Posts from the ‘Manhattan’ Category

Sep 17

Guy’s American Kitchen and Bar

I'm still not 100% clear why Guy Fieri staking a claim in
Times Square is causing such a flap. I mean, isn't that where one would expect
a wildly popular food personality to take Manhattan? Tourists have their fun,
locals steer clear. Win-win.

Except that locals can't stay away. At this point, the
restaurant is already old news and it hasn't even been open a week. If I'm lucky we've already moved onto the
backlash to the backlash.

Guy's American Kitchen and Bar is not technically a chain (though
if you want a similar vibe and for some reason only a chain will do, Brick
House Tavern + Tap fills that niche) since it’s not an offshoot of his two
Santa Rosa restaurants. (I have semi-estranged family in that Californina town and almost want to
get in touch to see if they've dined at either.) It does borrow from Johnny
Garlic's and Tex Wasabi's menus, however. No "gringo sushi," sorry.

The night before I sampled the $18 1/2 lb Creekstone Farms
beef burger at Prime Meats in anticipation for a comparison with $13.95 Guy's
Pat LaFrieda blend of the same origin. It would be nice and contrarian for a flashy
everyman burger to best a pricier Brooklyn version that you almost expect to be
called a "hamburger sandwich" for old-timey effect, but it wasn't to be. (For the record, eight of the nine burgers served at the Time Square Ruby Tuesday cost more than $13.95–Guy's pricing isn't really a valid complaint in that neighborhood.)

The
patty was too thin to be consequential, a nice enough fast food burger,
but not a serious all-around contender. I should've taken heed when not asked how I wanted
it cooked. The LTOP (lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle) dominated, though the SMC
(super-melty-cheese) did deliver. Brioche bun? It was fine. I guess I'm not a
member of the brioche-haters club that I woke up to this morning on Twitter. For reasons unknown, both of Guy's other restaurants serve the Big Bite Burger on a pretzel roll, not brioche.

If you don't mind a lot of cheese and shit baked into your
clams (I don't) you'll be fine with the Malibu Clams Oysters, smothered in Havarti,
spinach and onions.

Rojo onion rings. They were just onion rings despite the
touted panko, buttermilk, Sriracha and ranch.

The Big Dipper, is yes, a french dip. I did not try this.

Sure, I had two fairly stiff cocktails at Rum House before heading
over to Guy's, but I'm still blaming the South Beach Mojito for the
rough-around-the-edges feeling I was saddled with upon waking (ok, there was
also a Morgan's Red Ale in there). I just wanted to try a cocktail and there was
no getting around the sweet even though this blueberry and mint concoction
seemed the least offensive, Barcardi Arctic Grape and all.

With all this said, I would totally go back if asked (are you asking?). I only
wish I had an expense account because that incongruous Steak Diane needs
sampling, as does the 18-ounce bone-in ribeye, both over $30. The Beer and
Honey Porchetta sails under at $29.50.

Don't tell me that's not Guy's dad deciding whether or not to drop in for a surprise visit.

I've tried to get better at note-taking while dining, but all I was left with the next day when I remembered I'd even taken notes was: John Cougar "Check It Out" and Thought Catalog waitress. Maybe that's all you need to know?

Guy's American Kitchen and Bar * 220 W. 44th St., New York, NY

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Sep 14

Serendipty 3

We caught the last gasps of summer (yes, I'm very
aware that fall doesn’t arrive until next Friday) before Park Avenue morphed
into autumn. It was my 13th (dating) anniversary, though it wasn't meant to be
a big deal, no blow-out, no special flourishes, just a restaurant we hadn't
been to in a while and felt like re-visiting. And it's a good thing we didn't
go in expecting a super-special celebration (really, after 13 years it's hard
to get that excited) because the meal was kind of a bust.

And I don't even mean the food, which was fine
enough but quickly made irrelevant. It was ruined by the beastly couple next to
us who fought loudly through most of the meal in a total Real Housewives manner
and culminated in the husband calling his wife "trailer trash." Meanwhile,
their sending back food and demanding nature cancelled out our service altogether.
By the end of our meal, our water glasses hadn’t been refilled once. Squeaky
wheels, I guess. But squeaky wheels that will keep me from returning to the
restaurant again. It’s like the time when I threw up at Ruby Tuesday after
eating dicey dim sum earlier. I now have a bad association with Ruby Tuesday and
there’s nothing that can be done about it.

