The best part about moving into a new neighborhood is all of the exploration that comes with it. Where do I go to drop off my laundry? what drug stores are open past 10? and most importantly where can i get a good meal.
Gonzo answers the good meal question in so many ways: 1) that it is less then 20 paces from my doorstep 2) that there is an unassuming outdoor area where you can get an "everybody knows your name feeling" 3) the pizza's are not only good but they are economical-- on Mondays you can get two for the price of one.
Because Gonzo is very service-oriented, they allowed us to split two pizzas in half thereby creating four different pizza tasting options--a piz piz platter if you will.
We got the sopressato, the sausage, the mushroom and the shrimp. While the textures of all of them were good (the dough tasted a lot like parathea) the flavor was lacking in the shrimp iteration. That puppy need more spice. the other 3 pies though were delish. if i were to rank in order of my favorites i would go with: sausage, mushroom, soppressata and then shrimp. WE also got a praline cookie dessert which was good but not earth shattering. when i go back i have my eyes set on the dessert pizza which is smeared with nutella and whipped cream--all ingredients i find helpful to lose weight
I have to admit, I may begin trying to convince my friends to take this a regular dinner spot. This will be like small town. convenience, pizza and dessert pizzas oh my!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Macao Trading Company
My subconscious was clearly trying to tell me something when I unintentionally walked by the entrance of Macao Trading Company--twice. Macao refers to a Portuguese colony that once existed in China and therefore the menu reflects both Chinese and Portuguese influences. The militancy with which the theme is reinforced, however, is more akin to Communist China-- the words "Portuguese" and "Chinese" appear around 20 times.
The basic gist of the restaurant is that you can have dishes in equal parts Portuguese to Chinese. The first part of the menu offers a fraternal twins style of options-- dishes share a common "base" (shrimp, mushrooms, clams) but come in two different "flavors" (Portuguese & Chinese)-- while the second part of the menu contains dishes strictly cordoned off by their cultural affiliations--Portuguese or Chinese "Plates" respectively. The menu reminds me almost of Grand Sichuan where they separate American Style Chinese from Authentic Sichuan Style Chinese, except it is a hell of a lot more confusing. Not only does it jump willy nilly from Portuguese to Chinese back to Portuguese again but it also provides unhelpful descriptions, such as the classification for Shrimp Portuguese Style: "with green sauce." Indeed, when my friend turned to her menu to find out what type of cheese was in her cheese-stuffed Meatballs Portuguese Style, she was gifted with the answer: "lamb balls filled with cheese".
The menu is not the only element of the restaurant that suffers from confusion. Let's go back to that hidden front entrance. It is meant to evoke exclusivity but when I walked in I found the bar practically empty, granted it was 7pm on a rainy Monday night, it seemed a bit farcical. Also farcical was the following exchange I had with the hostess:
ME: Our party is here for our dinner reservation.
HOSTESS: Great I can get you seated. You are going to be eating downstairs in the Bar Room tonight.
ME: Actually, I'd prefer to eat up here.
HOSTESS: This is the dining room. When you make a reservation you need to specify that you would like eat in the Dining Room.
ME: I've never eaten here so I wasn't aware of that policy but isn't it implicit when someone makes a dinner reservation that they want to eat in the Dining Room?
HOSTESS: You needed to make a special request.
ME: What about those 3 open booths?
HOSTESS: Booths are reserved for parties of 6.
ME: The booth behind you has 4 people, 2 of whom are infants.
HOSTESS: Yes, they have small children so they received the larger booth.
At this point I gave up. When we got downstairs to the (empty) Bar Room we were assured it would fill up. We chose a table against the wall because we thought it would be better than the museum bench style seating at the entry way--it wasn't. In fact the only thing I could relate our seating arrangement to was Alice in Wonderland. It was as though I was a giant at a tea party. The incredibly high bench was coupled with a low vintage table that reminded me of a desk that Louisa May Alcott could have used--or maybe the repetition of "Little" in my mind led me to this conclusion. Also uncomfortable was the fact that I had to sit sideways due to the excess bars connecting the legs of the table. Woe to my friend who thought she could "squeeze" her legs in only to have them get stuck, whereupon a staff intervention occurred in order to release her.
