Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Oct 30

Tipsy Parson

1/2 I’ve been indecisive and forgetful lately, which isn’t the optimal state of mind for choosing and assessing restaurants. I couldn’t come to a conclusion while mulling over which new spot to try mid-week so I had to stoop to superficial criteria. One of the Tipsy Parson’s owners happens to share my last name and in a recent photo appeared to be transitioning from brunette to gray. It’s absolutely impossible to find an attractive (or homely—I’ll take what I can get) New York woman in her 30s who doesn’t dye silver strands or entire locks into submission. That settled it. I was going to Tipsy Parson.

Also superficially, I loved the trompe l’oeil bookshelf wallpaper. I had my eye on a similar motif a few years ago but I’m not sure how to handle wallpaper in a rental.

And to the forgetful: I lugged my damn SLR around all day in anticipation of going out after work only to realize after sitting down (I made 8pm reservations and we were seated fairly promptly in the tightly packed bar area, not a problem, as the back dining room where we had a choice of waiting for wasn’t particularly more luxurious in terms of space) that I’d left the memory card in my laptop at home. Urgh, an obnoxious food blogger’s worst nightmare.

It did allow a showdown between the photographic capabilities of the iPhone vs. the MyTouch. While a million miles from food porn-creating, the iPhone crushed my android powered device. Do keep in mind that these are sad little camera phone photos presented here.

Fried cheese curds beat mozzarella sticks any day. This little $5 pile was served with a chimichurri sauce. A spicy or creamy sauce would come to my mind first, but parsley and olive oil worked too. The thing is, I can barely remember the cheese. Char No. 4s version has more presence.

At the last minute we switched our minds from lamb ribs to chicken livers (I would’ve ordered both but as you’ll see below, I knew I was already in for a meat overload with the pork shank). The opposite of neutral cheese curds, these breaded organs stood out: creamy, a little funky, not for everyone. The tart green tomato marmalade cut through the richness and made a perfect grilled toast topping.

MyTouch

iPhone

I will always order the pork shank when offered, no question, which isn’t that often outside of German restaurants. And how often does one eat at German restaurants? Ok, maybe I do more than the average New Yorker considering that even when on vacation in Hong Kong last November I tried an eatery called King Ludwig Beerhall where I ordered a pork shank that could’ve fed an entire family of four.

Where many of the dishes lean towards snacky and sharable at Tipsy Parson, the hunk of pork that our server quoted it as being around a pound and half—do keep the bone heft in mind—is certainly an attention-grabber. There was plenty of tender dark meat and a few welcome gelatinous bits coating the ends of the bone. I almost forgot about the apple puree beneath the club-sized but of meat that I think was spiked with bourbon. The only thing that would’ve made this better would be the inclusion of crackly skin. Shank is as much about the skin as the flesh.

A grilled trout stuffed with thyme was also eaten. Though not by me.

Tipsy Parson is a cute restaurant that I can’t compare to Little Giant because I’ve never eaten there. It does feel a little Brooklyn, or maybe it’s that the casual, seasonal style just isn’t typically Chelsea.

Tipsy Parson * 156 Ninth Ave., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Oct 19

Sue Perette

1/2 Sue Perette, a play on superette, and possibly an homage to JOE'S S PERETTE down the street, home of famous prosciutto balls and missing letter U signage, recently opened on Smith Street in the former Café Dore space (which used to be a crepe place that I ate at back in 2001, way before I knew anything about Carroll Gardens and rapidly got a lesson in the laissez-faire, children run free local parenting style that wouldn’t be tolerated in Sunset Park where I was living at the time). At least it’s not another Thai restaurant.

Periodically I feel like a bad person for my lack of enjoyment in living in a desirable neighborhood and then resolve to try new things in hopes that I’ll discover something to make me excited about Carroll Gardens. It’s yet to happen. Sue Perette, thankfully, didn’t add to my negativity, though.

At 7pm on a Wednesday, I was surprised that we were the only diners, and remained so until the very end of our meal when three groups slowly trickled in. I pegged Smith Street as an early bird zone considering that if you stroll around after 10pm on a weeknight you can literally hear crickets. A lot of passerbys did peek in the window and at the menu posted out front. I, myself, am hesitant to take a chance on an unproven restaurant with entrees over $20. Price could be part of it. Also new Wing Stop across the street might be more mid-week speed for many.

