Posts from the ‘Manhattan’ Category

Apr 17

Francesca

When the news broke (ha, assuming restaurant openings/closings qualify as breaking news in your world) that Frankie’s 17 was turning Spanish and rebranding as Francesca, my only thought was that I wish it had been the original location instead. Yes, 457 has remained wildly popular since day one, but how much Italian food can one neighborhood sustain? Or rather (selfishly) how much Italian food can I continue not to eat?

It happened that the same Friday afternoon I was pining for pintxos on Twitter, Serious Eats posted a slide show of the new menu at Francesca. I knew I wasn’t going to get the San Sebastián experience I was craving—it’s just not going to happen in NYC for a gazillion reasons. (I’ve already speculated why the true pintxo bar experience would never work here and won’t bore you again–in a nutshell: too expensive, not sufficient concentration of bars.)

What looks like smoked salmon from afar is really jamón serrano drizzled with a viscous membrillo. The sweet and salty components sit atop a slice of Idiazabal and a big tuft of creamed leeks, and would be at home on the counter of any respectable pintxo bar.

Like this. A more traditional version of a pintxo bar at Casa Senra.

Or modern like Bar Zeruko.

I want that buffet-like feeling of walking into a crowded venue and seeing an entire bar covered in delightfully unrecognizable things layered on bread, stuck with toothpicks, maybe even gelatinized or radiating smoke, like you've entered a canapé-filled party where anyone’s invited if you have $10 to spend—and foie gras or gold leaf might even schmooze its way into that equation. And that’s the other thing, the couple of dollars for a dish and a couple bucks more for a glass of wine—or more commonly a zurito, a small glass of beer—adds to the democratic appeal.

The brotxeta of morcilla, mushrooms, and peppers (setti anni–also served at Frankie's) exemplifies the quick and creative ethos, as well.

A fried egg covered slices of lomo, just fatty enough to remind you why grocery store pork loins are so wretched, and a pile of oil-slicked peppers and onions, piperrada, that had been cooked-down soft.

Instead of raciones, of which there were as many as the pintxos (five) we tried a selection of cheeses (Valdeón, Torta del Casar, and Idiazabal) all good, and a plate of jamón Serrano. The thinly shaved, cured meat could’ve been prosciutto. I guess if I wanted that luscious, substantial ham that could never be confused for lunch meat, we should’ve sprung the extra four dollars for Iberico.

The sherry cocktails were fun, and you don’t really see spirits being manipulated to creative ends in the Basque regions like you do with the food. Txakoli is txakoli. And kalimotxo? You might not want it. #3 (East india sherry, dry vermouth, orange bitters, seltzer) and #1 (Fino sherry, sweet vermouth, cinnamon syrup, whiskey barrel aged bitters). I also tried a glass of Benaza Mencia, a lighter red that I'm still getting a feel for.

If I happened to be in the area between 5pm-7pm, which I probably won't, I would stop by the bar for a happy hour snack and discounted cocktail

I'm not an eavesdropper (well, I try, but my hearing isn't always sharp enough) but it was hard not to take interest in the older couple sitting nearby who lived on the Upper East Side, were somehow drawn to dining on Clinton Street, yet had never heard of Frankie’s and hadn’t been to Carroll Gardens. As much as I hate the dated food media “make the trek to Brooklyn” trope, it’s refreshing to be reminded of that the celebrated Brooklyn artisan only has so much reach in reality.

Afterwards, we weren't terribly hungry, but in the spirit of a tapas crawl (Tapeo 29 and 1492 Food are both a block away) we went traditional at Tapeo 29 (more Madrid than San Sebastián, and too dark for photos) and had cazuelas of sweet cider-braised chorizo and garlicky shrimp with lots of bread and glasses of cava and Garnacha. My pronunciation of the red wine was corrected (I feel silly saying any non-English word as if I’m affecting an accent that’s not mine) and in a way the unasked for authoritativeness was endearing in a way that Francesca wasn't. I'll let the transformed pintxos bar get its footing before making any rash judgments, though.

Francesa * 17 Clinton St., New York, NY

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Apr 5

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Not In My Backyard

Recette As payback for picking me up a handful of Jason Wu for Target items in New Jersey on Superbowl Sunday, I vowed to treat to a friend to a fancy dinner (I owed her $150) but not like Per Se or Eleven Madison Park fancy. I don't really hear much about Recette, and hate to imply that the creative (and yeah, a little pricey) West Village restaurant isn't worth discussing in greater detail, but this was a case of eating, drinking, talking, hanging out without over-thinking everything on the plate, an approach to dining I've been embracing more lately. I did still take photos of the five-course tasting, however, so peek if you wish. For nearly each course we were given two different dishes, so the variety was great.