It was all getting a little comical at this point, what with the Bar Room designation, throne-style seating and maze-like menu, but a small part of me still hoped that the food would come in strong, like that little Kerri Strug, and save the day. Alas, I'm no Bela Karolyi and I will not be able to hold up Macao's food as the key to victory because, on average, it was mediocre. Some things were delicious--Bacalao Fried Rice was soft and delightful, like eating clouds, and African Chicken (don't ask, I don't know how Africa was relevant) was moist and flavorful--but the croquettes were crispy but too soupy in the middle and the octopus was well seasoned but overcooked.
I'm sad about Macao because I wanted a new, hip fusion place--I'm not being sarcastic-- but with the number of missteps at this restaurant (I did not even get into the pornographic Asian art!), I don't think it is salvageable.
The basic gist of the restaurant is that you can have dishes in equal parts Portuguese to Chinese. The first part of the menu offers a fraternal twins style of options-- dishes share a common "base" (shrimp, mushrooms, clams) but come in two different "flavors" (Portuguese & Chinese)-- while the second part of the menu contains dishes strictly cordoned off by their cultural affiliations--Portuguese or Chinese "Plates" respectively. The menu reminds me almost of Grand Sichuan where they separate American Style Chinese from Authentic Sichuan Style Chinese, except it is a hell of a lot more confusing. Not only does it jump willy nilly from Portuguese to Chinese back to Portuguese again but it also provides unhelpful descriptions, such as the classification for Shrimp Portuguese Style: "with green sauce." Indeed, when my friend turned to her menu to find out what type of cheese was in her cheese-stuffed Meatballs Portuguese Style, she was gifted with the answer: "lamb balls filled with cheese".
The menu is not the only element of the restaurant that suffers from confusion. Let's go back to that hidden front entrance. It is meant to evoke exclusivity but when I walked in I found the bar practically empty, granted it was 7pm on a rainy Monday night, it seemed a bit farcical. Also farcical was the following exchange I had with the hostess:
ME: Our party is here for our dinner reservation.
HOSTESS: Great I can get you seated. You are going to be eating downstairs in the Bar Room tonight.
ME: Actually, I'd prefer to eat up here.
HOSTESS: This is the dining room. When you make a reservation you need to specify that you would like eat in the Dining Room.
ME: I've never eaten here so I wasn't aware of that policy but isn't it implicit when someone makes a dinner reservation that they want to eat in the Dining Room?
HOSTESS: You needed to make a special request.
ME: What about those 3 open booths?
HOSTESS: Booths are reserved for parties of 6.
ME: The booth behind you has 4 people, 2 of whom are infants.
HOSTESS: Yes, they have small children so they received the larger booth.
At this point I gave up. When we got downstairs to the (empty) Bar Room we were assured it would fill up. We chose a table against the wall because we thought it would be better than the museum bench style seating at the entry way--it wasn't. In fact the only thing I could relate our seating arrangement to was Alice in Wonderland. It was as though I was a giant at a tea party. The incredibly high bench was coupled with a low vintage table that reminded me of a desk that Louisa May Alcott could have used--or maybe the repetition of "Little" in my mind led me to this conclusion. Also uncomfortable was the fact that I had to sit sideways due to the excess bars connecting the legs of the table. Woe to my friend who thought she could "squeeze" her legs in only to have them get stuck, whereupon a staff intervention occurred in order to release her.
It was all getting a little comical at this point, what with the Bar Room designation, throne-style seating and maze-like menu, but a small part of me still hoped that the food would come in strong, like that little Kerri Strug, and save the day. Alas, I'm no Bela Karolyi and I will not be able to hold up Macao's food as the key to victory because, on average, it was mediocre. Some things were delicious--Bacalao Fried Rice was soft and delightful, like eating clouds, and African Chicken (don't ask, I don't know how Africa was relevant) was moist and flavorful--but the croquettes were crispy but too soupy in the middle and the octopus was well seasoned but overcooked.
