Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

Jun 4

Pop Diner

I can't even recall what used to be in this spot, but when the new made to look old Googie-style diner showed up on that stretch of Queens Blvd. near Target, a few years back, it threw me off. So shiny, so colorful, and the Pop in the name made me think Pop on 4th Ave. and Pop Burger, but it couldn't possibly be affiliated. Elmhurst doesn't draw the same clientele as the East Village and Chelsea.

I finally decided to pay a visit and appease James who often expresses a desire to eat there when we drive by. I usually veto in favor of Sripraphai, but I'm learning to make concessions. I was under the impression that Pop might be tweaking diner classics with newfangled touches, but it's relatively traditional fare with a few Latin American and Asian leanings.

I didn’t go for the pernil or plantains, though. We shared an ok quesadilla. I love reubens and usually only have the opportunity to order them in diners. This was an unorthodox specimen, as it came open faced. That’s an important detail to omit from the menu description. It also was lacking Russian dressing. It tasted fine enough, but it wasn’t all that a reuben could be. Something about sandwiches splayed open across the plate just feels geriatric to me. I’m not ready for the old folks home yet.

Pop does excel with little touches. The coleslaw was actually good, I usually take a bite just to see and ended up eating most of my little paper cup full. And the fries were crisp rather than fat and soggy like diner fries can be. The desserts, a small selection including chocolate cake, cheesecake and lemon meringue pie, were very enticing in the rotating case near the door. Who knows if their flavor matched their looks, but I'd like to believe it did.

Pop Diner * 80-26 Queens Blvd., Elmhurst, NY

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Jun 3

Cabana

How do you end up eating chain Cuban at the South Street Seaport when you intended on hole in the wall Cuban in Chelsea? Well, thanks to the MTA's inability to deal with rain water, I was only able to access the 6 train Friday after work. Anything diverging too far from that line was out of the question during the downpour (though the Seaport isn’t that close to the Fulton St. station).

I’ve never been to the Seaport in my eight years of NYC life. It’s not like I’ve ever had any reason to. Strangely, it’s quite the tourist attraction. Strangely, because essentially it’s a mall with chain stores you could find anywhere in the U.S. that happens to be on the East River. Maybe because of the oddball location, Cabana wasn’t crazy busy, which is always my fear on Friday nights. The vibe was very much girls night out with a few couple scattered around too.

What I hate about “fancy” Latin American food is the preponderance of boneless chicken breasts and absence of pork dishes. I eat boneless, skinless chicken breasts at home all the time, but that's weeknight health-ish cooking, courtesy of a Costco bag of Tyson’s poultry. I don't actually want to pay good money for that dry nonsense on the weekend when a supposed professional is cooking.

I settled on one of the few porky entrees, chuletas, which came with yellow rice and black beans by default. Two pork chops strikes me as little excessive, though eating half of my food allowed for two genuine meals to be made of it. A mid-week leftover pork chop isn’t the worst thing. We tried tostones stuffed with ropa vieja and shrimp (you can choose from four fillings) as a starter, and they were better than I'd expected. The orange, garlicky dipping oil a nice unhealthy touch. A pitcher of sangria rounded out the meal.

Honestly, I would’ve been happier with a cubano or cheap rice, beans and meat combo. I don’t need all the fanfare (or bathroom attendant) that comes with the more upscale versions of Cuban cuisine, though the food was a perfectly acceptable rendition.

Cabana * 89 South St. Seaport Pier 17, New York, NY

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May 20

Schnack

1/2 I go to Schnack more than I mention, maybe once every other month, but I never bother saying so because I almost always eat the same thing and nothing noteworthy ever happens. That's not a bad thing, that's consistency. Fries, cubano and a pint of Schwag are my usual M.O.

My latest visit was a balancing act. After an earlier Room 4 Dessert venture, we had to counter the sweetness and sophistication with something "grubbing," so to speak (I hate that adjective, but it's fitting in this case). There are only so many late night options that fit that criteria in the neighborhood.

This was the first time I'd ever tried the schnackies, and I'm glad I did. They're heartier and saucier than typical sliders, which I suspected and ordered three rather than the four I might have at White Castle.