PINK GRAPEFRUIT MARGARITA, Hornitos Añejo, Fresh Pink Grapefruit, Lime Juice, Espelette/KUMQUAT OLD FASHIONED, Bulleit Bourbon, Poached Kumquats, Blueberry Bitters/Uni amuse

BEEF CARPACCIO, Burrata, Tomato Jam, Porcini Purée, Basil, Watercress/MARINATED ARCTIC CHAR, Oyster, Crunchy Salad, Bonito Broth, Bottarga

GRILLED PULPO, Black Garlic, Olive Oil, Lemon, Fennel/"ONION SOUP", Onion Espuma, Oxtail, Gruyere, Consommé

BLACK BASS, Potato Gnocchi, Pancetta, Roasted Salsify, Seafood Nage/ROASTED SCALLOPS, Artichokes, Thumbelina Carrots, Caviar Beurre Blanc

ROASTED FLUKE, Shellfish "Congee", Leeks, Sauce Bouillabaisse/BERKSHIRE PORK BELLY, Rock Shrimp, Turnips, Romesco, Sherry Caramel

a pre-dessert (the banana chocolate real dessert photo didn't turn out)/"SMORES", Graham Cracker Ice Cream, Toasted Marshmallow, "Hot" Chocolate Ganache

Ox Cart Tavern As an experiment, I traveled from my office to Ditmas Park during a Friday evening rush hour. 4/5 at Bowling Green to B/Q at Atlantic Ave. to Newkirk Ave. Forty-five minutes wasn't so bad considering it frequently takes me 40 minutes going four stops from Carroll Gardens (it certainly did this morning) even though no one believes me. My potential new neighborhood livability test doesn't take dining into account, though, because Ditmas Park couldn't win on that count. There are like two young people bars (I investigated a third for old-timers and almost got my iPhone stolen by one of the many middle-aged–truly middle-aged, not 40–alcoholic women) and four restaurants. But really, it's doubtful I'll go to Momofuku Milk Bar or whatever new thing opens this week anytime soon (I am interested in La Vara) but there is something comforting about knowing they're there just in case. No matter, we have a car and always go out of the neighborhood to eat and drink on weekends anyway, and would do so on weeknights if we had a garage and driveway to come back to, which we would in Ditmas Park. Ox Cart Tavern is the kind of place that has Sixpoint Sweet Action in cans, sloppy duck sliders, lots of small children on the early side and waits for tables as the night progresses. It's average, but the disproportionate ratio of potential diners to seats implies the neighborhood is restaurant-starved.

La Fusta Like I said, weekends aren't spend dining around Carroll Gardens. We wanted steak and to try St. Anselm, but Williamsburg on a Saturday night didn't seem wise (unless you're going someplace non-hyped like Taco Chulo where I went the previous Saturday and there was still a wait). Argentine parrillada is nothing like St. Anselm, I imagine, but you do get some offal and weird bits (no goat head and hearts, sadly) when you order the mixed grill. The skirt steak and Korean-cut ribs are good, but I genuinely love the creamy and chewy intestines sitting on top of the pile of meat and the mushy morcilla buried beneath (I get all the blood sausage in exchange for giving up the not-that-exciting-to-me chorizo that is more similar in flavor to a breakfast sausage) and not just to show off. The intestines are nearly like those rolled wafer cookies you find at Asian grocers filled with chocolate or pandan, but I probably don't want to know what makes-up the meaty interior stuffing–it's certainly not shortening and sugar. Previously on La Fusta.

Taco Chulo Hey, it's better than San Loco.

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Mar 27

Acme

I want to say that I miss the old Acme because I ate there countless times over the years and am upset by the changing character of the East Village. Sure, I'll agree it's pretty sad state of affairs when punks are eating heritage pork and a junk food vegetarian joint can no longer stay in business, but I have no nostalgia for the Cajun Acme, where I ate maybe once in the late '90s. Great Jones Cafe, which is also old Acme in spirit, is still right over there, so there's that. In fact, I stopped in for a beer before going to dinner.

