Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Aug 19

Battered Herb Syndrome

Even though it's crowded on weekend evenings, the spice level isn't always what it could be and worthy nearby competitors aren't scarce, I still rely on Sripraphai for a regular Thai food fix. It's the crispy watercress salad. I know this dish in and out.

Yet, on this Sunday afternoon visit (my second day in a row in Woodside—first for Jollibee, then back to Queens to replace a fried cable box. I need my True Blood and Mad Men. Did you know that the Time Warner office inside the Queens Center Mall is the only location in the entire city open on Sundays?) I was served a slightly different rendition than normal.

There was an unusually tall, fluffy pile of battered watercress sitting on top. More generous than I've seen before, the translucent golden stack gave the dish a more bountiful feel. The ratio might seem off, but once you mix things up and baste the herbs, chicken and seafood with the intensely savory goop resting at the bottom of the plate, the components settle down and mellow into a nice still-crunchy sog.

And the small ceramic dish filled with both chopped cashews and a small handful of whole nuts? It blew my mind. Well, almost. Self-garnishing is new. I don't even recall a crushed nut element in salads past. I liked it.

In a reversal, the drunken noodles did not come with the typical little dish of chile-spiked fish sauce. Shenanigans. Is the Sunday chef putting their own spin on the standards?

Next time, I'm in Woodside, I will force myself to try Centerpoint Thai, one block west of Sripraphai. There's no way that tales of a battered, fried papaya salad can go uninvestigated.

Previously on Sripraphai.

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Aug 15

Katmandu Spice

I think this might be a record between a visit and a closing; Katmandu Spice is already closed. (9/13/10)

Queens is a melting pot, sure. And sometimes that pot bubbles right over. Whether or not you enjoy the culinary chaos might depend on how you feel about eating Brazilian, Nepali and Chinese-Indian food cooked by the same chef.

I will never say no to novelty, so Kathmandu Spice, closer to the Irish end (after dinner, I was getting into the scene at the The Cuckoo’s Nest until they turned off The Smiths, flipped on the strobes and the techno DJ took over) of Woodside, lured me in. Sadly, others weren’t so convinced. Not a single other diner showed up during our visit on a prime Saturday night.

Oddly, we only ordered from the Brazilian section—I was more in the mood for grilled meats than momos or Manchurian chicken. The mixed grill contained a few chicken and beef chunks, breakfast sausage-like franks, farofa for sprinkling, and a vinegary salsa. It was a sampler but I could’ve gone for another pão de queijo even if this one was a little heavy on the bottom.

The peixe de praia is a very similar presentation, just with the addition of rice, beans and plantain coins atop the farofa.

They weren’t able to make the ensopado de frango, a chicken okra stew, so I opted for the bobó de camarão instead. I knew intellectually that the sauce was made of yuca puree, coconut milk and dende oil, but I kept thinking it was cheese with a hint of pineapple. Something about this dish seemed Asian, similar to a Hong Kong fusion marrying American cheese with lobster. I ate it, and my leftovers too, so I wasn't put off by the mix. I'm not sure that I would order it again, if only to give the Nepalese food a chance. Hopefully, diners will give Katmandu Spice a chance, period.

Next stop: Indo Hut, the self-proclaimed "Indo Continental Bistro" covered in grand opening flags I passed this weekend on Queens Boulevard.

Kathmandu Spice * 60-15A Woodside Ave., Woodside, NY

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Aug 8

Tu Casa

I’ve been posting these little what I ate missives for a decade now, and it took until August 2010 before Kew Gardens needed to be added as a category (I have been to Max & Mina but did not blog about it). Perhaps I should start focusing on the other lesser-knowns that I pass through, but never stop to eat: Homecrest, Marine Park, Maspeth and the like.

Unsung neighborhood dining usually goes hand in hand with another activity. The impetus for this excursion was finding a modern multiplex to watch a summer blockbuster without having to go to New Jersey to beat the crowds. An 11:45pm showing of Inception at Glendale's The Shops at Atlas Park would hopefully do the trick.

But I also really wanted to eat Peruvian food and to branch out from the Jackson Heights usuals. I would hardly say the chowhoundy stretch of Roosevelt Avenue is overrun with foodie interlopers (Sriphrapahi being the exception); the area is always rich with unhyped possibilities. Sometimes, though, it’s fun to explore less concentrated patches of the boroughs even if they’re not particularly known for their cuisine.

