Posts from the ‘Midtown West’ Category

Jun 15

Xie Xie

Last year, when I was looking for worthy alternatives to the banh mi (which I still love), I kept waiting for Xie Xie to open. They took their sweet time, and so did I. Only now have I gotten around to sampling a few of their Asian sandwiches.

Part of the post-2007 high-end chefs going casual trend (I celebrated my birthday—not saying which—at Angelo Sosa's short lived Yumcha back in 2005 when he was still cooking "serious" food) Xie Xie successfully turns bread and filling into something exciting. Too bad they didn't even crack New York's Best 101 Sandwiches.

Both the bbq beef and the pork sandwiches contained meats that seemed very American despite all the accouterments. The tender short rib was akin to brisket despite the soy and sugar, basil mayonnaise bridged cultures while the carrot kimchi tasted purely Korean. The squishy sesame bun just made more sense than a baguette.

Rather than the pork belly slices you often see tucked into steamed buns, they used pulled pork, sweetened by hoisin and oyster sauce. Oddly enough, the addition of pickled onions and cilantro made this handheld meal taste Mexican. If you've ever eaten Yucatecan cochinita pibil, you'll recognize the flavors. Just swap buns for corn tortillas.

I am prejudiced against no foods except melon (yes, even watermelon) but I won't be able to tackle a 1,000-year-old egg for quite some time. The most violent stomach sickness I've ever experienced period (to be fair, I'm pretty sure I had flu the entire vacation and was not food poisoned) occurred after a big meal at the famous roast goose restaurant, Yung Kee in Hong Kong. The dark gelatinous center of the fermented egg was tough going, but Xie Xie's 1,000-year-old ice cream sandwich was a delight. I love how they approximated the same gooey blue-black color for their salted caramel center.

Xie Xie * 645A Ninth Ave., New York, NY

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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

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Jul 17

Szechuan Gourmet

We're lucky to have a decent selection of Sichuan restaurants scattered throughout three boroughs. Now I’m hoping that Hunan will be the next break out regional Chinese cuisine. But with Grand Sichuan House and Bamboo Pavilion kind of nearby in Brooklyn, I rarely feel compelled to patronize any of the midtown joints. I finally got to Gourmet Szechuan, though, only because I was Koreatown realizing that I wanted spicy food of a different sort (plus the lines at Kunjip were intimidating).

It's been nearly a year since the New York Times decided to pay a serious visit, a marginally odd choice for the Bruni slot. And despite a copy of the review blown up at least seven times the original size adhered to the front window, the sit-down clientele was predominately Asian. Those waiting for takeout were not.

The most uncomfortable part of the meal was being privy to the ordering foibles of two middle-aged gentleman, mostly likely Mexican, who were seated directly next to me. They were getting thwarted in all kinds of ways, both through language and dashed expectations. The waitress really didn't want them to have lo mein and fried rice, they didn't want anything "picante" (hey, not all Latinos love spice) and they specifically wanted Pepsi, which they didn't have, juice was their second choice (also not available) so they settled for Coke. I witnessed a similar series of events go down at Grand Sichuan House once. Some people just want to eat American-Chinese food (which is on the menu at both) and have no desire to expand their culinary consciousness. That's ok. I imagine it could go both ways despite my never having witnessed Chinese people chancing upon a taqueria looking for hard shells and cheddar cheese. It's generalizing but I think Chinese (not Chinese-American) might be more inclined to eat only their own food.

We always order dan dan noodles, just because. In fact, we were intending to make a batch during the week but neither grocery store we tried (Stop & Shop and Wegmans) had ground pork, which is just strange.

Instead of my usual cold tongue or tripe, I opted for bamboo shoots. I had to get a vegetable in even if it involved a sea of chile oil. The peppercorn level in all of the dishes was what I'd call a medium, creating a pleasant buzz that still leaves your ability to taste intact. These crunchy strips were served with "fernbraken." If I didn't know better I would've guessed by the wetness and chew, that this mystery ingredient was a type of seaweed but if I'm correct it's part of a fiddlehead fern. I've mentioned before that fiddleheads creep me out; luckily, this dish was absolutely un-creepy.

A creature of habit, I wanted the dish that's bacony and smothered with softened oily leeks. I thought this would be #65 Stir Fried Chef's Sun Dried Pork Belly with Leeks but our controlling waitress, the same woman who wouldn't let our neighbors order both noodles and rice, steered me toward # 46 Stir Fried Fresh Pork Belly with Chili Leeks, instead. This was the version I had in mind with fat-striped thin rectangles of pork, though I imagine the chewier smoked version would've also been good.

