Chomp and Circumstance

After several long days of traveling and apartment searching in Manhattan, I'm finally home (and freshly graduated) in my hard-to-pronounce town in southeastern Pennsylvania. My exhaustion would have otherwise prevented me from writing this evening, but I stumbled upon a blog virtually identical to my own (almost positively copied, as it was created after mine), and became inspired to maintain the status quo. So here I go...


My last few days in Atlanta were a whirlwind -- I was presented with the tasks of packing, passing French class (believe me, c'est plus dificile qu'il semble), and changing the font of literally every restaurant left on my list to strikethrough before I graduated. One of my final meals and by far the most memorable was dinner with my family at Woodfire Grill. Woodfire Grill is Kevin Gillespie's baby (Top Chef, Season 6), and without knowing in advance that he had recently moved back to Atlanta to become the restaurant's executive chef, I laid eyes upon his jolly red beard in the lobby; it was as pleasant as surprises come. Every customer was bombarding him with pictures, so I told him I didn't need one but instead shook his hand. I regret not taking a photo with him (I likely would have broken my "no pictures of people on the blog" rule for Kevin), however gauche it would have been.


Once a new group of high-pitched women made their way over to Kevin, my family and I were seated upstairs in a semi-private room at a long, medieval type table with five chairs, each about two feet apart. Our waiter informed us that we had "one of the best tables in the house." That evening, I had opted out of a graduation dinner with seventy-five other people (many of my friends' families), a slideshow, and a cash bar, so if intimacy is what I sought, then I had come to the right venue. I remember when making the reservation, the hostess asked if I was celebrating a special occasion. Sure enough, my response was not only remembered but also printed on the menu.

Why, thank you.

I begged my parents for the tasting menu; there was even a vegetarian option for Allie! But after learning that the tasting was blind (something only I would have been okay with) and required the entire table's participation, I was stuck with the a la carte section. Aw, man. Kind of like being stuck in first class instead of flying private. What a bummer.

Our waiter first presented us with an amuse-bouche of roasted beats, orange gilet, compressed radish, Espelette pepper (had to ask the server for the spelling of that one), crème fraîche, and chives. Despite the radish, chives, and pepper, the beats made the dish sweet (and turned my mouth a lovely shade of maroon). I'm not used to beginning the meal with sweet flavors, but this was just enough. And I'll eat anything served in a ceramic spoon rest.

Roasted Beets Amuse-Bouche

It's no secret that the best restaurants are so highly regarded not just because of the chef's skills but also the quality and freshness of the ingredients. Woodfire Grill's menu is printed daily and its creation is most unique; the restaurant orders its ingredients frequently and the menu is fashioned based on what's available. This is compared to most other, more traditional restaurants that write the menu first. I can attest to the superiority of Woodfire Grill's strategy after having eaten the spring vegetable salad, and I almost never order salads at dinner. But look at it! It was as if someone had literally handpicked the vegetables five minutes before our meal. It consisted of local baby carrots, asparagus, crispy baby artichokes, a "six minute egg" (descriptive of how long it's hard boiled), and béarnaise sauce. The béarnaise was a nice touch -- I'm definitely not used to seeing a heavy sauce like that on a salad, but I preferred it, as I do not have an eating disorder.

Spring Vegetable Salad

I forgot to photograph my second course prior to digging in. Silly me. What you're looking at is a (partially mutilated) oversized pan roasted day boat scallop with porcini powder, fennel pollen, a lemon-butterbean puree, and caramelized golden beats. I agree with you - the puree looks like mush or some type of custard, but it really served as a nice accompaniment to the scallop (and it helped me to slowly but surely turn my tongue back to its natural hue). Scallops are usually the kind of shellfish that taste like whatever you marinate them in, but even with the absence of the puree, I don't think this scallop needed anybody's help. My family and I learned from the waiter that all of the seafood served at Woodfire Grill is caught the very same day, which brings new meaning to "expedited shipping." It doesn't get any fresher than that.

