A few weeks ago, I decided to revisit my youth by indulging in a Sunday Funday along the East Village.  Brunch began, drinks were drunk and general debauchery ensued.  A friend of mine who has GMed some of the better known restos around town, invited my pals and I to continue our drinkfest with a stop at the European Union – a great little spot in the East Village that serves up pan-european gastro-pub grub.  Being a man in-the-know, my friend snuck us in prior to the dinner onrush and saddled us up at the bar with a few bottles of a great Spanish Rioja.  Upon our departure (en route to even more bars in Williamsburg), I was introduced to a former EU chef who was hanging barside with the staff.  Without a glance, I stuffed his new business card in my bag and merrily rolled on.

Two weeks later, the buzz began to erupt about the long-anticipated opening of Elettaria, the newest venture from Akhtar Nawab and Noel Cruz.  Nawab, a Colicchio protege had most recently helmed the EU kitchen to quite favorable reviews; and it turned out that my mysterious EU acquaintance had recently been whisked away by Nawab to be Elettaria’s inaugural sous chef.   

One night after its opening, two of my go-to gastronomes met me inside the bustling hotspot just passed the bright red frontdoor and alongside the “staircase to nowhere” that lines the right entrance wall.  The decor is literally 50% Bobo and 50% Allen & Delancey, the two other joints that the designers had recently completed.  The roomy, round banquettes that face the spacious bar area flank one end of the restaurant, with the other end occupied by the completely open kitchen.  Exposed brick, wood beams and eclectic details including a painting who’s frame seems to disappear into the ceiling, create a warm, townhouse-like setting.  In sharp contrast to the unique decor, the music was utterly boring & monotonous…obviously paying no tribute to Jimi Hendrix & the like, that once rocked the 8th Wonder [the legendary bar that once occupied the space].

Yet the signature cocktail menu from the minds of Freeman’s and Death & Co alums, does pay homage to both.  Mr. Jimi’s Electric Ladyland a combination of pisco, rose jam, lime and champagne was my first drink of choice.  The tropically-bent list also features the Zombie Punch, a mix of various rums kicked up a notch by Absinthe and outfitted in a tiki glass no less, and the Rita Hayworth, pineapple/sage infused tequila with lime and honey (YUH-UMs).

Though the cocktails showed strong, there were obvious signs of opening week jitters.  First and foremost, our waiter’s inability to offer up much of any info about the menu options.  Secondly, that many of them were not even available for the picking that evening.  Our mood brightened somewhat, when we spotted Top Chef Season 1 champ, Harold Dieterle exiting – a sort of celebrity sighting to this TC fanatic.  We trudged along ordering a smorgasboard of what was being cooked up. 

 ”I don’t think I’ve ever met a pig I didn’t like.” Those were the words uttered by my friend upon tasting the Stuffed Pig’s Feet w/watercress, frisee & cashews.  Though pig’s feet tend to be on the realm of sweetbreads when it comes to “weirdness factor” to the general public, themealdeal usually loves them!  This time our table found them completely unpalatable – so much so, that our waiter actually shot us a look of total confusion as he removed the plate still covered in the sorry pig’s remains.  Remove foot from mouth and insert Dayboat Scallops w/celery root puree, oxtail, meyer lemon & cilantro.  An unexpected twist on surf & turf, this dish was innovative and absolutely delicious.  The Lamb Sausage and Cured Kanpachi also showed well.

Who orders Roasted Chicken at a hot, new restaurant opening? Well my ladyfriend did and though we chuckled, her dish paired w/sweet & sour tomato ravioli and smoked sunchokes, was actually the tastiest and most comforting.  The Bavette w/salsify, maitake mushrooms & fenugreek was a close second.  Though initially excited about the prospect of Wild Boar, marrow, cumin, orange and vermicelli….the ultimate outcome was pure sadness.  The texture was beautiful but the taste, well…didn’t exist and my abundant portion got sent back only half-eaten.

Lately every opening seems to be simply a slight variation on the previous.  The menu is fused with two new cuisines, the decor is slightly retouched and added to the cocktails are stranger and stronger ingredients.  Now I dig Allen & Delancey and Bobo (look out for both reviews being pulled FROM THE VAULT soon) but Elettaria just seemed to be the Cinderella of the bunch – not of the glass slipper variety but as the grungy, forgotten underling.  I’m hoping a team of cartoon mice or a fairy godmother will help Elettaria iron out the kinks.  Either way, upon my return I’ll have the Zombie Punch to start w/extra Absinthe…hoping a hallucinatory effect of ecstasy will cloud my judgement in Cinderelly’s favor.     