I'm sad about Macao because I wanted a new, hip fusion place--I'm not being sarcastic-- but with the number of missteps at this restaurant (I did not even get into the pornographic Asian art!), I don't think it is salvageable.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Charles
Charles is a name I have always liked. I even feel a kinship towards it (had I been born a boy you would now be reading the blog of Charles Logan Billingsley), maybe that's why I feel so offended that this restaurant is so unoriginal. I realize that truly unique restaurants are few and far between but Charles manages to rip off so many recently opened "cool" restaurants that it ends up having no personality of its own.
The copycat theme starts with the lighting (Bobo) is emphasized by the back bar (Smith's) and is driven home by the prices (Waverly Inn).
The menu is interesting enough, there were quite a few items I wanted to order: Grilled Herb Stuffed Whole Branzino, Grilled Lamb Rack with caponata & pomegranate, Pan Roasted Cod Fillet with poached san marzano tomatoes & cerignola olives, were among the few but I was disappointed to see the Charles Burger, yet another reminder of the great New American menu rip off.
We ended up deciding on two appetizers (Grilled Octopus; Endive Salad with blue cheese) and two entrees (Salmon with Citrus Salsa and a special Stuffed Red Snapper). The food was good--octopus was flavorful and served in full tentacle form, salad was fine, snapper tasted moist and must have been cooked sous vide and the salmon was meaty with a nice char on the outside--but for the price ( mid teens for apps and $30+ per main course) it was not special enough.
The copycat theme starts with the lighting (Bobo) is emphasized by the back bar (Smith's) and is driven home by the prices (Waverly Inn).
The menu is interesting enough, there were quite a few items I wanted to order: Grilled Herb Stuffed Whole Branzino, Grilled Lamb Rack with caponata & pomegranate, Pan Roasted Cod Fillet with poached san marzano tomatoes & cerignola olives, were among the few but I was disappointed to see the Charles Burger, yet another reminder of the great New American menu rip off.
We ended up deciding on two appetizers (Grilled Octopus; Endive Salad with blue cheese) and two entrees (Salmon with Citrus Salsa and a special Stuffed Red Snapper). The food was good--octopus was flavorful and served in full tentacle form, salad was fine, snapper tasted moist and must have been cooked sous vide and the salmon was meaty with a nice char on the outside--but for the price ( mid teens for apps and $30+ per main course) it was not special enough.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Long Waits, Delicious Plates
I went to the new Inoteca in Gramercy--word to the wise: bring your patience as well as your appetite. My friend and I arrived on time for a 9pm Tuesday reservation and were not seated until 9:45. I could have spent my time complaining to the hostess but there was also a wait for that. Instead I passed the time alternatively talking to my friend and protecting my body from stray elbows and misplaced feet of waiters and diners alike. Indeed, the restaurant was in such chaos that at one point, I looked into the dining room only to see the manager lunging toward an office chair (the ugly swiveling/adjustable type) that a waiter had hastily fetched in order to seat a party of four at a table meant for three.
All of that said, the food was delicious. The octopus was tender and served in their tentacle entirety, the arugula salad with bresaola tasted fresh and had a lemon flavor to it that was not overpowering, and the meatballs were a nice hearty size and consistency. The menu itself was filled with appealing items--paninis, pastas, cured meats, cheeses--and I will most likely go back once the hype has settled down. For now, however, I will stick to the original LES location where I can wait without fear of bodily harm and traveling furniture.
All of that said, the food was delicious. The octopus was tender and served in their tentacle entirety, the arugula salad with bresaola tasted fresh and had a lemon flavor to it that was not overpowering, and the meatballs were a nice hearty size and consistency. The menu itself was filled with appealing items--paninis, pastas, cured meats, cheeses--and I will most likely go back once the hype has settled down. For now, however, I will stick to the original LES location where I can wait without fear of bodily harm and traveling furniture.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Hello Hoagies: Food in the City of Brotherly Love
The last close encounter I had with Philadelphia was when a 400 lb Eagles fan stepped on my foot at this years NFC East playoff game. At the time, his toe-crushing weight was not something I was pleased about, but after sinking my teeth into a Philadelphia hoagie at Primo's, it is something I can understand. But I get ahead of myself.
I arrived on Friday for the beginning of my book club reunion weekend in Philadelphia and the first four arrivals of our group went to Audrey Claire for dinner. It was the perfect place for the four of us to sit down, knock back some of our BYO wine and enjoy some tasty small plates. The very attractive waiter was not a drawback either.
