Post Vaccination Mastication

Friedman's - Hell's Kitchen

Disclaimer: Let me be honest. I didn't go to breakfast intending to write about it. I've never written a review of a place I've gone alone, at least I don't remember ever doing it. But halfway through breakfast, I thought of the title for this and had to write something to justify using it.

I started my Saturday morning at 6:45AM. There were days, many moons ago, that I used to just be getting to sleep at that hour. I stumbled around my apartment and dragged my disgruntled ass to the Javits Center for my second vaccine shot. It's pretty impressive just how streamlined and quick that process was and how pleasant all the people there have been both times I was there. I was in and out in about 25 minutes and that includes the 15 minutes you have to wait after you've gotten the shot. Can't complain about that at all.

Since I was up and in the city, it seemed like a good idea to find myself some breakfast. A quick
trip to the Google showed me that there was a place called Friedman's just 2 blocks away. So I strolled my newly vaccinated self those blocks in search of caffeine and tasty morning victuals.

I walked in, had my temperature taken, filled out the contact tracing form and was seated right in the window pretty quickly. There was outside dining and a dining room in the back that I didn't see. I was seated in the little coffee shop up front. More or less nondescript. Some exposed brick and a tiny bar.

I then sat there for a solid 15 minutes before anyone even spoke to me again. The guy that seated me was in constant motion. It almost seemed that he and the busser were the only people working. There were two other people that I noticed as I was there, they seemed to spend a lot of time chatting with each other or with friends. Quite honestly, I waited at my table so long without anyone even looking in my direction that I considered leaving. Right before I put my notebook away and walked out, I someone finally came over. I think the busser noticed me writing in my little review notebook and said something to someone. I noticed that he kept staring at me as he went past me. I thought maybe I had begun to grow a cock from my forehead, but maybe it was just that he noticed me writing and thought it was about the restaurant. He was right...about me writing about the place, not about me having a cock on my forehead. I spoke to all 3 of the waitstaff while I was there. I didn't speak to the staring busser (I can't call him “bus boy”, he was easily older then everyone else working there.), he freaked me out a little bit. They were all very nice and friendly. It just quite often seemed that only 1 of them was working there.

I was hungry.  It was good.  

I will say that once I placed my order, the food came out pretty quickly. The pastrami hash had
nice chunks of pastrami, perfectly cooked oozy eggs and scallions that really helped brighten up what could've been a heavy meal. Even the toast was good. The dish was in need of seasoning, but after adding some salt and pepper...it was really an excellent breakfast. The side of bacon was thick and nicely cripsy without being burnt. After a couple of pieces though, the sweet glaze, or something that was put on it, became a little cloying. Not that I didn't finish it. There was nothing but empty plates and cups left when I left. Unfortunately, the coffee was kind of bitter. Not bold, just bitter...maybe a little burnt. If you're serving breakfast, you've got to have good coffee. This coffee was a fail. I finished that cup of coffee with a grimace, which will tell you just how much I needed the coffee.

A slightly uneven experience. But if I find myself at the Javits Center again, hopefully for something more pleasant than getting jabbed in the arm with a pointy object loaded with drugs, I'll try them again.

Friedman's – Hell's Kitchen

450 10^th Avenue

New York, NY, 10018

212-268-1100

Sometimes You Have Dinner In A Bank Vault

 Butcher and Banker

Before we get started, I just need to say this. I'm eating dinner in a bank vault. A FRIGGIN' BANK VAULT! Fucking cool! Yeah, I'm a dork. So what.

It was Good Friday and for those of you that have been reading, you know what that means. It means it's time for MEAT. We've been at this for about a decade I think. We started this at the Benchmark in Park Slope and enjoyed our first couple of times there. We moved on to some hits and misses. I'd say Butcher and Banker was definitely a hit...with a couple of minor dings.

I was thinking about our sinful outings as I've been getting ready to write this. At pretty much every one there's been at least one fellow diner that manages to make us hate him or her. They're obnoxious to the staff. They're loud enough that it's impossible not to eavesdrop. And the conversations we eavesdrop on are always just terrible. This year was no different. This guy was across the vault from us and just annoying as all hell. This jackhole should definitely have been swallowed 40 years ago. Some folks just shouldn't be allowed out. I'm pretty sure these people are our penance from Jesus for so blatantly chewing meat in his face.

The setting really is kind of special here. I mean, that's true of all steakhouses. There's something classic and cool about a good steakhouse. But this took it to a different level. You enter through the New Yorker Hotel and then take an elevator downstairs. For some reason, I really liked the idea of going underground for dinner. It felt like we were going down to the Bat Cave. That feeling only increased when we were seated in a bank vault. I felt like we were having dinner in a Batman movie. Annie and I were seated beside a wall of safety deposit boxes. Oddly, the opposite wall was decorated pink flowers printed on a baby blue field. I have no idea what the heck that was about, but it certainly made you notice it. It sort of looked like pillows you'd find an a grandmother's couch. Kind of reminded me of the walls in this Italian restaurant, Gino's, that was on the beginning of the Upper East Side. They had zebras on a red field. Completely insane.

Our waiter, Miguel, deserves special mention. He was very pleasant. Seemed actually happy to be doing his job. And when Annie couldn't figure out what kind of cocktail she wanted, he was on the ball to help. That kind of attention to detail. He was clearly a professional and very good at what he does. It's that kind of service that helps make steakhouses special. Thank you, good sir.

That was a lot of writing and I haven't gotten to anything edible yet. Here we go.

After Annie settled on a negroni, which was excellent, and really hard to make properly because Campari is so bitter, and I ordered a fantastic Old-Fashioned (I'm a man of habit, I guess), they brought us out some delicious buns covered in herbs and butter and served with onion butter. I didn't know what onion butter was before last night, but I do now and I can never go back to not knowing. It was delicious and I want more of it. Then the appetizers started coming.

We began with a seafood tower. I didn't realize I'd be knocking down a dozen oysters, I figured on a half dozen. But when one has a job to do, a tasty tasty job at that, one does his duty. The oysters were fresh and briny and wonderful. The cocktail sauce needed some horseradish punch but the vinaigrette was good. Really, the oysters didn't need anything. The cocktail shrimp were the size of those mini-bats they give away at baseball games and were just as good as the oysters. The crab was good and crabby, I can't really think of anything else to say about it. The salmon tartar was pretty bland. It really needed some salt and maybe some heat. We also had Burrata Caprese, which was absolutely perfect, creamy and gleefully decadent. And finished off appetizing with Fried Calamari, Rock Shrimp and Shishito Peppers. Perfectly seasoned. I really liked the wasabi sauce. Annie preferred the curry salt. (BTW Annie, it was curry salt.) What is it about shishito peppers that make them so good?

