Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

Jan 30

Hanco’s

I'm still trying to figure out what kind of name Hanco is, or if it's anyone's name at all. It doesn't sound terribly Vietnamese, I'll say that much. Maybe I watch too much TV because the first thing that came to mind was Hanso, like the mysterious foundation on Lost.

At first I found it hard to believe a banh mi store would set up shop in Cobble Hill (or is this technically Boerum Hill–I find the border of those two neighborhoods even more nebulous than Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens). And with bubble tea? Is that right? Maybe they're trying to cash in on two perceived cross-cultural trends that New Yorkers have embraced. Part of me was just excited to have banh mi in the area (I hesitate to say neighborhood, Hanco's is one subway stop away or a twenty minute walk and not on my way to anything) but I also was wary because it didn't seem like a natural fit. Kind of like Nicky's in the East Village as opposed to the original An Dong in Sunset Park.

The sandwich was pretty close to what I'd expected, satisfying enough under the circumstances, but not kick ass in any way. The rolls weren't quite right and seemed a bit small (normally, one banh mi is plenty, but I ended up eating both that I'd bought to take home. Maybe I was just ravenous from banh mi withdrawals). The construction was heavy on the marinated shredded carrots, and contained more ground pork than I'm used to. I did like that the sandwiches weren't super mayonnaisey, but that's my own personal food aversion issue (I've grown to accept and even enjoy mayo, but I don't like seeing large pockets of the thick white sauce).

I was hoping they'd have a selection of snacks, more like Ba Xuyen, but even the salad and spring rolls listed on the print menu had been scratched out with Sharpie. It seems that they're still getting their bearings.

The space was a little austere and dead silent. A bit of music or background chatter couldn't have hurt. I was afraid to breathe or shuffle while waiting patiently for my sandwiches to be prepared. Even the three workers kept quiet the 15 minutes or so that I was in there. A mom with two small children was sitting at a table when I first arrived, so apparently Cobble Hill tots aren't averse to Vietnamese sandwiches. However, they tossed out barely touched bubble teas declaring them "too sweet." Also, very Cobble Hill that kids would take issue with sugar content. Jeez.

Hanco's * 85 Bergen St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jan 28

Chili’s

1/2 A crunched front fender is what happens when you eat at Chili's in Deptford. I don't know what the deal is with Pennsylvania drivers, but there's something seriously amiss and I've been observing this some time. Years ago while in Reading, PA for the weekend (fun times) we were hit by a car backing up in am empty parking lot, and ever since then we've been hyper alert to PA drivers who tend to swerve out of lanes and back up without looking. I've heard rumors that they didn't use to require driving tests, just a written exam. All I know is that there are disproportionate amount of Pennsylvania plates in Brooklyn owned by really bad drivers, which points to either a licensing or insurance scam.

So, while picking up a big shiny Panasonic plasma in Deptford, New Jersey near the Pennsylvania border (it was the nearest Circuit City location with the TV in stock) we stopped for lunch at Chili's. After eating our burgers, we were greeted by a nice big dent in the front of the car. Big surprise.

Though as a testament to the major difference between NYC driving and Deptford driving, we were about a block from the Chili's at a busy intersection when I felt motion in my peripheral vision. Someone seemed to be waving at us from a car to our right, which from experience is an action best left ignored. But the guy was flailing so hard we had to give in and acknowledge his presence. James reluctantly rolled down his window to hear what the mustachioed curly topped gent had to say. Something rude, I suspected, my guard was up. He replied, "I got in the wrong lane, is it ok if I get in front of you to make the turn?" I couldn't believe my ears and eyes. Someone would actually ask if they could go ahead of you in the left turn lane because they'd made a mistake? Brooklyn style would be to pull right next to you regardless, and when the light turned green to swerve right in front, causing you to slam on the breaks and come inches from hitting them, and then they'd give you a rotten look or flip you off like you were the asshole. By then the light would have turned yellow and you'd be stuck waiting for the next cycle like a chump. James and I both started laughing from the absurdity of asking permission to get in front of somebody and assuming they'd be good with it. Sure, fine, we waved him ahead when the light turned green and we both made it through the four-way, just like it works in the suburbs. Wow.

So, we ended up at Chili's after puttering around a section of town with abandoned movie theaters and half-empty malls with signage mimicking the old loopy '70s Gap logo. Time forgot Deptford. Thankfully, tanning centers and liquor stores had thrived.

