Posts from the ‘East Village’ Category

Sep 1

Natori

I eat Japanese food with little frequency. That’s why when someone in the know invites me out, I can’t resist. A friend, Nao, had an impromptu birthday dinner at Natori, an unassuming two-sided restaurant on St. Marks that you might walk past without really noticing. There’s nothing flashy about it, very homey yet somehow naturally hip. But one of the chefs was friends with the birthday celebrant so we were treated to an omakase of sorts.

We, the ten eaters, put in a few requests from the menu, but much of it was a surprise. And the parade of dishes seemed never ending. By the time the chocolate cupcakes (inspired by a recipe from a drunken late-night viewing of America’s Test Kitchen after my birthday party) were presented, I was bursting at the seams.

avocado tuna semi-salad

burdock and hijiki/I was told a story about how American prisoners of war were fed gobo (burdock) and once freed complained about being made to eat bark and a Japanese soldier was executed specifically for this transgression. Burdock is tasty. I'd prefer to the sort of gruel I imagine in a P.O.W. camp.

mackerel sushi/There were people not so into mackerel. I guess it's oily and particularly fishy but that's what I like about it. I think of it as being Spanish, not so much Japanese.

alligator/It didn't taste like chicken in the least, kind of gamey and naturally spicy. Or maybe the light coating was spiced.

ginger squid/this was fairly sweet and I was pleased that the rings weren't breaded and fried. Even though I'm the one who picked this dish I feared it would be more like fried calamari.

enoki noodles

bean curd filled with rice

soft shell crab sushi/It seems like you could eat a whole plate easily, but two pieces were filling. I think it's the tempura effect.

~~takoyaki~~ okonomiyaki/I'm not sure why I'm often repulsed by mayonnaise but rarely bothered by its presence in Japanese preperations. The cheese was jumping around from the heat and made the whole octopus pancake seem alive.

mixed sushi/there were more rolls than these but I didn't take photos of everything.

steamed sea bass/I'd just eaten Chinese steamed sea bass a few week prior. I wonder if removing the head is standard? The fish almost seemed naked without it.

cupcakes!

I take pictures of food, but rarely my dining companions. Here’s a short video, if you’re into that sort of thing. I’m only peripherally captured on it, but sadly my voice dominates the audio. Sometimes I forget how strongly my voice carries. Seriously, in grade school I was always the one made to go sit in the hall when I was part of a crew of disruptively gabby girls. Despite protesting, the teachers would tell me, “but you’re the one we hear.”

Natori * 58 St. Marks Pl., New York, NY

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May 15

Esperanto

It’s strange that I would end up eating on Avenue C twice in less than a month. When I was on my way to Cafecito, I was thinking how no one I know lives in the East Village anymore. The only current residents I could come up with were a friend’s old boyfriend and current datee. And as it turns out, the old boyfriend who had a room barely big enough for a twin bed is finally moving (to Williamsburg, duh). I was attending his birthday/going away party, and well, for the time being he lives above Esperanto. Dinner solved.

I was under the false impression that Esperanto was Cuban but it’s really a mishmash, as evidenced by the name, I suppose (I was just trying to explain what Esperanto was to my Spanish tutor and I swear he thought I was making it up). If anything, it leans towards Brazil. The kale that came with my tuna and cilantro rice was a tip off, and the seafood moqueca my softening vegetarian friend ordered was full on Bahian. My two other dining companions had red snapper and pork chops, which are broadly pan-Latin. Same went for the ceviche, plantain-crusted goat cheese and mixed tapas starters.

I wasn’t that hungry, probably because I’d eaten a late lunch of leftover ma la intestines from King 5 in Flushing (I’ll admit there’s something perverse about another’s intestines ultimately being in your intestines) so I was feeling kind of blasé about my food. I did appreciate that my orange-chile sauced tuna really did come out rare—there’s nothing worse than a dry fish wedge. But everyone I was with seemed more than happy with their orders and crowd pleasing is no small feat. Even though the scene was a little frenzied, service was gracious and the food really wasn’t typical late-night dreck designed for an audience more concerned with drinking.

Plus, you've got to love a place that puts a painting of itself inside the restaurant.

Esperanto * 145 Avenue C, New York, NY

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Apr 24

Cafecito

I’ve been having good sandwich luck lately. It’s really not that often that I’m like wow, that’s a sandwich. Cubanos can be dense and flavor-packed, but they’re not always ethereal. Frequently, they just taste like all of their parts, not one unified uber-snack.

