Posts tagged ‘Barely Blogged’

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 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 30

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

SoCo I’ve been spending time in Clinton Hill recently, trying to assess the livability of the neighborhood (I would say the prognosis is good; we put an offer on a condo yesterday). I’m not a total stranger to the area since I did work at Pratt briefly in the late ’90s (my first-ever, full-time salaried job [$22,000] which I left to work at a food website–yes, they existed 13 years ago–for $3,000 more. Everyone got laid off six months later…) but Myrtle Avenue has ten million more bars and restaurants than in my day. SoCo was the craziest (well, the booming sit-down Chino-Latino place with the name I always forget technically was) in that there was a huge crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk. More club than restaurant. But the next afternoon, the post-brunch crowd seemed mellower so I joined in, lured by the promise of fried chicken and red velvet waffles on the window menu. It’s the most popular dish, too, I was told. I would estimate that at least half of the tables had at least one plate of red waffles on it. The mash-up was far less breakfast/dinner than dinner/dessert hybrid. The sweetness was there, and pumped up by the maple syrup, but the cocoa flavor almost grounded it. You really didn’t feel like you were eating chicken and cake, just a tasty new form of fat and carbs. Lovers of unnaturally colored food and nonsensical flavor combinations will be pleased.

Speedy Romeo I love processed cheese, not just Velveeta and Cheez Whiz, but thickly sliced deli cheese, too, all extra creamy and salty. I also love Hawaiian pizza, so it’s almost as if Speedy Romeo’s Dick Dale was custom made for me. Using popular-in-St. Louis Provel cheese (a melty, processed cheese that combines cheddar, swiss and provolone) plus pineapple and smoky speck ham on a wood-fired pizza is pure genius. Adding a spoonful of pickled chiles, the restaurant’s condiment of record, provides a sharp contrast against the smoother, sweet flavors, and makes this pizza one of my all-time favorites. That is not say, all will love it, especially considering ham and pineapple is a scourge to purists, never mind the utterly un-artisanal cheese. Oh, Slice covered this very pizza this week with a nice slide show and everything–I had no idea it contained béchamel.

Putnam’s Pub It’s a gastropub, nothing out of the ordinary, but good to know about if a late night roasted bone marrow or devils on horseback (not bacon-wrapped dates here, which is the usual interpretation, but fried oyster topped deviled eggs) craving strikes.

Sunset Park Diner & Donuts I never ate here once when I lived down the street, though that’s not really a judgment of the restaurant but more about my rarely eating at diners. It’s slim pickings for post-2am dining in the area, and they do a grilled cheese with bacon deluxe, i.e. with fries, as good as anyone. The restaurant is even on Seamless, which is surprising. It almost makes me wish I still lived over there just so I could have french toast and jalapeño poppers delivered to my door at 3am.

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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 6

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Free Coors & Condo-ized Brooklyn

Tasty Hand-Pulled Noodles There have been taste-tests conducted and I’ve eaten my share of Chinese hand-pulled and shaved noodles over the years, though I I’d hardly consider myself discriminating. I kind of like every place I’ve tried. Even though I just went with the regular thinnish, eggy ones at Tasty, I appreciate that they’ve plainly spelled out the seven types available (love the sound of “fat hand” noodles) on the back of the menu with photos for comparison. The beef, tripe and tendon trio adds substance and chew to the massive bowls of soup, but really the soft, springy noodles are the main event. And for only $5, you won’t feel bad if you can’t slurp up every last strand.

Nelson Blue My attempt to try new, clubby, cocktailery, Demi Monde (mostly because it’s a block from my office and I’m enamored with the novelty) before the masses descended was thwarted by a pre-opening party that I wasn’t invited to (I’m not the type who gets off on talking my way past doormen) so I was coerced into a lamb burger at the Seaport where no restaurant or bar is a destination. If you’re seeking an Australian meat pie in the Financial District, though, New Zealand-ish, Nelson Blue, is the way to go. The free bottle of Coors Light I was given due to an ordering mix-up wasn’t exactly a substitute for one of Demi Monde’s $14 spiked strawberry tarragon sodas, but I still drank it without complaint.

Mable's Smokehouse I hate to be defeatist (ok, I actually enjoy it) but when a Brooklyn bbq urge struck on Memorial Day weekend, Fette Sau wasn’t even in the equation. The notion that the entire city goes out of town over three-day weekends is antiquated—there were just as many people piled onto the outdoor picnic tables as usual. But it gave me a chance to try Mable's, which is on the ground floor of one of those new buildings that makes Williamsburg seem more like a Philadelphia or a Charlotte or a gazillion other cities I’ve never seen first-hand. (Don’t give me the Shari Lind treatment, but I get kick out of the neighborhood’s suburban transformation. In fact, I’ve even entertained the notion of becoming one of those reviled condo-dwellers just to revel in it. It would’ve been impossible to have predicted the area’s tidy, adult contemporary future when I arrived in Williamsburg 14 Memorial Day weekends ago fresh from Portland when Mug's Alehouse and the Turkey's Nest were practically the only games in that corner.) And true to form, instead of numbers, Mable's hands out laminated state shapes cut from paper as an identifier when servers bring food to the table. Transplants are now proud of their Wisconsin or Virginia heritage.