Saturday, solidly late lunch time, Chili's was packed. We had to wait with lots of skinny crunchy-curled teenage girls and portly couples in matching stonewashed jeans and bomber jackets who gave me dirty looks for absolutely no good reason and make a point of forcing a cough when James lit a cigarette outside while we waited for a table. It's not like anyone there was exactly following a path to health–second hand smoke should be the least of their troubles.

I had a chipotle bleu cheese burger where medium is as low as they'll cook the meat and you're thankful because rare might cause gastrointestinal distress. The cheese was detectable, though the chiles, ironically, were not. What is Chili's shtick anyway? It's like Applebee's in that they're multipurpose, not like Olive Garden: we're Italian or Outback Steakhouse: we do steaks. It's not like everything is chile-laden. It's the baby back ribs, right?

My burger was large, juicy and greasy, as might be expected. It strangely satisfied its purpose. The fries were pretty so-so, not terribly crisp and a touch on the soggy side. I was way more taken by my surroundings than the food, as is often the case with me and suburban chain restaurants. Some nebulous emotional void was fulfilled that afternoon. Unfortunately, the car didn't come away quite as unscathed.

Chili's * 1760 Clements Bridge Rd., Deptford, NJ

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Jan 26

Adrienne’s Pizza Bar

1/2

There are those nights when food hardly matters. Admittedly, they're rare
for me, but have been occurring with greater frequency since starting a new
job (where a weird coworker informed me that someone who used to do my job
"went down to a size 4 from stress" Uh, was that a threat or a promise?)
where by 6pm I feel more like a stiff drink than a satisfying meal.

My visit to Adrienne's occurred on one of those Thursday nights. I barely
remember how my food tasted. I didn't even touch the bread and olive oil set
out to start, and I'm never one to shun fat and carbs. This was evening so
it was all rounds, not the square pies they're better known for (to be
honest, I'm a little afraid of the square slice). We split a salad with
roasted red peppers and sun-dried tomatoes, and a prosciutto and arugula
pizza.

The whole Financial district, boisterous men in suits atmosphere doesn't
lend itself to relaxation. I felt edgy and watched while squeezed into our
small two-seater with the precariously placed pizza stand and jumble of
small plates. I would hardly write Adrienne's off as a bust, but I would be
more likely to go again for lunch rather than dinner.

Adrienne's Pizza Bar * 54 Stone St., New York, NY

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Jan 21

Minangasli

Oh, this is one of those places that makes me wish I didn't live where I live. I'm pretty fond of my apartment, it's just the surroundings that I find less than satisfactory (weird, I know, since there are plenty of perfectly nice blogs devoted these environs). Minangasli should be my neighborhood restaurant, not Frankies 457 (which isn't even heinous) 0r I don't know, Marco Polo. But then, I could be biased since I'm no fan of Italian-American cuisine. Maybe I'm just partial to S.E. Asian food under $7 with nearby storefronts with names like Bappy Sweets (a bastardization of happy or does bappy mean something?). I would eat out every night and be even unhealthier and mushier than I am now, so it's for the best.

Minangasli was a must since I'm always on rendang alert. James was disappointed that the stewy meat wasn't as ubiquitous as he'd anticipated in Malaysia. The streets, pardon me, jalans, weren't paved with rendang, a beautiful image to imagine, nonetheless. I could be off, but I kind of saw it like a tourist going to Miami and distressing over the lack of cheesesteaks. I don' t know if Penang or Kuala Lumpur are exactly rendang hot beds. We certainly found the dish here and there, at a few street stalls, but it tended to show up more on the menus of Indonesian restaurants.

The ayam goreng sambal ijo, fried chicken smothered with a green chile paste was tastier than its simplicity would have you believe. The rendang was rich, slightly sweet, with deeper spices and less citrus than others I've tasted (including my own). It was a blessing that we were presented with only three large chunks or I would've been in serious caloric straits. (The portions are almost deceptively small, at first glance they seem slightly inadequate, but once you start eating you realize they're more than enough, it's an optical illusion.)

I'd heard about the kale and thought it was a good idea since we tend to get meat-heavy in Asian restaurants. But the greens were absent that evening, so we opted for jackfruit, a favorite of mine that didn't sway too far from Upi Jaya's rendition. I do think Minangasli's prices are a few dollars less, for whatever that's worth. But both are worth a visit. I'm all for Indonesian food in all permutations, as it's few and far between in NYC.