Cafecito surprised me. I easily get burnt out on the Latin American rice, beans, meat trinity (plantains come in at close fourth). I also fear that cute, gentrified Cuban spots will all by like Cubana Café, but Ave. C isn’t Smith St. (yet) so the food hasn’t suffered total bland-izing.

I ordered the cubano and James got the chorizo con queso, which is what it sounds like: a sliced chorizo and grilled onion mass pressed together with melted swiss cheese. We swapped halves for variety. I was also intrigued by the Elena Ruz with turkey, swiss, lime-cured onions and cranberry salsa on medianoche bread, though it felt a little too Thanksgiving-ish for the warm evening. Both sandwiches were just right in amount of filling, toastiness, gooeyness. The pork was amazing, not dried out and tough, but juicy with crispy skin. You can’t discern much from the photos because the sandwiches had been pressed pretty flat.

I stayed away from the entrees but I suspect they’re better than I’d given them credit for, if the roast pork used in the sandwich was any indication. The fritters were kind of boring, but fritters tend to be like that. The chicken empanada was average (I had cheesesteak and Hawaiian empanadas the other night at Empanada Mama, which were strangely tasty despite the weirdo fillings. I still think the best empanadas are at Empanadas del Parque in Corona, though).

Two for two kick ass sandwiches would be enough reason to return. It’s unfortunate that Avenue C is not really on my way to anything ever anymore.

Cafecito * 185 Ave. C, New York, NY

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Feb 6

Buenos Aires

1/2 Apparently, Buenos Aires is a hot travel destination. Strangely, there were two separate articles (a 36 Hours and a Cultured Traveler) on the city in Sunday’s New York Times. They caught my attention since I’d recently eaten at an East Village restaurant named for the Argentinean capital. I’m definitely not an expert on the cuisine but the first thing that comes to mind is grass-fed beef. I’ll eventually branch out the more I sample this South American style but I’ve tended to stick with the parrillada in my few forays. I'm curious about matambre, which seems to be a jelly roll of flank steak encircling a bunch of vegetables, hard boiled eggs and olives.

The mixed grill always ends up being more than you bargained for and a serving for one invariably feeds two. Even in Manhattan where portions tend to be smaller and prices higher, you still get quite a lot of meat for your money. I wonder if there’s a nouveau, or nuevo rather, rendition in the area with tiny cuts, unusual sides or stylish presentation. I kind of like the individual flame-licked table top grills you often receive; at Buenos Aires everything comes plated.

The bounty that appeared with their version of parrillada included skirt steak, ribs, pork sausage, blood sausage, sweetbreads and kidneys. I’m pretty sure that kidneys were not listed on the menu but they were most definitely on my plate. As expected, vivid green chimichurri is brought to the table, but a side of salsa also comes with the parrillada. I enjoy organ meats, especially morcilla. James does not so we rarely share one of these feasts (though he partook in leftover steak the next morning cooked with eggs and roasted potatoes. I let him have the pork sausage because despite liking hard cured charcuterie and blood sausage, I’m no fan of most squishy Italian-style links). He went for a simple filet mignon. You can choose from eight cuts of meat if you’re feeling single minded. Whether the beef is grass or corn fed, I’m not sure, though judging from the reasonable prices I’m guessing the latter. We got wonderfully crispy fries on the side and also split an order of baked spinach and cheese empanadas.

It’s easy to fall victim to meat overload but I was thankful for the padding after downing a few too many happy hour Makers Mark and sodas (and shots) at the new moderately cleaned up incarnation of The Continental. When was the last time you had $3 cocktail? Whisky and steak are perfect for fighting the temperature-in-the-teens chill.

Buenos Aires * 513 E. Sixth St., New York, NY

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Jun 21

Xunta

1/2 For some unfounded reason, I thought this tapas place was some sort of frat haven. That didn't appear to be the case on my visit, which was reassuring. What was less than soothing were the seating arrangements. I have my own personal issues with stools. I think I must just be graceless because I find it unreasonably awkward to climb up and perch properly without feeling off kilter and exposed. Lord help me on my Barcelona trip in August. Maybe I should practice my mount and dismount in the next month.

These weren't normal stools at the bar (that set up did exist), but rather stools positioned around a too low, too small wooden barrel. More than two plates and glasses caused a problem and bending towards the food felt unnatural. And the food itself was a touch unnatural, or at least unorthodox.