The story of a unmemorable restaurant stealthily reborn as a scene banking on Nordic cachet for a crowd who largely doesn't care about hay-smoking is somehow more interesting than the food, itself. Despite chef Mads Reflund's Noma history, the cuisine at Acme isn't particularly Danish or unconventional. The plating isn't the prettiest either– I had expected something a little more controlled and refined rustic. On the other hand, the ease of getting a table and pleasant enough service was better than I had anticipated.

Sometimes I’ll order something with an ingredient that I hate just to keep from getting soft and coddled. The gin-based Graffiti Green had to be tried because green is my favorite color yet green peppers are kind of foul (I’m surprised they resisted the urge to add It vegetable, kale, or more Nordically appropriate sorrel). The cocktail definitely had that raw, earthy bite but was also sweetened-up with agave and made more familiar with basil and lime. The beauty of the little coupe glass drinks is that if one isn’t to your liking, it won’t last for long.

The raw chopped filling inside the endive leaves didn’t taste specifically Chinese or Thai or Malay, just vaguely Asian. I'm not sure if it was simply the shrimp itself or if there was shrimp paste at work because there was a mild dirty, funky undertone like you get from belacan. Something fermented (not rotten) was at work, though now I'm wondering because no other review I've seen has noted this dimension.

The black heirloom carrots glossed with a barely discernible slice of lardo and flavored so lightly by pine that you wouldn’t notice unless you’d studied the menu description (the boisterous atmosphere is more suited for parties than parsing—it’s hard to gauge how seriously you should be taking the food) were more in line with the style of produce-prominent food I’d expected. Super simple with caramelized vegetable sweetness enhanced by fat, the result was pristine and rich. Four stubs (more like three-and-a-half really—compare these to Time Out’s glamour shot) were not enough. Maybe Nomad’s $22 carrot with duck skin should make me pause and think instead of scoff.

The duck in a jar with pickled vegetables was just that, and felt like something you could get at any New Brooklyn restaurant.

To further exaggerate my few eating issues with green items, I’m also grossed out by lettuce that’s in soups or cooked. Bon Appetit recently recommended roasting heads of romaine along with chicken, and I just wasn’t sold. When it comes down to it, the lettuce is rugged enough to stand up to the heat and char, and even an oily fish like mackerel. The tiny pink flower buds, nearly tossed, not strategically placed with tweezers, was the one homage to fine dining. The mostly starchless mains, if you can call them that, are geared toward sharing and are well-proportioned for two.

The chicken and eggs sounded boring, but wasn't. Moist is a gross word and I don't like juicy to describe meat either…so the chicken was the opposite of everything boneless, skinless chicken breast should be. The last time I encountered chicken so slick was the dramatic salt-baked version during a mega-meal at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. Well, and plus an oozy yolk and small tender potatoes practically mashed in their red skins and fried, this was too hearty to be fashion crowd food. (Christian Siriano was the only face I recognized in the fray—and I have a hard time picturing a clay pot of chicken being described as “fierce.”)

Or the oaty, soupy rye bread porridge that I could totally see a British person describing at a “pud,” which is kind of the opposite of fierce. The dessert is malty from Guinness , hot and cold, and topped with chocolate foam and salted caramel ice cream.

Acme * 9 Great Jones St., New York, NY

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Feb 22

Empellón Cocina

You wouldn’t think that after twelve Valentine’s Days with the same person you could be surprised (no, I’m not talking about diamond rings embedded in flan) and yet I was after discovering that I'd made reservations for Empellón Cocina on February 13 while the boyfriend had one for the following night. The surprising aspect is that he doesn't really read blogs (so I can really say anything I'd like about him and he'd never know) or food media, so I didn't expect him to be aware of Empellón Cocina's existence or that I wanted to go there (he also had a back-up reservation at Nougatine, which is odd because we just had a Valentine's-Day dinner at Jean Georges a few years ago). We consolidated and kept my Monday night appointment out of fear of being locked into a themed tasting menu on the holiday proper. And besides, Valentine's Day is for Dallas BBQ–there's nothing more romantic than a Blue Hawaii with an extra shot of rum, right?

They do that small plates and snacks (a Masa section in this case) thing where it's hard to determine portion sizes even when using pricing as a gauge because there's variance in each category. We way over-ordered, partially our own gluttonous doing and partially due to the pushing of an extra dish by our server. And then desserts unexpectedly arrived free (not a complaint). Even when full, how do you say no to extras?