I had my doubts about Tu Casa (do Latinos even live in Kew Gardens?) and they were not assuaged by the lackluster one-block strip of businesses amidst the brick co-ops, just beyond the Jackie Robinson Parkway offramp. (My low expectations were also why I brought my new point-and-shoot that I still haven’t mastered instead of the dSLR.) The outdoor seating (neither this tail end of Metropolitan Avenue nor its origin in Williamsburg feel ideally suited to alfresco dining) was completely filled, though. The two indoor rooms were also bustling. A good sign.

We settled into a two-seater (my only beef with the restaurant was that they were very strict about twosomes being put at small square tables. We always order for four, though, and it creates havoc. Just as I predicted, they ended up not being able to fit all the plates, bottles, glasses and pitcher on our table) just as band began setting up in the front window. I had not been expecting Stevie Wonder covers in Spanish.

I bummed James out by requesting the ceviche mixto when he really wanted the salchipapas. The octopus, shrimp and fish dressed in lime juice (I always want to add fish sauce and more spice to make it Thai-esque) was my attempt at creating a mildly healthier meal.

We ordered the Lo Grande de Tu Casa, equivalent to the matador combo at Pio Pio, and the food turned out to be very similar to that rotisserie chicken chain, right down to the creamy green sauce that you can’t help but slather on everything. Here, you also get a plastic squirt bottle of a citrusy-garlic mojo sauce. It was the perfect condiment for my usual side of choice, yuca fries.

I happen to love salty, savory pollo a la brasa, no matter which country it originates from. It was my benchmark, and Tu Casa excelled. Unlike at Pio Pio, though, you’re not relegated to this specialty. They also offer a variety of “Spanish” food including grilled steaks, stewed chicken and pernil, as well as Chinese-y Peruvian dishes like fried rice and the infamous French fry-laden salchipapas and lomo saltado. There’s always a next time, though it might be 2020 before I dine in Kew Gardens again. When we left at 10:45, the outdoor tables were still packed, a non-sleepy anomaly.

* * *

We arrived at the Atlas Park mall in time to grab at beer at Manor Oktoberfest, kitty corner from the theater. The only people up and out in Glendale after 11pm appeared to be under 30. Smoking and drinking at outdoors mall picnic tables feels odd, but you have to take your subway-less Queens entertainment where you can find it.

I hate to be the crotchety old lady bemoaning the declining manners of today’s youth, but when did it become acceptable to take off your shoes in movie theaters and put your sock feet and dirty flip flops up on the chair in front of you?

Tu Casa * 119-05 Metropolitan Ave., Kew Gardens, NY

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Jul 15

St. Anselm

The problem with bars that serve food that garner raves is that seats are often a hot commodity. The much yapped about fried chicken and cheeseburger just weren’t going to happen when I popped into The Commodore last week. I’ll have to return at an off hour.

St. Anselm, across the street, was completely the opposite. They had open tables galore because their lack of a liquor license pushes everyone who wants to drink into the shared back garden with Spuyten Duyvil.

I was intrigued and a little intimidated by the initial menu that had been floating around. Meat on meat extremes like bone marrow poppers, foie gras, pierogies and beer battered brains. But in practice, the only oddball item on the blackboard was veal heart jerky. The restaurant has emerged as a full-blown New Jersey junk food joint.

Awesome in a way, but for the third time in very recent history I have been faced with my nemesis, the hotdog. Luckily, there was a World Cup-themed list of sausages to choose from. I went for Spain’s butifarra (not a blood sausage, sadly) served in a simple crusty roll with mustard. Very restrained.

I didn’t think I could handle the Newark dog served with a deep-fried Karl Ehmer frankfurter in addition to another sausage of your choosing, stuffed into pizza bread along with batter-fried pepper and onion strands and a fistful of fries. I ordered one for James, though, and forgot to ask for gravy. We were trying to determine if they meant brown gravy (I’m 99% sure, yes) or “gravy” in the Italian-American sense, meaning marinara. He was so obsessed that he brought his monstrosity back inside and asked for gravy to be added. No can do.

For ages we’ve been meaning to hit up Jimmy Buff’s and all of the classic New Jersey Italian hot dog purveyors on their home tuff. Thanks to Hank Krall’s comprehensive round-up on Serious Eats last week, I feel less urgency for an in-person sampling. My stomach thanks him.

St. Anselm * 355 Metropolitan Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jul 11

Am-Thai Chili Basil Kitchen

1/2 I already admitted my aversion to hotdogs, though I did enjoy a nice steamy, gooey carton of Nathan’s cheese fries at Coney Island on the fourth. Maybe it’s the heat and humidity conjuring up Bangkok memories, but when it’s hot and disgusting out (and I’m a little hungover) I always want Thai food.