Then the main event happened. We ordered the porterhouse for two, roasted mushrooms, creamed spinach and a potato cake cooked in duck fat. The porterhouse was really good. Incredible crust and well salted. Unfortunately, we ordered it medium rare and some of it came out well done. But somehow, even the well done parts were really tender and tasty. Just not as good as it could have and should have been. The creamed spinach was good and there was A LOT of it. It basically came in a gravy boat. The potatoes were crispy and rich. You could actually taste the duck fat. I could've eaten a bucket of those mushrooms. I would have if I didn't feel like I was going to explode at the table. There was just no way I could accommodate anymore food.

I would definitely recommend Butcher and Banker and would absolutely enjoy going back. This was a great time. I just want to say thank you to the Romans and Jews for offing Jesus, and for doing such a shit job of it that he came back a couple of days later so that Annie and I could enjoy fancy steak dinners once a year.

*Some pictures courtesy of Annie and her fancy new phone.

*If you want to see more pictures, you can fine them on Instagram @mikenico13

Butcher and Banker

481 8^th Avenue, Vault Level

New York, NY, 10065

212-268-8455

WHEN IS A "CLASSIC" NOT A CLASSIC?

Rebecca and I rocked out at a Michelin-starred joint a couple of Saturdays ago. Turns out Michelin-starred restaurants are, on occasion, like “classic” books or movies. Sometimes after experiencing them, you're left wondering, “Really? What's all the fuss?' At least, that's how I felt about Meadowsweet. It was good. A nice experience. Nothing even remotely bad. Also, nothing great either.

To start with, they're on top of their Covid game. They take temperatures on the wrist, take contact information from one of us and even ask that you put your facial covering on when interacting with the staff. Which is a step further than I've seen so far. But if it makes them feel safer, I'm all for it. I appreciate the effort. So much so, that I feel like, probably for awhile, it'll have a position in my reviews. It's important to feel safe and comfortable to enjoy a meal properly. Even as we go forward with vaccinations, I can't wait to get my second shot already, the world will probably need some precautions for a bit. It's a tough position restaurants hosts and waitstaff are put in. They have to enforce whatever rules the state, city and their owner have decided are necessary, and they have to do it in a way that is somehow unobtrusive to the experience of their restaurant and still be firm enough that the few that still think this was/is all a scam comply without making a scene. And you never know when that needle in the haystack asshole may pop up and try to ruin everyone's night like a rotten fart.

Sorry about that, it felt like I needed to say it and it just landed in the middle of this review.

That said, I liked the interior of the place. Light woods, cute dangly light thingamawhatsits, banquet seats along the wall...it had a comfortable but classy vibe. Not particularly unique, but nicely done. I dug the music that was playing too. Weirdly, I can't remember what was playing, I just remember noticing that I liked it. The staff were all very pleasant. Although I kind of felt like our waiter was some kind of stealthy assassin. Being that you're supposed to be masked when dealing with the waiter, I tried to get my mask on before he got to the table. But he kept sneaking up on me. Not once did I manage to see him coming, not one damned time.

We started our meal with Olive Oil rolls with Thyme Butter and Burrata with Autumn Squash. Those rolls were outrageous. I'm not even sure why. They were just dinner rolls. Hot, fluffy, flavorful dinner rolls with yummy butter. Damn, I want more of those rolls. I really love carbs. The burrata was really tasty. It came on a sage pesto, with Brussels sprouts and spiced pecans. It was all delicious, it just wasn't burrata. It was a loaf of fresh mozzarella. That messy, delicious creamy center just wasn't there. And without that, it's just cheese. Not the indulgent glee that burrata is.

Daffy tastes good covered in Mole Sauce.

The Bavette (Which is just a fancy way to hangar steak) was cooked absolutely perfectly. It came dressed in a tasty vinaigrette. I only got a bite of that, but it was a good bite. I had the Duck Breast Mole. I didn't know duck should be prepared medium-rare. Turns out the chef was right.
That duck was delicious. So was the mole sauce it came in. Just the perfect amount of heat and sweet. The potatoes and Brussels sprouts were delicious in the mole too. My sneaker would be delicious in that mole.

The Barrel Aged Brooklyn was a Manhattan...but not a barrel aged one. It was mediocre at best. So I moved on to the Mary, Queen of Scotch...great name! This was a scotch cocktail with vanilla and citrus. It could have used some heat to balance out the sweetness, but still a good drink. Just not more than one, I think.

Dessert was a Flourless Chocolate Cake, which was OK. It didn't feel classic, it felt passe. The Caramel Ice Cream it came with was really good though. Caramel is usually too strong and sweet a flavor for me, but this was nicely balanced. The Rose Water Panna Cotta was just not my jam. (Jesus, those last sentences felt really douchey to write. I'm not sure why.)

The overall menu isn't very deep. But what's on it, is mostly done well, based on what we had. I know, I know, I said a lot of very positive things considering I started this review saying it was “classic”. And I stand by that. It just doesn't quite come together. I know, nothing is quite coming together right now, we're living in strange times...and I get that. It just didn't feel like that was it. Like Meadowsweet, while good, was not the great I was expecting. If there was a Meadowsweet in my neighborhood, I'd be a regular. I just wouldn't travel out of my way to go there. Like I said in the beginning, it was good just not a classic.

Meadowsweet

149 Broadway

Brooklyn, NY, 11211

718-384-0673

Time To Get Back On the Brunch Horse

It's been a good long while since I've written one of these. But I'm hoping to move past my rampant laziness and do it more often this year. I like to eat. I like to drink. I like the people I get to eat and drink with. And, as it turns out, I still like to write sometimes. Hopefully, I still remember where the ballgags go and what the safe words are. Hope you're hungry.

First brunch of 2021. And it was a good one. My partner in brunch adventures, Rebecca and I checked out Ainslie in Williamsburg. It's been what feels like a decade since we went out seeking a new brunch place. It felt like it was about time we got back on the horse...or some other cliché that means start doing something again.

I really liked the look and feel of Ainslie as soon as we walked in. There's a lot of greenery. It's all wood and brick. A very rustic feel. It looked like they had a nice outside set up as well. No waiting for our reservation despite being 15 minutes early and clearly being a bit busy. And they didn't rush us out when our 90 minutes were up. They definitely had reason to, there was a decent crowd outside waiting for a table. The hostess took our temperature, which is still weird, and off we went to our table.

Outstanding bloody Marys. The perfect amount of horseradish. At least for me, I prefer my bloody Marys to kick back. Let me know they're there. Just be sure to stir it as you go. They don't go light on the vodka, nor should they, so if it settles...the end of your drink is really potent.

The food that I got to eat was excellent. I'll start out by saying I didn't get a chance to try Rebecca's eggs benedict because she doesn't share. She's like Joey Tribbiani with red hair and a nicer butt. I did snag a fry, but right after I put it in my mouth she told me that if it was bacon, she'd have stabbed me. I've been stabbed a couple of times before over food, I'm not taking that chance again.