Pan Roasted Day Boat Scallop

I'm not just saying this because I feel obligated after dining at such a fine restaurant, but my main course was completely unforgettable. It was not overly inventive or ornate, but it was one of the tastiest cuts of cow I've ever eaten. Many of you know that my love of food originates from red meat (see the interests section of my resume, which reads, "tennis, red meat, and shoes), and not only was this particular cut cooked to perfection (medium rare -- the only way to go), but it was a kind of hybrid between strip steak and filet, something I had never seen before. My biggest dilemma when going to steakhouses is choosing between the two cuts. I sometimes order a porterhouse, which I convince myself at the time will solve that dilemma, but really creates a new one entirely -- that is, I'm keeled over by the end of the meal (and the top button of my pants is undone). This was perfect. More flavorful than a filet but leaner than and not as tough as a sirloin. If I believed in heaven, this is what it would taste like (cue chorus: "ahhh!"). It was served with fork crushed red potatoes, wood oven roasted California asparagus, vidalia onions, and tarragon. 

Wood Grilled Natural Angus Beef Striploin

Before visiting Woodfire Grill, I had heard mixed reviews. The restaurant is generally well received by critics, but a good friend told me that she had tried the tasting menu and left hungry. Luckily, I did not have this same problem. The restaurant really is a special place, although understated and not over-the-top. I didn't get the impression, as I sometimes do with prix fix menus, that the chef was trying too hard to impress his customers. In this case, he didn't have to; the ingredients spoke for themselves.

As I sit here writing this entry, a wave of nostalgia has passed over me. I know it hasn't been long since I've left Atlanta, but it also hasn't been long since I've started missing it. I do feel, though, as if I've seen, done, and eaten all there is to see, do, and eat. Woodfire Grill was one of the last on my ever-shrinking list of restaurants to try in Atlanta. I'm not sure when, but I know I'll be back again someday, you know, just to make sure the food is still up to par...

Dine at Woodfire Grill

1782 Cheshire Bridge Road

Atlanta, GA 30324

(404) 347-9055

Finch Me, Am I Dreaming?

Finally.

I feel like my entire life (well, at least the past three years) has been building up to this moment. For those of you who live in Atlanta, you may be shocked to learn that tonight was my very first evening at Holeman & Finch, a legendary establishment known for its unique menu and mouth-watering cheeseburger. My first piece of writing about food, published in an environmental sustainability magazine at Emory (I was the voice of reason), highlighted some of Atlanta's best options for red meat, including the Holeman & Finch burger. I didn't dare admit in the article that I hadn't actually tasted it, but believe you me, I had done my research, and since then have allowed it to be hyped by fellow foodies, friends, and even myself. This has led me to my current philosophy, where I will not photograph or write about anything that doesn't touch my lips.

I am still on a high from dinner and am completely overcome with emotion. My very close friend and dining partner for the evening compared my elation to the way she feels when she walks outside on a beautiful day. She was right -- this is what I live for. When all is said and done with my financial career, there isn't a shred of doubt in my mind that a profession in food will be my next venture, my true calling. And even though my friend doesn't get off from food like I do, I still found myself in good company (despite paying for 75% of the bill). She even took a walk on the wild side when she let our waiter surprise her with a cocktail; perhaps that was only because of me, but if so, I like that I've had that effect on her.

Holeman & Finch is a tiny (but wouldn't say "hole-in-the-wall" because the place is relatively modern) restaurant, but even on a Monday night, it was as crowded as Azuki on a Saturday (not a strong food reference but a good indication of what "packed like sardines" looks like). The place has just recently started offering its burgers every night, instead of only Thursdays through Saturdays, as was traditionally the case. Still, the burger is not on the menu, is only served beginning at 10:00 PM and sells out almost immediately. I wondered if any customers dine at Holeman without knowing the burger exists. Probably not.

I started with the hot dog, served with pickled jalapeño and "ball park" mustard (their own recipe; this place also does its own pickling). Hands down the best hot dog I've ever eaten. The meat was cooked to perfection and the homemade bun (similar to the bun that came with the burger) was soft and buttery all the way through while still maintaining some crunch on the outside.
 