While a bit nondescript in looks, Sue Perette is more personable than generic–you know, the Luluc’s and Bar Tabacs of the strip. It’s one of those rustic, canning jar, no fear of lard restaurants. In fact, bread is served with both butter and pork fat.

I didn’t know that until after I ordered pastifret, a pate-rillettes hybrid, or else I might’ve thought twice about all the congealed white porcine products I would be ingesting and chosen something healthier. The creamy soft meat was served with traditionally sour accompaniments: pickled onions and cornichons.

The menu is brief and not radical in any way; it’s French country cooking that doesn’t stray too far afield. I tried the double duck, a crispy rare breast cut into thirds atop scattered Brussels sprouts leaves glossy from chunks of confit. My original plan to only eat half and save the rest for another meal didn’t work out. One, despite the richness, I still wanted to eat the whole portion, and two, duck is never the same after reheating, there’s no way to preserve the skin and keep the meat from overcooking and turning livery.

I might be inclined to return and cobble together a meal from the snack section of the menu. The Brussels sprouts with duck confit can be found there served minus the breast. Polenta fries with parsley aioli also sound like they have potential.

We passed on dessert and had a nightcap at Brooklyn Social Club instead. Part two in my quest to ignite the flames of Carroll Gardens passion. I did like my Brooklyn (I just like rye—I wasn’t going overboard in borough boosterism) but I wouldn’t go so far as to say love.

Sue Perette * 270 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Oct 16

Calexico

It’s not really Calexico’s fault that I’ve been so reluctant to try them. The neighborhood seemed excited to have their first bricks and mortar shop taking over the former Schnack space. I kind of miss Schnack and rarely have the craving for Ameri-Mex food.

Ok, technically this is Cal-Mex, and big burritos containing rice just aren’t my thing. I’m still trying to pin down what Americanized yet served in Mexican-run taquerias style I took a shining to in Portland. These burritos were dense, compact and greasy, the size of a frozen grocery store burrito and crammed with meat like carnitas, sautéed onions arne refried beans, no cheese and definitely no rice. Very much not Mission-style. I miss these gut-busting anomalies.

Calexico serves perfectly acceptable burritos with bold distinct seasoning. My only half-hearted beef was the uneven ingredient distribution; rice was on one side, beans on the other, and sour cream was all balled up at one end. I ordered mine filled with pulled pork that had an sweet-smoky flavor like the meat was bbq-sauced (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t) and nice vinegary tartness from the pickled onion, but I’m not sure if it’s that’s what I want in a burrito. However, I could imagine this pulled pork being great on a torta or cheesed-up in a quesadilla.

I’ll probably try them again. Calexico is close to my apartment and inexpensive. This hefty fare is good for the cold weather that has set in coupled with lazy television watching. Sedentary stoner food, really. I’ve been so burnt out and tired lately—so much so that I forgot to take a photo of my burrito’s insides—that pot is the last thing my body needs. But if it’s your thing, you’d probably enjoy a Calexico burrito as part of the experience.

Calexico * 122 Union St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Oct 11

Woorijip

I was going to say that Woorijip is the Yip’s of Koreatown (yet actually good) but really Woorijip is more like the Café Zaiya of Koreatown. Only Yip’s can be Yip’s.

Woorijip is geared towards Koreans and neighborhood office workers just happen to enjoy their grab and go lunch options where I’ve never seen a Chinese person ever perusing the steam table at Yip’s. Being my first visit, I was a little overwhelmed with choices and didn’t fully absorb all that was to be had. With refrigerated cases, warm cases, the self-serve buffet, dessert racks and supposedly an occasional noodle bar, this is the type of eatery that requires strategizing and more than one visit to develop a sense of what’s worth your time.

At the late-ish side of lunch, close to 2pm, the scene was less chaotic than anticipated. I got behind what appeared to be the Latino kitchen crew in line at the buffet. They were seriously loading up, mostly on meaty things and rice. Many of the trays were approaching empty, but I was at least able to survey based on signage what may be available on a typical day (not that it matters on a practical level since I’m in the vicinity during lunchtime like never).

Partially out of thriftiness and mostly out of caloric caution, I hit these buffets with the notion of supplementing granola bars, yogurt, fruit, nuts, soup, whatever I’ve brought from home to work. If all I ate were the above, I would be depressed and starving. Small, inexpensive quantities of random Asian food cheers me up.