I'm not as enamored by the crispy cumin lamb as others seem to be. I've seen it discussed at length on message boards and I'm fairly certain it received praise in the Times review. All the greaseless renditions I've tried are likeable but the dish feels more bar snacky and after a few nuggets a dry monotony sets in. We dunked ours in the slick pool of spicy remnants that had collected at the bottom of the nearly empty dan dan noodle bowl. For Sichuan lamb flavored with cumin, there's nothing better than the foil-wrapped seared version covered with a fistful of cilantro at Little Pepper.

I would be more inclined to head to south South Brooklyn or Flushing if the Sichuan urge grabbed me in the evening but I am jealous of midtowners with two Szechuan Gourmet locations for lunch. The Financial District is a paradise for cheap carby Chinese food—all the fried rice and lo mein you can eat with no judging—but even a Yip's apologist like myself needs a break every now and then.

Szechuan Gourmet * 21 W. 39th St., New York, NY

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May 6

Maison

Times Square is tricky for dining, most would say avoid it altogether, but sometimes it's just not worth fighting. There are out of town guests who enjoy being shown what makes NYC special—whether it's finding a platter of Filipino sisig that they can't get where they live or wowing with high caliber multicourse tasting menus or hip neighborhoody places that cure their own meat—and then there are those who would be perfectly happy eating anything, anywhere as long as it’s within a reasonable walking radius of their hotel, and not exorbitantly priced or a mob scene. It's not about the food, you’re just trying to catch up. Though if it were up to me, I'd walk way west to Pam's Real Thai or Tulcingo.

My grandma (I can’t say grandmother because it just doesn’t sound right even though it reads better. I could really go all out and type the more phonetic gramma, but that’s a hideous looking word) has never indicated any interest in French bistro food, but Maison it was. Two-blocks from the Sheraton and no wait on a Friday night are good enough for me. I don't know what suits her taste because I rarely make it back to Portland and she's more likely to take a cruise to New Zealand then come here. (I really need to learn some lessons from Oregonians like how to live on social security and babysitting jobs yet travel regularly. I do think that living in RV's and mobile homes, as other immediate family members do, certainly sucks less of your income than renting in prime Brooklyn, no secret there.) She has only visited NYC once before, along with my mom and sister in 1998, the year I moved here. I recall a positive experience with Sixth Street Indian, grumblings over Zen Palate (my sister's influence) and me losing my shit because they went to Tavern on the Green without me and when I got off work to meet them, bought me a Subway sandwich and told me to put a sock in it. I didn't have the good dining sense to yet realize I may have been better off eating the damn footlong and shutting up.

Maison's charcuterie plate was better than a Subway Club® and the wooden plank overflowed with a larger selection of meat than I’d expected. It’s doubtful anything was cured or aged in house, but the smoked duck and pate wedges were particularly winsome.

I didn’t break any new ground and ordered the steak frites. Frankly, the best part was the fries…and the herb butter. The meat wasn't so flavorful. Sometimes I just should order a plate of fries if that's what I want. The leftovers did make a good breakfast steak sandwich the following day.

For the record, grandma ate penne with chicken and James had steak au poivre. I did not snap photos because I was trying to be restrained.

The service was surprisingly friendly and accommodating. I always assume that if you work in Times Square you must be cranky from dealing with tourists all day. Maybe I’m just projecting. No rushing, I was able to sip my second glass of Shiraz in peace. It’s also worth noting that Maison, like its relatives L’Express and French Roast, is open 24-hours in case you find yourself starving on Broadway and W. 54th in the middle of the night.

This might be what I look like in 38 years, though I don’t imagine my eyes will turn blue. Grandma also told me to give up my growing out my gray hair nonsense. No need to age yourself prematurely but I’m still continuing my experiment. I can’t stop yet.

Maison * 1700 Broadway, New York, NY

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May 21

Grayz

Grayz is very much a grown up restaurant, though that Z at the end has always struck me as an ill conceived youthful affectation. It only recently occurred to me that it’s a homophone, tweaking the chef’s surname to play on the on the small plates grazing concept. Ok, I get it, but I’m still not crayzee about the name.

So, Grayz is grown up in that they serve pricey fancies masquerading as bar snacks (and that the average diner’s age prime time Saturday hovered in the 50s). I’m not in the habit of dropping $39 on finger food (rebate check burning a hole in my pocket or not) but I found my cobbled together dinner more enjoyable, or should I say awesome (it was our waitress’s favorite adjective) than expected. Civilized has its place every now and then.