"The Hot Dog"

Next came the richest dish I tasted that evening, a poached farm egg and griddled bacon, served with johnnycakes, sorghum syrup, and SEARED FOIE GRAS (note the caps to highlight my enthusiasm). If I were Jesus in a modern day rendition of the Last Supper, this would undoubtedly be my meal of choice (although probably better suited for a "last breakfast"). Each bite was more flavorful than the last, but next time I probably won't order this dish on the same night I eat the burger; I was a bit overwhelmed.

Poached Egg, Griddled Bacon, Johnnycakes with Sorghum Syrup, Seared Foie Gras

Point blank, I ordered too much food (no beating around the bush) -- but I'd always rather have this problem than the reverse. My third "entree" (all of the dishes were "small plates," but probably not small enough for my stomach this evening) was the farm egg and pancetta carbonara, which consisted of the restaurant's hand-cut pasta. Everything I ate this evening was made from scratch, and it was obvious. The pasta provided a nice contrast against the sweetness of the "breakfast" I had just devoured; I found myself alternating between the two.

Pancetta Carbonara

And, the moment you've (and I've) been waiting for, the Holeman & Finch burger. It's hard for me to come up with any words to describe it, as I don't believe any description could truly do it justice. Just stare for a few seconds and allow your mouth to water (which, trust me, mine did after waiting until around 10:15 to see it). Our waiter brought us the very first burger of the evening; what a doll.

H&F Burger

My friend and I also noticed that all of the waiters were wearing plaid shirts. When I asked ours if it was his assigned uniform, he replied, "No, we're just assholes." Quite the opposite, actually; I wanted to kiss the ground these waiters walked on. He went on to explain that he's worked at many restaurants and always tires of the food, but Holeman is a staunch exception; he eats there frequently and it remains one of his favorite restaurants in Atlanta. Not sure how could anyone get sick of an extremely eclectic menu with the freshest ingredients and a handful of good looking, well dressed waiters. The service was just as memorable as the food, and this is the kind of place that could certainly afford to let service fall by the wayside.

My first evening at Holeman was a shock to the system; it made me realize how passionate I am about food and how inspired I am by my taste buds. I smiled from ear to ear in utter happiness throughout the entire meal, and rushed home to write about it. I have several other friends who plan on going to Holeman & Finch for dinner tomorrow, and I'm seriously considering joining them. I suppose one can have too much of a good thing, but I won't start thinking of it that way until at least my 3rd night in a row...

Dine at Holeman & Finch:
2277 Peachtree Road NE
Atlanta, GA 30309
(404) 948-1175

Beauty, Objectified.

It's my last winter break -- ever -- and, much as I had expected, my boredom of the Philadelphia suburbs had ensued somewhere around day two of being home. My unrest led me, much as you had expected, to New York to visit friends, both new and old. Tuesday evening was a wash, as I lost my phone, credit card, identification, a new purse and a pair of gloves. But this holiday season, I remind myself that La Flavoriser is a food blog, not an "Amanda loses her dignity" blog, so I digress. Post recovery on Wednesday, I was raring to go yet again, ready to lose myself (culinarily, of course) in the Manhattan restaurant scene.

A very dear friend, whose taste level in food and fashion easily surpasses my own (friends like these are difficult to come by), recommended we try Beauty & Essex, the newest restaurant by Chris Santos, Richard Wolf, and Peter Kane (the brains behind Tao and Stanton Social). Beauty & Essex has just emerged from its gestation period after merely three weeks as a fully functioning establishment. This meant that we had dined during "previews week," allowing us to save 20% of our bill (which, trust me, made a hell of a difference after appetizers, entrées, two desserts, and six cocktails). Our dinner, though, was worth every penny.