I rarely go over $3.50 at Yip’s but they’re only $3.49 per pound after 1:45pm. Woorijip is somewhere around $6.50 per pound so I kept that in mind. I still managed to only spend $4.09 on some cellophane noodles, bean curd slab, stir-fried pork, fried squid and seafood pancake that all got smooshed around in the styrofoam container. It's not pretty to look at.

I also picked up a $3 plastic tub of radish kimchi, which totally smelled up the subway. I didn’t realize I was the stinky culprit until I got to my desk at work and noticed the odor was following me and didn’t stay behind in the subway system. The kimchi I’ll eat throughout the week with other stuff.

I would trade Yip’s for Woorijip in a millisecond. I love greasy Americanized Chinese food on occasion, but the spicier, cleaner flavors of Korean would be more welcome on a regular basis. Though in a totally different vein, I am excited to hear that Bon Chon is coming down to the Financial District.

Woorijip * 12 W. 32 St., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Sep 28

Taste Good

1/2 Sometimes you need distance to see the silliness in food debates. It’s doubtful that anyone outside NYC cares about who serves the best fried chicken (though to be fair that’s more of a discussion than a debate, and a fun one). And I can say with 100% certainty that the average American has no idea what Ampang yong tau foo is, let alone whether it’s Singaporean or Malaysian. But Malaysia is all cranky over Singapore’s successful food branding (at least in the region—once again, I think they may be overestimating a worldwide perception that Singapore is a culinary destination) and are trying to play catch up.

As a Westerner who’s been to both Singapore and Malaysia, I know a very obvious way that Malaysia could differentiate themselves and appeal to global foodies: artisanal cred. Coconut milk squeezed from the flesh the not a can, cendol colored green with pandan not dye, curries from freshly pounded rempahs not packaged pastes, satay grilled over charcoal not gas. Slow food, Southeast Asian-style.

The only real effect this article had on me, though, was the need for a bowl of laksa. Lemak, a.k.a. Singaporean-style, I’m afraid. I just don’t trust that they’re going to get assam version right here. Copious amounts of coconut milk can mask more ills than sour fishy broth.

The version at Elmhurst’s Taste Good was better than I had expected. I say that because in Malaysia, as in many countries, street food is specialized and often kept to a handful of choices. How can a menu with hundreds of offerings all be good? And Taste Good uses the term laksa very loosely with a list of 35 dishes beneath that heading that include Hong Kong-style beef noodle soup, Hokkien mee, tom yum mee hoon, and both curry and assam laksas. All over the place.

The Singapore kari laksa, in their parlance, was creamy with enough spice to cut through the richness and contained nice fat rice noodles. The menu gives no hint what the toppings might be, and there was a surprising hodgepodge: small shrimp, half a hard boiled egg, shredded chicken, slices of fish cake, bean sprouts and my favorite, fried bean curd puffs. These spongy squares absorb the broth and dispense a mouthful when you bite into them. The only thing missing was sambal and lime wedges.

Rojak is dressed with an eerily dark sauce of sweetened, tangy prawn paste. I love it but I know many who can’t stand the smell of belacan. A woman, who appeared to be in charge, was asking a non-Malaysian Asian diner, “Doesn’t the smell bother you?” Apparently, it didn’t. Love or hate, no one is neutral on the smell of roasted shrimp paste.

Hiding under all the black goo topped with sesame seeds were jicama, pineapple, cuttlefish, cucumber, chopped peanuts and chunks of crueler. After sitting awhile, the fried dough performs the opposite function of the tasty bean curd in the laksa. I drunkenly picked at leftover rojak that evening and almost choked on all of the pungent sauce that oozed from the now mushy and disintegrating cruelers.

I’ve never heard of dry curry beef rendang noodles but here they are. Rendang seems more suited to rice, if you ask me.

For NYC Malaysian food with a Chinese bent, I was satisfied by Taste Good. Purists, I’m sure would find details to nitpick.

Taste Good * 82-18 45th Ave., Elmhurst, NY

Share on Tumblr

Sep 22

Aldea

Portuguese isn’t a cuisine I’ve eaten countless times but I know enough to realize that wasabi and coconut milk aren’t standard Iberian ingredients. Modern is definitely the keyword at Aldea, from the sleek, blond wood and white leather bi-level space to the flavor combinations that appear on the plate.

Aldea may not be an impenetrable scene but it there was a full house at 9pm on a Friday, for sure. Even with reservations we had a bit of a wait, which I don’t mind when the staff is gracious and affable. I think they’ve hit the right note of professionalism and casualness in both service and food. The cooking is high caliber—chef, George Mendes was visible in the open kitchen—but never feels uptight.

