I Am Still Alive

Contrary to what you might think given the paucity of posts lately, I have not in fact perished, nor have I become suddenly incapacitated.  Rather, I've been taken unawares by how much of a time suck wedding and honeymoon planning can be.  I've spent quite a lot of time mocking those brides-to-be who run around like chickens with their heads cut off attending to the minutiae of the big day, but I have to admit, as simple and low key as our wedding is going to be, getting it together is still a stunning amount of work.  Ideas for posts come into my head, but by the time I have a minute to sit down the idea has left me and I am face to face with a blank screen.  And lately my cooking has consisted mainly of bought rotisserie chickens from Whole Foods and some variation on the cream/ham/pea/pasta classic (occasionally adapted to accommodate the contents of my freezer...edamame is quite a nice stand in for the peas) so I have no particular culinary inspiration to share.  Hence the great silence.

I won't pretend that I'm coming to you today with anything ground breaking, but there are a few things I've been enjoying lately that perhaps bear mention:

Internet Wandering


Do you know Svpply?  If, like me, you enjoy vicarious shopping, this website is your dream come true.  Various users tag items that they like, providing a glimpse into the tastes of those with more taste (or perhaps more time) than I.  Those users with whom you feel a particular kinship can be "followed", like a chic version of twitter.  Through this borderline stalking behavior I've developed an unhealthy obsession with the following fantastic yet superfluous items:

From the looks of it, I'm in the mood to sit down in the sun and enjoy a little romance.

OK, I Am Cooking Just a Little


I'm working out these days, consistently, for the first time in ages, and am making an effort to match my eating habits with my new regime.  So no cookies, no pastries, but I have to have a little something sweet.  So I've been snacking on Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Breakfast Cheesecake, a lovely cake made of oh so healthy cottage cheese.  Mix 650 g cottage cheese (or cream cheese, goat cheese, or whatever you fancy at the moment) with 75g unsalted butter, 3 tablespoons of semolina or wholemeal flour, a pinch of salt, 100g sugar, 2 eggs, zest of 2 oranges, 1 tablespoon orange juice, 3 tablespoons of raisins and combine.  Bake in a springform pan at 330 degrees for 25 minutes, or until reasonably set, and voila, a gorgeous, not terrible for you snack.

And I Am Eating Out Quite a Bit


A new crush...I'm always enamored with dark restaurants with lots of wood and good prices.  Bocca di Bacco has got all of those in spades.

After a mirth filled dinner there with some of my favorite people the other night I'm sold.  Too bad it's in midtown.  But then again no one's perfect.

Revisiting an Old Favorite...back in the day when Paul used to work in Soho, we and the posse of the day spent half of our time at the bar Toad Hall chowing down on those lovely bowls of party mix and quaffing beers, and the other half at Lucky Strike right next door.  Opened in 1989, it was an early addition to Keith McNally's retro french bistro empire, and it has stood up to the ravages of time quite well.

I had nearly forgotten about the old dear until Saturday evening, when I attended a birthday dinner there, but oh how happy I was to be reintroduced.  Festive without being obnoxious, warm, comfortable, good but reasonable food (I mean where else can a girl get a steak with roquefort butter for $18?), it's everything you want in an evening out.  I promise, dearly Lucky Strike, not to be a stranger anymore.

A Rare Evening

I enjoy few things more than a great meal in pleasant environs with friends on a Saturday night.  Ideally, we arrive around 8 and don't get up from the dinner table until several hours later.

A couple of Saturdays ago Paul and I had just one of these (surprisingly rare, given the myriad of restaurant options in New York) evenings.

Two dear friends wanted to take us out to celebrate our (somewhat) recent engagement and we of course happily accepted.  As the male half of our little foursome was going to be out watching a band in Brooklyn during the early evening, Prime Meats in Carroll Gardens was suggested.  As it is run by the team behind the fabulous Frankies spots, I was more than happy to give it a go.