But the bbq…my ribs were crazy salty, almost inedibly so. At least the pulled pork I sampled wasn’t dried out as I feared it might be, and the beef brisket was pleasantly fatty, lightly smoked and the best meat of the bunch. And I appreciated the number of non-carby sides like the pickled beets and sautéed kale. I would not completely write them off if I were shut out of Fette Sau again, but what I really need to do is cross the border and try John Brown Smokehouse and Butcher Bar, which I’ve yet to do.

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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 16

Eaten, Barely Blogged: 24 Hours in Philadelphia

I go to Philadelphia about once a year, just to keep myself in check and explore the world just slightly beyond NYC's borders–it's the second-largest city on the East Coast, after all. And it's a good food city. My only disappointment this time around was the shuttering of Mako's, a kind of dingy bar on South Street that was only notable because it served a Surfer on Acid, which I absorbed as second-hand nostalgia from James, who knew the drink as Surfing on Acid from his Baltimore days in the early '90s. Trashy as it may be (Malibu rum, canned pineapple juice and Jagermeister) the sweet and herbal brown cocktail has become a staple at our annual Super Bowl party, and it is surprisingly good. R.I.P. Mako's.

Because it's Philly, we started off at a Stephen Starr vehicle, faux British pub, The Dandelion, which I chose partially because it was only one block from our hotel (I'm still baffled how the Sofitel charges the exact same room price that I paid on my first visit to the city of brotherly love back in 2000–thank you, crappy economy) and also because I was wooed by their '70s children's book lion illustration-style logo (I'm a leo, I can't help my fondness for anthropomorphic felines).

The intention was to merely sip cocktails and have a few bar snacks to hold us over till our 9:30pm dinner reservations at Zahav. Even though it was only 5pm, we may have ordered too much.Well, there were fun cocktails: a Bourbon Ginger Fizz (Bulliet bourbon, ginger, lemon, bitters, egg white) that looked like a little pint of beer, and the gin and bitter lemon (Beefeater gin, lemon, bitters, tonic) not unlike a gin and tonic, just a touch dryer. A more unusual, Scotch Honeysuckle (Dewar’s scotch, dry vermouth, honey, lemon, rose water) was also enjoyed, and wouldn't have been totally out of place at Zahav either, though not pictured.

I wouldn't have chosen the dressed crab, two dishes were plenty, but it was more exciting than expected and not just because it was presented in an adorably farm-to-table glass jar, atop a bed of ice strewn with seaweed. The presentation transformed the crab-heavy salad, only cut with lemon-chervil mayonnaise and finely chopped hard-boiled egg, from a lady-like meal on a lettuce leaf into a heartier snack. It didn't really need the cocktail sauce.

There were also curried devilled eggs and a chunky pork pate, good alone, but complemented by the celery root remoulade and pear and raisin chutney.

I did have a nice, gross-sounding sandwich, the Liveracci, at Paesano's in the Italian Market. Who would ever think to combine fried chicken livers, Gorgonzola, orange marmalade, onions, and salami? What the hell?! This beast essentially crams my favorite strong flavors, salty and sweet, in into one package. It could only be topped by adding more spice or fishy funk (the liver accomplishes that angle nearly) but that might be going too far.

I did not try the namesake Paesano with its oozing fried egg, beef brisket, horseradish mayonnaise, provolone, and roasted tomatoes that apparently beat Bobby Flay in a throwdown.

There was also Geno's for old time's sake. I always say I prefer Pat's, but are the two kitty-corner competitors really that different on sandwich alone? I did enjoy (cringed/ducked) witnessing the poor Filipino family who had the misfortune to ask the counter lady at, "What's good here?"

I also finally made it to Chink's, the old-school cheesesteakery with the most wholesome atmosphere and the most questionable name. In a way, it's more Philadelphia than either Geno's or Pat's could ever be at this point. Sit at the diner-style booths and play with the stuck-in-time personal jukebox filled with bands like Savage Garden and Marcy Playground.

A large, with Cheez Whiz, of course. I know provolone is perfectly acceptable; it just melts down too much and isn't salty or gooey enough.

Chink's frame!

Possibly the best non-food part of going to Philadelphia is frazzling James with willy-nilly parking. In Portland, I always parked any which way on streets, as they do in Philly, too (and also park in medians, which is a little odd) but it freaks the hell out of James. I got him to park the wrong way by convincing him it was a one-way street even though it wasn't.

