Parm
248 Mulberry St.
(between Spring St & Prince St)
Manhattan, NY 10012
Rich Torissi and Mario Carbone opened Parm, a tongue-and-cheek ode to Little Italy and the Italian-American cuisine. Like the namesake restaurant, the menu and decor tow the fine line between street food and haute cuisine, diner and restaurant, creating a concept that is uniquely ground in its neighborhood and their evolution as chefs from their Cafe Boulud days.
As a restaurateur, you eventually realize that you must create a downmarket concept to successfully expand your empire. Consider this Torrisi Lite where you don't have to show up at 5:30pm to get one of those coveted dinner reservations.
The casual atmosphere remains the same, with 60's Motown and R&B playing in the background, and a kitchy neon sign promoting the health benefits of calamari. Despite the few items I had, I could tell they definitely take the food seriously.
The Saratoga club somehow breathed new life into the tired BLT classic. Confit turkey was bound with a spicy mayo and slathered over layers of bacon and shredded lettuce toasted white bread. The mozzarella ball was a Zen-like presentation: a creamy, dense ball of salty, creaminess sparsely seasoned with extra virgin olive oil and salt. The littleneck clams (5 for $10) expressed their sea legs well when bound with bread crumbs, butter, and finely chopped curly parsley.
Although one could fairly lobby that this is another hipster restaurant in an already played out neighborhood, Carbone and Torrisi continue to surprise. Even tired, old Italian-American classics can become fresh and inspired again.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
MCF Rare Wine
MCF Rare Wine
237 W 13th St
(between 7th Ave & Greenwich Ave.)
New York, NY 10011
There are honest wines and dishonest wines. There are honest wine stores and dishonest wine stores. MCF Rare Wine is a wine store run by an honest guy who sells wine that he honestly likes.
After working at various wine stores for nearly a year, I'm somewhat jaded by wine retail. As a salesperson, I become restless when I hear customers ask for a wine that goes well with Thai food or a dry, white wine that starts with Pinot and rhymes with the last name of former Houston Astros 1st baseman Craig Biggio. As a customer, I become more distressed when I hear a salesperson pitch me a blowsy California Chardonnay or sell me on a wine on the basis of Robert Parker or Wine Spectator ratings.
Matt Franco's store is old-school, back-to-basics wine selling. He picks great wine, he knows how to talk about it, and can turn you on to producers and varietals that you haven't heard about.
The selection is small (approximately 80 bottles), and focuses primarily on Old World. France, Italy, and Germany are well represented, but the store takes detours into some US wines (Arcadian, Belle Pente), but also more off-beaten Eastern European countries like Slovenia and Hungary. No Veuve Cliquot at this store: only Krug and small grower-producers man the ranks of sparkling wine at MCF Rare Wine.
This is not the wine store to buy wine if you are in a pinch for a dinner party. But if you take the time to mull the store's selections and talk with Matt, you will be greatly rewarded.
Check out Matt's blog at shopkeepersdesk.wordpress.com.
237 W 13th St
(between 7th Ave & Greenwich Ave.)
New York, NY 10011
There are honest wines and dishonest wines. There are honest wine stores and dishonest wine stores. MCF Rare Wine is a wine store run by an honest guy who sells wine that he honestly likes.
After working at various wine stores for nearly a year, I'm somewhat jaded by wine retail. As a salesperson, I become restless when I hear customers ask for a wine that goes well with Thai food or a dry, white wine that starts with Pinot and rhymes with the last name of former Houston Astros 1st baseman Craig Biggio. As a customer, I become more distressed when I hear a salesperson pitch me a blowsy California Chardonnay or sell me on a wine on the basis of Robert Parker or Wine Spectator ratings.
Matt Franco's store is old-school, back-to-basics wine selling. He picks great wine, he knows how to talk about it, and can turn you on to producers and varietals that you haven't heard about.
The selection is small (approximately 80 bottles), and focuses primarily on Old World. France, Italy, and Germany are well represented, but the store takes detours into some US wines (Arcadian, Belle Pente), but also more off-beaten Eastern European countries like Slovenia and Hungary. No Veuve Cliquot at this store: only Krug and small grower-producers man the ranks of sparkling wine at MCF Rare Wine.
This is not the wine store to buy wine if you are in a pinch for a dinner party. But if you take the time to mull the store's selections and talk with Matt, you will be greatly rewarded.
Check out Matt's blog at shopkeepersdesk.wordpress.com.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
La Mar Cebicheria Peruana
La Mar Cebicheria Peruana
11 Madison Ave.
(between 23rd St & 24th St)
Manhattan, NY 10010
Despite common knowledge, Mario Batali, Jean Georges Vongerichten, and Daniel Boulud aren't the only chefs with restaurant empires. Gaston Acurio, widely know in Latin American circles, as the Jamie Oliver/Gordon Ramsay/Ferran Adria of cooking, travels with security detail because he is that popular.
After reading an article in the Financial Times about his goals to bring Peruvian cuisine to the same respect as French and Italian cuisines, I've been waiting with bated breath for this restaurant to open its New York location in the former Tabla space.
The drinks program is definitely not the strong point of La Mar.
As you should always do in a Peruvian restaurant, we started with a trio of pisco sours. These pisco sours were disappointingly blended, and not freshly shaken; this obfuscates the delicate interplay between the lemon juice, brandy, and egg white in this classic drink. Additionally, our first round had half froth in the drink, which was disconcerting given the $12 price tag for the 4 oz. of pisco imbibed. The chicha, a Peruvian drink made from purple maiz, had the sultry look of a jamaica (a Mexican sorrel-based drink) but the consistency of a watered-down sangria. Stick with the lightly, effervescent Peruvian beer Cusquena, served in a chilled pilsner glass.
Neither is the service.
Some drinks took 15 minutes to come to the table, and one runner accidentally placed our round of pisco sours on the table next to us, who arrived 5 minutes after we arrived.
The food however make this place a destination for the gastronomically inclined.
If there is one thing to try culinarily this fall, it is the cebiche at La Mar. My guests and I confirmed that the cebiche tasting (fluke/salmon/tuna) was absolutely mind-blowing. The fluke was marinated in a silky, lime juice and combined with red onions and Peruvian corn. Although salmon has become a cliche at most Japanese sushi restaurants, the mezcla of salmon, octopus, and crispy calamari was a beautiful combination of temperatures and textures. The hefty bite of yellowfin tuna was propped up by the smokiness of the red tamarind sauce. The sauces were so good I slurped up the remaining liquids from their bowls.
As our first mid-couse, we had he oliva causa (octopus, piquillo pepper, avocado, quail egg, black olive). Despite their diminutive stature, they were two bites of whipped goodness, halfway in texture between a bacalao fritter and a knish.
Next was the hamachi tiradito. Slices of fish were swathed (rather, dunked) in a yellow aji leche de tigre. I'm considerably more a fan of Desnuda's tiradito preparation where the sauce lightly dresses the fish, although I didn't mind scooping up the citrus sauce that the hamachi slices were drowned in with my spoon.
Lastly, we had the tacu tacu a lo pobre. Perfectly seared and sliced rounds of hangar steak were accompanied with a fried plaintain topped with quail egg, along tomatoes, onions, and a crispy potato hash, doused with a chorrillana sauce.
If you bring your appetite, be prepared to bring your American Express black card, because this place can get very expensive very quickly. Nevertheless, Gaston Acurio has brought a fresh new take on Peruvian cuisine that should be checked out in this beautifully redesigned space.
11 Madison Ave.
(between 23rd St & 24th St)
Manhattan, NY 10010
Despite common knowledge, Mario Batali, Jean Georges Vongerichten, and Daniel Boulud aren't the only chefs with restaurant empires. Gaston Acurio, widely know in Latin American circles, as the Jamie Oliver/Gordon Ramsay/Ferran Adria of cooking, travels with security detail because he is that popular.
After reading an article in the Financial Times about his goals to bring Peruvian cuisine to the same respect as French and Italian cuisines, I've been waiting with bated breath for this restaurant to open its New York location in the former Tabla space.
The drinks program is definitely not the strong point of La Mar.
As you should always do in a Peruvian restaurant, we started with a trio of pisco sours. These pisco sours were disappointingly blended, and not freshly shaken; this obfuscates the delicate interplay between the lemon juice, brandy, and egg white in this classic drink. Additionally, our first round had half froth in the drink, which was disconcerting given the $12 price tag for the 4 oz. of pisco imbibed. The chicha, a Peruvian drink made from purple maiz, had the sultry look of a jamaica (a Mexican sorrel-based drink) but the consistency of a watered-down sangria. Stick with the lightly, effervescent Peruvian beer Cusquena, served in a chilled pilsner glass.
Neither is the service.
Some drinks took 15 minutes to come to the table, and one runner accidentally placed our round of pisco sours on the table next to us, who arrived 5 minutes after we arrived.
The food however make this place a destination for the gastronomically inclined.
If there is one thing to try culinarily this fall, it is the cebiche at La Mar. My guests and I confirmed that the cebiche tasting (fluke/salmon/tuna) was absolutely mind-blowing. The fluke was marinated in a silky, lime juice and combined with red onions and Peruvian corn. Although salmon has become a cliche at most Japanese sushi restaurants, the mezcla of salmon, octopus, and crispy calamari was a beautiful combination of temperatures and textures. The hefty bite of yellowfin tuna was propped up by the smokiness of the red tamarind sauce. The sauces were so good I slurped up the remaining liquids from their bowls.
As our first mid-couse, we had he oliva causa (octopus, piquillo pepper, avocado, quail egg, black olive). Despite their diminutive stature, they were two bites of whipped goodness, halfway in texture between a bacalao fritter and a knish.
Next was the hamachi tiradito. Slices of fish were swathed (rather, dunked) in a yellow aji leche de tigre. I'm considerably more a fan of Desnuda's tiradito preparation where the sauce lightly dresses the fish, although I didn't mind scooping up the citrus sauce that the hamachi slices were drowned in with my spoon.
Lastly, we had the tacu tacu a lo pobre. Perfectly seared and sliced rounds of hangar steak were accompanied with a fried plaintain topped with quail egg, along tomatoes, onions, and a crispy potato hash, doused with a chorrillana sauce.
If you bring your appetite, be prepared to bring your American Express black card, because this place can get very expensive very quickly. Nevertheless, Gaston Acurio has brought a fresh new take on Peruvian cuisine that should be checked out in this beautifully redesigned space.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Rubulad
Rubulad
338 Flushing Ave
(between Classon Ave & Taaffe Pl)
Brooklyn, NY 11205
Anyone who's read Jeff Stark's nonsensenyc list knows about the underground Brooklyn warehouse parties that go on each week. The parties usually are remotely located in far-flung stretches of Brooklyn, primarily to avoid the attention of law enforcement. Some of these parties are truly magical, providing a welcome diversion to the models-and-bottles, bros-and-hos driven Manhattan club scene; others are dirty-hipster/art-school hot messes, poorly organized, shoddily executed, and borderline dangerous.
Rubulad falls into the latter-category. Located in the middle of nowhere (25 minute walk from the Graham L stop, exactly), this warehouse party was a two-floor industrial loft next to a truck depot. Ascended by a narrow, dimly-lit staircase, the entire party had a DIY-feel, but like a Home Depot project gone wrong. Various art installations and graffiti randomly decorated the walls. Makeshift bathrooms were installed within the apartment, with the faint smell of sewage permeating the room. Crowd control was negligible, with patrons spilling unsafely onto the neighboring rooftops.
Rubulad's dance party had two dance floors: one with a live band crammed into the corner of the room and the other, an outdoor tent spinning some Girl-Talk inspired laptronica. The indoor space felt like a sauna, on account of the sweaty, teeming bodies crowded inside and the lack of cross-ventilation. The outdoor tent was perched on the adjacent loft's rooftop, which became difficult to move around as more people came into party. None of the music made me feel like dancing, unfortunately.
There are other safer and better organized parties in Brooklyn: The Rub's monthly party @ Southpaw, Questlove's Thursday residency at Brooklyn Bowl, and the occasional themed blowouts by the Gemini and Scorpio team.
338 Flushing Ave
(between Classon Ave & Taaffe Pl)
Brooklyn, NY 11205
Anyone who's read Jeff Stark's nonsensenyc list knows about the underground Brooklyn warehouse parties that go on each week. The parties usually are remotely located in far-flung stretches of Brooklyn, primarily to avoid the attention of law enforcement. Some of these parties are truly magical, providing a welcome diversion to the models-and-bottles, bros-and-hos driven Manhattan club scene; others are dirty-hipster/art-school hot messes, poorly organized, shoddily executed, and borderline dangerous.
Rubulad falls into the latter-category. Located in the middle of nowhere (25 minute walk from the Graham L stop, exactly), this warehouse party was a two-floor industrial loft next to a truck depot. Ascended by a narrow, dimly-lit staircase, the entire party had a DIY-feel, but like a Home Depot project gone wrong. Various art installations and graffiti randomly decorated the walls. Makeshift bathrooms were installed within the apartment, with the faint smell of sewage permeating the room. Crowd control was negligible, with patrons spilling unsafely onto the neighboring rooftops.
Rubulad's dance party had two dance floors: one with a live band crammed into the corner of the room and the other, an outdoor tent spinning some Girl-Talk inspired laptronica. The indoor space felt like a sauna, on account of the sweaty, teeming bodies crowded inside and the lack of cross-ventilation. The outdoor tent was perched on the adjacent loft's rooftop, which became difficult to move around as more people came into party. None of the music made me feel like dancing, unfortunately.
There are other safer and better organized parties in Brooklyn: The Rub's monthly party @ Southpaw, Questlove's Thursday residency at Brooklyn Bowl, and the occasional themed blowouts by the Gemini and Scorpio team.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Karczma
Karczma
136 Greenpoint Ave
(between Franklin St & Manhattan Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11222
I can only express my fondness for Karzcma in troikas: Meat, starch, lard; Zywiec, drinking, debauchery.
The restaurant will not be remembered for its Michelin-level cuisine, but just like death and taxes, you can certainly count on several things: the meal will be solid, definitely coma-inducing, and a considerable value for the ridiculous amount of food that you were too pussy to finish.
When in Warsaw (or Greenpoint), eat pierogies. They come with potato and cheese, beef, and mushrooms fillings. Be a smart Pollock and 1) order all three; and 2) order them fried: the combination of beef lard, crispy starch, and hearty fillings are a perfect complement to the Zywiec Light and Porter on tap. Don't skip on the hunter's bacon either: thick and slab-like, it's about a third of the price of Peter Luger's famous bacon side, but just as porky and unctuous.
Don't wuss out and make sure to accompany that side of bacon with a grilled meat platter for two. Like Sir Mix-a-Lot's odes to booties, it's large and in charge, and simply difficult to get one's hand around. Kielbasa, bacon, pork chops, and blood sausage make appearances, along with slices of grilled chicken and salmon. Along with the BBQ, horseradish, and garlic sauces on your plate, it's a veritable Atkins Revolution on a hot plate. The grilled plate comes with a side of roasted, gar-licked potatoes and sauerkraut with mushrooms gratis; both of these are small meals in themselves.
Beside the $3.50 Zyweic on Thursday from 5-9pm, the mise en scene at Karzcma never disappoints. Waitresses with peasant dresses and orange Day-glo tans, Polish hipsters with retro mullets, and Zywiec-induced stupors from bar patrons: they are all part of the whimsy that has made Karczma one of my underground favorites for the past several years.
136 Greenpoint Ave
(between Franklin St & Manhattan Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11222
I can only express my fondness for Karzcma in troikas: Meat, starch, lard; Zywiec, drinking, debauchery.
The restaurant will not be remembered for its Michelin-level cuisine, but just like death and taxes, you can certainly count on several things: the meal will be solid, definitely coma-inducing, and a considerable value for the ridiculous amount of food that you were too pussy to finish.
When in Warsaw (or Greenpoint), eat pierogies. They come with potato and cheese, beef, and mushrooms fillings. Be a smart Pollock and 1) order all three; and 2) order them fried: the combination of beef lard, crispy starch, and hearty fillings are a perfect complement to the Zywiec Light and Porter on tap. Don't skip on the hunter's bacon either: thick and slab-like, it's about a third of the price of Peter Luger's famous bacon side, but just as porky and unctuous.
Don't wuss out and make sure to accompany that side of bacon with a grilled meat platter for two. Like Sir Mix-a-Lot's odes to booties, it's large and in charge, and simply difficult to get one's hand around. Kielbasa, bacon, pork chops, and blood sausage make appearances, along with slices of grilled chicken and salmon. Along with the BBQ, horseradish, and garlic sauces on your plate, it's a veritable Atkins Revolution on a hot plate. The grilled plate comes with a side of roasted, gar-licked potatoes and sauerkraut with mushrooms gratis; both of these are small meals in themselves.
Beside the $3.50 Zyweic on Thursday from 5-9pm, the mise en scene at Karzcma never disappoints. Waitresses with peasant dresses and orange Day-glo tans, Polish hipsters with retro mullets, and Zywiec-induced stupors from bar patrons: they are all part of the whimsy that has made Karczma one of my underground favorites for the past several years.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Spritzenhaus
Spritzenhaus
33 Nassau Ave
(between Berry St & 14th St)
Spritzenhaus may be one of the most misunderstood drinking establishments in the better borough of Brooklyn, by both its customers and owners.
Contrary to recent reviews, Spritzenhaus has a solid draft and beer selection, more comprehensive and eclectic than the more popular Bohemian Beer Hall and Studio Square in Queens, Berry Park in Brooklyn, and Loreley in Manhattan.
German lagers are the focus point of the "Spritzen" in Spritzenhaus: besides your Weihenstephaners Weizen, Spatens Pils, and Goffel Kolsch on tap, there is Hofstetten Kubelbier Kellerbier, Einbecker Mai-Ur-Bock, and Schlenkerla Marzen, selections only available at dedicated beer programs at restaurants.
The Teutonic-ness further extends to their German bottle list, with hard-to-find stateside labels like Arcobrau, Reltberger Kloster, and Schoenramer making appearances in several styles.
If you decide to ante up, there are some stars (albeit pricey ones) on the beer menu: Del Borgo Reale ($38), Etienne Dupont Bouche Brut de Normandie ($38), Saint Bon de Chien Biere de Garde ($55).
What Spritzenhaus gets fundamentally wrong is its connection to its neighborhood. A 6,000 sq. ft., Keith McNally-esque bierhall couldn't help but be looked at with skepticism by the Greenpoint locals, despite the obvious effort put into the project.
Most popular (not necessarily equatable with good) beer halls have built their locations with their neighborhood demographics in mind: Studio Square reflects the aspirant douchiness of Long Island City, Bohemian Beer Hall embodies the Eastern European history of Queens, and Berry Park and Radegast capture the lo-fi, communal drinking of Greenpoint and Williamsburg. In terms of the owners, what lead them to plonk money into a project where there are already two other fairly decent competitors in the area is beyond me. Spritzenhaus will definitely not serve as Harvard Businesss School case study material anytime soon.