~ ciao chow for now ~
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ELETTARIA
33 West 8th Street nr MacDougal / ph: 212.677.3833

As of late, I seem to have morphed into one of those bitter New Yorkers who remarks at everything “new” to this city, as something old just being reincarnated into something less cool than the original.  Case in point, French bistros.  If it weren’t for my adoration of steak frites with bountiful amounts of bearnaise, I probably wouldn’t even attempt to mosey into any of the fresh French openings around town.  Truth be told, I still always bet on Pastis above all else, for dependable, decently priced French fare (from the fries to the martini); with its baby brother Schiller’s as a close second (especially at brunch time – eggs hussarde what what!).  Yet time and again, I still venture into the hot and happenin New York dining world in hopes that someone will take what has become yet another tired, old formula and reinvision it as something that will knock this hep cat’s socks off.

 I was recently taken to a show featuring what I consider to be a pretty decent (and well voiced) band, The Kin.  Being that my escort and I had to get to the Highline Ballroom for a 9pm set, I took my fellow Pastis enthusiast to a new bistro in the Meatpacking, Bagatelle.  I told him I couldn’t vouch for how good the steaks would be in comparison but thought it due time for us to get our frites-on elewhere.  The venture from the people behind Kiss & Fly (located directly next door), leaves the thumpin beats and mini-skirted raucousness of the MPD behind and quickly catapults you to a den of subtle sophistication.  The prominent modern art pieces and abundant use of candles pair quite nicely against the clean white walls that line the large room.  The Parisian bistro chairs, spacious tables and well filtered music fill this 90-seater with that certain je ne sais quoi.

The small bar area is perfectly situated along the back wall and serves up some mean mixology.  The drink of choice for both my Kin date and my 11 lady deep, off-to-London going away dinner (for a friend…lest I be so lucky) was Le Poire Royale – one of Bagatelle’s stellar champagne cocktails .  I’d opt for that or Le Blues Manhattan which features Makers Mark with muddled blueberries and blackberries, Chambord and sweet vermouth.  The well priced and nicely sized wine list is also a good go-to (we went with a simple Sancerre and Pinot Grigio to pass around the table).The chic environment clad with even chicer patrons works equally well for both intimate twosomes and a gaggle of gals or guys.

I wouldn’t take a serious foodie here and my partner-in-Kin says he’ll stick with Pastis where a similar crowd (the euros outnumbering les americains as usual) but better food can be found.  However, the gal pals [none a serious foodie though all fashionable NYCers who've been around the bistro block a time or two] gave their night at Bagatelle solid marks all around.  Though I would ardently stay away from the carpaccio trio which was offensively devoid of flavor , the tuna tartare paired with plantain chips was pleasing.  The lemon asparagus/parmesan risotto and the coquilles st jacques were comme ci, comme ca; with the calamari a la plancha proving to be the most tantalizing dish of the bunch.   

Though the French are known for their exquisite culinary expertise they are probably known even more so for their sense of style and savoir faire.  So leave the frites to McNally, the haute francais to Ducasse and those seductive (and heavily intoxicated) rendez-vous to Bagatelle.

~ciao chow for now~ 
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BAGATELLE
409 West 13th Street b/w 9th Avenue & Washington / ph: 212.675.2400

A few weeks ago, I organized a group of friends to do a last minute pre-bowling (yes bowling…we gets all kinds of Cah-razy on Friday nights) dinner at Kingswood in the west village (review en route).  Late as usual, I bolted out of my taxi and ran straight west on 10th street.  Scouring the block for the restaurant, I landed instead upon Bar Blanc.  My eyes, nearly frozen shut, peered in wonderment at the cherub-like patrons giggling and basking in the oh-so-soft lighting (the kind that makes ANYone look good).  It was all so perfect…hip & trendy yet still so inviting. Off to Kingswood I went, vowing to return to Bar Blanc asap. 

