Eating means other things in NYC. For one thing we have a larger kitchen than many, but by no means does it resemble the one in our rented house in Indianapolis. Eating in New York means ordering in which is antithetical to me. I like to cook, and cooking is what I did for a living for the past years. Creating teams, ensuring profitability, making customers who came in just when they knew I was cooking. That's a really kool thing. We have a larger kitchen, but the grocery stores are lackluster. A kitchen when used is an open heart. Abuse a kitchen, make it work. Burn more pots and pans than you ought to use. What I mean is love the hell out of a kitchen. Eating can mean other things in New Amsterdam. It can mean dressing up and going out, it can mean leaving a kitchen bereft, say good night Mr. Kitchen. Or, Manhattan might say find me, save me, discover me, I'm already home, I might as well cook.

Had lunch @ Chelsea Market yesterday. Fought the crowds. They have a new section for the women's restroom; saw long lines at the men's (ha, ha).

Whole steamed lobster (2.5 lbs) with melted butter, shrimp Cobb salad, sashimi/sushi takeout from Lobster Place. Delicious. Some folks next to us had raw oysters and fresh uni in the shell. We got takeout as Cull & Pistol (their restaurant) looked slammed. There's a newish Korean/Japanese fusion ramen place in Chelsea Market now (Mokbar), as well as Tuck Shop, Num Pang (Cambodian inspired sandwiches), Doughnuttery (fresh doughnuts), Liddabit Sweets (great candy bars), etc.

For good BBQ (I really like their brisket) near Joe's Pub (East Village), go to Mighty Quinn's.

Best cocktails in Times Square are at Lantern's Keep. Good menu, but they also do bartender's choice very well (Milk & Honey trained bartenders). Make a reservation. Closed Sundays.

Lambs Club is also a hidden gem in Times Sq. Tiny 4 seat bar, barkeeps trained by Sasha Petraske, gorgeous lobby/room.

If you're near the Breslin anyway, and want something different, might be good to swing by the NoMad for cocktails (Eleven Madison Park & former Death & Co folks).

Bagel-wise, the new Russ & Daughters cafe and Black Seed Bagels are the buzz these days.

thank you, Kathryn for the ideas. Yeah Black Seed's gettin' press. I go to the Breslin cuz my friend runs the bar there(and they make really good cocktails). Chelsea Market is so, almost too much...for me, anyway, the restroom situation , the snapshot takers standing in the middle of pedestrian traffic, I want to like it, but , your mention of Cambodian-inspired sandwiches etc., might force a glance back. again, thank you

When we were in New York a few months ago, we ate Sri Lankan food at Sigiri in the East Village. We ordered Kotthu Roti, a delicious dish that is similar to Chinese fried rice but instead of the rice they use chopped up roti (genius!) and mix in curry with egg and veggies. The flavors were really surprising – very different from Indian food. This dish was full of spice and so delicious that we bought the book Rice and Curry and learned how to make it ourselves. We made a batch of the spice mix and went through it in a few months. (The beet curry is also amazing.) This time we went out to Staten Island (there are 4 Sri Lankan restaurants there feeding a large local population) and ate at two restaurants right next door to each other, New Asha and Lak Bojun. The owner of New Asha is a wonderful woman who made us a plate of rice and curry and string hoppers with coconut soup and sambol. At Lak Bojun we had Lamprie – a mix of curries, rice, fried egg, fish cutlet all cooked inside a banana leaf. All of it was really delicious and a 15 minute walk from the ferry. We really like Sri Lankan food – a blend of what we think of as Indian spices in very different proportions, heat and with Southeast Asian influences, including coconut milk and pandan leaf. I wish we had somewhere in Chicago with Sri Lankan food….

Sigiri
91 1st Ave.
http://sigirinyc.net/

New Asha
322 Victory Blvd.
Staten Island

Lak Bojun
324 Victory Blvd.
Staten Island

As friendly employees filled my prescriptions at local pharmacy, Dichter, I saw they also have a soda fountain offering divers shakes, a plethora of ice creams, a few hot items, and bagels. The store, in that grand New York tradition is so packed with stuff you can barely scootch down the aisles. Homeopathic remedies share space with Dr. Bronner's. It's not quite a Merz. There's also a community space downstairs. Dichter is ninety years old and just a tad shy of their original location, they moved after a fire a few years ago. The pharmacist/owner, Manny, did a great job creating a welcoming neighborhood haven. Reading up, I found post after post extolling the egg creams and bagels. Several corroborate; "best egg cream in the city." Others, "finally, a good bagel in Inwood." Of course, I had to tryout both. Now, I hadn't had an egg cream in decades(and now I remember why)...so, I'm not the best judge realizing upon first ssslurp that it just isn't my thing. Milk, club soda, and, I chose vanilla. I can totally see how someone might dig this fizzy concoction. I interpret it as an anemic milkshake. The bagel, however, lived up to it's accolades; nice and fat and lacquered with a shatteringly-crisp crust. I was a bit surprised to see they use Philadelphia cream cheese(there's nothing wrong with that, I figure it would be more cost effective to make your own, say, chive spread). I love the serendipity in finding these little places. I'll definitely be back. Just so you know, none of the shakes, malteds, or egg creams are listed on the chalkboard above the counter. You just have to ask.

Dichter Pharmacy
4953 Broadway
New York, NY 10034
between 207th and Isham

Laikom's recent call for recs. on Facebook nudged me to get around to recounting a recent 48 hour jaunt to NY:

We stayed in the lovely Flower District and hoofed it down to the Village to check out this Red Farm everyone's been talking about. The space is pretty adorable, a walk-up with a Dwell Magazine-esque interior and a bar downstairs. We started downstairs, quoted a half hour wait at 6 on a Saturday, not bad. We enjoyed a few cocktails and salty, crunchy fish skin "chips" served with an overtly sweet chili jam-esque dipping sauce. We were promptly seated upstairs and were impressed by the service throughout the meal. The food was hit or miss. Fat Rice would be an immediate comparison, though Red Farm focusing on Cantonese rather than the panoply of Fat Rice's (more interesting?) Macanese concept.

