A Gourmand's Life

Before consideration of Danny Meyer’s new Roman trattoria, Maiolino, I would like to observe a brief moment of silence in memory of Wakiya, the shockingly underrated Chinese restaurant that formerly occupied this space in the Gramercy Park Hotel. It may not have been perfect, but it was the closest thing we had in New York to serious Chinese haute cuisine, while bringing another good Italian restaurant to Manhattan is like selling coal to Newcastle. But this is Danny Meyer, after all; undeterred by the fact that New York has more good Italian food then anywhere outside of Italy, he has pulled out all the stops, bringing in chef Nick Anderer, a graduate of Babbo, off the bench from Gramercy Tavern. The result is a smashing success.

The restaurant occupies the same narrow space as its predecessor, except that the bar has been moved to an alcove at the front of the room, widening the actual dining area considerably. The décor features a tasteful amalgamation of trattoria effects, featuring bread and salume stations opposite one another, but the effect is not kitschy, thanks in part to the large windows facing the park that firmly establish a sense of place.

We were seated at a wooden booth that was strangely reminiscent of a church pew - and about as comfortable – at least until we were able to configure the cushioned pillows in an acceptable manner. There isn’t a table in New York City more challenging and awkward to get in and out of – even the staff acknowledges the joke and is willing to assist. Whether you appreciate this location along the side of the room will depend on your mood for the evening. It offers much privacy - so much, in fact, - that you may feel like you are on the outside looking in.

When the food begins to arrive any quibbles you are nursing will soon be forgotten. Roman food, for many years considered insignificant in the hierarchy of regional Italian cuisines, has come of age lately, largely due to the crazy success of Mario Batali and Mark Ladner at Lupa. We sampled a pantheon of Roman dishes, but before that we could not resist a plate from that Salume station, and were rewarded with ethereal slices of extraordinarily unctuous mortadella from Emilia-Romagna in addition to prosciutto from San Daniele and Tuscan salami from Paul Oliveto’s Fra’Mani in Berkeley.

A homey but delicate Stracciatella alla Romana began the proceedings, followed by Trippe alla Trastervina, thin slices of tripe barely coated with a light tomato sauce and tossed with Pecorino and a bit of mint. I am a devotee of tripe in all guises, and this preparation, similar to the version served at Babbo, is one of my favorites.




Zampina di Maiolino is the trotter of a suckling pig (more about the rest of him later) that has been braised until just barely holding together, and then fried to create a joyous textural combination. It is served over beautifully stewed beans and topped with celery leaves.




My least favorite antipasti was the Animelle, or Lamb Sweetbreads, which had fine flavor but were slightly overcooked.

As expected, Anderer nails the pastas. Cacio e Pepe perhaps defines the tenets of Italian cuisine better then any other dish. It is nothing but pasta, in this case a terrific homemade tonnarelli, Pecorino Romano, black pepper and a touch of olive oil or butter. Nothing could be simpler, yet the results can be magical, and the version at Maialino is excellent, rivaling Lupa's.




I didn't see the need for having the Paccheri alla Gricia on the menu since it is basically the same sauce as Cacio e Pepe only with the addition of Guanciale, but if anything it is an even better dish, the smokiness prevalent but not overwhelming, and the paccheri -  basically shorter, fatter rigatoni - stealing the show on their own. The homemade pastas here are really outstanding.

Spaghetti Carbonara was straightforward but exemplary, creamy but with a nice bite from the Guanciale.

Like the Bollito Misto at Del Posto, the Maialino, or slow roasted sucking pig, is a signature dish that eliminates the usually fruitless search for an appealing secondi, often the downfall of Italian restaurants. Redolent of fresh rosemary, the succulent meat is served with strips of beautifully crisped skin, the whole thing resting on a bed of roasted potatoes.

I have renewed my love affair with good coffee since Stumptown Roasters arrived a few blocks from my office in New York. Visiting often can provide an inexpensive education in direct trade, single origin coffees including Ethiopian Yerga Cheffe, Burundi Kinyovu and Indonesian Gajah Aceh. But the one that knocked my socks off was the Panama Esmerelda Especial Mario San Jose they were serving up one morning.

This Geisha varietal coffee features an initial explosive palate of sweetness, followed by floral, spice and citrus notes that I had never encountered in this intensity before. I happened to be speaking to the director of coffee service at Dean & DeLuca the next day, and she explained how rare and expensive this coffee was. I returned to Stumptown and found that it sells for $70 per 12 oz. bag. Clearly, it pays to stop by often here – you never know what they might be brewing.