I was ready to high-tail it by the time we were
handed the dessert menu, and then the decision was accelerated when the child
of the heinous abovementioned pair began playing DVDs aloud at the table (is
this a Dear FloFab candidate?).

But I did want a dessert still, particularly my
favorite all-American dessert (second only to pecan pie) that I rarely eat: a
big fat sundae to raise my spirits. Where?

I hate being one of those uptown/downtown dividers
(and really, I'd have to be lumped more into the borough-centric side of the
Brooklyn/Manhattan battle) but the Upper East Side isn't exactly my comfort
zone or area of expertise. I wondered, “Isn't Serendipity up here somewhere?”
Indeed, it was, and quite close to Park Avenue Summer. Ok, I'd play tourist.

That entailed getting on a waiting list at 10pm with
a quoted hour wait. Not a problem, I'd need a few shots of whiskey at nearby
Subway Inn (which isn't an old man dive on a Saturday night but hangout for a
lot of short, Spanish-speaking young men and people, other people I’m guessing,
who put Maroon 5 on the jukebox) to appreciate the ice cream parlor's (which turned out to have more savory items than sweets, including shrimp fettucine and sauteed chicken livers) frippery
anyway.

On return, we were ushered upstairs and asked,
"Have you seen the movie?" What movie? No. And then felt bad because
we were given the coveted fireplace seat for two where the scene from The Movie
(Serendipity, duh) took place and we weren't appreciating it properly. I'm no
Kate Beckinsale. Though, I admit it the setting felt more appropriate for the
anniversary we attempting to celebrate low-key. Others, however, totally knew
the movie and were taking photos of our seat. I had no idea it was that kind of
place, in the Magnolia Bakery vein. (Or not, I honestly knew nothing about its
history—Andy Warhol was a regular?—that’s far more charming and storied than an
early '00s cupcakery.) I also can't believe that Dubai doesn't have a
Serendipity yet.

And it was exactly what I needed. A massive $15.95
sundae (a special, not on the online menu, with a name I can't remember) with
all of my favorite ingredients: butter pecan ice cream (no boring vanilla) hot
fudge and pecan pie (an entire slice is sitting in the bottom of that dish)
smothered in walnuts with a billowing cap of whipped cream studded with slivered
almonds (three different types of nuts and no peanuts?!). Um,
because I'm a glutton, I would've even tolerated a drizzle of caramel, but no
one should take my advice on constructing the perfect dessert because I have a
genetically strong sweet tooth (I will never forget taking my mom to the
Brooklyn Flea where she bought a bunch of artisanal candy bars and later
complained that they weren't sweet enough.)

That's all I wanted, more than plenty for two (or
four) but I panicked over the $8.50 per person minimum on the menu (would they
really enforce that if were $1.05 under?) so James also ordered a peanut butter
Frrozen Hot Chocolate that came with four straws. Excessively excessive, the
whole thing, but a right-on night-saver.

Seredipity 3 * 225 E. 60th St., New York, NY

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Sep 7

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Heroes and Never Ending Pasta

Defonte's With two weeks left in Carroll Gardens
(never mind that I'm only moving four miles away and have access to a car)
there are some oversights to be corrected. Though it seems farther because of
the BQE and Brooklyn Battery Tunnel entrance, Defonte's is technically only
three blocks from my apartment yet I haven't been once in eight years. Ridiculous.
So, I finally got the famous roast beef, mozzarella and fried eggplant hero, as
well as one, equally hefty with roast pork and pickled vegetables. Both seriously
filling workhorse sandwiches that I'm happy still exist in this ever rarefied
section of Brooklyn. I'm afraid I've been exposed to too many improved
versions, though, like Paesano's (scroll down) in Philadelphia (yes, weird to compare to
Philly, not NYC, but I don't eat a lot of Italian-American things on bread
here–I still haven't tried Parm either) and now I find the originals kind of
dull–or maybe just in need of a little salt or an extra condiment.

Rocky Sullivan's I didn't realize the Friday night
6-9 lobster thing they advertise starts at 6pm and means you need to be there
then, not any time in that three-hour slot. At 7:30pm, the 35 lobsters had been
spoken for. The cheeseburger and fries I consoled myself just didn't cut it.
And it must be said that if you're at Rocky Sullivan's, which is attached to
the Sixpoint Brewery, one should probably drink a Sweet Action or whatever may
be on tap, not a bottle of Bud, as suggested by possibly contrarian Sam Sifton
last week.

