Posts from the ‘American’ Category

Apr 22

Qui

My illogical bias against Italian food (Italian-American to be more precise) has a counterpoint, and that’s Filipino food. Yes, I have a fetish for the poor culinary underdog. I never thought I’d live to see upscale dinaguan, and yet it was happening right in front of me–in Texas, no less.

Said pork blood stew, hadn’t lost its deep brown sheen in translation (there’s a reason why trickster adults tell kids dinaguan is chocolate). Yet despite the rich funk, the dish of sauced pork cubes, gnocchi and black trumpet mushrooms wasn’t heavy in the least. Some of this had to do with the small plates being small.

This might not be a selling point for most–especially if you’re a local and not a gluttonous queso-swilling, barbecue-snarfing monster of a tourist–but the portions were perfect after a day of cramming in more meals than ration would dictate.

Keeping with the light theme, I tried two raw fish preparations, one more successful than the other. I’ll admit I was drawn to the madai (sea bream) mostly because it featured chapulines, but the fish coupled with daikon was so mild that the legless grasshoppers and hojiblanca olive oil added very little. The rolls tasted as white as they looked.

The take on kinilaw with amberjack and a hit of spice, was equally pristine yet had more presence.

Rabbit was the most New American or maybe I’m reacting to the soft-yolked egg. That’s mizuna, not kale, though, with a carrot sauce and bottarga created from uni. Apparently, Qui has also used uni bottarga along with a corn nut dust on corn on the cob, which sounds awesome. I didn’t really notice it in this dish, though.

I don’t want halo-halo unless it contains something ube-flavored and Grimace purple, so it had to be the cheddar cheese ice cream sandwich, which may or may not be a nod to Texas’ cheese dip bounty (cheddar ice cream, common in the Philippines, is called queso/quezo). The aged cheese was tempered by the addition of goat’s milk cajeta and peanut praline, ending the meal on the same surprising and delicate note that emerged as Qui’s modus operandi.

Qui * 1600 E. Sixth St., Austin, TX

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Apr 21

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Frites, Fried Artichokes, General Tso Fried Chicken

Antonioni’s Gato was nuts, so too Le Philopsophe. I just wanted to sit at a bar and have some drinks and snacks. Antonioni’s, a short walk away, was suggested–and don’t kill me, but I had no idea what it was because if I ever see anything written about a new restaurant with an Italian-ish name, I skim past it because it’s just not my thing. We all have our biases. I might compare Antonioni’s kitschy mid-century Italian-American theme to Parm, but I’ve never eaten there and am only interested in the pastel, layered ice cream cake.

The restaurant turned out to be fun, bustling yet just chill enough to grab seats at the bar with no maneuvering or hovering. The much-Instagrammed orange jungle animal wallpaper set the right tone. You can start with a stiff brown drink like the Ace High (Laird’s Applejack Brandy, Cocchi di Torino, Luxardo Maraschino, Fernet Branca, Gran Classico, Scrappy’s orange bitters) and end with an intense amaro made from rhubarb that tastes not unpleasingly like burnt tires. The fried artichokes were all hearts, no leaves, making them more like the steak fries of the fried artichoke world. Just a warning. Some people love steak fries. Eggplant rolatini is something I would never order myself, but the eggplant had a smoky quality and crispy edges that kept it from being all about the tomato sauce and melted cheese. The pizza crust could be described as biscuit-y, which I don’t mind. Most people–a mix of older locals, industry types, and families with young children–were eating pasta anyway.

Chez Jef is the cutesy French pop-up that’s acting as a placeholder before the now-dead Bowery Diner turns into something else, presumably. The core menu is short. Just get the steak frites, even if you feel pressure to branch out and try something pseudo-healthy like the salmon with sunchokes so there aren’t two plates of the same thing on the table. The salmon’s boring; the steak isn’t. Plus, you get a metal gravy boat of béarnaise. And a whole jar of cornichons and a pair of tongs to play with if you order charcuterie. The oblong radishes and slices of crusty bread served with a thick slab of butter the size of a Kraft single topped with crunchy sea salt is also a nice freebie.

