Posts tagged ‘Bar/Wine/Pub’

Feb 22

Billy Goat Tavern

1/2 You know you’ve entered strange territory when a double cheeseburger starts sounding like light fare. My original itinerary placed us at touristy Gino’s for a deep-dish pizza lunch but our flight was delayed slightly and I became concerned about such a heavy item ruining our 8pm Moto meal. There’s something about Chicago that allowed me to feel uncharacteristically shameless about cheesy venues. Since I was on the tourist track and scouting walkable options, Billy Goat Tavern (made famous from the ‘70s Saturday Night Live cheezborger, cheezborger sketch.) seemed as good a choice as any.

Billy_goat_counter We liked how one second you’re on shopping central, Magnificent Mile, then after descending a staircase you’re in a spooky subterranean enclave like Batman’s Gotham City. After opening the front door festooned with a goat painting (the first of two I’d find in 24 hours), you travel down another level of stairs into a barebones, wood paneled, resolutely lowbrow joint, the kind of place people might think still exists in NYC but sorely doesn’t. The bar that occupies a good portion of the right half of the room is as prominent as the center grill.

I hate crowds, but I also get nervous when a place is empty. We were practically the only occupants at 4pm on a Wednesday but that was soon rectified. By the time we were ready to leave they were doing brisk business with baffled vegetarian tourists (they got the grilled cheese) and batches of Chicago Tribune employees from across the street, some nursing whiskeys and chain smoking, others conducing business meetings.

You order from the brief wall menu at the counter and a bartender comes around to take your drink order. The animated qualities of the counter guys (yes, they’ll do the SNL shtick) were balanced by the flat surliness of the Scatman Crothers-looking bar keep (though after we lingered over six Billy Goat lagers and tipping probably a little generously by local standards he warmed up and began encouraging us to stay and drink more).

The simple double cheeseburger on a roll is the way to go. It comes on a paper plate and you can dress it up with typical condiments like mustard, ketchup, pickles, onions and relish. This meat sandwich tempered with three beers was my healthy lunch. At least I was saved from caloric fries because they don’t serve them. The only available side is a bag of potato chips, plain or bbq, and I’ve never been a chip eater. I still say it was less filling than Chicago-style pizza.

Billy Goat Tavern * 430 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, IL

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Feb 2

Pasita

I’ve never liked the sound of wine bars, even though I enjoy wine accompanied by snacks. There’s something about the concept that makes me think modern fern bar. I wonder why has no one revived that style (I suppose some TGI Friday’s are still rocking it) We skipped right over the ‘70s, are still hesitant about the ‘90s and can’t seem to progress beyond the decade in the middle.

Anyway, I wouldn’t necessarily call Pasita a wine bar though they do refer to themselves as such. They have a concise list of Spanish, Portuguese and South American wines but the food is equally interesting. It’s hard to ignore the wood-fired pizza oven in the room and almost everyone was partaking in the 12” pies.

I couldn’t help but notice that the three women sitting next to us were sharing one. Bah, my friend Sherri and I each got our own and finished them no problem. One champiñon: roasted mushroom, artichoke hearts, caramelized onions, ricotta salata and mozzarella, and one queso y queso: mozzarella, queso de nata (a creamy Cantabrian cheese), parmesan, goat cheese and rosemary. We also split a salad with mango slices and roasted grapefruit, which was mildly girlie. I know that if I had been out with James we would’ve ended up with something fried and starchy in addition to the pizzas. It’s best that I dine with others now and then.

With a bottle of Zolo Malbec from Mendoza, we had plenty so I didn’t delve into the Venezuelan tapas. And because I have a suspicious nature I wondered if pasapalos were really just an invention to cash in on diners’ seemingly endless desire for small plates, but they do seem to be a real thing, though possibly less sophisticated than those on offer at Pasita.

We finished with glasses of a sweet dessert merlot and shared some Il Laboratorio gelato. I thought we were going to get a single scoop of honey lavender, but we were brought all three options, including icy orbs of chocolate and cinnamon too. Viva excess.

Pasita * 47 Eighth Ave., New York, NY

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Dec 28

Snacky

1/2 I hadn’t planned on going out the eve before Christmas Eve but somehow ended up meeting a couple of friends in Williamsburg (like it or not, whenever I’m home alone during holidays I seem to end up in Williamsburg) for drinks. I was hoping that no one brought gifts because I’ve been bad since the early ‘00s and have bowed out of exchanges. But I was bestowed with a handmade stocking filled with a bottle of Poochi-Poochi, anyway. Appropriate for a sake bar. I ultimately ended up breezing through two medium servings of a sake whose poetic name I can’t even recall.