I don't see a cocktail menu online, strangely, just the wine and mezcal lists, so I can't recall every detail of the three I tried (yes, three drinks is probably why I can't remember–I often choose an after-dinner cocktail in lieu of a dessert). There was a play on a French 75 (pictured, right) with the dissolving brown sugar cube, as well as twist on a Manhattan. Smokiness was a theme.

Smoked cashew and pasilla Oaxaquena salsas with flaky, deliciously oily masa crisps was the right choice of opener. And it was the creamy, nut-based sauce that I could've kept dipping into all night. I may be the only person alive who doesn't care about guacamole, and why diners are so obsessed with its tableside preparation and disproportionate price tag (it's avocados and limes). I realize that's not the drill here, but I still didn't want it.

I'll admit that I chose the mezcal-cured ocean trout with cream cheese, roe, and sal de gusano because of the accompaniments, not the fish. Mexicans (or at least Chilangos) are crazy for cream cheese in their sushi, so I wanted to see how the dairy would be incorporated here. And I'll always try an item with tangy sal de gusano, the Oaxacan powdered worm condiment. Both were used to quiet effect here; the raw fish was the star.

Ok, the queso is dead opposite of the above pristine sashimi, and cravable as you'd expect a cast-iron pan of lobster and melted Spanish cheese to be. Tomate frito and kol, a Mayan masa-based sauce, garnish the gooey dip. I'm still confused if the soft tortillas that come with this are corn or flour or a hybrid. Flour would be keeping with the spirit of queso, being Tex-Mex.

Ribbons of squid were enhanced with a chorizo mayonnaise and one of those zillion-ingredient black moles that I'm happy to leave to chefs, after a few bouts, myself.

The lamb sweetbreads with loganiza was one of the standouts. Rich and earthy and enhanced by the sweet-spicy salsa papanteca, using piloncillo, pepitas, the meatiness balanced some of the lighter seafood dishes.

They also do that thing, which generally, I'm fine with, where dishes arrive willy-nilly as they're cooked. I'd forgotten about the pork ribs with white beans and masa balls in a green mole by the time it arrived last. If anything, the springy dumplings caught my attention more than the lengths of fresh bacon.

After already picking out six dishes for two, we were strongly recommended to try the avocado with spicy grains, sunchokes, and hazelnut dressing too. Ok, fine, we hadn't explored the Vegetables section; avocado was determined to make an appearance no matter what. I don't remember a thing about this; the poor riot of greens' subtlety was completely lost in the shuffle.

I'm mildly embarrassed to admit that I don't recall the details of this off-menu dessert beyond the use of green apples, mostly because the strong flavors of the one below eclipsed it and I was hitting palate fatigue.

I was not imagining sweet plantain shortcakes with cajeta and crema to resemble a miniature burger, or to like this as much as I did. The nearly-smoky molasses quality of the sweet plantain filling made me think of Malaysian desserts, rich with palm sugar. I'm guessing that was the result of piloncillo and goat's milk caramel.

Upon exiting, I was face-to-face with another sesame seed bun, much larger in scale.

Empellón Cocina * 105 First Ave., New York, NY

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Feb 14

The Toucan and The Lion

Last week I heard a few peeps about The Toucan and the Lion on Twitter and message boards, then I noticed a few blog posts based on an invite from the new East Village restaurant. Scotch eggs? Duck confit mofongo? I could get behind that. So, I went on my own dime…and I think, volition? That's the thing, was it really my own idea or was I influenced in online ways that I like to believe I'm immune to?

Either way, the food and cocktails were overwhelmingly winsome and that was mostly due to playing to some of my favorites ingredients like goat, fried pickles, taro, and kaffir lime. For the most part, the flavors were there, though now looking at my photos I can see there is a peculiar swampy palette (not palate, thankfully) at work, lots murky greens and hits of yellow.

The Lion matches ginger and kaffir lime with rum and a hit of Sriracha that adds a subtle creeping spice. This and a few fried pickles (see below) would be a fun duo to sample at the bar, if I did that sort of spartan thing (I always over order because I want to try too much in one sitting).

I didn't want to order two fried things with kaffir lime aioli so I opted for the whiskey sour pickles instead of the Scotch egg. Tart and crunchy, tempered by the perfumed mayonnaise, the breaded spears were a great snack, but possibly too much for two diners. A little pickle goes a long way (I was imagining less intense coins). My dining companion didn't agree with me and thought the portion was fine, so who knows.

