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

.

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

A Tale of Two Cheesesteaks

Admittedly, I have been anticipating this entry for quite a while. From the second my plane landed on American soil in December, I looked forward to the day when my comparative cheesesteak article would come to fruition. And now, at long last, that day has arrived.

I had just returned home from the completion of my junior year at Emory (and awaiting my status as an indentured servant--er--summer investment banking analyst), when I felt a hankering for a cheesesteak that I couldn't ignore. All too coincidentally, I had an out-of-town visitor who also wanted an authentic Philly cheesesteak, so the two of us followed our cravings to a street corner on Henry Avenue. On any other normal afternoon, I would have been forced to make a critical choice: Chubby's or Dalessandro's? But this was no normal afternoon...

I have eaten at each of these down-and-dirty cheesesteak joints on separate occasions, but have never had the opportunity to compare the two and declare my preference (something that by now you must realize is essential to the way I operate). My ambivalence was put to rest, however, on this one fateful Wednesday.

Chubby's and Dalessandro's are situated across the street from one another on a busy intersection in a borough of Philadelphia. They are two of the lesser-known, hidden gems of the city. Most tourists (and even a few ignorant Philadelphians) cite Jim's, Pat's, or Geno's as their "favorite" spot for cheesesteaks. Just to give you a bit of background, there are two ways a cheesesteak is prepared - with shaved meat and melted cheese, or with slabs of meat and Whiz. I prefer the former, as Whiz gives a cheesesteak a slightly synthetic touch. Thus, by my standards, we can eliminate Pat's from the running. Jim's is good, but they tend to skimp you on the meat, and I've never eaten at Geno's (shhh), so I can't judge just yet. But let it be known, you don't have to travel to the infamous South Street to get a good cheesesteak.



It is for obvious locational reasons that Chubby's and Dalessandro's withhold a traditional rivalry. And so I had to be strategic about my game plan. If I were to eat both cheesesteaks at once, that meant that I could only be in one restaurant. After some debate, I decided to park at Chubby's and get a cheesesteak to go, then make my way over to Dalessandro's, where I could sample both at the same time. I was discreet about my mission, however, as I recognized it was somewhat of a foodie faux-pas. These establishments are no-nonsense, so you can imagine the kind of glances I would get if I were caught smuggling an outsider into either one. And the waitress at Dalessandro's was neither inviting nor polished, when she bid farewell to some regulars by saying, "See yas later" (probably not the best place to sport my Burberry raincoat). Thus, I proceeded with caution.



My friend and I went halfsies, which is probably my favorite way to eat any type of food. My first bite came from the Chubby's cheesesteak.



Parts of the meat were slightly overcooked, and the onions and peppers could have been more thoroughly intertwined with the meat, but it was solid overall. Definitely better than your average cheesesteak. Come to think of it, when my post-prom fell through in May 2007, our party bus changed course to Chubby's. An authentic Philadelphian after-prom, indeed.

I have to give Chubby's some credit, because the steak had been sitting out for about ten minutes before I had the opportunity to sink my teeth into it, as I had been waiting patiently at Dalessandro's. However, my second bite, which came from the Dalessandro's steak, beat Chubby's ten-to-one. This one had more meat, an even spread of cheese and onions, and the restaurant had containers of do-it-yourself shredded assorted peppers that I probably could have eaten plain. And I couldn't help but notice all of the "Zagat-rated" signs on the wall...I was in primal heaven.



I suppose it was beneficial, after all, to have been in Dalessandro's for my moment of truth, otherwise I may have upset some very seriously overweight employees (welcome to Philadelphia). My guest and I both agreed that Dalessandro's had the superior steak.

As most of you are aware, Manhattan is one of my favorite places on earth, and where I'll be spending my summer, but the one thing it lacks is a decent cheesesteak. Sorry, but that bullshit 99 Miles to Philly doesn't quite cut it. New York City will be perfect when Dalessandro's allows me to pioneer its franchise, but even I wouldn't trust myself to uphold its strict standard of abrasiveness and poor grammar/dental hygiene (just picture some of the mouths in Dalessandro's). Until its expansion, however, I'll just have to remain content with venturing to Roxborough. Because after all, who doesn't love a good piece of meat?

Dine at Dalessandro's:
600 Wendover Street
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(215) 482 - 5407

And, if you're up for my cheesesteak challenge,

Dine at Chubby's:
5826 Henry Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(215) 487 - 2575

NOT The Krusty Krab

It was spring break, and instead of traveling to my original destination of Acapulco, I diverted my plans to sunny Miami for a more relaxing vacation. And so my six days were what I considered to be nearly perfect -- I exercised (I know, right?!), basked in the sun, and of course, ate well, all in the company of some of my best friends and two wonderfully hospitable Floridian families. I raved about each of the restaurants we visited, but one in particular comes to mind -- Joe's Stone Crab.

Anyone who's ever been to Miami knows that Joe's is a staple in any Jewish family's diet. One of my closest friends and host for the majority of my stay in Miami has an "in" at Joe's -- her parents have formed relationships with the elitist maître d's who allow them to skip the often hours-long wait for a table ready in fifteen minutes or less. Whenever my friend travels home for a break or for the summer, she likes to sample flavors from many restaurants (you can see why we're friends), but Joe's is always on her list. It isn't trendy -- there is no DJ and the decor is minimal -- but it's been around forever and is always, always, always worth it. Even the couple waiting for an hour and a half who were seated after our party of seven would tell you the same.

The menu is relatively standard for a seafood restaurant, save for several notable exceptions: first, the stone crabs, as you might imagine, are distinctively delicious. Second, the chicken breast on the menu is priced at $5.95. Keep in mind, Joe's isn't cheap, which goes to show how few people actually go there and order chicken. If you're reading this and you ate the chicken that night (you know who you are), shame on you.