Unfortunately, Spritzenhaus will be remembered not for its aspiring German beer program, but a wary reminder of the most important tenet of Real Estate 101: choose your location carefully.
33 Nassau Ave
(between Berry St & 14th St)
Spritzenhaus may be one of the most misunderstood drinking establishments in the better borough of Brooklyn, by both its customers and owners.
Contrary to recent reviews, Spritzenhaus has a solid draft and beer selection, more comprehensive and eclectic than the more popular Bohemian Beer Hall and Studio Square in Queens, Berry Park in Brooklyn, and Loreley in Manhattan.
German lagers are the focus point of the "Spritzen" in Spritzenhaus: besides your Weihenstephaners Weizen, Spatens Pils, and Goffel Kolsch on tap, there is Hofstetten Kubelbier Kellerbier, Einbecker Mai-Ur-Bock, and Schlenkerla Marzen, selections only available at dedicated beer programs at restaurants.
The Teutonic-ness further extends to their German bottle list, with hard-to-find stateside labels like Arcobrau, Reltberger Kloster, and Schoenramer making appearances in several styles.
If you decide to ante up, there are some stars (albeit pricey ones) on the beer menu: Del Borgo Reale ($38), Etienne Dupont Bouche Brut de Normandie ($38), Saint Bon de Chien Biere de Garde ($55).
What Spritzenhaus gets fundamentally wrong is its connection to its neighborhood. A 6,000 sq. ft., Keith McNally-esque bierhall couldn't help but be looked at with skepticism by the Greenpoint locals, despite the obvious effort put into the project.
Most popular (not necessarily equatable with good) beer halls have built their locations with their neighborhood demographics in mind: Studio Square reflects the aspirant douchiness of Long Island City, Bohemian Beer Hall embodies the Eastern European history of Queens, and Berry Park and Radegast capture the lo-fi, communal drinking of Greenpoint and Williamsburg. In terms of the owners, what lead them to plonk money into a project where there are already two other fairly decent competitors in the area is beyond me. Spritzenhaus will definitely not serve as Harvard Businesss School case study material anytime soon.
Unfortunately, Spritzenhaus will be remembered not for its aspiring German beer program, but a wary reminder of the most important tenet of Real Estate 101: choose your location carefully.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Beecher's Handmade Cheeses
Beecher's Handmade Cheeses
900 Broadway (between 19th St & 20th St)
New York, NY 10003
Depending on your viewpoint, Beecher's recent opening has contributed to the Flatiron District's reputation as the new culinary hotspot, or the Epcot Center-ization of food in Gramercy.
Whether it was wise to enter a long-term lease for a multi-million dollar location in one of NYC's trendiest neighborhoods, Beecher's Handmade Cheeses nevertheless is an addition to Madison Square area that is become a burgeoning foodie destintation.
The store specializes in their eponymous cheeses (Beecher Flagship, Flagship 4-year, Marco Polo, No Woman, and Flagsheep), but also specialty cheeses and charcuterie purveyors across the United States. The space is vast, with several retail counters on the ground floor to sample cheeses, charcuterie, and prepared foods, adequate seating for lunch and dinner upstairs, and a cellar of a bar in the basement. Beecher's offers free samples of all their cheeses, but this is a normal courtesy offered at many of the premier NYC cheesemongers.
I went down to the Cellar Bar and had a side-by-side comparison of Beecher's (Flagship, Flagship 4-year, Flagsheep) vs. the other cheesemonger's (Mozzarella Co's Hoja Santa/Jasper Hill Farm's Moses Sleeper/Wisconsin Sheep Dairy Coop) cheeses.
Regarding Beecher's selections, I was impressed by the nuttiness and funkiness of the 4-year Flagship, but let down by the lack of distinguishable flavors in the Flagship and Flagsheep.
The Cheesemonger's selection was considerably more impressive. The Wisconsin Sheep Dairy Coop's sheep cheese trumped Beecher's Flagsheep with it's saltiness, pungency, and earthiness. Jasper Hill's Moses Sleeper (cow's milk, aged 3-6 weeks) had the buttery, bright, savory flavor associated with cow's milk, but the bloomy rindness of a brie. The Hoja Santa (goat cheese wrapped in hoja santa leaves) was a revelation: the tanginess of goat cheese played off minty, earthiness of hoja santa leaves like a bow to a Stradavarius violin.
The sides offered with the cheese plates are not to be missed. Beecher's biscuits have a slightly sweet, wheaty taste that complements most cheeses. The pickled raisins provided a nice foil to some of the tangier goat and sheep's cheeses. And the pickled fennel stems might be my new favorite bar snack in all of NYC, with the vinegar notes providing a subtle facelift to the anise in the freshly shaved fennel.
Despite the quality cheeses, I was disappointed by the lack of in-depth knowledge about the cheeses by the staff. I admit I am a particularly picky consumer, but for a store that features regional cheese, it's important to know not just whether it came from a cow, sheep, or goat, but how it was produced, and where it came from.
Beecher's is the new kid on the cheese block, and I wish it the best of success. After running into Kurt Beecher (who has an uncanny likeness to Eastbound and Down's Kenny Powers) upon leaving the store, I couldn't help but think how he has vastly underestimated how ruthlessly competitive the NYC fromagerie market has become since his visit to NYC in 2008. If it is going to make its mark just like it did in Seattle, it will have to step up the quality of its cheeses and staff education to compete against the likes of Murray's, Saxelby's, and Artisanal.
900 Broadway (between 19th St & 20th St)
New York, NY 10003
Depending on your viewpoint, Beecher's recent opening has contributed to the Flatiron District's reputation as the new culinary hotspot, or the Epcot Center-ization of food in Gramercy.
Whether it was wise to enter a long-term lease for a multi-million dollar location in one of NYC's trendiest neighborhoods, Beecher's Handmade Cheeses nevertheless is an addition to Madison Square area that is become a burgeoning foodie destintation.
The store specializes in their eponymous cheeses (Beecher Flagship, Flagship 4-year, Marco Polo, No Woman, and Flagsheep), but also specialty cheeses and charcuterie purveyors across the United States. The space is vast, with several retail counters on the ground floor to sample cheeses, charcuterie, and prepared foods, adequate seating for lunch and dinner upstairs, and a cellar of a bar in the basement. Beecher's offers free samples of all their cheeses, but this is a normal courtesy offered at many of the premier NYC cheesemongers.
I went down to the Cellar Bar and had a side-by-side comparison of Beecher's (Flagship, Flagship 4-year, Flagsheep) vs. the other cheesemonger's (Mozzarella Co's Hoja Santa/Jasper Hill Farm's Moses Sleeper/Wisconsin Sheep Dairy Coop) cheeses.
Regarding Beecher's selections, I was impressed by the nuttiness and funkiness of the 4-year Flagship, but let down by the lack of distinguishable flavors in the Flagship and Flagsheep.
The Cheesemonger's selection was considerably more impressive. The Wisconsin Sheep Dairy Coop's sheep cheese trumped Beecher's Flagsheep with it's saltiness, pungency, and earthiness. Jasper Hill's Moses Sleeper (cow's milk, aged 3-6 weeks) had the buttery, bright, savory flavor associated with cow's milk, but the bloomy rindness of a brie. The Hoja Santa (goat cheese wrapped in hoja santa leaves) was a revelation: the tanginess of goat cheese played off minty, earthiness of hoja santa leaves like a bow to a Stradavarius violin.
The sides offered with the cheese plates are not to be missed. Beecher's biscuits have a slightly sweet, wheaty taste that complements most cheeses. The pickled raisins provided a nice foil to some of the tangier goat and sheep's cheeses. And the pickled fennel stems might be my new favorite bar snack in all of NYC, with the vinegar notes providing a subtle facelift to the anise in the freshly shaved fennel.
Despite the quality cheeses, I was disappointed by the lack of in-depth knowledge about the cheeses by the staff. I admit I am a particularly picky consumer, but for a store that features regional cheese, it's important to know not just whether it came from a cow, sheep, or goat, but how it was produced, and where it came from.
Beecher's is the new kid on the cheese block, and I wish it the best of success. After running into Kurt Beecher (who has an uncanny likeness to Eastbound and Down's Kenny Powers) upon leaving the store, I couldn't help but think how he has vastly underestimated how ruthlessly competitive the NYC fromagerie market has become since his visit to NYC in 2008. If it is going to make its mark just like it did in Seattle, it will have to step up the quality of its cheeses and staff education to compete against the likes of Murray's, Saxelby's, and Artisanal.
Rosenthal Wine Merchants
Rosenthal Wine Merchants
318 E 84th Street
New York, NY 10028
For wine aficionados everywhere (including myself), there were inevitably two books that induced the wine bug: Kermit Lynch's "Adventures on the Wine Route" and Neal Rosenthal's "Reflections of a Wine Merchant". Both told the stories of wine explorers searching Europe for wines that express a particular terroir and philosophy of winemaking.
Rosenthal Wine Merchants specializes exclusively in European wines, predominantly France and Italy. The absence of foot-traffic is misleading: the store does a brisk business from numerous wholesale and individual orders from those who know that a Rosenthal label on the back of a wine bottle (rather than a Yellow Tail on the front) indicates sterling quality.
As a forewarning, this is not a wine store for novices. The store has rather inconvenient hours (Tuesday - Saturday; 10-6 or 10-7pm). Regions are not delineated, prices aren't marked, and there are no tasting notes to be found. However, there are gems to be found under $30 with some diligent perusing: a Lucien Crochet Sancerre, a De Forville Langhe Nebbiolo, or a Jacques Puffeney Arbois.
It is worth taking a trip and meeting Will, the proprietor of this hidden retail location on 84th St. A business acquaintance from the late 70s, Will has a commanding knowledge of Rosenthal Wine Merchant's inventory and almost every vintage of Burgundy and Piedmont. For someone who has been in the business for nearly 40 years, Will bequeathed some useful advice regarding wine: there are no shortcuts for gaining experience.
318 E 84th Street
New York, NY 10028
For wine aficionados everywhere (including myself), there were inevitably two books that induced the wine bug: Kermit Lynch's "Adventures on the Wine Route" and Neal Rosenthal's "Reflections of a Wine Merchant". Both told the stories of wine explorers searching Europe for wines that express a particular terroir and philosophy of winemaking.
Rosenthal Wine Merchants specializes exclusively in European wines, predominantly France and Italy. The absence of foot-traffic is misleading: the store does a brisk business from numerous wholesale and individual orders from those who know that a Rosenthal label on the back of a wine bottle (rather than a Yellow Tail on the front) indicates sterling quality.
As a forewarning, this is not a wine store for novices. The store has rather inconvenient hours (Tuesday - Saturday; 10-6 or 10-7pm). Regions are not delineated, prices aren't marked, and there are no tasting notes to be found. However, there are gems to be found under $30 with some diligent perusing: a Lucien Crochet Sancerre, a De Forville Langhe Nebbiolo, or a Jacques Puffeney Arbois.
It is worth taking a trip and meeting Will, the proprietor of this hidden retail location on 84th St. A business acquaintance from the late 70s, Will has a commanding knowledge of Rosenthal Wine Merchant's inventory and almost every vintage of Burgundy and Piedmont. For someone who has been in the business for nearly 40 years, Will bequeathed some useful advice regarding wine: there are no shortcuts for gaining experience.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Blueprint
Blueprint
196 5th Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11215.
The Source and Vibe magazine initially gave Jay-Z's Blueprint 5 stars; I'll be the first to review the Blueprint in Park Slope and give it 2 stars.
Blueprint attempts to be an elegant cocktail bar, but its execution falls off the mark. It adopts Weatherup's philosophy of sticking to the basic cocktails and listing the primary ingredients; however, for the cocktail enthusiast, although the menu reprises many cocktail classics, they aren't particularly inspired, nor are they any good.
For a bar that recently opened, I want to give it the benefit of the doubt. However, all the cocktails I had on the menu lacked balance and had noticeable faults. I would attempt to attribute it to an off night, but my drinks were made by two separate bartenders.
The Oaxacan (Los Nahaules mezcal, buckwheat honey, fresh lime, cinnamon) left my mouth with an acidic tang: too much lime juice overwhelmed any smokiness of mezcal, spiciness from the cinnamon, and earthy sweetness from the buckwheat honey.
The High and Dry (Rittenhouse Rye, Vya dry vermouth, fennel bitters, Ricard, burnt orange twist) was even worse, with the spicy, alcoholic sweetness of the Rittenhouse rye whiskey left as an initial afterthought the old cocktail stand, Rittenhouse Rye, overpowered by the bitter herbalness of too much Pernod Ricard and fennel bitters.
The Swedish Monk (Beefeater gin, Kopparberg pear cider, Chartreuse, soda, and lime was the worst of all. Too much soda water stifled the delicate interplay of sweet pear cider, delicately pungent Beefeater 24 gin, and herbal chartreuse.
As an afternote, they have a modest, but ridiculously overpriced selection of wines by the glass. Do as one should do in Park Slope, and stick with the bottled and draft beer.
196 5th Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11215.
The Source and Vibe magazine initially gave Jay-Z's Blueprint 5 stars; I'll be the first to review the Blueprint in Park Slope and give it 2 stars.
Blueprint attempts to be an elegant cocktail bar, but its execution falls off the mark. It adopts Weatherup's philosophy of sticking to the basic cocktails and listing the primary ingredients; however, for the cocktail enthusiast, although the menu reprises many cocktail classics, they aren't particularly inspired, nor are they any good.
For a bar that recently opened, I want to give it the benefit of the doubt. However, all the cocktails I had on the menu lacked balance and had noticeable faults. I would attempt to attribute it to an off night, but my drinks were made by two separate bartenders.
The Oaxacan (Los Nahaules mezcal, buckwheat honey, fresh lime, cinnamon) left my mouth with an acidic tang: too much lime juice overwhelmed any smokiness of mezcal, spiciness from the cinnamon, and earthy sweetness from the buckwheat honey.
The High and Dry (Rittenhouse Rye, Vya dry vermouth, fennel bitters, Ricard, burnt orange twist) was even worse, with the spicy, alcoholic sweetness of the Rittenhouse rye whiskey left as an initial afterthought the old cocktail stand, Rittenhouse Rye, overpowered by the bitter herbalness of too much Pernod Ricard and fennel bitters.
The Swedish Monk (Beefeater gin, Kopparberg pear cider, Chartreuse, soda, and lime was the worst of all. Too much soda water stifled the delicate interplay of sweet pear cider, delicately pungent Beefeater 24 gin, and herbal chartreuse.
As an afternote, they have a modest, but ridiculously overpriced selection of wines by the glass. Do as one should do in Park Slope, and stick with the bottled and draft beer.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Dogfish Head Brewery
Dogfish Head Craft Brewery
6 Cannery Village Center
Milton, DE 19968
As much as I have great respect for the off-centered, hop-driven ales that Dogfish Head produces, I have a little more respect for Sam Calagione, founder and head of the 11th largest craft brewer in the United States.
Sam Calagione’s ascent to Brew Master was more fortuitous than engineered. After being inspired by the craft beer selection at the now-defunct Mexican restaurant he used to waiter at near Columbia University, he started a brewpub/restaurant in Rehoboth Beach, DE without knowing that it was illegal to start a distillery under Delaware State law. At the last minute, he single-handedly got legislation changed before it opened.
Dogfish Head’s reputation has always been driven by using innovative ingredients in their beer, but unfortunately, the selections on tap on my brewery tour did not reflect this. After the didactic and somewhat stultifying half-hour brewery tour, the bar only offered samples of four beers -- Shelter Pale Ale, 60 Minute, 90 Minute, and 120 Minute IPA – as refreshment for enduring a dull lecture. This was even more disappointing given the fact that these beers are readily available year-round at most East Coast bars.
Nevertheless, it was fascinating to see a horizontal flight of their hopped-beers. While the Shelter Pale Ale and 60 Minute IPA were good session beers, and 90 Minute a robust, but quaffable IPA, the 120 Minute IPA was in the infamous words of Brooklyn Brewery brewmaster Garrett Oliver “unbalanced and shrieking.”
If you want greater exposure to their more limited-edition beers, you need to travel to their brewpub/restaurant in Reboboth Beach. There you can get customizable samplers of their regular and limited edition beers such as Festina Peche (peach-flavored Berliner Weisse) and Namaste (lemon-grass flavored witbier). No Dogfish Head experience is complete without a hit from Randall the Enamel Animal, a stainless steel water filter that adds an extra dose of hoppiness to an already hoppy 90 Minute IPA, which strangely enough is absent from the brewery tour.
6 Cannery Village Center
Milton, DE 19968
As much as I have great respect for the off-centered, hop-driven ales that Dogfish Head produces, I have a little more respect for Sam Calagione, founder and head of the 11th largest craft brewer in the United States.
Sam Calagione’s ascent to Brew Master was more fortuitous than engineered. After being inspired by the craft beer selection at the now-defunct Mexican restaurant he used to waiter at near Columbia University, he started a brewpub/restaurant in Rehoboth Beach, DE without knowing that it was illegal to start a distillery under Delaware State law. At the last minute, he single-handedly got legislation changed before it opened.
Dogfish Head’s reputation has always been driven by using innovative ingredients in their beer, but unfortunately, the selections on tap on my brewery tour did not reflect this. After the didactic and somewhat stultifying half-hour brewery tour, the bar only offered samples of four beers -- Shelter Pale Ale, 60 Minute, 90 Minute, and 120 Minute IPA – as refreshment for enduring a dull lecture. This was even more disappointing given the fact that these beers are readily available year-round at most East Coast bars.
Nevertheless, it was fascinating to see a horizontal flight of their hopped-beers. While the Shelter Pale Ale and 60 Minute IPA were good session beers, and 90 Minute a robust, but quaffable IPA, the 120 Minute IPA was in the infamous words of Brooklyn Brewery brewmaster Garrett Oliver “unbalanced and shrieking.”
If you want greater exposure to their more limited-edition beers, you need to travel to their brewpub/restaurant in Reboboth Beach. There you can get customizable samplers of their regular and limited edition beers such as Festina Peche (peach-flavored Berliner Weisse) and Namaste (lemon-grass flavored witbier). No Dogfish Head experience is complete without a hit from Randall the Enamel Animal, a stainless steel water filter that adds an extra dose of hoppiness to an already hoppy 90 Minute IPA, which strangely enough is absent from the brewery tour.
Flying Dog Brewery
Flying Dog Brewery
4607 Wedgewood Blvd.
Frederick, MD 21703
Since seeing Flying Dog Brewery's gonzo, post-apocalpytic art festooned on the walls of Bierkraft, my favorite specialty beer retail shop in Brooklyn, I have been intrigued by the brand and its beer. I decided to take advantage of a recent change in Maryland state beer laws, and visited where the method meets the madness.
After touring several breweries, you realize they are one-in-the-same, and it is more about connecting with the philosophy of the individual brewery than anything else. (Also drinking good beer is a primary motivator.)