The dumplings, in particular fell flat (particularly at the price point). We started with the cute, but clumsy Pacman Dumplings. One odd aspect of the plating is the run-off of the thin black vinegar sauce, which I would have preferred on the side to dip rather than logging the bottoms of the dumpling skins. We were told that the filling of the color of each "ghost" was shrimp based, though augmented by other flavors, which as it turned out were nearly indiscernible. Also, there was something irreverent and fun about the tempura sweet potato pacman suspended in (slightly browning) guacamole, but it seemed to be its own separate snack that had little to do with the flavor of the dumplings.



The Soup Dumplings fared even worse. Being instructed that these could be volcanically hot and knowing from first-hand experience, we gave these about 10 minutes on the table to temper. Enough time for them to entirely stick to the paper they were served on and for the broth inside to begin to coagulate. Not good, especially for $14.



Things picked up with the entrees. First we had a noodle dish with roast duck. Everything was well managed, the duck was crispy skinned, aromatic, and succulent and the noodles were toothsome. I've had as-good versions for a third the price in Chinatown, but this was a great plate of food for such a hip spot in the Village.



A dish of Crispy Skin Smoked Chicken, again, was a close facsimile of a favorite dish in Cantonese restaurants. They fussed with this one a bit, though. The smoke added a lovely depth typically not found in the classic versions, though the lemongrass rub between the skin and the flesh was lost in mix. Also, the ginger scallion dipping sauce seemed way more appropriate than the nearly untouched peanut satay. Despite the over-fussing, this was an awesome dish.



To make up for the dumpling let down and rapidly slimming wallet, we hit up a stalwart of mine in Chinatown the next day for an early lunch. Super Taste is as hole-in-the-wall as it gets, a narrow storefront populated by none-a-gringo serving everything in disposable plastic bowls. I love Katy's in the Chi, but the dumplings and noodle soups here are the best I've had. $3 scores you 10 dumplings with taut, chewy skins and juicy, soupy filling of bright pork, shrimp, scallion, and ginger. And their niu rou mian, with springy noodles (maybe not quite as good as Katy's but close), is the best composed bowl I've had with a chile oil enhanced, collagen-laden broth; unspent, tender beef chunks, and added-at-the-last-second fresh spinach. I miss the pickled cabbage that I've had in other versions, but for $6 this cannot be beat.





For an afternoon snack, we found a snazzy Turkish café called Beyoglu on the Upper East Side (where we always have trouble finding a bite post-Whitney viewing). We had a spread of meze on their patio on a beautiful sunny day washed down with Efes beers. Everything was okay to solid, the best bite being a heavily spiced, tightly emulsified beef sausage dipped in cacik.

Our second dinner was take out Roberta's in Bushwich with friends. Apparently we should have dined in, since Jay-Z and Beyoncé were apparently in the house that night. What can I say, this as-hip-as-all-get-out spot turns out a mean pie. I can't recall all the toppings we had on the five pizzas below, but there was not really a dud (though the honey on pizza thing is lost on me). The more unorthodox combinations worked too. If I had to compare, Reno is the closest of the newfangled Neapolitan hybrid spots in Chicago, though Roberta's bread has more character– more chew, more salt, and more char.



Finally on the way out to LGA, I wanted to make a surgical strike lunch hit in Jackson Heights before catching the bus. I'd heard the legend of Sammy's Halal cart and it seemed like the obvious choice. I really need to devote a day to exploring all the south and central Asian options in this neighborhood, which seem endless. Sammy's did not live up to its reputation unfortunately. It was definitely plenty of food for $5. I think they skipped one of the sauces on my plate because the dominant lube was a sauce predominantly made of low rent mayo. All said, chicken and rice will always be satisfying even in its most humble incarnations. One notable observation at Sammy's: I saw them slicing "steaks" off a gyro cone and girdling those up before hacking into smaller bits, I have a hunch this is their "lamb" option.

Red Farm
529 Hudson St, New York, NY 10014
(212) 792-9700

Super Taste
26 Eldridge St, New York, NY 10002
(646) 283-0999

Beyoglu
1431 3rd Ave, New York, NY 10028
(212) 650-0850

Roberta's
261 Moore St, Brooklyn, NY 11206
(718) 417-1118

Sammy's Halal
73rd St and Broadway, 73 73rd St, Jackson Heights, NY 11372
(646) 321-9961

I'll share what I also shared with Jefe offline, which is that I think he simply caught Red Farm on what I'm guessing was an off night (based on my experience and from what I've heard from friends/family in NYC). As I wrote here, I had such a great meal at the UWS location, and the meal was largely centered around the terrific dumplings, and Joe Ng definitely knows his way around dumplings.

This is My Country(New York)-William Parker
Gay Guerrilla-Julius Hemphill
Anima-Vladislav Delay

12 Pt. Buck-Killdozer

Dance Cadaverous
is looking simply out the living room windows at the flowering trees that aren't weeds, are not trees, are a glorious menhir; a coral, as coral ought, not described, or photographed, an orgone box is not an outhouse, is not trees, is blossoms beyond our bedroom looking across the hidden garden on Post, sigh, pollen(Jeff Noon), a florid umbilicus(sigh).

Had lots of blood drawn last week(doctor's visits), avoided fireworks Friday, we stayed at a friends near Grand Central, she was on the Cape. I took (prescribed drugs), we ordered Turkish(they had the pizza that so enamored Chicago 3 yrs ago), well, we didn't get that, it was Turkish flatbread replete with sesame seeds, and, lamb, ground, grilled, tiny plastic tubs of chile sauce, tiny tubs of tzatziki, it was something nice, unintrusive, an equanimity, a favorite built of being good enough. Later we had, well, first we had El Parador, sitting at the bar for the first time ever, I've stood at the bar, but never actually sat and, well we were there for drinks, but eventually, I thought instead of spending way too much at the close Fairway on cheeses and charcuterie that we wouldn't ever get back home(it'd just languish in our friend's fridge). You know how that is.

