Goodies First

Dec 19

Public

Though I don't do it very often, I love slowly getting drunk and spending more money than usual on fun food combinations. By the end of the evening, I'm never sure if I was blown away by my meal or if I'm in an unusually agreeable state of mind because of the wine and cocktails. I wish I had more experiences like this, and I suspect from reading reviews and blogs that quite a few New Yorkers blow hundreds of dollars on dinner numerous times a week. I don't know any of these gourmands personally, but one can only guess that sugar daddies, comps or expense accounts are involved. While a mildly peculiar resolution (to spend money more freely), I intend to attempt biweekly fine dining in 2006.

Public is one of those sort of high concept uber designed (I have to admit an attraction to the whole library chic motif–card catalogs, faux typewritten menus on clipboards, children's magazines on shelves, tempered with non-institutional gauzy panels–despite it not making much sense) places that I fully intended to visit when it first opened, but never got around to. There are just too many options in the city. But I'm glad that I chose it for our Christmas dinner this year.

We weren't the only ones who had the same idea. An office party, that I almost accidentally crashed, was going on in the "wine room" and large groups were also convivially celebrating throughout the space. We were seated next to one such family, so Manhattan. I can't even imagine my mother taking us anywhere classier than Poor Richard's, if we went out to eat at all. We spent a good portion of our meal trying to figure out if the diminutive female, sitting at her own table next to us, odd one out of a clan of six in three two-seaters, was a child or an adult. We ultimately decided on well behaved eleven-year-old. I don't think anyone said a word to her through the multi-course meal. Maybe that's very Manhattan, too.

For a starter I had the fried Coromandel oysters with shiso, sansho pepper and wasabi-yuzu dipping sauce. I don't know if I tasted the pepper, but wrapping the bivalve in the Japanese leaf was a nice contrast and cut the richness, sort of like using lettuce around Vietnamese spring rolls. My first choice would've been James's confit rabbit, foie gras, and Tahitian vanilla terrine with quince glazed grapes and breakfast radish (I have no idea what makes it a breakfast radish) but I was tipsy and didn't care enough to force him to relinquish his wise choice. Plus, he gave me a generous portion of the foie gras to shut me up.

I've noticed that I'm a complacent diner, meaning I'm not demanding and rarely ask questions. I frequently see waiters spending a good amount of time with tables and I guess this is expected and that I'm the weird one for knowing what I want and keeping the ordering process brief. But waitstaff seem to be disappointed when you don't need clarification. So, I was almost relieved when I saw an ingredient in my intended entre, grilled New Zealand snapper on curried cauliflower and kasundi with a crab, Thai basil and crispy garlic salad, which I was clueless about. Kasundi was a stumper. Our sweet waitress (she really was–the couple on our other side was drunker than we were and borderline obnoxious and she appeased them, no problem) informed me that it was a spicy tomato relish, and I swear my cluelessness warmed her to us. We tend to get cold service and I'm convinced it's because we don't elicit opinion and expertise.

Note the lone basil leaf

Following the lots of components, but one that's nearly absent formula, I didn't really notice the crispy garlic salad, which probably meant two slices of the clove. After earlier cocktails at Pegu Club, a gin and tonic in the bar and a few glasses of a random Semillon James chose on a whim because it wasn't Australian or New Zealand-ish, my thought processes were skewed. I actually chose this dish because I love fried basil, a Thai touch, but there was only a single leaf atop my stack of food. No matter, I enjoyed the flavors, which were very distinct, sweet, saline and hotter than anticipated. Kasundi is Indian, as it turns out.

Rather than finishing sweet as usual, we opted for a plate of Spanish cheeses (Caa de Cabra, Tetilla, Roncal and Valdeon) with marcona almonds, apple chutney and focaccia crisps. I also went for a glass of Fonseca port. I've neglected to mention the bread basket, which became an irrational focus for James. There was a fennel roll that he became enamored with and seemed hurt that we only got to choose one piece of bread at the beginning of the meal. Emboldened by the liquor and rambunctiousness of fellow diners, I was like "just ask for another," especially since the crisps ran out well before the cheese. Our waitress gladly obliged our request for extra starch.