Applebee’s Astoria may have created a new arts district, but there’s still a Pizzeria Uno and Applebee’s in its midst. Order some $1 happy hour oysters and a Mary Pickford (silver rum, maraschino, grenadine, pineapple juice) at the Astor Room, watch a non-blockbuster movie like Grand Budapest Hotel (now gone) at the Kaufman Astoria Cinemas because it will be nearly empty, and then cancel it all out with a Bourbon Black & Bleu burger and a Sam Adams at Applebee’s. The bar is the only thing bustling after 9pm in the immediate vicinity.

Martha Definitely go for the general tso fried chicken (this is also done at Sweet Chick on a waffle, by the way). I was also happy to see that in addition the now requisite brussels sprouts and fish sauce dish, there was a spin on Thai eggplant, spicy, and tossed with basil and bits of hard-boiled eggs that’s almost too much for two. I was less happy about my order being lost and seeing skillet after skillet being diverted elsewhere, but they were super transparent about the mix-up, apologetic and comped a round of drinks, which was all thoughtful. I’m not so paranoid or self-absorbed to think these sorts of snafus are personal (think how many times I order my food, get it, eat it, no biggie) but it seems to be a not uncommon Brooklyn restaurant thing. Even more confusing was that I subtweeted this issue and Karloff, where I’ve never eaten in my life, responded.

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Apr 7

Estela

I’ll admit that a good deal of last year’s lauded openings–Estela, Contra, Piora, Narcissa, All’Onda–blurred to the point where I didn’t feel the urge to try any of them. Clearly, it’s all the A endings. Estela ended up being a standout, though. It’s kind of amazing how much a good seat (booth for two, ftw) and engaged service can color a dining experience. (For contrast, Glasserie, also for a birthday dinner a few days earlier, was kind of maddening.) It’s also one of those places where you might end up spending more than you intended to–and you’ll still leave with a good impression.

Salt cod and potato croquettes with what I’m just now realizing was borani, a Persian spinach yogurt dip that I’ve made and wasn’t quite like this.

The oysters, super briny and tart from the trout roe and yuzu, were a nice contrast to the also snacky dish that preceded them. They had a spicy finish, despite no indication that they included a spicy component.

The hyper-red beef tartare mixed with crisped sunchokes nearly resembled a plate of chopped tomatoes rolled in cornflakes. Each bite was both crunchy and luscious with bread hearty enough to match. Slightly oddball and definitely one of the best dishes.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother with burrata in a restaurant but assumed it would have to be more than just cheese and oozing cream (as delicious as that is). The green vegetal pool added a freshness that moved the dish from its rich Italian origins.Yes, there’s charred bread as a base.

The super orangey endive arrived unexpectedly; perhaps someone thought we weren’t getting enough vegetables or were missing an important dish. It didn’t originally jump out at me because it seemed austere. Of course it wasn’t because of the strong cheese (urbriaco rosso) and walnuts.

Lamb ribs are having a moment, and this version, heavy with cumin and coated with jalapeño-spiked charmoula and topped with more cilantro and mint, is right on. (Estela really likes the color green and so do I.)

The pork wasn’t really necessary, especially after those lamb ribs. The meat itself was perfect and rosy, but where I liked the greenness with the burrata, the herb paste hugging one side of the hunk was almost too grassy.

There’s no grief if you don’t order a bottle of wine, which tend to be expensive in comparison to the food (I’d already had a cocktail at the bar and a few beers downstairs at Botanica where they were also playing New Order). Even the wines by the glass are presented thoughtfully–after sampling three “unusual” whites,” I picked a Jura chardonnay.

As an aside, there was what appeared to be a hot teen (though possibly older since he was clearly drinking) dining on charcuterie at the bar when I first arrived. He was clearly a somebody, based on the attention he was receiving, though I’m fairly certain it was not Flynn McGarry.

Estela * 47 E. Houston St., New York, NY

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Mar 18

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Schnitzel, Hot Pot, $1 Oysters

Zum Stamtisch might not serve the best German food in NYC, but you have to appreciate its longevity. (The first thing I ever wrote for money in NYC–and was paid 7 to 14 times more than what I’ve been offered for blog posts in modern day–was about German bars in Glendale. Zum Stamtisch is the only one of four still standing in its 2002 form.) And commitment to Bavarian kitsch. This is not a young person’s restaurant, especially not on an early Sunday evening. Everything could use a few shakes of salt (perhaps the clientele is watching their sodium intake). The schnitzel, available in pork only, is a stellar specimen, though, with a super crisp-and-craggy breading that’s not oily in the least. The mustardy vinegar-based potato salad is also well done; the starchy chunks have a few browned edges that add a little character. There is an impressive list of after dinner digestifs that does include Jaeger and Bailey’s but also gets a little more esoteric. Forget Fernet, this is Underberg and Escorial Grün.