Fast forward, one week to the day.  My girlfriend and I decided to do a West Village romp around.  I commanded the first stop to be Bar Blanc and she happily agreed.  Late again, I was greeted to a glass of champagne that my gal had so sweetly ordered on my behalf.  We nabbed the two corner end seats of the bar and perused the menu. Whitewashed walls, wood plank floors and stark white furnishings (the button-tufted banquettes adding a nice touch of vintage style), create a modern yet surprisingly cozy space.  The convivial atmosphere and tight-knit quarters obviously helping to that effect.  If you crave the most intimate spot in the house, opt for the back room.  Though the style of the front banquettes is lovely, being so close to the entrance and right up on the bar’s grill offer little, to no privacy.

As restaurant week drew to a close, most of us were left 5lbs heavier and hundreds of dollars poorer.  In my particular case, my first excursion left me with an empty, hollow feeling (see previous, Perry Street post) though, ironically, still up a pants size.  Would I abandon restaurant week forever?  Was it only meant for the honky-tonk tourists who pronounce hors d’oeuvres as “WHORES DORVES”?  As my eyes welled with tears, I decided restaurant week couldn’t go down without a fight.  It was time to bring this funky track back!

To really score during restaurant week, your best bet is to tell your boss to shove it for 2 hours and head to one of the lunch options.  For a mere $24.08, you get 3 courses and a larger array of restaurants to choose from (the lunch collection composed of some of the better restaurants in the city).  First stop: Asiate.  I jetted across town into the chaos that is midtown at midday, and headed to this calming oasis tucked away in the mind-blowing Mandarin Oriental.

My dining companion (one of the wounded from the Perry Street massacre) and I were promptly escorted to our seats.  My eyes were immediately drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered up some of the most spectacular views NYC has to offer.  Minus the homeless man begging for change at the 59th street entrance to Central Park, the whirlwind of taxis circling Columbus Circle and the masses of smiling passersby made me remember how great it was to be alive (read: how great it was to be up on the 35th floor scoffing at the poor souls freezing their butts off down below…pish posh).

The room was packed to the gills with young finance-types and a few ladies-who-lunch, all with the glimmer of hope in their eyes that Asiate would salvage the entire franchise of restaurant week.  Unlike the puny choices most of the restaurants offer, Asiate displayed the majority of their lunch menu for the special prix-fixe.  Knowing full well that I’d be a little tipsy upon my return to the office, we still opted for a (half) bottle of a Sancerre.  The wait staff, pearly whites a-shining, were both polite and attentive. 

Hoping our preliminary courses would hit this out of the park, the first batter up was a crab tagliatelle with sundried tomato pesto.  The pasta was fresh, obviously homemade.  I would have liked to see a little more spice but overall it was, as my mother loves to say, “nice”.  The second choice, a butternut squash risotto laced with cardamom, raddichio, fresh herbs and diced squash nibblets , was exactly what one dreams a risotto should be – creamy yet light not gooey and gloppy.  My partner declared this to be the dish-du-jour.

Fresh petite baguettes were promptly replenished as our next course arrived tout-de-suite.  In anticipation of another restaurant week dinner set for that evening, I opted for one of the lighter options on the menu – a miso glazed arctic char paired with spaetzle and dried cranberries.  The spaetzle was the shizzle!  Delicate yet slightly chewy, this pasta-like side was intensified by the slightly sour kick of the cranberries.  The arctic char was lovely though I would’ve liked to see a tad more of the glaze.  I urged my dining partner to go with the braised short ribs which he happily agreed to.  In my experience, you can never go wrong with a good short rib and this was no exception.  Tender meat accentuated by brussel sprouts, pearl onions and cubes of bacon (yes I said bacon!).  Not a leftover morsel in sight we loosened our belts and prepped for round 3.

I would join CA (chocoholics anonymous) if I could – overindulging in any variety of it is my vice.  Our faces filled with glee, we sipped our double espresso and cappuccino (which totalled $16 of the bill…YIKES!) as we awaited the only chocolate option available, a mousse.  Though I find it to be the most boring confection around, I figured worst comes to worst, I’d skip dessert (and the extra pound or two).  Peanut-butter sugar cubes and a delectable chocolate sponge cake lay beneath the generous mound o’mousse that was almost fudge-like in consistency and chocolicious…t-t-t-tasty, tasty!  My friend held me back before I could ask for a gallon sized carton of it to-go.