O. El Parador our stop over many years the oldest Mexican restaurant in the city and don't get me going, it's it's own thing and in comparison to Chicago or LA or San Francisco, it's it's own, hell, has these perforated brass valve lamps, like my step-father made in Houston, hung them in our den in Bellaire, gloamed the den when I watched Humanoids from the Deep on HBO and totally barfed after the Alien rip-off. I was 9, or something. O El Parador, where we had tamarind cocktails and I thought, instead of buggering over to Fairway, let's just get The World's Best Stoner Appetizer Ever, and the shrimp quesodilla to end all arguments to the contrary. Yeah, it was time for appetizers just something to tide us over, peanut butter stuffed pickled jalapeños. We reverse-engineered the recipe years ago, El Parador's just a place where with one another, plus friends, maybe, best mano et mano we have talked in jest, in cups, in difficulty, in repose, El Parador is home. Like family, they put-up with us in all our confabulations.

We left fireworks on the fourth for those better appreciative. Picked up a rose' and a new Muller-Thurgau and curled up on the couch.

I dunno, is capitulating, might as well be leaning up against a laptop terminal at Darling Coffee(it's got a happy face computer card yr kool, sad face computer graphic, no go).

I dunno is a grand philosophy it's in the drawl, got caught in a sideways glance of getting checked out , but you know he'll never approach you, so you go back to your AOS bio. That AOS bio isn't bad, goes by fairly quick, given it's lack. Handshake drugs.

Jim O'Rourke
Keiji Haino
Trumans Water
Faust
Gerogerigegege

It's Tokyo Flashback Vol. 1, or, I always preferred High Rise, or

the employee at Magic Video in Athens, Ohio who informed me that I was hurting my ears by blasting High Rise on my Walkman, or, and Keiji Haino passing me, a hairsbreadth, in the entryway of The Great American Music Hall, before his gig. Subharmonic opened.

The Theater of Eternal Music

I haven't gone to MELA, don't know if I ever will, that La Monte Young shit is so fucked up, or maybe it's not, and it's just for me to wonder if I make it dowtown to the studio apt. bathed in violet light and welsh for zen. I gots my Italian bootleg cassette of The Dream of the Second Step Down Transformer re-inscribed by boys with withered arms In C. Actually, yeah, I do.

What meal suits apocryphal drones?

I don't think lentils, I think raw kibbeh.

So, we were Midtown, Curry Hill, not really Murry.

There's a Ma Po place around the corner that I dig, but himself doesn't, it's super heavy on the ma la. The hard palate speaks French they ladle that shit on.

Our friend's porch is a secret garden, right? Porch's is bigger than her apt. Kinda.

It was, after my hospital visits, trying to ascertain the terroir of my blood, like some rare vintage, thank god it's not so simple, no godforsaken, bullshit, Farmer's Almanac, biodynamic, or what?, "orange wine." Get a gimmick.

What'd we do? We, Saturday, went to St. Mark's(I know, but, since I was sixteen this is where I buy cheap sunglasses). Himself stepped on my last pair already on it's last eyes when he went for some paperwork in my backpack at a clinic. Crunch.

We both got glasses and lunched at an organic burger place just up from (are they REALLY STILL performing STOMP?), and that pommes frites place that I never attended and, himself can't go for with his new dietary regimen.

...afterwards met a middle school friend for Suffering Bastards at Otto's(not as good at those had at the Palmer House Trader Vic's bitd)

talked film

new Tati and Demis box sets, Duffer, Moon Over the Alley, the Criterion Cronenbergs, Ebert's first festival down Illinois state, we saw Surrender, Dorothy and I had my fanboy moment; he drove up as we parked outside the theater and we followed him in

talked film, drank and the bartender plied us with a new drink, a Otto Cholo, equal to the El Parador tamarind marguerita, think an "island" riff on that same not too sweet, tamarind spike, yummy

then we shopped in Chinatown, and I did my old tour through inscrutable jars o' fermented stuff dance: I perfected that two-step in Uptown and always appreciate the chance to lead

got a bottle at Epistrophy off the festival of Little Italy, Vermentino, I believe, I love Sardinian wines and lament the loss of Sam's who held a bottle of this one producer's cannonau, never seen it since, other cannonaus, yes, but this one, a sigil of granite, moss, and, things best not spoken of in mixed company, chthonic.

Iain Sinclair, supposedly, dislikes being associated with the word, "psychogeography."

We shared a bottle of vermintino at Epistrophy, my middle school friend bought it, we talked about how Stan Brakhage died while she worked on the project, how the box sets were coming along, I for my part talked about, Death Bed, The Bed That Eats, Stephen Thrower, Ossian Brown, Coil, of course, John Balance falling from a balcony, dying, and Sleazy, the same, dying, not falling, but in a bed of Thai boys(one assumes, this could be all in my head). Hey, how 'bout that Thelonious Monk?

Theme for the Eulipions-Rahsaan Roland Kirk

What I really like is New York Eye and Ear Control, you know, around St. Mark's and the best organic elk burger and blueberry soda in miles, I look up at that sign, New York Eye and Ear Control and remember how that industrial font tattooed my teenage chest forever. Before ESP Records, before Patty Waters sang the shit out of "Black is the True Color..."

Before I knew that french fries and mayo were compatible

So, well, what?

that ? is terribly implicit, the flowering non-trees that aren't weeds outside our windows

our treehouse

being Peter Pan isn't about 80's reductivism

and, sure as shit, ain't about peanut butter

Iain Sinclair is noteworthy is (akin) my Scots bros. and his dude, he, not the dude, develops clinical trials in the assimilation of the permutations of schizophrenia, traces ley lines in intervals, the brains of rats are a place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there...

ellipses are dangerous just like selfies

when you look away ellipses add additional dots

more, likely

Christopher Gordon wrote: gloamed the den when I watched Humanoids from the Deep on HBO and totally barfed after the Alien rip-off.