Little Lamb. I’ve said this before but I’m still not sure who’s ripping of whom. Little Lamb Happy Family, which has sat on Flushing’s Main Street for some time, is a blatant counterfeit. But Little Sheep, which opened last year and Little Lamb, which recently appeared in the SkyView Center, are cut from the same cloth, complete with flat screen TVs showing videos of the Mongolia-based chain’s origin story. Little Sheep is bigger and has a liquor license (though Lamb serve what appears to be cola in wine carafes). Little Lamb has a view of the Applebee’s, its neighbor, and was still doing a 10% off promo when I visited (both pros, if you ask me). Bizarrely, the entire seafood section had an X through it on the order form (a con). The spicy side of the half-and-half broth contained an unusual amount of cumin–I’ve never had a hot pot where cumin seeds stick to everything, and the greens in the mixed vegetable platter were kind of strange and included lettuce (I find cooked lettuce grotesque) as well as weird frilly leaved weeds I’d never seen before. Everything was pleasant enough, though if this were a competition Little Sheep would win by a (wooly) hair.

Extra Fancy has always struck me as more of a drinking establishment even though both times I’ve eaten there in the past it has been fine (if not full of loud drunken people encroaching on my space). Apparently, they are trying to get fancier with the addition of a new chef. That seemed to translate to a $35 steak special, lobster pie and more charcuterie. I didn’t even realize they did a $1 oyster happy hour, practically a requirement in Williamsburg, but it was appreciated. A chicken pate topped with a layer of cider jelly and a big dose of toasted pistachios was one of the better I’ve had of late, bone marrow with barbecue-sauced brisket and Texas toast was also fun and now makes two restaurants in a six-block radius serving bone marrow with Texas toast (see Brooklyn Star). I stuck to the shared plates, but will most likely return in the very near future because I sometimes Lent dine to appease others and live down the street.

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Mar 11

The Runner

twoshovel The Runner is very much a neighborhood restaurant, and one that’s needed in this particular neighborhood. (I’m selfishly interested because it’s likely that I will move back to Myrtle Avenue in the fall.) It’s the kind of restaurant–mousses, bone marrow, oysters, brown spirits–that wouldn’t be groundbreaking in other parts of Brooklyn, but Myrtle Avenue has held out a little longer than other gentrifying drags Even in Clinton Hill, Fulton Street gets most of the newcomers.

I’m often torn between wanting to try a brand new restaurant and giving them some breathing room because, you know, kinks can cloud an experience. Then again, if a restaurant is obviously on a PR tear, they’re asking for customers. And on my first visit (I will come back) The Runner didn’t seem prepared for them.

It also seemed like I’d fallen into some vortex, arriving with reservations before the crush, yet getting lost in the subsequent shuffle. A table came in after I did, ordered steak frites, ate their steak frites and paid for their steak frites before my steak frites showed up. And the steak frites were my favorite thing (hence, the half-eaten iPhone pic because I dove in so quickly). The fries were perfect, neither too fat nor thin, and the hanger steak was spot-on medium-rare with pan juices blending with what seemed to be a scallion-based chimichurri. It’s a good deal for $18.

The pizza oven leftover from the previous tenant (Anima, which I walked past a zillion times but was never compelled to visit) is being put to all sorts of uses like the tongue bread that contains no offal (sadly). It’s cibatta vaguely shaped like a tongue, and really a warm, crusty vehicle for the amazing pistachio-honey butter. Even used sparingly, though, there wasn’t enough butter for the amount of bread.

Ah, bone marrow a la M. Wells, topped with breaded escargot like a new classic. The snails and sweet onion-apple jam would be great with bone marrow, but the vessels didn’t contain enough wobbly fat to even spread on a piece of toast (in contrast to a version I’d encountered a few nights before at Extra Fancy where there was almost too much marrow for the bread).

There are two vegetable dishes. I received both; the roast cauliflower with raisins, fried shallots and parsley that I originally wanted, and agrodolce spaghetti squash with pine nuts and basil as a free buffer while waiting for entrees. They did make a good lunch the next day.

