Nov 1
It's a "French-American roadhouse," if there is such a thing. I think
this means serving things like rabbit with grits. Starfoods seems potentially
scene-y, though it was pleasantly low-key during opening week. The Space
Invaders tiles in the bar are cute. In fact, I'd be more likely to stop
back in the bar than the restaurant and I can't say why for sure.
This choice threw me for a loop. James called me up Thursday night to
announce he'd made reservations at "Jonathan Waxman's new restaurant." Er,
okay. He's not retarded, but he's not really up on chefs, recent openings,
what's hot and all that crap. (He'd also made reservations for Les Halles
the following night, but that choice wasn't surprising considering Mr.
Bourdain's recent successes as author and television show commentator.) It
weirded me out a bit, but who am I to look an expensive gift horse in the
mouth?
The vibe is sort of an anachronistically yuppie, business casual affair.
James claimed a table of men behind me were very "Bonfire of the Vanities."
And without ever having seen that movie, I'm pretty sure what he meant. But
the '80s are big at the moment, right?
The menu is all about the market (not the stock market), what's fresh,
what's in season, all that Chez Panisse philosophy. I had to question James,
"You know this is California cuisine, right?" knowing his fear and
disdain for all things West Coast. But if a menu is going to be seasonal,
for my taste, autumn is the time to go. I had red pepper pancakes with
salmon, caviar and creme fraiche for a starter (James the lobster taco),
then the duck breast with roasted acorn squash and chestnut puree (James
couldn't resist the name-dropping Niman Ranch pork). The dessert was
something pecany, possibly gingery, artfully arranged with a crispy
caramelized sugar decoration and a small scoop of pumpkin ice cream.
The waitstaff was all tricked out in Thomas Pink, the linens were Frette, and the silverware was all
silver, duh. Come to think of it, I doubt I've ever actually eaten
with real silverware. The meal was fun, if not a tad decadent for an
unemployed sap like me.
*Hmm, Washington Park's sudden demise baffles me. (6/11/04)
WashingtonPark * Fifth Ave., New York, NY
1/2
This is a Portland guy's idea of a date place: one step up from burritos,
but less than $10 per person (assuming you don't order appetizers or
alcohol, which might be a correct assumption). At least that's what Jessica
and I have speculated when thinking back on the guys we're used to. To be
honest, I could see her getting dragged to Moustache well before I would. I
just don't date those kind of guys (pot-smoking, head-in-the-clouds, full of
unrealized dreams, singer/songwriter/artists who say they're going to move
to NYC). I'm at the haggard point in my life where a date should be a date
— thought-out, aiming to impress a little, care-taken, particularly in the
dining choice — I'm fussy about food, alright? I differentiate between
simply going out to eat with a guy and going on a dinner date.
This particular night was just getting something to eat because I was
craving Middle Eastern food, didn't want take-out falafel and Moustache was
nearby. I had a merguez sandwich, James had a lamb "pitza" and then we got
into a fight and I can't even remember what over. He left in such a huff
that he forgot his credit card at the restaurant. See? Moustache is no place
for couples (or couples to be).
MoustachePitza * 265 E. Tenth St., New York, NY
Unremarkable. Same with "One Hour Photo," which we saw afterward. It was agreed that within a week we would have forgotten both the restaurant and movie. I have a hard time forgetting something I've told myself to forget, but you get the idea.
I ordered the undignified-sounding fried pork chunks hoping for something wonderfully crisp, fatty and flavorful like lechon or the fried pork with basil at Sripraphai. No such luck. The meat was dull and dry, likely a lean cut of pork to start with. It just doesn't work like that–you need the fat. If I was being respectful of my health, I wouldn't have ordered fried pork in the first place.
Barring the mojitos, the prices were reasonable and the portions were huge. I'm a fan of big and cheap, but mediocre? Not so much.
Havana Central * 74 17th St., New York, NY
Our third anniversary passed without much fanfare. Same as the second, and
most likely the fourth, if that comes to pass. I'm not sure why that is. At
least the meal was nice. United Noodle has all the makings of return visit:
it's mere blocks from James's apt., fusion-esque, but not out of control
(I'm a sucker for fusion) and reasonably priced.
We started with a tower of wontons with shrimp and an orange citrusy
sauce. I ordered a decidedly non-summery dish of short ribs with
papperadelle. It was wonderfully meaty and anise-scented with sweet cherry
tomatoes and a green (possibly Asian, it wasn't broccoli rabe). I was
actually more enamored of James's shrimp and scallops in what they menu said
was carrot pudding, which was really a rich, creamy, sweet sauce. There
might have even been vanilla in it, I couldn't put my finger on all the
flavors. Luckily, we switched plates at the half-way mark to get a little
variety.
Dinner was topped off with an ubiquitous molten chocolate cake. No big
shakes, but not bad. One of these days I'm going to play stupid and throw a
fit that my cake isn't properly cooked. "Send this back, I'm not paying for
a raw cake!" "If I wanted to eat batter I could do it at home and it save
the $7!" Eh, I don't think I have the nerve.
UnitedNoodle * 349 E. 12th St., New York, NY
1/2
The latest addition to NYC's growing trash trend. I was kind of curious
about the place, and it was across the street from the theater where we saw
"The Good Girl" (the same theater where we had our first date ["Blair
Witch"] and hadn't been back to in almost three years). I would say Trailer
Park isn't trashy so much as kitschy. The place is overflowing with
'70s-'80s memorabilia like Dukes of Hazzard pics, which realistically you
wouldn't find in the average mobile home. I can see it being more of a
thriving bar scene. The burger wasn't bad, but nothing special. I did like
sweet potato fries, though–and you're not going to find those in a trailer
park.