Beauty & Essex is located on the lower east side, and if you've read some of my earlier posts (particularly the one about the Meatball Shop), you'll note that this is one of my favorite areas in the city. Its entrance is disguised as a pawn shop, either to keep the homeless away or as an homage to the distinct origin of the building it occupies (let's pretend both are true). The pawn shop's walls are decorated with ancient trinkets and a collection of vintage guitars that belong to Chris Santos himself, a music (and food) aficionado (can someone set me up with this guy?). The door in the back of the pawn shop was guarded by a bouncer dressed in a sharp black three-piece suit, which had me immediately excited for the mysteriousness that awaited us in the restaurant. Once inside, my friend realized she had accurately anticipated my oohs and aahs about the décor. The hostess led us up a black lacquered spiral staircase, and the restaurant's walls were lined with white calf hair, which accented the dangling ornate crystal chandeliers. Our waitress mentioned the name of the design group, which has since escaped my memory, but I'll be inquiring again when it's time to find an apartment in July. We were seated in "the locket room," which, as the name alludes, has walls covered in antique lockets. My friend had used the phrase "old lady chic" earlier in our visit, and I believe I can appropriately apply that here. We also particularly enjoyed the bar in the "women's lounge" (far too sophisticated to be called a bathroom) that served free champagne.

Pawn Shop Storefront

I read one review of the restaurant that said something to the effect of, "...this place belongs in the meatpacking district, and not in a good way." Well listen here, my gastronomic foe, Beauty & Essex is too real for meatpacking, as that area sometimes disgusts me as well. The restaurant isn't too trendy for its own good, but I despise people who won't dine at certain places simply because they're "in." Stop trying to go against the grain -- good food deserves praise, regardless of its home.

The menu is one of the best I've seen in a while, comprised mostly of small plates that I would describe as belonging to a continental or new American genre. There is also an encyclopedic list of specialty cocktails that would have sounded delicious if not for my previous night's near-death experience. Thus, I stuck with a pinot noir that, unfortunately, brought discomfort with every sip (also the result of Tuesday's mishap). We were first presented with a Caesar salad crostini, complements of the chef.

Caesar Salad Crostini

Next came the whipped ricotta crostini with grilled pears, basil, honey, and chile, which was listed on the menu under the "Jewels on Toast" section (clever description).

Jewels on Toast

Following our crostini duo, my friend and I shared the roasted bone marrow with rioja braised shallot marmalade. Bone marrow is usually a no-brainer for me; whenever it's on a menu, I go for it. My friend had never had the pleasure of trying it before, but being the adventurous amiga she is, enjoyed it for the very first time. There's just something about the buttery goodness and its contrast against sweet jam that melts my heart into pieces.

Bone Marrow

We needed a bit of red meat (please refer to the "interests" section of my resume, which reads "tennis, red meat, and shoes"), so we ordered Kobe beef carpaccio with wasabi egg yolk, crunchy wontons, and sesame nori. It was the perfect thickness, as sometimes beef carpaccio can be too heavy, which makes it almost sickening to eat; this was certainly not the case here.

Kobe Beef Carpaccio

The Kobe carpaccio was followed by my favorite dish of the evening -- beer battered Maine lobster tacos with red cabbage slaw and jalapeño mayonnaise. I almost never think to order lobster (save for my lobster roll this past summer at Mary's Fish Camp, a must-try), but my friend had eaten the tacos on her previous visit just four days before (yes, it's that good) and suggested we do the same. This was by far the most memorable part of our meal.

Lobster Tacos

Our only true entrée-sized dish was the roasted wild striped bass with manilla clams, baby artichokes, and roasted garlic & saffron aioli. I enjoyed the clams more than the sea bass itself, as I found it not to be bland, but certainly the least savory item I had sampled that evening. Luckily, though, we weren't finished...

Striped Bass

One glance at the dessert menu and, with little argument, we decided on two dishes that were as incredible as they were different from one another. Behind door number one was the devil's food layer cake (with some sort of sweet cream, but the dessert menu is nowhere to be found) and vanilla ice cream. Second was the warm apple pie with cheddar ice cream and banana chips. I know what you're thinking -- cheddar ice cream? Sounds like something out of a box of Harry Potter jelly beans. However, the ice cream wasn't overwhelmingly cheddary, and had just enough of a hint of the flavor to justify its pairing with the apple pie. All in all, it was delicious. Just when I thought I was full, I would take a bite of the other dessert and realize that my strategy of alternating dishes allowed me (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your view) to trick my mind into thinking I could eat just a bit more.