James insisted the room reminded him of some Atlantic City Trump restaurant where we had a middle-of-the-night burger a few Fourth of Julys ago. There were some tame chandeliers, mini-banquettes and recessed lighting peeking out of undulating ceiling cutouts but I wouldn’t call the earth toned townhouse garish. It’s not my taste, but it’s hardly Trumpy.

I’ve been obsessed with crème de violette, mostly because of its intense color. I meant to track some down around Christmas to make an Aviation but never got around to it, so I was happy to see this cocktail on their list. It’s hard to tell from the photo (the dim lighting was murder, as you can see) but the color is a pale ever so slight periwinkle. I was expecting a cherry, but they garnished with orange peel. The flavor was more bitter than sweet, in a quinine way, but my taste could’ve been skewed from sucking so many sugar free cough drops last week.

Bread basket with yogurt dipping sauce. The herbs might’ve been fresh oregano.

Complimentary lamb sausage amuse. The fluff was similar to baba ghanoush.

What I hadn’t anticipated was how Asian many of the ingredients and preparations would be. A special involving the words fish and dumplings caught our attention, but these little patties were straight up tod mun pla. Funny, because fish cake would’ve kept me away—they’re one of the only Thai treats that I’m ho hum on.

Ceviche was composed of kampachi and fluke squiggles rather than chunks or slices. The citrus was meyer lemon, which kept the acid level tame.

Weisswurst was a fun diversion. Why not plump ghostly sausages with sweet mustard? I wisely lost my carb consciousness for a warm pretzel.

Here’s the $39 prize. Well, they were very satisfying short ribs, but yeah, spendy. The sauce was flavored with tarragon and horseradish but I swear garam masala was hiding in the mix. There was a distinct earthy Indian quality to the beef.

We probably didn’t need a dessert, especially since I wasn’t bowled over by what I ordered anyway. I’m old fashioned about sweets and when I hear white chocolate brownie I envision homey and rich. This creation was sharp and crumbly like eating shortbread and pineapple. If I had known that we were going to be gifted with two truffles (coconut and possibly passion fruit) and a tuile at meal’s end, I would’ve skipped this course.

Read my extremely condensed version for nymag.com

Grayz * 13 W. 54th St., New York, NY

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Feb 14

Crave on 42nd

No more truffled mac and cheese (10/29/08)

Ah…Valentine’s Day. Food-wise mine is already over. Tonight I will probably just watch Lost and turn cold leftover white rice into fried rice for dinner. Romance is not dead; it can be kind of strange, though.

Last year I was happy to start doing Valentine’s dinners on dates that weren’t the 14th. This year the trend was continued with a meal on the 13th at odd choice, Crave on 42nd. If anything it was a reminder that two people with very different ideas regarding just about everything can remain amiable after eight Valentine’s Days.

If I were to pick a Top Chef restaurant, which I wouldn’t, I would definitely lean towards Perilla. Nothing I read about Dave Martin’s restaurant inspired much confidence, and frankly I was kind of scared. I was also scared to take interior shots of the room lest the chef think I was trying to snap photos of him. I'm not one for such antics.

My hesitance wasn’t allayed by the blustery stroll to Twelfth Ave from Port Authority. Walking five avenues in heels (I wear flats 90% of the time because I’m overly practical and paranoid about falling down stairs) on the rainiest day of the year made me nervous. I thought I had seen the last of this block abutting the Hudson River when I made the trek twice last fall for my Chinese visa.

The location at the base of a large condo complex and across from the Chinese Embassy is kind of unfortunate. From a distance, you might think the restaurant would be a dry cleaners or dentist office, but then you’re thrown off by the white Christmas lights dolling up the edges of the windows.

Yeah, it’s suburban feeling, spacious, inoffensive, and I’m ok with all that. Embarrassingly, it marries all that I love about chains with a Manhattan address, which is to say that many New Yorkers would hate it. The food is benign: comfort-y with twists. Burgers and pizza are prominently featured. It’s not a place for tasting menus and wine pairings.

The overall style is the opposite of that Citicard commercial that I hate. The one with the tired cliché “the food was tiny.” Maybe this elf food joke was funny in the ‘70s when nouvelle cuisine was, uh, new? Amusing only to me, I Googled “the food was tiny” and this very site came up ninth place in reference to Megu. Quite fitting since that was a Valentine’s dinner from three years ago.

The first thing you notice upon entering the room is the distinct aroma of warm cheese and truffle oil. The windows were steamed up, it was like stepping into a sauna made of fontina. I refused to go with the flow and order the famous truffled macaroni and cheese, but that didn’t stop James. I did appreciate the crispy top on the two bites I took, but I’ve never been a mac and cheese person.

