Goodies First

Jan 5

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que

1/2

I tend to scoff at New Yorkers who deem anyplace in the boroughs or far
reaches of Manhattan impossible to get to. There are very few subway
inaccessible spots on the big island, there's no excuse except not actually
wanting to make the effort. Ill cop to being ignorant of most of everything
above midtown, mainly because everyone I know lives south or east, not
north, but I'm not opposed to trying unfamiliar corners. When it came to
finding Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, my Brooklyn-centric stripes began to show.

In theory it seemed like either the 137^th or 125^th
street stations would be fine since theyre both equidistant number-wise from
131^st. The 1/9 went screwy and bypassed 125^th for
137^th. Fine, no biggie. But instead of walking the six simple
blocks down Broadway, I opted away from the crowd and went for the next
block west, Riverside Dr. This shouldve been a tip off because I knew the
restaurant was underneath Riverside Dr. and how could it sit underneath a
street and also be along it?

Despite the snow flurries, as usual I was still sweaty from impatiently
huffing around. I made it past 134^th before realizing that I was
up in the air on an overpass that extended as far as my line of vision.
Dinosaur Bar-B-Que was clearly somewhere beneath my feet. And I'd already
trudged what felt like a long way. I couldnt cut back to Broadway without
completely backtracking to where I'd originally came from. So frustrating,
and I had no one to blame except myself. At least I was working off my large
lunch from Bryant Park Grill (weird restaurant choice, but it wasn't mine to
make).

Once inside, cozy with an IPA microbrew I was able to settle down and
take in the peculiar surroundings and now pretty falling snow. There would
be no guessing you were in New York City if you hadnt traipsed through East
Harlem (and had a large party of heavily accented, muscle bound, New
Jersey-esque type guys with cell phones attached to their ears, sitting
right next to you. I did appreciate that they considered Cuban sandwiches to
be perfectly normal appetizers to order. Never mind why Cubanos are on the
menu at all, though I faintly recall the same weirdness at Blue Smoke) to
get there. For one, the space is quite large, and woody, rustic like a
roadhouse. I don't know their whole history, except that theyre from
Syracuse, have something to do with bikers and have a loyal following.
Clearly theyre shooting for an outlaw vibe, which I've never really
understood about barbecue, how its somehow developed this extreme or tough
persona, perhaps because grilling, smoke and fire are mens domains, who
knows. The staff were also unusual for NYC—friendly, guiless,
bubbly—perhaps they are upstate tagalongs.

We started with spicy, earthy boiled shrimp, which felt very New
Orleans. I had the big-ass pork plate, despite minor reservations with
saying the name (not out of piousness but because I have issues with silly
food titles—moons over my hammy, anyone? I noticed a guy near us just
ordered “the pork plate” which prompted his server to force him
into saying big-ass).

Despite a short southern jaunt last summer, I'm hardly a barbecue
aficionado, but I would give high marks to the limited items I did taste at
Dinosaur. My pulled pork came with a slightly sweet sauce, which was fine
though others might prefer a different style topping (there are three sauce
choices on the table). I like that the meat was tender, yet also with a few
crispy bits on the fringe. I only ate one pork rib, but it was also
flavorful and not overly fatty. Barbecue isnt about the sides, but my beans
and salt potatoes were surprisingly good. I'm not usually a fan of bbq
beans, but these were loaded with smoky meat, and the potatoes were in a
slick of oozing butter. It's hard to beat butter and salt for simplicity and
flavor.

There wasn't room for dessert, though I've heard good things. I hate to
say it, but I'd be inclined to use a car next time. Even so, Ill still
harbor ill will towards the subway-impaired, I cant help it.

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que *
646 W. 131^st St., New York, NY

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Jan 1

Indian Oasis

The best New Years Day hangover food ever. It's usually hard enough just to
get dressed on days like these, let alone leave the house. But I'd been
dying to try Indian Oasis, lured by reports of sublime Indian Chinese (as in
Chinese food theyd serve in India, which got me to wondering what Chinese
food around the world must be like. At least India is nearby, but what about
someplace like Finland or Panama?) and Thai food. I forced myself to get in
gear, desperately in need of a savory, spicy kick off for 2005.

This is one of those restaurants where I regret only being able to order
so many dishes. I suppose thats why group dining can be desirable, except in
my case where everyone I know seems to have some sort of dietary quirk or
irrational aversion to anything fun. The menu is varied, and having both the
Chinese and Thai food is a little incongruous (or the best of both worlds
depending on your outlook). Our penang shrimp, while very good, seemed
strange mingling on the same plate with kung pao potatoes (what a great
invention) and chilli lamb Hakka style.