Apple Pie

Devil's Food Layer Cake

My friend and I praised the waitress, as if Beauty & Essex was entirely her idea, about everything we fancied that evening. We learned that at the beginning and end of each shift, the chef uses the ingredients from the menu and creates a unique dish for the wait staff that's not offered to patrons of the restaurant. This interesting tidbit was the icing on the [devil's food] cake to a near perfect dinner.

At the conclusion of our meal, my friend and I glanced at our watches and took note of the hour we had to kill before our evening plans began. We headed uptown to get manicures at 11 PM, making yesterday night truly an evening of Beauty & Essex. Until next time...

Dine at Beauty & Essex:
146 Essex Street
New York, NY 10002
(212) 614 - 0146

Takes Two to Know One

Several of my close friends spent the summer in Atlanta. Unfortunately, this meant that I saw them much less frequently than was desired. To my benefit, however, they were able to explore the city on its "off-season" (or at least on my off-season). One striking thing that came out of this exploration was their discovery of Antico Pizza Napoletana. I've been to Antico Pizza for two out of my last three dinners, and decided to combine both visits into one pizza play-by-play.

This past Saturday, my favorite couple and I ambitiously ventured (in a thunderstorm, mind you) to the uncharted territory known as Downtown Atlanta to Antico Pizza. We were feeling brave, so despite the innumerable risks of riding in a lightening-impervious sedan, we headed to the restaurant. My second visit was far less risky, both in safety and cuisine; Saturday's fare had been a winner, so I knew what I was in for.

The reason my friends and I traveled thirty minutes for pizza was because of the uniqueness of the restaurant. The place serves pizza only and does not allow for any modifications to its pies. The main dining room consists of several communal tables and looks and feels as if you're eating in the chef's personal kitchen. The woodfire ovens are on display for the customers, and they're each set to a different temperature so as to preserve the specificity of each recipe.

My friends and I B'ed our O. B. (no relation to the emerging hip hop artist), and found that several corkscrews were floating around to assist in our inebriation. We asked the party next to us to borrow their cork, but after mentioning that he charged a $2 corkage fee, the man who seemed to be the leader of the group replied that it was actually his personal cork (he B'ed his O. C.) without offering to let us borrow it. My friend and I exchanged confused glances and hunted down a waitress with a corkscrew, but not before filling up our plastic cups with water from the communal sink. By now you may have realized that Antico Pizza is quite an interesting establishment, so I was forced to embrace its "charm," which I did (eventually) grow to fancy.

The pies at Antico Pizza are absolutely huge. They come in one size -- large -- and can feed up to four Jewish female adolescents (but perhaps only two homeless men). Over the span of three days (though only on two separate occasions), I sampled three pizzas, all of which had been recommended to me by those in whom I have high culinary trust.

To begin (and possibly to bore you), I had the Margherita D.O.P. with San Marzano tomatoes, bufala, basil and garlic. This was better than your average pizza, but in my opinion, no better than a plain pie from Mariella Pizza on 17th St. and 3rd Ave in Manhattan (coincidentally, it's Oprah's favorite too).

Margherita Pizza

My mediocre margherita was followed by the Lasagna (the name of the pie, not actually lasagna), which consisted of meatball, ricotta, and romano. I found this to be the most savory of the three pizzas, and actually have several slices in my refrigerator (if only I had a little self-restraint, as well...).

Lasagna Pizza

The third pizza was delicious, too; the Verdura pizza with broccoli rabe, mushroom, pomodorini, and garlic. I do, however, prefer "red" pizza to "white" pizza (call me pro-affirmative action), so I would have appreciated some marinara as a base.

Verdura Pizza

The service at the restaurant is quick -- I'd say our meal was twenty-five minutes from the time we were seated until we walked out of the place. On my first visit to Antico Pizza, I photographed and admired the selection of cannolis (a dessert I have a serious crush on), but was feeling a bit too full to make a purchase. I caved tonight, though, and from the looks of it, you should understand why. I went with the cannoli tradizionale. Even my cannoli-averse friend took a bite and enjoyed what she tasted.