Our final selections included: Bosc pear and gorgonzola grilled flat breads with toasted sunflower seeds, seared haloumi with candied dates and sesame-fig compote, grilled octopus with feta over market greens and a special salad with delicious chunks of grilled pumpkin. The special salad was A+ and I really liked the flat bread--I liked the ingredients mixed with the taste of the bread which was like a thick pocketless pita--but not everyone was in accordance with my opinion on the flat bread. Everyone was in accordance, however, that the octopus tasted like charcoal. But all was not lost because my haloumi-ordering friend was very pleased with her dish.
The next day my friend made brunch at her house and about an hour after my last pancake, I began wondering what we would eat to coat our stomachs to prepare for the "evening" drinking festivities that were scheduled to begin at 4pm. The answer came in the form of two heavenly halves of baguette stuffed with hot sopressato, sharp provolone, capacola and blend of hot spices. The sandwich was an Italian Diablo and the place of purchase was Primo Hoagies on Chestnut Street. There were eight of us who ordered hoagies and each unique hoagie was a masterpiece. At the time, I declared I would marry the owner for free hoagies, but now that I have returned to New York, and have no access to a hoagie, I would be willing to pay him to marry me, as long as he would send me a hoagie once or twice a week.
Post hoagie, and many hours of drinking, came a whopping Sunday hangover but, luckily Papa John came to the rescue with his remarkable cheese bread. The oozing cheese did not give me back the five hours of sleep I was missing, but it did revive me enough to get me to the train and safely home where I could give thanks for friends, food and Philly (sans Eagles of course).
I arrived on Friday for the beginning of my book club reunion weekend in Philadelphia and the first four arrivals of our group went to Audrey Claire for dinner. It was the perfect place for the four of us to sit down, knock back some of our BYO wine and enjoy some tasty small plates. The very attractive waiter was not a drawback either.
Our final selections included: Bosc pear and gorgonzola grilled flat breads with toasted sunflower seeds, seared haloumi with candied dates and sesame-fig compote, grilled octopus with feta over market greens and a special salad with delicious chunks of grilled pumpkin. The special salad was A+ and I really liked the flat bread--I liked the ingredients mixed with the taste of the bread which was like a thick pocketless pita--but not everyone was in accordance with my opinion on the flat bread. Everyone was in accordance, however, that the octopus tasted like charcoal. But all was not lost because my haloumi-ordering friend was very pleased with her dish.
The next day my friend made brunch at her house and about an hour after my last pancake, I began wondering what we would eat to coat our stomachs to prepare for the "evening" drinking festivities that were scheduled to begin at 4pm. The answer came in the form of two heavenly halves of baguette stuffed with hot sopressato, sharp provolone, capacola and blend of hot spices. The sandwich was an Italian Diablo and the place of purchase was Primo Hoagies on Chestnut Street. There were eight of us who ordered hoagies and each unique hoagie was a masterpiece. At the time, I declared I would marry the owner for free hoagies, but now that I have returned to New York, and have no access to a hoagie, I would be willing to pay him to marry me, as long as he would send me a hoagie once or twice a week.
Post hoagie, and many hours of drinking, came a whopping Sunday hangover but, luckily Papa John came to the rescue with his remarkable cheese bread. The oozing cheese did not give me back the five hours of sleep I was missing, but it did revive me enough to get me to the train and safely home where I could give thanks for friends, food and Philly (sans Eagles of course).
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Not Quite Right
Today was a half-baked day. Literally and figuratively. My usually reliable 11am vending machine-purchased M&Ms were all broken in half and my shrimp udon lunch was only half cooked; Indeed, the extreme crunchiness of the mushrooms and broccalli would have been grounds for a Jackie Chiles lawsuit.
After lunch I went to a nearby church and got ashes but soon those were half-baked due to my tendency to rub my forehead obsessively when i am stressed.