Even though there was a lot going on in many of the dishes, the diverse use of tubers caught my attention. I love taro and thought it made a perfect substitute for plantain in an Asian-inflected mofongo topped with a perfect oozy-yolked egg. I expected the duck confit to anchor the dish, but it was the sweet, garlickly slices of Chinese sausage that pulled everything together. Why not add a mild salsa verde, too? This was very good, and while dense (though lighter than a traditional rendition) I could've easily eaten this, no sharing.

The goat pot pie was sweetish and spice-rich as massaman curries are, and also made use of non-traditional starches: cubes of sweet and purple potatoes to offset the hunks of tender meat. The roti–this is not a pastry-topped dish, despite the name–ended up getting a little stiff, but I appreciated the flaky flatbread's presence.

The clams just tasted like clams. Perhaps the flavor was simply more subtle compared to the stronger dishes. I felt it was lacking a distinct element, though, especially since "drunken" was in the description and I take that to mean chile heat . I will say that the bao buns, similar to the roti in usage, was a nice touch.

The Toucan and The Lion * 342 E. Sixth St., New York, NY

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Dec 27

Red Rooster (Christmas Edition)

It took Christmas to finally make a trip to Red Rooster, the finally agreed upon choice among my group of three (Chinese or not is always a tough decision), to partake in the advertised buffet. Because holidays=excess.

The spread was by far more Scandinavian than Soul, though, so it didn't exactly count as a typical dining experience at the restaurant. That is not a complaint–the only thing I truly missed was the opportunity to try the yard bird, a.k.a. fried chicken.

Well, there was cornbread in the selection of starches. It was the flaky scone-biscuit rounds with clotted cream that got my attention, though (twice).

The best part were the starters, anchored by a dazzling array of colorful radishes, cauliflower, and carrots. I love rainbow food to the point where I started a Pinterest board, Taste the Rainbow, before learning that was a cliche. I filled up on two trips-worth of gravlax, and herring prepared a million ways (ok, three: pickled, in sour cream, and in a thick green herbal sauce that wasn't pesto).

Round one.

I didn't even get a chance to try the Swedish pork with lingonberries, though I did my best to get a small scoop of just about everything else: mashed sweet potatoes, collard greens, red cabbage, chile-spiked salmon, a small slice of roast beef, skinny green and white beans, Jansson's Temptation, a potato casserole with some sort of pickled fish, and easily the weirdest thing, a Swedish meatball and cocktail frank bake that would be at home in the Midwest. Note the one meatball and one weiner, front and center, that came as a pair.

Desserts included pumpkin pie, fudge, macaroons (not macarons) and a molasses cookies that probably have a Swedish name that I don't know. I forgot to order Glögg, though I kind of maxed out on mulled wine after more than few cups of Glühwein in Berlin a few weeks ago.

The basement set-up, complete with a live band and a roaming woman crooning, There's a Stranger in My House (at least I think that's what the song was) elicited comparisons to a Catskills resort (not that I would know firsthand–Dirty Dancing is my only frame of reference). And we were this close to going to Kutshers for Christmas.

Red Rooster * 310 Malcom X Blvd., New York, NY

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Nov 25

Wong

1/2 As each year passes, a restaurant blog post becomes less and less servicey and more of a fragment of dining history. A majority of what I’ve written here doesn’t reflect NYC’s current scene in any way. I originally started this as a pre-blog dining journal to keep track of what I’d eaten (uh, which is still kind of what this is—the only difference is that now people actually read, or rather look at pictures, about what strangers eat on the internet) and it’s great because even though photos weren’t de rigueur in olden times, I can see the style of cooking that was being employed at Wong’s 2003 predecessor, Jefferson.

Yes, it was more upscale (then downscaled to Jefferson Grill, then closed). Then there was candlenut foam and lobster in kaffir lime nage. Now lobster shows up in fancified egg foo young and pizza shows up alongside noodles. Chef Simpson Wong is adaptable.

Naan does double duty as bread basket/amuse. The warm bread comes with a glass vessel of clarified butter stuffed with a sprig of mint leaves to pour and shred (it’s messy) plus a curry sauce for dipping. It’s like luxurious roti canai.