We had some of the best cooked arancini I've ever had. Not greasy in the least. Perfectly crispy, nice and cheesy inside. The tomato sauce had a nice taste. I could easily eat a dozen of these and have been a very happy man. As it was, I had two and was pretty pleased.

The burrata with tomatoes was delicious. The only complaint, and it's a tiny one, was it wasn't quite creamy enough. I'd gladly eat it again. But I love me some burrata and this just wasn't quite perfect. The taste was spot on, it just didn't quite nail the consistency.

Let me tell you, breakfast pizza is the fucking bomb. This was delicious. The Bongiorno Pizza was outstanding. Pancetta, red onions, mozzarella and sunny-side up eggs on a perfect pizza crust is what breakfasts should always aspire to be. The crust was tangy and chewy and wonderfully blistered. The pancetta was...it was tasty tasty pig, what else is there to say. The eggs were just barely over-medium, which is generally how I prefer them. They were just runny enough. The red onions though were the real star...their punch really tied everything together. I really want another one of these pizzas right now. I'm yearning.

All in all, an excellent return to brunching. I'm definitely going back for lunch or dinner to try other pizzas...or other foods that they serve. If brunch was any indication, I'm going to be happy to return.

Ainslie

76 Ainslie Street

Brooklyn, NY, 11211

347-725-3400

Reservations via Resy

Sinning Is Usually More Fun

Good Friday just passed, and you know what that means...steak dinner. My favorite yearly tradition. Every year, on Good Friday, my friend Annie and I go out for a big meaty dinner. Unfortunately, we've struck out a couple of times in our search for new places to sin. This year's choice turned out to be pretty uneven...Sparks Steakhouse.

Now, if Sparks Steakhouse sounds familiar to you, and you live in NY, you may know it as the restaurant Paul Castellano was shot in front of. Which brought about the rise of John Gotti as the head of the Gambino family in 1985. Right off the bat I was disappointed. There was no chalk outline. No faded red blood stain. Not even an ancient shell casing. Quite honestly, the biggest reason I wanted to go to Sparks was for it's unique place in New York's history. As it turns out, that was also the best part of the restaurant.

Sparks has a pretty nondescript kind of front. It just didn't have any character. I'm not sure why, but I expected something more. The interior, however, has quite a bit of character. Not necessarily in a good way. When I first walked in, I kinda liked the place. Deep reds and browns are generally what I think of when I think of a steakhouse. That's exactly what they've got going on here. The maitre'd that greeted us was in a tux. He was extremely pleasant. Showed us to our table right away. Of course, the place is HUGE. So there's no shortage of tables. But then after being seated, Annie and I started looking around. Everything seemed kind of dated. There are dozens of paintings in faux gilded frames of trees hanging on the walls. The maroon carpet has golden curlicue type things in it. The waitstaff bring out the food and take away the dishes on rickety wooden carts. Keens is an old restaurant. Delmonico's is an old restaurant. Peter Luger's is an old restaurant. Those places are classic. This place is passe. It's a little sad actually. Our waiter, Luis III (I checked the bill specifically for his name) was borderline rude. Every time he brought something to the table, you got the impression that he wanted to be anywhere else. And by the time you said “thank you” he was gone. It took him forever to notice we wanted him on the few occasions that we did. In the outstanding restaurants, the staff are always there when needed and just sort of fade away otherwise. It's one of the great mysteries of the great places. They're like ninja. But at Sparks, the staff is very much conspicuous. I don't EVER tip less than 20%. Luis got double the tip and I really didn't want to give him that.

First thing's first, what kind of steakhouse doesn't offer a rib-eye or a porterhouse. You shouldn't be allowed to call yourself a steakhouse if those things aren't on the menu. It's my own fault for not checking out the menu ahead of time. OK, I'll climb off my soapbox now. The waiter brought us our giant menus and we were on our way. We ordered ourselves some drinks. Being that I don't really drink wine, Annie asked our waiter what wines came by the glass. Not much point in ordering a bottle for herself. He actually kind of looked down at her and rattled off a couple of wines with a bit of an attitude. He looked at me funny too when I told him to use Bulleit bourbon instead of Maker's Mark in my manhattan. We were off to a wonderful start. I will say, I've never had drink come so quickly in a steakhouse. We didn't wait 5 minutes for the booze to arrive.

Not the most appealing looking piece of meat, but it was tasty.

We ordered a crab-meat and scallop combination that was broiled in butter. The crab was nice and sweet but the scallops didn't taste like anything. Not even the butter they were broiled in. We had mediocre Caesar salads. Although I did find the croutons to be kind of oily, the salad was OK. Since there wasn't a porterhouse to order, we both got Prime Sirloin. I will say, these were the best part of the meal. They were excellent pieces of meat that were only a touch overcooked. I only even mention that they were overcooked because I'm being picky because I had a problem with pretty much everything else we were served. As sides we got creamed spinach, hash brown potatoes and sauteed mushrooms. All of which tasted like absolutely nothing. The potatoes and spinach had pretty much no flavor and the mushrooms, which did manage a tiny bit of earthiness, were incredibly rubbery.

After dinner, since we didn't really eat all the much. There was room for dessert. Honestly, I just wanted a cup of coffee. But I figured why the hell not get something. Maybe it'll be redeeming from such an underwhelming experience. Along with the coffee I got a chocolate mousse cake and Annie had some peach sorbet She said her sorbet was quite good. The cake was mealy and I wish I'd have just gotten some from Aunt Butchie's. At least the coffee was excellent. I like that they brought you out your own little carafe. I did think it odd that there was no regular sugar. There was Splenda, Sweet N Low, Equal and Raw Sugar. Not that it mattered, it was just odd.

All in all, it wasn't really a great experience. With a lesser companion, it would've seriously sucked. Especially since we probably ordered the least amount of food and drink we've ever ordered at one of these dinner and paid the 2^nd most we ever have. This really wasn't worth the price. No sign of the famous murder, bland food, high prices and a rude waiter. There won't be any Fat Kid outings here in the future.

Sparks Steakhouse

210 East 46^th Street

New York, NY, 10017

212-687-4806

The Whole is Greater Than the Sum of Its Parts

I walked out of American Whiskey full of glowing thoughts. Blake, Gina (Who happen to be 2 of the finest people to share food and booze with in the history of food and booze. If I could pimp them out as drinking and dining companions, I'd make serious bank.) and I stood outside the door on West 30^th Street with that warm feeling that you only get from being properly fed and just the right amount of inebriated. We had ourselves a fantastic time. We imbibed, consumed and laughed until our faces hurt.