It’s kind of hard to not order at least one plate when a place is called Snacky. The menu is larger and wider ranging than what you’ll find from searching online. It might be over-ambitious for the tiny kitchen but we didn’t experience any mishaps. There was no way I could pass up the cheese wontons, a.k.a. crab rangoon, a particular obsession of mine. I will try this silly east-west masterpiece on any menu where I find it. I also tried the takoyaki, because why not? I kind of liked the mushy texture with octopussy bits hidden inside, but the raw ginger strips were a little too zingy for me. The mini Popsie burgers looked appealing and I’m intrigued rather than scared by the pizza with Chinese sausage. Dairy can definitely work with Asian food. Just think of those mayora going nuts…ok, mayonnaise isn't dairy, is it?

Deann got two orders of two different types of dumpling, which I thought was odd considering the numerous choices on the menu, but whatever. Everyone’s entitled their own eating ideas and I try not to impose my food beliefs on others (though I did have to pipe up with a resounding “no way” when she espoused the charms of nearby My Moon).

I noticed a friend of a friend at the bar and being full of the holiday spirit (as well as spirits of another nature) I said hi because he’s a food/music person with taste I generally agree with. I swear I’m not persnickety but I don’t always see eye to eye with others. Plus, I called him a foodie or some such horror earlier this year in a post about Belle and Sebastian of all things, and I can’t be known as a meanie even though I am 70% the time. I’m just wary of food-obsessed folks because they’re usually annoying and/or humorless. I’m not naming names but it’s fair to say I find few food blogs entertaining (this isn’t a food blog, so there).

I don’t know why I’ve never been to Snacky before. Ok, I know why, because I rarely eat in Williamsburg (I just looked it up and my last meal in the nabe, yeah nabe, was at bizarro Lazy Catfish way back in April. They did have crab rangoon, I must add) but it’s as cute and breezy as its name implies.

Snacky * 187 Grand St., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 8

Waterfront Ale House

1/2 I wasn’t going to mention this restaurant from last week because I didn’t have anything remarkable to say, but then I realized that it’s rare that I do so why not. There’s something about the end of the week that makes me uninspired and lazy (which would be today). Rather than vague adventure, I often don’t feel like leaving the neighborhood once I get home and am fine with things like burgers and fries. Waterfront Ale House fits that description, I’d never been, plus they supposedly make great eggnog. Yes, I love eggnog (and fruitcake, as well). And in case you were wondering, it's not on the water, though it's vaguely near the East River.

It’s a packed place, part pub with small tables filling half of the space. There was a wait for seating. By pure happenstance, we got one of the two roomy booths. That never works in my favor so it warmed me a bit. Our timing must’ve been just right because minutes after we were seated and throughout the rest of our meal there was an enormous crowd waiting for seats with antsy folks practically hanging over you or at least salivating over your spot. I didn’t take any photos because it’s like freaking’ Schiller’s or Freeman’s or whatever inexplicably cramped Lower East Side nonsense in there. I just wanted to make sure we were out by 11pm when live jazz was scheduled. Live jazz is rarely a good thing.

My jack cheese burger was so-so, nothing remarkable. The fries were fine. I was more impressed with the large amount of sauces perched on the ledge of our booth. There wasn’t just HP sauce but HP fruity sauce and squeeze curry sauce for chicken (which also worked well with fries), three mustards, a house hot sauce and something strange, peppery and sherry-based from Jamaica but not this brand.

So, if you want to play with sauces and drink a variety of beer, this is your place. If you want to relax and savor a burger or nurse an eggnog, coming back on a weeknight is probably wiser.

Waterfront Ale House * 155 Atlantic Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Oct 24

Sheep Station

I’m all for new restaurants brightening up bleak strips of Brooklyn. I fruitlessly waited for something cheerier than White Castle, KFC or Twin Lin’s Chinese take out to bless Fourth Avenue in the no-man’s-land 30s where I lived for three years. Not even mild gentrification brushed that anonymous swath of Sunset Park that’s increasingly referred to as Greenwood Heights.

Upper Fourth Avenue appears to be having more luck. Sheep Station is the latest in what appears to be an Australian-ish boomlet (Wombat has possibly opened in East Williamsburg, and Carroll Gardens West’s DUB Pies, East Village’s Tuck Shop and Lower East Side’s Bondi Road aren’t all that old). I use ish in this case because the food isn’t overwhelmingly Australian (I was tempted to earnestly ask for a Bloomin’ Onion and Kookabura Wings). The fish of the day was barramundi, a meat pie was on offer and the burger comes topped with beets, pineapple, and a fried egg (which I’m assuming is de rigueur down under and not simply bizarre without reason) but generally the cuisine feels pubby.