Instead, I ordered the sea scallops with vanilla cream and smoked tomato butter. The vanilla was subtle and worked with the smokiness. Apparently, smoke is the chef’s thing as my next course also used that descriptor.

Smokey rubbed filet mignon with groovy gorgonzola, sweet onion rings and Yukon Gold mashed potatoes. No, the groovy isn’t my addition, I’m just giving you a taste of how the titles are written. I don’t usually order beef so I’m not sure what got into me. Maybe I was just going for the traditional spirit of Valentine’s Day and ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. It was meat and potatoes with blue cheese; it’s kind of hard to ruin that combination and clearly it did its job because I ended up eating the whole thing even though I didn’t plan to. It's hard to tell from the photo, but for some reason it was in two pieces.

Sassy sea bass with adobo honey butter and couscous. James ordered the girl dish. It was sassy, after all and he’s the opposite of that adjective. The glaze was sweet, which was pleasing to me because I like candied flavors.

I’m anti-chocolate molten cakes and am generally underwhelmed by panna cotta, so the only dessert possibility was the warm apple turnover. Definitely better than a fried McDonalds pie.

Our wine pick, an Australian Chardonnay, Slipstream, Arcade Hills 2006, was probably an off choice for my steak but that’s the beauty of a place like this, no one is going to care. Admittedly, I was thinking more about my scallops when I picked this white wine.

I hate to say it but I’m experiencing some serious gastrointestinal distress this morning. So much so that I decided it was safer to work from home today (I would be surprised if any office mates read this but if you do, just know that I’m writing this on my lunch hour and not goofing off, thanks). Maybe the gorgonzola was too groovy? I’d like to blame it on escolar, the much blogged about Ex-Lax fish, but bass and salmon were the only fish on offer.

There’s nothing more romantic than the warm glow of a tow truck hauling away an illegally parked car outside your window.

Crave on 42nd * 650 42nd St., New York, NY

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Nov 24

AJ Maxwell’s

1/2 I’d never heard of AJ Maxwell’s, but then there are countless steakhouses with men’s names so it’s not that surprising. Last year at this time I was working a block away from AJ Maxwell’s and it still didn’t ring a bell, though it’s not the sort of place I would’ve been dining on a part-time news library salary anyway. Wendy’s and Au Bon Pain were about as good as it got.

Oysters on the half shell were really too large for our two-seater. They had to take our bread basket away (with the promise of its return) to make room for the presentation. And of course, they forgot to bring the bread back. Carbs are important to me.

There’s something highly impressive about the dinosaur-like bone poking from the rib eye.

I tried lamb chops just to be different, though I would’ve preferred beef. Despite the pretty greenness, jellied mint sauce rarely does much for meat.

Brussels sprouts with bacon were extremely good. Because we’re scrounges we wanted to take leftovers home. Unfortunately, they tossed everything except the meat. I suppose that implies that the typical clientele would never take home uneaten hash browns and brussels sprouts. Though just a few weeks earlier I ate at Ben & Jack's on my own dime and no one had a problem with doling out doggie bags.

Read my straight-shooting Nymag.com review.

AJ Maxwell’s * 57 W. 48th St., New York, NY

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Jun 13

Wondee Siam

I could’ve sworn I had been to Wondee Siam before but after hitting up this location, I was sure that this small space on the east side of the street was not what I was thinking of. How did I not know there were two Wondees blocks from each other? Apparently, it’s a Hell’s Kitchen trend, as Pam Real Thai also does the same two-fer in two blocks trick.

I would say that the food is notch above run of the mill Manhattan Thai and they don’t wimp out on the spicing if you request hotness, but I wouldn’t say it’s a destination restaurant. I would take it over my many local Thai options, though. I ordered fairly straightforward items.

Yum ta lay. When in doubt I often get the seafood salad. This rendition had an orangey rather than clear dressing, which was probably from chile paste since I didn’t sense any tomato flavor.

Ped kra prow. I do like duck and am baffled by haters of the water fowl. Dark meat, fat and skin? It’s like chicken but so much better. I could eat just chiles, basil and the flavorful residual oil with white rice.