Minangasli * 86-10 Whitney Ave., Elmhurst, NY

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Jan 15

Chevy’s

We had three choices in the Target parking lot: Applebee's, Boulder Creek Steakhouse and Chevys. After a hard afternoon at Short Hills Mall, giant margaritas seemed in order.

And they were massive, which made me worry a bit since they conveniently omit drink prices from the colorful menu. We were guessing $12.95, but then you have to remind yourself this is real chain dining, not the Manhattan facsimile. My supersized Gold Rush (Cuervo Gold, Triple Sec and sweet & sour on the rocks) was a mere $7.95–if I'd known that from the get go I wouldn't have nursed it throughout the meal.

For once I didn't feel bad about ordering an appetizer sampler since we were four rather than just the usual two. Spicy wings, taquitos, fajita nachos and a "chicken ?dilla" quartered up, isn't a wholly unreasonable starter.

When I go gringo I do it all the way, and that means chimichangas, but I resisted and fooled myself into believing that seafood enchiladas were healthier (perhaps minutely). Really, Chevys isn't any worse than anything else that passes for Tex-Mex in the NYC area. It's not completely horrible, and they were playing Weezer, for whatever that's worth.

As one of my favorite parts of Red Lobster is the Cheddar Bay Biscuits, Chevys charms me with their little corn blob that's like a freeform corn bread, polenta hybrid. Ah, it's called a tomalito, and here's the recipe.

That would've, should've been enough, but then we had to go and order two desserts: an Ooey-Gooey-Chewy Sundae and something else with ice cream and caramel sauce that I can't recall the name of. I don't think it was the "potato," as they call it. Sunday night in Linden, NJ (I was treating it as a Sat. since it was a three-day-weekend) is a sparse affair. This is one of the only chain restaurants I've ever been to where there hasn't been a wait, not to mention empty seats. It was so desolate they had to send someone over to the Applebee's half-way across the parking lot to borrow whipped cream for our chilled desserts. Now that's service.

Chevys * 1150 South Stiles St., Linden, NJ

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Jan 13

My Moon

Raw poultry in a Turkish restaurant? I'm totally an avian flu case waiting to happen. Ok, it's not all that Turkish (manchego-stuffed pequillo peppers and tuna tartar with roasted beet vanilla vinaigrette?) but one of my chicken kabobs was pink and translucent in the center, and due to the moody lighting I know I ate more than a few nibbles before noticing the accidental sashimi. I really don't understand the fairly recent Williamsburg propensity towards clubby theme park dining. My Moon had already given me pause based on its unnecessary sprawl and awkward atmosphere. They have a huge useless-in-winter front patio, lots of exposed brick, cavernous ceilings, generous space between tables and big colorful art all over the walls, which gives the impression of a Cincinnati, Portland, Tucson…I don't know, some mid-sized city in 1996, trying to emulate NYC. Instead of pizzazz it simply evokes suburban and middle aged.

I might've reserved my judgment if it wasn't for the frightening free jazz combo fronted by a scatting songstress. They had inexplicably mesmerized a good proportion of the patrons that included plenty of youngsters in addition to the middle aged couples (straight and lesbian) and giant non-white men in XXL leather jackets that seemed out of place not guarding someone's velvet rope. I hadn't heard music like that since I paid a visit to the 70th story lounge at the Swissotel in Singapore this past summer.

So, all I ate was a very garlicky rice pilaf with a yogurt sauce and a few chicken cubes, and if it weren't for the underdone chunk, I would've described the food as acceptable if not overpriced by a dollar or two (kebabs were $13). Though I suppose you're paying for the ambience, which I would've gladly given up for a cheaper fully cooked combo plate from Waterfalls.

My Moon * 184 N. 10th St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jan 8

El Huipil

1/2 *I hear that they've closed. I was actually thinking about going this weekend, too. (1/15/07)

I must admit that I wasn't terribly impressed. But I can be forgiving since this desolate pocket of Red Hook isn't a major haul for me. We had driven over to Baked to see if they had their version of red velvet cake available (no cigar) and happened to drive by El Huipil while scouting the area for Fairway and Ikea development.

I was hoping they'd have pozole or something like it (I've given up on menudo in NYC) since it was the weekend, but they only serve the soup on Saturdays. The menu is fairly paltry. I tried for a pierna de puerco torta, but they didn't have the pork, so I went with a pedestrian pollo asada instead. It was ok, not likely their strength. James got tacos dorados, which are like flautas. A couple came in after us and asked for corn, but were informed that there was only one ear left.