When I returned home this evening, I strolled past a neighborhood transvestite shopping spot called Rodean only to realize that my half-baked day had spread to retail. In the windows were the normal, big, glittering, shoulder-padded ensembles that had been laying around for years, but off in the corner window space there was a leather bag holding a stuffed pooch. Clearly the idea was to put a more modern spin on the store--nothing says modern like people spoiling their dogs-- but instead of inspiring transvestites to reach Paris Hilton poochie-satchel fame they were pushing the transvestites more to a: you-just-got-kicked out-of-your- house- with- your- growing-dogs-so-you-are-clearly-stuffing-them-in-your-large-satchel look. The stuffed dogs were newfoundlands for God's sake--who would ever put a newfoundland in a purse? Half-baked planning I tell you.
Let' hope things get back to normal tomorrow. I want full, unbroken m&ms and no scrimping on transvestite window dressing.
After lunch I went to a nearby church and got ashes but soon those were half-baked due to my tendency to rub my forehead obsessively when i am stressed.
When I returned home this evening, I strolled past a neighborhood transvestite shopping spot called Rodean only to realize that my half-baked day had spread to retail. In the windows were the normal, big, glittering, shoulder-padded ensembles that had been laying around for years, but off in the corner window space there was a leather bag holding a stuffed pooch. Clearly the idea was to put a more modern spin on the store--nothing says modern like people spoiling their dogs-- but instead of inspiring transvestites to reach Paris Hilton poochie-satchel fame they were pushing the transvestites more to a: you-just-got-kicked out-of-your- house- with- your- growing-dogs-so-you-are-clearly-stuffing-them-in-your-large-satchel look. The stuffed dogs were newfoundlands for God's sake--who would ever put a newfoundland in a purse? Half-baked planning I tell you.
Let' hope things get back to normal tomorrow. I want full, unbroken m&ms and no scrimping on transvestite window dressing.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Blue Ribbon Bakery
Last week I went to brunch at what I view as Serendipity for adults--Blue Ribbon Bakery. When I was little, I waited patiently on Serendipity's line excited for the marble tables, long sundae spoons and kitschy decor, anticipation for a foot long hot dog and ice cream sundae making me unable to keep still. This past Saturday, I found myself filled with a similar anticipation for what I now value in a restaurant experience--especially amidst a weekend hangover--a spacious booth, some natural light and a host of delicious options made with fresh bread!
I got the Blue Benedict composed of poached eggs, tomato, serrano ham and melted jarlsberg cheese atop a hunk of toasted challah. With so many ingredients, there was a possibility that after the initial breaking of the egg and fork and knife treatment, the ingredients would be a sloppy mush but like a well made boat, the thick, sturdy challah bread protected its load keeping everything neat, tidy and satisfying with every bite.
My friend, who makes quite a mean french toast, and is not shy about nominating his creations as "the best french toast ever", decided he would test the Blue Ribbon Bakery french toast. With a smirk he mocked the addition of fresh fruit that comes along with the french toast and wondered aloud at the quality of the syrup that was to come. I insisted to him that soon the holy challah of Blue Ribbon would wipe that smug grin off his face but he just laughed.
But guess who had the last laugh? Blue Ribbon Bakery (and me). Whoever prepared that french toast had clearly soaked it in just the right egg/milk ratio, for the perfect amount of time and chosen bread in the correct stage of maturation--observations that were uttered by the king of french toast sitting directly across from me. It was pure delight for me to watch him eat each bite slowly, trying to crack the code of the magical preparation, and most delightful when concede that I was, in fact, "right."
Wash my Blue Benedict and my stumping of mr. french toast down with a bloody mary and I felt like an (old) kid in a (Serendipity's) candy shop!
I got the Blue Benedict composed of poached eggs, tomato, serrano ham and melted jarlsberg cheese atop a hunk of toasted challah. With so many ingredients, there was a possibility that after the initial breaking of the egg and fork and knife treatment, the ingredients would be a sloppy mush but like a well made boat, the thick, sturdy challah bread protected its load keeping everything neat, tidy and satisfying with every bite.
My friend, who makes quite a mean french toast, and is not shy about nominating his creations as "the best french toast ever", decided he would test the Blue Ribbon Bakery french toast. With a smirk he mocked the addition of fresh fruit that comes along with the french toast and wondered aloud at the quality of the syrup that was to come. I insisted to him that soon the holy challah of Blue Ribbon would wipe that smug grin off his face but he just laughed.