Efforts were made to smooth the logjams (initially, I attributed the issues to the oven but a cocktail also took nearly 30 minutes to arrive). I was also offered a free dessert, but declined because I’d already had more than enough food. Despite some glitches, I could see myself returning and having the steak frites (also that tarte flambé) and a glass or two of wine at the bar.

The Runner * 458 Myrtle Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Mar 10

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Austin Edition

I am not at SXSW and have no intention of going to SXSW but I was just in Austin for the first time and I did eat some food. Barbecue, Tex-Mex and chili is all fine, but my goal was to eat as much queso as possible. Spoiler: I nearly succeeded.

You can get migas at 4am at Kerbey Lane Cafe. The corn-speckled rice, beans, crumbled tortilla chips, plus foil-wrapped tortillas on the side is more starch than I’d normally recommend at this hour sober. I missed a queso opportunity here.

I suspect that Texas Chili Parlor is the Gumbo Shop of Austin. I never want to eat at the touristy restaurant in New Orleans but always acquiesce. Normally, I think chili is disgusting (I also just complained on Facebook about accidentally receiving free hotdogs so I’m a monster) but that’s just because I’m biased against the soupy ground beef and kidney bean style. The dense, stewed Texan all-beef version is right on. Really, it’s like a rendang, or to be more geographically correct, carne guisada. I also thought they were bullshitting on the XXX heat level, but it was no lie. XX was safer, though I just had mine slathered on top of cheese (processed, of course) enchiladas. And yes, that’s a small queso in the background.

Bloody marys seemed acceptable on an early Saturday, and for the record, the stubby $2.50 drinks were easily 75% vodka. Two, and you’ll think you’ve hallucinated what appear to be True Detective devil’s nests at the so-called botanical garden (as no plants were in bloom, I’m still not convinced).

Enchiladas y Mas down the street seemed more promising, but all the clumps of people out front was foreboding and I needed melted cheese asap, so strip mall El Nuevo Mexico sufficed, despite mildly weird service and a slightly downtrodden atmosphere (I want my Tex-Mex to be uplifting). Queso was followed by an enchilada and tamale combo bathed in more orange cheese (and also included a hard shell taco).

Barbecue must be eaten in Austin, obviously, even if it means forgetting cheese for a few hours. Barbecue could also merit its own post, but I prefer to just eat it rather than rhapsodizing at length about smoke rings and bark. Since I won’t wait in line for food in NYC, no exception could be made for Texas either. Franklin Barbecue wasn’t happening. A car means you can drive 30 minutes in two opposite directions for the smoked meat cluster in Lockhart or the singular attraction in Taylor.

I opted for the latter, Louie Mueller, if only because of the imposing beef rib I’d been tempted by online. While everyone eating on a Friday afternoon (standing inside in 10-minute line that in NYC would take 2 minutes) had accents to my ears, they were clearly not locals because I was asked/ma’amed by a few inquiring about the hunk of meat laying on my tray.

Even if one beef rib is too much food for two, get some brisket (a mix of lean and moist here) anyway and don’t stress over the sides because they aren’t really anything special. Wheat bread seemed unorthodox, but they did offer it.

Louie Mueller certainly wins on decor with a patina that’s hard to fake. (The fresh plywood version, complete with gargantuan beef rib is available at Hometown in Red Hook fyi.) How long the Christmas tree stays up, I have no idea.

Stiles Switch, lacking the history but retaining a degree of dusty main street quaintness, is not a bad bet, especially if you want barbecue in Austin city limits on a Sunday evening, indoor seating and a beer or two. I will say that my dining companion preferred the brisket at Stiles Switch over Louie Mueller and leave it at that.

So much trauma for a breakfast taco. I not only take being open on a Sunday for granted, but that in NYC you can brunch till practically sundown. Procuring a breakfast taco at 12:06 took three attempts and ultimately brought me to Tacodeli where I encountered the longest line of the entire long weekend. Whether due to the brilliance of Tacomix’s fare (organic, free-range, not greasy spoon) or because they are the only restaurant in the entire city that serves breakfast until 3pm on weekends, I’m not sure. I would take a regular cheese-less (yes, I know) corn tortilla taco over a breakfast taco, but if you say you didn’t try one there will be hell to pay. Once again, I shirked my duties by forgoing the queso.