Olive Garden The Never Ending Pasta Bowl may not be
local or organic, but it's highly seasonal. Each August the ads appear, teasing
with the limited-time disclaimer. I'm not sure when it ends, but not much later
than Labor Day. I've written about the absurd secrecy of claiming this $9.95 promotion
in Manhattan more than once, and this still hasn't changed. You have to ask because
it's not on the menu or any signs, then will be given one big bowl (plenty
for one meal) on the first round, then subsequently smaller ones. And if you
order a drink (no making fun of my malbec) at the bar while waiting for friends
to show up, you'll get an automatic 18% tip added in. Do I look like a tourist?
Who else but an American would be at an Olive Garden on a Friday night?

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Aug 27

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Black Labels & Seafood, City & Suburban

Minetta Tavern Not-that-embarrassing-confession: I’ve never had the Black Label Burger
(though, I recently encountered a Thai burger bearing the same name) and when
you admit this, people always want to know what you thought of it. Ok, yes, it was very much not a regular burger. It was
a rich, messy and amazing burger that actually gave me a stomach ache even from
eating half. (And now I wonder if it’s just because I’m getting old and can’t
handle fatty foods because the same thing happened with pork ribs a week later.
I fear turning into my boyfriend’s mom who says things like “I like
butter, but butter doesn’t’ like me,” which sounds quainter on paper than coming out of her mouth.) I’m not a
tasting notes type, but I can still recall the flavor even if I’m having trouble articulating it (I hate it when people online describe food as “flavorful”). The meat had that fleshy, aged steak flavor I think is more musky than minerally that
you get in particular when you gnaw on a porterhouse bone to eke out all the scraps and
congealed fat. There was also a lamb special involved and it seemed unnecessary
for the server to explain what merguez is, but then the crowd was weird. It was
also the first time I’d ever seen middle-American grownups taking
photos of their food with SLRs. Also, bros who didn’t know what animal bone
marrow came from and were dismayed at the cost of hair and makeup for
bridesmaids.

Nitehawk Cinema Ok, these weren’t bad for movie theater
nachos (though chips, along with traditional popcorn, aren’t exactly the ideal
food for an environment requiring quiet). And it wasn’t ordinary queso. In
fact, the super-cinnamony chorizo and lime-heavy guacamole almost distracted
from the aggressively salty quality I look for in dishes revolving around melted
processed cheese.

Ditch Plains There was a lot of lobster in this roll, enough
to make for a surprisingly filling sandwich, though I still find the $28 price
tag tough to justify.

Extra Fancy The $12 shrimp sandwich in a split, buttered
roll and demure serving fries tucked into a paper fast food bag was certainly
cheaper than the lobster roll, but more of a snack than a meal. It’s a shame that they switched chefs so
quickly since a city can only handle so many New England and Maryland
approximations–even when well-priced and easy to score a seat on a Saturday
night.

Bonefish Grill Free birthday Bang Bang Shrimp in New Jersey
on the same night that the chain’s first NYC branch opened in Staten Island. I considered
the opening, but the charity component seemed too serious and I wouldn’t be
able to use my coupon, which was the whole point. I’m pretty sure 90% of tables
have these crispy shrimp bathed in what I’m guessing is a sauce made of
mayonnaise and Sriracha. Apparently, Bonefish now serves a lobster roll, but I’d just eaten one the night before so it didn’t seem right. For the record, it’s only $13.90.

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Jul 22

The NoMad

At first I didn't care about The NoMad. Then I did. It's one of those things. Even though the restaurant has been billed as more casual than Eleven Madison Park, it's not exactly meatballs, fried chicken and burgers. With well-spaced tables and a velvet-and-mahogany plushness (I was in the still-day lit atrium), it's the kind of place you get your parents to take you if you're young and have doting parents with good taste (none of this describes my situation). Instead, I acted as the adult and took out a friend for her birthday.

I don't think normally either of us is sweet on crudite, but it felt WASPy and right. And when the vegetables, all saturated colors with a cool green chive dressing, was presented on its bed of ice, I knew this was the correct snack choice while sipping a Turf Cocktail (gin, dry vermouth, maraschino, absinthe, orange bitters) and Gingered-Ale, soft cocktail (not for me).