Cannoli Tradizionale

I left the restaurant with a bit of a conflicting feeling. When described to me at first, I thought the place sounded traditional and rustic. Then, upon entry, I noticed Antico Pizza's attempt at trendiness via the font on their menus and the scarcity of the lobby decor. And finally, when I was seated and enjoying my pizza, I noticed that my mono-lingual server (not English) was, too, as she licked her fingers clean from her dinner break. To make matters worse, I don't think the servers wore gloves...

All in all, I'd say Antico Pizza was an interesting experience. The pizza is worth coming back for if you can get past the strange ambiance. While I can certainly appreciate an out-of-the box restauranteur, sometimes a girl just needs a little white glove service.

Dine at Antico Pizza Napoletana:
1093 Hemphill Avenue
Atlanta, GA 30318
(404) 724-2333

My Affair with Raoul

Favorite is not a term I use lightly or often. In fact, there are very few things in life about which I've thought enough to determine a favorite; that is, with the exception of food. Several days ago, a friend asked me to name my favorite restaurant in Manhattan. Without hesitation, I mentioned Raoul's. This is one of those answers that I've had prepared for several years, and I've never changed my opinion even after countless excursions to Michelin-starred tables and chichi hole-in-the-wall joints.

As if you hadn't read enough about French fare on La Flavoriser, I'm writing again to tell you of a culinary treasure that brings my mind, heart, and stomach back to Paris each time I visit. Raoul's is an adorable French bistro (surprise!) that's been around for decades and has aged impressively well. The walls of the restaurant are covered with a smattering of portraits of nude women and other muted photography, the order of which have no rhyme or reason whatsoever. The tables are candle-lit, which provides most of the illumination for the main dining room. Patrons sit elbow-to-elbow with their neighbors, a setup that practically screams Paris. Some will say that these characteristics are off-putting; I say they're the main draw, not to mention there's a certain air of romance about the restaurant that is loathed only by cynics. To my future husband, if you're reading this: if you don't propose in Paris, Raoul's will be just fine.

I've dined at Raoul's on many occasions, but this time was for an early birthday celebration with my father's side of the family. The maître d' led us through the kitchen (one of the best parts of the evening, in my opinion) into the back of the restaurant to the sky-lit dining room, in the back of which there is a lovely garden with just two tables. We opted to sit inside, though, as a result of the unbearable heat and relentless mosquitoes. Still, it was incredibly charming. We were able to see out the window to the garden, and my family commented all-too quickly on the ceramic fountain of a little boy with water spewing out of his...you get the idea. It seemed that a few of the Lightmans were missing some manners merited by a place with such grace, but I let it slide.

Soon the waitress arrived with a chalkboard menu (écrit en français, bien sûr), and we were handed English translations upon request of my Father. Ordering at Raoul's is never a difficult task for me. At this point, only the appetizer was up for debate. I decided upon the seared bigeye tuna with avocado purée, mango, and yuzu dressing. I'm still not exactly sure what yuzu dressing is, but I don't question what tastes good, I just smile and chew.

Seared Bigeye Tuna

I love avocado and mango with my sushi, so I figured my appetizer would be some sort of variation of that. It was not at all sushi-like, but it was just the nectarous taste I'd been searching for. Next came the no-brainer, steak au poivre. This is Raoul's' signature dish, and each time I dine here, I manage to eat it in some capacity, whether alone or shared. I ordered my steak medium rare, or, as some of you may recall from earlier posts, à point.

Steak au Poivre

The steak came with a side of spinach and the most unbelievable frites I've ever tasted. Just look at them. This is one of those dishes that leaves you speechless.

For dessert, I ordered the crème brulée, which was framed by pure hardened candy, like the kind that solidifies on the dessert itself. I didn't want to break the shell, and I suppose I could have just lifted it, but after gazing starry-eyed at the dessert for several minutes, I needed a taste of the outside.