The tour of Flying Dog followed a similar routine: views of mash tun where they seep the barley, the lauter tun where they separate the wort, the fermentation tank where the yeast is added, and the bar where they serve the beer.
For $5, they allow you five different 3-4 oz. samples from the taps on hand. Fortunately, Flying Dog had most of the limited releases that are hard to find at retail and on taps: Gonzo Imperial Porter (regular and barrel-aged versions), Double Dog Double Pale Ale, Raging Bitch Belgian-Style Imperial IPA, DOGtoberfest, and Centennial Single-Hop IPA.
I found the history of Flying Dog considerably more interesting than the tour itself. George Stranahan, bon vivant and heir to the Champion spark plug fortune, gets the inspiration to start a brewpub in Aspen, CO upon seeing an image of a dog with wings at a Pakistani hotel bar after an ill-advised, ill-fated, and marijuana-induced climb of K2, one of the most dangerous ascents in all of the Himalayas. Several years after starting the brewpub, through his equally gonzo friend Hunter S. Thompson, he connects with artist Ralph Steadman, illustator of Thompson's literary works and soon-to-be demented genius behind Flying Dog's art.
The tour was passable, and the beer was decent. But if I had a single takeaways from my Flying Dog tour: sometime you (literally) have to get high to get inspiration for a truly great idea.
4607 Wedgewood Blvd.
Frederick, MD 21703
Since seeing Flying Dog Brewery's gonzo, post-apocalpytic art festooned on the walls of Bierkraft, my favorite specialty beer retail shop in Brooklyn, I have been intrigued by the brand and its beer. I decided to take advantage of a recent change in Maryland state beer laws, and visited where the method meets the madness.
After touring several breweries, you realize they are one-in-the-same, and it is more about connecting with the philosophy of the individual brewery than anything else. (Also drinking good beer is a primary motivator.)
The tour of Flying Dog followed a similar routine: views of mash tun where they seep the barley, the lauter tun where they separate the wort, the fermentation tank where the yeast is added, and the bar where they serve the beer.
For $5, they allow you five different 3-4 oz. samples from the taps on hand. Fortunately, Flying Dog had most of the limited releases that are hard to find at retail and on taps: Gonzo Imperial Porter (regular and barrel-aged versions), Double Dog Double Pale Ale, Raging Bitch Belgian-Style Imperial IPA, DOGtoberfest, and Centennial Single-Hop IPA.
I found the history of Flying Dog considerably more interesting than the tour itself. George Stranahan, bon vivant and heir to the Champion spark plug fortune, gets the inspiration to start a brewpub in Aspen, CO upon seeing an image of a dog with wings at a Pakistani hotel bar after an ill-advised, ill-fated, and marijuana-induced climb of K2, one of the most dangerous ascents in all of the Himalayas. Several years after starting the brewpub, through his equally gonzo friend Hunter S. Thompson, he connects with artist Ralph Steadman, illustator of Thompson's literary works and soon-to-be demented genius behind Flying Dog's art.
The tour was passable, and the beer was decent. But if I had a single takeaways from my Flying Dog tour: sometime you (literally) have to get high to get inspiration for a truly great idea.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Boulud Sud
Boulud Sud
20 W 64th St
(between W Central Park & Broadway)
Manhattan, NY 10023
Besides Daniel Boulud, DB stands for doing it better.
In recent years, DB has adapted to the economic times and has adopted the upscale, casual dining concept that Keith McNally had perfected (Balthazar, Schiller's Liquor Bar) with Bar Boulud and recently, Boulud Sud. Unlike McNally, the food at Boulud's brasseries are not merely an afterthought to the location and ambience.
The dining room feels like being on a cruise liner on the Mediterreanean: gently curving whitewashed ceilings, recessed lightning, and the primly dressed waitstaff provide a light and airy background for the meal-at-hand.
I promptly skipped the overpriced wine-by-the-glass list and I started out with a Jenlain Biere de Mars, a versatile French saison whose hints of malt and peppery notes blend well with land, sea, and garden-driven menu.
Although slightly overcoooked, the pan-seared Octopus a la Plancha was seasoned well with some paprika and harissa oil. The chickpea paste, marcona almonds, and sherry vinegar all provided good textural contrasts with the meatiness of this dish.
More a nod to Bar Boulud next door, the Rabbit Porchetta gives rise to my theory that the Lyonnaise find it next to impossible to mess up charcuterie. Unctuous, gamy, and meaty, this wonderful dish was brightened by some thinly shaved pencil asparagus and a couple dots of basil oil.
The Harira Soup would be what the Moroccans would envision chicken soup, but replacing the pieces of poulet and shards of noodle were little fideos and dabs of cinnamon- and cardamom-spiced meat balls and little fideos in addition to the mirepoix-ed vegetables. Homely, satisfying, but brilliantly complex, I cannot look at matzo ball soup in the same way again.
As a palate cleanser between savory and dessert, the bartender offered me a cocktail that he was tweaking for the menu: Watermelon, Rum, Lime Juice, and a bit ouzo. Although it could have used a savory component, the drink takes ice sculpture to a new level, with a 2" spherical ball comprised of frozen and strained watermelon puree, watermelon rind, and ice. Besides being beautiful to look at, it keep the cocktail cool, and adds another fruity element to the drink with the melting of the watermelon puree.
For dessert, I started off with a Macvin du Jura, a dessert wine from the oft-neglected French region made from Pinot Noir. It's one of the few dessert wines that has the acidity to play off citrus-dominated dessert dishes such as the Grapefrui Givre I ordered. I hardly recommend going to a restaurant to only order dessert, but this is one of sheer pastry genius. A grapefruit half is scopped out, filled with grapefruit sorbet, piped with sesame mousse, mixed with grapefruit segments and rose louloum, and garnished with an almond tuile and halvah cotton candy. Like a Ferran Adria dish, you'd expect the contrasting textures and flavors to deconstruct, but somehow the acid from the grape fruit harmoniously blends together with the savory sesame, halvah, and loukoum.
Screw Josephina and Cafe Fiorello: DB just conquered the Lincoln Center restaurant scene by doing it better.
20 W 64th St
(between W Central Park & Broadway)
Manhattan, NY 10023
Besides Daniel Boulud, DB stands for doing it better.
In recent years, DB has adapted to the economic times and has adopted the upscale, casual dining concept that Keith McNally had perfected (Balthazar, Schiller's Liquor Bar) with Bar Boulud and recently, Boulud Sud. Unlike McNally, the food at Boulud's brasseries are not merely an afterthought to the location and ambience.
The dining room feels like being on a cruise liner on the Mediterreanean: gently curving whitewashed ceilings, recessed lightning, and the primly dressed waitstaff provide a light and airy background for the meal-at-hand.
I promptly skipped the overpriced wine-by-the-glass list and I started out with a Jenlain Biere de Mars, a versatile French saison whose hints of malt and peppery notes blend well with land, sea, and garden-driven menu.
Although slightly overcoooked, the pan-seared Octopus a la Plancha was seasoned well with some paprika and harissa oil. The chickpea paste, marcona almonds, and sherry vinegar all provided good textural contrasts with the meatiness of this dish.
More a nod to Bar Boulud next door, the Rabbit Porchetta gives rise to my theory that the Lyonnaise find it next to impossible to mess up charcuterie. Unctuous, gamy, and meaty, this wonderful dish was brightened by some thinly shaved pencil asparagus and a couple dots of basil oil.
The Harira Soup would be what the Moroccans would envision chicken soup, but replacing the pieces of poulet and shards of noodle were little fideos and dabs of cinnamon- and cardamom-spiced meat balls and little fideos in addition to the mirepoix-ed vegetables. Homely, satisfying, but brilliantly complex, I cannot look at matzo ball soup in the same way again.
As a palate cleanser between savory and dessert, the bartender offered me a cocktail that he was tweaking for the menu: Watermelon, Rum, Lime Juice, and a bit ouzo. Although it could have used a savory component, the drink takes ice sculpture to a new level, with a 2" spherical ball comprised of frozen and strained watermelon puree, watermelon rind, and ice. Besides being beautiful to look at, it keep the cocktail cool, and adds another fruity element to the drink with the melting of the watermelon puree.
For dessert, I started off with a Macvin du Jura, a dessert wine from the oft-neglected French region made from Pinot Noir. It's one of the few dessert wines that has the acidity to play off citrus-dominated dessert dishes such as the Grapefrui Givre I ordered. I hardly recommend going to a restaurant to only order dessert, but this is one of sheer pastry genius. A grapefruit half is scopped out, filled with grapefruit sorbet, piped with sesame mousse, mixed with grapefruit segments and rose louloum, and garnished with an almond tuile and halvah cotton candy. Like a Ferran Adria dish, you'd expect the contrasting textures and flavors to deconstruct, but somehow the acid from the grape fruit harmoniously blends together with the savory sesame, halvah, and loukoum.
Screw Josephina and Cafe Fiorello: DB just conquered the Lincoln Center restaurant scene by doing it better.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Balls
Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Balls
145 7th Ave S.
(between 10th St & Charles St)
Manhattan, NY 10014
On hot summer days, a friend of mine who used to live in the West Village used to bemoan that there were no sno-balls to be had in NYC. A delectable treat from our childhoods, this fruit-flavored, icy concoction was more addictive than the crack cocaine that ravaged neighborhoods in our hometown of Baltimore.
For those not initiated, a sno-ball is a dessert made from finely shaved block ice, with the consistency halfway between an Italian ice and a snow cone. Various fruit-flavored syrups (made from artificially flavored sugar-syrups) are placed on the sno-ball, and the resulting mixture is eaten with a plastic spoon and/or a straw.
The Yelp directory incorrectly lists this place as "Imperial Woodpecker Snow-Cones"; on their business card, they are officially called "Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Balls." In fact, a sno-ball is texturally different from a sno-cone: the former is made from milled ice with a rougher, larger particle, while the former is from shaved ice, and compacted to form a snowball (hence, the name). It is also not halo-halo: besides marshmallow fluff or chocolate syrup, there are no other toppings placed on it.
Apparently, sno-cones aren't just a Baltimore thing, but also a New Orleans thing. Nessa Peterson, the plucky owner of Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Cones, thought it a good idea to import the sno-cone along with other great Nawlin's contributions (the Sazerac, Dixieland jazz, Emeril Lagasse). I'm a purist and prefer my sno-cone out of a styrofoam cup, but she serves in in various sizes of Chinese takeout container. There are about 30 flavors to choose from (yes, Tiger's Blood is one the menu), which are made from simple sugar syrup and concentrate by two sno-cone companies in the Southern US. The flavors weren't revelatory by any means, but when you have one on a hot, humid summer day, I'll swear you'll swear by them.
145 7th Ave S.
(between 10th St & Charles St)
Manhattan, NY 10014
On hot summer days, a friend of mine who used to live in the West Village used to bemoan that there were no sno-balls to be had in NYC. A delectable treat from our childhoods, this fruit-flavored, icy concoction was more addictive than the crack cocaine that ravaged neighborhoods in our hometown of Baltimore.
For those not initiated, a sno-ball is a dessert made from finely shaved block ice, with the consistency halfway between an Italian ice and a snow cone. Various fruit-flavored syrups (made from artificially flavored sugar-syrups) are placed on the sno-ball, and the resulting mixture is eaten with a plastic spoon and/or a straw.
The Yelp directory incorrectly lists this place as "Imperial Woodpecker Snow-Cones"; on their business card, they are officially called "Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Balls." In fact, a sno-ball is texturally different from a sno-cone: the former is made from milled ice with a rougher, larger particle, while the former is from shaved ice, and compacted to form a snowball (hence, the name). It is also not halo-halo: besides marshmallow fluff or chocolate syrup, there are no other toppings placed on it.
Apparently, sno-cones aren't just a Baltimore thing, but also a New Orleans thing. Nessa Peterson, the plucky owner of Imperial Woodpecker Sno-Cones, thought it a good idea to import the sno-cone along with other great Nawlin's contributions (the Sazerac, Dixieland jazz, Emeril Lagasse). I'm a purist and prefer my sno-cone out of a styrofoam cup, but she serves in in various sizes of Chinese takeout container. There are about 30 flavors to choose from (yes, Tiger's Blood is one the menu), which are made from simple sugar syrup and concentrate by two sno-cone companies in the Southern US. The flavors weren't revelatory by any means, but when you have one on a hot, humid summer day, I'll swear you'll swear by them.
Thirstbaravin
Thirstbaravin
629 Classon Ave
(between Atlantic Ave & Pacific St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
With people, lofty arrogance often belies latent insecurities. With restaurants, it is a warning sign for a bad meal.
I've been a fan of Eric Asimov's NYT wine column for several years, and upon reading his recommendation of this desolate outpost of a restaurant in Crown Heights, I made it a point to go here. Also, the restaurant's elevation of the underappreciated French wine-producing regions of Provence, Languedoc, and Rousillion, beckoned me to go here.
The wines by the glass list initially turned me off given the small number to choose from (3 whites, 3 reds, 1 rose, and 2 dessert wines) and their relatively high price points ($8-11) given what the bottles sell at retail. The waitress/owner initially tried to sell me a glass of red from a half-empty bottle with a rubber stopper, a clear signal that the restaurant is trying to dump a bottle opened one or two nights ago. I passed and demurred for a Domaine de Fontsainte Corbieres Rose Gris de Gris ($8), which was from an unopened magnum and a reputable distributor. I asked why the wine was called "gris de gris," and got a harried answer about how the wine was halfway between a red and a white wine (hence the 1st gris), and after further prying, that it was made from "Grenache Gris" (thus, the 2nd). After my glass was half full, I was asked if I wanted another glass of wine. (Not yet.) Mid-way through my meal, I was asked if I still wanted another glass of wine (No, not for that stingy 4 oz. pour.) After my rillettes, I was then asked again (No, because you are annoying me with your upselling.)
The meal started on a good note and gradually wended downhill. The cold beet soup with sheep's milk cheese ($8) was a delectable dish on the longest day of the year: the creaminess of the beet soup married well with the tanginess of the sheep's milk cheese and earthy drizzle of olive oil on top. The dandelion green salad was an exercise in ingredients not handled well; the bitterness of the dandelion greens was underlined even more by the lemony, acidic vinaigrette that dressed them and the slightly burnt croutons that topped it. Following these two dishes, the chicken rillettes ($12) were a slimy disappointment, with the minimal mound of seemingly leftover chicken made even more insignificant by the stale, oxidized baguette slices that were served along with it. After having two poor dishes, I should have called it quits, but I decided to order the Macaroni Gratin ($14). Upon seeing the dish, I knew I would be disappointed; upon biting into it, I became morose. The turgid cylinders of rigatoni looked as if they were taking limpid bath in a wan cheese sauce. With gratin, there should be an incorporation of the bread crumbs, the sauce, and the starch, but since the bread crumbs had been too liberally sprinkled and added to late, the little bread pieces became like small pieces of gravel while gnoshing on my pasta. After the pasta was half-eaten, I became fully dejected, and asked for the check.
My first (and last trip) to Thirstbaravin was an unmitigated disappointment. From the pushy wine service, to the poor quality of food, to the lofty price points, this is a restaurant that has severely become complacent since Eric Asimov's glowing write up. For someone who works in the industry, I would never tell anyone to not eat at a restaurant, but for someone thinking about Thirstbaravin, I would go out of my way to make an exception.
629 Classon Ave
(between Atlantic Ave & Pacific St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
With people, lofty arrogance often belies latent insecurities. With restaurants, it is a warning sign for a bad meal.
I've been a fan of Eric Asimov's NYT wine column for several years, and upon reading his recommendation of this desolate outpost of a restaurant in Crown Heights, I made it a point to go here. Also, the restaurant's elevation of the underappreciated French wine-producing regions of Provence, Languedoc, and Rousillion, beckoned me to go here.
The wines by the glass list initially turned me off given the small number to choose from (3 whites, 3 reds, 1 rose, and 2 dessert wines) and their relatively high price points ($8-11) given what the bottles sell at retail. The waitress/owner initially tried to sell me a glass of red from a half-empty bottle with a rubber stopper, a clear signal that the restaurant is trying to dump a bottle opened one or two nights ago. I passed and demurred for a Domaine de Fontsainte Corbieres Rose Gris de Gris ($8), which was from an unopened magnum and a reputable distributor. I asked why the wine was called "gris de gris," and got a harried answer about how the wine was halfway between a red and a white wine (hence the 1st gris), and after further prying, that it was made from "Grenache Gris" (thus, the 2nd). After my glass was half full, I was asked if I wanted another glass of wine. (Not yet.) Mid-way through my meal, I was asked if I still wanted another glass of wine (No, not for that stingy 4 oz. pour.) After my rillettes, I was then asked again (No, because you are annoying me with your upselling.)
The meal started on a good note and gradually wended downhill. The cold beet soup with sheep's milk cheese ($8) was a delectable dish on the longest day of the year: the creaminess of the beet soup married well with the tanginess of the sheep's milk cheese and earthy drizzle of olive oil on top. The dandelion green salad was an exercise in ingredients not handled well; the bitterness of the dandelion greens was underlined even more by the lemony, acidic vinaigrette that dressed them and the slightly burnt croutons that topped it. Following these two dishes, the chicken rillettes ($12) were a slimy disappointment, with the minimal mound of seemingly leftover chicken made even more insignificant by the stale, oxidized baguette slices that were served along with it. After having two poor dishes, I should have called it quits, but I decided to order the Macaroni Gratin ($14). Upon seeing the dish, I knew I would be disappointed; upon biting into it, I became morose. The turgid cylinders of rigatoni looked as if they were taking limpid bath in a wan cheese sauce. With gratin, there should be an incorporation of the bread crumbs, the sauce, and the starch, but since the bread crumbs had been too liberally sprinkled and added to late, the little bread pieces became like small pieces of gravel while gnoshing on my pasta. After the pasta was half-eaten, I became fully dejected, and asked for the check.
My first (and last trip) to Thirstbaravin was an unmitigated disappointment. From the pushy wine service, to the poor quality of food, to the lofty price points, this is a restaurant that has severely become complacent since Eric Asimov's glowing write up. For someone who works in the industry, I would never tell anyone to not eat at a restaurant, but for someone thinking about Thirstbaravin, I would go out of my way to make an exception.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Hospoda
Hospoda
321 E 73rd St
(between 2nd Ave & 1st Ave)
Manhattan, NY 10021
Count on the Czech consulate to set up an after-work beer bar next to their offices.
Hospoda is a cosmopolitan take on the traditional Czech beerpub. Hardwood dominates the layout, but accents of glass are included in the bar (to display their modern draft system) and embedded in the floor (to show off their cellar/beer locker). The hardwood walls are decorated with narrative scroll-work from a popular Czech graffiti artist that loosely documents a man's descent into darkness after drinking.