Decimated and unappetizing, I know

And as we waited for the coat check girl to return to her post, we were mesmerized by the baskets of bread that were inexplicably housed on a shelf across from the closet. Yes, James stuffed his pocket with a fennel roll. I don't think he ever ate the pilfered bread–it'll eventually become a moldy souvenir.

Memories…

Public * Elizabeth St., New York, NY

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Dec 19

Pegu Club

I really wanted to like this place. And at 6pm on a Monday, I thought we'd be safe. Safe from the crowds, yes. Safe from the showboating-to-neglect bartenders, no.

The space is lovely, the cocktails superb. But I only managed to enjoy one drink in the hour and a half I graced Pegu's presence. The Jamaican firefly, a gingery, dark rum riff on a dark and stormy, held me nicely for a spell. I thought I might like to try something made with applejack next. James wanted to order coconut shrimp even though we had 8pm reservations at Public. I wasn't opposed to sampling some haute bar snacks. But it was not to be since we couldn't get the attention of either bartender the rest of the evening (it makes one wonder if they'd be noticed if they chose to drink and dash). While sitting at the bar initially seemed optimal, perhaps the cozier tables with waitress service would've worked out better.

I understand this isn't a margarita machine, slap dash operation, they're crafting thought out cocktails with flourish and show. That's appreciated. But I took issue with the attention lavished on particular patrons, namely the couple seated next to us who perpetually engaged the one-step-up from Royal Oak, Williamsburger mixologist with their thrilling tale of a documentary in progress about new-school bartenders. Fine, impress friends, filmmakers, out-do each other with obscure liqueur awareness (peons like myself know what creme d'yvette is, too) but spread the wealth (of knowledge). Despite the club in Pegu's name, I thought this was a public space and not a private venue. I would like to return and likely will at some point, though I'm the type who has a hard time forgiving tainted first impressions.

Pegu Club * 77 W. Houston St., New York, NY

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Dec 17

Thomas Beisel

Nothing like a little post-Brokeback Austrian meal. The Rockies…The Alps…whatever. I, like most New Yorkers, probably don't eat much German or Austrian food. Mainly because it's few and far between (and yes, I know the two cuisines aren't the same). Here, German tends to be outerborough and kitschy while Austrian leans toward pricy and gilt.

After a BAM matinee it became a toss up between Thomas Beisel and Junior's. Since I've been to the latter countless times TB's seemed in need of trying. It was a good choice, as it was early evening and not terribly crowded. We got a two-seater that temporarily (it was soon filled by a young couple who appeared to be on a first or second date and the guy went on about his firsthand knowledge of Austrian beers and the girl, who appeared to be Russian, filled him in on all her bouts with mental illness and eating disorders. Just so you know, now when she wants cake, she eats it and it's ok) had an empty table next to it with more than six inches of space.

We both started with a hearty gruyere-topped onion soup because that's hard to resist when it's icy outside. With a large glass of Hefeweizen, that would've been a meal in itself, but I wanted to sample the entrees. I went classic and ordered pork cheeks with sauerkraut and dumplings, which was even better than I'd expected. I thought the knoedel would be airy and boring, but they were dense, chewy and carmelized, if that's possible. I suspect the main ingredient was potato. They weren't little and round, but large, thick, flat ovals. James ordered a nutty special of halibut with scallions and ginger. I would've steered clear of Asian touches, but he seemed to like it, even though the fish was oddly matched with potatoes and sweet-sour red cabbage.

For some reason the restaurant strikes me as an older person's haunt, as if the flavors are more suited to a middle aged palate. Strange assessment, I know. Maybe I'm equating Thomas Beisel's clientele with the typical BAM-goer, which isn't unreasonable.

Thomas Beisel * 25 Lafayette Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 16

Pumpkin Pie Teepee

Ok, I was just dogging that newish Ritz commercial that uses "Melt With You," (click the news tab and look in the lower left corner) and I got sidetracked in my disgust. But upon further viewings, I must admit that I actually like their use of cartoony line art combined with larger than life Ritz crackers as other objects like Christmas ornaments, serving tray and hat. It's very '60s, despite using the '80s music.