Paul, employing his exceptional powers of persuasion and adorable English accent, was able to reduce our wait for a table from sixty minutes to thirty, which left us just enough time for one (or two) of the expertly mixed cocktails.

Dave was enthralled by the homemade bitters and other potions that the bartenders relied on to make their intoxicating brews.

I personally was deeply enthralled with my drink, as well as the deliciously retro glass it was served in.  I know people frown upon those flat champagne goblets (they supposedly allow champagne bubbles to dissipate too quickly) but I don't care, I will love them now and forever.  But perhaps that is because I quaff champagne at an above average rate?

Presently we were seated at a prime outdoor table, relishing the warm mid-August evening.  Dave and Melinda are master orderers so we left them to it.  Our server, who was one of the most pleasant and knowledgeable waitresses I've come across in quite some time, was perhaps slightly horrified by the quantity of food we had coming, but no matter, we were up to it.

We started with big, freshly baked pretzels and, ripping them apart, dunked them in a variety of sweet and spicy mustards.  Living in New York, the land of horrible street pretzels, one can easily forget how good they can be when done right.  Prime Meats will remind you.

An "alpine tasting board", otherwise known as a germanic choucroute platter followed, then a few salads, and then the food started to come out fast and furious.  Roasted marrow bones, sauerbraten with red cabbage, a surkrut garnie (german version of choucroute garnie) and a very serious cote de boeuf (better than the twice as costly one at Minetta Tavern I might add).  All accompanied by a lovely pinot noir.

I was initially stumped by all of the appetizing options...

...but once I started tucking in to the grub I could not have been happier.

We were, sadly, far too full for dessert, so after a couple of espressos (me and Paul) and some light tisanes (Dave and Melinda), it was back into the car for the trip back to Manhattan and then, after a bit of a breather on the sofa, straight to bed, more sated, physically and emotionally, than I had been in quite some time.

Summer Ennui

I think there comes a time in every food lover's life when a bit of ennui with respect to restaurants sets in.  Everything starts to seem the same, everything seems overpriced, no meal is as good as what you could make at home if you put forth a small effort.

After some delicious, terribly inventive meals at the likes of Ribouldingue while I was in Paris a few weeks back, I returned to New York and almost instantly became gustatorily bored.  Between a heat induced reduction in my desire to cook and a few mediocre and overpriced meals at restaurants that had been recently lauded by the critics, I was dangerously close to being "over" the New York food scene.  Tragic I realize, especially given the myriad culinary options here.  I assure you it was a temporary fatigue though.  It was The Hunger which yanked me out of it.

Not a rumbling in my stomach...but rather a pop-up restaurant.  A restaurant that forms for a few days at a time once every few months, in a different location with difference food each time.  After reading a quick blurb on Sunday Suppers about the newly available spots at The Hunger's second incarnation, and viewing the gorgeous photos of the meal that was served at its first, I was on the phone quick as can be begging for a spot for me and three friends.

The event was to be held in an undisclosed outdoor location in Soho and the theme was Argentinian BBQ.  Armed with this information about the likely prevalence of meat I easily persuaded some men (Paul and my friend Tom) to accompany me.  And because Elaine is usually up for just about anything, she happily joined our merry crew.

We arrived at The Yard at the Soho Grand and were faced with a bouncer, a list and a velvet rope.  I was baffled, saddened...had I totally misjudged this event?  Thankfully no.  All we had to do was walk through the very high maintenance Cosmo party to get to our little low key nook in the back.

An outdoor oasis in a sea of urbanity (with perhaps just a touch of faux edge inside of said oasis), it was exactly what I was in the mood for on a warm Friday evening.

After we got ourselves situated with some sangria, the food began to flow.

Everyone agreed that the fried cheese was just to die for, and that the salad was uncommonly good.

We were a tad concerned about what seemed to be small portion sizes of meat, but presently realized that after consuming what was handed out we were all perfectly sated.  I suppose this is what these french woman have been trying to tell us all this time, no?