Christopher Gordon wrote: got a bottle at Epistrophy off the festival of Little Italy, Vermentino, I believe, I love Sardinian wines and lament the loss of Sam's who held a bottle of this one producer's cannonau, never seen it since, other cannoau's, yes, but this one, a sigil of granite, moss, and, things best not spoken of in mixed company, chthonic.

Good end to a crap day. Thanks.

El Parador Cafe
Address: 325 E 34th St, New York, NY 10016
Phone:(212) 679-6812
Prices:$$$$

Bareburger
85 2nd Ave
New York, NY 10003
b/t 1st Ave & 5th St in East Village
Phone number (212) 510-8610

Otto's Shrunken Head - NYC
www.ottosshrunkenhead.com/

Anka Grill (Lexington Ave)
Midtown: 642 Lexington Avenue, New York, NY 10022

Epistrophy Cafe
200 Mott St, New York, NY 10012
(212) 966-0904

The Breslin last Thursday for a going away party for my partner's office associate. I always love The Breslin(excepting the labyrinthine hike to the lieu). Many's the time, including this last, that I played Virgil of the Cloaca(or Taxi Zum Klo, whatevs). Upstairs at The Breslin was cocktails for a couple of hours, our friend P tending bar, which he also did for a benefit Soiree' in Brooklyn for Fist n' Heel dance company(P's a member). I was drinking Pisco cocktails(not a sour) and eventually moved onto The Breslin house I.P.A. T closed down the fete around 9:30, so the core group adjourned to the downstairs bar (I stayed on beer). At the Breslin we had the best seafood sausage ever accompanied by a perfect beurre blanc; a nice touch of chile heat there. Scotch eggs(never had one before, found it mighty nice), oysters upon oysters, the house french fries and a cumin-laden mayo. Closed down The Breslin and went with P to The Spotted Pig, comps ensued, esp. shots. The table shared buratta, chicken liver pate', nudi(I loved the nudi), deviled eggs, several other comps that if I knew ahead of time I wouldn't have ordered as heavy as I did. There was a modicum of grousing re: chef April Bloomfield's love of salt. Everything we order at The Breslin is perfectly seasoned, I'm a salt-addict, but, some dishes(deviled eggs I'm looking at you) while texturally-swoonworthy, left one parched. Well, they put up with us anyway even when P and I chose to duet to Depeche Mode's Enjoy the Silence, this after enjoying a Todd Terje track I'd never heard beyond my earphones. Then P and I discussed Julie Dash and Octavia Butler and all was hope.

Back from a weekend in Murray Hill. Thursday Lori and Kathleen at Troy and Kristin's then a leisurely dinner at I Trulli Enoteca(I had the saffron dumplings with pork ragu and we all enjoyed probably the best prep of grilled octopus outside of Cafe' Spiaggia in Chicago). Friday, Anjali! in from Hong Kong for an evening suggested Yunnan Kitchen. The Ma La Rita, a damn fine cocktail(licking battery terminals good and grapefruit and unapologetic red chile heat). Chrysanthemum leaf salad, tofu ribbons, wild mushroom stir fry, the tenderest most ephemeral meatballs we've had, in this case, lamb, since last week's truffled turkey meatballs at Pino Wine Bar, double-cooked pork belly(a special somehow debrided of the belly of the pork, it was a perfect double-cooked pork, would I order it again, nah), a pu-erh and rye cocktail(eh...), a bottle of Viognier. Then back to the bedsit for wine on the patio, then, to The Rum House for Hemingway margaritas(oh dear god). Spent Saturday recovering. Sunday afternoon in the park with Kate(always delightful), began with mimosas on the patio, adjourned to the aforementioned greensward, returned to freshen-up and dinner with Kate's man, Justin at the beloved, venerable El Parador(about which I would mention more, but would rather keep it hush hush). Also, Kate was able to give the name of the great taqueria we dined at last we hung out, great food and a name so generic it defeats any attempt to rack one's brains. Taqueria Lower East Side.

Taqueria Lower East Side
Address: 198 Orchard St, New York, NY 10002
Phone:(212) 677-3910

http://www.itrulli.com

http://yunnankitchen.com

http://elparadorcafe.com

http://www.yelp.com/biz/pino-wine-bar-manhattan

I've been cooking a lot at home, I always have, still, living in the city has us eating out or ordering in more than ever. The Breslin and The Spotted Pig are still on our rotation, as is Inwood Thai(on a lark we ordered the chive pancakes one night, I expected the usual Chinese version, the kind I make every once in awhile, these arrived obviously made of glutinous rice, almost more a delicious dumpling than a pancake///accompanied by a dark soy, palm sugar, black vinegar redolent dipping sauce). These were devoured quickly and immediately put on our regular order. I knew I had seen them somewhere before and sure enough there's some great food porn of the beauties in Thompson's Thai Street Food, my brain must've known I'd eventually run into them). Yesterday met up with friends to take in CANstruction. Beforehand we sought lunch(asked my opinion, I said no breakfast or brunch). Friend searched Yelp as is her want, I don't use it as a primary service when researching new places, more a contrast and compare. Anyway, she found Nish Nush, which she described as middle eastern, and "it gets lots of good reviews." A cold sober Sunday where the temperature seemed colder every time we stepped outside followed us to the aforementioned. My heart sank a little when I saw the menu describing the food as Israeli Yemeni Kosher Vegetarian. I was merely in the mood for chicken shawarma, or lamb gyro. It's a small corner space, some communal tables with thousands of chickpeas under plexiglass tops. You order, pick your own beverage(they serve beer, but they had my favorite Bruce Cost Jasmine Tea ginger ale). T and I decided to share a platter: various kinds of falafel, three Israeli salads(a green salad with coriander, a red cabbage quick pickle, tomatoes and onions and dill), also hummus, and an add-on of baba ghanoush, plus white pita, sour gherkin slices, a tahini sauce. A lot of food, even our friend was like, whoa. The Yemen aspect peaked my interest from the get go despite my reservations on the vegetarian slant. Best baba ghanoush I've had in the city, willfully smoky and brisk. The salads were wonderful plays on salty, savory, acid, and cilantro. Damn good hummus. Schug, now there was an eye-opener, I had no idea it would be so spicy(and I live for spicy chile heat). I took a small dab and immediately started hiccuping. Got that under control and went back for more. The falafel themselves were exemplary, moist, some green interiors, some red. Decent "regular," pita meaning not my favorite Lebanese variation. Quick service, you bus your own trays which are worth mentioning themselves, some silver, some gold compartmentalized like a Bento box or Thali. Everything very, very good. I can't wait to go back. Wish there was a Nish Nush near me.
Later in the day I broke my fast with a couple of blackberry margaritas at
Blue Smoke. We went shopping at Century 21 where I got socks. We then visited the Twin Towers memorial for the first time, of which not much should be said, just experienced.