The style reminds me of a cooking pamphlet "Let's Bake," printed by Robin Hood Flour (I think the brand only exists in Canada now) that I've always admired for its illustrations. I love photographed objects and textures placed into hand drawn settings…though off the top of my head I'm having trouble coming up with any other examples.

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Dec 13

Nothing in Common

'Tis the season of design bazaars, boutique sales and the like. And I always have the intention of attending a few, but inevitably end up at an outlet mall. The suburbs are genetically coded in me. A. I'm cheap. B. I'm a chunk. Like I said, suburban. While I admire the charming, well-curated, indie ethos, mass produced items tend to fit me and my pocketbook a little better.

Woodbury Common is almost like a little ski village (not that I've ever skied or visited a resort town) with a cluster of outdoor stores nestled at the foot of a mountain. I suppose I'm equating the set up with a series of alpine lodges since I only seem to visit around December when it's frosty and bone chilling. The piped in music is kind of unsettling. They really seem to be playing that bouncy Paul McCartney "Wonderful Christmastime" song an awful lot this year. It has never driven me so insane before.

I don't even hit half the stores. Some are irrelevant like Yankee Candle, Sunglass Hut (they also have a Sunglass Station) or NauticaKids, the whole designer row with Dolce & Gabbana and Versace does little for me, and some like Lladro just baffle me (the word always registers in my brain as lardo, and the porcelain figurines are equally confusing. They had these stores when I was in Hong Kong, which seemed even weirder than being in the Catskills).

I really didn't buy much, but I?m more about the experience (and the Applebee's). I settled on a green and white striped wool sweater from Banana Republic, purple velvet blazer, turquoise sequined cardigan and ruffly mint green sheer blouse at Gap, crazy puffy (not furry) white Khombu boots at Famous Footwear (I normally wouldn't look twice at these, but the snow had affected my brain) and red sturdy slippers at J. Crew (as a gift for James, he bought me the green version. Never mind that they were men's). So, I basically bought gifts for myself and will probably do so again in 2006.

Woodbury Common * 498 Red Apple Court, Central Valley, NY

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Dec 13

Mustard Seed Magic

Sunday evening I was inspired to make a few recipes from the January 2006 (typing 2006 is really frightening) Food & Wine. You never know what will jump out at you, but I liked the simplicity and flair of Sai Viswanath’s Indian inflected creations from DeWolf Tavern in Rhode Island. I decided on replicating two dishes, the garam masala-crusted chicken with fig jus and green bean-chile stir-fry. The tumeric-ginger cauliflower also sounded appealing, but I figured I’d save that side for another night.

I was hoping to use things I had around the house. All I had to run out in the freezing afternoon cold for were green beans, dried figs (which I thought I had—I swear I have every other dried fruit known to man all baggied up in the cupboard) and a jalapeño (I always have birds eye chiles on hand, but didn’t want to deviate. As it turned out, I could’ve gotten away with a little extra heat, the jalapeño was nearly imperceptible in the beans). The recipes were straightforward enough that this could’ve been a weeknight dinner (I try to reserve Sundays for time consuming endeavors) though you can’t totally ignore the chicken, it needs a little tending to.

James asked if I had used five spice, which I hadn’t, it was garam masala. But that made sense. It had never occurred to me before that the combo of cumin, coriander, black pepper, cloves and cinnamon (of course, there are countless variations) is totally an Indian five spice powder. I didn’t make my own, but went with a scoop from a 99-cent packet of Swad brand blend. I’m obsessed with Swad, seriously, but I’ll save my fervor for another time. The oil and spice slathered bird smelled very sweet as it roasted.

While at The Met (which isn't great, but compared to the world's most heinous Key Food it's almost heavenly), picking up ingredients, I tried to find an ice cream that would compliment the leftover caramel sauce I’d made the weekend before to go with sticky toffee pudding. I ended up with a pint of the limited edition Haagan Dazs eggnog flavor, but haven’t tried it yet since I was too full after eating dinner and downright tipsy after swigging a bottle of Czech beer, also a party remainder. I didn’t realize how strong the effects of 10% alcohol actually were outside of the celebratory context. I guess that’s why they call it social drinking.