American Whiskey has a nice long bar when you walk in and what look to be comfortable and roomy booths right opposite it. There are tables in the back, which is where we wound up. Exposed brick walls (which I'm a big fan of) and a big set of free standing bookshelves loaded with A LOT of whiskey bottles serving as a room divider round out the rest of the noticeable décor. Someone working there had an excellent iPod playlist going because we were dancing and singing along at the table for the entire 3+ hours we were there. Our waitress (who's name I don't remember...I've got to get better at that) was terrific. She answered any questions we had. Made suggestions whenever asked. She seemed to be having a good time bantering with us a bit whenever she stopped by to check on us. She even brought us a couple of drinks gratis when the bartender made extras for a different order. She knew that's what we'd been drinking and decided we were worthy. I'm sure it didn't hurt that she seemed to have taken a bit of a liking to Blake either.

The Strike Me Dead

Basically, we drank. We drank a pretty goodly amount at that. There was the Strike Me Dead, which was rye, vanilla, pink peppercorns and blackstrap bitters (Blake, who knows all, kindly informed us that blackstrap is a kind of molasses.) I liked this drink a lot. On a whim and put some hot sauce in it and I liked it a whole lot more. Took it to a whole new level. The Whiskey Smash was Evan Williams Black Label, lemon, mint and your choice of fruit syrup. Gina went with cherry which was good and I went with grapefruit, which I thought was better. The Brain Duster, rye, sweet vermouth, angostura bitters and absinthe. Basically this was a Manhattan for Hemingway. It was definitely too absinthe forward, it overwhelmed everything else. I've had much better versions of this drink at Dylan Prime (sadly closed) and at the Minetta Tavern (I was too lazy to write this up, but had a great time there.) Our favorite was the So Damn Fine, Jameson Black Barrel, Jameson Caskmates, Drambuie and reposado. This was the only drink I remember any of us ordering more than once. And lastly and unfortunately leastly was Please Press Play, rye, Single Cut Eric “More Cowbell Please” Milk Stout (which despite being a mouthful to order was the very tasty beer we were drinking alongside our whiskey adventures) syrup, coriander and Door County Hops Bitters. I really didn't like this. It was like drinking a slightly whiskeyfied IPA. Blake didn't seem to dislike it as much as I did. I wouldn't have been able to drink more than the sip I tasted.

Sliders

While we certainly imbibed a great deal of booze, we also ate. If we hadn't, there's no chance any of us would've been able to get up from that table. We had lots of lovely snackies. There was Tater Tot Poutine, which is exactly what you'd imagine. Crispy tater tots covered in gravy and cheese curds. I couldn't stop sticking these in my face. If any one person tried to eat this alone, they'd certainly die of a myocardial infarction before they made it out the door. (It also made me giggle to myself that the curds sort of made a tiny squeaky noise when you chewed them. Don't judge me, it's called Loving Your Inner Fat KID!) Oysters on the Half Shell which came with pop rocks and a mignonette. You wouldn't think pop rocks belong with raw oysters...but they were flavorless and kind of worked. It was pretty weird. And I think there were Fried Oysters but I don't really remember much about them. We also tried a few different sliders. There was the Homer L Ford IV (no idea who that is), Country Fried Sweetbreads, spicy honey and slaw. These were pretty good. The Duck Duck Goose had Duck Confit, Duck Breast and Foie Gras Butter. I expected to love these but didn't. There wasn't any real Foie taste and the duck was a little dry. And theAdobe Chicken, the most basic and the best of the sliders. Shredded chicken, preserved jalapeno and slaw. Great bright flavor. Definitely my favorite.

What's interesting is that I didn't realize until 3 or 4 days later, when I was starting to put my thoughts together to write this, that there were things about American Whiskey that I didn't love. We had such a great time there that it completely overshadowed the negatives. Some of that was because I was out with great company and we likely could have a good time sitting in a park drinking 40ozs of O.E and eating dirty water dogs. But it's also because American Whiskey is most certainly greater than the sum of its parts. I'll be back whenever I'm looking for a bite and a drink before or after doing something at The Garden.

American Whiskey

247 West 30^th Street

New York, NY, 10001

212-967-1070

It Was Worth the Wait...And I'm Never Waiting That Long Again!

I know it's been a long while.  I'm sure you all missed me.  I've been lazy and negligent...and the truth is I've had some fantastic meals that I just never got around to writing about.  That's changed today though.  Welcome to Monte's...

So, for about a year now, every time I would see John and Gina, they'd somehow work it into the conversation how they just had to take me to this restaurant called Monte's. It's this pizzeria/restaurant they discovered on Carroll Street around the corner from their tattoo shop. (I was going to call it a tattoo “parlor” but it just sounds ridiculous in my head.) This Monte's had been mentioned to me at least a dozen times and I had completely given up any hope of ever setting foot inside the establishment. After all this time, I should be forgiven is I thought this place was as real as the Easter Bunny, Brian Johnson's Canadian girlfriend (If you don't get that, you may be too young to be reading this.) or a compassionate conservative. However, on the day after we all went to a raucous 40^th birthday party where some of us danced with plastic skeletons and we drank Bay Ridge dry of whiskey... After Gina spent the day making her stunning debut as a runway model... After John and I made our spectacular debut what looked to many as gay parents, I was finally gifted with a visit to this Snuffleupagus of restaurants. And it was worth the wait.

As with most places John and Gina frequent, when you walk in, you're greeted with a handshake and a smile. John immediately becomes the mayor of pretty much any place he visits more than 5 times. Monte's was no different. All of the staff were very friendly. The waiter made it a point to include John and Gina's 3-year old, Chloe...who seemed to be pretty thrilled with the margherita pizza that she had. The only complaint I can even think of about the restaurant was that it was a bit dimly lit for my tastes.

The Bresaola Pie...ours had a lot more spinach.

We adults decided on a small pizza as an appetizer and then regular entrees for dinner. I was told

immediately after agreeing to this idea that we were getting the Bresaola pizza and that was that. When you're given a a “suggestion” as fervently as I was given that one, you don't argue. Am I ever glad that I didn't. Before I even bother telling you what was on the pizza, let me tell you how amazing the crust was. Monte's makes their pizzas in a wood-fired oven and the crust is just perfect. It's slightly chewy with a little bit of crunch to it in places and just slightly tangy. Typing the words is making me yearn for it. OK...so the Bresaola pizza has mozzarella, mushrooms, baby spinach, bresaola (which is Italian air-dried beef for those of you not in the know), parmagiano cheese and truffle oil. This was a magnificent pizza. Normally, I'm annoyed by salad-ish type pizza with a bunch of leaves all over it. It just doesn't look like pizza. And when they brought this pizza out and I saw it, I was annoyed. Then I ate and I didn't care at all what it looked like. I just wanted to eat it...forever. John and I also split a few really excellent Prosciutto Balls. A lot of places make them and they're disgusting greasy cheese balls. This were actually perfect. No grease at all. Crunchy outside and creamy heaven inside. If you hadn't guessed, I was already loving Monte's.