Regrets: No kolaches (also a Sunday problem), not making it to Eddie V’s, Darden’s most unknown brand, or any of the chains at The Domain, an upscale-ish mall complex next to my hotel. I mean, there was a freaking Maggiano’s directly in the line of sight from my porch rocking chairs.

Qui? I will give it its own post.

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Mar 4

Rotisserie Georgette

Because I didn’t see myself ever going uptown to eat expensive chicken, I never paid any mind to Rotisserie Georgette chatter–you can’t keep tabs on everything–but it turned out to be the ideal setting for a Valentine’s-ish (never on the 14th) dinner.

Fact: Lotsa NY restaurants hurt more by this winter’s weather than they’ll say publicly, but share privately. Bitter cold worse than snow

— Steve Cuozzo (@stevecuozzo) March 2, 2014

On a particularly brutal weeknight, the dining room was suffering from the half-empty cold-weather blight cited by Cuozzo, but still managed to feel buzzy. I stressed out irrationally over how to wear heels around unavoidable ice puddles (short of taking a cab, obviously) and figured out that you don’t. The five-inch heel crowd seemed excited for the chance to wear statement yeti boots with shaggy fur and jangling pom poms.

Simplicity really is the beauty of the restaurant, though. You barely have to think because you know you’re going to order chicken in some form, and that puts the focus on conversation rather than an attention-hogging parade of courses. The concept also addresses the FOMOOOD (fear of missing out on other dishes) factor that’s possible at other chicken-for-two notables like The NoMad.

With criss-crossed blocks of seared foie gras tucked into the back of the metal basket and mushrooms and panko crumbs smothering the breasts, poule de luxe arriving on raised platform, is where it’s at. The skin was just shy of burnished (of course the Instagram filter deceives–all my real photos turned out blurred, most likely the result of an extended stop at Subway Inn beforehand) still delicious but in need of slightly more crackle. The meat, though, was perfectly juicy–even oven-baked leftovers the next day were no worse for the wear. Coupled with a bottle of Chinon Cabernet Franc that cost less than the bird, it was a winning combo.

Sides are less important (though I still get bummed when you request remainders to go and they’ve been tossed). The red cabbage and apple was tart, traditional and contained very large nuggets of cured pork. And the sundae, advertised as a brown butter parfait, showed up with hot fudge in lieu of caramel, but before I could object, the waiter deflected, “Oh no, chocolate is wonderful” and started to pour the thick sauce in a way that couldn’t be argued with, smoothly, forcefully French.

Rotisserie Georgette * 14 E. 60th St., New York, NY

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Jan 21

Gotham West Market: El Colmado & The Cannibal

Apparently, there are two new bacon boards in Hell’s Kitchen: one at BarBacon (which I only learned of today) and another at The Cannibal inside Gotham West Market. The latter might get lost in all of the charcuterie on offer, but it’s worth a look if you aren’t into delving into pig’s heads, chicken livers or raw lamb.

Left to right, this is house made back bacon a.k.a. lardo, what I heard as “lamb bacon” but another thought was “ham bacon,” though admitted that was redundant, and jowl. The firm and crispy mystery bacon in the middle was the universal hit, despite being the slightest bit gamey. Lardo draped on the hearty wheat bread and drizzled with maple syrup (left condiment) is also a good move.. The bacon fat is only for the hardcore.

We all know fried brussels sprouts flavored with mint now. These, tossed with generous crumbles of salty country ham are different, meatier take. I got overly excited at the sight of liquid white cheese, thinking of my processed favorites. This blend was oddly flavorless, though, almost like thick opaque water. There was a mild sharp cheddar after taste, but not enough to make an impact.

El Colmado has a happy hour deal worth walking three avenues for in the urban arctic. $11 will get you six oysters (Malpeques on this occasion) with mignonette sauce and a glass of cava. To be honest, I just a seat at the nearest counter upon entering because I had some time to kill. The oysters were a nice surprise.

The mini bocadillo contained an octopus body (grilled, not crispy as advertised and as I’d envisioned–like the ones in Madrid) paired unexpectedly with a minty sauce.

Patatas bravas were not only spicier than any version you’d find in Spain, the plate was also larger than anticipated, which is one of those things that’s hard to gauge with NYC tapas, regardless of using price as a guide ($10 vs. $7 for the bocadillo). Instead of pure potato with a spicy brava sauce on the side, these were coated in a chile powder then swathed in aioli.