Instead of the usual aioli topped patatas bravas, these potatoes were simply drizzed in Tabasco sauce. And I swear the cheese plate contained slices of mozzarella. I wasn't aware of any similar fresh Spanish cheeses. The simple long thin spicy chorizo was satisfying, as was the square, pan-baked bacalao empanada. The menu is fairly large, so it's fair to guess that there are lots of hits and misses.

Xunta struck me as half-decent, half-weird. It's definitely not a first choice tapas bar, but it would suffice if you were in the neighborhood and felt too lazy to venture beyond the East Village.

Xunta * 174 First Ave., New York, NY

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Mar 10

Sigiri

Sri Lankan seems more elusive than the ubiquitous Indian (or is it really Bangladeshi?) restaurants that are clustered in parts of the city. I was excited to try this new-ish East Village place because I'd only eaten Sri Lankan food once before in Staten Island and this seemed more convenient (though at the rate I've been going the past few years, I get to the forgotten borough more than Alphabet City).

The style of food I had at New Asha was slightly different, heartier, more home style, less refined, and in some ways slightly more tasty. It was casual steam table fare. Sigiri, while hardly formal, is slightly more upscale in price and presentation.

I don't even know what is quintessentially Sri Lankan, hence ordering benchmarks are nebulous. But black curry seems unique, and Sigiri offers a version with pork. The black is really dark brown, achieved by toasting of spices like…I'm not sure which spices. Hoppers also seem unusual, little crispy crepe-like vessels that come four to an order, three plain, one with a sunny side up egg embedded in the bottom. Sambol is served as an accompaniment, we chose coconut.

We were warned about heat, but then, we always are and are always let down by wimpy-ness. Sigiri comes through, they really do mean hot when they say it. Our devilled prawns, which were grilled, came with onion, chiles and were slightly sweet and sour, but mostly spicy. The black curry was probably a notch hotter. We thought hoppers were eaten in lieu of rice, but had to order a bowl on the fly to combat the burn.

The staff, or at least one waitress, seemed to know practically all of the diners. I don't know if everyone was regulars or if the Sri Lankan community in NYC is just really small and restaurants are so few.

Sigiri * First Ave., New York, NY

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Jun 16

Black Pearl

I don't think Black Pearl is here any longer. And the Black Pearl in
Brooklyn is not related.(3/06)

People always seem to make a point of pointing out that Black Pearl is a
mini operation inside a dive bar, Julep. I don't get the big deal (though I
had the feeling it was the sort of place where you would get barged in on
while on the toilet, despite locking the door, and thats exactly what
happened). I have zero experience with authentic clam shacks, but I've never
been under the impression that theyre rarefied affairs. Ave. A might as well
be coastal Maine to me.

While waiting for my dinner date as I usually do (it doesnt matter how
late I try and force myself to be, I'm always the first to arrive with
friends and loved ones and inevitably sit solo like a doofus for long
stretches) I was entertained by an antsy wound-up waiter who reminded me of
the volatile death-obsessed mailroom clerk on Seinfeld who Elaine
accidentally promoted to creepy copywriter. The server wasn't scary,
however, he just liked to chat and had a mildly mercenary quality that I
prefer to read as passionate. His mention that his girlfriend preferred the
cod over the haddock forced me to ponder how she might possibly look, but I
didnt dwell too hard.

I don't think I'm a real New Yorker because I rarely eat out on
weeknights. But when I do, an urge for alcohol always hits. Strange, because
I never drink at home after work. Being half restaurant, half bar, I was
able to take advantage of the two-for-one special (twice). But the point
wasn't stumbling around the East Village, it was to get reasonably priced
lobster rolls and the like. I went for the clam roll, a simple bun bursting
at the seams with little breaded nuggets. Traditional tartar sauce, a
spicier diablo rendition and cocktail sauce were offered. It was diablo for
me, since I suspected the pinkish dip would make a fitting fry condiment in
a ketchup/mayo/mustard secret sauce vein. I was right, the fries, which
would be just as appropriate piled next to hanger steak or a bowl of
mussels, were fine naked, but the dip added fatty panache.

The only down side is my short term memory where battered, fried seafood
is concerned. Crispy, oily crustaceans, mollusks and finned creatures, while
delectable, always give me post-prandial trouble. Maybe its just best to
live in the moment, and worry potential stomach cramping and nausea later.

Black Pearl * 14 Ave. A, New York, NY

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Dec 7

Mermaid Inn

1/2

Now that high concept spots like Lure Fishbar, Bar Tonno and ten million
others have turned seafood into low carb crudo, its only fitting that I,
always behind the curve, finally try Mermaid Inn, part of the New England
clam shack craze of 2003. Yes, loving french fries, breading and things
served on buns, is so last year.