Federal Donuts is exactly the type of place I avoid like the plague in Brooklyn. Foodie-approved, crazy crowds, kooky ordering procedures, painfully long waits, and daily selling-out of provisions. If you show up at 11:45am when they start selling fried chicken, you'll miss out on 80% of the donuts they start selling at 7am. I wake up at 9am on a weekday, so there's no way in hell I'm getting up two hours earlier on a weekend, let alone while on a mini-vacation. The only "fancy" donuts left on our arrival were oatmeal raisin, for a reason (gross) and mandarin orange coffee, which was ok, but like coffee grounds had accidentally affixed themselves to a citrusy glazed cake donut. No pistachio halvah, banana chocolate, s'mores, or blueberry lemon pie, all still listed on the chalkboard.

The procedure is convoluted for a first-timer. You need to get a number, though no one tells you that for a while, there are just a bunch of people crowded around the counter, and you get a number for each half, so two wholes would equal four separate hand-written numbers on cards. After maybe half-an-hour your number is called and you pay, give your name, and specify your flavor: za'taar, chile-garlic, coconut curry, harissa, honey ginger, or buttermilk ranch, and then you wait another 10 minutes or so before your name is called and your chicken is ready. Phew. Yeah, the chicken is pretty good, though there's no need to ever do it again and it's doubtful I would partake if I lived in the area. I'm just not a liner-upper and have no patience in life, probably because I'm about to become middle-aged and every second is increasingly precious.

Half chicken. If I knew the chicken was going to take 40 minutes, I would've ordered a whole instead. I went on a za'taar binge, having experienced the spice blend the night before at Zahav, chef Mike Solomonov, more formal, modern Middle Eastern restaurant. Earthy is a cop-out, but it is, and not a distraction from the simple charms of crispy fried skin. You also get a little plastic container of Japanese pickles and a mini honey glazed doughnut.

That I didn't take a single photo of the donuts (there was also an Appolonia, a granulated sugar and cocoa power-covered number, and a vanilla-lavender, two standards that are always in-stock) further proves my indifference to fried, sugared dough. No knock on Federal Donuts, I'm just not donut-crazed.

Chink's * 6030 Torresdale Ave., Philadelphia, PA

The Dandelion * 124 S. 18th St., Philadelphia, PA

Federal Donuts * 1219 S. Second. St., Philadelphia, PA

Geno's * 1219 S. Ninth St., Philadelphia, PA

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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 24

Eaten, Barely Blogged: How Do You Like Them Apples (and Andouille)?

Donovan’s Woodside on St. Patrick’s Day is like marching into the belly of the beast, though far more family than the fratty scene I envision at the Irish pubs of Manhattan. We waited an hour at Donovan’s for a table where we were serenaded loudly by drums and bagpipes (that’s me pretending not to notice the ruckus) as one does. Corned beef, cabbage, and a single boiled potato should’ve been on my plate (I do love that meal and am surprised so many dislike it) but you know, Donovan’s is famous for its burger and I wasn’t changing my usual order just because it was a holiday.

Sripraphai All the usual suspects: crispy pork with chile and basil, duck curry with eggplant, crispy watercress salad (which I love so much that I recreated it at home the following weekend but forgot to photograph because I was in a hurry to get it made before The Walking Dead season finale aired) plus a rarely ordered larb and never-before Thai mojito. Remind me again, to never go to Sripraphai on a Saturday night (and kick me for pretending to be Thai-knowledgeable with never having tried Centerpoint on the next block). Beyond the insane crowds and weirdo orderers who eat dishes like individual, non-sharable entrees, the spice just isn’t there. Thai-wise, I’m looking forward to the new Chao Thai branch, and I suppose Pok Pok, as well, but as a Portland transplant I have weird feelings about fellow Portland transplants.

Toby’s Public House “Weird but good” was my honest response to “How was the special? The cook wants to know.” Both pizzas we picked were oddly sweet. I happen to be a freak for sweet-savory mash-ups so that’s not a knock. The special in question paired andouille with green apples, a not-unpleasant though untraditional combo. The surprise was more from the asparagus pizza that was nearly candied sweet from caramelized onions, and I don’t know, there had to be something else at work. I want to say that the stubs of asparagus were cooked in balsamic vinegar? If it were up to me, I might combine the apples with the onions, add a little bacon, and pretend the pizza was a tarte flambee. I’d also sprinkle some blue cheese, thought that would dilute the Alsatian theme. At that rate, there was no way I was going to opt for the much-lauded nutella-ricotta calzone. Who needed dessert?