All coffees are prepared in a French Press, and I have not encountered a single cup that was too strong or bitter to drink black, my preferred method. But even I have broken down and ordered a few lattes, and they were the best I have ever had, with the possible exception of Blue Bottle in San Francisco. Mochas are made with syrup from Mast Brothers Chocolate, house Hair Bender espresso blend and milk from Hudson Valley Fresh. Fresh whipped cream and a dose of cocoa powder top things off, perfect for a mid-afternoon pick me up.

Pastries have been a mixed bag here from day one. It would help if they were not displayed so haphazardly, and without identification. While I have been having a serious relationship with the Caramelized French Toast brought in from Café Pedlar - one that is sure to end in heartbreak for my waistline - I haven’t been impressed by their other offerings. There is an evolving group of items from the pastry kitchen at the Ace Hotel as well. I don’t know what a Rum-Glazed Ciabatta Donut tastes like, but I intend to find out.

I am not sure what dressing the staff up as members of a barbershop quartet adds to the experience, but nonetheless the baristas are friendly, knowledgeable and unflappable under pressure.

Stumptown Roasters is a welcome import to the New York food scene.

Stumptown Roasters

If you have been reading my meal notes you have realized by now that I am not one of those sad individuals who populate sites like Yelp with elaborate tales of their mistreatment at the hands of reservationists, hostesses, and servers. Really, I am amazed that these people ever want to dine out at all, given the horrible treatment they claim to receive on a regular basis. To the contrary, service in New York City is actually at an all time height of proficiency. It is with this disclaimer that I am compelled to point out that my recent visit to The Minetta Tavern was the worst restaurant experience I have had since, well…Balthazar, about five years ago, when three of us were forced into a table that could comfortably fit one dwarf, and I was subsequently shaken down by the coat check girl.

Many have complained about the reservation process at Minetta, but it is no less onerous than at some other places, particularly new ones, that restrict reservations between 5:30 and 10:30 to build hype. Hell, Babbo still does that. And at least you can get in here, although that turned out to be a pyrrhic victory for us.

Our adventure began upon our prompt arrival, when we announced our reservation and were told that staff just needed a moment to begin seating. After a few minutes wedged in the tiny bar area a waiter approached to offer us a table - in the front bar section. When I politely refused I was escorted back to the hostess stand and told quite sternly - in no uncertain terms - that all dining room tables were being held for reservations. When I reiterated that I had a reservation, one of the hostesses, apparently pausing for her neurons to fire,  suddenly blurted out, “Oh, so you have a reservation!”

This permitted us the privilege of being escorted back to the tiny space that serves as the dining room. Restaurateur Keith McNally added the ubiquitous black and white tiled floor, red banquettes and period photos, but this space needed a lot more than some retro touches. You may find the vintage kitsch and vaguely speakeasy meets bistro setting to be quaint or hip. I found it decrepit and claustrophobic, the latter attribute made much more prevalent by the ridiculous spacing of tables. If you occupy a two top be prepared to listen to every word of the conversation taking place at your adjoining table and hope that it is not as banal as the one we endured - you are literally an inch away from boredom. Pity the incontinent person who is seated on the banquette. They will have to have their dinner companion stand up to allow a waiter to pull the table out into the center of the room to permit their exit. Their counterpart doesn’t fare any better – servers bumped into my seat at least a dozen times, without apology.

The menu created by chefs Lee Hanson and Riad Nasr, who are responsible for the perfectly pleasant if nondescript food at Balthazar, is a clever combination of French regional bistro and American tavern classics. I began with one of the former, Crème Billi Bi, the mussel soup from Normandy. This is a characteristic bisque, enhanced by a garnish of Bouchot mussels - both in and out of their shells – that are much more plump and flavorful then their cousins from PEI. The presentation was lovely, but the soup itself was a bit wan, lacking an intense mussel stock and some salt.


My wife chose a special, Risotto with Nantucket Bay Scallops, Cauliflower and Lemon that once again featured an excellent seasonal product undercut by a lack of execution, in this case rice that was terribly undercooked.

We decided to continue with the lauded prime, dry-aged Grilled Cote de Boeuf for two, ordered medium- rare. Our waiter pointed out that the kitchen cooks somewhat on the rare side. The result was sadly typical of what many American steakhouses turn out as a medium-rare steak – incinerated on the outside and virtually raw in the middle – that resulted in alternating bites of acrid char and flabby, rubbery meat. As with the other dishes we sampled, there is an understanding of product here – this started out as a nice piece of meat. But undercooking steak this marbled is a bad idea; the intramuscular fat does not have a chance to render, leaving the meat resistant to both slicing and chewing. I initially shrugged this off as my mistake – after all, I was warned. But when I came to my senses I realized that diners should not have to play a guessing game to have their steak cooked properly. If I order it medium rare, goddammit, cook it medium rare.