Purists at heart, Hospoda only serves one beer, the nationally revered and internationally renowned Pilsner Urquell. With the traditional golden Czech session pilsner, the bar serves it four ways, which vary by the amount of creamy foam you want in your glass: sweet/mliko (all-foam), slice/snyt (half-foam), hladinka/creme (quarter-foam), and neat/cochtan (no foam). I'd suggest the slice/snyt version which has enough foam to provide a soft, delicious balance to the bitterness of the Bohemian Saaz hops that drive the flowery, spicy taste of Pilsner Urquell.
All the glasses are cleaned according to strict draft quality system procedures, so rest assured the taste of your beer will be consistent throughout.
I started off with s small tulip glass of the berechkova, the traditional Czech apertif. Although not as complex as many Italian amari, it had a lovely honey and cardamom taste redolent of Atomic Fireballs that stimulated my appetite. Following this was a slab of rye bread slathered with cottage cheese and garnished with julienned radishes. As another complementary amuse-bouche was a steak tartare between two circular rye crisps. Almost like a meaty Oreo, this was solid food pairing with the crisp and hoppy Pilsner. Lastly, I had the pork belly with grated horseradish and mustard. All in all, this dish was a disappoinment, as the pork belly tasted like fatty roast beef and the the dijon overpowered the belly and even the horseradish.
Hospoda is one the rare places that I would go out of my way to check out in the Upper East Side. Don't take my word for it; Czech it out yourself.
321 E 73rd St
(between 2nd Ave & 1st Ave)
Manhattan, NY 10021
Count on the Czech consulate to set up an after-work beer bar next to their offices.
Hospoda is a cosmopolitan take on the traditional Czech beerpub. Hardwood dominates the layout, but accents of glass are included in the bar (to display their modern draft system) and embedded in the floor (to show off their cellar/beer locker). The hardwood walls are decorated with narrative scroll-work from a popular Czech graffiti artist that loosely documents a man's descent into darkness after drinking.
Purists at heart, Hospoda only serves one beer, the nationally revered and internationally renowned Pilsner Urquell. With the traditional golden Czech session pilsner, the bar serves it four ways, which vary by the amount of creamy foam you want in your glass: sweet/mliko (all-foam), slice/snyt (half-foam), hladinka/creme (quarter-foam), and neat/cochtan (no foam). I'd suggest the slice/snyt version which has enough foam to provide a soft, delicious balance to the bitterness of the Bohemian Saaz hops that drive the flowery, spicy taste of Pilsner Urquell.
All the glasses are cleaned according to strict draft quality system procedures, so rest assured the taste of your beer will be consistent throughout.
I started off with s small tulip glass of the berechkova, the traditional Czech apertif. Although not as complex as many Italian amari, it had a lovely honey and cardamom taste redolent of Atomic Fireballs that stimulated my appetite. Following this was a slab of rye bread slathered with cottage cheese and garnished with julienned radishes. As another complementary amuse-bouche was a steak tartare between two circular rye crisps. Almost like a meaty Oreo, this was solid food pairing with the crisp and hoppy Pilsner. Lastly, I had the pork belly with grated horseradish and mustard. All in all, this dish was a disappoinment, as the pork belly tasted like fatty roast beef and the the dijon overpowered the belly and even the horseradish.
Hospoda is one the rare places that I would go out of my way to check out in the Upper East Side. Don't take my word for it; Czech it out yourself.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Branded Saloon
Branded Saloon
603 Vanderbilt Ave
(between St Marks Ave & Bergen St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
Neighborhood: Prospect Heights
When someone in the hospitality industry goes out of their way to tip 10%, you know your service is messed up.
Branded Saloon was not my first choice for restaurants to check out after my double shift ended at 11pm. Neither was it my second, third, nor fourth choice. (These honors would go to The Vanderbilt, Eton's Dumplings, Soda Bar, and Cornelius respectively). Like a booty call at two in the morning or a trip to Alphabet City 10 years ago, I simply hit up to the location that would give me the best chance of scoring.
With ravenous hunger setting in and expectations already low, I venture to Branded Saloon, the only place in Prospect Heights whose kitchen is open after 12am on weekdays.
The late night dinner started promising enough with a La Trappe Quadrupel, whose malty, toffee, and caramel notes were emblematic of this style of Belgian beer. Branded has a surprisingly decent beer selection by bottle; other highlights include Innis & Gunn, a mild ale from Scotland matured in oak casks, which give it a roasted, vanilla flavor very much to what you see in bourbon.
The burger took about 30 minutes to come out. While I patiently read my recent issue of Food & Wine Magazine, I mentally compiled the following service issues which played out like a bad Health Inspection examination.
- Order Belgian quadrupel; bartender does not offer glassware of any kind
- Burger took 30 minutes, despite my order being the only food order sent to the kitchen
- Bartender mentions burger will come out in 4 minutes after waiting at the bar for nearly 20 minutes; said burger takes 10 minutes to finally reach the table
- Requested side salad instead of fries with burger; order comes out with fries
- Failure by bartender to apologize for messing up order
- While order is outstanding, bartender spends time adjusting volume level and tracks of personal iPod list and ventures outside for 5 minute smoke break
- Bartender clears food from previous customer with hands into bus tray; proceeds to handle my plate from kitchen with cigarette-smoke laden hands without washing
I begrudgingly add an additional star due to the fact that the bartender offered a shot of Jameson while I was waiting; although I suspect that it was to get him lubricated rather than as a comp for how long the burger took to cook.
603 Vanderbilt Ave
(between St Marks Ave & Bergen St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
Neighborhood: Prospect Heights
When someone in the hospitality industry goes out of their way to tip 10%, you know your service is messed up.
Branded Saloon was not my first choice for restaurants to check out after my double shift ended at 11pm. Neither was it my second, third, nor fourth choice. (These honors would go to The Vanderbilt, Eton's Dumplings, Soda Bar, and Cornelius respectively). Like a booty call at two in the morning or a trip to Alphabet City 10 years ago, I simply hit up to the location that would give me the best chance of scoring.
With ravenous hunger setting in and expectations already low, I venture to Branded Saloon, the only place in Prospect Heights whose kitchen is open after 12am on weekdays.
The late night dinner started promising enough with a La Trappe Quadrupel, whose malty, toffee, and caramel notes were emblematic of this style of Belgian beer. Branded has a surprisingly decent beer selection by bottle; other highlights include Innis & Gunn, a mild ale from Scotland matured in oak casks, which give it a roasted, vanilla flavor very much to what you see in bourbon.
The burger took about 30 minutes to come out. While I patiently read my recent issue of Food & Wine Magazine, I mentally compiled the following service issues which played out like a bad Health Inspection examination.
- Order Belgian quadrupel; bartender does not offer glassware of any kind
- Burger took 30 minutes, despite my order being the only food order sent to the kitchen
- Bartender mentions burger will come out in 4 minutes after waiting at the bar for nearly 20 minutes; said burger takes 10 minutes to finally reach the table
- Requested side salad instead of fries with burger; order comes out with fries
- Failure by bartender to apologize for messing up order
- While order is outstanding, bartender spends time adjusting volume level and tracks of personal iPod list and ventures outside for 5 minute smoke break
- Bartender clears food from previous customer with hands into bus tray; proceeds to handle my plate from kitchen with cigarette-smoke laden hands without washing
I begrudgingly add an additional star due to the fact that the bartender offered a shot of Jameson while I was waiting; although I suspect that it was to get him lubricated rather than as a comp for how long the burger took to cook.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Vanderbilt
The Vanderbilt
570 Vanderbilt Ave
(between Pacific St & Dean St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
I don't dine in Brooklyn.
With the exception of Williamsburg (Roberta's, The Commodore, Pies n' Thighs) and Park Slope (Al di La), I consider my borough, as Gabrielle Hamilton would quip, "a minor league stretch" that simply disappoints culinarily.
I don't consider the farm-to-table restaurants that have sprouted up in Brooklyn legitimate concepts. To quote the man David Chang himself: "How else are you supposed to cook? You're supposed to get the best ingredients possible. Do you want a [expletive deleted] pat on the back?"
***Rant ended***
The Vanderbilt is one of the few restaurants that get a personal pat on the back. Started by "that dude who runs Saul," it's an American-style gastropub that's major-league with its execution.
Like a French brasserie, the meats, sausage, and charcuterie shine. The grilled merguez sausage was smoky and spicy, delightfully offset by the lactic tang of lemony raita. The butter-brushed, homemade pita that accompanied it provided a soft, pillowy cradle to slather the yogurt sauce and stray pieces of merguez that fell off my fork + knife. The German bratwurst was juicy and well-cooked; the meatiness complemented by acidic bite of fermented sauerkraut and horseradish dijon musatrd. The (rare) hamburger included a nice blend of funky dry-aged beef that went well with my equally funky Monk's Cafe Flemish Red Sour Ale. The only disappointment was the country pork pate: the lack of meatiness/smokiness was compounded by the small hunks of fat and tendon strewn throughout the meaty slab.
Where the Vanderbilt shines is the beer list. Personally selected by the head bartender, it includes an solid domestic draft and eccentric international bottle list. On draft are solid domestic selections available at any high-end craft beer establishment (Allagash, Dogfish Head, Pretty Things. The bottles are more interesting with international selections from Belgian brewery Van Steenberg (Piraat Ale, Monk's Cafe Flemmish Red Sour Ale) and other weird stuff from Germany (Schlenkerla Marzen Rauchbier) and Spain (Estrella Damn Inedit).
At least that dude from Saul is doing something right in Brooklyn.
570 Vanderbilt Ave
(between Pacific St & Dean St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
I don't dine in Brooklyn.
With the exception of Williamsburg (Roberta's, The Commodore, Pies n' Thighs) and Park Slope (Al di La), I consider my borough, as Gabrielle Hamilton would quip, "a minor league stretch" that simply disappoints culinarily.
I don't consider the farm-to-table restaurants that have sprouted up in Brooklyn legitimate concepts. To quote the man David Chang himself: "How else are you supposed to cook? You're supposed to get the best ingredients possible. Do you want a [expletive deleted] pat on the back?"
***Rant ended***
The Vanderbilt is one of the few restaurants that get a personal pat on the back. Started by "that dude who runs Saul," it's an American-style gastropub that's major-league with its execution.
Like a French brasserie, the meats, sausage, and charcuterie shine. The grilled merguez sausage was smoky and spicy, delightfully offset by the lactic tang of lemony raita. The butter-brushed, homemade pita that accompanied it provided a soft, pillowy cradle to slather the yogurt sauce and stray pieces of merguez that fell off my fork + knife. The German bratwurst was juicy and well-cooked; the meatiness complemented by acidic bite of fermented sauerkraut and horseradish dijon musatrd. The (rare) hamburger included a nice blend of funky dry-aged beef that went well with my equally funky Monk's Cafe Flemish Red Sour Ale. The only disappointment was the country pork pate: the lack of meatiness/smokiness was compounded by the small hunks of fat and tendon strewn throughout the meaty slab.
Where the Vanderbilt shines is the beer list. Personally selected by the head bartender, it includes an solid domestic draft and eccentric international bottle list. On draft are solid domestic selections available at any high-end craft beer establishment (Allagash, Dogfish Head, Pretty Things. The bottles are more interesting with international selections from Belgian brewery Van Steenberg (Piraat Ale, Monk's Cafe Flemmish Red Sour Ale) and other weird stuff from Germany (Schlenkerla Marzen Rauchbier) and Spain (Estrella Damn Inedit).
At least that dude from Saul is doing something right in Brooklyn.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Brooklyn Beer & Soda
Brooklyn Beer & Soda
648 Washington Ave
(between Bergen St & Dean St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
Brooklyn Beer & Soda is a local, well-kept secret in Prospect Heights.
It's at least a 10-15 minute walk from the nearest subway; suffice to say, this place doesn't get a lot of foot traffic from tourists across the river.
A hybrid between your well-stocked bodega and your specialty craft-beer store, Brooklyn Beer & Soda reminds me of a suburban Costco. Pallets of well-known domestic brands (Coors, Bud, Natural Light) are lined up in pretty little rows on the left hand side of the store; decent East and West Coast domestic brews (Saranac, Smuttynose) guard the center; imports sold by the big multinational beer companies under the guise of craft beer (Grolsch, Stella Artois) flank the right.
But if you're not a frat brother or someone who deludes themselves into having good taste in beer, the good sh*t is in the fridge on the far left and on the shelf behind the front counter. Highlights include the entire range of Unibroue (North America's finest brewery), big bottle formats of Belgium lambics and "Grand Cru" ales (Cantillon, Fantome, Girardin, Oud Beersel), and obscure domestic labels that one would struggle to find in any retail store. They also have a decent selection of 10-12 beers on draft that you can carry out in a 32 or 64 oz. growler format.
I have no problem with the service at Brooklyn Beer & Soda (I know what I want, and how to get it), but I could see someone being frustrated by the lack of beer knowledge among the staff. This is not Bierkraft: the staff doesn't look like it literally eats, sleeps, brews, and drinks beer.
As a side note, they do stock a fine range of obscure carbonated sodas (Ting, Manhattan Espresso Coffee Soda), malt liquors in 40 oz formats, as well as most of the wine (cooler) portfolio of Bartles & James. (Pomegranate is my favorite.)
648 Washington Ave
(between Bergen St & Dean St)
Brooklyn, NY 11238
Brooklyn Beer & Soda is a local, well-kept secret in Prospect Heights.
It's at least a 10-15 minute walk from the nearest subway; suffice to say, this place doesn't get a lot of foot traffic from tourists across the river.
A hybrid between your well-stocked bodega and your specialty craft-beer store, Brooklyn Beer & Soda reminds me of a suburban Costco. Pallets of well-known domestic brands (Coors, Bud, Natural Light) are lined up in pretty little rows on the left hand side of the store; decent East and West Coast domestic brews (Saranac, Smuttynose) guard the center; imports sold by the big multinational beer companies under the guise of craft beer (Grolsch, Stella Artois) flank the right.
But if you're not a frat brother or someone who deludes themselves into having good taste in beer, the good sh*t is in the fridge on the far left and on the shelf behind the front counter. Highlights include the entire range of Unibroue (North America's finest brewery), big bottle formats of Belgium lambics and "Grand Cru" ales (Cantillon, Fantome, Girardin, Oud Beersel), and obscure domestic labels that one would struggle to find in any retail store. They also have a decent selection of 10-12 beers on draft that you can carry out in a 32 or 64 oz. growler format.
I have no problem with the service at Brooklyn Beer & Soda (I know what I want, and how to get it), but I could see someone being frustrated by the lack of beer knowledge among the staff. This is not Bierkraft: the staff doesn't look like it literally eats, sleeps, brews, and drinks beer.
As a side note, they do stock a fine range of obscure carbonated sodas (Ting, Manhattan Espresso Coffee Soda), malt liquors in 40 oz formats, as well as most of the wine (cooler) portfolio of Bartles & James. (Pomegranate is my favorite.)
Friday, April 15, 2011
Marea
Marea is the closest thing you will get to an perfect seafood-centric Italian meal in NYC.
The key to great seafood are purveyors that are committed to quality product: there are about 15 who deliver to Marea, and it is these privileged relationships that separate your Michelin-starred restuarant from your run-of-the-mill Red Lobster. With the exceptions of Sushi Yasuda and Le Benarding, I haven't had seafood this fresh since I picked a live oyster from a canoe off the bottom of a shallow Chesapeake-bay estuary when I was in grade school.
The interior dining feels light and airy, and with the dappled light from a north-facing Central Park exposure, you truly feel like your are on a breezy yacht on the Adriatic Sea.
The trio of crudos (Maine rock shrimp/mackerel/big-eye tuna) were simple elegance on a plate. The Pacific mackerel didn't taste oily at all - it was a full-bodied, fleshy piece that was complemented well by a garnish of squash caponata and pine nuts. The big eye tuna was a ruby red cube whose fattiness was delicately offset by a bright-green parsley and basil coulis and crispy garlic chip. I couldn't help but having an gustatory orgasm after biting into the supple rock shrimp dressed with extra-virgin olive oil and black lava salt: the shrimp were buttery, creamy, and supple, tasting fresh of the cold, North Atlantic waters from whence they came.
The lobster with burrata was probably my favorite dish. Several ounces of Nova Scotia lobster were surprisingly paired with a caprese salad of creamy burratta cheese, cherry tomatoes, and basil chiffonade and seeds. Cheese and seafood rarely mix, but the hunks of poached lobster seemed to integrate well with the saltiness and creaminess of the burrata, the acidity and sweetness of inexplicably ripe cherry tomatoes and pickled cucumber. This is the dish that I feel is Michael White's signature dish, and not the much vaunted fusilli with bone marrow and octopus.
The spaghetti with sea urchin, crab, and cherry tomatoes further proved Chef Michael White's expertise with deft contrasts. The sea urchin didn't overpower the dish, but rather created a sauce that was deftly highlighted by crab, tomatoes, basil, and garlic bread crumbs tossed in. The hand-made and hand-cut spaghetti provided a toothsome texture to the silkiness of the saucing for this dish.
Herb-crusted halibut with broccoli rabe, pancetta, and trumpet mushroom was a panoply of flavors. The halibut looked like a blonde ice-cream sandwich, with the tender hunk of halibut absolutely pristine from the cold waters of Alaska. The broccoli rabe, trumpet mushroom slice, and funky pancetta stood up well to the meatiness of the halibut, and the roasted lemon sauce that accompanied tasted as bright as the filling of a lemon eclair.
Post-course, there was a trio of individual oysters: Quilcene, St. Peters, and Beau Soleil. Served on a lucite-colored ice plate bedded with pellet, you could slurp the bodies of water the aforementioned fish came from.
The fusilli with bone marrow was by far the most disappointing dish. There were no trace of bone marrow in my dish, which really hindered any integration among the pasta, bone marrow, and red-wine braised octopus. The dish seemed like it was oversauced, with a pool of tomato-based sauce pooling in my plate.
The dessert course was hazlenut) was an elegantly composed dish of two after the meal. The lobe of hazlenut ice cream placed an excellent foil to dark chocolate mouse and crumble. Hazelnuts abounded with gelato, matching the flavors of the hazlenut crus. Both were served with a garnish of candied mint.
Marea was a perfect splurge meal, with service attemntive but not obsequious.
The key to great seafood are purveyors that are committed to quality product: there are about 15 who deliver to Marea, and it is these privileged relationships that separate your Michelin-starred restuarant from your run-of-the-mill Red Lobster. With the exceptions of Sushi Yasuda and Le Benarding, I haven't had seafood this fresh since I picked a live oyster from a canoe off the bottom of a shallow Chesapeake-bay estuary when I was in grade school.
The interior dining feels light and airy, and with the dappled light from a north-facing Central Park exposure, you truly feel like your are on a breezy yacht on the Adriatic Sea.
The trio of crudos (Maine rock shrimp/mackerel/big-eye tuna) were simple elegance on a plate. The Pacific mackerel didn't taste oily at all - it was a full-bodied, fleshy piece that was complemented well by a garnish of squash caponata and pine nuts. The big eye tuna was a ruby red cube whose fattiness was delicately offset by a bright-green parsley and basil coulis and crispy garlic chip. I couldn't help but having an gustatory orgasm after biting into the supple rock shrimp dressed with extra-virgin olive oil and black lava salt: the shrimp were buttery, creamy, and supple, tasting fresh of the cold, North Atlantic waters from whence they came.
