(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