All of our Chinese-Indian food was very dark, rich and liberally spiced.
The sweetly named drums of heaven: crispy, saucy lollipopped chicken wings,
also fell into this canon, which I don't think is necessarily Hakka (if I'm
correct they are known for dried and pickled items, as well as pork usage)
but some Indo-hybrid. I need to learn what ingredients they use for their
dishes, because its wonderful on the tongue. That also could have something
to do with a purported heavy MSG hand. But I was feeling so toxic after a
night of excess that a few more chemicals couldnt have possibly done any
harm.

Indian Oasis *
HoraceHarding Expressway, Fresh Meadows, NY

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Dec 24

Acqua Santa

Christmas Eve was the perfect night for a Dyker Heights festive lights
excursion. Under the circumstances Italian food made sense, but I was kind
of hoping for Bensonhurst style L&B Spumoni Gardens, not
Williamsburg fare. But thats how things turned out. Fornino, the new brick
oven place, wouldve been my first choice, but pickings are slim the night
before big holidays and they were closing up shop right as we approached the
door. This scheduling issue was mildly compounded by my dining companions
dietary restrictions. I totally wanted to try Spike Hill across the street,
but I feared theyd make me go to Pita Power if my eyes even wandered that
direction. Aqua Santa, around the corner, was the compromise.

All I had was quesadilla type pizza stuffed with robiola, prosciutto and
red onions and what seemed like an abnormal amount of malbec for splitting a
bottle of wine, so I didnt sample a wide swath of the menu. No complaints,
honestly, though its doubtful I'd return unless in the company of
Williamsburg vegetarians.

Acqua Santa * 556 Driggs St., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 20

I Know the Neighborhood

I hear about how Fairway's walk-in meat locker is the shit, and it probably is. You won't get a lender jacket for warmth at Western Beef, you'll just have to shiver it out with the rest of the immigrants and all-American freaks who've piled their carts to obscene levels.

I had the great fortune of living in Ridgewood during my first three traumatizing years in NYC. Do't even ask, some things are just not worth understanding. But it wasn?t until the tail end of my stint when I got a boyfriend with a car that I even discovered the beauty of Western Beef. The car is sort of key because it's located in a weird industrial pocket that borders Maspeth, Ridgewood, and Williamsburg (yes, Williamsburg. The hipsters raving about their stupid Tops so don't know what they're talking about). It's not really walking distance from the nearest subway stop, Grand Ave. on the L.

You know when someone has suburban savvy, and it's tough to find that charming quality in the city. When James's college friend moved to Williamsburg from Baltimore, he didn't have much faith in him. Yet on like our first visit to his new digs, he had Western Beef products all over the kitchen. He'd managed to sniff it out in his first week, which was very impressive. (Now the guy is married to the coworker he knocked up on a casual date and lives in Westchester with his new instant family. Sometimes suburban savvy will also get you into trouble.)

I know the chain is scattered throughout the city, but this is the headquarters, and notably different. "We know the neighborhood" is their slogan, they have what may be the cutest logo ever, a cartoon cactus donning a cowboy hat, and you can't ignore their most awesomely low tech website. They rule on all counts. Really, it's no more than a vast, moderately dumpy grocery store, quantity over quality, at least on the surface. You're not likely to find broccoli rabe, rosemary, figs or Swiss cheese that isn't deli-sliced, but that's because Western Beef is about staples, massive selection of those basics, a surprisingly better produce section than most NYC stores contain, and lots and lots of meat, all at very reasonable prices.

Banana leaves, tropical fruit, those hideous little bottles of malta (I?m open minded food-wise, but this beverage is completely intolerable, the only thing other than melon that I can't stomach) and practically every Caribbean root vegetable in existence are easy to score, plus there's a large international section with lots of Eastern European cookies, jellies, pickled items and canned goods–they know the neighborhood, remember? This week they have Haagan-Dazs 1.88/pint, avocados 79-cents each, and turkey butts $1.19/lb, good deals (I don't know if that's a competitive price on turkey butts, but you know, it's not every day you see them). And we just got our Christmas tree out front for $19.99, way better than Carroll Gardens rates.

Plus it's all a great source of entertainment, invariably blaring salsa music will assault you, the manager will get on the intercom and yell violently about needing the keys back (seriously, this happens repeatedly on each visit), there will likely be a screw up in the long check out lines and someone's food stamp debit card will always run out of credit and cause a holdup due to either stupidity or language barrier. And yet I always return, Western Beef's siren song is just too strong.