The lobster with burrata was probably my favorite dish. Several ounces of Nova Scotia lobster were surprisingly paired with a caprese salad of creamy burratta cheese, cherry tomatoes, and basil chiffonade and seeds. Cheese and seafood rarely mix, but the hunks of poached lobster seemed to integrate well with the saltiness and creaminess of the burrata, the acidity and sweetness of inexplicably ripe cherry tomatoes and pickled cucumber. This is the dish that I feel is Michael White's signature dish, and not the much vaunted fusilli with bone marrow and octopus.
The spaghetti with sea urchin, crab, and cherry tomatoes further proved Chef Michael White's expertise with deft contrasts. The sea urchin didn't overpower the dish, but rather created a sauce that was deftly highlighted by crab, tomatoes, basil, and garlic bread crumbs tossed in. The hand-made and hand-cut spaghetti provided a toothsome texture to the silkiness of the saucing for this dish.
Herb-crusted halibut with broccoli rabe, pancetta, and trumpet mushroom was a panoply of flavors. The halibut looked like a blonde ice-cream sandwich, with the tender hunk of halibut absolutely pristine from the cold waters of Alaska. The broccoli rabe, trumpet mushroom slice, and funky pancetta stood up well to the meatiness of the halibut, and the roasted lemon sauce that accompanied tasted as bright as the filling of a lemon eclair.
Post-course, there was a trio of individual oysters: Quilcene, St. Peters, and Beau Soleil. Served on a lucite-colored ice plate bedded with pellet, you could slurp the bodies of water the aforementioned fish came from.
The fusilli with bone marrow was by far the most disappointing dish. There were no trace of bone marrow in my dish, which really hindered any integration among the pasta, bone marrow, and red-wine braised octopus. The dish seemed like it was oversauced, with a pool of tomato-based sauce pooling in my plate.
The dessert course was hazlenut) was an elegantly composed dish of two after the meal. The lobe of hazlenut ice cream placed an excellent foil to dark chocolate mouse and crumble. Hazelnuts abounded with gelato, matching the flavors of the hazlenut crus. Both were served with a garnish of candied mint.
Marea was a perfect splurge meal, with service attemntive but not obsequious.
Stone Rose Lounge
10 Columbus Circle
Time Warner Center, 4th Fl
(between W Central Park & Broadway)
"Every rose has it's thorn." - Poison
There is that one bar in every major city that caters to six-figure salarymen and tourists who have too much discretionary income with too little knowledge about what's actually cool in NYC. That is Stone Rose Bar to a custom-fitted T.
If Jane Goodall were a nightlife anthropologist, she could spot a Randy Gerber bar by several distinguishing factors: 1) overpriced beer, wine, and cocktails; 2) slung by attractive, black-clad early to mid-twenties female bartenders; 3) with an over-30, finance-skewing male crowd unwittingly thinking it is cool to shamelessly hit on the hired guns; 4) in a sleek, stylish, masculine environment. It's a successful bar business model he's honed to perfection at Whiskey Blue, Whiskey Park, Underbar, and parlayed across other major US cities like Los Angeles, Ft. Lauderdale, and other meccas of US nightlife, Scottsdale, AZ.
Stone Rose is a beautiful bar, especially during sunset with the stone, rosewood, and glass accents throughout the barframing the sunset as it falls over Central Park. But at night, it becomes a veritable urban nightlife safari, not with lions, tigers, and bears, but rather Botoxed cougars, fresh meat of young, supple, female bartenders, and those with corporate accounts that hunt and pounce on them. It makes for an slightly amusing ambience for about 15 minutes, and then becomes gratingly annoying.
I wouldn't have any problem with this menagerie of NYC animals in this pristine urban environment, if the drink list weren't full of poorly made cocktails and a poorly selected wine by the glass list. The bartender (who looked fresh out of college) made me an Islander, a cognac based drinks that ended up inexplicably tasting like a well-brand Long Island Tea. My friend had the Stone Rose, their version of a Manhattan with Woodford Reserve, which tasted almost medicine-like. The wine list include such classic brands as Sonoma Cutrer, a California brand owned by a multinational corporation, that is pretty much regarded as garbage by anyone familiar with wine.
Time Warner Center, 4th Fl
(between W Central Park & Broadway)
"Every rose has it's thorn." - Poison
There is that one bar in every major city that caters to six-figure salarymen and tourists who have too much discretionary income with too little knowledge about what's actually cool in NYC. That is Stone Rose Bar to a custom-fitted T.
If Jane Goodall were a nightlife anthropologist, she could spot a Randy Gerber bar by several distinguishing factors: 1) overpriced beer, wine, and cocktails; 2) slung by attractive, black-clad early to mid-twenties female bartenders; 3) with an over-30, finance-skewing male crowd unwittingly thinking it is cool to shamelessly hit on the hired guns; 4) in a sleek, stylish, masculine environment. It's a successful bar business model he's honed to perfection at Whiskey Blue, Whiskey Park, Underbar, and parlayed across other major US cities like Los Angeles, Ft. Lauderdale, and other meccas of US nightlife, Scottsdale, AZ.
Stone Rose is a beautiful bar, especially during sunset with the stone, rosewood, and glass accents throughout the barframing the sunset as it falls over Central Park. But at night, it becomes a veritable urban nightlife safari, not with lions, tigers, and bears, but rather Botoxed cougars, fresh meat of young, supple, female bartenders, and those with corporate accounts that hunt and pounce on them. It makes for an slightly amusing ambience for about 15 minutes, and then becomes gratingly annoying.
I wouldn't have any problem with this menagerie of NYC animals in this pristine urban environment, if the drink list weren't full of poorly made cocktails and a poorly selected wine by the glass list. The bartender (who looked fresh out of college) made me an Islander, a cognac based drinks that ended up inexplicably tasting like a well-brand Long Island Tea. My friend had the Stone Rose, their version of a Manhattan with Woodford Reserve, which tasted almost medicine-like. The wine list include such classic brands as Sonoma Cutrer, a California brand owned by a multinational corporation, that is pretty much regarded as garbage by anyone familiar with wine.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Mile End
Mile End
97 Hoyt St
Brooklyn, NY 11217
Just as Canada did against the United States in South Park: Bigger, Longer, & Uncut, recent Canadian entries Mile End and M. Wells have held their own against the rapaciousness of the NYC dining scene.
M. Wells was like the Lawrence Taylor of NYC Dining 2010: it slipped past the offensive line of dominant food critics and became a disruptive culinary force that blurred the lines of diner food and fine dining. Mile End was as celebrated, if not more, for its take on in-your-face Canadian Jewish dining. I've been to this location for both lunch and dinner, and despite my thankfulness for having a very good Jewish deli in my neighborhood, it ain't M. Wells, and its reputation is more vaunted than the actual food.
The smoked meat and the Ruth Willensky have been much reviewed. The smoked meat that I had on several occasions was smoky and dry, but lacked the necessary moisture to bind the spiciness and meatiness of the brisket together. The Ruth Willensky was my favorite, but I am a sucker for layering pungent meats like salami, and condiments like onions and mustard together.
On a rainy night, I snuck in as a one-top for dinner. Instead of ordering from the entree section, I decided to order a quartet of appetizers. The pickle platter might be the best appetizer for $6 in the entire city: it was like a Celine Dion tribute to acidity, with the medley of pickled new and sour pickles, mushrooms, fennel, red peppers making my heart go on about the miracles of brining.
Pea leaf kreplach was solid: fried dumplings filled with ricotta and pea leaves smothered with creamy onions, mint, and chili went well with a Sixpoint Harbinger Saison. The onions smothered the fried pastry nicely, but a larger contrast between the pea leaves, mint, and chili would have significantly brightened the dish.
The sweet and sour lamb's tongue was unforunately buried in field blend of chopped cabbage, sliced carrot, and a thin slick of sweet and sour sauce. The lamb's tongue tasted like funky salami chopped into small antipasti-like pieces, but the crop of offal was overgrown by the C&C combo. Chopped liver with onion relish and chopped egg white was really disappointing with its lack fo schmaltziness, although the stir-fried vegetables provided a garnish to the pletzel triangles served with the dish.
97 Hoyt St
Brooklyn, NY 11217
Just as Canada did against the United States in South Park: Bigger, Longer, & Uncut, recent Canadian entries Mile End and M. Wells have held their own against the rapaciousness of the NYC dining scene.
M. Wells was like the Lawrence Taylor of NYC Dining 2010: it slipped past the offensive line of dominant food critics and became a disruptive culinary force that blurred the lines of diner food and fine dining. Mile End was as celebrated, if not more, for its take on in-your-face Canadian Jewish dining. I've been to this location for both lunch and dinner, and despite my thankfulness for having a very good Jewish deli in my neighborhood, it ain't M. Wells, and its reputation is more vaunted than the actual food.
The smoked meat and the Ruth Willensky have been much reviewed. The smoked meat that I had on several occasions was smoky and dry, but lacked the necessary moisture to bind the spiciness and meatiness of the brisket together. The Ruth Willensky was my favorite, but I am a sucker for layering pungent meats like salami, and condiments like onions and mustard together.
On a rainy night, I snuck in as a one-top for dinner. Instead of ordering from the entree section, I decided to order a quartet of appetizers. The pickle platter might be the best appetizer for $6 in the entire city: it was like a Celine Dion tribute to acidity, with the medley of pickled new and sour pickles, mushrooms, fennel, red peppers making my heart go on about the miracles of brining.
Pea leaf kreplach was solid: fried dumplings filled with ricotta and pea leaves smothered with creamy onions, mint, and chili went well with a Sixpoint Harbinger Saison. The onions smothered the fried pastry nicely, but a larger contrast between the pea leaves, mint, and chili would have significantly brightened the dish.
The sweet and sour lamb's tongue was unforunately buried in field blend of chopped cabbage, sliced carrot, and a thin slick of sweet and sour sauce. The lamb's tongue tasted like funky salami chopped into small antipasti-like pieces, but the crop of offal was overgrown by the C&C combo. Chopped liver with onion relish and chopped egg white was really disappointing with its lack fo schmaltziness, although the stir-fried vegetables provided a garnish to the pletzel triangles served with the dish.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Paulie Gee's
Paulie Gee's
60 Greenpoint Ave
(between West St & Franklin St)
Those who can't, write; those who can, build.
Enter Paul Giannone. A former computer programmer, with an ardent passion for pizza that had developed over 15 years, decided to switch careers and start a pizza joint in Greenpoint. Paul put the money and the mozz where the mouth and rebuilt an old bar on Greenpoint Ave. into one of the best pizza spots in all of NYC.
I had the Cherry Jones (fior di latte/gorgonzola/proscuitto di parma/dried bing cherries/orange blossom honey), and the Red, White, and Greenberg (fior di latte/guanciale/pickled red onions/baby arugula). The latter was my favorite, with the acidic kick of the pickled onions and slightly bitter arugula paired beautifully with the crispy, fatty guanciale and creamy, rich mozzarella. The Cherry Jones was a mirror image of RWG: the sweetness of the bing cherries and orange blossom honey complemented the fattiness of the prosciutto and mozzarella. The crust on both pizzas had the nice, pliant softness of a Boboli and the slight char and texture of a coal-fired pizza.
Paul Giannone chatted with our table with the conviviality of an expert maitre'd. With his Martin Scorsese glasses and G train baseball cap, he asked us where we were from. After telling him our respect neighborhoods, he told us about a new pizza place that was opening up on Franklin Avenue. This was completely unnecessary and cool: although he made a referral to his competitor's business, Paulie still has the warm appreciation for the pie that started him on this wonderful journey 15 years ago.
60 Greenpoint Ave
(between West St & Franklin St)
Those who can't, write; those who can, build.
Enter Paul Giannone. A former computer programmer, with an ardent passion for pizza that had developed over 15 years, decided to switch careers and start a pizza joint in Greenpoint. Paul put the money and the mozz where the mouth and rebuilt an old bar on Greenpoint Ave. into one of the best pizza spots in all of NYC.
I had the Cherry Jones (fior di latte/gorgonzola/proscuitto di parma/dried bing cherries/orange blossom honey), and the Red, White, and Greenberg (fior di latte/guanciale/pickled red onions/baby arugula). The latter was my favorite, with the acidic kick of the pickled onions and slightly bitter arugula paired beautifully with the crispy, fatty guanciale and creamy, rich mozzarella. The Cherry Jones was a mirror image of RWG: the sweetness of the bing cherries and orange blossom honey complemented the fattiness of the prosciutto and mozzarella. The crust on both pizzas had the nice, pliant softness of a Boboli and the slight char and texture of a coal-fired pizza.
Paul Giannone chatted with our table with the conviviality of an expert maitre'd. With his Martin Scorsese glasses and G train baseball cap, he asked us where we were from. After telling him our respect neighborhoods, he told us about a new pizza place that was opening up on Franklin Avenue. This was completely unnecessary and cool: although he made a referral to his competitor's business, Paulie still has the warm appreciation for the pie that started him on this wonderful journey 15 years ago.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Illusions Magic Bar & Lounge
Illusions Magic Bar & Lounge
1025 S. Charles St.
Baltimore, MD 21264
Baltimore never ceases to surprise me. From the burgeoning arts district in North Avenue to free book shop near Charles Village, the city continues to express itself in interesting ways.
Lo and behold, a high-end bar and lounge devoted sleight of hand, illusions, and strait-jacket escapes. As an aside, the owner, Ken Horsman, himself can't believe this place is here, let alone in Federal Hill. That's magical.
Ken and Spencer Horsman form the father-and-son team behind Illusions Magic Bar & Lounge. Pere (Ken) Horsman was a former Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus clown and Willard Scott's (former Today Show weatherman) successor as Ronald McDonald, the (former) multinational fast-food corporation's hype man. He passed along the gift of entertainment to Horsman fils (Spencer) at the tender age of four. Apparently, Spencer was a child prodigy and picked up ventriloquism and magic rather easily. He's performed for celebrities such as Neil Patrick Harris and even "bi-winner" Charlie Sheen.
The magic itself is rather goofy, more of the Penn-and-Teller comedic strain rather than David Copperfield spectacle-and-illusion. Ken serves as the consummate and goofy opener to get the crowd rolling; Spencer dazzles with his stock of card tricks, pseudo-illusions, and strait-jacket escapes.
The strait-jacket escape was more an act of contortionism than illusion, although I certainly was taking mental notes if I ever encountered myself in a similar Jack Bauer "24" situation.
The most impressive magic trick involved causing a $100 bill previously borrowed from a member of the audience to appear inside (!) a random orange in a martini glass. I'm not sure was was more magical: the execution of the trick, getting the dour 40-year old attorney to actually lend him a $100 bill, or somehow getting his Botoxed, breast-enhanced date romantically interested in him after he stepped off stage.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Amor y Amargo
Amor y Amargo
443 E 6th St
(between 1st Ave & Avenue A)
Manhattan, NY 10009
Amor y Amargo's, Ravi de Rossi's new project, used to be Carteles, the Latin sandwich shop underneath the trendy, rum-soaked upstairs bar, Cienfuegos. Now Ravi brings some love and bitters with this new cocktail joint specializing in French, German, Italian, and American liqueurs, spirits infused with various herbs, fruits, roots, and other ingredients.
Most people know bitters as those things that flavor Martinis (dry vermouth), Old Fashioneds/Manhattans (sweet vermouth), and negronis (Campari), but this is one of the few bars that give these liqueurs their rightful prominence on a cocktail menu.
I had a coppa of the house-made sweet vermouth, a cuvee of wine, port, and various spices. Sweet, grapey, and bitter at the same time, this fortified wine had a nice bit of sparkle. Following this was another coppa of amber vermouth, which had the body of a young tawny port, and resonated with notes of citrus, ginger, and honey. I learned that vermouth is fantastic by itself, not just as a sixth man on the cocktail court.
Next were the cocktails. Avery Glassman, one-half of the team that has brought Bitterman's bitters to the East Coast from "Portlandia", is responsible for the most of the cocktail menu. Amaro is a difficult ingredient to mix in cocktails: the melange of various herbs and spices requires one to find an high-proof alcohol that does not overpower it, but at the same time, blend nicely into them.
I appreciated the Francaise Four-Play the most: a plucky blend of bonal quinquina, yellow chartreuse, cognac, Lillet blanc, Bittermen's Hellfire Shrub bitters, topped with a lemon twist and a splash of club soda. Technically, this would be a menage-a-trois, since cognac is not a French liqueur, but a fortified wine spirit, but who am I to argue with this fizzy orgy of herbs, ginger, and citrus. The Mud Season (Rhum Agricole/Zucca Amaro/Mirto/Sweet Vermouth/Bittermen's Hopped Grapefruit Bitters) managed to harmonize all the ingredients in the same drink, a difficult task given the diverse flavors in the Zucca, Mirto, and sweet vermouth.
Additionally, they offer each of their amaros for $4 per 1 oz. shot for customers to sample, which is a notable discount from having to buy a bottle from a liquor store. They plan to get some German bitters in the upcoming week, which are considerably more complex that the Jagermeister that you used to Jager-bomb in college.
Ravi de Rossi continues to expand the bartending discourse after Death & Co., Mayahuel, and Cienfuegos. Although Amor y Amargo might be the least approachable for the cocktail initiate, he is doing a public service by prominently featuring these underrated liqueurs on a more public stage.
443 E 6th St
(between 1st Ave & Avenue A)
Manhattan, NY 10009
Amor y Amargo's, Ravi de Rossi's new project, used to be Carteles, the Latin sandwich shop underneath the trendy, rum-soaked upstairs bar, Cienfuegos. Now Ravi brings some love and bitters with this new cocktail joint specializing in French, German, Italian, and American liqueurs, spirits infused with various herbs, fruits, roots, and other ingredients.
Most people know bitters as those things that flavor Martinis (dry vermouth), Old Fashioneds/Manhattans (sweet vermouth), and negronis (Campari), but this is one of the few bars that give these liqueurs their rightful prominence on a cocktail menu.
I had a coppa of the house-made sweet vermouth, a cuvee of wine, port, and various spices. Sweet, grapey, and bitter at the same time, this fortified wine had a nice bit of sparkle. Following this was another coppa of amber vermouth, which had the body of a young tawny port, and resonated with notes of citrus, ginger, and honey. I learned that vermouth is fantastic by itself, not just as a sixth man on the cocktail court.
Next were the cocktails. Avery Glassman, one-half of the team that has brought Bitterman's bitters to the East Coast from "Portlandia", is responsible for the most of the cocktail menu. Amaro is a difficult ingredient to mix in cocktails: the melange of various herbs and spices requires one to find an high-proof alcohol that does not overpower it, but at the same time, blend nicely into them.