Pork panang curry. I’m not used to pineapple in my curry but it doesn’t bother me like completely inappropriate carrots or broccoli. Pork and pineapple are an amazing duo as proven by Hawaiian pizza. I didn’t have to think twice when this photo was requested by a stranger to illustrate an article about a woman putting crap in her husband’s curry. Tasty. (6/12/2007)

Less crap-filled review for nymag.com

Wondee Siam I * 792 Ninth Ave., New York, NY

Mar 30

Bon Chon Chicken

1/2 Bon Chon is now Mad For Chicken. Doesn't quite have the same ring, does it? (5/15/09)

I have no idea how the Korean fried chicken craze of 2007 originated, but the New York Times article blew the genre wide open (I’ve really been liking some of the Times’s recent articles, sometimes I’m just bored. Last Wednesday’s suburban Latin supermarkets one was great. Huge, organized, well-stocked “ethnic” supermarkets are my raison d’etre and they’re too few and far between in the city. The article even made a point about having wider aisles for larger families [in number, not weight, natch] which ain’t happening here. Even the trying-to-be-mega Red Hook Fairway is cramped and illogical.)

Bon Chon is the type of place, along with Yakitori Totto, that I have every intention of visiting but never make it to because midtown is barely on my radar anymore and I need a catalyst. This time it was a friend’s birthday dinner, the venue chosen at the suggestion of her sister who’d become enamored with the chicken while working nearby.

The peripherals don’t necessarily enhance the dining experience. The décor is industrial, blood bath chic, kind of like a cleaner more stylish version of the room from Saw. Music ranged from late ’80s Depeche Mode to a dance version of Dirty Dancing’s "Time of My Life. "

And well, the food itself takes more than its sweet time making its way to the table constructed from wood, glass and rusty gears. Flagging down a server was also tough. But that didn’t stop anyone from retrieving numerous pitchers of Killian Red (the only beer served in that rare less-than-urbane format) straight from the bar. The possible downside of that was that by the time the food started arriving, I was too tipsy to critically evaluate the poultry pieces.

More_bon_chon_chicken Clearly, the chicken is cooked to order. But 30+ minutes seems a bit excessive. When we asked about breasts and whole drumsticks, our waiter looked at us like we were crazy, declaring “too busy.” That was fine. The extra skin to meat ratio on wings and drumettes is superior. The sensation is skin-centric with a papery crispness, more crackle than crunch. I enjoy thickly battered Southern-style fried chicken greatly, but this is a different beast.

Between a mix of hot wings and soy-garlic, the latter flavor was more popular. I’d agree by a margin, despite usually preferring spice over sweetness. The soy was just more welcoming where the hot required a pause between wings. I lost count, though I easily ate six. We ordered three $19.95 larges to split amongst seven eaters at our waiter’s suggestion and that was right on. Only two stray pieces were left on the plate, and even they were eventually devoured.

Accompaniments include a small bowl of cubed, pickled daikon and a heap of shredded lettuce with a thousand island type dressing. Sushi rolls, ramen and something for $12.95 called iced peach are also on the menu. The lone vegetarian in our party had to make a meal of edamame and rosemary wedge fries. We were accidentally given an extra order of these potatoes, for no reason.

Bon Chon isn’t cheap when you think about it, and definitely not fast food, but somehow that’s all clouded once you ascend to the nearly hidden second floor. There’s something about restaurants with no signs on the façade or ground level presence that change the rules. My sights have now been set on the Flushing location, Fort Lee’s Boom Boom and Jackson Heights’s Unidentified Flying Chicken.

Bon Chon Chicken * 314 Fifth Ave. second Fl., New York, NY

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Feb 28

Margon

1/2 I spent the past five months working one block from Margon and yet I never made it over until my final day. It’s wasn’t a laziness issue (though I did find myself in the ground floor Au Bon Pain more than I’d like to admit—hey, I had a discount). I just try to go easy calorically during the day (after 6pm I go nuts). If I had a guy metabolism I swear I’d eat a cubano at least weekly. It’s not like roast pork, ham, swiss cheese, mustard and pickles should kill you. Oh yeah, and the salami, Margon’s wild card touch. I would’ve liked to have tried the tripe steam table special but it wasn’t on Wednesday’s list (that’s Monday or Thursday), plus the office was populated by culinary joykills (I suspect my new office contains more of the same—where are the coworkers who appreciate a fine spleen or somesuch?). It’s for the best that I’m no longer employed near midtown because now that I’ve given in I doubt I could resist the little lunch counter’s pull.

Funny, I just looked at Midtown Lunch and their person on the street interview jumped out because there aren’t many news librarians in the world. Then I realized the woman being questioned had listed my old intersection, the Newscorp building, but didn’t work at the New York Post. Ah yes, Fox News. Those freaks put me through three interviews, three months apart for a weekend freelance job. I lost interest about half way through the process because I like my Sundays more than I like extra spending money. I’m so done with news librarianship. For real. But now I’m in the Financial District—and I thought midtown was bleak food-wise…

Margon * 176 W. 46th St., New York, NY

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