passed by the candy cart, well-stocked and taunting.  

Onyx *
Vörösmarty tér 7-8, Budapest, Hungary

Csalogány 26

Though the wines are all regional at Csalogány
26–it's your chance to sample from
Slovenia and Moldova–the food isn't overtly Hungarian.
It's a solid in-between restaurant, not too formal or casual with a menu that
changes regularly. And while you can dine a la carte, the prixe fixes, four or
eight courses, with wine pairings, is the way to go. The shorter option worked
out to being just $49.

I didn't take real photos because I was trying to be in
relaxed enjoy-your-meal mode instead of obnoxious tourist mode. And then it
happened that we were seated next to the other Americans (isn't it the worst
how Americans never want to be anywhere near another American abroad?)
walk-ins, a young woman in yoga pants, Toms and a $260 sweater (she said so)
with her bro friend and an SLR.

Csalogany 26 trio 1

The amuse and my first course were both pressed meat. In
fact, the chosen dish was called presskopf, which turned out to be a
fat-encased slices of pig's head terrine accompanied by chopped pickles and
sliced radishes. The crisp-skinned sea bass was in a completely different vein,
but also had a tart and briny flavor from capers tossed into the risotto.

Csalogany 26 trio 2

The third dish bridged the Eastern European and
Mediterranean with polenta and more composed meat. A veal tenderloin comes with
more veal, cheeks, cubed, panko-crusted and fried, reminiscent of the pork nuggets
at totally American Char no. 4.
For dessert I chose the cheese plate with a
puree of walnut, the chestnut paste of Hungary. An extra sweet appeared. Despite
the presence of cookies, it was more of a breakfast–unless you consider Farina-like
porridge with dried fruit a traditional dessert.

Budapest parliament

On the walk back to the subway–cheap, super efficient and
old-school Soviet with doors that slam shut so violently they'd easily chop off
a limb–you probably won't miss the glowing parliament building, which I
assumed was yet another castle. It's impressive at night, and probably more so
when captured by camera that's not an iPhone.

Csalogány 26 *
Csalogány utca 26, Budapest, Hungary