Nish Nush
Address: 88 Reade St, New York, NY 10013
Phone:(212) 964-1318

Blue Smoke
255 Vesey St.,
Manhattan
(212)-889-2363

What is a great place to get brunch on a Sunday near broadway area?

ballast from last Saturday, Keely Garfield's dance WOW pre-show: indeed, I did have a salami in my backpack, the "Seasonal" sausage from the Charlito's Cocina http://charlitoscocina.com booth in Union Square; as the purveyor described, this sausage is pork, pork fat(lovely chunks), soy sauce, 5-spice powder, and xiaoxing wine...subtle craftsmanship, nothing overwhelms, and would play well with others on a typical platter.

Otto's Tacos, http://ottostacos.com, before the program that night. We've had decent luck with new(to us) taquerias in the city. Otto's, wonderful to behold, rustic made-in-house yellow corn tortillas enfolding, I had the carne asada(I'd have it again, however they obviously hold the griddled beef in a braising liquid, a big no-no for me). Their carnitas was a home run, delicious braised pork in somewhat maillard-processed chunks. I like that they sauce their tacos a la minute(no squeeze bottles table side), says a lot about their confidence in how their product ought to be presented, a fair amount of chile heat in both the roja and verde. I don't necessarily think guacamole when I order tacos, but theirs is nothing to sneeze at; plenty of coarse-chopped cilantro. T had a bottled horchata, very nice, cuddly and cinnamony as it should be, and M and I had Lagunitas IPA's, can't go wrong there. As with Thai food, we've been privileged to explore the best Chicago has to offer. (and LA)...I've been pleasantly-surprised that NY holds it's own. Now, if only I could find a true huitlacoche taco...not one labeled, "mushroom," that is, alas, mushrooms.

Post-performance we were invited to join the company for libations and vittles at Pangea, http://www.pangeanyc.com/photos/

A welcoming space , we thoroughly-enjoyed the conversation, I actually poked my head out of my shell for a moment, a serviceable Sazerac(make sure to ask for it, "up.") long story. Decent nibbles, pleasant service. A good vibe. Eventually, the restaurant becomes a club night for connoisseurs of ladies in a fluid sense, and we bid our adieus, I don't want to spoil anyone's fun. We found a nominal frat bar nearby and somehow ended up singing en masse The Beach Boy's "God Only Knows." Followed by, my favorite Stevie Wonder song, "Evil." Which is kinda beautiful if you'd been there. Certainly more euphoric than the santa I saw whip out his dick and piss in the middle of the street, or the several barely perambulating the sodden lamplit corners. Ah, Santa Crawl. I was 21 once.

An Arthur Avenue Christmas

Eat black, fresh fettuccine, calamari, bathed black in a dish that seems more an offering to an elder god, than the conveyance of hella delicious, chile hot, tensile squid ringlets. K offered me some and eventually I too, spoke chthonic invocations, epithets of awesomeness spat by those imperial Chinese whores whose black-laquered teeth signified, "anything goes."

Zero Otto Nove
2357 Arthur Avenue
The Bronx 10458

T and I started with Basil Hayden plus a couple rocks, then Campari and soda, K and J ordered a couple bottles of Michelle Chiarlo Barbera D'asti. We went through a quattro formaggi pizza, an antipasto platter: endive and ricotta, mortadella, prosciutto, speck, bresaola, capicola, marinated eggplant, aged provolone, etc.
K got the aforementioned ink well
J got a fava bean and veal dish T and I were eyeing
T got the special of rabbit risotto
I nibbled at my porcini secondi
We lounged there in the back space with it's faux-Tuscan walls and neutral gray sunlight. Every so often the pop Italian soundtrack would edge up a notch and with it a resulting cavalcade of applause, someone's birthday, someone else's birthday, boisterous tykes at the table next to ours breaking glasses, saucers, plates, every so often, their parents really didn't give shit, neither did we. Opa! ...wrong ethnicity...

SWAG

Madonia Bros. raisin and fennel bread
same walnut balls
ditto prosciutto bread

Calandra Cheese's burrino
and dry mozzarella

Borgatti's fresh spinach pasta, cut to order from weighed sheets

soft nougats(a wedge of a white one, a slice of one enrobed in green white chocolate) from
a purveyor in The Arthur Retail Markets

hard white nougat from somewhere along the way

the legendary Calabrian chile paste from Greco's(Mike's)

cannoli shells bought and filled to order
a red berry jelly confection atop a square of yellow cake(that one was all mine)
from the pastry counter just inside the door

green olives sought after having these beautiful ephemerally-spiced plump ones on the antipasto from Zero Otto

(again, Market)

New York's mustaccioli(and various misspellings thereof...which led to some confusion). I only know mostaccioli from specials ubiquitous on Chicago diner menus, not this understated confection of gingerbread enrobed in dark chocolate.

and at least twice, I was admonished, "ladies first."
despite the fact that K's definitely a lady, we've known each other for so long, I consider her a compadre, by default, her gender enters into the equation inasmuch as she likes boys too, she's as scintillating as ever

the lady at Morrone Pasta Shop and Cafe busted my balls in as kind a manner as possible, thankfully, K's J jumped in and diverted the conversation in Italian, at which point, the really pretty cool proprietor(?), apologized that they were speaking Italian in front of us, and gave me a wink

what else?