Western Beef * 47-05 Metropolitan Ave., Ridgewood, NY

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Dec 20

Homogenize Me, Please

Ok, they treat women and minorities unfairly, kill small business, ruin the character of neighborhoods, are taking over the world and promote fat disgusting American values. But c'mon, they're cheap, and fun. Who else still has a notions section with fabric, yarn, buttons and craft supplies, and also sells hunting equipment and fake Dr. Pepper (Dr. Thunder) for 35 cents a can in vending machines? No one, that's who.

The world's going to hell in a hand basket, so why not save some money and revel in aisle after nice wide aisle of freedom of choice while you can. And don't tell me New Yorkers truly love overpaying for crap bodega and dusty drug store shit that you have to ask for from behind the grimy counter. If that's keeping it real, you can keep it.

Plus, Wal-Mart is the only store in the U.S. to sell Rimmel and Mary Kate and Ashley cosmetics. Talk about exclusive. And Wal-Mart in China is insane because they have food (I think they do in parts of the U.S. too), deli cases filled with tendons, organ meat and spicy marinated odds and ends. I would kill for that here, though we'd probably just get Boboli and Smucker's Uncrustables.

Not in my backyard, they say. That's just because New Yorkers don?t know what they're missing and like to think they're unique. I?ll be the first to admit I?m not special. Wal-Mart come homogenize my city, please.

Wal-Mart * everywhere except NYC

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Dec 20

Suburbanization is OK if it Means Cheap Soy Cheese

This will have to be looked into, I've heard rumors of a proposed Trader Joe's in either the Upper West Side or Union Square (or heaven forbid, both spots). A year ago I might've been rejoicing, but as an increasingly jaded crab of a person this news doesn't fill me with elation. The New Jersey locations have become nearly unbearable; I can't even imagine how this will translate in Manhattan. Maybe I secretly revel in reverse exclusivity, the ability to frequent out-of-the-city locales, and now any ol' NYC riff raff will have equal access to peeled chestnuts, lump crabmeat or Plugra butter for a fraction of Dean & DeLuca's (or shitty Met and Key Foods, for that matter) prices. It's so indecent.

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Dec 20

WD-50

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Dec 20

Singing Cows & Cheese Logs

It wouldn't seem that a dairy farm turned regional grocery store with animatronic singing livestock would have much in common with a Swedish cheap furniture conglomerate, but Stew Leonard's is more Ikea than you'd think. They both have a loyal following. Despite sitting just beyond city limits and difficult to reach on public transportation, they are both thick with aisle blocking shoppers on weekends. And most importantly, both are laid out in that follow the path style where you are swept along with the tide of crowds and carts (god forbid you forget something and have to disrupt the traffic flow'at least Ikea has those sporadically placed shortcuts). Granted, Ikea is better known, and there are far more of them (there are only three S.L.s), but if people were better acquainted with Stew they would agree with my assessment.

In essence, Stew's is no more than a campy cavernous grocery store with a petting zoo and outdoor seasonal selections. The prices seemed a little high, the stock was oddball–for instance they didn't have basics like pecans, but there was plenty of seven-layer dip and cheese logs. A good portion of the store is devoted to prepared food, which I tend to shy away from. In fact, there is hardly a core to the place, there's a deli section, bakery, meat and fish counters, then rows of refrigerated Stew Leonard's brand things like soup, dips, sauces, sushi. And lots of steam tables filled with hot salad bar things you'd find in midtown delis during lunchtime: corned beef, kung pao chicken, macaroni and cheese, the whole hodgepodge gamut. I totally don't go for this stuff, it seems excessive.

My theory is that in the suburbs take out and delivery isn't as ubiquitous (I'm not sure about Westchester, but in Portland where I'm from, pizza is really the only thing you can get delivered to your home. My mom freaked when I told her you can get McDonald's delivery Manhattan) so hitting a grocery store on the way home from work for ready-made food is their equivalent.

I do like the idea of roaming people in animal costumes, and their bags around the world photos are funny (and pre-gnome hype) but I wasn't totally bowled over by the bovine shrine. But if I were ever in Yonkers I wouldn't hesitate to stop in, pet a goat, grab a cone of soft serve and maybe pick up a box of frozen crab Rangoon.