I’ll admit I chose the Hakka pork belly because of the tater tots, i.e. taro fritters with hint of lemongrass (or maybe lime leaves). But the lacquered hunk of meat, crispy and sticky along the surface and perfectly tender beneath, was the star. Pickled anything is always a good foil for fattiness, and the tiny Hakurei turnips and tuft of salad were a good match. The original temptation, the tots, were room temperature, though. They had the potential for greatness—I could see something wu gok-like being done with them.

The substantial duck meatball went more Mediterranean, using spiced tomatoes and feta. Of course cast iron skillets signify a farmy ethos, adding to the formerly unseen “Asian locavore” concept that’s also taking off at RedFarm.

The lobster egg foo young. While I didn’t sample the shellfish tail, I appreciated the umami richness of salted duck egg yolks and dried shrimp granules. The salty and fermented edge shifted the dish far from its traditional namesake.

The duck was the most conventional, or rather non-Asian, dish, sliced, rosy, with collard greens, charred grapes, and squash (also present in the duck meatball). Coconut vinegar, a typically Filipino ingredient, did make an appearance and cut through some of the fowl’s naturally oiliness.

Sure, the duck ice cream dessert had outré appeal, but I kind of wanted to see the promised “wee apple.” It arrived as one component in an autumn extravaganza of brown butter, caramel, cinnamon, and more apples.

I don’t know if it was because we’d made a reservation or it was the luck of the draw, but we got one of the few two-seaters in the window instead of a place at one of the dreaded communal tables (there’s no convincing me that sharing tight quarters is fun). And while busy, the table next to us remained open the entire time. There’s no good reason why Wong has availability on a Friday night while nearby Tertulia and Whitehall are standing room only.

The prices are fair, the atmosphere polished-casual—I like how the music shifted from adult and jazzy to Hall and Oates’ greatest hits to The Smiths’ first album, as the night progressed—and the food creative. The only weirdness was with timing; there were long gaps between courses and varying food temperatures on the same plate. Hopefully, the kinks will get sorted out. I’d hate to see Wong morph into Wong Grill…and you know the rest.

Wong * 7 Cornelia St., New York, NY

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Oct 30

Kin Shop

Harold Dieterle is one of those chefs who cooks outside his ethnicity—and why not? He does it well. Haven’t the non-French been doing just that for decades?

I’m happy for any ambitious Thai addition to Manhattan (and am still steamed over that Rhong Tiam/OBAO bait-and-switch near my office). Recently, I revisited Lotus of Siam, and while I didn’t think the food was dismal as might be expected long after the departure of the original owner, for those prices I’d much rather eat at Kin Shop.

Double-meaty gooey fried oysters and thick slices of pork belly are lent tartness and texture with the addition of pickled onions and celery. The chile-lime dressing could’ve been more pungent, but that’s just my preference. They do provide condiments Thai-style, so you can pile on the chile flakes to delicious numbness. Then again, I might have a chile overdosing problem. After spooning a huge glob of super shrimpy, pure fire nam prik pao that I bought at Sripraphai last night (and was warned away from) on a baked sweet potato, I have lost half the taste in my mouth.

Vegetable sides don’t play a major role on most traditional Thai menus, though maybe Americans feel like they need them. Grilled eggplant, smoky and simply dressed with mint and fish sauce, fills that void here. I just now realized that what I thought were seeds—the little white dots scattered on top—are actually pearls of rice

Goat, braised to tenderness, makes a light massaman curry despite the level of coconut milk. And the tiny cubes of purple yam are not only more delicate than the usual potato chunks, but add punches of color to the creamier than usual stew. Normally, massaman is lower on my list of to-order curries. Not here. Photos I've seen online show a heftier piece of meat, which may or may not be due to lunch vs. dinner portioning. This was a midday meal.

Kin Shop * 469 Sixth Ave., New York, NY

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Sep 26

Capital Grille

The lord giveth…and taketh away. I eat at Capital Grille, the Darden-owned steakhouse would feel more appropriate in the downtown of a mid-sized city, and then mere days later discover that Little Lad's, my favorite vegan, Seventh-Day Adventist restaurant hidden in the basement of the same Financial District building, has packed up and moved into a Lower East Side church. I somehow feel responsible for setting this chain of events into motion.