Crème Brulée

 The shell was a sweet preview of what was to come. After the rest of my family had resisted ordering dessert for fear they wouldn't have room for Pinkberry (comme çi, comme ça, in my opinion), everyone caved and shared my crème brulée. I was both pleased and saddened by this, as it meant I could share the taste with them, but also that I had to. Less for me, unfortunately.

I am never disappointed by my favorite restaurant. The only hiccup of the evening occurred when my steak came undercooked -- two times. I'm not the type to send things back to the kitchen unless I sense a risk of e. coli, so this was definitely something that could have been remedied from the start. Still, my waitress was apologetic, which, considering her French descent, was impressive, and fixed the entrée at my request.

Raoul's is about as close as it gets to Paris in New York City. The owners are French, as well as the majority of the wait staff. Forget Pastis and Balthazar -- this is the real deal, where the quality of food trumps the trendiness, and not the other way around. The restaurant is a staple in my Manhattan diet, so I'll need to make sure I move into my apartment next summer at least a few weeks early (before I begin a life of takeout and delivery) in order to get my fix. If you're going on a date and need a special venue, choose Raoul's. Or, even if you're stag and looking for a place full of flavor and character, it won't take you long before you're in love with Raoul himself (sexuality disregarded). Until next time, happy birthday to me...

Dine at Raoul's:
180 Prince Street
New York, NY 10012
(212) 966 - 3518

(Meat)Ballin'

It was a Monday night, and I decided to venture outside of my East Midtown locale. Living two blocks away from where you work is convenient, but the idea of having my entire life within an eighth-mile radius can be stifling, not to mention that 47th street east of Park Avenue is not the liveliest of neighborhoods after 9:00 PM. I went straight from work to a friend's apartment on the Lower East Side, which has grown to be one of my favorite areas of the city. Last winter, I spent a few nights at The Hotel on Rivington, and since then it's been like a long-distance relationship; I love the area but rarely have the time or patience to travel to that neck of the woods. This past Monday was an exception, though, as I had worked until 11:30 PM and was ready for a change of scenery.

After relaxing with some friends, new and old, at this LES apartment, I remembered that I hadn't eaten dinner that evening. Mind you, it was now 1:00 AM on a Monday night, and there weren't many options that satisfy my increasingly high dining standards. My friends and I did, however, stumble upon a gem called Meatball Shop.

Meatball Shop is a new concept restaurant that allows you to mix and match meatballs (not just beef; they also have chicken, vegetable, and veal) with a variety of sauces and presentations. For example, you can have your meatballs plain, as a slider, on a brioche bun, etc., etc. In the middle of the restaurant there is a long, communal table, which encourages the nouveau-hipster atmosphere that is almost as pungent as the meatballs themselves. The menus are laminated and rewriteable, dry-erase markers included. Of course, the menu sparked much conversation, and we soon realized that there are an endless amount of puns to be made about the restaurant. The bottom part of the menu is cut off to conceal the obscene pictures I drew, which seemed all too fitting for a place like this. Statements like, "How do you like your balls?" and, "Three balls? That's weird," were thrown around liberally, and our tattoo-sleeved waitress didn't mind joining in with us. She recommended the tastiest balls, the best sauce for our balls, and explained that she, too, was a lover of balls of all sorts.

After marking up the menu, my friends and I received our meatballs. First to be delected were four beef meatballs in a spicy meat sauce with parmesan cheese and focaccia bread. The balls literally melted in my mouth.

If I hadn't devoured the bread, I would have used some to scoop up the cheesy remains of my meatball aftermath. Below was my second serving of ball(s), a chicken ball with mushroom sauce.

This doesn't look as appetizing as the first, and to be frank, it wasn't. On a scale of 1-10, I'd give it a 7.5, compared to my first course, which I'd give a 9.5. I think I learned my lesson - meatballs are meatballs for a reason...Although I would like to sample the vegetable or veal balls (coincidentally, I had feasted upon veal meatballs at ABC Kitchen the night before).