double IPA's at The Bronx Beer Garden to top off the evening

oh, unless I forget, Big Ang was at the Market promoting her line of vino. I wouldn't have known her from Adam, but she graciously posed for selfies with our friends as T and I hung back. And, she smiled at me a couple of times past our friends, which was a little disconcerting, but nice enough. I smiled back(probably like, I don't know who you are, but my friends are having fun).

this is merely an elision of how fantastic yesterday's excursion was...Arthur Ave. is literally a BX12 ride and a short walk from our place

the buildings are manageable enough and with the christmas lights strung everywhere, this Little Italy really does feel like a small town

and our friends K & J, they will always be the ones who introduced us to this culinary wonderland right beneath our noses

The NYT's Pete Wells does not recommend that you use your hard-earned dollars to dine at Kappo Masa:

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/07/dinin ... =fb-share#

A fine take-away quote: "it is expensive in a way that’s hard to forget either during or after the meal. The cost of eating at Kappo Masa is so brutally, illogically, relentlessly high, and so out of proportion to any pleasure you may get, that large numbers start to seem like uninvited and poorly behaved guests at the table."

Da Beef wrote:Another attempt in getting some others to share some stuff over here, the board has been pretty sluggish of late but it did pick up in the last week, maybe we can continue forward with the momentum? Talking to all the people so quick to support their favorite GNR's but give little to the board outside of that. Step your game up.

Paying heed to these shots fired, I thought I’d write up a recent trip to NYC.

The motive for this trip was to cook beaver meat for a Jamaican feast with my artist pal, Paul Anthony Smith (and tipple on castoreum aquavit with Baron Ambrosia). That said, I had an ample four night stay to snack around the outer boroughs and my objectives were: no Manhattan; nothing polished, elevated, or refined; sample cuisines I’d had little to no experience eating.

A transfer at Roosevelt Station in Jackson Heights always provides an opportunity for a south/ central Asian snack and I hadn’t had any good momo since my one and only jaunt to the Flirty Momo truck in MKE (RIP). Potala Fresh Momo has a couple of carts in the immediate vicinity of Roosevelt station. The carts are barebones– just a polite woman manning a tiered steamer.



These momos were satisfying, but not at the level of the Milwaukee truck. They’re clearly hand formed, though the skins were pretty thick. The lamb meat filling was subtly spiced and a tad gristly. The fiery cumin- inflected hot sauce definitely stepped the whole thing up. I was offered gratis consommé, which was elemental, quite delicious, and what the doctor ordered after a bumpy flight and rainy conditions.

I was hoping to explore Queens more– for more Nepalese and Bhutanese as well as an Indonesian spot I’d heard raved about, but our event was held on the border of Bushwick in Masbeth and I was, like many of my peers, staying in Bushwick.

Maybe I’m de-sensitized to the gentrification in Chicago, but in Brooklyn, I could, clear as day, watch the demographics shift as we cruised down Flatbush or up Flushing. We ventured deep into the Caribbean Flatbush neighborhood to source ingredients for our meal. Our lunch at Rama’s Roti Shop was the highlight eats on this trip.



It’s a hole in the wall– counter service, steam tables full of bubbling spicy brews, and a counter with maybe six stools for dining in. For about six bucks, you get a neatly packaged roti that weighs about four pounds.





Maybe I let my hangover get the best of me, but I inhaled this sucker. Not so pretty to look at, but the curry spicing was huge. Not overwhelmingly chile hot, but there was no need for any scotch bonnet sauce. Slightly awkward to eat, as the goat was bone-in, I opened mine up and tore pieces of the flaky, pleasantly greasy roti and scooped up the curry. My Caribbean dining companion attacked his with more seasoned technique, eating it like a burrito and hands-free dispatching of the bones as he scarfed. Next time I want to try whatever this crab stew is:



Back up in rapidly gentrifying Bushwick, we stopped for lunch at a Venezuelan arepera called Guacuco. A true neighborhood spot that has a welcoming vibe that seems popular with many of the demographics of the neighborhood. The cute, eclectic décor and fresh juice drinks were offset by no frills counter service and cheap prices. Here’s a shot of Paul in front of the shop.



Unfortunately, we took our order to go and the densely stuffed arepas suffered in our short commute. The delicate masa got sogged out by the heft of its fillings. I ordered a combo of shredded beef, sharp cheese, black beans, and sweet plantains, the latter of which was probably one starchy ingredient too many. Awesome salsas though, in the vein of Peruvian emulsified ají sauce.

Finally, I tried a completely new-to-me cuisine at Yemen Café, an Arabic holdover in the basically now totally fancy Cobble Hill neighborhood. No concessions to the gringos at this spot. I’m still wondering what that potent fermented fish funk stank was that lingered in the air our entire meal.



What we sampled was not too challenging, however– mostly familiar dishes to other Middle Eastern menus. A few offerings, which happened to be my favorites, had South Asian vibes like crackly, charred, yet chewy bread baked in a tandoor-like oven. A gratis soup had a deep curry spicing and was my favorite thing we ate. A lightly lentil- fortified broth with pungent spicing and a deeply developed meatiness, almost like the consommé of steamed birria, which led me to wonder if the essences of the braised meats we enjoyed later in our meal were employed in this wonderful bowl of soup.



The other dishes we ordered were all quite plain, especially in contrast to that soup. The shak-shookah (on the left) was not saucy at all and contained eggs scrambled with bits of tomato, pepper, and onion, not unlike huevos a la Mexicana. Nothing wrong with it, just very basic. A not-pictured foul had a dense, paste like quality that was plain on its own but pretty satisfying smeared with fresh hot sauce on the wonderfully textured flatbread (which at about the size of a hubcap, came with each and every dish we ordered, piling up to three for the two of us). The dish of braised lamb on the right was, again, very simple, nicely tender and we enjoyed gnawing on the bones and working out morsels of meat from the nooks and crannies.