The upside of avoiding the trendier restaurants until no one cares about
them anymore is that long waits for tables arent as major of an issue. It
was also early, 6pm on a miserably rainy weeknight, which I'm sure
contributed to the desolate feeling inside. Though it wasn't helped by being
seated in the woody carpeted empty back room that truly did look like it
belonged in a small-town Elks lodge. Maybe its cozy and fun when its filled,
but it felt perturbing when a couple other twosomes were seated in the
warmer, more ambient main space. I'm not usually a nitpicker like this,
maybe the foul weather had dampened my soul in addition to my head and feet,
but it also rubbed me the wrong way when out waiter called me
“maam.” It's one thing coming from a bagboy type teen, but quite
another from a gentleman who couldnt be more than five years younger than
me. It was off-putting. And James though it was irritating that they only
list wines on the menu. I kind of agree, given the urban/downhome vibe beer
wouldn't be totally outrageous.

Perhaps my expectations arent well defined, its not as if I grew up with
coastal traditions (despite being raised barely more than an hour from the
Pacific Ocean), but I'm often disappointed with seafood restaurants. They
always seem blah and overpriced. Now that I think about it, fish prepared in
non-Asian styles kind of bores me, and any battered and fried sea creature
(except soft shell crab) gives me stomach trauma.

My grilled dorade stuffed with lemon slices, thyme and cloves of garlic
was rustic and tasty, very Naked Chef, but it wasn't terribly exciting. And
I'm pretty sure the thick slice of bread that sat under our sardine and
tomato-avocado relish was charred, not toasted. I mean, the crust was black
and peeling off. The free chocolate pudding that ends the meal is a nice
touch, though. Or maybe my memory is being clouded by the concept of
complimentary treats. In any case, I expect to report on hot raw fish
trend–I don't know–sometime in early 2006.

Mermaid Inn * 96 Second
Ave., New York,NY

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Sep 10

Angon

1/2

Sometimes you feel cursed. Mina, the Bangladeshi chef who used to (wo)man
the kitchen at her namesake restaurant in Woodside, has moved to the Sixth
St. Indian strip in the East Village. I only tried Mina once and it was a
little traumatizing (though mostly because I became violently ill
immediately after eating, which seemed too soon to be poisoning related to
that meal. I had to attribute it to earlier street cart cakes from Sunset
Parks Chinatown).

But Angon is a totally different restaurant with the same enthusiastic
following. I had high hopes, but once again peripheral circumstances threw
the whole evening off. It was hot, I was cranky and argumentative (it was
Friday and I'd already had a few drinks) and James and I started clashing
over everything without reason. The big rift came when our waitress
misunderstood James while he was ordering. I cant even remember what the
dish was, a lamb curry of some sort, and the menu said it was hot. I think
the waitress pointed out that it was hot but in a garbled ESL way because
she thought James was asking if it was hot. We were hoping that it was.

She became convinced he hated hot food (and possibly her) and we were
unable to rectify our orders heat level. (Sometimes I feel like I have the
worst time communicating. There was this period in the mid-‘90s where
every single time I'd ask for Camel Lights, the clerk would give me Camel
Wides. I practically had to practice enunciating the word lights.) James and
I started spatting over who created the confusion, and I don't even know
what else. From this point on, the meal and the rest of the evening were
going to suck. The damage had been done.

One of the things with Angon, and Mina previously, is how the food
supposedly isnt watered down for Americans, but that you really need to
emphasize you want spiciness. So no, our food wasn't incendiary, though it
was tasty. The fish kofta was good, as well as the samosa chat, which is
practically a meal in itself. I'm afraid that I'm just not meant to be a
member of the Mina-loving club. Not that shes ever done anything to me
personally. But both affiliated restaurants have been settings for odd
situations.

Angon on the Sixth * 320 E. Sixth St., New York, NY

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Apr 1

Cyclo

This is one of those places near Jamess apartment I'd always meant to try,
but never got around to before he moved. It was very likeable, but I hardly
ever go out in the East Village anymore. See my Time Out NY Eating
& Drinking Guide review.

Cyclo * 203 First Ave., New York, NY

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Posts from the ‘East Village’ Category

Natori

Esperanto

Cafecito

Buenos Aires

Xunta

Sigiri

Black Pearl

Mermaid Inn

Angon

Cyclo

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