The weird thing about my last two Schnack experiences has been the cheese fries. The last time we ordered them we ended up with chili cheese fries. I'm not a chili lover, but it was ok and it wasn't a big enough transgression to ask for a re-do. This time we also asked for cheese fries and got regular fries, which we did get rectified. It's feast or famine with the damn fries.

Schnack * 122 Union St., Brooklyn, NY

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May 19

Room 4 Dessert

Friday night at 6:30 might seem a bit early for dessert, but that's just the way it worked out. I had suggested trying Room 4 Dessert to a friend as a birthday present (I gave her Dirty Found too). It wasn't my fault that a month and a half passed between her date of birth and our sweet excursion.

Apparently, the menu has recently changed, so many of the items I'd read about, Voyage to India in particular, were no longer being served. There were four choices of foursomes, and unfortunately, I didn't take a menu home so the finer details of each are hazy. Chocolate seemed too obvious, so I went with the PACK acronym, which showcased pistachio, apricot, cherries and kirsch. Despite the scary sounding name (and ingredients), I ordered a Mr. Clean cocktail anyway. You probably could clean tile with the pine liqueur, lemon, amaretto and whisky formula. It was bracing and medicinal (and almost reminded me of a thick white prescription liquid I had to drink for an ear infection I had when I was in preschool). But I was glad for the daring mixology.

Pistachio was my favorite PACK component, but I'm just partial to anything green that's not a vegetable. I wish I had paid closer attention to the preparations because now I fear making everything sound lackluster and simple. The cherries were in a liquid in a thick cylindrical pill bottle, the kirsch was blended into whipped cream with apricots underneath, and if I'm correct apricot was also the foundation of the sorbet which covered little crunchy bits.

The belated birthday girl tried the red quartet, which contained hibiscus jello with ice lettuce, beet sorbet (or was it ice cream?), raspberry "bread" and a little white cake with cooked down red speck.

Ok, the two drinks at a bar around the corner, beforehand, and glass of cava mid-dessert aren't conducive to flavor recall. I'll definitely return with a clearer mind and palate. I can see this being an endearing late night stop.

Room 4 Dessert * 17 Cleveland Pl., New York,NY

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May 18

Blue Ribbon Brooklyn

I hate off-kilter weeknights. There are these occasional weird mid-week dining excursions where I simply want to have a satisfying meal and unwind, yet little unimportant things start thwarting my fun and my sanity comes into question. Is this how nervous breakdowns (whatever that means, exactly) begin?

This same evening, I spent almost my entire subway ride home from work feeling like my chest was being squeezed, and I couldn't breathe or swallow. I'm convinced that I'm on the verge of a stroke, or more likely, a nice panic disorder that seems to have set in with age.

Even though we only had to wait at the bar for about five minutes, there was still aggravation with where to stand when you're the only one not seated. Since everyone is sitting except for you, it feels like you're hovering even when positioned a good foot behind someone's stool. I also have this issue when for some bizarre reason, I'm the first person who has to stand on the subway (this really only happens on the end of the G in Queens when the train sits and waits for like five minutes) Like I said, I wonder if these non-problems are the first steps towards mania. Standing dilemmas really shouldn't make you jumpy.

On the opposite end of the potential problem spectrum, we got a nice spacious, squishy corner booth in the back. None of that squeezing you ass through the three-inch clearance between table rows. We decided on salt and pepper shrimp as an appetizer. I'd finished about 80% of my pricey gin and tonic (that's one thing I'd forgotten about Blue Ribbon–the drinks seem a buck or two higher than need be) by the time the waiter came over. I don't know what happened but my hand totally smacked the glass over and the clear liquid ran down the table, onto James and completely soaked the red velvety fabric we were sitting on. I had no one to be annoyed with except myself, and yet I was still annoyed. I was hoping my duck club sandwich with sweet potato chips would set the course back on track. Meanwhile, I picked up the spilled vessel and put it far from my spastic reach.

When our waiter came back with my sandwich and James's spicy steak (that's what they called it, I think it was their way of saying steak au poivre), he managed to re-knock over my glass onto the floor and underneath the table of the two loudly inebriated young women seated next to us (I couldn't figure out why you'd go to Blue Ribbon for cocktails, because like I said they're not cheap, and these girls seemed mildly on the prowl and it was only families and couples as far as the eye could see. If I was their age, I would be drinking at a proper bar. I would've continued our evening next door at Great Lakes, but James is no Thursday night boozehound and put the kibosh on my plan). I was like what the fuck is going on. And everyone looked at me like it was my fault–or is that just the paranoia of a mentally ill mind in the making?