New York is overwhelming. I always joke that I need a shower (or at least a change of socks) by lunch. The breadth of food options reflects that. In terms of both research and transportation logistics, it takes a lot of gumption to really dig into the neighborhoods of the outer boroughs. It once again, makes me feel lucky we have such an inexhaustible resource for our own metropolis in this board here. Let’s keep it cooking!

Potala Fresh Momo
Broadway & 37th Rd, Jackson Heights, NY 11372

Rama's Roti Shop
2831 Church Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11226
(718) 287-7262

Arepera Guacuco
44 Irving Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11237
(347) 305-3300

Yemen Café
176 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11201
(718) 834-9533

5 King Street
(Entrance on 6th Ave, South of Houston)
New York, NY 10012
212-235-7133

Charlie Bird Restaurant


A couple of weeks ago on an evening threatening rain, my partner and I dined at a friend’s surprise wedding. We used the private room in back.

In a city still-besotted with POW cuisine(see: The Spotted Pig), Charlie Bird holds it’s own. Nuptials set menu with a choice for the entree.

The chicken liver crostini holds it’s own and then some in this bedeviled egg and homespun pate’ world. Every rich bite of anything vaguely-presumptuous cut with acid in strawberries and/or sherry vinegar.

my partner’d reverse-engineered the farro salad when my friend from high school visited a couple weeks back; R and I’d manufactured our youth at one of the Brooklyn shows by They Might Be Giants, I’m a bad navigator, between the both of us, and with her Navy training we made it there just shy of our intended time, took the free buses back to one train and another, got home and sat on the kitchen floor eating sweet peas, mint, parmigiano, farro

The rigatoni tensile, the roasted suckling pig perfect, like a dish thrown together from what’s leftover and all the better for it.

my steelhead trout was the best steelhead trout ever; either immersion-circulated, or olive oil poached, or, someone in the kitchen has a deft hand

steelhead trout the perfect play between poaching and sashimi, I dream about it, luscious, coral, deliquescent

the broccoli raab invoked wok hai char

for dessert warm chocolate budino, olive oil gelato

I’m a sucker for plays on olive oil, and caramelized rice crispies(rice crispies, caramelized...is there anything better than that?)

Afterwards it poured, the party stopped for wine, took bottles back to the Trump

The little one, son of the betrothed friends ran roughshod over the big bed, he’s a mini Thurston Moore, our friends insisted, no, Trump. Little one in his wedding day suit. He refused to wear a tie.

fyi: this is an elision, things that stood out, Chef Hardy popped in to check on us, an opportune time to ask after the
trout technique, I was too involved in the jouissance of eating with friends, new and
previous to bother with all that.

Sid Gold's Request Room

http://sidgolds.com

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_McGinty

http://thebeautybar.com/about-new-york/

tattooed in imagined Hispanic Black Gothic script:

best bar in New York

the rooms themselves are wonderful, the front bar with it's Rio de Janeiro carioca swerve, the piano bar with it's sundry gloaming alcoves

great bartender(Danielle) and the specialty cocktails are operating on a higher plane, yet humble

The food though

they have no business making great pizza, and yet, cracker thin crusts with a discernible weft in the gluten weave, precisely-plotted with the usual, but, really oh so good

see, also pimento cheese, deviled eggs, the city is besotted with deviled eggs, not a bad thing, pigs in blankets

just a general rec room in midtown vibe, that I offer seems like it's always been there, or at least, was always supposed to be where it is

on a street populated with hotels and corporate "ale houses," Sid's is an outlier. Maybe some Friday, I'll get up the gumption to sing
like I used to at Martuni's in San Francisco

utilizing https://www.trycaviar.com/manhattan

ordered from Baohaus

https://www.trycaviar.com/manhattan/baohaus-76

quite struck by their Chairman Bao; a hoisin-redolent hunk of pork belly, the bao itself, ephemeral as a drop biscuit, puffy with the nicest squish

friends got taro fries and Chengdu chicken, we shared everything except the bao, I'm a biter on the playground

not the prettiest food, hit the spot

Clouds ever expanding battleships scuttling across a cerulean sky, it was a perfect Midtown summer evening. Seven of us met at Black Tree, http://www.blacktreenyc.com, in celebration of T's birthday. Handsome Matt bartended the deep bourbon list, and although I went with cocktails, and others prosecco, everyone enjoyed their individual libations. D brought T yellow mums, K and J offered dvd's from the collection, the Gregory and Shawn box K recently completed! T and K ruled the roost as affable affiliates and T and I admired our friends. Pickle shots with blackberry brine: the whiskey caressing the back of one's throat as the brine hits the sun dies a slow heat death lingers smoldering simulacra of Bradbury and deep, dark, fruit. One slinks into the coming repast. Dipalo burrata and toast. You just want to rip into it, wipe the lactic love from your chin with the back of your hand. Everything is served on planks, everything(for us) shared; a messy, invigorating meal. Deviled duck egg, the threads of rillettes filaments divining the kick of chimichurri, heirloom tomato salad, summer, again, roe crostini, teeny, tiny crunch blast I wanted over and over again, spicy crab artichoke dip, like your mom's but better, you can taste the crab dragged from it's molten primordial cast iron pool, more pickle backs and blackberry shots, At Black Tree on the way to the loo, bottles upon bottles of infusions and tinctures line the wall. The blue fish tacos, oh my lord, friends declared, best blue fish ever. Ubiquitous on the shore. Chef Nash and sous obviously are involved in some obscene alchemy invoking depth of flavor in a bite of blue fish. So good. We share the Summer Pig, possibly the skate(things begin to blur), and finish with a rich, braised to perfection, short rib, probably the simplest dish of the night, presented just so, I was put in mind of goat, and how I love goat, and then we all got to talking about the goat ma po dou fu at Yunnan Kitchen we slavered over the other week. Completely non-traditional ma po, soupy, almost Texas bowl of red-like, and eye opening for all that, anyhow, a gorgeous evening fete-ing my T and surrounded by friends, taken care of by the kitchen and the bar, what's more to ask? Shit! And the ceviche! Fucking hell! A bejeweled mound of snapper and roe and a tequila and raspberry shot(the birthday boy got that), I'm no expert on ceviche, though it can err on the side of the super acidic. This was just sublime, piquant, silken with a pleasurable meatiness. So freakin' good.