But guess who had the last laugh? Blue Ribbon Bakery (and me). Whoever prepared that french toast had clearly soaked it in just the right egg/milk ratio, for the perfect amount of time and chosen bread in the correct stage of maturation--observations that were uttered by the king of french toast sitting directly across from me. It was pure delight for me to watch him eat each bite slowly, trying to crack the code of the magical preparation, and most delightful when concede that I was, in fact, "right."
Wash my Blue Benedict and my stumping of mr. french toast down with a bloody mary and I felt like an (old) kid in a (Serendipity's) candy shop!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I don't know who started this "everything but the kitchen sink" soup fad, but I LOVE YOU!
About a month ago I went to my local lunch special spot (soup, salad, bagel chips and a soda for $7) expecting to pick up a chicken noodle, split pea or maybe even mulligatawny but lo, what did I see on the soup specials list? Eggplant parmesan!
Now I don't normally order eggplant/chicken parmesan at a restaurant--the melted cheese on breaded meat/vegetable seems like something I could make at home (eventhough I don't)--but in the soup form I was intrigued. I bought it and hurried back to my office, eager to try my "meal soup".
The soup consisted of a chunky tomato sauce base dotted with plump san marzano tomatoes and little nuggets of eggplant, bread crumb and parmesan cheese goodness. I knew I was setting a dangerous lunch time precedent with this rich, indulgent soup, but I was so happy that I didn't care. I felt like I could have eaten it forever, a fact that my adjacent cube mate was surely made aware of by the desperate spoon scraping sounds coming from my desk well after I had finished.
Today I revisited my parmesan heaven this time with the chicken parmesan soup--just as delicious as the eggplant version--and couldn't help but be greatful that there is such a wide world of soup that I have yet to explore!
About a month ago I went to my local lunch special spot (soup, salad, bagel chips and a soda for $7) expecting to pick up a chicken noodle, split pea or maybe even mulligatawny but lo, what did I see on the soup specials list? Eggplant parmesan!
Now I don't normally order eggplant/chicken parmesan at a restaurant--the melted cheese on breaded meat/vegetable seems like something I could make at home (eventhough I don't)--but in the soup form I was intrigued. I bought it and hurried back to my office, eager to try my "meal soup".
The soup consisted of a chunky tomato sauce base dotted with plump san marzano tomatoes and little nuggets of eggplant, bread crumb and parmesan cheese goodness. I knew I was setting a dangerous lunch time precedent with this rich, indulgent soup, but I was so happy that I didn't care. I felt like I could have eaten it forever, a fact that my adjacent cube mate was surely made aware of by the desperate spoon scraping sounds coming from my desk well after I had finished.
Today I revisited my parmesan heaven this time with the chicken parmesan soup--just as delicious as the eggplant version--and couldn't help but be greatful that there is such a wide world of soup that I have yet to explore!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Lori Laughlin
As I sit here watching Lori Laughlin, I realize that I have not learned a lot in 20 years. Uncle Becky (Rebecca Donaldson-Katsapolis) was one thing but now I'm 28 and supporting this Debbie Wilson character (mother of Annie and Dixon, wife to Principal Dixon) is unacceptable (eventhough she did discover that her newly arrived stepson was only posing as an illegitimate child)!
I have made a pact with myself that if I can make time for 90210 (the new cast) I can make time for this blog.
I went to 10 Downing last night. The 10 Downing salad was tasty, the duck was pink and succulent (avoid the ravioli that comes with it, it's dry) and my mother enjoyed the sea bass. Sides of fennel and brussel sprouts were 'eh' but the ambiance was cozy and the service good. The only thing I might advise is little noise control and maybe a head shot of Lori Laughlin on the wall.
I have made a pact with myself that if I can make time for 90210 (the new cast) I can make time for this blog.
I went to 10 Downing last night. The 10 Downing salad was tasty, the duck was pink and succulent (avoid the ravioli that comes with it, it's dry) and my mother enjoyed the sea bass. Sides of fennel and brussel sprouts were 'eh' but the ambiance was cozy and the service good. The only thing I might advise is little noise control and maybe a head shot of Lori Laughlin on the wall.
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