I'm not sure if they were down to the dregs because it was Sunday or if they just don't stock everything and hope people will order the greatest hits. I like to feel like I'm surrounded by plenty, spoiled for choice. I hate going into a restaurant and just knowing before ordering that you'll likely be thwarted in obtaining your first choice(s).

Considering the bleak Mexican food landscape in South Brooklyn (particularly when the Red Hook soccer fields are closed for the season) El Huipil is ok. But in the grand scheme of things it's a little ho hum.

El Huipil * 116A Sullivan St., Brooklyn, NY

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Jan 7

DuMont Burger

I don't know why I spent the past two weekends traipsing around Williamsburg (I've tried to avoid the area for the past few years. I had a couple of innocent beers at Zablozki's and was totally scared by the riff raff, all entourage minus the star teeming out of SEA onto N. 6th St. Where do these baseball capped phantoms come from? It doesn't seem worth the travel effort from New Jersey or Long Island. Or from Bay Ridge or Bayside, for that matter) but at least this Saturday I managed to keep my food and drink in my stomach and out of public spaces.

Always the pessimist, I didn't have much faith that DuMont Burger, which somehow became the out-of-the-blue focus of two of the four members I was with, would still be open after 1am, but we were in luck.

The room was comfortably sparse, woody and counter and stool style. I'm more of a booth gal, but eating at the bar felt more personal like our burgers were being crafted just for us (well, technically they were since after the first ten minutes we were the lone diners).

We ordered various permutations, a veggie burger, a mini and two regular burgers, fries and a salad chosen for sides. I can only speak for my own, a medium-rare gruyere topped burger with fries. Having a few drinks under your belt always makes food a little tastier, but I truly think this meal was top notch. The meat was juicy, if not more rare than medium (I like a pink patty, but sticklers should probably order a notch more done than usual) and slightly sweet, perhaps from Worcestershire sauce. I don't think the sweetness of the brioche bun alone would've caused this. They come thick, and with the addition of tomato slice, onion rounds, sweet pickles and lettuce leaf it's a tad too tall. I guess the baby-mouthed could opt for the mini, but I wanted my full 9 ounces, just squished down slightly.

The parsley flecked fries pretty were right on, neither too thick or thin, nor too soggy or crispy. I've never been able to order a side salad when fried potatoes are an option. Though as of January 9 I'm supposed to be eating healthier, I'm not sure how DuMont Burger might fit into my proposed betterment plan. Moderation, right?

DuMont Burger * 314 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 31

Zipe Zape

1/2 I don't eat tapas as much as I'd like to, but I finally got the chance to try Zipe Zape since I was in Williamsburg for New Year's Eve. Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing that a mere four hours later my precious tapas (along with Jameson, Frangelico, cheap champagne, Rioja and Sauvignon Blanc) would end up splattered all over a stranger's stairwell. Oh well, way to ring in 2006.

But I started the evening with good intentions and a nice Spanish spread. I had heard the servings were small and overpriced, and that was probably true of the $5 potato and chorizo nibble topped with a quail egg, but in general everything was a fair value. We also ordered baby chorizo in brandy, which are like Catalan lit'l smokeys (I love them), a cured meat platter, whose contents I can't fully recall, gambas al ajillo, which were super, and a touch spicier than I would've expected. They include the heads with whiskery antennae, which only meant more for me. We were so impressed we recreated the simple dish for dinner the following night. Dipping crusty bread into the garlicky oil is almost as good as eating the shrimp, themselves.

We also ordered a cheese plate, which we were getting antsy waiting for because there's nothing like a parade of meat, cheese and bread, but as it turned out we were being American and didn't realize they were holding it as an after-dinner treat. The cheese portions were really large in comparison to the rest of the dishes and way too heavy for two who'd already eaten a meal, but we plowed through. The selection included tetilla, manchego, a goat cheese, and membrillo. The food was better than average, the service gracious (it seemed like a mother and teenage daughter running the room) and all was well (until after midnight, at least). That's why I was surprised to read this negative Chowhound account from the same evening. I was glad to be on the good side of things for a change, it often seems that I have poor experiences with places that others love.

Zipe Zape * 152 Metropolitan Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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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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Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

Hanco’s

Chili’s

Adrienne’s Pizza Bar

Minangasli

Chevy’s

My Moon

El Huipil

DuMont Burger

Zipe Zape

Public

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