I generally steer clear of it in Brooklyn because it just makes me too sad. In the back of my head, though, I’ve been aware of Kensington’s Am-Thai. It’s just that I’m never in the vicinity. A Coney Island to Carroll Gardens drive would finally give me the excuse.

I used to live on 31st Street, on the west side of Greenwood Cemetery in what people like to call Greenwood Heights even though it’s Sunset Park, so I’m familiar with general area. But Kensington, and specifically, this restaurant, is a straight line east through the cemetery in a totally different world. If Am-Thai existed when I lived down there, it would’ve been semi-reasonable walk. The immediate area seems to be a Bangladeshi hub–I want to go back and check out Ghoroa because I love Indian sweets even though they are literally the death of me.

While there is a makeshift table outside so you can pretend you’re in Thailand and another one inside, Am-Thai is very much a takeout affair. Upping the authenticity quotient last Sunday were the hot air blowing fans, no air conditioning, no way. We must’ve looked like we were suffering; while waiting for our order we were given a complimentary iced tea, sweet and thick with condensed milk. I loathe southern sweet tea (so full of hate, I know, I can’t help my hotdog and sugary beverage issues) but the creaminess and strong tannins made this one work.

Ocean salad was just one of a handful of seafood salads. Normally, salads are where you get the heat. Not true here. This was tamest dish of all, much more sweet, sour and lemongrassy than anything. The reddish overall color hinted at tom yum paste, and reminded me of Thai food in Malaysia where everything is tom yum flavored: spaghetti, pizza and who knows what else.

The chile basil duck was oily, sure, and full of spice. The onions and red pepper slices practically confit in the duck fat. Once again, they surprised me because chile basil stir-fries at most NYC Thai restaurants are on the mild side. I did request it hot, but you never know if your wishes will be granted.

The last time at Chao Thai our server asked how we liked the heat level after tasting a dish we’d ordered as hot. We said, “Oh, it’s good” to be agreeable. Then he smugly announced that it wasn’t actually the hot we ordered. The guy’s a tool. And the adjacent table of white folks who had just been commenting to him how their food was too hot? You’re ruining it for the rest of us.

I’ll never understand all the Sripraphai haters. Or maybe more so, the touters of newer, better Thai restaurants that never offer a credible substitute. I firmly believe the food at Woodside’s stalwart is still as good as ever. If anything, I appreciate their vast repertoire of curries. No need to cling to the red, green, panang canon.

Am-Thai, while also a Bangkok-style restaurant like Sripraphai, keeps it simple curry-wise, so I chose the greatest-hits green. Anticipating something soupy and blah, this rich and fiery tangle of bamboo shoots, tender eggplant and beef strips, completely exceeded my expectations. I couldn’t wait to eat the leftovers for lunch the next day.

Being a lucky Brooklynite with a car in my household, when the Thai urges strikes I can bypass the immediate area and head to Queens where I know I’ll be happy. Am-Thai has now softened my stance on Brooklyn’s Thai food mediocrity. Next time I’m looking for Thai cuisine, I might just keep it local.

Am-Thai Chili Basil Kitchen * 359 McDonald Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jul 8

Der Schwarze Kölner

I wouldn’t say that I favor beer halls over other drinking establishments, so it was odd that I ended up at semi-isolated Hungarian, Draft Barn, Friday evening and at Der Schwarze Kölner two nights later.

Fort Greene’s German contribution isn’t a true beer garden—there are smattering of outdoor folding tables and chairs facing Fulton Street—and food isn’t really the point, but the bar was just right for a Fourth of July stop, post-BAM.

No, I didn’t mess around with fireworks or barbecues this year. Instead, I witnessed my first Nathan’s hotdog eating contest in person, then sobered up with some bleak Americana while watching Winter’s Bone.

The dark (and extra echoey) room was the perfect setting to test out my new point-and-shoot, an uncharacteristic impulse buy. My old-ish PowerShot SD800 died last week and I could make do like the rest of the world who now seems to rely solely on iPhones for photos, but the quality doesn’t cut it (plus, I don’t have an iPhone). I’m not always in the mood for cramming an SLR in my purse, but still want to take casual photos on occasion. Things like pretzels and sausage that can only be so pretty.

And clearly, I still have some way to go in mastering this new camera. These are not glamour shots. (By contrast, the first time I ever used my SLR in the wild at Hill Country, my photos turned out well despite not knowing what I was doing—amusingly, one of these test shots was recently used in an Ozersky post).