I appreciated the Francaise Four-Play the most: a plucky blend of bonal quinquina, yellow chartreuse, cognac, Lillet blanc, Bittermen's Hellfire Shrub bitters, topped with a lemon twist and a splash of club soda. Technically, this would be a menage-a-trois, since cognac is not a French liqueur, but a fortified wine spirit, but who am I to argue with this fizzy orgy of herbs, ginger, and citrus. The Mud Season (Rhum Agricole/Zucca Amaro/Mirto/Sweet Vermouth/Bittermen's Hopped Grapefruit Bitters) managed to harmonize all the ingredients in the same drink, a difficult task given the diverse flavors in the Zucca, Mirto, and sweet vermouth.
Additionally, they offer each of their amaros for $4 per 1 oz. shot for customers to sample, which is a notable discount from having to buy a bottle from a liquor store. They plan to get some German bitters in the upcoming week, which are considerably more complex that the Jagermeister that you used to Jager-bomb in college.
Ravi de Rossi continues to expand the bartending discourse after Death & Co., Mayahuel, and Cienfuegos. Although Amor y Amargo might be the least approachable for the cocktail initiate, he is doing a public service by prominently featuring these underrated liqueurs on a more public stage.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Le Bernardin
Le Bernardin
The Equitable Building
155 W 51st St
New York, NY 10019
My experience at Le Bernardin was almost everything I could ask for: the meal was, for the most part, precisely executed, the service was dutiful but not doting; the sommelier's knowledge was thorough and concise. But in the realm of 3 Michelin-star restaurants, comparisons unfortunately reside in the realm of superlatives. My experience was outstanding, but not amazing. And Le Bernardin was one of the considerably better meals I've had, but not among the best.
The Equitable Building
155 W 51st St
New York, NY 10019
My experience at Le Bernardin was almost everything I could ask for: the meal was, for the most part, precisely executed, the service was dutiful but not doting; the sommelier's knowledge was thorough and concise. But in the realm of 3 Michelin-star restaurants, comparisons unfortunately reside in the realm of superlatives. My experience was outstanding, but not amazing. And Le Bernardin was one of the considerably better meals I've had, but not among the best.
Everyone highlights Eric Ripert as the grand architect of the Le Bernardin experience, but the dessert courses overseen by their pastry chef Michael Laiskonis were by far the highlights of my meal. These dishes were visual and cerebral, philosophically and masterfully executed in the way that I had expected of the Le Bernardin experience
I had the Le Bernardin Tasting menu with Mr. Top Line, a foodie finance friend whose zest for fine dining is only exceeded by his love of a) money and b) women. A true Tom Wolfe "Bonfire of the Vanities" character (and I say this with all due respect, because he is truly a nice guy despite the occasional outbursts of douchebaggery).
We started with a crisp Chablis, because you might as well start a special meal at a fancy French restaurant with an all-star Chardonnay from the northern part of Burgundy. The only minor trifle was the bread selections that started the meal: the Parker roll tasted old and chalky, and the olive mini-baguette had a hard, dense crust that resulted from being in service for too long.
The amuse bouche was a gorgeous tureen of slightly over-cooked rock shrimp in a mushroom-truffle foam. The foam was like breathing in the sea salt from the Atlantic Ocean from which the shrimp came, but instead of saline notes were earthy notes of mushrooms and forest floor.
Before starting on the tasting menu, Le Bernardin is my only exception to taking photos of one's food in restaurant. Perhaps it is a point of personal preference, but viewing your food through the narrow lens of a Canon Digital SLR camera seems disruptive and counterproductive to the entire dining experience. The elegance of eating at a fine dining restaurant is not just what's on the table: it's the synchronized harmony of the restaurant setting, front-of-house staff, and cooks in the kitchen working together to create a food experience that exceeds the customer's expectations. The dishes that were served for the tasting menu were so artfully stunning that if someone wanted to have a photographic keepsake of their Le Bernardin meal, I would find it difficult to fault them.
Savory courses:
Yellowfin Tuna Carpaccio on Toasted Baguette and Foie Gras: Almost looking like smoked salmon, the dish looked like a sunburst on the plate. The delicate, fatty flavor of the tuna melded nicely with creamy texture of the Hudson Valley foie gras and herbaceousness of fresh chives and extra virgin olive oil.
Braised and Charred Octopus with Fermented Black Bean, Pear Sauce, Miso Vinaigrette Ink: The genius of this dish was not the preparation of the pliant, mouth-tender octopus but the marraige of slightly charred seafood with fermented black bean paste. The sweetness of the of the paste matched that of the pear sauce, while its earthiness complemented the smokiness of the octopus.
Lobster Carpaccio with Hearts of Palm and Fennel: Lobster and chardonnay seemed like such a cliche pairing, so I opted for a full-bodied Arbois from the Jura to complement the citrus and fennel to the dish. Under the definition of succulent, you would a picture of this lobster dish, with a delicate sweetness exuding from the tender, meaty morsels of crustacean. The hearts of palm and shaved fennel provided a nice contrast in texture, and the light butter sauce that was poured over the plate rounded the components of the dish nicely.
Seared Hiromasa with Truffle Risotto and Emulsion: This is why you pay to go the Le Bernardin: perfectly cooked fish, with a slight, brown sear on the outside. Mr. Top Line and I proceeded to re-enact Detective Bunk and McNulty's famous crime scene from The Wire while savoring this dish.
TL (bites into hiromasa): F**k.
JM: (breathes whiff of truffle emulsion): F**k.
TL (breathes in truffle risotto): F**king A.
JM: (plows truffle risotto in mouth): Motherf***er.
Black Bass with Mini Bean Sprouts and Chinese Sausage and Mini-Steamed Buns: This was the only dish that I didn't like. The crispy skin on the black bass was perfect, but the filet had been cooked for slightly too long. The mini bean sprouts and chinese sausage provided a nice contrast in flavor and texture, but the spongy, little mini seemed extraneous.
Dessert Courses:
Parsnip, Roasted Hazelnut, Browned Milk Solids: After considering the sheer audacity of serving a vegetable as a dessert, TL and I looked at each other reflexively and asked "What the f**k is a parsnip?" As any Chappelle Show fan will tell you, it is a root vegetable, but I have never seen this lowly vegetable as a small, caramelized, tumescent cylinder. Caramel, earthiness, nuttiness all in one dish. Phenomenal.
Milk Chocolate Ganache with "Liquid"Pear and Ginger Tuile: Pear puree was encased in a gelatinous ball over a mound of semi-sweet ganache. Upon exploding in the mouth, a wave of elderflower and sweet pear rushed over the palate. The semisweet chocolate ganache paired perfectly.
Friday, March 11, 2011
New York Vintners
New York Vintners
21 Warren St
(between Broadway & Church St)
New York, NY 10007
The most unpretentious place to learn about wine.
Dylan has been in the business for nearly 20 years, and his enthusiasm and passion for discussing and teaching wine clearly shows.
I have sat in on the Wine 101, Wine 202: Rhone, Spanish Tapas, Italian Pizza, and Sparkling Wine classes, and have enjoyed them thoroughly. The instructors are extremely knowledgeable: most have been trained by the Wine and Spirits Education Trust, the largest organization for wine education in the world. Most importantly, they encourage you to ask questions during class, which makes the classes feel more like an intimate wine seminar rather a droll wine lecture.
My favorite class had to be the Sparkling Wine class. Besides being informative about the intricacies of sparkling wine production, if you want to see a crowd's collective jaw drop, Dylan mentions that he learned a "cool trick" from the representative at Veuve Cliquot. He proceeds to pull out a cheese knife, and sabers not one, but two bottles of Champagne.
21 Warren St
(between Broadway & Church St)
New York, NY 10007
The most unpretentious place to learn about wine.
Dylan has been in the business for nearly 20 years, and his enthusiasm and passion for discussing and teaching wine clearly shows.
I have sat in on the Wine 101, Wine 202: Rhone, Spanish Tapas, Italian Pizza, and Sparkling Wine classes, and have enjoyed them thoroughly. The instructors are extremely knowledgeable: most have been trained by the Wine and Spirits Education Trust, the largest organization for wine education in the world. Most importantly, they encourage you to ask questions during class, which makes the classes feel more like an intimate wine seminar rather a droll wine lecture.
My favorite class had to be the Sparkling Wine class. Besides being informative about the intricacies of sparkling wine production, if you want to see a crowd's collective jaw drop, Dylan mentions that he learned a "cool trick" from the representative at Veuve Cliquot. He proceeds to pull out a cheese knife, and sabers not one, but two bottles of Champagne.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Rum House
The Rum House
The Hotel Edison
228 W 47th St
New York, NY 10036
Is it a cocktail bar? Is it a piano bar? Is it a drinking hole for tourists in Time Square?
These questions swirl themselves around in your mind -- much like the brandied cherry in your Old Fashioned -- to an unresolvable conclusion while drinking at this bar on a busy Thursday night. But after hearing some fierce piano-ballad renditions of Gun and Roses "Paradise City" and Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight," you don't really care: You soak in the campy, bedlam of this Times Square bar much like the boozy cherry in your drink.
The Rum House is a vintage piano bar with decent cocktails. The place definitely has some character with all the old oak paneling and ironwork, akin to the Algonquin and the Oak Room, boozy dens of iniquity during the Mad Men era. I had a drink named after some deposed Latin American general with tequila, bonal gential, and bitters, but much like Reagan's foray into that region's politics in the 1980's, it was ill-advised meddling at best. The Full Sail Session Dark Lager (only $5!) was much better; it's crisp, malty, and caramel notes has made it my new session drink wherever I find it on the bar menu.
Am I'm a sucker for old-fashioneds, time-worn bars, and 80's power-ballads? Perhaps. But Rum House is a surprisingly good bar in this area.
The Hotel Edison
228 W 47th St
New York, NY 10036
Is it a cocktail bar? Is it a piano bar? Is it a drinking hole for tourists in Time Square?
These questions swirl themselves around in your mind -- much like the brandied cherry in your Old Fashioned -- to an unresolvable conclusion while drinking at this bar on a busy Thursday night. But after hearing some fierce piano-ballad renditions of Gun and Roses "Paradise City" and Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight," you don't really care: You soak in the campy, bedlam of this Times Square bar much like the boozy cherry in your drink.
The Rum House is a vintage piano bar with decent cocktails. The place definitely has some character with all the old oak paneling and ironwork, akin to the Algonquin and the Oak Room, boozy dens of iniquity during the Mad Men era. I had a drink named after some deposed Latin American general with tequila, bonal gential, and bitters, but much like Reagan's foray into that region's politics in the 1980's, it was ill-advised meddling at best. The Full Sail Session Dark Lager (only $5!) was much better; it's crisp, malty, and caramel notes has made it my new session drink wherever I find it on the bar menu.
Am I'm a sucker for old-fashioneds, time-worn bars, and 80's power-ballads? Perhaps. But Rum House is a surprisingly good bar in this area.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Trader Joe's Wine Store
Trader Joe's Wine Shop
138 E 14th St
(between 4th Ave & Irving Pl)
New York, NY 10003
There has been no other store in NYC that has inspired my curiosity like Trader Joe's. The lines at this store are always inordinately long, like the namesake grocery store next store. I wondered to myself: is the wine really that good or really that cheap?
To answer this question, I decided to have a wine tasting of several Trader Joe's wines. It also happened to be the 35th anniversary of the "Judgment of Paris," the famous historical wine showdown where California wines triumphed over their French counterparts in a blind taste test. What better way to answer my question than to hold a comparative tasting: Trader Joe's European wine section vs. their specialty wine store counterparts.
The wines were as follows:
TJ's Piesporter Michelsberg Spatlese ($6.99) vs. Eitlesbacher Karthuserhofberg Spatlese ($34.99).
La Cheteau Vouvray ($6.99) vs. Francois Pinon "Silex Noir" Vouvray 2008
Reserve Perrin Cotes du Rhone ($8.99) vs. Domain Monpertuis "Vignoble de la Ramiere" 2008 ($15.99)
La Loggia Barbaresco 2006 ($12.99) vs. Sori Paolin "Cascina Luisin" 2004 ($43.99)
I held a blind tasting with these four whites and four reds, and had a group of 9 people swirl and sip through each of the wines.
Unfortunately, Trader Joe's didn't place on top like California did at the original faceoff. The actual Barbaresco, Sori Paolin"Cascina Luisin," placed well ahead of the pack, but the TJ's La Loggia Barbaresco placed a respectable 2nd. The other TJ's wines -- the Spatlese, Vouvray, and the Cotes du Rhone, placed 5th, 6th, and 8th, respectively.
Interestingly enough but not surprisingly, the wines below $10 were not as good, with numerable faults in the aroma and taste of the wine sampled. The wines may be cheap, but you're paying exactly for what you're getting, and there are probably better values at the under $15 table at other wine stores.
However, TJ's has some extremely decent Italian wine. The La Loggia Barbaresco at $12.99 is an absolute steal, and the Barolo at $16.99, is most likely highway robbery. I will be picking up a couple bottles very soon.
138 E 14th St
(between 4th Ave & Irving Pl)
New York, NY 10003
There has been no other store in NYC that has inspired my curiosity like Trader Joe's. The lines at this store are always inordinately long, like the namesake grocery store next store. I wondered to myself: is the wine really that good or really that cheap?
To answer this question, I decided to have a wine tasting of several Trader Joe's wines. It also happened to be the 35th anniversary of the "Judgment of Paris," the famous historical wine showdown where California wines triumphed over their French counterparts in a blind taste test. What better way to answer my question than to hold a comparative tasting: Trader Joe's European wine section vs. their specialty wine store counterparts.
The wines were as follows:
TJ's Piesporter Michelsberg Spatlese ($6.99) vs. Eitlesbacher Karthuserhofberg Spatlese ($34.99).
La Cheteau Vouvray ($6.99) vs. Francois Pinon "Silex Noir" Vouvray 2008
Reserve Perrin Cotes du Rhone ($8.99) vs. Domain Monpertuis "Vignoble de la Ramiere" 2008 ($15.99)
La Loggia Barbaresco 2006 ($12.99) vs. Sori Paolin "Cascina Luisin" 2004 ($43.99)
I held a blind tasting with these four whites and four reds, and had a group of 9 people swirl and sip through each of the wines.
Unfortunately, Trader Joe's didn't place on top like California did at the original faceoff. The actual Barbaresco, Sori Paolin"Cascina Luisin," placed well ahead of the pack, but the TJ's La Loggia Barbaresco placed a respectable 2nd. The other TJ's wines -- the Spatlese, Vouvray, and the Cotes du Rhone, placed 5th, 6th, and 8th, respectively.
Interestingly enough but not surprisingly, the wines below $10 were not as good, with numerable faults in the aroma and taste of the wine sampled. The wines may be cheap, but you're paying exactly for what you're getting, and there are probably better values at the under $15 table at other wine stores.
However, TJ's has some extremely decent Italian wine. The La Loggia Barbaresco at $12.99 is an absolute steal, and the Barolo at $16.99, is most likely highway robbery. I will be picking up a couple bottles very soon.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Astor Room
The Astor Room
34-12 36th St
Astoria, NY 11106
(Drinks only)
I'm a little jaded when reviewing cocktail bars. Since my initial discovery of Milk & Honey - when it was still a very underground secret in the early 00's - the explosion of cocktail bars has (for better or for worse) dramatically changed the drinking landscape in NYC. Nevertheless, each successive addition sets the bar (no pun intended) even higher, to the point where, flashy suspenders, handlebar mustaches, and decently made cocktails don't cut it for me anymore. There has to be a bar that explores new territory (Cienfuegos - rum drinks; Mayahuel - mezcal), offers an original cocktail recipe (Gordon's Breakfast and Penicillin @ Milk and Honey), presents bartending firepower (Clover Club; Milk and Honey, again), or a distinct sense of time and place (Campbell Apartment, Flatiron Lounge) to register on my cocktail radar.
Surprisingly, the Astor Room scored with the solidly made drinks, but disappointed with the lack of terroir. As well noted, the bar used to be the former commissary of Paramount Pictures. The bar aspires for that 1920's/30's retro feel, but it tough to accomplish with an empty bar, chintzy piano lounge music, and a lack of interior decorating touches that suggest a throwback to the Golden Age of Film. The bar menu is a compilation of simply executed drinks cribbed from the index of Gary Regan's classic mixology text "The Joy of Mixology"with a few modifying touches.
It's the few modifying touches that quite impressed me. The New Yorker was an inspired riff on a Bourbon Sour, with a red wine float that provides a fruitiness and earthiness that married well with sweet, alcoholic tang of bourbon and acid from lemon. The Fairbanks was not as good, with the apricot brandy liqueur and lemon completely dominating any herbal notes from the gin. I usually despise rum drinks for being aggressively sweet, but the Mary Pickford was the highlight of the cocktail flight that I had. Somehow the acidic and sweet elements of the rum, pineapple juice, grenadine, and maraschino liqueur balanced each other out; this has forced me to reconsider my previous position.
For those taking notes at home:
The Astoria = Gin Martini (dry)
New Yorker = Bourbon Sour (w/wine float)
The Astor Martini = Caricature Cocktail
Fairbanks = Bermuda Rose (w/ dry vermouth)
Filmograph = Brandy Sour (w/ cola syrup)
Mary Pickford = El Presidente (w/ maraschino liqueur)
Valentino = Italian sour w/ Campari
Queen's Road = Queen's Road
34-12 36th St
Astoria, NY 11106
(Drinks only)
I'm a little jaded when reviewing cocktail bars. Since my initial discovery of Milk & Honey - when it was still a very underground secret in the early 00's - the explosion of cocktail bars has (for better or for worse) dramatically changed the drinking landscape in NYC. Nevertheless, each successive addition sets the bar (no pun intended) even higher, to the point where, flashy suspenders, handlebar mustaches, and decently made cocktails don't cut it for me anymore. There has to be a bar that explores new territory (Cienfuegos - rum drinks; Mayahuel - mezcal), offers an original cocktail recipe (Gordon's Breakfast and Penicillin @ Milk and Honey), presents bartending firepower (Clover Club; Milk and Honey, again), or a distinct sense of time and place (Campbell Apartment, Flatiron Lounge) to register on my cocktail radar.
Surprisingly, the Astor Room scored with the solidly made drinks, but disappointed with the lack of terroir. As well noted, the bar used to be the former commissary of Paramount Pictures. The bar aspires for that 1920's/30's retro feel, but it tough to accomplish with an empty bar, chintzy piano lounge music, and a lack of interior decorating touches that suggest a throwback to the Golden Age of Film. The bar menu is a compilation of simply executed drinks cribbed from the index of Gary Regan's classic mixology text "The Joy of Mixology"with a few modifying touches.