The sides were a bit different than those you might encounter at most steak dinners, but they matched the light, summery feeling of the meal perfectly.

And eventually the dessert rolled around.  None of us had high hopes for the grilled oranges (Paul predicted they would be a bit boring) but I have to say we were mightily impressed.  Infused with the perfume of rosemary and set on a dollop of sour, thick yogurt, the orange was a delightful end to the meal.

Our senses pleasantly dulled from the sangria and our bellies just full enough, we all tripped home happily to our respective homes, uplifted by the time with friends and the inventiveness of the event.  It was official:  my ennui had ended.

Real Service

A while back I read what I thought was an absolutely fascinating book called Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster. The author's main point was that items that we often consider "luxury" are often just middling quality in disguise. Multi-thousand dollar purses are routinely made in factories in Asia out of substandard leather, $800 pants fall apart after just a few wearings, and as my wonderful, very stylish friend Tim just learned, the heel on a $500 pair of men's dress shoes sold proudly on Madison Avenue can quite frequently fall apart in a matter of months.

A tragic knock-on effect of all of this dumbing down is that customer service has fallen by the wayside as well (Tim learned this when he tried to pursue a remedy for his broken heel). As one of the people interviewed in the book said about a particular high end New York department store, these are $5,000 dresses and they're just hanging on racks. And you have to try them on unaccompanied. With virtually no help. Quite. I don't think this was the main point of the book, but it is the one that stayed with me.

I find the whole state of affairs appalling. I often am teased about being cheap, but the truth of the matter is that I'll pay for quality. Sadly there just isn't much of it out there these days. But this past weekend, thanks to a little help from some friends, I was treated to some very serious quality.

photo via NY Journal

A dear friend was turning 30, and his ladyfriend (also a dear friend) had the good sense to book the communal table at Mas (farmhouse) for his friends and family.

photo via NY Journal

I'll admit my hopes were not high...I had passed by this place before and written it off as pretentious and overpriced. As it turns out, this is not the case at all.

The decor has a wonderfully soothing feel to it, perhaps due to all of the soft tones and natural materials. Right down to the porcelain, which I covet intensely.



The food in a way matched the decor. It was beautiful, simple, fresh and unfettered. My mind wasn't necessarily blown by the sheer inventiveness of the dishes, but one is not always seeking an intensely challenging culinary experience. Rather, I was happy to have my mind was blown by the sheer competence on display. Everything was cooked perfectly, composed perfectly and arranged perfectly. The highlight? My sinfully crispy guinea hen skin. I swoon everytime I think about it (and I think about it often).

But really it was the service which made me fall in love with this fine establishment. Although we all ordered the tasting menu, we were told not to feel the need to adhere to the list provided...we could substitute any dish the restaurant served for any of the courses. Want an entree as your appetizer? No problem. Don't want mustard on your mustard rubbed lamb? No problem. Not even a blink, a hesitation...just...no problem, regardless of the request. As a certain butler once said, great customer service means never hearing the word "no". Mas (farmhouse) clearly (and thankfully) adheres to the same philosophy.

Never did the waiters allow a wineglass to go dry, never did they allow those awkward pauses that occur when some diners have their dishes and some do not (all arrived at exactly the same time, each and every time), and never did they make us feel rushed, despite the fact that we had gotten a late start. It was our night, and they clearly felt that they were there to make it excellent.

So when the bill came I was happy to fork over practically any sum of cash for my gorgeous experience, and I can't wait to go back. All businesses, struggling or otherwise, please take note: this is how it is done.

Just Smile

This past weekend was an eventful one for me, as I crossed quite a major threshold.  I have officially moved from ingenue to woman of the world (29 to 30 if that was not clear).