By 10pm, when we arrived, there was a decent crowd, mostly drinking not eating. We opted to sit in the eerily cavernous back room (I know, I complain about being cramped and then I freak when given too much space). Facing edges of the rustic fireplace-warmed brick and concrete space contain tables, and a birthday party brigade occupied the comfy looking corner nook. The empty middle of the room seemed like it needed something, either more tables or clumps of milling drinkers. By 11pm we had a private dining room.

I went generic and ordered mussels and fries, while James had the fish and chips. Both entrees were solid renditions and fairly priced around $12, as I recall. The menu isn’t huge, which furthers the impression that Sheep Station is more of a bar that serves food (it’s hasn’t been referred to as a gastropub for nothing) rather than a full blown dining destination. But it’s a worthy stop if you live in the vicinity (or have been suckered into staying at the lovely new Gowanus Holiday Inn).

The only weirdness occurred when we ordered off-tasting pints of Blue Point Toasted Lager. Despite hailing from the world’s microbrew capital, I’m no hops-crazed know-it-all. But I knew enough to detect that something was amiss with the flavor in my glass. I can’t put it into words but it was plastic-like, possibly chemical, definitely not natural. Maybe it was just soap. I loathe raising issues with food or drink (thank god I’m no longer vaguely in P.R. where making a fuss and sending things back seemed like standard practice during company lunches) but we had to say something or else we’d wonder about it all night. We were gladly given different beverages, Coopers Pale Ale in bottles, but I know we were then pegged as diners who couldn’t handle strong flavors, as it was explained to us that it was a fresh keg and the beer was “extra toasty.” I know what toasted might taste like and that wasn’t it. Now, I feel compelled to track down a six-pack of Blue Point Toasted Lager to prove that I’m not needlessly high maintenance.

Sheep Station * 149 Fourth Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Aug 21

La Vinya del Senyor

I'd read in The New Spanish Table and in a Food & Wine round-up (by the same author, so it was sort of like only one very enthusiastic recommendation) about a coca (Catalan pizza, as opposed to Italian pizza, which we ended up eating this same night) with candied red peppers and I loved the idea of it. I wouldn't have necessarily sought it out but the wine bar happened to be just down the street from our hotel.

Totally discombobulated, we stopped by on our first evening in Barcelona. I couldn't figure out the seating etiquette (I'm spastic about following the rules and doing things the right way to the point of annoyance). All of the prime tables out front were taken, as were the stools at the bar. No one was standing like in some tapas places so I couldn't decide how to position ourselves as to not be in the way, but still have a place to put food and drink if we ordered.

Eventually, I mellowed out and ordered two glasses of cava and the coca, which they were out of. Somehow I wasn't surprised, not to be a naysayer, but this typically happens when I have a strict idea in my head about what I want. Instead, we tried bacalao, which came cubed, splashed with olive oil and topped with crunchy sea salt and thin tomato shreds (this was the only actual tomato we ate in Spain. Barcelona is all about the pa amb tomaquet–I love Flickr pools obsessively devoted to single food items–tomato rubbed on bread. I couldn't figure out why the essence seemed more coveted than the flesh) and what I swear was called an anchovy empanada, but turned out to be breaded filets. (I just discovered this afternoon while looking at a Salvadoran menu from Queens that empanizado means breaded, so the words are related). I was just happy to be eating some fish and fresh vegetables after my brief meat and boiled carrots and cabbage stint in the U.K.

On our last night in Barcelona, a mere four days later, we thought we'd do a quick try for the coca again. It was that weird time of night where it's too early to eat dinner in Spain but well past lunch. A lot of restaurants hadn't opened yet, but La Vinya del Senyor seemed to be doing business so we popped in, got a couple cavas and asked for the coca…and were thwarted again. They don't start serving food until 8pm, only cured meats or a cheese plate were available. No wonder everyone had the cheese plate. We got it too. Cheese is great, but I started feeling like god didn't want me having that sugary red pepper coca.

La Vinya del Senyor * Plaça Santa Maria 5, Barcelona, Spain

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Dec 19

Pegu Club

I really wanted to like this place. And at 6pm on a Monday, I thought we'd be safe. Safe from the crowds, yes. Safe from the showboating-to-neglect bartenders, no.

The space is lovely, the cocktails superb. But I only managed to enjoy one drink in the hour and a half I graced Pegu's presence. The Jamaican firefly, a gingery, dark rum riff on a dark and stormy, held me nicely for a spell. I thought I might like to try something made with applejack next. James wanted to order coconut shrimp even though we had 8pm reservations at Public. I wasn't opposed to sampling some haute bar snacks. But it was not to be since we couldn't get the attention of either bartender the rest of the evening (it makes one wonder if they'd be noticed if they chose to drink and dash). While sitting at the bar initially seemed optimal, perhaps the cozier tables with waitress service would've worked out better.