I was looking forward to Aligot potatoes, a specialty of the Auvergne region in France that is difficult to find on a menu in this country. Consisting of mashed potatoes whipped with grated Cantal cheese, the dish should be a silky, elastic puree. As executed here, it is gluey, and worst of all, barely tepid. Sadly, with $125 worth of food in front of me, the only thing worth eating was the roasted bone marrow thoughtfully included with the steak, and a side dish of carrots.

A glutton for punishment, I took up my server’s offer of cheese, which is carried around the room on a little dish. He proceeded to describe the choices - “This one is goat, this one is cow, this one is sheep, this one has a washed rind and this one is like a Roquefort.” After staring at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend the depth of his ignorance, I decided to take my chances with the Chocolate Soufflé for two. Despite the fact that there is no mention of it on the menu, he announced that they would have to serve the soufflé without Crème Anglaise, because they didn’t have any, and offered Vanilla ice cream as an alternative. The soufflé looked nice until he plunged his spoon into the center and came up with about two tablespoons of melted chocolate for each of us, which he plopped in little puddles on our plates. Only the dried up edges of the soufflé remained. Considering the rest of the meal, expecting this kitchen to be able to cook a soufflé properly was wishful thinking.

I am genuinely surprised at the attention this place has received from people who should know much better. Kitchens can have off nights, but not this off, and there is never an excuse for the rudeness displayed by the front of the house, as well as the genuine incompetence of our server, other than that they are in the employ of the anti-Meyer of restaurateurs, for whom no slight or discomfort is beyond his reach.

And yes, they charged us for the ice cream.

Ok, so I'm a little late with this post. It should be titled, "Kishu Mandarins Were Here", since my family and I have already blown through our 10 pound box of these organic, heirloom Mandarins from Churchill Orchard in Ojai, California, and the season is already over. However, I strongly encourage you to sign up to their mailing list for next season, because you won't find better citrus fruit anywhere. These little golf ball sized beauties are incredibly easy to peel, seedless, and best of all, possess a dazzling sweetness that even the best Clementines from Spain can only aspire to.


The fruit is usually shipped the same day that it is picked, meaning that even here in New York you will be eating fruit only two or three days off the tree. The difference is amazing, which is why I like to supplement my available fruit supply throughout the year with unique products available directly from growers.

If you can't wait until next year, Churchill is now taking orders for their Pixie Tangerines, available beginning in late March. I haven't had them, but if they're anything like their little cousins, they will be worth trying.

Churchill Orchard

Lunch at Jean-Georges is a quintessential New York City experience for me. There is something about its perfect location at Columbus Circle, across from Central Park – as well as the happening crowd - that never fails to create a buzz of excitement in the air. Once you are settled in the gracious service combined with the natural light shining through the large windows eases you into a relaxed state for the afternoon. You remember that long lunches are such forgotten, wonderful things.

The promise of a meal to equal your heightened expectations is, of course, why you are there in the first place, and Jean-Georges Vongerichten has often been up to the task. Yet I have never had a consistently great meal here. At times, the disparity between the conception and execution of courses in the same meal is almost shocking, a juxtaposition of the sublime and the ordinary that should be unheard of at a restaurant of this stature.

This afternoon would be no different. We asked the kitchen to prepare a seven-course menu, our only stipulation being that we begin – as every meal at Jean-Georges should – with Egg Caviar, the heavenly little egg shell filled with softly scrambled eggs, lightly whipped cream and caviar, in this case excellent American sturgeon. Any meal that begins with a dish this perfectly executed, this utterly transporting, runs the risk of going downhill fast, and the next course, Sea Trout Sashimi Draped with Trout Eggs, Lemon, Dill and Horseradish threatened to bring things to a crashing halt with an overdoes of acidity. As I continued to eat this, however, in a controlled manner, combining each of the elements, it came together in a quite pleasing manner, and the ingredients were impeccable.

Another blockbuster followed, Foie Gras Brulee with Pineapple-Meyer Lemon Jam. The caramelized top of the torchon combined with the refreshing jam to add just the right note of sweetness to offset the Foie.