P.S. Did anyone else use the '70s Keys to Reading textbooks with stoner titles like "Mustard Seed Magic" and "Air Pudding and Wind Sauce"?

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Dec 10

Outlet Mall Applebee’s

1/2 "It doesnt look like the picture." Well, of course not. I'm not sure when James got the idea that what shows up on the plate should actually resemble the sparkly semi-appetizing promotional shots. What do you expect from an outlet mall eatery, anyway?

Without intention, the Woodbury Common Applebees has become a Christmas shopping tradition. Some might equate Rockefeller Center, classic shop window displays from Macys and Bloomingdales, the skating rink, giant Christmas tree and the like with the holidays. I'm beginning to associate tour busses, Le Creuset seconds and marked down Gap goods with the season.

Applebees is no great shakes, but compared to the food court offerings (Wasabi Jane's Rice and Noodle Works, anyone?) its no contest. Plus, they have alcohol. And if you go after 7pm the wait isnt even insane (why people will wait up to an hour for chain restaurants is beyond me). I'm not scared of Applebees, even after being told by friends a few weeks ago that this very restaurant (not location) made them go vegetarian two years ago after being food poisoned.

I started with a nice Malibu-spiked Bahama Mama. Classy, and it paired nicely with the nachos, which were kind of unremarkable. I wanted there to be more stuff smothering the chips. Lots of stuff, i.e. melted cheese is practically an Applebees hallmark. I then eschewed the riblets and steak and shrimp combos for a sassy sandwich with Latino flair, Ruebens Cuban Panini. Never mind that by definition a cubano is pressed, people are freaking panini crazy like they were for wraps like five years ago. It wasn't horrible, though the ham had a faint chemical undertone. The bread was the strange (yet tasty) component, it almost appeared deep-fried, crisp, spongy and oily at the same time like a beignet.

And speaking of crunchy, sweet dough, we had to finish with their new dessert the Crispy Bread Pudding, despite already being stuffed silly. It also didn't look like the picture. There wasn't any whipped cream, there wasn't any caramel drizzled over the scoop of vanilla ice cream. The dipping sauce came in a plastic to go container rather than a proper serving dish and we were given two spoons instead of forks. How are you supposed to dip the damn sugar and cinnamon crusted bread chunks with a spoon? I like super sweet sweets, but this concoction almost put me into a coma. Of course, we cleaned the plate anyway. (12/10/05)

Dec 10

What a Sap

I’m so mad that I missed the maple syrup smell again. Last time, I guess it just passed me by. Yesterday, I was home sick and sad to hear midtown sweet scent reports. I’m not even a big fan of maple, it’s just the principle.

Which reminds me of one of my first NYC culture shocks: no maple bars. Seriously, I had no idea this was a regional thing, every grocery store and chain like Dunkin’ Donuts (which are all going out of business on the west coast, despite thriving out here) carries maple bars. It's not like the NW is exactly teeming with maple trees, either. The closest I’ve come in the last seven years has been maple dips at Tim Hortons in eastern Canada. They were typically round with a hole, not long and bun shaped, but the treat was still coated in tan, tree sap tinged icing.

While I’m on a maple nostalgia trip, there was a weird incident in first grade where we’d had maple bars for lunch. And then while playing handball during recess afterwards, this other girl named Krista (Hagen, I think) who came in the middle of the year so she was weird, smiled and her teeth were all brown and maple-y like they were frosting coated. It was kind of obscene, I tried not to stare too hard at her pearly beiges. The thing is, it turned out that her teeth always looked like that and I’d just never noticed until that moment. How did a six-year-old’s teeth get so rotten?

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Dec 8

Taku

So, I've finally deduced that it takes me about six months to actually try a new restaurant. Well-intentioned or not, I never seem to get to all the places on my list, even when they're walking distance from my apartment. And in NYC, nobody cares about a restaurant after six months.

I recall good things being said about Taku when it opened this summer. I don't know if they've kept things up at the same caliber, but I was unexpectedly under whelmed. James flat out didn't like food, which surprised me since he's never extremely passionate about anything, let alone cuisine.

