New York minutes/Very late October 2007

The good: Fatty Crab, where I connected for the first time with a lyrical e-correspondent and his consort for early Saturday lunch and where I finally experienced the food as it’s meant to be eaten. Usually I go alone or with my consort and we taste at most three dishes; this time I was with people who first insisted the waiter move us to a four-top and then ordered like Halliburtoneers.* (Given that we were planning to do that in any case, the waiter did not have to warn us we needed to “order a lot of food” to justify the move in an all-but-empty restaurant.) A bottle of Sicilian red (Tenuta Terre Nere) went better with most everything than my usual single glass of gruner. Otherwise, I thought the mango salad was a C compared with the usual A, but the Malay fish fry, spicy skate, Chinese water spinach and spicy pickled vegetables were all top grade. After insisting we also order the heritage pork ribs, I abstained, but that plate was cleaned as well. And for once the music being blasted for the staff’s pleasure suited the AARP crowd — “Beast of Burden” is just what makes the Bush-bashing go down. WIGB? Not for a while. I miss the fatty duck, and now Spice Market is back on the radar. 643 Hudson Street near 12th Street, 212 352 3590.

*Bad joke, I realize too late: Gofuckyourself would never pick up a tab.

The better: Buddakan, where I took Bob after the excellent J-G party when Asian sounded most enticing. I was surprised we were seated after such a quick wait in the bar; he was astonished that the place was so packed on a Monday night. One reason came clear at meal’s end, but first we drank too much wine and shared excellent potstickers and glazed cod and sloppily executed frisee salad with Peking duck and overcooked egg. The noise level was not painful and the design of the place is dazzling, so what more could you ask? Well, the waitress forgot we wanted to take home the leftovers and the hostess came over to offer to have the kitchen cook both dishes fresh to pack up to go. We declined, but there’s no reason even to ask WIGB? Stephen Starr has a winning formula. 75 Ninth Avenue at 16th Street, 212 989 6699.

The bad: Thai Market up near Columbia, where I set out for lunch expecting jazz and was rewarded with a dirge. The restaurant is stunning, with huge photos of Thai food vendors and floor-to-ceiling doors that open onto Amsterdam Avenue. But the tantalizing special of duck with flat noodles was first not available, then materialized as a study in grim. (Whatever that meat was, it did not resemble the bird I order, eat and cook at every opportunity.) If not for the spiciness, it would have tasted worse. The waiter had clearly had about enough, although he was efficient. Ultimate insult: My one dish cost $10, $2 more than two courses at Land, a restaurant that is Vong by comparison. WIGB? I’m slow but not stupid.

New York minutes/Mid-October 2007

The pretty close: Charm, where we headed for a fast lunch on a crazed day with no time for the extra 15 blocks to Land and where the food was surprisingly decent even though the staff clearly wanted to sit down to its own lunch that late in the afternoon. My consort had the $8 special of lively salad with peanut dressing and respectable pad Thai, while I went off the cheap chicken-or-beef menu and indulged in the vegetable spring rolls and the duck salad. We both ate too fast and regretted it, but there was Gilileo just around the corner for excellent coffee. WIGB? Yeah. It’s pretty close. 722 Amsterdam near 95th Street, 212 866 9800.

The pretty dirty: French Roast, where I can only hope the kitchen floor is kept mopped more than the one where all the customers can see the filth. It was one of the few places I passed that had something more than eggs on a late Saturday afternoon, though, so I succumbed and had a two-steps-above-diner-level grilled portobello sandwich with a little Fontina and a lot of radicchio on soft toast. A big pile of mesclun came with it, with a few clots of dressing. But the service was great and the food came fast and the room certainly looks nicer than the real diners a few blocks south. WIGB? Inevitably. The alternatives are grim and slim. 2340 Broadway at 85th Street, 212 799 1533.