Not to be forgotten, we did get entrees. John and Gina both had Rigatoni Bolognese that I didn't get to try, but their plates were as clean as when they came out of the dishwasher when they were done. That's got to say something. I had Garganelli All'anatra which was a bigger penne-like pasta with roasted duck ragu, truffle oil and mascarpone cheese. Unlike the pizza, I could not eat this every day...but I was thrilled to be eating it on Sunday. So fantastically rich and indulgent. The duck was incredibly tasty. I'm not always a fan of mascarpone, as it can be too sweet for my taste. Not in this case at all. This was almost an alfredo gone wild.

To give you an idea of the impact this excellent food had, the majority of this sprang fully-formed from my brain like Athena the goddess of wisdom at 2am. I jotted most of this down deliriously in the dark on a pad I keep on my bedside table. I promise you I will be going back to try more of this menu. I can't wait to eat more pizza!

Monte's

451 Carroll Street

Brooklyn, NY, 11215

718-852-7800

Just tell 'em John and Gina sent you. I'm sure they'll know who you mean.

Tzatziki Chicken Salad

Dramatis Personae
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
4 chicken thighs
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 clove garlic, minced
handful of chopped dill
3 chopped scallions (half a diced red onion would be tasty too)
salt and pepper
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp cumin
some kalamata olives, pitted and chopped (optional)
olive oil
1/2 cucumber

1. In a bowl, toss the chicken thighs with salt, pepper, paprika, cumin and olive oil.  Dump it out in a baking dish.  Roast for 40 minutes.  I like to turn them over halfway through.  I'm pretty sure it makes no difference really, but I'm weird like that.

2. Run your cucumber (I didn't bother to peel or seed mine.  I wouldn't worry about it.) over a box grater.  Then put it all in a tea towel and squeeze the liquid out of it.  If you leave it all in, you're sauce will be watery.  No one likes watery sauce.

3. While the chicken is cooking, combine the yogurt, olives (If you're using them.  They add a little extra brinyness to that party.  I'd say go lighter on the final salt seasoning if you choose to use 'em.) vinegar, lemon juice, garlic, dill, cucumber, scallions (or red onions.  See, I'm flexible.  I provide options.) and mix that shit up good.

4. When the chicken is done, let it rest for at least 10 minutes.  I'd let it go until it's cool enough to handle comfortably.  You're not going to eat it warm anyway, so what's the rush.  Chop/shred the chicken off the bone.  (Make sure you eat the chicken that's left on the bone.  Don't waste good chicken thigh meat or you certainly can't be a proper Fat Kid.) Fold the chicken into the tzatziki mixture.  Cover and let chill for at least a couple of hours or overnight if possible.  This lets the flavors meld more completely.

5. Get yourself some pitas, warm those sumbitches up, add some lettuce and tomato and your awesome chicken salad and you are set for some good eating.  And pretty healthy at that.  Who knew I had healthy food in my quiver?

The Old-Fashioned Manhattan

I was lucky enough to be invited to a Xmas Eve soiree by the wonderful Sletholts this past year.  I arrived armed with an idea for a new whiskey drink as per Gina's request.  As I've been told the drink was a hit, I've decided to share.

The Old-Fashioned Manhattan
2 parts Bulleit Bourbon (You don't have to use Bulleit.  It's just what I prefer.)
3/4 parts Grand Marnier
1/2 part sweet vermouth
1 or 2 dashes of angostura bitters (If you've got them. Of course I have them.)
Splash of simple syrup (Entirely optional.  Sometimes I add it. Sometimes I don't.)
2 brandied or maraschino cherries
1 strip of orange peel (Run a flame along this for a couple of seconds and then twist to release some of the oils.  Run it along the rim of the glass before dropping in the drink.)
Club Soda (Serve drink in rocks glass, obviously on the rocks.  After adding everything else, give the drink a couple of heavy splashes of the club soda.  You could make this drink without the club soda but the soda mellows out the harshness of all that booze nicely.  Makes for a more pleasurable sip.)

A bit of advice.  If at all possible, drink these standing up.  If you drink 2 or 3 of The Old-Fashioned Manhattan sitting down, you may find standing up again to be more difficult than normal.

Burrata and Birthdays

 Things didn't start out in a way that inspired optimism for our shared birthday dinner. Annie was turning whatever age it is that women decide they are and I was checking into a new decade...the 40's. To celebrate another year of survival, we invited a handful of friends to feast with us. Based on a recommendation of a friend we went with Patrizia's in Williamsburg. Before you get all “Fuck Williamsburg and all those hipsters”, this is the least hipstery thing in all of Williamsburg, maybe in all of Brooklyn. So shut the fuck up. We showed up 645pm for our 7 o'clock reservation and noticed just how packed this place was. It was absolutely bustling. We met the nice woman at the door and she tells us that it'll be just a little bit, but not too long. After being bounced around in the very tiny little area in front of the entrance to the restaurant, a waiter led us into a tent set up against the front of the restaurant that had one of those heater tower thingies in it. He provided us with the proverbial “Bottle of red, bottle of white...” and left us to find someone that could figure out how to turn the heater thingie (I'm pretty sure that's the technical name for it) on. Luckily for our cold selves, I got the thing on and Jason figured out how to control how much heat we got from it. As our party arrived in dribs and drabs we enjoyed conversation and most of the wine provided us, while the tent got more and more crowded with other people waiting to be seated. It wasn't until around 745pm that we were finally shown to a table. Normally, I'd be pretty pissed about waiting an hour for a table that I'd made a reservation for. But this place was simply that damn good! As a testament to how good it was, it's been 6 days since we were there and I actually dreamt of the burrata I had there last night!

Patrizia's is incredibly crowded. It's difficult to move around in your seat, let alone get to and from your table. When I say crowded, I mean that two of our party seated in the corner had to actually crawl under the table to be able to go to the restroom. That's pretty damn crowded. It doesn't matter. The waitstaff are attentive and seem to be pretty happy folks. We're a pretty raucous bunch and a bunch of lushes. No one batted an eye at our needing to see a menu to accommodate our resident vegetarian or at our constant requests for more pitchers of sangria...and there were A LOT of pitchers of sangria. Even the other patrons all seemed to be jovial happy folks. We wound up talking to a bunch of the diners surrounding us, mostly because they're all close enough that they could be sitting with us in some instances. People are laughing and singing everywhere. They do a sing-along thing for people's birthdays where everyone waves their napkins in the air. We were there for probably 3+ hours and I'm positive I waived my napkin at least a dozen times (including for Annie...haha, didn't get me!)...and so did nearly everyone else. At one point we were actually singing and dancing to “Greased Lightning” at the table...yes, I said dancing. Never done that in an Italian restaurant, I bet. As much fun as this place was, and it was a ton of fun, the reason you overlook the wait and being packed in like an N train at rush hour is the food. Oh My God...the food.