And I was feted in a manner appropriate to the occasion.  As is our birthday tradition, Zenia and I, who share a birthday, took each other out to a decadent dinner just prior to our party on Friday night.  The lovely gentlemen at Blue Ribbon plied us with free champagne and nibbles, and then, suitably lubricated, we convened with friends in the west village late into the night.  The remainder of the weekend consisted of lazy brunches with those I hadn't seen in much too long, art exhibitions and museums, and some blissful alone time with a good book.  Heaven.

The weekend was bookended perfectly as Paul had made dinner reservations for Sunday night to celebrate the blessed day of my birth.  I am always excited to have quality time with my beloved, but I was particularly thrilled because he had chosen a restaurant I had never heard of.  Now Paul is quite up on all things cool and new and cutting edge but I am most certainly the food maven in the relationship.  So the fact that I had no idea where he was taking me could have meant either that it was very good or very bad.  

As I suspected, the restaurant was very, very good...and new and cool and cutting edge.

The Smile didn't look like much from the outside

but the inside was warm and inviting.  It just reeked of high quality, clean tasting honest food.

The place is quirky.  By day it is a store selling various pieces of clothing, tea and high quality soap with a cafe in the back.  It is closed in the evenings with the exception of dinner on Sundays, which The Smile began serving a couple of weeks ago.  As with any hip (or in this case, hipster) spot, a bit of Facebooking is involved.  In order to secure a Sunday evening reservation you must join their Facebook group (The Smile) and request one.

If this sounds a bit affected and you are put off, do not be.  One of the best aspects of this place is the relaxed and friendly vibe it cultivates.  Paul and I were greeted by and taken very good care of all night by a warm, friendly pretty young woman in a long prairie dress.  The place is BYO, and the price quoted for dinner includes three courses, tax and tip so you will never be surprised by an exorbitant bill.

As for the food?  Of course it is no Per Se, but it is very good, and is the type of food I would be happy to pay for.  I find so often that I go to restaurants and leave thinking why on earth did I just pay for something that I could recreate more successfully at home?  I could not make that argument here.  

The trio of savory Mediterranean influenced dips were fresh and interesting (a bit too interesting...we filled up on them too early in the meal!), and my gazpacho was quite spirited.  It deftly avoided that salsa/tomato sauce trap that so many versions fall into.  Main courses were simple and satisfying, and desserts were perfumed and lovely.  Plus which I was so happy not to see the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake on the menu!   

So quickly, join the Facebook group and take your dates, first or otherwise, there while it is still a hidden gem.  And prepare to be lauded for your knowledge of underground dining.

Finger Lickin' Good

Peter turned 29 this past weekend, and this was his invitation to the big event:

so isaac suggested that since we're in somewhat of a global credit crisis, we should be a little more sensitive to the location of our birthday dinner.  he suggested kentucky fried chicken.

of course, knowing all the high rollers in the group, i scoffed...i said "isaac, my dear friend, for a dinner party like the one me and jason want to have, we can do no less than...

bon chon chicken

314 5th ave

2nd floor

(upstairs past the really fat black guy...you'll know what I'm talking about soon enough)

Now I'd heard Peter rave about the fabulosity of Bon Chon in the past, but the only thing I knew about the place was that the one near me on Chambers Street looks pretty similar to a KFC, so I was wondering if maybe he had taken the whole frugality thing a little too far.

But no, we were going to the Bon Chon flagship, if you will, in the heart of Koreatown.  It is a full service restaurant, although it might be mistaken for a club when you first walk in.  Dim, with low slung furniture and music pumping, it somehow managed to be festive rather than annoying (I would normally be annoyed with the music but it somehow enhanced the experience rather than detracted from it).

Upon arrival, I sat down in front of this very handy beer dispenser that Peter had had the foresight to order...

...and helped myself to some of the chilled (you see the column of ice in the middle?  Brilliant!) Coors Light.  Again, not generally my favorite, but I was loving it in the Bon Chon setting.

And then the platters of crispy, crispy fried chicken began to come, and with Peter ordering, there was no stopping them until we were all stuffed.  According to the New York Times, the crispiness comes from a multi-stage frying process.  First the fat is rendered from the skin, then a very thin batter is applied, then they are fried, then they rest, then they are fried...I don't pretend to understand the process, I simply enjoy the end results.