I half-heartedly slogged through my food since the spirit of the meal had been crushed. I did amuse myself by ordering a Hefeweizen, which comes in one of those tall, skinny, top-heavy beer glasses. Talk about precarious. But that's me, living on the edge.

Blue Ribbon * 280 Fifth Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Image borrowed from The Small Object

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May 11

Singapore Cafe

You might think that I'd eat Malaysian/Singaporean food more than I do since those are my favorite countries to eat in and I'm frequently trying to reproduce the cuisine in my cramped kitchen, but I dine on Chinese and Thai fare way more often. Much of the fun of Malaysian fare is the hawker or food court experience, the caliber of the cooking itself and cheap cheap prices. It doesn't quite translate in NYC.

James and I did a Mott and Canal after work meet-up to see what struck our fancies. I couldn't make a restaurant decision (I've noticed one of the many downsides of my not-so-new-anymore job is that it has made me exhausted and indecisive) earlier so wandering seemed like a good antidote.

I'd eaten at Singapore Café, twice before, though not recently, and it appears to be under new management. They now have two menus, one Chinese and the other "Asian fusion" which contains the Singaporean stuff. That's an interesting tactic. I guess they think that no one knows what Singaporean food is because they explain it to you without being prompted, and it appeared that most diners were eating Chinese food either because they were Chinese or because they were tourists (yes, I'm generalizing).

We had adequate versions of char kway teow, roti canai, grilled chicken in pandan leaves and beef rendang. I'm sure purists would find nitpicking points galore, but it was about what I'd expected going in. It's wise to be wary of restaurants that offer two cuisines because it's likely one is going to suffer. I don't even know if there are any Malay-run Malaysian or Singaporean restaurants in NYC. It's a more Chinese-y kind of city, I think.

My only complaint was the hovering service, which I realize sounds petty considering many consider Chinatown the epitome of brusqueness (I do not). Everyone watched us like a hawk, filled drinks too frequently and generally made me self-conscious. Two of the waitresses kept staring at my feet and I couldn't figure out why. I was too unnerved to snap photos, primarily because I was convinced that it would lead the host to think we were tourists who'd never seen Singaporean food and he'd come over and school us. Maybe I'm just an unfriendly crab but I'm a leave me alone kind of person.

Singapore Cafe * 69 Mott St., New York, NY

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May 6

Pacifico

1/2 There are moments made for mish mash. And those moments tend to involve alcohol impaired judgment. Pacifico, it turns out, is great for what it is: drunk food. Unfortunately, it almost became puke food after swilling mint juleps and bourbon slushes for five hours straight. Despite the burgoo and derby pie consumed earlier, I still needed a little padding of the stomach lining.

Beer and a carnitas quesadilla did more harm than good. The cheese and grease backfired and I was only able to eat one of my four stuffed tortilla wedges. It wasn't half bad, I just wasn't primed for eating. But I was happy the next day to have hefty leftovers as hangover food.

Pacifico * 269 Pacific St., Brooklyn, NY

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Apr 27

Las Ramblas

Tapas are tricky. I love the little morsels, but I'm averse to the little rooms that usually go along with the package. It's not like I'm accustomed to large open spaces in NYC, but tapas in particular seem synonymous with long waits and being squished. Um, and I have my own issues with bar stools: one, my balance is horrendous, I feel like I'm going to topple over, and two, I have a fat ass, at least fat enough to mush over the sides of many stools' tiny circular tops.

I shied away from Tia Pol for ages because I thought it would be a nightmare, and it wasn't at all. Las Ramblas is more how I envisioned Tia Pol to be, if that makes any sense. Not a nightmare by any means, but bedroom-sized with a handful of nearly touching tables. When I arrived there were actually two spots open, but they wouldn't seat me without my dining companion so I waited the four-stooled bar. Of course, the place filled up in mere minutes and when James showed up we just ate at the bar because there was no telling if anyone was ever going to leave (we were asked if we wanted an open table about half way through, but we were already established where we were).

We didn't go wild with ordering, just four items, and pretty basic ones at that. Everything was likeable, but perhaps a notch below the dishes we had at Tia Pol (I'm only using them for comparison because it's the most recent tapas experience I've had, though it wasn't all that recent).