True confession: I hate hotdogs. My patriotic eating duty went unfulfilled at Nathan’s. That doesn’t mean I dislike sausages, though. Weisswurst are more delicate and I kind of like their albino appearance. And no one can argue with a soft pretzel.

Obazda was completely new to me. The cheese spread, a sharp blend of cream cheese, butter, brie, beer and caraway, is like Bavarian pimento cheese, in a way. The radishes and dark Spaten Optimator added an additional layer of welcome bitterness to the dip.

Der Schwarze Kölner * 710 Fulton St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jul 6

T.G.I. Friday’s Union Square

I broke my no-new-restaurants-during-opening-week rule because world-famous chains are above the law. And the controversial without cause Union Square T.G.I. Friday’s (nothing new–NYC is already home to eight and the poor restaurant is a native New Yorker) was the perfect birthday setting for a fellow aging chain-lover. Luckily, I am blessed with a few (just a few, mind you) friends who can appreciate a Jack Daniel's steak and Electric Lemonade as much as a dry-aged rib eye and limoncello.

Community activists, take note. Try as they might, the gay pride promotions and DJ playing Bel Biv DeVoe and New Edition, weren’t exactly wooing the crowds. I’ve never seen a major chain so empty in the city or the suburbs, though most of the seats at the bar were taken. My theory has always been that more locals than tourists patronize these NYC chains, but I might have to rethink that.

While I’ve knocked back a few wine coolers in my day, the ultimate underage elixir, Long Island iced tea, has eluded me thus far. This was my chance, and oddly, I was carded despite being very much over-age. T.G.I. Friday’s not only claims to have invented the everything-in-the-liquor-cabinet-cocktail that doesn’t actually contain any tea, they also had a disproportionate amount of drinks revolving around tea and sugar: SoCo (that would be Southern Comfort) Peach Tea, Ruby Mo-Tea-To and Sun-Spiced Tea, for example. I hate sweet tea, Snapple, Arizona and anything resembling these beverages, so one Long Island iced tea was sufficient. It's off my bucket list.

Mini-burgers, no, not sliders, were inoffensive. Meat, bacon, melted cheese with a bbq dipping sauce are not the harbinger of Manhattan's demise.

Nachos done daintily, and traditionally, each chip a standalone hors d'oeuvres slathered in refried beans and fused with a thick layer of cheese. I kind of prefer a big gooey mess to pick through.

While it's not obvious at first glance, the menu at T.G.I. Friday's isn't terribly diverse. Most of the dishes revolve around chicken, shrimp and/or steak, and melted cheese is rampant. Applebee’s is more creative. Yeah, I just typed that. Oh, an Applebee's executive chef just won an award—the coveted 2010 Chefs of Grey Poupon—so you know it's true.

This is one of the classic Jack Daniel's combos: ribs and shrimp, and a two big scoops of mashed potatoes like starchy ice cream. The sweetish sauce and mildly spiced rub are a notch up from Dallas BBQ, and let's leave it at that. No one saunters into a T.G.I. Friday's thinking it's Hill Country.

A built-in wall shelf was completely bare minus a little reminder of the previous tenant. The bamboo didn't prove so lucky for Zen Palate.

T.G.I. Friday's * 34 Union Square E., New York, NY

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Jun 22

The Vanderbilt

1/2 Waiting long enough after an opening and long enough past prime dinner time can make dining at popular Brooklyn restaurants more enjoyable (despite the hype and proximity to my apartment, there is no way I’m touching Seersucker in the immediate future–I learned my lesson with patience-trying Thistle Hill Tavern). Of course, that also means that no one in the online world cares because not-so-new equals dull. That is fine; I’ll take seven-month-old, The Vanderbilt, at 11pm on a Saturday.

I’d already eaten pepperoni pizza and a few bites of a reuben earlier at Rocky Sullivan’s while trying to be a semi-sophisticated American embracing the World Cup. (I don’t watch sports period, and frankly, don’t understand where World Cup mania sprouted from all of a sudden.) A small plates dinner and cocktails were fine.

You would think that someone ordering the Whiskey Skiffer (rye whiskey, Cynar, sweet vermouth, mole-amarillo bitters) would know what they were getting into. Clearly not, since our server warned me, “It’s bitter.” Better safe than sorry for him, I guess. Then again, the last Cynar cocktail I had at The Sackett (what’s up with all the The?) was kind of foul.

Maybe it was because I’d just had a few handfuls of movie theater popcorn while watching Please Give, but this wonderfully oily broccoli with singed edges reminded me of Smartfood. Each pecorino-draped bite oozed olive oil and had a delicious crunch.