My sashimi trio included…um, I can't even say for sure because it wasn't explained well and I'm not a raw fish whiz, I think uni and two different white fleshed fish varieties, along with a couple different seaweed salad tufts. It was fresh and just toothsome enough to remind me that I should eat Japanese food more often.

James ordered the wings, which I was interested in too. The sambal coating and cucumber cream dip sounded like a fun riff on Buffalo wings. They were presented prettily on a long ceramic plate and wrapped with a thin leaf. Unfortunately, the meat wasn't fully cooked, once you bit off the saucy exterior, the flesh was raw. It's a good thing neither of us are panicky about avian flu, or more realistically salmonella. I guess we should've said something, but it didn't feel worth the bother. There was a weird dispiriting vibe in the room, despite the surface soothing tones and music. Nothing overt, but the service managed to feel spacey and clunky, like I didn't want to do anything to further interactions or conversations. So, we kept mum on the sashimi wings.

I enjoyed my Taku ramen, which was ideal for a pork fanatic like myself. The tonkatsu broth was laden with thin slices of Berkshire pork and a nice substantial piece of rasher style bacon. The weird thing is that I expected more flavor, the broth was oddly flat and even the tiniest bit bitter. I think my taste buds could be tainted by my almost daily bowl of cheap Yagura chicken udon. I'm sure the stuff is teeming with salt and msg, but it's insanely savory and addictive. Maybe it's dashi derived vs. pork bone broth? No expert in Japanese soups, I'd always imagined pork broth to be the stronger flavored of the two.

James envied my ramen and loathed his scallops so much that he actually went home and ate a bowl of instant tom yam noodles. I thought his entre looked fine, though I became scared to taste it when he began insisting it was laced with mayonnaise. I wouldn't be surprised, Japanese are a tad mayo crazy, but the emulsified condiment wasn't listed as an ingredient. I only recall apple puree (as a bed for the seared sesame crusted scallops), celery root (a few scattered slices) and holy basil (in the form of lightly drizzled oil) as components. The celery root did appear to be coated in a white creamy sauce. I don't think the quality was poor, it just wasn't what he had had in mind.

Despite being offered a new job mere hours before this meal, we couldn't agree on whether this was a celebratory dinner or not. I said no at the end because it didn't go well and I wasn't feeling elated like I should've been. James said yes, since it ended up being more than we'd (ok, he'd) normally spend on food for a casual weeknight ($81). I don't care what he says, it didn't count–I'm getting another dinner.

Taku * 116 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 8

Crumbelievable

What is up with all the new cheesey commercials (pun totally intended) using decades-old one-hit-wonders? Modern English’s “Melt With You” is not so cleverly being used by Ritz Crackers. I guess it’s been a while now, probably ’97 or so, when they used this same some for Burger King. It’s bad enough when music gets subverted this way, but it’s double annoying when more than one brand attaches their name to a tune, even if it’s eight years later (Currently, there’s a Geico ad where the gecko is made to do a robot dance and I don’t know what song is in the background, but it’s also used in a Revlon commercial). Maybe I’m just hypersensitive because this is the kind of request I’d get at work, making sure that a new ad doesn’t copy older ones. I'm sure my searches aren't exhaustive, but it's not that hard to avoid aping.

But the “Melt With You” inanity is nothing compared to EMF’s (does Kraft know what the acronym stands for?) “Unbelievable” morphing into “Crumbelievable” as a soundtrack to bouncing, tumbling Cheese Crumbles. I absolutely loathed that song when it was ubiquitous on the airwaves, so my reaction has nothing to do with nostalgia or an aversion to sellouts. Perhaps it has more to do with how my gender and age puts me in the mommy demographic who would presumably respond favorably to this ditty, and that makes me feel like hurling orange processed dairy chunks.

I can’t wait until they use “Who Let the Dogs Out” for Ballpark Franks. Um, they haven’t done that yet, have they?

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Public

Pegu Club

Thomas Beisel

Pumpkin Pie Teepee

Nothing in Common

Mustard Seed Magic

Outlet Mall Applebee’s

What a Sap

Taku

Crumbelievable

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