Simple gambas. There was something almost Caribbean about the preparation. Instead of simply sliced garlic, it was like they'd used a sofrito.

I'm scared of mayonnaise but love patatas bravas. And I never thought I'd say this, but these potatoes could've actually used a touch more aioli.

Albondigas, plain and simple.

Serrano and idiazabal. I could eat this ham and cheese all day.

Las Ramblas * 170 W. 4th St., New York, NY

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Apr 20

The Good Fork

I didn't go in expecting my socks to get knocked off–I just wanted to try a new nearby restaurant, hype, be damned–and well, my socks are still on. Not to say there was anything amiss with my food. I wanted it to be more distinctive. I think a lot of the appeal of places like The Good Fork stems from the quirk and trek factor. The same attention probably wouldn't be paid to a similar eatery in say, the West Village.

I started with a glass of Malbec and a salad of bitter greens, cubed beets and an apple-potato latke type wedge, topped with goat cheese. These are the types of salads I enjoy, yet never make at home because there are too many components for my weeknight patience. Then I moved on to the roast chicken, which I know is usually the most boring thing on the menu, but I'd been eating pork all week thanks to Easter leftovers, and it was so hot out I didn't feel I should eat go too meaty.

The mashed potatoes seemed awfully sweet, and now I realize they were pureed with parsnips. Very nice with the carmelized, braised leeks. The black bean sauce was a touch salty, but it did punch up a potentially bland dish. The chicken was chicken, despite being from Cloonshee Farms. I'm sure if you put a plainly prepared Tyson drumstick and a free range hormone-less leg in front of me, I'd be able to detect a difference in flavor, but frequently fresh, organic meat is lost on me.

Surprisingly, we were seated promptly at 8pm. I got a little nervous when asked if we had reservations. The thought had crossed my mind, but I didn't call ahead out of principle–um, which principle, I'm not sure. Maybe the neighborhood joint principle. The staff seemed a little frenzied, though everyone was pleasant and accommodating. There was a slight insidery vibe, which is only to say that the host (owner?) seemed to know everyone. Maybe I'm just jealous because I'm not a regular even at places I go regularly.

$74 was a touch more than I'd typically spend on a Thursday night dinner for two, and I don't mean that in a Brooklyn should be cheaper than Manhattan way. People get up in arms if you complain about prices in the outer boroughs. I'm just thrifty. I wouldn't say The Good Fork is a prime destination spot (at least not yet–hasn't Red Hook been on the verge for the last decade? Who knows Fairway and Ikea will bring to the mix) but it is a nice option if you live in the general environs and are sick of the Smith St. offerings.

The Good Fork 391 Van Brunt St., Brooklyn, NY

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Apr 14

davidburke & donatella

I'm more of a fast food salad luncher, but in a perfect world I could do a two-hour fine dining meal on a daily basis. The $24 d&d price fixe is a pretty amazing value. Unfortunately, the circumstances completely distracted from any joy I might've derived from an otherwise swank meal. As they say, there's no such thing as a free lunch. I knew that when my department's director asked my supervisor and me to lunch that it wasn't for leisure's sake. Let's just say that this is the most disgruntling office I've ever worked in, and leave it at that.

I certainly didn't take any food photos during this business-esque meeting, though the presentation would've warranted it. Initially, you're presented with popovers in adorable individual copper pans. I chose the lobster bisque with green apple essence ($15 alone at dinner) as my first course, which comes in a deep bowl with a long cylindrical lobster-filled egg roll laid across the top. The crisp skinny tube is designed to look like a firecracker with a little fuse sticking out one end that would be a mistake to eat.

Their market salad was speckled with shrimp, chicken, goat cheese, Asian pear, walnuts and bacon. I lost interest about 3/4 of the way through, the precise moment when the serious talking began. I didn't even finish the damn thing, which isn't like me at all. I was able to eat most of my generously portioned caramelized apple tart. One glass of Riesling was hardly enough to get me through this afternoon annoyance.

davidburke & donatella * E. 61st St., New York, NY

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Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

Pop Diner

Cabana

Schnack

Room 4 Dessert

Blue Ribbon Brooklyn

Singapore Cafe

Pacifico

Las Ramblas

The Good Fork

davidburke & donatella

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