Blue Ribbon In my 20s, I never understood it when friends a decade older would say “I can’t drink like I used to” or genuinely old folks might have to forgo spicy or rich food, i.e. “I like butter, but butter doesn’t like me.” What? Shut up. As I approach middle age, though, I’m afraid some of this is becoming a reality. Thankfully, painfully hot food is not a problem…yet. The night after a night of over-imbibing I was still feeling too rough to handle the roasted bone marrow at Blue Ribbon. The pure fat coupled with a rich oxtail marmalade was wreaking havoc. Weird as it may have been, I just had it wrapped up and ate it the next day no problem. Why not eat bone marrow on toast for breakfast? As the regular Blue Ribbon and the sushi version next door morph into one, they’ve begun offering raw fish preparations at the original. The small plate of sashimi was a welcome relief from the intended appetizer (which would’ve been better for sharing, except that Lent is still a thing) though I still think everything at Blue Ribbon is overpriced and yes, the crowd leans heavily Bay Ridge/Staten Island even if that characterization (not by me) offended a Chowhound four years after the fact.

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Mar 6

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Cuttlefish, Tripe & Chinese Crawfish

Celestino. It's that time of year again when I play along with the boyfriend's Lent thing even though I don't get why it's a big deal to not eat meat one day a week (pizza’s not punishment, right?). You're not even restricted to vegetables. Sea creatures are totally fair game. So, Celestino, where the only meat is in the meatballs on the kids' selection of two items, was fitting. Super cute, whitewashed and hiply nautical (I still need to see Littleneck for comparison) with very good prices, it's the kind of restaurant that would be packed in Carroll Gardens, but was only a quarter full on a Friday night. A juice glass of a tart Italian white wine that wasn’t the Chardonnay or the Pinot Grigio was only $5 and bracing with oysters from Massachusetts and a kale salad, crunchy and oil-slicked with anchovies draped on top of the pile of greens. I wasn't expecting something so dense and stewy from the grilled cuttlefish with peas and polenta description–the peas played more of a prominent role than anticipated–though the damp, drizzly evening called for something savory and rib-sticking.

Rocky Sullivan's. After being traumatized by the sheer volume of under-26s at both places–Fulton Grand and Hot Bird–where we attempted to have a drink after Celestino (Hot Bird is a large space, and you literally couldn't get one foot in the door it was so packed) I sought solace in a no nonsense bar bar the next evening (this is not me being a grandma–in my 20s I didn't enjoy claustrophobic situations with 20-minute-waits for drinks either) and a Sixpoint Brownstone Ale and jalapeno poppers did the trick.

El Bohemio Jarocho. I have all but given up on house-hunting. After seeing a nicely designed, overpriced co op in Clinton Hill next to the projects that already had four all-cash bids (seriously who the fuck are all these Brooklynites will millions to spare? The crank in me says all of the 20-somethings now filling the neighborhood bars in ten more years) then a so-so whole house in Sunset Park, in hopes of less-trodden neighborhoods being less competitive, I just needed a taco…or two. I’ve never head a peep about El Bohemio Jarocho, but it happened to be on the block we parked on and had more customers than the empty alternative across the street. Sometimes you need some crispy tripe and pineapple-sweetened al pastor with Monkey Trouble playing on two TVs and no English interactions. The steak el huevo advertised on the chalkboard turned out to be a massive plate of everything (maybe a Mexican garbage plate?): steak and eggs, obviously, but also a slab of white cheese, grilled bulbous green onion, nopales, jalapeño, avocados, tomatoes, refried beans, chips, rice, and potatoes. Phew.

New World Mall. This is the fanciest of the subterranean Flushing food courts. I didn’t encounter crawfish in New Orleans (we were about a month pre-season) but they were selling the ma la-style for $9.99 at Sliced Noodles. I was tempted, but tried the beef soup with hand-pulled noodles since it was the original craving that drew me there (though I was thinking of Hong Kong-style, which this super-greens-filled Henanese version is not).

The dollar peking duck buns from across the street are a bargain, but pale in comparison to the not-much-more-expensive gua bao ($4.95 for two) from the Taiwanese stall. My favorite item of the afternoon: big fat soy-braised slabs of pork belly placed on fluffy buns and garnished with a pile of cilantro and pickled mustard greens, and given a crushed peanut finish. I saved one for breakfast the next day and wish this part of my daily first meal regimen instead of almonds and clementines.

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Posts tagged ‘Barely Blogged’

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

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Mexico, Spain, Brooklyn

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

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

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Free Coors & Condo-ized Brooklyn

Eaten, Barely Blogged: From House to Haus

Eaten, Barely Blogged: 24 Hours in Philadelphia

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Not In My Backyard

Eaten, Barely Blogged: How Do You Like Them Apples (and Andouille)?

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Cuttlefish, Tripe & Chinese Crawfish

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