Archive for March, 2014

New York minutes/Mid-March 2014 & catch-up

March 2014

My new goal in catching up on endless meals not rated is to grab a receipt off the dusty pile on my desk and just type. And so I’m here to say the Todd English Food Hall under the Plaza Hotel was — shockingly — not bad at all. Which I remember even though that was way back in November. We were in the neighborhood for a photo opening, and my brilliant idea of just dropping in on Betony was thwarted right at the end of the long line out that door. So we forged on and into what felt like “The Shining,” given that the eerily empty lobby floor was only missing Scatman Crothers, now that absentee Russian oligarchs apparently own all the high-priced crash pads on our little island. But once we pushed through the doors into the basement, it was like walking into a 1 percent food court — nearly every stool occupied. Our own private stools were at the end of the pasta counter, where some serious issues were getting acted out, so we were happy to opt for a decent margherita pizza and a “wedge” salad of iceberg amped up with bacon, blue cheese and creamy dressing. Don’t ask why the latter was $17, $3 more than the former. Wines, both red and white, were $14 a glass, but at least the hard-running waiter was there when we needed to reorder. WIGB? Shockingly, yes, if we found ourselves in that food desert again. All diner standards were met: Accessibility, affordability, diversity etc.

Also, too: Apparently we also ate at Chop-Shop in Far West Chelsea in mid-November, too, and the receipt has the deets while what I recall is a place that turns, turns, turns — thanx allah we reserved. Wines were good and wow-priced ($9 a glass for both viognior and nero d’avolo), and pretty much everything we ate was anything but glasian. A special of avocado and tofu summer roll tasted fresh and lively in peanut sauce, the $10 special Thai crab cakes were so generous The Cat got to share next day, while the lamb dumplings made my consort very happy. The one dish we ordered off the menu, the Thai basil eggplant, was off the menu compared with the likes of Spice. WIGB? Absolutely, if in the neighborhood and in the reservation book.

And file this under “Free is a very good price” — After getting stiffed on a high-exposure recipe by a “too busy” “celebrity” chef, I was beyond impressed when Bill Telepan suggested we meet for an interview at noon on a weekday in his restaurant. I anticipated standing around as the grimly wintry local vegetables went flying into sauté pans, but I arrived late and was immediately escorted to a table set for two. Now that was efficiency, even though I had eaten a second breakfast to fuel myself. So my consort’s pro recorder documented my tucking into a fantabulous first course of oozy house-made mozzarella paired with crisp-seared hen of the woods mushrooms, then a main course of good crispy-skinned trout fillets plated with sweet bacon bits and excellent wilted baby spinach with pine nuts. Two hours later I did offer to pay, but my interviewee said a $10 tip would do. And I didn’t argue because my emergency backup $20 bill was nowhere to be found in my bag.

New York minute/Early March 2014

March 2014

So where the hell have I been (eating)? So many satisfying places I get overwhelmed trying to remember all of them over all those months. I can’t decide whether to work backward or qualitywise, so I guess I’ll do both just to grease the neglected gears. Telepan Local in TriBeCa really was vaut le voyage on a shivery night. The space is like a cabin in the woods, right down to the JC Penney plaid shirts on the servers and the hang-’em-yourself coatroom. But the host was super-sophisticated — he shunted Ben Franklin in a yachting cap aside to seat my consort and me because we had arrived before her and whoever that guy was she was with. I wanted to try the place for the Buffalo quail I’m including in a story, and it alone was worth the $100-including-Rueda tab, the meat super-tender, the sauce Frank’s-spicy. But we also shared superb sourdough pizzetta topped with meaty-tasting Brussels sprouts, sage and pecorino, lively tempuraesque fried watercress with cashews and chili oil, just-okay arancini with bone marrow and Parmigiano aioli and spectacular smoked trout migas, the flaky fish a great counterpoint to the eggs and bread crumbs. Service was nervous but still: WIGB? Absolutely. Real energy in the room and on the plate.