 Asiate had single-handedly resuscitated the restaurant week that had nearly been laid to rest.  In its efforts, it had also gained a new fan, one that vowed to return…ideally with mom and pop footing the (non-restaurant week) bill!

~ciao chow for now~
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ASIATE 
80 Columbus Circle [Mandarin Oriental] / ph: 212.805.8881

 

Tis that time of year.  Seasonal affective disorder sweeps through the city streets sending the majority of us into hibernation mode for at least a month. And then there is a light…it’s restaurant week!  3 courses for $35 – why that’s the deal of the century [eventhough you ultimately end up coughing up $90 a pop for the additional champagne and multiple bottles of wine your boozer friends force you to down].

My first sojourn into this crazy week o’restaurant was to Perry Street.  I had originally visited Perry back when it first opened in 2005.  Swarmed with the magazine and fashion elite, it was the restaurant to see and be seen at.  The decor, understated modernism, echoed the overall style of the Richard Meier-designed building that houses it.  Add a breathtaking view of the Hudson and a chic bar (with some of the most delectable cashews around) and you’ve got an instant hotspot.  Trendiness aside, this was another venture from the illustruous Jean-Georges Vongerichten….it had to be good.  Thinking back, I honestly don’t even remember what I ate, mainly due to the fact that I was there on someone else’s expense account, which of course equaled an inevitable black-out from too many cucumber martinis!

This time, the meal certainly made an impression on me…unfortunately, a bad memory I wish I could forget.  It’s hard to put down Jean-Georges.  He is, afterall, the man who brought us the modern classics JoJo, Mercer Kitchen and Spice Market (to name but a few from his empire).  But if themealdeal is anything, it’s honest and last night’s poor excecution was a flat-out disappointment. 

One glass of bubbly in, I excitedly awaited the arrival of our amuse bouche – a light celery root soup very nicely accented by the contrasting acidity of cranberry vinegar and the pleasant surprise of rosemary.  A tad perplexed by this choice – to me it seems more of a summer starter - smiles about the overall taste and consistency were displayed around the table.  Always indulgent, my group (a few of my regular dining & drinking compadres) supplemented our 3 course menu with 2 additional appetizers.  I personally enjoyed the portobello and avocado carpaccio that was kicked up a notch by jalapeno oil and lime.  The plate, however, was finally taken away from the table still replete with pieces of the carpaccio - never a good sign.  See when my boys and girls like what they eat, they will lick that plate clean, ya hurd?  The second addition, a rice cracker crusted tuna with sriracha was generally enjoyable.  The taste of the fried crust was somewhat reminiscent to that of Kentucky Fried Chicken - not necessarily a bad thing especially with the absence of the requisite oiliness.  Regardless, a scene-stealer it was not.  

And so began our multi-course experiment in Jean-Georges gastronomy.  The cheap bastards that are restaurant owners nowadays, have boiled down the majority of restaurant week menus to two choices  per course.  Come on people, we know this bi-annual promotion draws traffic during the often slow weekdays – so give a brotha a little more selection puh-leez!  Obviously we ordered all of the (minimal) choices.  The winter staple of creamy tomato soup proved hearty not heavy.  The other option, a salad of beets, which glistened under the perfectly lit black-out bulbs overhead, was accented by ricotta and lightly toasted pumpernickel croutons – each adding a nice contrast in consistency.  Mood overall: still good. 

And then came the entrees.  Dun, dun, duuuunnnn!  I opted for the chili oil poached cod with roasted baby brussel sprouts and creamy parsnips.  Minus the pleasurable parsnip puree, the entree, topped with what tasted like mini-plantain chips, lacked overall flavor.  In sharp contrast to the taste-less fish, my neighbor’s grilled tenderloin of beef was nearly inedible.  My salt-fiend of a friend was shocked by its overtly abusive use and equally stunned by the addition of abundant amounts of chili pepper and, what he thought to be, anise.  Even the pleasant pairing of herbal spinach & liquid gruyere could not save this dish from over-seasoned obliteration.  

Neither the flat chocolate pudding nor the white chocolate confection topped by an offensively potent lemon sorbet could save this meal from meltdown.  Luckily the Jack & gingers and Perry Street 75s had kicked in just in time for us to be sidetracked from the check’s astonishing total.  Shattering our previous record, the per person tally hovered around $100.  Yowzas!