I began my dinner at Joe's with "Stuffy's," a house special that consists of baked Quahog clams (Peter Griffin?), Parmesan cheese, bacon, celery, and onion. My oh my.

I didn't use the side of melted butter because the clams were fried, and I'm trying to watch my figure (as you can tell by the food blog). Next time I'm at Joe's, I'll order these to share, as they were much too filling as an appetizer. A bit greasy, as well, but I do love shellfish.

Next came the crème de la crème of seafood - the stone crabs. My mahoff friend and I split a large order and ate fiercely as the rest of our friends marveled at the crabs in all of their glory. "Can I try?" became the most frequently used phrase of the evening, and after a while, just like they tell you in D.A.R.E., I said no.

Next to the crabs you can see a bit of hashed brown potatoes, our starch of the evening and a wonderful complement to the cold, rubbery goodness of the shellfish. We also chose spinach as our vegetable, a frequent Flavoriser favorite, even though it sometimes gets stuck between my teeth.

I've used this word before to describe food and I'll use it again to elucidate just how fabulous our apple pie really was -- dank. I swore when we ordered dessert that I wouldn't touch it (because of my aforementioned "diet"), but what do you know, I ate almost the entire thing. Sorry guys.

I don't know about you, but I prefer my apple pie at least 60% gooey (clearly this is something I've thought about). This dessert fulfilled my target ratio and then some (sorry, the finance jokes sometimes force themselves in). It looks almost as good as it tasted.

My meal crescendoed just before my stomach was about to implode. As I write this article, I'm currently in Boca Raton and, after having eaten stone crabs this weekend from another seafood restaurant, I can confidently say that Joe's trumps the rest.

My friends and family know that wherever I go, whatever I do, food is always at the forefront of my thoughts. My tastes are varied and my cravings are many, but when in Miami, Joe's will be my "drug" of choice.

Dine at Joe's Stone Crab:

11 Washington Avenue

Miami Beach, FL 33139

(305) 673 - 0365

Flipped Out

Atlanta hasn't yet seen much of La Flavoriser, so tonight will be the debut. Since my return to school, I've dined at several noteworthy restaurants and taken pictures with the anticipation to blog. However, after committing to sell my soul to the devil and trying to secure an internship on Wall Street, my window of time has grown increasingly narrow. Somehow, between chapters 5 and 6 in the Vault Guide, and before midterm studying had gone into full swing, I found the time to drive the thirty minutes in unfamiliar territory to Flip Burger. As many of you know, cheeseburgers are among my favorite foods. Last year, my roommate and I kept a picture of a cheeseburger on our refrigerator -- there were no other pictures. My interest in writing about food has actually stemmed directly from the cheeseburger itself. If I could have any other last name, it would be Cheeseberg (to keep it in the tribe). Ok, I don't know if that's true...

My first trip to Flip Burger was not an adventurous one for me in terms of food - I stuck with the basics to assess the true quality of the restaurant. Only after eating the restaurant's standard burger could I get a real grip on what this place was all about. The burger was above-average, and after mistakenly leaving my credit card at the restaurant, the manager ran it outside to me in the rain. Overall, it was a good night.

This visit was different. I sat at a table, not the bar, albeit the thirty-minute wait. Flip Burger, from my understanding, is usually "squad deep," which is surprising considering its inconvenient location, but realistic given the unbelievable variety and taste of the burgers they serve. Their menu is divided into two sections -- Burgers and Flip Burgers. "Burgers" were every item substantiated by red meat, and "Flip Burgers" were sandwiches of many varieties made to look like burgers. Once we were (finally) seated, the service was extremely attentive. My drink was refilled without being asked. After spending so much time in France, I can't begin to describe how thankful I felt. As much as I loved Europe, I missed the ass-kissing that is the United States service industry.

There were three of us at dinner, and we easily ate a meal for five. We first split the smoked caesar salad, which was infused with some sort of bacon, giving it the "kick" that most caesar salads lack.

Next came my burger -- The Butcher's Cut; a burger cooked medium-rare (always) with caramelized onions, blue cheese, and red wine jam. Caramelized onions are my absolute favorite. Finally, a place other than California Pizza Kitchen has them on the menu. I could have used some more jam to even out the taste, because the burger was a bit salty. Still, I devoured it.

My friends and I had attempted to order the sweetbread nuggets to share, only to find out that the last of them had just been consumed, probably by the people seated directly before us. My group and I decided that we needed to order something just as adventurous (for them at least -- I had already tried most of the foods on the menu). We went with the venison burger with gooseberry relish, brie cheese, toasted pecans, sprout tops, and mushroom jam. This was my favorite part of the meal. The venison was not at all game-y and the combination of cheese, mushrooms, and sweet relish would have turned any vegetarian into a believer.

At this point in the meal, I was just about keeling over. If ever I were to become a hypochondriac, I'm certain that "food coma" would be my most frequent self-diagnosis. And so the food continued with the "Coffee and Donuts" milkshake. The milkshake had chocolate-covered coffee beans, whipped cream, coffee ice cream, and bits of Krispy Kreme donuts inside. Imagine how unreal that sounds... It was better.

Flip Burger is still booming after being open for about a year in the Atlanta area. It's a trendy "burger boutique" -- or so it calls itself -- with hip music and shockingly inexpensive prices. A 5.5 oz burger will run you about eight bucks, creativity included. Their menu is probably the most inventive I've seen with "Flip Burgers" ranging from poboys to tuna tartare. I recommend this restaurant to just about any carnivore, and I look forward to dining here again in the very near future. Until then, I'll be dreaming of burgers...

Dine at Flip Burger:

1587 Howell Mill Road Northwest

Atlanta, GA 30318

(404) 343 - 1609