One of the weaker courses followed, Sesame Crab Toast with Miso Mustard, Asian Pear and Shiso. The “toast” is a rectangle of pleasantly seasoned crabmeat fried in a light coating that wasn’t particularly crisp, leaving no textural contrast to the dish. The flavors in the sauce and the accompaniments were pleasant but rather muted and very simple.

The rollercoaster ride continued with our last fish course, Red Snapper Crusted with Nuts and Seeds, Sweet and Sour Jus, the star of which was the latter, really a buerre blanc of remarkable depth and balance, with pieces of pear tomato and pearl onion included, that served as a perfect accompaniment to the crisp fish. This was a truly superb sauce.

Unfortunately, our last course was the biggest dud, Caramelized Veal, Silky Cauliflower and Kumquats with Chartreuse. The veal was simply a loin medallion, rather overcooked at that, sitting on a small pool of not very flavorful cauliflower puree. Except for the slices of chartreuse marinated kumquat perched on top of the veal, this would be a dish not beyond the concept or reach of a moderately talented home cook.

Johnny Iuzzini’s wonderful desserts again drove home the disparity between courses. While the Chocolate combination never fails to satisfy, the Spice combination was particularly brilliant, consisting of a Star Anise and Ginger Sticky Bun and a luscious, rich Thai Pepper Crème Caramel that was one of the best of the this genre I have ever sampled. An extra dessert proffered by the house was also terrific, a Sticky Toffee Pudding with Tamarind Cider Sauce and Blood Orange Sorbet. Iuzzini has a knack for using seasonal ingredients to create elaborate but balanced flavor combinations that reflect the aspirations of a restaurant of this caliber.

And, ultimately, that is the problem with Jean-Georges. Four courses of this meal were exemplary and would warrant three stars from Michelin. If the remaining courses were ambitious in concept and technique but failed in the end, that would be acceptable and in fact, is often what you will find from time to time in European three stars. However, these dishes were lacking in complexity, technique and execution – they would be fortunate to be considered one star level. To be fair, the kitchen did not send out some of the surefire Jean-Georges classics that would have tipped the balance in their favor. Missing were some of my all-time favorites like Turbot with Chateau Chalon Sauce and Young Garlic Soup with Sauteed Frog’s Legs.

I have to conclude that – while I am a staunch defender of their ratings, particularly at the top – Michelin has been consistently munificent at the three star level in New York. With the possible exception of Daniel, which I have not revisited since their purported improvement, the only restaurants that can support a three star ranking in New York are Per Se and Masa. At its greatest moments Jean-Georges exceeds the bar, but it is an exasperating restaurant, capable of the transcendent but also, and too often, the mundane.

1. Egg Caviar, Jean-Georges

2. "Uovo", Soft Egg-Filled Raviolo with Truffle Butter, SD-26

3. Red Wine Marinated, Charcoal-Grilled Octopus, Periyali

4. Kang Kong Belacan, The Fatty Crab

5. Onion and Bone Marrow Soup with Parmesan Toast, The Breslin Bar and Dining Room

I made my first visit last week to the Upper West Side outpost of The Fatty Crab, the restaurant that helped establish a beachhead for Malaysian food in New York City. Not that we are entirely lacking in good Malaysian restaurants, like we are in, say, Vietnamese – we have Sentosa and Restaurant Malaysia in Flushing and now Laut near Union Square – but Zak Pelaccio at The Fatty Crab was the first chef to modernize the cuisine by applying refined techniques and incorporating local produce and ingredients.


This location, which thoughtfully accepts reservations, just about doubles the size of the Hudson Street original, which is to say it’s not quite as small and uncomfortable. But all else is familiar - tables are still elbow-to-elbow, the servers are still scruffy, the music still blares and the food arrives in no particular logical order. But that food is still good, depending as much on the authenticity of its flavors as on the quality of its produce and the skill of the kitchen.

This is one of those increasingly annoying small plates restaurants, the kind that guarantee you will order not enough or way too much. Twice our group had to reconvene and order additional dishes, particularly repeats of the ones we liked best. The Watermelon Pickle with Crispy Pork, a signature dish from day one, is impossible to resist, even in January when you know the watermelon arrived on your plate after a long trip. Crispy, salty and refreshing, it is one of my favorite dishes here, the beautifully pickled melon a perfect foil for the rich pork belly.

More pork belly arrives in the Steamed Pork Buns, perhaps not quite as delicious as the ones at Momofuku Noodle Bar, but very good in their own right.