Presunto, cured Portuguese ham was offered alongside serrano and Benton’s country ham. It was the obvious choice since I’d never tried it before. The thin slices weren’t markedly different from Spanish jamon, maybe a touch lighter and less fatty.

Sea urchin toast, cauliflower cream, sea lettuce, lime. Sure, I had a few glasses of vino verdhe in me but you wouldn’t think my palate would be so out of whack that I tasted phantom wasabi in this. James didn’t detect it and I’m not seeing it listed on the current online menu. I swear that off-white smudge wasn’t pure cauliflower, which is kind of like the anti-wasabi in its blandness. My only complaint was that the snack was gone in seconds. I guess that’s why it’s called a petisco, a.k.a. little bite.

Baby cuttlefish, caramelized lychee, mentaiko, squid ink. This appetizer also rambled well beyond European borders; more liberties were taken with the smaller dishes. The coconut foam worked with the sweetness of the lychee and mild curls of seafood. I wish I had concentrated more on the cod roe.

Arroz de pato, duck confit, chorizo, olive, duck cracklings. Every mention ever of Aldea notes the duck rice so I played along. If the only meat included was the rosy, sliced duck breast, I might be disappointed. Sous-vide cooking certainly makes the dark poultry tender—and it wasn’t close to mushy—but there’s no point to duck unless it’s accompanied by some of that glistening, fatty skin, all the better if it has been crisped up. The duck cracklings made this dish and the browned coins of chorizo added pleasantly to the oily richness. The little blobs of apricot sauce weren’t out place; they provided a sweet-tart lift to this otherwise hefty bowl of rice. Fruity touches appeared to be a theme.

Sea-salted Chatham cod, market cranberry and fava beans, lemon-basil. Ok, you knew cod had to be on the menu. Not bacalao, though.

Aldea sonhos, spiced chocolate, smoked paprika apricot, hazelenut praline

Sonhos, spiced chocolate, smoked paprika apricot, hazelnut praline. I feel like I’ve had this dessert before, obviously not with all three of these dips, I just can’t remember where. And I’m not confusing it with churros and chocolate. I love having choice, but when it came down to it the dark chocolate had the most impact.

Parting sweets.

Aldea * 31 W. 17th St., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Sep 17

Mezcal’s

Did I love it? Not immensely. Either I’ve matured or the never-special menu has slipped into sub par territory. After a few margaritas you might not care, though.

I’ve always thought of Mezcal’s as a guilty pleasure but on my last visit I just felt kind of guilty. It’s getting harder and harder to justify mediocre Ameri-Mex with Calexico and Oaxaca now also in the neighborhood.

Gooey, melted cheese on flour tortillas has its place. I’m a sucker for Tacos Nuevo Mexico’s “gringa” quesadilla. But this chorizo quesadilla was a sad specimen. The corn tortillas weren’t very pliable and the cheese didn’t even keep the sides adhered to one another, meanwhile the thing was topped with what tasted like thin Hunt’s tomato sauce, not even canned enchilada sauce, which would’ve also been kind of sad.

The mole seafood enchiladas were fine for what they were. Of course, this wasn’t a sauce painstakingly ground from 25 ingredients but this sweetish mole-lite is a bit more interesting than the taco+burrito+chimichanga combo platters that many diners favor.

I noticed that they have removed their outdoor seating (they do have a back garden, which is where everyone except us were sitting on this particular balmy evening. I prefer indoor dining, though it ended up not mattering since the front floor-to-ceiling windows were all open and I was harassed by tiny mosquitoes anyway) now that Buttermilk Channel has set up theirs on the corner. I don’t know that one has to do with the other, but I would feel less ostentatious dining in front of Mezcal’s on this still mildly ratty (by Carroll Gardens’s standards only) stretch of Court Street than eating my New American fried chicken and waffles alfresco. Frankly, my favorite thing in that immediate area is the greasy crab rangoon at Wing Hua.

Mezcal’s * 522 Court St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Sep 4

Shake Shack

Did I love it? Yes, I did and plan to tackle the outdoor location now that Fall weather is creeping up and I’m becoming zen about insufferable lines.

It’s one thing to say you’ve never eaten at Masa, many haven’t, but it’s quite another to admit you’ve never been to Shake Shack. I’m
line-phobic, I’m sorry. And I still haven’t braved the Madison Square Park trauma. It just happened that I was unexpectedly dispatched to the Upper West Side on a Saturday afternoon.

