New York minutes/Mid-November 2009
The somewhat good: Qi near Union Square, where I made the mistake of tempting the restaurant demons by going back after a promising first encounter. I just stumbled upon it while heading home from the Greenmarket and couldn’t resist the $6.90 two-course lunch special; for $1 more I got a hoisin duck banh mi plus mushroom spring rolls. The duck was that rarity: succulent meat that did not taste as if it had been dead for weeks. And it came in a huge slab of soft baguette with pickled daikon and carrot plus cucumber, cilantro and Asian mayonnaise. The spring rolls were fine for what they were. It was way too much food, but I ate it. The staff seemed overwhelmed, but the place was so overdesigned it almost compensated. So I suggested four of us meet there for Saturday lunch before heading on a death march through half a dozen photo galleries in Chelsea. This time the service was not just bumbling but annoying; food came three dishes at a time, with a lag for the fourth, and the waiters were constantly either seizing half-finished plates or grabbing chopsticks away. The communal tables and stools seemed even less comfortable. And while the duck sandwich was still satisfying, one friend was disappointed in his BM made with honey BBQ grilled pork, as was my consort with his pad see euw — both seemed to be missing a serious spark. Corn-chive steamed dumplings tasted like neither ingredient and were slightly gummy to boot, and the fried chicken and shrimp dumplings were not much better. Pam, however, seemed happy with her noodles with tender beef, spiced with the menu called Asian cinnamon but tasted like star anise. At least the price was right: $25 a couple with tax, tip and three types of tea. No extra charge for the entertainment of trying to figure out how the faucet worked in the design-fail bathroom. Defeated, Jeff wound up washing his hands in the unattended bar sink. WIGB? Possibly. The duck is good, and there aren’t a lot of great cheap options around there. 31 West 14th Street, 212 929 9917.
The port in a storm: La Bergamote in Chelsea, where we rested our dogs after the gallery death march. We had to sit at a dirty table, but at least we got a table, and at least we did summon someone to clean it eventually, and at least the cashier was pleasant and accommodating given how swamped he was. After overhearing a parent on the High Line promising a kid hot chocolate, two among us had to order that, and the payoff was rather thin. Chocolate mousse was what it was, and the mango and the pear paté de fruit could only be described as French Chuckles, with way too much sugar and understated flavor. Best thing on the table was a simple cookie. And my sparkling water. WIGB? Maybe. We did get to sit down in a bright and lively room. 169 Ninth Avenue at 20th Street, 212 627 9010.