We went with a family style menu. In other words, they just brought out plates of food and we attacked the plates with the fervor of ravenous wolverines. It started out with burrata (which is a mozzarella-type cheese stuffed with a creamy cheesy center) with caponata and marinated grape tomatoes. As I said, I dreamt about this last night. This was some of the best cheese I've ever put in my face hole. Someone nearly got themselves stabbed over the last piece on a plate. When the food provokes possible violence, you know you've done something right. After that came absolutely delicious eggplant parmigiana. Then some amazingly tender calamari tossed in a slightly spicy red sauce. Next was the best grilled octopus I've ever had. I LOVE octopus. I order it whenever I have the opportunity. This was the best I've ever had. It was almost buttery it was so tender. It's making me yearn just typing about it, so I'm going to move on before I start walking to Williamsburg right now. This was like wave after wave of Mmmmm. Now they bring these giant plates of mussels, clams and lobster. Which we devoured with glee. There were pieces of shell flying around everywhere. As though a 28-armed Tazmanian Devil attacked the table. Next came the pasta courses. I don't know what these things are really called but we called them “moneybags” because that's kind of what they looked like. Sort of like giant tortellini-type things stuffed with cheese in a cream sauce with mushrooms and prosciutto. So so good and so incredibly rich. Then more pasta which was orecchiette with broccoli rabe in garlic and oil. I'm not really a big broccoli rabe fan, so this didn't do too much for me. Just way too bitter. But the people that did like broccoli rabe, loved this stuff. Lastly they brought us plates of lamb chops and skirt steak. All niceties went out the window and I was eating the lamb chops like big, meat lollipops. By the time the meat was all gone, I was beaten into submission. I simply wasn't able to eat anymore. We had all been fed into oblivion. What an amazing feast.

MoneyBags...or whatever they're called

As I'm talking to a couple of other folks that took part in this fantastic meal I'm reminded that we had pizza and giant grilled shrimp. Both were pretty good. But not on the level of all this other outrageously great food.


At the end, someone ratted out Annie and they came and sang Happy Birthday to her and we all waived our napkins in the air. They brought out some desserts for her to blow out candles on. There was an apple turnover looking thing, tiramisu and some type of what looked like a crepe. I ate 2 bites of the tiramisu, which was quite good, but there was simply no more room inside of me. I'd have burst like an overstuffed sausage. Which is a lousy way to spend your 40^th birthday.


Instead of bursting from overeating, we all went to Windy City Ale House, which has been one of my favorite bars for awhile now, and imbibed until some ungodly hour with even more of my favorite people. I said it that night and I'll say it again now, “If this day is any indication as to what 40 is going to be like, this is going to be a fantastic year.” Thank you to all of you that came out and made it an incredible day. Thank you, Patrizia's for feeding us like it was our last meal. Thank you, Windy City, for making sure everything past around 1am is kind of blurry.


Patrizia's was just great, great food, with an excellent staff, a very fun atmosphere and seriously affordable. With all that food and drink it came to around $75 per person. That's a flat-out steal. If you've got some kind of group food outing in the planning, go here. You might find me at the door begging for burrata and octopus.


PS: I do apologize for the lack of pictures, we were just too caught up in having a great time to take any. Maybe I don't really apologize that much.



Patrizia's of Williamsburg
35 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY, 11249

Why I Accepted the #ALSIceBucketChallenge

Bear with me for what's ahead, this was written fairly spur-of-the-moment. It was one of those “If I don't write this shit down, it won't get out of my head and I'll never get any sleep”. My days of doing my best work at 1AM are largely over with 40 staring me in my face. So please indulge me a little if this isn't exactly well-written.

I run a couple of different blogs/pages/things. This doesn't really fit any of them completely so I decided I'd post it to all of them. Since the common denominator of all that stuff is me and this is really simply me, sort of trying to explain myself to myself and letting others in on the conversation. Which may very well be some sort of classification for mental instability. But I digress.

For those of you that somehow managed to not see the millions of videos of people dousing themselves with ice water, the #ALSIceBucketChallenge is basically being filmed while dumping a bucket of ice water on your head, posting the said video and challenging a couple of your friends to do the same. It's expected that everyone who accepts the challenge will both get soaked and donate at least a small sum to the ALSA. I myself donated $50 after my shivering experience. It's all in good fun and a pretty good way to help raise some money for a good cause.

There were more than a couple of reasons I decided to accept the challenge when it came my way. Not small among them was that it just seemed like a funny thing to do...being filmed while getting soaked by ice water. Why the hell not? I've done much dumber things in the name of fun. And let me tell you something, it was fun. 3 knuckleheads in a backyard, filming each other getting soaked sounds pretty dumb...and it totally is. But it was fun. I'd absolutely do it again tomorrow and nominate 3 other people in a heartbeat. I would gladly take the dousing from anyone willing to make a donation. If you're willing to donate even $25 to ALSA, I will happily let you pour a bucket of ice water over my head and film it. You can even pick the 3 people that get nominated to do it next.

But the first reason I decided to do it, was in fact excited to be nominated to do it, was I simply wanted to be a part of something positive. If you spend any time looking around you lately, there have been a great many things happening around us that are simply “not good”. We may send troops back into Iraq. The Israelis and the Palestinians are killing each other again. An American journalist was just decapitated in Iraq by a band of militant psychopaths. An unarmed black man was killed by the police in Staten Island (You can dispute anything you want about that situation, but the facts that aren't disputable are that he was unarmed, is now dead and was killed by the actions of those police officers.) Another unarmed black kid was killed by police in Missouri and we're watching the madness that created unfold in real time. (These are just the things off the top of my head at 1AM). And quite honestly, Robin Williams killing himself absolutely rocked me. I'd be lying if I didn't say I had tears running down my face when I found out and there's been a small part of me that's been sad since that day. Am I overreacting some...more than likely. Does that matter at all...nope. It's just how I feel about it. None of those things may matter to you. They all matter to me in varying degrees. And not a single one of those things is remotely positive. So, if by pouring a bucket of ice water over my head, making a donation and hopefully spurring a couple of others to do the same could allow me to be a part of something so clearly positive in the midst of all of that negativity, damn right I was going to do it.

That wasn't the only reason though. Anyone that tells you that your $25, $50, $100 or even $1000 donation to whatever cause makes a difference is completely full of shit. It doesn't. Your donation and my donation and his donation and her donation and their donation...THAT means something. THAT makes a difference. That's how you raise somewhere around $8M in about 3 weeks. My $50 doesn't matter. But my $50, plus $50 from the 3 folks I told, and another $50 from the 3 people each of them told...I'm not going to keep going because I'm going to give myself a headache if I try to do the math. Viral marketing works. And that's what this is. Brilliant, if accidental, viral marketing.