Stew Leonard's * Stew Leonard Dr., Yonkers, NY

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Dec 20

Color me Cheap

Ah, you always remember you first. Rainbow has been there for me since day one, literally. I hadn't even been living in NYC 24 hours when I tagged along with near strangers on an L journey from Williamsburg's then outer boundaries to Ridgewood, Queens.

I was totally freaked out, it was too everything, noisy, stinky (the girl we were visiting lived down the street from someone who kept chickens in their apt. and that part of the block smelled like a serious coop), chaotic, pushy. The crisscrossy intersection with relentless traffic that zooms underneath the Myrtle-Wyckoff station had me paralyzed with trepidation (or maybe it was the realization that I'd just moved across the country to a beast of city where I didn't really know anyone or have any permanent place to stay had started to sink in with full force). Salsa music, too many people in too little space, and hotter May weather than I was accustomed to, started unsettling me.

It must've shown on my face. A random guy sidled up next to me, "don't be afraid of the cars," he repeated over and over in a forceful manner that I tried not to interpret as aggressive because I'm sure he thought he was being helpful though he wasn't.

The only thing that soothed me that day (in addition to breaking down and having a cigarette, all hopes of starting out smoke-free in New York dashed) were the dingy little, almost all alike discount stores that line Myrtle Avenue. I'm still not clear how so many 99-cent stores survive in such close proximity. Dee & Dee perked me up a bit, then Rainbow totally boosted my spirits much in the way a real rainbow pops up after a storm and makes everything pretty. They had lots of cheap juniors-styled clothing, but in plus-sizes too, and a big shoe selection. Never mind the lack of air conditioning, I still felt comforted.

A month later I moved into a ratty but good sized apartment of my own in Ridgewood ($580 for a one-bedroom, no references, no job, no questions asked). Who knew I'd get stuck in that freaky isolated section of Queens for three years' At least Rainbow and Lerner turned New York & Company (where I promptly got a credit card for new work-friendly clothes and somehow still have a balance of over $600 six years later) made the neighborhood a little more bearable.

Now I live in a part of Brooklyn that thinks it's too good for a Rainbow (they're rarely in gentrified neighborhoods). Luckily, I now work walking distance to the best stocked location I think I've ever encountered. Fifth Avenue is supposed to be known for its shopping, right? Upstairs is a whole mini floor devoted to shoes, mostly under $25 and mostly crafted from man made materials. Downstairs is 80% plus size, 20% intimate apparel, which is frankly where I draw the line. The main floor is irrelevant to me.

Whenever I need a cheap pair of colorful shoes to match an outfit or a cute sleeveless going out top that might get worn a mere handful of times, Rainbow rarely disappoints. It's a reliable, trendy for two months, go to, the way some might view Marc by Marc Jacobs or chains like H&M and Zara. But this is really cheap, as in $7 shoes and shirts cheap. Sure, the clothes are shoddy, there's an abundance of unnatural fibers, and the style leans towards um, 'urban' (think basketball jersey mini dresses) but if you're selective, affordable accent pieces are there for the picking.

There's no way around it, Rainbow rules. The motto on their almost-as-low-tech-as-Western Beef's website says it all: 'We sell attractive fashion at moderate to popular prices.' Yes, moderate to popular is a great qualifier.

Rainbow * 380 Fifth Ave., New York, NY (and throughout the city's finest neighborhoods)

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Dec 19

86 Noodles

I've been by here a million times. Well, at least every time I've gone to
the Bay Ridge Century 21 (yes, there's a Century 21 in Brooklyn). I've never
had any reason to stop. But on this particular Sunday it fit all
requirements. I needed a whole roast duck for a Thai red curry with pumpkin
I was making and James wanted noodle soup. We planned on hitting Sunset Park
after shopping beautiful 86th Street. On our way back to the car I was
excited by the sight of ducks hanging just inside the door. A quick glance
at the takeout menu promised all sorts of noodle soups (which you could
probably also glean from their name). Most of the customers seemed to be
going the greatest hits route, i.e. sweet and sour, kung pao, but the menu
isnt limited to those choices. A bowl of roast pork and dumpling soup
supplemented by a plate of salt and pepper spare ribs sprinkled with
jalepeno slices (I love that preparation, especially with soft shell crabs)
and a duck to go capped off a chilly pre-Christmas late afternoon better
than I'd anticipated.

86 Noodles * 8602 4th Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Dinosaur Bar-B-Que

Indian Oasis

Acqua Santa

I Know the Neighborhood

Homogenize Me, Please

Suburbanization is OK if it Means Cheap Soy Cheese

WD-50

Singing Cows & Cheese Logs

Color me Cheap

86 Noodles

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