New York City has an increasingly popular market for niche restaurants with limited menus. You've got Meatball Shop, Krums (and every other unnecessary cupcake shop - although I won't pretend to be averse to the tasty little treats), and that rice pudding place in SoHo (although I think that made most of its revenue from an underground drug ring, but I digress...). I wonder how long it will take before we begin to see trendy Spam (you know - it's "ham in a can") bars sprout up throughout the city. It seems that entrepreneurs can make any concept turn to gold with the right chef behind their idea, and as far as niche establishments go, Meatball Shop is exemplary of that theory. In fact, several hours earlier, the wait was about an hour and a half, and the restaurant is open until 4:oo AM on the weekends. People must really love these balls. I know I do...

Dine at Meatball Shop:

84 Stanton Street

New York, NY 10002

(212) 982-8895

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UPDATE: After discussing this article with a friend, Guest Star (remember him?), I have been informed that there was a Spam-themed restaurant in Manhattan. Apparently, though, this place closed, but not before Anthony Bourdain had the chance to visit. What is this world coming to?

The Bruncheon

Boy, it feels good to be food blogging, a joy that is seldom in summer twenty-ten, one that has been replaced by less interesting verbs like "excel-ing" (not to be confused with doing well), "business casual-ing," and "Seamless Web-ing." As we speak, I'm at my Park Avenue office with just a moment to breathe (and blog). Many of you know that the three loves of my life are food, fashion, and finance, but admittedly this summer, the former two have taken the backseat (save for a few minutes of Shopbop perusal in the morning).

Last weekend my parents visited with another couple. You can imagine my excitement, as most of my meals as of late have come from a styrofoam container -- it was the perfect excuse to ball out with my tongue out (doesn't rhyme but I might adopt that as my new saying -- perhaps dine out with my nine out would be wittier, but that doesn't exactly apply to me). I was entrusted, as usual, to choose restaurants for our two meals together, dinner on Saturday and brunch on Sunday. I wish I had taken pictures of Saturday at Scalini Fedeli, but you'll just have to take my word for it -- it was one of the top ten dinners of my life. The menu was a prix fixe, which can be off-putting for some, but I assure you I was only put on. In light of my regretful lack of blogging from that meal, I set my sights on Sunday brunch at Telepan, another prix-fixe -- this was not clearly a weekend of skimping.
The restaurant is a quiet UWS hideaway (mind you it was not lacking style) with a largely 45+ crowd. This didn't deter me, though, as in my opinion, age is generally a sign of continually refined taste, at least at fine dining establishments. I arrived before the majority of my party with my summer roommate; an old friend who I love dearly but who has a palate that's impossible to please. He spent the first five or so minutes after we were seated explaining to our waitress his dietary restrictions -- dairy allergy, fish aversion (not a clinical diagnosis, only my desctiption), etc. She was quite accommodating, though, and I suppose it was the perfect complement to my eating habits, because I'll try just about anything (which usually leads to my affinity for such items and, eventually, will contribute to my obesity as an adult). Finally, our party arrived, and order we did.

My first course was verbana creme crepes with strawberries & strawberry sauce.


These small treats melted in my mouth. Not too sweet, and also reminiscent of France! Quite fitting, because a close friend with whom I'd traveled abroad was to my right, and she, too, is a Francophile. She ate the crepes, as well. I like to mix salty with sweet, so I followed my crepes with a mushroom, herbs, and cheddar cheese eggwhite omelet that was served with superb, bite-sized hash browns and a mixed green salad. It was just as delicious.

I prefer my omelets fluffy to runny, and while I'm not a picky eater, I almost exclusively order my eggs scrambled. One time, however, I did adventurously order eggs benedict at Norma's, which I enjoyed but found a bit heavy.

My family and friends applauded me for a meal well chosen. And while I have been on point lately, that doesn't mean much when you're stuck in the office at all hours. As we speak, I'm wrapping up this article on a Saturday at the office, after having worked from about 1 o'clock til 7. With nothing to hold me over until dinner except peanuts from the 19th floor vending machine, I can only dream of Telepan as a distant memory. That is, until tonight at Hudson Hall...

Dine at Telepan:

72 West 69th St.

New York, NY 10023

(212) 580-4300