This is the same friend that is always up for an annual Never Ending Pasta Bowl, no irony, so now we've proven that we're also able to appreciate the dainty portion of tagliatelle with king crab meat and a hint of Meyer lemon. Sure, we could've eaten twice as much (and you can–this was an appetizer size). The NoMad is not inexpensive, but at $19, even I have to concede that this dish is a better value than the seafood alfredo that's $21.25 at the Times Square Olive Garden. There is no justifying midtown chain dining beyond an emotional urge (pros go to New Jersey to assuage their guilt).

Zucchini bread that’s not, you know, zucchini bread.

And of course, the blabbed-about roast chicken for two. Normally, I wouldn’t order roast chicken outside of a Peruvian or Caribbean restaurant, otherwise it’s dry and boring as a Thanksgiving turkey. I just wanted to see what the big deal was. I forgot to take a photo of the whole bird (it’s not like there aren’t enough pics floating around already) stuffed with rosemary and lavender sprigs. (A minor deal is made with presenting the picture perfect chicken to the diners before being taken back into the kitchen for carving, but ours got shown to our neighbors first accidentally, so the dramatic reveal was lessened.)

When it came back, the breast, a blend of crumbled brioche, foie gras and black truffles tucked beneath the skin, was plated with a swipe of truffled foie gras, beige and creamy like a makeup swatch of foundation, a farro-corn medly and a little jus. I generally eat chicken as a vehicle for crispy skin and shun vast hunks of white meat (I’ll never understand people who insist on white meat like it’s premium when in reality it’s bland 90% of the time) but, no, this wasn’t disappointing. Apparently, basting with liquefied foie gras does wonders for white meat.

The dark meat came in a separate small cast iron pan with mushrooms that were like the dark meat of the fungi world (I don't know which type, but definitely not the morels I've seen mentioned elsewhere) and corn in a rich tarragon-y sauce.

Chocolate and salted caramel isn’t pushing any boundaries, but you can’t argue with the combination.

In a way, the same could be said for the whole menu. Unseen preparation aside, nothing feels radical, and it doesn't have to. Chicken breast, pasta and raw vegetables with dip have the potential to be utterly boring and dated where instead, here, it comes off timeless and luxe.

The NoMad * 1170 Broadway, New York, NY

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Jul 17

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Mexico, Spain, Brooklyn

Pampano doesn't get the attention of other newer, cooler Mexican restaurants, but it remains popular, seemingly with early-stage dates, guys who appear businesslike, and older Spanish-speaking women with younger relatives who only speak English. I was there to sample a new summer menu spotlighting ingredients from La Paz in Baja California. (I've also been before of my own volition, so this isn't totally shilly. And yeah, Richard Sandoval rivals Ducasse with his international expansion efforts, but I'm still curious enough to try a tapa or two at Toro Toro when I'm in Dubai this weekend. Ha, that's sounds hilarious, as if I'm always off to glitzy places.) Supposedly, different regions in Mexico will be featured throughout the year. The full menu is here with details, but I can say that the bacon-wrapped shrimp (is there a bad bacon-wrapped shrimp?) with a chipotle sauce, grilled pineapple and melon ball-sized rounds of avocado was the standout with its sweet, creamy and salty components. And it didn't hurt that the presentation was so pretty. An all-seafood meal, there were also smoked clams, a tamarind mahi-mahi and a tuna tamalito. The guava pastry did not contain seafood, thankfully, just fruit and Damiana, an herbal liqueur said to have aphrodisiac properties (they're not boasting that claim on the menu, though maybe it's legit since even WebMD mentions that usage for the herb).

Tapeo29 I find myself coming back here with increasing frequency. The corner bar using open windows instead of air conditioning is more Madrid than Barcelona (though both cities would let you sweat in the summer) meaning traditional, not avant-garde (I don't know the Spanish for avant-garde–de vanguardia?). Chorizo al sidra, croquetas de bacalao and boquerones aren't surprising, but they are satisfying, and before 8pm on weeknights only $6 each (plus wine and cocktails for the same price). I always leave a little drunker than intended and just full enough.