Surprisingly, the Fatty Crab handles traditional Malaysian dishes even better then it’s more original creations. Nasi Lemak, the national breakfast of Malaysia, is one of my favorite dishes, and Pelaccio and chef de cuisine Corwin Kave know not to mess with it. Stewed chicken in curry is plated next to coconut rice (rice soaked in coconut milk before steaming) and a myriad of condiments including dried fish, sambal and achar. This is one of the best versions of this dish that I have had.

Even better is the Kang Kong Belacan, or Chinese water spinach cooked with spicy shrimp paste, shallots and garlic. The flavors of this dish are extraordinarily complex. It is one of the most important dishes of Asian cuisine.



The Fried Chicken is a beautifully conceived dish, with the chicken pieces first seasoned in spices too numerous to mention, then brined, steamed and finally deep fried until crispy and tossed in a glaze made from fish sauce, young ginger, smoked shrimp paste and Thai chilies. It sounds great, and tastes wonderful too, but anytime you toss a deep fried item in a glaze you have to be careful not to soften the skin, lest you lose the textural contrast. This has a very complex flavor, but the chicken skin didn’t hold up.

The Fatty Sliders seem like an afterthought, an acknowledgment to the unfortunate fact that you cannot open a restaurant these days that appeals to a younger demographic without including a burger. This one is made from beef and pork and so must be cooked to medium. It has a nice peppery kick but is rather dry, and the flavors are wan compared to the other dishes.



I have worked my way through most of the dishes at The Fatty Crab, and for the most part they are terrific. The atmosphere may capture - sometimes too well - the zeitgeist of dining in New York these days, but the food manages to bridge the divide between authenticity and modernity without skipping a beat.

Pity Tony May. In deference to the modern dining zeitgeist - as preached by Bruni and his acolytes - May, the restaurateur’s restaurateur, spent millions to move, relaunch and even rename his beloved San Domenico, only to have a new critic at the Times - one with an altogether different aesthetic - blast him for it. Despite what you may have heard, SD26, the result of May’s determination to persevere, is neither inelegant nor impersonal. The white tablecloths remain, but in the fashion of downtown, the greeting is a little warmer, the service a little looser, the modern white decor warmed up by splashes of red and vibrant fabric sculptures adorning the walls.


Most importantly Odette Fada is still behind the stove. No doubt San Domenico could be maddening at times due to the occasional lapses in quality, sometimes within the same meal, but Fada has always been a chef who could knock one out of the park, especially with pastas. The memory of her Agnolotti del Plin, little crescents of joy, served in a pool of veal stock with shaved white truffles, still brings tears to my eyes and drool to my lips.

I have only been to SD26 once, for restaurant week, but clearly this is a kitchen still capable of quality work. Yes, the signature Uovo, one raviolo filled with a soft egg yolk and blanketed in butter and Parmigiano Reggiano, could have used more truffle butter (not to mention white truffles), but it is still an iconic dish that never fails to excite.



My wife's starter, Farro and Borlotti Bean Soup, was pure San Domenico, a refined, clean version of an Italian peasant dish that maintained its warmth and comfort factor.



For her main course she chose a pasta, the Chitarra SD26, tomato and basil sauce. I do so wish that the city's best Italian chefs would save this dish for tomato season, but this version was interesting for its bright, almost citrusy acidity.
 
 
I finished with Pan Roasted Guinea Hen with Chestnuts and Leeks. The hen was cooked perfectly, except for a touch of flabby skin on one piece. A little more attention to detail is necessary with a dining room that can sit 300, a fact that the kitchen will come to realize in time. Still, this was a simple but well done dish.
 
 
For dessert we sampled a vanilla bean Panna Cotta with Balsamic Vinegar Reduction as well as the ice creams and sorbets of the day. Panna Cotta has never been my favorite of the cooked custards due to the use of gelatin to set it, which can result in an unpleasant texture. This version, although a tad too sweet, had the creamiest, smoothest texture I have ever seen in a Panna Cotta, at times threatening to wobble right off the side of its dish.
 
 
The ice creams were good, not great, but I did enjoy a sorbet made with Greek yogurt.
 
 
The restauarnt has taken a bit of flack for its electronic wine list, probably from those who remember the slow and unwieldy thing from the old Aureole. Much to my surprise, this little device worked quickly, was sensitive to the touch and easy to read. I will always prefer the bulky wine list that threatens to knock every glass off the table, but I could get used to this thing. If you come with an open mind I think you will get used to the new San Domenico as well. To Mr. May, his daughter Marisa,and chef Fada, congratulations on your return.