You can poo-poo it if you like. Call it silly. Whatever. I'm glad I did it. I'd gladly do it again. And it kinda sucks that you folks are missing out.

-Mike

www.alsa.org/donate

Beer and Sausage with the Friendliest Folks in Midtown

I've got to say that if a place features beer and sausage as its defining characteristics, there's a pretty good chance I'm genetically predisposed to being a fan. Reichenbach Hall lands right in my sweet spot. Good beer, good sausage and happy people.

The Hall is a big, open room with a lot of blonde wood, big communal tables and smiling people. Nearly everyone there seemed pretty happy with where they were, patrons and employees alike. Initially we sat at the bar for a drink. I discovered Schofferhofer Grapefruit Hefeweizen, this is what breakfast beer should taste like. I'm reasonably sure that I would be thrilled to drink this every morning. The poor bartender was wearing Mork from Ork suspenders. I thought they were fun, but not everyone shares my sense of style.

We were sat at a communal table with a couple of fellas at the other end. One of the guys was quite friendly. His buddy was mildly creepy. The only problem I had with the communal seating was that when the bench is in an uncomfortable spot, you're pretty much stuck with it when others are on the bench already. That's an unfortunate side effect of the idea.

The waitstaff and bartenders were all very friendly and knowledgeable. I heard the bartender, a waitress and even the manager explain things on the menu very clearly. The manager even took the time to answer our questions about the strange people that kept running back and forth outside the door. (It turns out there's a crossfit gym on the corner. These lunatics are jogging up and down 37^th Street instead of being in here drinking beer. Priorities man, priorities!) It's good that the staff is very friendly, because they are a bit slow. But they're enthusiasm kind of makes up for it. At least it did for me.

We started out with a giant pretzel. And I'm not exaggerating in the least when I call this thing “giant”. Utterly

fantastic, I'm pretty sure it was the best pretzel I've ever had. Buttery and light and just the perfect amount of salt. I'm writing about it and a little bit of drool is gathering up in the corner of my mouth. I really wish I had one right this second. We also got an order of Kleinfranks, which is simply a bowl of cocktail franks with some spicy mustard. For some reason Amy was convinced these were pigs in a blanket. I don't know what that reason was, but she thought so. They weren't, so we improvised and created “pigs in a pretzel”. We just tore pieces of pretzel and made holes in them, stuffed them with the mini-franks and dipped it in the mustard. (The mustard is really good, I wonder if it's house-made.) Outrageous, I don't know why this isn't on the menu. It really should be...and I want royalties!

For entrees Amy got the spatzle with Brussels sprouts and bacon. She thought it was overly peppery. I didn't get that at all. I thought it was pretty damn good actually. The sprouts could've been cooked just a bit longer, but I'm just being picky about it. I ordered a Wurst sampler plate. I figured if a place is known for sausage, I want to try as many as I can without soiling myself. So a sampler was the way to go. This particular plate came with a bratwurst, which if you don't know is basically a giant, garlicky frankfurter. Nothing at all wrong with that. There were Nuernberger Wurstel which are thin pork and veal sausage. Slightly drier sausage with an interesting flavor. And lastly a Baurenwurst, which is a farmer's sausage of pork and beef. This one was my favorite. The sauerkraut, unfortunately, had entirely too much caraway. It tasted like wet rye bread. But the red cabbage and the potato salad were exceptional.

All in all, the atmosphere was very conducive to a good time. There was just a happy noise happening all around. Although the music choice was kind of strange. I'd never have thought to play poppy house-type music in a German beer hall. I had a really good time there. I think I'd definitely like to head back there for a night of beer drinking and mild debauchery.

Reichenbach Hall

5 West 37^th Street

New York, NY, 10018

212-302-7744

4am Gyro Cart Tacos (Don't even attempt to do this at 4am.)

I don't really have the slightest idea what made me come up with this.  I watched a Good Eats episode about making gyro.  That might have stuck I guess.  I'm almost always thinking about making tacos.  It's generally easy, good for a couple of meals and tasty as hell when done correctly.  All the main requirements for me to cook something during the week.  On to the show, boys and girls.

Taco Meat

It begins...

1 lb Ground Lamb
2 shots of Chicken Stock
1/2 Red Onion, diced
2 Cloves Garlic, minced
Gyro Cart taco seasoning

Taco Seasoning
3/4 tsp Salt (If you're not using kosher or sea salt,
you're not allowed to use my recipes.  You're simply not worthy.)
1/2 tsp Black Pepper (Freshly ground, Fat Kids!)
1/4 tsp Red Pepper Flake
1 1/4 tsp Marjoram
1/2 tsp Dried Rosemary (Ground with a mortar and pestle.)
1 tsp Cornstarch

It continues...

Cucumber Kalamata Salsa
1 Medium Cucumber - peeled, seeded and diced
30 or so Kalamata olives - seeded and roughly chopped
1 Garlic Clove, minced
1/2 tsp Salt (Don't make me tell you again!)
1/2 tsp Black Pepper (Grrrrr...)
3/4 tsp Marjoram
2 shots Olive Oil
1/4 shot Red Wine Vinegar
Juice from 1/2 lemon

A bit more...

Sauteed Zucchini
1 medium Zucchini - sliced lengthwise, about 1/8" thick
Salt
Pepper
Olive Oil

The rest.

The Rest
Flour Tortillas (Did I really need to tell you this?)
Hummus (Normally I make my own.  I was too lazy tonight.)
Iceberg Lettuce, shredded (Needed something crunchy.)

 Step 1: Get yourself a beer.  Open it.  Take a sip.


Step 2: Heat 1 1/2 tbsp canola oil in skillet over medium heat.  When it starts shimmering, add the red onions with a pinch of salt and pepper.  Cook until just starting to brown, 3-5 minutes.  Add lamb and garlic with another pinch of salt and pepper.  Cook until the meat is broken up and browned.  About 5 more minutes.  Discard all but about 1 tsp of the fat that accumulates in the pan.  I used a teaspoon to do it over the sink.  It's tedious, but better than oily meat.  Add taco season and broth and bring to a simmer.  Leave uncovered and allow to simmer for 5-7 minutes, until the "sauce" begins to thicken a bit.  Remove from pan into whatever container you're keeping it in.

Step 3: Take more sips from your beer.

Taco architecture

Step 4: Wipe out pan.  Add 1/2 tbsp olive oil to pan.  Wait for it to shimmer.  Season one side of sliced zucchini with salt and pepper.  Add to pan seasoned side down.  Season other side while in the pan.  After 3 or 4 minutes, check for browning.  When you see it starting, flip slices over.  Brown those sides too.  Remove from pan.  Keep the heat on.

Step 5: Heat tortillas in pan.  About 10-15 seconds per side.  Cover with a damp paper towel.

Step 6: Gather all the goodies.  Evacuate to your eating area.  Begin building.  Spread hummus inside a
tortilla, add 2 slices of zucchini, taco meat and salsa.  Fold up tortilla, add some shredded lettuce on top.