Trailer Park * 23rd St., New York, NY
1/2
It's taken me a while to write about my 30th birthday dinner because with
more important (i.e. expensive) meals, it seems like you should take more
care in the description. Unfortunately, I've been scatterbrained lately.
We went for the seven-course tasting menu, which was impressive, but to
be honest I can't remember the exact detail of each dish. One, because I was
tipsy and two, because it's hard to recall just from waiter description, I
need to see words on a menu. Generically, we had a mini salmon creme fraiche
pastry before the meal started, first: a chilled pea soup, second:
Machengo-filled squash blossom, third: foie gras soup dumpling, fourth:
mackerel, which annoyingly I can't remember much about, fifth: lacquered
squab with foie gras (my favorite), sixth: cheese plate with a possibly
illegal fresh blue cheese from Ireland, seventh: two desserts, one a lemon,
blueberry gelatin thing and a panna cotta, which I ate, enjoyed and can't
remember even though the table next to us asked about it and at the time I
described it to them.
I'm just relieved that I finally got to eat at a restaurant I wanted for
a special occasion. Hints were dropped about Annisa for last year's birthday
but they weren't picked up on. I got Peter Luger, which is funny because
Annisa is totally the anti-Luger. Small portions, modern, feminine. All
things I'm not really about, but I can't eat manly meals all the time.
The only thing I wasn't sure about was the clientele. The middle-aged
French couple seated next to us, kept shooting the most disgusted looks for
no good reason. We hadn't even ordered anything yet, so clearly it wasn't in
responses to poor food choice, they just didn't like the sight of us. It was
really freaky. I'd occasionally scowl back, and almost said something
confrontational, but they left shortly after we sat down. The other thing I
observed is that with the exception of the older Frenchies, the other
parties were all made up of casual twenty-somethings eating what seemed for
them run-of-the-mill Thursday night dinners. I thought the whole boomtown
bubble had burst. You could just tell that for all these 26-year-old doctors
and MBA's (I know because they were talking about their jobs) this was
nothing special, rather something to do. I don't know, it almost bothers me
more than being scrutinized by nasty foreigners.
Annisa * 13 Barrow
St., New York, NY
1/2
I like this place because if you're taking the M from Queens, it's kitty
corner from that odd Canal St. exit that puts you out on Centre St. No
transferring trains, no treks through town, just a 30 min. straight shot
from Ridgewood. Convenience and good Vietnamese food. They've got the
typical subtle variations of pho and all sorts of stuff with beansprouts and
basil. But the last time I was there right before a job interview, I
branched out and had this pork chop thing (have to re-look up the name) that
was amazing and at $5.25 didn't put a dent in even an unemployed gal's
pocket. I also slammed a Tsingtao to calm any pre-interview jitters and
worried for a moment that I was delving into Uncle Ned (Tom Hank's one shot
"Family Ties" character) territory. The dish came with two barbecued pork
chops on rice with some sliced cucumbers, tomatoes and carrots, and a piece
of this "egg cake" which was like scrambled egg with something black like
beans inside. I felt pretty invigorated, albeit stuffed, upon leaving. And
no, I didn't get that job. Keep your eye out for the waiter who goes,
"Yummy, yummy" and then mumbles something under his breath when he brings
your food.
I'm tackling my eating alone phobia and trying a different Chinatown
place every Tues. night before my writing class. I thought I'd already
battled this affliction when I'd reluctantly eat lunch alone while working
at the library in Portland. I was a total spazz about it in the mid '90s,
and unfortunately the new millennium hasn't improved me much. I'm convinced
this Fred Durst guy was staring at me the entire meal, not a glare, but
every time I'd look up our eyes would meet, and not in a wanted way. Then a
skinny young girl sat down facing me and also kept catching my line of
vision. Such paranoia. I find it hard to chew when you feel eyes are on you.
Anyway, the #1 pho was tasty, filling and cheap and that's what counts.
Nha Trang Centre * 148 Centre St. New York, NY
OK, I'm a little confused. F&B stands for frites and beignets, right? So,
where are the Frenchie doughnuts? James and I swung by before heading to the
Paramus Mall for a quick sugar fix and the square fried goodies were nowhere
to be seen on the wall menu, and no one appeared to be eating them. The word
beignet is on the window, the trays and later we discovered, on the take-out
menu, but beignets clearly weren't going into anyone's mouth. Harumph. I had
the dog with chicken apple sausage and corn relish (love the sweet/savory
combo) and sweet potato fries. Both were tasty, but they were not beignets.
I don't know about that European street food.
F&B* 269 W. 23rd St., New York, NY
Blech, food for people with weird standards, i.e. my friends. I thought I ordered a quesadilla though it was pretty much a burrito filled with rice (I freakin' can't stand burritos filled with rice, there is no good reason for tortillas and rice to be that close together. God, and I love carbs). Others ordered burritos and they looked like the exact same thing filled with rice. And blasphemies of blasphemies, no one had a menu to order from, they just knew what they wanted (rice-filled burritos, apparently). I wouldn't be surprised if the entire menu was composed of dishes combining, you guessed it, tortillas, beans and rice. Never again.
La Paloma * 359 W. 45th St., New York, NY
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