Even though I only work three blocks away, it’s not like dining at Capital Grille crosses my mind with regularity. At lunch its business is drawn from surrounding offices, at night, especially on a Friday, the showier than expected—live band, taxidermy, and a private dining room in a former bank vault—bi-level restaurant was luring tourists hard. Camera in hand, I was certainly pegged as one. Using a 30% off discount from Savored might have not helped my case either (hey, Savored is classy—I do think getting rid of the Village Vines name was a good move). This does not bother me at chains. If there’s one thing they’re good for, it’s serving as Manhattan havens from the food trend obsessed.

And how trendy could a steakhouse from the people behind Olive Garden and Red Lobster be? (To be fair, it’s much higher end brand than their LongHorn Steakhouse.) Meat and seafood is the story.

Chilled oysters (of what provenance, I couldn’t even tell you) and lobster-and-crab cakes with corn relish. I like the lemon wrapped in netting touch.

A medium-rare porterhouse with a good amount of char, fattiness and the slightest bit of funk (which I like). Even as a chain-admirer, I tend to stay away from Outback Steakhouse and its ilk because the beef barely has flavor. This is a real steak with a real steak price ($47) and real calories (980–one oddity of being a chain is that the menu must list them). Truffle oil was in the air, so I acquiesced and shared a cone of parmesan truffle fries (only 30 calories less than the steak).

The bank vault. Capital Grille is not the only restaurant on Broadway with such a feature.

After you’ve been identified as a tourist (this generally only happens when I’m in other countries, and it’s really weird when you’re traveling alone, taking pictures of your food and someone, especially a guy, asks if you want your photo taken and you have to say yes because that seems like the right answer even though you might not like having your picture taken) that the inevitable, “Do you want me to take a picture of you?” question arises. I don’t, because the result is generally horrifying.

If I were a tourist I might be bothered by the amount of garbage piled up across the street.

Capital Grille * 120 Broadway, New York, NY

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Jul 21

Sa Aming Nayon

Now Jeepney. At least it's still Filipino, right? Gastropub or not. I walked past the opening last night and was tempted to pop in. (10/12/12)

Curiously, Sa Aming Nayon appeared in that patch of First Avenue near 14^th Street that periodically sprouts and snuffs out Filipino restaurants back in June. Yet their name has been popping up in the past week in food media. Well, just Time Out New York and Tasting Table. Why now?

Who cares, all you need to know is that if you have even the vaguest interest in Filipino food—and you should—this home-style restaurant is worth a visit. Then again, I’m a big booster of Filipino cuisine. It’s an unknown compared to more popular Thai or Vietnamese, and those who encounter the style, reliant on vinegar and other bitter flavors, often write off the entire country’s repertoire. Some think it’s too funky; others find it boiled and bland.

While lamb and goat battle for it meat recognition, pork is still the favorite protein of discerning gluttons everywhere. And no one does pork like a Pinoy. It’s a great introduction. The next best thing to experiencing the bounty of the whole beast, a.k.a. lechon, is sampling the fatty parts encased in crackly skin. This typically means crispy pata, a deep-fried ham hock or lechon kawali, pork belly given the same burnished-in-oil treatment.

Chicharrón is often eaten as is, but lechon kawali needs its sauce. I panicked for a second when it didn’t show up. “The sauce is coming,” I was promised before I could say a thing. Then I could hear the woman who appeared to be an owner yelling into the kitchen for “the sauce.” What if they were out of sauce? I’ve heard of women carrying Tabasco or ranch dressing in their purses. I wonder what they would’ve thought if I pulled a bottle of Mama Sita’s out of my bag.

I have no idea how you would come up with the idea of combining liver, sugar, vinegar and bread crumbs (thrifty, sure) to make a dip for fried pork, but the thick, sweet and savory result that’s more sludgy than saucy, transforms the meaty chunks into something even better. It’s instant umami.

Pinakbet combines a slew of vegetables like squash, tomatoes, bitter melon, eggplant and green beans with more pork to create a vegetable stew. Read more about this dish on the new Real Cheap Eats NYC (not so much because I’m plug-crazy but because I don’t want to repeat myself).

Classic soy-and-vinegar braised adobo is an obvious choice (they were out of sisig, which is what I really wanted) but I like that they served a version with both pork and chicken. The meat becomes so stained from the soy that you can barely tell which meat you’re getting until you take a bite. Adobo roulette.

I’d like to go back for the halo-halo. Icy Asian desserts, like snow cones covered in gelatinous goo, often seem odd out of context, but this heat wave is tailor made for tropical sweets, purple yam jam, pandan jelly and all.

Sa Aming Nayon * 201 First Ave., New York, NY

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