https://www.google.com/search?client=sa ... 7471408402

https://www.google.com/search?client=sa ... 8&oe=UTF-8

Had a great time exploring Jackson Heights with T, L, and K. Spot on cuisine at Jackson Diner; they trusted me to order for the table. A relatively light late lunch as we had another food destination later: bhel puri, iddlies with a sambar and a coconut chutney, goat curry Kadai, dal makhani, complimentary pappadum with the requisite coriander chutney, tamarind sambar, and a very nice bright red onion house pickle. We popped into Patel Bros. afterwards to see if we should comeback later: yes. Went in search of Jackson Heights' oldest gay bar, Friends Tavern, it was closed, we spied rainbow flags ahead as the neighborhood jarringly-transitioned from Sub continent to Himalayan to Tibetan to Korean to Hispanic. True Colors was dark and completely dead except for one, lone habitué. We four took our seats. The bartender was unexpectedly gregarious, engaging, touchy-feely. Well, everyone had their forearms grasped at one point or another except for me. Three of us had margaritas. The lone holdout; a beer. A decent respite on an early Saturday evening that bar. Then we went to Phayul. A Himalayan restaurant around a corner, hidden in Byzantine signage, up twisting, worn carpeted stairs to a nondescript door next to a beauty parlor. Is this the place? Chris, you go first.
Laphing, those delicious gelatinous noodles in a garlic soy chile broth, phaksha siphen ngoenma(the wok hai perfuming this pork belly and water spinach? dish superb) and what makes it simply transcendent is the precise deployment of Sichuan peppercorn, tho' bereft of evidence of the spice, perhaps it is an herb with similar ma la? Beef momo, thenthuk(very mom's homecookin') hand drawn noodle beef soup. And the condiments, one a rustic toasted chile oil that gives Pixian broad bean and chile a run for it's money in the savory complexity department while also managing to up the heat and an orange chile sauce tangy, slightly less hot, vegetal. We were roll me out in a wheelbarrow stuffed. You know how they say never shop on an empty stomach? Full to bursting and we raided Patel Bros. like, well, we shopped good, real good.

I had a very good 4pm Sunday dinner at Copellia (mentioned previously upthread) at 14th/7th in Manhattan. A bowl of posole and a large bowl of arroz con pollo, asked for them to make it without the egg. It's much more expensive than La Teresita in Tampa but for larger portions, $24+tax+tip, but then again you're paying for location. It was my main meal of the day, but the main course could have easily been split between two people.

I'm in Manhattan 5-6 times a year for work and usually once for pure leisure, and Copellia will be in the rotation.

Copellia
Address: 207 W 14th St, New York, NY 10011
Phone:(212) 858-5001
open 24/7

The other difference is that Teresita is Cuban.

I like Coppelia (note spelling), the hipsterish 24/7 "pan-latino" diner in NYC apparently named after the Cuban, government-run ice cream chain (that infamously is often out of everything, which i confirmed in Cuba last summer), named after the ballet. It is a friend's favorite brunch/hangover cure. No Cuban in in Havana or Tampa knows or ever knew what posole is. (A slight exaggeration; Mexicans have started opening restaurants in FL in the last decade after a hundred years of being invisible - but definitely there - migrant agriculture workers....)

Ventured off on my own, bought sunglasses on St. Mark's: me: "I always come here and I only pay (this much)", response, "my friend, why didn't you say so?" Cuz I ain't got time for that. Had a Stella at The Stonewall Inn where I met Tree bartending there. Empty and hella gay, the tavern gets busy sometimes supposedly, beyond mere tourists like myself. I told Tree I marched in Stonewall 25, had never actually been in the bar until now. Bedpost meet notch. You whore. Upon recommendation of a fellow lead found McNulty's and what a find indeed! Akin to Chicago's The Spice House in Old Town. Walking back in time to a dark room of jars and weights and measures and exacting clientele asking after a 16th of this COFFEE and an eighth of THAT coffee. I found a curious oolong and a prepackaged gunpowder laced with lemon and bergamot. I work nearby, detoured through my store. Bought short ribs and dried porcini for later. Said hello and hightailed it to the A. A lovely afternoon.

So dry and my allergies, my day off and I got a nose bleed while I napped, blood staining our new pillowcases, man, life sucks. Life is beautiful, I have a long commute. My day off and I dream that I am late for work. Such is life. For the past five months I am the assistant cheesemonger to a maitre de fromager to Eli Zabar. Not the legendary, desultory Zabar's on the West Side, this is completely a different thing and as old as me Eli Zabar's flagship of his empire on the upper east side. Try to get a vacheron or 36 mo. Comte' elsewhere in the city in season(or, Tuscan white truffles, or Osetra, or various permutations of cooked foie gras). How I came to be a cheesemonger in the most expensive and prestigious cheese department in the city is a long story best related over one of Eli's well-cellared burgundys. So, noting the expensive scents of severely wealthy, aged, Europeans, not seeing old people eat brie, cutting the cases, I do this for a living. Stop by, y'all.

Very specific request. I am in NYC in about 10 days. On a Monday night, in Midtown, on my own, looking for something interesting to eat that is not really expensive. Is this possible? Does anyone have any off the cuff recommendations?

Thanks!

DKoblesky wrote:Very specific request. I am in NYC in about 10 days. On a Monday night, in Midtown, on my own, looking for something interesting to eat that is not really expensive. Is this possible? Does anyone have any off the cuff recommendations?

Thanks!

Was there a fee weeks back and had a meal at Han Bat which is a Korean joint. Went with the gamjatang.

Also the other midtown option I was contemplating was sake bar hagi. 2 locations in the neighborhood and they served izakaya fare.

Dhaulagiri Kitchen. Nepali, really good, ridiculously cheap, open way past midnight.

124 Lexington Ave
New York, NY 10016
(917) 675-7679