Try Gus and Gabriel because it’s new? Kefi, which has always sounded vaguely interesting but is just too far? I’ve already tried the uptown Fatty Crab. It had to be Shake Shack.

Now that the weather has become balmy and manageable, that brief painful humid spurt already seems like the distant past. I wouldn’t say that 90-degree, sauna-like conditions are optimal for double cheeseburgers. But all went smoothly, even during prime time, we didn’t wait more than ten minutes for food and were able to snag a table inside.

My bun literally disintegrated from the hot air trapped in the waxed wrapper combined with the heat from my hands. The tall layered sandwich began to meld into one squished mass on the end where I was holding it. Which isn’t to say that the juicy, melted mess wasn’t tasty, I just had to devour the burger faster than normal because it was falling apart before my eyes. Seasonings and any subtleties of flavor were lost, no time for pondering patties.

And because that wasn’t enough molten gooeyness, we ordered cheese fries. Once you’ve crossed the line into excess, there’s no sense in retreating. As a fan of processed, bright orange, the thick, mild real cheese sauce was a shock. A good shock, not bland in the way macaroni and cheese can be (I think I’m a rare mac & cheese hater). Now I’m ruined for Nathan’s cheese fries.

If I had any doubts as to whether Shake Shack qualified as a chain, they have been quelled. Seven new overseas branches are planned for Saudi Arabia and Dubai. Maybe they can make lamb burgers.

Shake Shack * 366 Columbus Ave., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Aug 31

I Guess It Beats Red Lobster

There are so many dining events in NYC–pig roasts, cook-offs, food festivals–and generally I ignore them. Not because I think the food won’t be good but because I just can’t deal with crowds. And they’re never not crowded. I know my limits, lining up for food, waiting an hour for food, heck, running out of food you paid for, just aren’t enjoyable things, so I sit these out.

I feel kind of bad about it, maybe I’m missing out, but after reading this piece on World Hum about introverted travelers, I realized I’m just an introverted eater. I don’t enjoy striking up conversations with strangers and being surrounded by hundreds of hungry people certainly doesn’t make me feel more alive, just aggravated. One man’s convivial is another’s claustrophobic.

But I’ve been meaning to pick up lobsters at Red Hook Lobster Pound all summer and do like Rocky Sullivan’s. So, Lobstah Feast Fridays at Rocky Sullivan’s? Yeah, I’d give it a shot. Rocky Sullivan’s is where I go when I just want a beer and no hassle. Even on the weekends, even when a random ska or Irish hip hop band is playing and the only clientele are their friends, it’s not packed. Normally, it’s just us, our pints and the sprawling upstairs wooden deck in the back. No more than a few mosquitoes and a family of black-and-white cats who trick you into thinking you’re seeing the same one popping up on opposite ends of the roof.

Normally, I wouldn’t go on the first night of a new undertaking. But it’s always desolate Red Hook and I’d only read about the event on a few blogs—how busy could it be?

Pretty darned busy. Slammed. There are really only three rectangular tables that seat around eight. Part of the trouble is that you can reserve for parties or six or more, which meant families ordering pizzas and parking themselves while smaller groups waited…and waited. I expected a wait, though.

The bartenders were incredulous, wiped out and unable to keep up with the demand (I was told that a lot of staff had taken vacation this week). Pint glasses were soon replaced with plastic cups. An older regular remarked to his lady friend, “This is how it should be on a Friday!” I can see that. I’m all for good business, and didn’t mind the 45-minute-wait I was quoted to be seated for food because I’d finagled a spot at the bar. And they had me…until they skipped my name on the list.

This seems to be a recurring problem in my world. I don’t think I’m unattractive and offensive nor mousy and forgettable (not that either of those should cause being skipped over in line) but without fail I get screwed over in a just wait and see scenario. I joked about it right after I got my party of two on the list, “What do you bet that they never call us?” That’s why I’m a cynic who avoids these situations. And don’t bullshit me over anticipating negativity manifesting itself in reality. Thinking good thoughts is all it takes to sail through life, really?

No, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that I’m too polite. Yes, too polite. After 11 years here I still haven’t developed the art of pleasant aggression, yet on rare return visits to the NW I’m viewed as an impatient menace who stands too close to people in line.