Lavender Lake I didn't try any food and, frankly, it's the kind of place I read about on blogs, or rather The Times Style Magazine, in this case, and decide that there's no need to rush over. Can I live without "Scandinavian rustic" in Gowanus? (I also refuse to give pseudo-neighborhood, Gowanus, its own category–it's two blocks from the F train.) But I didn't realize it was located on the relaxing, over-the-canal route I occasionally take home when I feel like the F is going to crush my soul so I preemptively take the R all the way to Union Street and walk the mile-and-a-quarter to my apartment. So, I had an Aperol spritz, which is dangerously close to a white wine spritzer (in spirit, not taste) and awkwardly sat by myself on a folding chair too short to reach the bar-like ledge on the back patio. At 7pm there wasn't a free table in the entire yard, which is a common phenomena and I'm certain would've been the same even an hour earlier. I'm convinced no one in Carroll Gardens actually works, despite the crazy real estate prices. Regardless, it's a pretty place, all muted tones and reclaimed wood, like a physical Instagram.

Brooklyn Ice House I have far less to say about this Red Hook bar than Lavender Lake, and yet I like it more. Thai chile sauce wings served Buffalo style (blue cheese, carrots and celery) and a pint of Sixpoint Righteous Ale don't need rehashing. Neither bar has a website, which is distressing.

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Jun 18

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Double Dandelion Greens & Falafel Three Ways

Levant I never ever used to order delivery, maybe more due to social anxiety (I hate ordering by phone–there's always a misunderstanding) than an abhorrence for convenience. But Seamless has won me over lately because it cuts down on all that messy interpersonal interacting. I was a little bummed when Palmyra went belly up, but turns out it was ok because they were replaced with another Middle Eastern restaurant with better food. Or at least more variety–there's not just falafel but Jordanian (chickpea and fava), Egyptian (fava) or Syrian (chickpea) falafel. I had the standard all-chickpea fritter in my five for $13 mezze, along with labneh shateh (spicy), muhammara, mukhalal (pickled vegetables with a whole preserved lemon tossed in) and mousa'a, a steaming hot stewy eggplant dish not pictured. The pizzas, a.k.a. manakeesh are only $6. The lahmeh bi ajin was topped with ground beef, onions, pine nuts, and was a little salty. I'm curious about the one with blue cheese, dates, honey and walnuts.

Paprika Despite its existence on St. Marks for 12 years, I don't recall ever noticing this Italian restaurant. There are just too many Italian restaurants in NYC, I'm afraid. That's why owner and chef, Egidio Donagrandi, has gone back to his roots and revamped much of the menu to reflect the cuisine of Valtellina, a Northern Italian region bordering Switzerland. It's also why I was attending a preview dinner. Gone is most of the red sauce (there are still meatballs–lamb, by the way) and a different type of hearty food has taken its place. Buckwheat plays a role the tagliatelle and the lasagna with leeks and fonduta (pictured), Northern Italian cheeses like new-to-me, Bitto, enhance the polenta, also given a little heft with buckwheat, pickled vegetables frequently show up as with the oyster mushrooms atop the bresaola. Also shown here is black kale with pickled onion and almonds, a dandelion salad with pickled radishes and creamy crescenza cheese, and beef crudo with beets and chicory. (Obviously, there are substantial mains, too, but the light waned and I didn't have my real camera on hand to adequately capture them.) Maybe my end-of-2011 prediction that Alpine cuisine would be a break out, will prove true. What happened with Harold Dieterle's The Marrow, anyway?

Frankies 457 Now that Pok Pok exists, waiting an hour for a table at Frankies seems like nothing. Technically, I'd already eaten enough snacks earlier to constitute a meal so post 10pm dinner was fine. But to counteract the already-eaten food, I went healthy and ordered a dandelion greens salad with octopus instead of pasta (well, I also shared a charcuterie plate). It was a bit too healthy, like giant bowl of tart, nicely dressed weeds accented by charred octopus tendrils. I would recommend sharing this unless you're the type who can regularly eat a whole forest of kale in one sitting.

Brick House Tavern + Tap I've mentioned this suburban breastaurant (which seems to be decreasingly breastaurant-y) before. I only want to mention that a short cocktail list with a Manhattan twist and a drink using Firefly sweet tea vodka seems to be in at these corporate-type establishments (Is there a company or consultant who designs lists for restaurants? I feel like I should know.) Brick House has a Woodford Reserve Peach Manhattan (which I ordered) and a Carolina Spiked Tea (which I would never order because I hate sweet tea). Though I can't find any cocktail lists on their websites, both Republic Gastropub and Bricktown Brewery (no relation to Brick House) Brewery in Oklahoma City also had prominently featured a sweet tea cocktail and a fruity Manhattan.

