Posts tagged ‘Barely Blogged’

Barely Blogged: Corned Beef-and-Cabbage-Free

Cadaques: A press dinner convinced me to return on my own dime and because of the spacious interior seemed like a safe bet for a last-minute Saturday night birthday dinner for a friend. We split a bottle of cava and ordered a slew of dishes: romanesco cauliflower with romesco sauce, squid ink fideos, four types of charcuterie, a beet and idiazabal salad, boquerones, and tortilla. (Thankfully, we were eventually granted a four-top or it wouldn’t all have fit. Despite a half-empty restaurant at 8pm, they were extremely protective of seats and I was told that all tables were reserved. Getting one took some convincing. I was not the only person who felt like something was amiss—I was bracing for an altercation between the manager and a large party who was being given the bum’s rush after ordering more food.) The standouts were the inky black broken noodles with camouflaged nuggets of squid, topped with a fat blob of aioli, the mangalica (same as mangalitsa) ham, a deeper-hued, meatier tasting slice than typical Serrano and a mild, nearly fluffy mound of morcilla sitting on a slice of bread.

Matchless: Last night I ate a handful of fries from a shared plate while listening to Iron Maiden and drinking Maker's Mark on the rocks followed by a shot of Jameson some time between 3-3:30am.I had leftover foil-wrapped Cadaques tortilla (and squid ink noodles) in my purse, but felt weird about whipping it out.

Mercantile Grill: One of the lesser Irish pubs in the Financial District. I only go about once every three-four months and the only reason to pay a visit is because you’ll always be guaranteed a seat even during peak lunch times—and yes, during St. Patrick’s Day mayhem. Two pints of Bass and an ok cheeseburger (I’d already eaten corned beef and cabbage at home the night previously) were enough for me. My biggest gripe with pub fare in general is the fries. Flabby, mealy steak fries are not french fries and they make me sad. I do prefer them over potato chips, though. I hate it when sandwiches come with chips. That’s the worst.

I will be eating at Marea tomorrow night (another birthday dinner, my treat) and can't decide if I will full-on blog it or barely blog it.

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Eaten Not Blogged: Dealing With It

Cucina di Pesce: Embarrassing, though it serves a niche that used to be occupied by 7A, Odessa and San Loco: places you wouldn’t normally eat at unless drunk in the East Village. It’s not often that I find myself drunk in the East Village anymore, so I was surprised as anyone to end up at a restaurant not any better than the Italian-American venues I whine about in my own neighborhood. It is cheaper, though. Nothing is really over $14, including my seafood manicotti in spinach shells that I kept thinking were nori. I wish I had known there was a Groupon deal coinciding with this visit, but this was not a planned meal.

Taste of Tokyo: The only place where I’m a regular. The waitresses all know that my order is sashimi with brown rice. Two visits ago I went wild changed to chirashi with brown rice and freaked everyone out. Salad, miso soup and raw fish for $14.95, more than I normally spend for lunch but ok once a week or so. It’s filling enough and doesn’t put me to sleep the rest of the afternoon. There’s no reason to go, though, unless you work in the vicinity of Hanover Square.

Klee: I’ll admit that I only went because I had a Village Vines discount (by the way, there’s one day left if you want free BlackboardEats codes) and am well on my way to becoming a fixed-income grandma. The dinner menu seems far more interesting than lunch, which is when I stopped by. Soups and sandwiches? Boring. At least they’ve stopped with the breast milk cheese (now we only have breast milk ice cream to contend with). The next time I do an out-of-the-work-neighborhood lunch it will be Ma Peche. 

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Eaten Not Blogged: So Beefy

Old habits die hard. Eaten Not Blogged, which should technically be Eaten Barely Blogged, is what I ate during the past week but did not photograph and don’t feel like elaborating over yet can’t ignore completely. No one should feel compelled to read this; I just like keeping tabs on things.

Benchmark: The steak—a funky, dry-aged New York strip with great fat marbling—is very good at this semi-hidden but not at all speakeasy in Park Slope (the décor, not clientele feel more Bay Ridge/New Jersey). Everything else was a just ok B-. Poached egg in the salad was more firm than runny, the cocktail with Applejack (I always will order the Applejack drink) was kind of fruit punchy (with bright red commercial maraschino cherries, which I am fine with since they are a dying breed in Brooklyn) and the home fries and brussels sprouts were all softness, when I wanted crispy contrast.

The Full Schilling: One of the many non-destination pubs (there aren’t any destination ones, by the way) near my office, I eat lunch here maybe once a month and always get the steak salad (no, I don’t normally eat steak twice in a week) with blue cheese and a red pepper dressing. Just club soda because I’m afraid of becoming a daytime drunk. Believe me, I’m tempted to step out for a drink daily.

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