By the time I realized walk-ins were being given tables after we’d waiting at the bar for an hour, it was too late. I should’ve said something sooner but I had hope since I'd heard the three groups written on the pad of paper before me being called loud and clear. I don’t want to have to get all Chinese on people's asses, blindly pushy looking out for number one, or even all New York about it, which is essentially the same as above but being more calculated and less obvious (and refraining from hawking loogies).

We ended up ordering food at the bar because scoring a table started seeming hopeless and I was afraid the food was running out. I never saw a menu so I don’t know the exact deal. It appeared to be one lobster, corn on the cob and potato salad or coleslaw, I think for $23. It was fair but I think I will leave Rocky Sullivan’s as a drinking establishment and steam lobsters on my own time.

It wasn’t the wait that bothered me. It was Friday night, I didn’t mind sipping a couple beers. Everyone was being served at the same slow pace. Tables actually clapped when their food arrived and staff members were congenial despite being harried. What I didn’t appreciate was being ignored, plain and simple. Out of curiosity, we asked the hostess/waitress where we were on the list as we were leaving and she flipped back three pages to my name, not crossed off, with every name after it penciled through. We were then offered a table. Uh, I start to take these things, benign as they might be, personally.

Pardon Me For Asking seemed to have a fine experience, though. Always Hungry also enjoyed their meal and got brownies from Baked, which I didn't even know was part of the menu. So, like I said, these things just seem to happen to me. You might be luckier. I’m sure they’ll streamline their process as the weeks go on. And I will continue to avoid foodie events. No hard feelings.

Share on Tumblr

Aug 28

Le Relais de Venise

Le Relais de Venise is responsible for cutting my lunk-headed
attempt at banning sugar, starch and alcohol from my diet for the month
of August three weeks short. I am weak in the face of golden skinny
fries and inexpensive red wine. $20 bottles of drinkable Bordeaux? I
caved.

Locations already exist in London, Barcelona and Paris, where the restaurant originated. I can’t put my finger on why…well, maybe the maid outfits the all-female servers wear combined with a blind Francophila (I’ll never forget the story about Japanese tourists in France being so traumatized by rude treatment they had to go into therapy)
but I can see Japanese loving this place. And from what I understand
the no reservations policy creates line-ups in other cities. No such
thing on an early Friday evening in Midtown. This could be the result
of the office-heavy location, lack of awareness or possibly because New
Yorkers don’t like their steak soft and sauced.

And
you will be ordering steak since that’s the only entrée on the menu.
The $24 prix fixe includes a salad with a mustardy tarragon dressing
and walnuts and steak frites in two portions. This quirk is intended to
keep the food warm; plates are kept at side stations atop little
flames. It could also induce panic to Americans accustomed to big fat
slabs of meat rather than a fan of rosy protein that could fit into the
palm of your hand.

I do prefer minerally beef with fatty rims
and charred exterior, pale pink inside, but I can appreciate non-aged
sirloin as well. I’d take this over Outback Steakhouse, you know, just
for chain comparison. Oddly, medium-rare is not a choice. Degrees of
doneness start at bleu, go up to rare then jump to medium (let's not
talk about well). We took a chance on the medium, banking that it would
be on the rare side. It was.

The
sauce is butter rich, herby and possibly flavored with liver. That
sounds a little odd but there was an unmistakable offal funk in the
background. I actually preferred the sauce with the fries, which were
perfect in their golden yet still pliable form.

Service
is swift. Despite only a handful of the tables being occupied in the
spacious corner restaurant, courses came quickly. Our seconds were
brought before we had polished off our firsts. My barely eaten fries
were topped off and made equal to James’s pile that had a deeper dent.
Advice to fried potato gluttons: the more fries you initially eat, the
more will be replaced.

The
dessert list was surprisingly long. We opted for cheese since I was
still operating under the delusion that I was detoxing (though I’ve
gone soft on alcohol, bread and potatoes I do restrict my sugar) and
fat is preferable to me than sweets. Comte, brie and a blue of some
sort were a nice finish. For only a few bucks more you can get a glass
of port with your cheese but we still had wine to carry us through.

I
don’t have a good feeling about this location and the concept seemed to
confuse many who walked up to the window menu with only one meal
listed. But it’s definitely worth at least one try even if you’re not
in the immediate neighborhood.

Le Relais de Venise * 590 Lexington Ave., New York, NY

Share on Tumblr

Posts from the ‘NYC’ Category

Tipsy Parson

Sue Perette

Calexico

Woorijip

Taste Good

Aldea

Mezcal’s

Shake Shack

I Guess It Beats Red Lobster

Le Relais de Venise

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101