Step 7: STUFF YOUR FAT KID FACE! 

Mmmm...tacos and beer!

Mediocrity Has A High Price

 The Good Friday tradition of meat-sinning with Annie is one of my favorite traditions of all time. Every year, on Good Friday, Annie and I go out and enjoy a rich, bountiful meal centered around charred cow. Beautifully cooked, red in the middle, earthy charred cow. It is everything that is right with the world. Your day may have sucked. Your week, month or year could have sucked. Someone could have kicked you in the balls (sorry ladies, there really is no comparison for me to use for you) 4 hours earlier...but if there's a perfectly cooked porterhouse, a glass of whiskey on a table in a nice restaurant and a good person sitting across from you to share it with...all is about to be right with the world.

For a couple of years Annie and I were going to the same place yearly for our sinful jaunt. But our previous haven of inequity was to up and down as far as quality, so we decided to take our devilish show on the road. After a bit of searching, and deciding we wanted to go to someplace entirely new to us, we settled on Costata. What better place for meaty indulgence than an eatery whose name means “rib eye” in Italian? As it turns out, there are better places.

When we arrived for our 7:15 reservation, there weren't very many parties seated. But, as I've come to notice lately, dinner time seems to be getting later and later for most folks. As the last handful of times I've been out to eat, restaurants aren't really starting to fill up until after 8, sometimes after 9. I couldn't imagine it being a good idea to have a big, steak dinner after 9pm. But that's just me. Initially, our server was a touch overbearing. He was a little to eager. And while I prefer this to a server that disappears, it is distracting when you're conversing with someone only to be interrupted by an over-eager waitstaff. It was also a little unnerving that when the waitstaff wasn't helping anyone they seemed to gather against one wall near the center of the dining room and line up facing their guests. It reminded me of a murder of crows sitting on a power line plotting something evil on unsuspecting travelers stranded on the side of a rarely traveled highway. This was somewhat exacerbated by the upstairs dining room (there was another one downstairs that seemed to be blocked off for some reason or another) feeling somewhat snug. Despite the classic rock playing (which I also found an odd choice) and the bustle of a busy room, it was still entirely too easy to catch snippets of all the conversations surrounding us. I'd have likely felt less murderous towards the douchey foursome seated next to us if I hadn't heard one of them say to their server “We absolutely must meet the chef, he insisted we come see him when we met him at the Food and Wine show” or knowing that they had a strenuous game of squash. (Who the fuck plays squash!? Yeah, I'm judging. So what?) These things seemed to stop once the dining room filled up and everyone got busier. We wound up really liking our waiter in the end. He was very personable as it turned out. It also seemed off to me that you had to take an elevator down two floors to use the restrooms. Just another small thing that stuck out as off-putting to me. These things might seem a little nitpicky but they're generally not an issue at the better places. They're the things that set great restaurants apart from average ones.

Speaking of judging, on the other side of us from the squash-player and the chef-meeter were a somewhat younger foursome. Along with two Malaysian-looking women (I couldn't help joking that we found some of the people from the missing plane.) one guy in that foursome was wearing an FDNY t-shirt and the other was wearing a hoodie. Both were wearing sneakers. Now I'm not really a stickler for dress codes and such. I'm all about comfort. But under no circumstances is it OK to go to a steakhouse wearing sneakers and a t-shirt! If you're going to a steakhouse, you're signaling to the world that you're a grown-up and you appreciate the finer things life has to offer you. Dress the part! Fuckin' douchebags. Moving on...

Getting to what is obviously the most important part...the food.

When you set out to purposely do evil and the first thing you're served upon sitting at your table is a piece of fluffy focaccia and a bowl of whipped lardo flavored with olive oil and rosemary, you're well on your way to becoming the devil's favorite demons. Whipped lardo is basically meat butter. It's rendered back fat from a pig flavored with garlic and vinegar. Then they add some flavored olive oil to it at the table. That's right, they flavor the fat with...Even...More...Fat. Simply amazing. Unfortunately, it was the best thing we ate. Not that anything was bad, just that nothing was great. And most things were average.

We started out with an octopus and porkbelly dish and sweetbreads. The octopus was very good, the pork belly...not so much. It didn't taste much like pork, just fat. Not even porky fat, like it should have tasted. I'd have been much happier with more octopus instead. The sweetbreads were very subtle. At least that's the consensus Annie and I came up with. All it really tasted like was fried something. As neither of us have ever had sweetbreads (we broke our cherry here) we didn't know what they're supposed to taste like. But I feel safe in assuming that they shouldn't taste like nothing.

This thing is really is sinfully gorgeous.  Good pic, Annie.

Since we were out for steak, steak is what we ordered. We got the Costata. I feel like if you're going to a “high end” restaurant for the first time, you might as well order what they're known for. And I can't imagine what's more clear than ordering a dish with the same name as the restaurant. The Costata is a bone-in rib eye for two. Of course, we ordered it in medium-rare. (If you're ordering a steak at a steakhouse cooked anything higher than medium, you're wasting your money. Just stay home and eat a TV dinner.) On the side we ordered baby zucchini, crispy red potatoes and fried artichokes. I really liked the zucchini, which are served in a bagna cauda vinaigrette (garlic, oil and sardines...it really is wonderful). The potatoes were OK. I didn't dislike them but that's the best I can say about them. The artichokes were a waste of time. They might as well have been potato chips as much as they tasted like artichokes. The rib-eye was very impressive looking. Perfectly cooked and laid out next to a fierce looking monster of a bone. (There were a couple of times I considered using that giant bone as a club to beat the t-shirt guy or the squash player) It wasn't a bad steak, folks. But it wasn't a great one either. Truthfully, it wasn't even a good one. It was an OK steak. Both ends of the steak were a bit tough and I was surprised by how much gristle was in the meat. When I pay this much money for a steak, I expect something near perfection. That's not what we got. The flavor of the steak was pretty good. Slightly gamey, almost funky. I liked that.

After dinner, even though it was somewhat disappointing, we tried dessert. Annie seemed pleased with her gelato, that the waiter helped her choose. I really liked the fruit torte that I got which had a ricotta mousse on an almond cake with some fresh berries and a blueberry limoncello sorbet. The coffee was excellent.

In all, I've got to say that I was pretty disappointed in Costata. I came in expecting much better. And after spending more than I ever had on a meal in a restaurant I'd have hoped for more. This was a very expensive, average experience. Truthfully, the company saved the night. If I wasn't out eating with someone I like being out with, I'd have been angry at the whole deal. Thankfully, your companions make the night, not the restaurant. I didn't hate the place, but there was nothing there that would make me want to go back. Annie and I will be looking for another new place to sin next year.

Costata

206 Spring Street

New York, NY, 10012

212-334-3320