It's the few modifying touches that quite impressed me. The New Yorker was an inspired riff on a Bourbon Sour, with a red wine float that provides a fruitiness and earthiness that married well with sweet, alcoholic tang of bourbon and acid from lemon. The Fairbanks was not as good, with the apricot brandy liqueur and lemon completely dominating any herbal notes from the gin. I usually despise rum drinks for being aggressively sweet, but the Mary Pickford was the highlight of the cocktail flight that I had. Somehow the acidic and sweet elements of the rum, pineapple juice, grenadine, and maraschino liqueur balanced each other out; this has forced me to reconsider my previous position.
For those taking notes at home:
The Astoria = Gin Martini (dry)
New Yorker = Bourbon Sour (w/wine float)
The Astor Martini = Caricature Cocktail
Fairbanks = Bermuda Rose (w/ dry vermouth)
Filmograph = Brandy Sour (w/ cola syrup)
Mary Pickford = El Presidente (w/ maraschino liqueur)
Valentino = Italian sour w/ Campari
Queen's Road = Queen's Road
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Glasslands Gallery
Glasslands Gallery
289 Kent Ave
(between 1st St & Grand St)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
The Glasslands is a raw industrial space that transforms according to what art shows and fashion shows they are holding. A great idea in theory, but on both occasions I've been here, it turns into a Tragedy of the Commons: too many people enjoying too small of a space. Don't get me started on the line for the bar and the bathroom.
I was here for their monthly Soul Clap and Dance-Off - otherwise known as Soul Train for White People party. The party was cool in theory, but kind of disappointing. I was expecting some epic Don Cornelius meets American Apparel dance-off, where contestants would individually display their dancing prowess. However, it ended up more a dancing orgy, with contestants (in heats of ten) flailing their arms wildly in a vain attempt to get noticed by the judges. Predictably, the judges chose the finalists based on their tragic sense of style (i.e. how hot they looked) or their ability to grind like Elaine from Seinfeld.
As for the music, Jonathan Toubin is a maestro, effortlessly spinning his waxy 45s into a melange of addictive soul and garage rock. The New York Night Train has a weekly Wednesday night at Motor City Bar in the LES, and a Thursday residency in March at the Ace Hotel, which are probably better venues to check out some music that has long been under appreciated.
P.S. If you want to know what the Mistral feels like, try walking to this venue from the Bedford Ave. L stop on a cold, windy night.
289 Kent Ave
(between 1st St & Grand St)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
The Glasslands is a raw industrial space that transforms according to what art shows and fashion shows they are holding. A great idea in theory, but on both occasions I've been here, it turns into a Tragedy of the Commons: too many people enjoying too small of a space. Don't get me started on the line for the bar and the bathroom.
I was here for their monthly Soul Clap and Dance-Off - otherwise known as Soul Train for White People party. The party was cool in theory, but kind of disappointing. I was expecting some epic Don Cornelius meets American Apparel dance-off, where contestants would individually display their dancing prowess. However, it ended up more a dancing orgy, with contestants (in heats of ten) flailing their arms wildly in a vain attempt to get noticed by the judges. Predictably, the judges chose the finalists based on their tragic sense of style (i.e. how hot they looked) or their ability to grind like Elaine from Seinfeld.
As for the music, Jonathan Toubin is a maestro, effortlessly spinning his waxy 45s into a melange of addictive soul and garage rock. The New York Night Train has a weekly Wednesday night at Motor City Bar in the LES, and a Thursday residency in March at the Ace Hotel, which are probably better venues to check out some music that has long been under appreciated.
P.S. If you want to know what the Mistral feels like, try walking to this venue from the Bedford Ave. L stop on a cold, windy night.
The Woods
The Woods
48 S. 4th St
(between Kent Ave & Wythe Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Like Alicia Silverstone's character in Clueless, I was initially unimpressed by the party in the (South Williamsburg) Valley. This South Williamsburg boite might as well be located in the woods, as it is inconveniently middle of nowhere, i.e. the industrial warehouses and artists lofts flush against the East River. The Woods took an old commercial space, put a bar with plastic cups and pastied mermaids in the middle, and added an air hockey table in the back. My friend commeted it looked like a Chuck E. Cheese that had just got robbed.
As easy as it is to make fun of hipsters (probably the one thing that brings all New Yorkers together), looks are deceiving. About one-and-a-half rounds in, we saw taxis and gypsy cabs rolling up in the spot. Slowly but surely, the bar became a shitshow. The music shifted from (name your indie darling) to 90's old-school hip-hop. A random dude started to shoot Silly String at the bartender. Some dude poured us shots of Southern Comfort. And everyone started dancing like frenzied fans on stage at a Girl Talk concert.
Unironically, I had a really great time at the Woods.
48 S. 4th St
(between Kent Ave & Wythe Ave)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Like Alicia Silverstone's character in Clueless, I was initially unimpressed by the party in the (South Williamsburg) Valley. This South Williamsburg boite might as well be located in the woods, as it is inconveniently middle of nowhere, i.e. the industrial warehouses and artists lofts flush against the East River. The Woods took an old commercial space, put a bar with plastic cups and pastied mermaids in the middle, and added an air hockey table in the back. My friend commeted it looked like a Chuck E. Cheese that had just got robbed.
As easy as it is to make fun of hipsters (probably the one thing that brings all New Yorkers together), looks are deceiving. About one-and-a-half rounds in, we saw taxis and gypsy cabs rolling up in the spot. Slowly but surely, the bar became a shitshow. The music shifted from (name your indie darling) to 90's old-school hip-hop. A random dude started to shoot Silly String at the bartender. Some dude poured us shots of Southern Comfort. And everyone started dancing like frenzied fans on stage at a Girl Talk concert.
Unironically, I had a really great time at the Woods.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Botanica Bar
Botanica Bar
47 E Houston St. Basement
(between Mulberry St & Greene St)
New York, NY 10012
Botanica is less a dive bar than a "I don't-give-a-sh*t" bar. This dumpy basement rec room on the northern edge of SoHo get my unofficial award for least amount of effort put into decorating a bar: inspired interior design decisions include bar stools, vinyl banquettes, and Formica tables purchased from restaurant foreclosures, 99-cent Christmas lights that once served their holiday purpose but hang as idle decoration, and forlorn couches in the back room whose provenance was most likely Craigslist.
But why is this one of my favorite bars in SoHo?
Ever since the rise of mustached mixologists, fancy cocktails, and $15 drink prices, I have yearned a return to drinking basics. Efficient bartenders, simple well drinks, and affordable happy hours. $5 craft beers, imports, and well drinks during prime time. Plenty of room to hang out with your army of one or your 20-person deep posse. And lastly, more neighborly locals than anorexic models whose last meal was a packet of Splenda and a line of coke off the stainless steel counter in the bathroom.
47 E Houston St. Basement
(between Mulberry St & Greene St)
New York, NY 10012
Botanica is less a dive bar than a "I don't-give-a-sh*t" bar. This dumpy basement rec room on the northern edge of SoHo get my unofficial award for least amount of effort put into decorating a bar: inspired interior design decisions include bar stools, vinyl banquettes, and Formica tables purchased from restaurant foreclosures, 99-cent Christmas lights that once served their holiday purpose but hang as idle decoration, and forlorn couches in the back room whose provenance was most likely Craigslist.
But why is this one of my favorite bars in SoHo?
Ever since the rise of mustached mixologists, fancy cocktails, and $15 drink prices, I have yearned a return to drinking basics. Efficient bartenders, simple well drinks, and affordable happy hours. $5 craft beers, imports, and well drinks during prime time. Plenty of room to hang out with your army of one or your 20-person deep posse. And lastly, more neighborly locals than anorexic models whose last meal was a packet of Splenda and a line of coke off the stainless steel counter in the bathroom.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Chelsea Wine Vault
Chelsea Wine Vault
75 9th Ave
(between 15th St & 16th St)
New York, NY 10011
I have mixed views on Chelsea Market. Their wine selection across the Old World/New World is pretty solid, and I have had positive experiences with most of the sales staff who have a thorough understanding of the wines they sell. (Especially the old guy, who spent five minutes talking with me through the nuances of New Zealand Pinot Noir.) Their tastings are decent, but don't come close to the selection and quality of Eataly and Le Du Wine (which regularly pours $40+ wines on Saturday afternoons like it is liquid candy).
However, Chelsea Wine Vault occupies some prime real estate in the eponymous Chelsea Market, and this is clearly reflected in the prices.
For example, I bought a Francois Pinon Vouvray "Silex Noir" 2008 for a blind tasting for a wine exam upon the recommendation of one of the sales staff. Although they had only two Vouvrays on the shelf, it was clearly the right choice, with the off-dry, honeysuckle, and mineral flavors emblematic of Chenin Blanc from that region in the Loire Valley. However, I was shocked to see that same wine retail for $21.99 at Chamber St. Wines, one of the more expensive stores in the city. (CWV retail price = $26.99).
Life is too short to buy cheap wine, but it still long enough where you should consider how you spend your money.
75 9th Ave
(between 15th St & 16th St)
New York, NY 10011
I have mixed views on Chelsea Market. Their wine selection across the Old World/New World is pretty solid, and I have had positive experiences with most of the sales staff who have a thorough understanding of the wines they sell. (Especially the old guy, who spent five minutes talking with me through the nuances of New Zealand Pinot Noir.) Their tastings are decent, but don't come close to the selection and quality of Eataly and Le Du Wine (which regularly pours $40+ wines on Saturday afternoons like it is liquid candy).
However, Chelsea Wine Vault occupies some prime real estate in the eponymous Chelsea Market, and this is clearly reflected in the prices.
For example, I bought a Francois Pinon Vouvray "Silex Noir" 2008 for a blind tasting for a wine exam upon the recommendation of one of the sales staff. Although they had only two Vouvrays on the shelf, it was clearly the right choice, with the off-dry, honeysuckle, and mineral flavors emblematic of Chenin Blanc from that region in the Loire Valley. However, I was shocked to see that same wine retail for $21.99 at Chamber St. Wines, one of the more expensive stores in the city. (CWV retail price = $26.99).
Life is too short to buy cheap wine, but it still long enough where you should consider how you spend your money.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Nordic Deli
Nordic Deli
6909 3rd Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11209
My knowledge of Norway is limited to those facts that only serve their usefulness on Tuesday trivia nights: the country's prowess at the biathlon, the descent of famous American singer Peggy Lee (born as Norma Egstrom), the birth country of the ostensible paper clip inventor (Johan Vaaler) and ignominiously, that country next to Sweden.
After being prodded by ignorance of this Scandinavian country and a well-written profile in a Winter 2011 issue of Edible Brooklyn [1], I decided to take the R train to specialty food store in Bay Ridge.
Neither a deli nor a bodega for Vikings, Nordic Deli had served the Scandinavian population that used to live in the neighborhood. Now it seems like an outdated curiosity amid the Mexican, Middle Eastern, and Chinese stores that line 3rd Avenue.
Like the specialty food section of the Red Hook IKEA, Nordic Deli carries your traditional Wasa rye crisps, lingonberry preserves, gingersnap cookies, and the infamous meatballs (kjottkaker). There's also an assortment of herring and mackerel filets, Norwegian chocolates, and caramelized goat cheeses (gjestost), which are very spreadable on a bagel or an English muffin.
Specialty Norwegian desserts include a larger, fatter version of a hot cross bun spiced with cardamom (boller), a thinner, spicier version of a Belgian waffle (vaffel), and a delicate, fragile, ice-cream cone shaped cookie (krumkakker) that looks like a fatter, bluntier version of its Italian counterpart. All were half-eaten by the end of my subway ride home.
[1]: http://www.ediblebrooklyn.com/winter-2011/a-bodega-for-vikings.htm
6909 3rd Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11209
My knowledge of Norway is limited to those facts that only serve their usefulness on Tuesday trivia nights: the country's prowess at the biathlon, the descent of famous American singer Peggy Lee (born as Norma Egstrom), the birth country of the ostensible paper clip inventor (Johan Vaaler) and ignominiously, that country next to Sweden.
After being prodded by ignorance of this Scandinavian country and a well-written profile in a Winter 2011 issue of Edible Brooklyn [1], I decided to take the R train to specialty food store in Bay Ridge.
Neither a deli nor a bodega for Vikings, Nordic Deli had served the Scandinavian population that used to live in the neighborhood. Now it seems like an outdated curiosity amid the Mexican, Middle Eastern, and Chinese stores that line 3rd Avenue.
Like the specialty food section of the Red Hook IKEA, Nordic Deli carries your traditional Wasa rye crisps, lingonberry preserves, gingersnap cookies, and the infamous meatballs (kjottkaker). There's also an assortment of herring and mackerel filets, Norwegian chocolates, and caramelized goat cheeses (gjestost), which are very spreadable on a bagel or an English muffin.
Specialty Norwegian desserts include a larger, fatter version of a hot cross bun spiced with cardamom (boller), a thinner, spicier version of a Belgian waffle (vaffel), and a delicate, fragile, ice-cream cone shaped cookie (krumkakker) that looks like a fatter, bluntier version of its Italian counterpart. All were half-eaten by the end of my subway ride home.
[1]: http://www.ediblebrooklyn.com/winter-2011/a-bodega-for-vikings.htm
Friday, February 4, 2011
Brooklyn Wine Exchange
Brooklyn Wine Exchange
138 Court St. (between Atlantic and Pacific St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
The more you learn about wine, the more your realize you don't know. Unfortunately, you realize also that the person selling you wine doesn't know much either.
I had read great things about Brooklyn Wine Exchnage's in-store education program, specifically their Mixology Month in February. Upon entering, I was excited by the carefully edited spirits selection, the diverse range of small producers carried from each of the major wine growing regions, and the "Under $12" table, which featured some preeminently drinkable wines such as a Torrontes from Argentina, a Cabernet Franc from Chinon, and a Muscadet-Sur-Lie from France. A salesperson saw that I was browsing the Austrian section, and offered to help.
And then I got less excited.
Not quite knowing the answer myself, I asked a not-so-obvious question: "What does Smaragd mean on Austrian wine labels?" The salesperson mentioned that it had something to do with the vintage, a response I knew was absolutely wrong. The question then got passed to the person at the retail counter who said it had something to do with an "emerald" color. Since the term was on a white wine, I knew that was off-the-mark as well. The store manager overheard this inquiry, and fortunately corrected everyone: it was, in fact, a special classification for dry wines in the Wachau district of Austria, and that the wines had to have a minimum alcohol level of 12.5%. (Smaragd does in fact refer to an emerald-colored lizard that sunbathes on the rocks in the Wachau region, a fact I later found out through).
I later inquired about a purple-colored gin called Averell Damson Gin, which I had no intention in buying given their hefty markup, but wanted to know more about its provenance and taste. Unfortunately, another salesperson offered to try to help me. He mentioned that the gin got its color from being aged in oak, which I knew to be blatantly false, as 1) gin is not typically aged in oak; 2) oak doesn't fix a purple color. After this exercise in misinformation, the famous quote by Abraham Lincoln came to mind: "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."
I understand that the store has just recently opened, and that the salespeople-in-question were trying to help, but if one doesn't know the answer to a question, just admit you don't know and resolve to find out. I appreciate the enthusiasm of those working at Brooklyn Exchange, but it is difficult to develop a relationship with a wine store, if you can't trust them.
138 Court St. (between Atlantic and Pacific St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
The more you learn about wine, the more your realize you don't know. Unfortunately, you realize also that the person selling you wine doesn't know much either.
I had read great things about Brooklyn Wine Exchnage's in-store education program, specifically their Mixology Month in February. Upon entering, I was excited by the carefully edited spirits selection, the diverse range of small producers carried from each of the major wine growing regions, and the "Under $12" table, which featured some preeminently drinkable wines such as a Torrontes from Argentina, a Cabernet Franc from Chinon, and a Muscadet-Sur-Lie from France. A salesperson saw that I was browsing the Austrian section, and offered to help.
And then I got less excited.
Not quite knowing the answer myself, I asked a not-so-obvious question: "What does Smaragd mean on Austrian wine labels?" The salesperson mentioned that it had something to do with the vintage, a response I knew was absolutely wrong. The question then got passed to the person at the retail counter who said it had something to do with an "emerald" color. Since the term was on a white wine, I knew that was off-the-mark as well. The store manager overheard this inquiry, and fortunately corrected everyone: it was, in fact, a special classification for dry wines in the Wachau district of Austria, and that the wines had to have a minimum alcohol level of 12.5%. (Smaragd does in fact refer to an emerald-colored lizard that sunbathes on the rocks in the Wachau region, a fact I later found out through).
I later inquired about a purple-colored gin called Averell Damson Gin, which I had no intention in buying given their hefty markup, but wanted to know more about its provenance and taste. Unfortunately, another salesperson offered to try to help me. He mentioned that the gin got its color from being aged in oak, which I knew to be blatantly false, as 1) gin is not typically aged in oak; 2) oak doesn't fix a purple color. After this exercise in misinformation, the famous quote by Abraham Lincoln came to mind: "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."
I understand that the store has just recently opened, and that the salespeople-in-question were trying to help, but if one doesn't know the answer to a question, just admit you don't know and resolve to find out. I appreciate the enthusiasm of those working at Brooklyn Exchange, but it is difficult to develop a relationship with a wine store, if you can't trust them.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Terroir Tribeca is an elitist wine bar. It is a wine person's wine bar, and certainly not for everyone. Nevertheless, the wine selections are exceptional, and have no peer among any other wine bar in NYC.
Working through a Terroir wine menu is like listening to a Girl Talk album: a heady experience that leaves one as excited as confused. TT does represents your typical wines you see at wine bars (i.e. Gruner Veltliner, Malbec, Sangiovese), but there are certainly some out-of-left-field selections, like a Chasselas from Switzerland, a Dornfelder from the Finger Lakes in New York, and a vin jaune from the Jura.
TT has one of the few wine-by-the-glass menus where I feel the beverage director is sincerely trying to expose me to new and interesting wines. The wine menu is deep, with 10-12 featured wines by the glass, and 60 other reds and whites offered by the glass (6 oz.) or half-glass (3 oz.).
The mark ups are there, but reasonable given the high quality of the wines.
Despite Terroir Tribeca being my favorite wine bar in NYC, it is one of my least favorite wine menus in NYC. Although I agree that Riesling is one of the greatest white grapes and that Michael White is a douchebag for abandoning long-time front-of-house partner Chris Cannon in the grand pursuit of restaurant empire, but do I need to see such geeky, editorial commentary on a wine menu? It is difficult enough to work through a cumbersome, 40-page wine list.
Working through a Terroir wine menu is like listening to a Girl Talk album: a heady experience that leaves one as excited as confused. TT does represents your typical wines you see at wine bars (i.e. Gruner Veltliner, Malbec, Sangiovese), but there are certainly some out-of-left-field selections, like a Chasselas from Switzerland, a Dornfelder from the Finger Lakes in New York, and a vin jaune from the Jura.
TT has one of the few wine-by-the-glass menus where I feel the beverage director is sincerely trying to expose me to new and interesting wines. The wine menu is deep, with 10-12 featured wines by the glass, and 60 other reds and whites offered by the glass (6 oz.) or half-glass (3 oz.).