Ivan Ramen will have to wait.

El Colmado and The Cannibal at Gotham West Market * 600 Eleventh Ave., New York, NY

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Dec 31

1 Knickerbocker

R.I.P. That was fast. (6/17/14)

It can be hard to gauge a restaurant this fresh, especially during the lull between Christmas and the new year. At least in this East Williamsburg deadzone that everyone calls Bushwick where it appears that 80% of the neighborhood has returned from whence they came for the holidays. Only two blocks from the Morgan Ave. L and the streets are dead and dark at 7pm, making the area seem more desolate than is actually the case (grousers who would like to cling to the area as gritty and undiscovered should take note).

1 Knickerbocker hits all of the stylistic notes that one has come to expect from a gastropub and that are still in vogue on the cusp of 2014: tin ceilings, house-made bitters, boutique vermouths, pickles, offal. Oh, and a scotch egg, which I’d like to deem a local prerequisite even though The Rookery is the only other example I can think of (shocked at Dear Bushwick’s omission).

One thing that separates 1 Knickerbocker from its ilk in other neighborhoods is the size. The place is enormous and a perfect antidote for those averse to squeezing between two inches of table space. Booth for six? No problem. And on this particular evening, a luxury for two. (For the record, The Randolph Brooklyn also ranks highly for booth-lovers.)

You can start with a nice Manhattan riff. With rye and an absinthe rinse, the drink is a little Sazerac-y. Birch bitters up the herbal quotient.

Admittedly, it was the fried pig ears that drew me in. This version plays up the crunch more than the chew (I don’t mind a bit more gooeyness) and gets its lusciousness from mayonnaise flavored with pickled peppers. Fried curry leaves were a distinctive touch. Where curry powder tastes like fake Indian food, if you’ve ever smelled or nibbled curry leaves–maybe without even knowing it–the flavor is recognizably Indian.

There is synergy with the scotch egg, which also relies on a flavored mayonnaise–black garlic, in this case–and a pickled hard-boiled egg fried in a pakora-like coating, so one or the other would probably suffice. Thankfully, the sausage is chicken instead of the usual pork, so overall this isn’t as heavy as it looks.

Shredded brussels sprouts and chickpeas with a peppery yogurt dressing.

Ok, more pickles and eggs. The farmer’s plate did have a hearty selection of smoked meats, and substantial cheeses, though clearly, I was remiss in ordering any warm entrees like the roast elk or pork cheeks, mostly because I was snacking and drinking. Despite saying gastropub, the mains have touches like caraway, spaetzle, juniper and dill that are less London and more Berlin bistro.

1 Knickerbocker * 1 Knickerbocker Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 4

Alder

Alder was not exactly what I expected. The food was fairly straightforward, at least in comparison to WD-50, which wasn’t a detriment for the dishes since most are memorable close to a month later. I couldn’t conjure up a single detail about the room if I tried, though. Perhaps that wasn’t the point.

Even though I’ve been trying to work my way through two pounds of Chinese sausage picked up at Costco, I still ordered the pigs in a blanket that wrap flattened hot dog buns around the sweet fatty links of lap cheong. The emphasis here is more on the link than the normally puffy coating. Served with sweet chile sauce and Japanese mustard, these are the perfect cross-cultural snacks. They will not be forgotten come Super Bowl.

The quail scotch eggs, whose shrunken size provides a good coating to innards ratio, also tread in bar snack territory.

Grilled octopus combined the most unusual flavors and it was also the most successful composed dish. Octopus and chorizo, I could buy in that Portuguese-y pork and seafood way. Sweet potato–why not? Banana, though, seemed, well, bananas, one step too far. It was not. Oily sausage, paprika and octopus coins are strong enough for a sweet, starchy accent.

Instagram works. I might not have considered the goat if I hadn’t seen the whole animal being prepped before service. I’m not sure what else went into this take on Jamaican goat curry and coco bread, but based on taste it was less a riff than a rendition, just presented spilling out of a wedge of acorn squash.

Alder * 157 Second Ave., New York, NY

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Posts from the ‘American’ Category

Qui

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Frites, Fried Artichokes, General Tso Fried Chicken

Estela

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Schnitzel, Hot Pot, $1 Oysters

The Runner

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Austin Edition

Rotisserie Georgette

Gotham West Market: El Colmado & The Cannibal

1 Knickerbocker

Alder

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