I understand this isn't a margarita machine, slap dash operation, they're crafting thought out cocktails with flourish and show. That's appreciated. But I took issue with the attention lavished on particular patrons, namely the couple seated next to us who perpetually engaged the one-step-up from Royal Oak, Williamsburger mixologist with their thrilling tale of a documentary in progress about new-school bartenders. Fine, impress friends, filmmakers, out-do each other with obscure liqueur awareness (peons like myself know what creme d'yvette is, too) but spread the wealth (of knowledge). Despite the club in Pegu's name, I thought this was a public space and not a private venue. I would like to return and likely will at some point, though I'm the type who has a hard time forgiving tainted first impressions.

Pegu Club * 77 W. Houston St., New York, NY

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Oct 1

Bar Minnow

This corner casual place is less an offshoot of its neighbor The Minnow, and more of a bar (hence the name). Their menu was less seafood-centric than I'd expected. While waiting for A History of Violence to start, I suggested Bar Minnow, and then promised James they'd have clam strips. Oops. I did get a decent oyster po boy, though. He ended up with an odd cheesesteak rendition that came au jus. Both sandwiches arrived with little metal buckets of fries, mine was also accompanied by an unexpected mini corn cob. It's bar food, and a good rendition, which what I'd wanted anyway (it had been a toss up between Bar Minnow and Bonnies). I'd heard horror stories about poor service, but didnt find this to be the case at all.

Bar Minnow * 444 Ninth St., Brooklyn, NY

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Aug 25

The Barn

I didnt intentionally want my first Hong Kong meal to be at a weirdo dive bar. I hadnt anticipated a woody structure at the end of an alley, festooned with Christmas lights, but after the twenty hours or so traveling and getting traumatized trying to hoof our luggage from the mere five blocks at Causeway Bay station to our hotel (all those staircases and flyovers, which are metric or Chinese or something crazy–the stairs arent spaced natural to American strides. I kept tripping, which probably had nothing to do with jetlag) we didnt have the energy to attempt a Chinese-only restaurant, which was all we were finding open after 11pm on a weeknight (the next night we discovered we were just going in a bad direction—plenty are open if you shoot off the other way).

So, we were the only Westerners in this low key pub filled with college aged (who knows they couldve been in their forties—yes, I'm stereotyping, but Asians age so damn well. Hmm, actually at the HK airport on the way back to NYC a tourism department girl caught and convinced me to answer a survey. When asking my age range she kept pointing at the two categories in the twenties. I was like “no, I'm in the 30-34 group,” which seemed to surprise her into responding “but you look so young of face,” which made me feel blissfully youthful for about thirty seconds) kids listening to Cantonese hip hop and pop, stuff that sounded just like Christina Aguilera but not in English.

We conservatively ordered Heineken rather than trying one of the many Red Bull concoctions being advertised. I noticed that at the few bars we visited they have drink prices displayed on menus and on the wall in at regular rate and happy hour rate. So spelled out and regulated, same with the sizes of the liquor shots. But we were starving, that was the main reason wed popped out of the comfy confines of our tiny hotel room.

The menu was full of bizarre bar food items like chicken wings with Switzerland sauce. I bravely tried salt and pepper squid, expecting little calamari styled crunchies like youd get here, but this was like a giant octopus cut up with lots of arms and tentacles. Luckily, seafood that looks like seafood doesnt scare me. The club sandwich we also ordered was probably more frightening. The layers consisted of ham, a white processed cheese, lettuce, tomato, fried egg and cucumbers, the latter two giving me the most pause. It wouldnt give Dennys Super Bird a run for its money, but at that moment it was the tastiest (and only) thing wed eaten in Hong Kong.

The Barn * 44-48 Leighton Rd., Hong Kong

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Nov 29

Noble Rot

Small plates, small plates. I guess this is the rage in Portland. Wine and
small plates. The endive, beet and blue cheese salad and squash and goat
cheese panini Todd and I shared just seemed like food. The Beaujolais
Nouveau we were advised against (everyone's so down on the damn stuff we
felt it was our duty to not only try it, but like it) seemed like wine. The
place was very amenable, though odd, being just a block from the seedy bar I
used to frequent with alarming regularity when I lived in the neighborhood.
The times are a changing. It's the kind of place know-nothing, out of touch
youth might refer to as "yuppie," as if Portland is so gritty, bohemian and
downscale otherwise. Please, this isn't the '80s.

"http://www.noblerotpdx.com/"> * 2724 SE
Ankeny, Portland, OR

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Posts tagged ‘Bar/Wine/Pub’

Billy Goat Tavern

Pasita

Snacky

Waterfront Ale House

Sheep Station

La Vinya del Senyor

Pegu Club

Bar Minnow

The Barn

Noble Rot

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