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Jun 12

North End Grill

If anything, North End Grill initially appealed because along with Blue Smoke and Shake Shack, the trio fulfills my perverse fascination with restaurants in generic condo and office complexes that could be in any city (see Mable's Smokehouse).

Of course Danny Meyer and Floyd Cardoz's newest venture also appealed because it's obviously the most ambitious of the three Battery Park City restaurants. Despite the moderately oddball location, I would consider this a destination not so much a casual after work stop. At least for me, entrees over $30 signal a place that's not for every night eating. That clam pie and a cocktail in the bar? Sure.

Scotch, perhaps a grab at the business crowd, is the featured spirit. Instead of focusing on little drams, I chose it in a cocktail, The Scotch Bonnet, just barely sweet and floral with lavender honey and freshened with Lillet.

The floured and crisped cod throats were a must since my only familiarity with this meaty cut is in their Basque guise as kokotxas, popularly used in pil-pil dishes, thick with garlic and olive oil. Meunière-style here, the brown butter was greened-up, visually and taste-wise with chervil and just a few rounds of jalapeño.

It's hard to say if the focus is seafood (it kind of is) because then something like grilled lamb hearts appears on the menu and is hard to ignore. The organ, cooked rare, was also spring-like and verdant with fresh, i.e. green chickpeas and mint vinaigrette.

Many of the dishes had a murky, dirt-like quality, which sounds horrible and is probably why earthy is the more commonly used adjective. The spice blends lent a heaviness to a main ingredient that might otherwise be light. For instance, the soft-shell crab was very delicate, and when I read papaya salad I pictured a bright, citrusy Thai style when in actuality the mustard seeds grounded the dish. The shredded carrots and daikon also further mixed up expectations since their presence often indicates Vietnamese and this was not that either.

Somehow the regular Thursday night became celebratory thanks to a bottle of Weingut Heinrich Spindler Riesling and a few whiskeys at the nearby W with its not-terribly-high roof terrace that overlooks the World Trade Center construction site. The beauty of the Financial District is that you'll practically have any place to yourself after 10pm.

North End Grill * 104 North End Ave., New York, NY

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May 5

Eaten, Barely Blogged: From House to Haus

Peaches HotHouse I suspected the hot hothouse chicken would be no lie, but the boyfriend thought they were bullshitting. And he paid the price. The cayenne-induced blast is possibly the hottest thing we've experienced after Sripraphai's Southern Curry. Taking them seriously (because I read up on things ahead of time) I picked the regular hothouse chicken, which weirdly wasn't hot enough, a little sweet and a lot peppery. A middle-ground fried chicken is desperately needed. Also, the restaurant is oddly Shazaam-resistant. It would not work for me or the young man I noticed holding up his phone to no avail. I was able to recognize Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine" on my own.

Goat Town I thought I'd been to Butcher Bay during Lent last year, but after checking my blog (my only tie to reality, it seems) that visit was actually in April 2009. What the fuck? How did I lose two years? Now I've been freaked out all week and afraid I'll die in my sleep one night not realizing I'm completely elderly and decrepit. Butcher Bay is now Goat Town and on so-called Mexican Mondays you can order Tex-Mex things like the oozy Velveeta-ish enchiladas and puffy lengua tacos we had at non-Texan prices.

Schnitzel Haus The Bay Ridge German restaurant was so uncharacteristically bustling on a Friday that the only table was an awkward two-seater nearest to the Donald Trump photograph in front of the guy doing Neil Diamond covers and in line with the door blowing chilly gusts (it was unusually cold Friday night) every time it opened. And the table we were given upstairs (who knew there was an upstairs?) after asking if we could move was even more awkward–dark and empty minus a staticky radio station filling the dead air and large group speaking a Slavic language–proving that whenever I try fighting my tendency to never speak up, it doesn't pay off. I drank a Spaten Optimator and part of a schnitzel smothered in mushroom gravy and was out of there. Previously on Schnitzel Haus.

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Apr 25

Real Cheap Eats Spring Edition: Chinatown

The spring edition of Real Cheap Eats is live, and it's all about Chinatown(s). I'll admit that I don't spend much time in Manhattan's Chinese enclave anymore, so this was the perfect excuse to get re-excited. My contribution is about the not-really-Cambodian Cambodian noodles at Bo Ky.