Listen, I can’t denounce Perry Street or the consistently dependable Jean-Georges completely.  I will attribute this to a momentary lapse of focus during the restaurant week hooplah.  However, restaurant week diners are people too! They have the same mouths to feed and pockets to empty, so treat them with respect, give them more choices and for god’s sake Mr. Spice Market, lay off the damn salt-n-pepa!

~ciao chow for now~
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PERRY STREET
176 Perry Street @ West Street / ph: 212.352.1900 

There are few things to be grateful for when it comes to New York real estate – astronomical rents, miniscule square footage and more times than not, the putrid stench of the newest homeless man that has decided to squat in my “frontyard”.  Yet once in a blue moon or a lucky peach [momofuku's english translation], you take a stroll around your neighborhood and stumble upon one of the city’s soon-to-be legendary dining destinations. 

There’s been multiple-stars awarded, a James Beard bestowed and endless magazine chatter surrounding David Chang and his  Momofuku empire, that has sprung up in Manhattan’s east village.  Can’t believe the hype?  One taste. That’s all I ask…just one taste and you’ll be a Momofuku-lover (not to be confused with harajuku lovers of Gwen Stefani fame).  I digress.  Although Momofuku Noodle Bar was Chang’s only child for quite some time (when it moved 1 block north, Chang replaced it with the newly opened Momofuku Ko), Momofuku Ssam Bar  has to be the overachieving superstar of the brood.  Small in stature, sleek in style and  warm in its welcome (similarly to how I envision Chang himself to be), the Ssam Bar retains a certain sincerity that is seldom found in the culinary culture of New York.

The influx of asian dining temples has proved underwhelming at best.  Besides what I consider the jewels of this recent invasion, Buddakan and Morimoto, only Chang is able to capture his ancestral land’s cuisine in its purest of forms.  Momofuku Ssam Bar is founded mainly on Korean street food.  The use of natural ingredients and simple presentation create strong & flavorful dishes that, unlike lowbrow Asian cuisine, do not overwhelm the palate but rather, tickle the tongue.  It’s this cleverly orchestrated dance of color, texture and  spice that makes Chang’s food so incredibly comforting…without leaving you with an overwhelming feeling of guilt for having skipped out on the gym for the last 2 weeks. 

Similar to Buddakan, the dishes are meant to be shared.  The portions cover a two person share-fest best and each plate complements the next.  No matter what order the kitchen doles out your choices, the suave, hipster servers keep this delectable dance moving in perfect time, while bouncing to the indie rock soundtrack being piped in overhead.  If I’m to make an ideal meal (which I attempt to redefine with every visit to the Ssam Bar), my Necessary Nibbles would be:

+ steamed buns (juicy and tender pork belly complemented by the pillow-like bun and layered with hoisin sauce, cucumbers and scallions)
+ hangar steak ssam (the meat is seasoned & cooked to perfection at medium rare, and paired with lettuce “wraps” and kimchi…mmmmm!)
+ banh mi (crispy ciabatta bread with sumptuous veal, chicken liver and ham terrines topped with a smorgasboard of veggies)
+ grilled veal sweetbreads (there is an art to grilling and that art comes to life in these babies – if you’ve put off trying sweetbreads in the past, here is your chance to experience them at their best)
+ raw oysters or the squid and shrimp stew (most of us will be  “meated out” at this point. As such, I’d opt for either of these.  The stew is very reminiscent of Thai curries – a little sweet, a little spicy, a lot of satisfaction)  

FYI: it’s first come, first served so don’t think you’re going to be crafty and nab my spot on the reservation list SUCKA!

~ ciao chow for now ~
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MOMOFUKU SSAM BAR
207 Second Avenue @ 13th Street / ph: 212.254.3500

Finally!!!!

The time has come for the inaugural post of themealdeal – my go-to guide on all that is tempty and tasty in the delicious big apple that is New York City.  Although, my intention is to focus mainly on my homeslice, I also hope to bring you occasional posts about various gourmet haunts that I encounter whilst on my cross-global jaunts.   So knife and fork in hand…let’s get to some grubbin!

~ciao chow for now~