The mark ups are there, but reasonable given the high quality of the wines.
Despite Terroir Tribeca being my favorite wine bar in NYC, it is one of my least favorite wine menus in NYC. Although I agree that Riesling is one of the greatest white grapes and that Michael White is a douchebag for abandoning long-time front-of-house partner Chris Cannon in the grand pursuit of restaurant empire, but do I need to see such geeky, editorial commentary on a wine menu? It is difficult enough to work through a cumbersome, 40-page wine list.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Despana Vinos y Mas
Despana Vinos y Mas
410 Broome Street
(between Cleveland Pl & Centre St)
Manhattan, NY 10013
1/27/11
This place will probably be appreciated more by the Spanish wine enthusiast, rather than the casual wine drinker, but it is a testament to the quality of Spanish wine that it can support two exclusively Spanish specialty wine stores in NYC.
Despana Vinos carries more than 400 still and sparkling wines and liquors, all sorted by appellation and style. The store covers all the major wine producing regions (denominaciones de origen, or DOs) in Spain from Rias Baixas in the rainy, northwest to Jerez in the hot, Mediterranean south.
Despana Vinos has the deepest txakoli, cava, and sherry selection of any wine store I've seen in the city. There are at least 10 producers of txakoli (you know, that wine where the bartender pours the bottle from about two feet high into your wine glass), 20-30 producers of cava, and a sherry selection divided by varietal (Moscatel, Pedro Ximinez, Palomino) and style (fino, amontillado, oloroso). They also have those rare bottles of Vega Sicilia, Pingus, and Malleolus that appear next to three and four digit numbers on Michelin-star restaurant wine menus.
The store is still in soft opening mode, with their grand opening celebration on February 24th. But if you eat at Despana Foods, there is absolutely no reason to pick up a bottle to go along with your food. My all-time favorite pairing: sherry with jamon iberico.
410 Broome Street
(between Cleveland Pl & Centre St)
Manhattan, NY 10013
1/27/11
This place will probably be appreciated more by the Spanish wine enthusiast, rather than the casual wine drinker, but it is a testament to the quality of Spanish wine that it can support two exclusively Spanish specialty wine stores in NYC.
Despana Vinos carries more than 400 still and sparkling wines and liquors, all sorted by appellation and style. The store covers all the major wine producing regions (denominaciones de origen, or DOs) in Spain from Rias Baixas in the rainy, northwest to Jerez in the hot, Mediterranean south.
Despana Vinos has the deepest txakoli, cava, and sherry selection of any wine store I've seen in the city. There are at least 10 producers of txakoli (you know, that wine where the bartender pours the bottle from about two feet high into your wine glass), 20-30 producers of cava, and a sherry selection divided by varietal (Moscatel, Pedro Ximinez, Palomino) and style (fino, amontillado, oloroso). They also have those rare bottles of Vega Sicilia, Pingus, and Malleolus that appear next to three and four digit numbers on Michelin-star restaurant wine menus.
The store is still in soft opening mode, with their grand opening celebration on February 24th. But if you eat at Despana Foods, there is absolutely no reason to pick up a bottle to go along with your food. My all-time favorite pairing: sherry with jamon iberico.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
SHO Shaun Hergatt
SHO Shaun Hergatt
40 Broad St.
New York, NY 1_____
After a five-year hiatus, I dove back into Restaurant Week at SHO Shaun Hergatt.
I'd like to think of Restaurant Week as a Top Chef Quickfire Challenge of sorts: a competition that many NYC restaurants begrudgingly go through for two weeks in order to attract and impress as many customers as possible. Certainly, one can't judge a contestant on Top Chef by simply how well they perform in a single Quickfire. But you can certainly get a good idea on whether they'll make it past Chef's Table. To be fair to the critics, a Restaurant Week meal will never provide complete insight into a restaurant's full creativity and execution. However, it will certainly dictate whether I vote to visit the restaurant in the future with my wallet.
My dining companions (who are more frequent SHO Shaun Hergatt customers that they want to admit) remarked that the Restaurant Week dinner was much different than the full-court press: less fussiness, offset by fewer explosions and contrasts of flavor. But the artful composition and precision of execution remain the same throughout.
The Tasmanian Ocean Trout truly looked like a Miro composition: the deep orange glow of the slivers of trout were like thick brush strokes against the white canvas of the plate that was accented with geometric brunoises of crunchy jicama and a tuft of small paddlefish caviar. The trout was painted with slightly tart calamansi vinaigrette, which highlighted the ocean taste.
The loup de mer was less artful, but more precise. A perfect execution of contrasts, with the crispy, fried skin of the loup providing a crunchy background for the flaky, succulent fish. All this swimming in an small sea of mushroom cream sauce along with miniature button mushrooms, pearl onions, and carrots.
Dessert was less impressive, but I simply ordered poorly. Among the trio of sorbets, the passion fruit was the only standout, with the sharp acidic flavors balancing out the roundness of the tropical fruit. My dining companion's beignets with caramel sauce was the route best taken, their light airiness seeming also impossible despite being deep-fried.
In proper French restaurant fashion, I had the wine pairing with the prix-fixe meal. The sommelier gets a lot of credit for 1) being the most enthusiastic sommelier I've ever encountered, and 2) devising a pairing of New York-based wines that complemented one of three completely different appetizers, entrees, and desserts. The Hudson Valley Tocai Fruiliano was the best of the bunch, with its light-body and slight minerality a good pairing with delicate Tasmanian Trout. Although the overly-oaked, fruit-bomb of a Cabernet Franc was my least favorite, it did pair excellently with the loup de mer and my friend's risotto. The sweetness of Finger Lakes Late Harvest Chardonnay (despite its flabbiness) rounded out the citrus flavors in the trio of sorbets (lychee, raspberry, passion fruit) that came with dessert.
And on top of that: coconut macarons, fruit jelly petit fours, and a $24.07 gift certificate redeemable for dinner within the next two months.
I will be back again.
40 Broad St.
New York, NY 1_____
After a five-year hiatus, I dove back into Restaurant Week at SHO Shaun Hergatt.
I'd like to think of Restaurant Week as a Top Chef Quickfire Challenge of sorts: a competition that many NYC restaurants begrudgingly go through for two weeks in order to attract and impress as many customers as possible. Certainly, one can't judge a contestant on Top Chef by simply how well they perform in a single Quickfire. But you can certainly get a good idea on whether they'll make it past Chef's Table. To be fair to the critics, a Restaurant Week meal will never provide complete insight into a restaurant's full creativity and execution. However, it will certainly dictate whether I vote to visit the restaurant in the future with my wallet.
My dining companions (who are more frequent SHO Shaun Hergatt customers that they want to admit) remarked that the Restaurant Week dinner was much different than the full-court press: less fussiness, offset by fewer explosions and contrasts of flavor. But the artful composition and precision of execution remain the same throughout.
The Tasmanian Ocean Trout truly looked like a Miro composition: the deep orange glow of the slivers of trout were like thick brush strokes against the white canvas of the plate that was accented with geometric brunoises of crunchy jicama and a tuft of small paddlefish caviar. The trout was painted with slightly tart calamansi vinaigrette, which highlighted the ocean taste.
The loup de mer was less artful, but more precise. A perfect execution of contrasts, with the crispy, fried skin of the loup providing a crunchy background for the flaky, succulent fish. All this swimming in an small sea of mushroom cream sauce along with miniature button mushrooms, pearl onions, and carrots.
Dessert was less impressive, but I simply ordered poorly. Among the trio of sorbets, the passion fruit was the only standout, with the sharp acidic flavors balancing out the roundness of the tropical fruit. My dining companion's beignets with caramel sauce was the route best taken, their light airiness seeming also impossible despite being deep-fried.
In proper French restaurant fashion, I had the wine pairing with the prix-fixe meal. The sommelier gets a lot of credit for 1) being the most enthusiastic sommelier I've ever encountered, and 2) devising a pairing of New York-based wines that complemented one of three completely different appetizers, entrees, and desserts. The Hudson Valley Tocai Fruiliano was the best of the bunch, with its light-body and slight minerality a good pairing with delicate Tasmanian Trout. Although the overly-oaked, fruit-bomb of a Cabernet Franc was my least favorite, it did pair excellently with the loup de mer and my friend's risotto. The sweetness of Finger Lakes Late Harvest Chardonnay (despite its flabbiness) rounded out the citrus flavors in the trio of sorbets (lychee, raspberry, passion fruit) that came with dessert.
And on top of that: coconut macarons, fruit jelly petit fours, and a $24.07 gift certificate redeemable for dinner within the next two months.
I will be back again.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Rattle n' Hum
I've always been a snob.
Before I was a wine snob, I was a cocktail snob. Before I was a cocktail snob, I was a beer snob.
Despite its central location, Rattle n' Hum had escaped me, because I was a snob, and couldn't bring myself to drink at a bar in Midtown East, after having dealing with waves of douchery at Joshua Tree, Turtle Bar, and Galway Hooker.
Rattle n' Hum is not a snobby place on the surface: big screen TVs, extensive bar menu, large seating area. However, the inner snob was drawn to the "No Crap on Tap" slogan at the bar, the War-and-Peace length draft and bottle selection, and the blackboard wall that politely suggested beers that were similar in style, but better in taste than ones you currently drink.
My partner-in-crime and I each ordered three 4 x 4 oz. flights each, ranging from bitter IPAs and American ales, saisons and lambics, to stouts and smoked beer. For the professional beer drinker, the beers are conveniently arranged in Brewers Association approved styles, approximately from light-to-dark, and dry-to-sweet, which makes ordering a flight a matter of picking beers from left to right.
Although the draft list isn't as comprehensive as the Ginger Man, the draft list fully represents the different styles that are brewed by craft brewers across the United States. There's a smattering of beers from Belgium, France, and Germany, and some token representation by Ireland (Guinness).
After Rattle n' Hum, at least there's one bar that I would happily drink in Midtown East.
On the surface, this reeks of pretension; although wine makers speak of terroir, no such thing exists for brewers, since they control everything that goes into the final product.
Before I was a wine snob, I was a cocktail snob. Before I was a cocktail snob, I was a beer snob.
Despite its central location, Rattle n' Hum had escaped me, because I was a snob, and couldn't bring myself to drink at a bar in Midtown East, after having dealing with waves of douchery at Joshua Tree, Turtle Bar, and Galway Hooker.
Rattle n' Hum is not a snobby place on the surface: big screen TVs, extensive bar menu, large seating area. However, the inner snob was drawn to the "No Crap on Tap" slogan at the bar, the War-and-Peace length draft and bottle selection, and the blackboard wall that politely suggested beers that were similar in style, but better in taste than ones you currently drink.
My partner-in-crime and I each ordered three 4 x 4 oz. flights each, ranging from bitter IPAs and American ales, saisons and lambics, to stouts and smoked beer. For the professional beer drinker, the beers are conveniently arranged in Brewers Association approved styles, approximately from light-to-dark, and dry-to-sweet, which makes ordering a flight a matter of picking beers from left to right.
Although the draft list isn't as comprehensive as the Ginger Man, the draft list fully represents the different styles that are brewed by craft brewers across the United States. There's a smattering of beers from Belgium, France, and Germany, and some token representation by Ireland (Guinness).
After Rattle n' Hum, at least there's one bar that I would happily drink in Midtown East.
On the surface, this reeks of pretension; although wine makers speak of terroir, no such thing exists for brewers, since they control everything that goes into the final product.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The Meadow
The Meadow
523 Hudson St.
New York, NY 10014
New York is undergoing a spice revolution. Rather, a spice revelation.
A couple recently opened stores have recently focused on spices as the centerpiece of their retail concepts. First, there is Lyor Cohen's La Boite a Epice, his spice market in a remote part of Hell's Kitchen, and now Mark and Jenny Bitterman's The Meadow, a small nook in the heart of the West Village, that features salt, but also chocolate, flowers, and bitters.
The eclectic collection of items in the store may seem haphazard at first, but as explained by the saleswoman, why not surround yourself with things that you love most?
The salt selection ranges from flake salts (which are great for fresh vegetables and salads) to coarser salts (red meats, root vegetables) to fleur de sel (light and medium-bodied flavored foods). The chocolates are from single-source artisans like Michel Cluziel to more interesting combinations like milk chocolate with tortilla chips and lime. For the mixology inclined, the Meadow has probably the most extensive selection of bitters in the city, carrying Angostura, Fee's, and Peychauds, to more obscure, harder-to-find brands like Boker's. Bitterman's (unsurprisingly) has his own line of bitters as well.
You are even inclined to taste samples of salt (and bitters). After tasting through a range of salts, I came to realize salt is fundamental to cooking not because of the flavor it imparts, but because it calls to attention the flavors already in food. The same thing with bitters: an Old-Fashioned is not a cocktail if it doesn't have bitters to highlight the spiciness of the rye and the botanicals in the vermouth.
As much as people dine out in restaurants, few realize salt is the bedrock for any dish. As Lyor Cohen wisely commented, if no one buys spices, at least stock your cupboard with decent salt.
523 Hudson St.
New York, NY 10014
New York is undergoing a spice revolution. Rather, a spice revelation.
A couple recently opened stores have recently focused on spices as the centerpiece of their retail concepts. First, there is Lyor Cohen's La Boite a Epice, his spice market in a remote part of Hell's Kitchen, and now Mark and Jenny Bitterman's The Meadow, a small nook in the heart of the West Village, that features salt, but also chocolate, flowers, and bitters.
The eclectic collection of items in the store may seem haphazard at first, but as explained by the saleswoman, why not surround yourself with things that you love most?
The salt selection ranges from flake salts (which are great for fresh vegetables and salads) to coarser salts (red meats, root vegetables) to fleur de sel (light and medium-bodied flavored foods). The chocolates are from single-source artisans like Michel Cluziel to more interesting combinations like milk chocolate with tortilla chips and lime. For the mixology inclined, the Meadow has probably the most extensive selection of bitters in the city, carrying Angostura, Fee's, and Peychauds, to more obscure, harder-to-find brands like Boker's. Bitterman's (unsurprisingly) has his own line of bitters as well.
You are even inclined to taste samples of salt (and bitters). After tasting through a range of salts, I came to realize salt is fundamental to cooking not because of the flavor it imparts, but because it calls to attention the flavors already in food. The same thing with bitters: an Old-Fashioned is not a cocktail if it doesn't have bitters to highlight the spiciness of the rye and the botanicals in the vermouth.
As much as people dine out in restaurants, few realize salt is the bedrock for any dish. As Lyor Cohen wisely commented, if no one buys spices, at least stock your cupboard with decent salt.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
International Wine Center
International Wine Center
350 7th Ave.
New York, NY 10001
The International Wine Center (IWC) is literally the center of wine education in the United States, as it serves as the headquarters for the Wine & Spirit Education Trust, the largest international organization for wine and spirits education.
You might have heard IWC if you've read "Wine for Dummies"; Mary Ewing-Mulligan, president of the International Wine Center, wrote the book along with her husband. In the wine world, she is no trifle as she was the first woman in the US to earn the coveted Masters of Wine designation (equivalent in difficulty to a PhD in astrophysics).
The course is extremely expensive, but a requisite gateway for those who want to further advance in the wine trade, and others who are seriously committed to advancing their knowledge about wine. I have taken other courses throughout the years (Astor Center, Best Cellars, Columbia Business School, and even the "Everyday Guide to Wine" course through The Great Courses DVD), and IWC is, without question, the most comprehensive course on wine growing, wine producing, and wine tasting available in NYC.
The Advanced Course consists of 15 two-and-a-half hour classes that thoroughly covers the viticultural and vinicultural characteristics of principal wines around the world. The class consists of a one-and-a-half hour lecture followed by an hour of blind tastings of wine from that region and follow-up discussions. The lectures are informative and reinforce the required reading in the WSET textbook. The guided tastings are absolutely crucial in honing one palate to identify particular aromas and flavors across different varieties and styles of wine.
Linda Lawry, Director of the IWC, is the primary instructor for the Advanced Course. There is no doubt in my mind as to her qualifications as a wine instructor, as her lectures are engaging and her knowledge of even the most arcane details of wine production robust.
To the criticism that the course doesn't offer more expensive wines, I have had my fair share of classic and iconic wines, and from experience, expensive doesn't necessary mean good. Tasting expensive wine may give you bragging rights, but doesn't give you an understanding of what distinguishes good wine from great ones. The selections that that IWC has for each class are designed to allow you to compare and contrast different styles of wine, a necessary skill for wine discussion and enjoyment.
Through taking the course, I feel the veil of mystery behind wine has been lifted. I feel confident walking into any wine store, and to decode the hidden language embedded on most wine labels. I feel I can engage in a serious discussion with the sales rep at most high-end wine store. Most importantly, the IWC has opened a door to enjoying wine that will last the rest of my lifetime.
350 7th Ave.
New York, NY 10001
The International Wine Center (IWC) is literally the center of wine education in the United States, as it serves as the headquarters for the Wine & Spirit Education Trust, the largest international organization for wine and spirits education.
You might have heard IWC if you've read "Wine for Dummies"; Mary Ewing-Mulligan, president of the International Wine Center, wrote the book along with her husband. In the wine world, she is no trifle as she was the first woman in the US to earn the coveted Masters of Wine designation (equivalent in difficulty to a PhD in astrophysics).
The course is extremely expensive, but a requisite gateway for those who want to further advance in the wine trade, and others who are seriously committed to advancing their knowledge about wine. I have taken other courses throughout the years (Astor Center, Best Cellars, Columbia Business School, and even the "Everyday Guide to Wine" course through The Great Courses DVD), and IWC is, without question, the most comprehensive course on wine growing, wine producing, and wine tasting available in NYC.
The Advanced Course consists of 15 two-and-a-half hour classes that thoroughly covers the viticultural and vinicultural characteristics of principal wines around the world. The class consists of a one-and-a-half hour lecture followed by an hour of blind tastings of wine from that region and follow-up discussions. The lectures are informative and reinforce the required reading in the WSET textbook. The guided tastings are absolutely crucial in honing one palate to identify particular aromas and flavors across different varieties and styles of wine.
Linda Lawry, Director of the IWC, is the primary instructor for the Advanced Course. There is no doubt in my mind as to her qualifications as a wine instructor, as her lectures are engaging and her knowledge of even the most arcane details of wine production robust.
To the criticism that the course doesn't offer more expensive wines, I have had my fair share of classic and iconic wines, and from experience, expensive doesn't necessary mean good. Tasting expensive wine may give you bragging rights, but doesn't give you an understanding of what distinguishes good wine from great ones. The selections that that IWC has for each class are designed to allow you to compare and contrast different styles of wine, a necessary skill for wine discussion and enjoyment.
Through taking the course, I feel the veil of mystery behind wine has been lifted. I feel confident walking into any wine store, and to decode the hidden language embedded on most wine labels. I feel I can engage in a serious discussion with the sales rep at most high-end wine store. Most importantly, the IWC has opened a door to enjoying wine that will last the rest of my lifetime.
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