The pretty gougey: Brooklyn Diner on 57th Street, where I found myself in despair after walking all the way west from PT without finding anywhere that called my name and where I realized too late I had squandered the price of an infinitely superior lunch just a short walk away, at BLT Market. I chose one of the cheapest things on the menu, the $15.50 fish sandwich, and was just glad I had not sprung for anything pricier. It was a piece of decent fried cod on a plain bun — no lettuce, no tomato, no nothin’ — with a couple of wedges of lemon, a handful of adequate fries, a little ramekin of tartar sauce and a honking portion of flavor-free coleslaw. The waiter was great, though. WIGB? Silver-plated revolver to the back of my head, maybe.

New York minutes/Earlyish October

The good: Land Thai Kitchen again, where $8 at lunch bought a bright and lively green papaya salad and a perfectly balanced pad see ew, a hearty mix of rice noodles, egg, cauliflower, broccoli and superfluous beef. My consort was underwhelmed by the special menu that day, mostly by comparison, but the service as always was enthusiastic and the room has such a sleek look and cheerful feel. WIGB? Yes, it’s worth the walk beyond Charm and Asiakan for sure. 450 Amsterdam Avenue near 81st Street, 212 501 8121.

The lame: PicNic for dinner, where we sat outside to avoid the nursing home crowd and were rewarded with overpriced, uninspired food. I just had the salad with goat cheese croutons, and the lettuce was supermarkety; Bob had sauteed trout that tasted mealy to me (you are what you eat even if you’re a fish). Add the AWOL waiter (Bob had to go track him down to order our second glasses of wine) and I wondered where our $83 went. WIGB? For breakfast only. No place for blocks is as appealing in the morning.

The clubby: Payard, where the duck terrine made me ridiculously happy, enough to ignore the snotty service. It was a hefty slab, studded with pistachios and very flavorful, and came with an oniony jam and a little pile of purslane to cut the richness. I treated it like a DIY tartine, and it was like eating in France. The $11 gruner-veltliner I ordered didn’t have much to say to it, though, and the bartender clearly couldn’t wait till I got out of the way of her regulars. WIGB? Probably, but I’d sit at a table next time, like the other lunching ladies, much as I prefer eavesdropping at the bar. 1032 Lexington Avenue near 73d Street, 212 717 5252.

New York minutes/Early September 2007

The good: Land Thai, where the $8 lunch special was, as always, a better deal than it has any right to be. The vegetable spring rolls were dainty but perfectly fried, and the beef Thai curry was more decent beef than vegetables and just hot enough — I usually avoid cheap beef and now see why I’m usually let down. Bob had the daily dishes, some kind of chicken and rice noodle salad that was perfectly balanced and a shrimp thing (shrimp and I don’t communicate). Service gets an A, too. WIGB? Absolutely. 450 Amsterdam Avenue near 82d Street, 212 501 8121.

The better if bizarre: Hurapan Kitchen, where the kitchen was as attentive as the service was weird. Our table of three was the only one in the well-decorated house, and you can guess how that turned out. “Mussaman” curry with duck was light on the protein but fresh-tasting, spicy and lively, everything standard Thai is not. Charred rare tuna with a wasabi glaze was just as billed and came with exceptional crispy eggplant. Even the vegetarian summer roll with avocado and ginger-hoisin sauce was well above average. WIGB? I just wish it was closer. 29 Seventh Avenue South near Bleecker Street, 212 727 2678.

The surprisingly decent: Dishes in Grand Central Terminal, where I grabbed two sandwiches for the train ride up to Beacon for a party at a friend’s after an outing at DIA. The “media noche,” essentially a Cubano, was adequate if undergrilled, but a smoked turkey with Monterey Jack, avocado and chipotle mayonnaise on a huge soft sesame bagel was outstanding, melty and spicy. And both were done in not much more time than it took to buy the tickets. WIGB? Probably. It was the ideal prelude to a surprisingly great cappuccino at DIA and wines (Domaine Gaujaul rose and Vrak Macon Villages, each $9.99) from the new Artisan shop on Main Street in Beacon.