The Serrano croquettes actually tasted like ham. You never know if you’re going to get a bready mouthful or be able to distinguish the advertised filling. Plus, the aioli dollop was a nice touch.

All that brown needed a hit of green. It was the boudin noir that attracted me to this dish, but the fresh peas and shoots kept the blood sausage from overpowering.

Even if you know rillettes come packed in fat, seeing so much melted animal product can give you pause. I like mine a little stiffer and opaque, more spreadable. The rhubarb preserves did add a nice sweet tartness.

The Vanderbilt * 570 Vanderbilt Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jun 15

Xie Xie

Last year, when I was looking for worthy alternatives to the banh mi (which I still love), I kept waiting for Xie Xie to open. They took their sweet time, and so did I. Only now have I gotten around to sampling a few of their Asian sandwiches.

Part of the post-2007 high-end chefs going casual trend (I celebrated my birthday—not saying which—at Angelo Sosa's short lived Yumcha back in 2005 when he was still cooking "serious" food) Xie Xie successfully turns bread and filling into something exciting. Too bad they didn't even crack New York's Best 101 Sandwiches.

Both the bbq beef and the pork sandwiches contained meats that seemed very American despite all the accouterments. The tender short rib was akin to brisket despite the soy and sugar, basil mayonnaise bridged cultures while the carrot kimchi tasted purely Korean. The squishy sesame bun just made more sense than a baguette.

Rather than the pork belly slices you often see tucked into steamed buns, they used pulled pork, sweetened by hoisin and oyster sauce. Oddly enough, the addition of pickled onions and cilantro made this handheld meal taste Mexican. If you've ever eaten Yucatecan cochinita pibil, you'll recognize the flavors. Just swap buns for corn tortillas.

I am prejudiced against no foods except melon (yes, even watermelon) but I won't be able to tackle a 1,000-year-old egg for quite some time. The most violent stomach sickness I've ever experienced period (to be fair, I'm pretty sure I had flu the entire vacation and was not food poisoned) occurred after a big meal at the famous roast goose restaurant, Yung Kee in Hong Kong. The dark gelatinous center of the fermented egg was tough going, but Xie Xie's 1,000-year-old ice cream sandwich was a delight. I love how they approximated the same gooey blue-black color for their salted caramel center.

Xie Xie * 645A Ninth Ave., New York, NY

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Jun 1

La Nacional

I wouldn’t say that I’m one of those I’ve been going there since before you were born when things were better types. Yes, I remember Sripraphai when it was a single-room operation, and I’m suspicious of the new valet parking-and-reservations Tanoreen. Even though I believe there is no glory in gloating at newcomers, I feel a little sheepish about having never visited La Nacional till now. I’ll never know its grimy, pre-renovation beauty.

The new iteration is hardly shiny and modern, though. While commonplace in Mexico and Thailand—my last two foreign frames of reference—I never encounter the quaint please no paper in the toilet plumbing in the US. That’s charm! And bizarrely, I was faced with the exact bathroom situation the very next day at Ocean’s 8, a subterranean Prospect Heights pool hall/sports bar that appears to be in a former movie theater.

La Nacional’s tapas are derrière-guard and old-fashioned, relying heavily on garlic and olive oil, not spherification or food play. The dim windowless main room with a spruced up checkerboard floor, is crying out for a haze of cigarette smoke. Clean air is the most un-Spanish thing about the scene.

/p>We ordered enough tapas to constitute a meal: patatas bravas, garlic shrimp and oblong and round croquetas filled separately with chicken and shrimp. Shades of brown and orange dominated.

The patatas bravas were perfunctory, but lacking a super hot interior with seared edges. They could’ve been more golden. Huh, I have seven totally different patatas bravas in my Flickr stream, more than I thought. Maybe there is no universally agreed upon style.

These albondigas, a pork-veal blend, were very soft and springy. Meatballs are on trend, right?

The two men on stools with similar taste in hats were easily 35 years apart in age.

It turned out that we didn’t need to order any end-of-meal cheese. We peeked our heads into the art opening that was taking place upstairs at the Spanish Benevolent Society, and wine, Manchego and chorizo were for there for the taking. I did stuff a few bucks into the donation jar.

La Nacional * 239 W. 14th St., New York, NY

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Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Battered Herb Syndrome

Katmandu Spice

Tu Casa

St. Anselm

Am-Thai Chili Basil Kitchen

Der Schwarze Kölner

T.G.I. Friday’s Union Square

The Vanderbilt

Xie Xie

La Nacional

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