And the pickled radishes that go along with the platters are simply perfection.  I could (and did) eat pounds of the stuff.  

Also loved the kimchee pancakes, and the shoju was delicious as well (and deceptively alcoholic...oops).  Lychee was the winning flavor, pear was number two.  AVOID WATERMELON AT ALL COSTS.

We completely over-ordered (Peter:  I think I over-estimated demand.  Marissa:  Wow, you really are a real estate person!), both on the food and drink front, and yet still the whole dinner only cost $40 per person.  So basically the perfect restaurant.  Festive, delicious AND cheap.

Things Are Looking Up

I've moaned before about the dearth of decent food options in Lower Manhattan.  And in the same breath I've mentioned the little bright spots on the landscape that seem to be popping up.  Well here's another one for you:  the Banh Mi food truck on the southwest corner of John Street and Water Street.

For those unfamiliar, Banh Mi are basically Vietnamese subs.  They are traditionally served on a relatively soft baguette and are filled with some combination of meats, cucumbers, pickled carrots, mayonnaise and spice, generally in the form of chile sauce.  For years I was a devout customer of Nicky's Vietnamese Sandwiches, partly because it is delicious and partly because it was across the street from my favorite yoga studio.  But since the studio has moved to private classes only (at $100 a pop it is doesn't quite fit into my budget) I haven't had much of an excuse to go there anymore.

So I was excited to find this little food truck not only because I was entirely sick of the mediocre lunch options in my area, but also because I was looking forward to a reunion with a Banh Mi.

Luckily, the reunion was a happy one.  First of all the truck is spotless, which is always confidence inducing.  Secondly, the menu is pretty extensive.

You've got chicken, tuna, pork, veggie, Vietnamese meatball (my choice for yesterday's lunch)...as long as you're in the mood for a sandwich, you can find something to sate any gustatory longing you might have.

Second of all (and really most importantly if you ask me), the sandwich was scrumptious...and I don't say that lightly.  I don't even like sandwiches most of the time.  

My little pork meatballs were juicy and flavorful.  The carrots were pickled to perfection, the cucumber was nice and crunchy, and the sandwich overall was pleasantly warm.  And there was no mayonnaise, which frankly, as a non-lover of mayonnaise, was a welcome surprise.  And oddly enough, the spice came in the form of lots of pepper rather than chile sauce which turned out to be nice...sort of a more mellow heat than I was expecting.

And although I realize that you could get a much cheaper Banh Mi out in Sunset Park or wherever, I don't think $6 for a high quality sandwich is in any way unreasonable.  Especially as I only can eat one half per lunch...$3 for an excellent lunch is hard to beat.

The Circle of Life

I've never been a huge fan of the donut.  Growing up, my sister and I only got them once a year.  In my elementary school, it was customary for children to bring treats for the class on their birthday, and despite the fact that my mother is a wonderful cook, she had pretty much had it with baking 30 cupcakes by the time I hit third grade.  So on the way to school on the big day, we'd stop by Colonial Donuts in Montclair Village and pick up a couple of dozen bits of sweet fried dough.  They were fine for the occasion, but were certainly not the greatest representation of the donut.  So I assumed donuts were just not that great.

Then, on a college crew training trip in Florida one of my teammates started waxing poetic about Krispy Kreme.  I was skeptical...I mean how good could they really be?  She insisted on driving to a store right then and there.  Our first stop was a store that didn't make the donuts in house.  So we had to drive another thirty minutes into the wilds of strip mall land to find the place they were actually made.  So I got a hot Krispy Kreme right off of the line...the creme de la creme of the donut world.  My response?  Eh.

So, still not so into donuts.

But I was in Balthazar Bakery one day (not an uncommon state for me) and noticed that they had started offering donuts. 

                                         photo credit: balthazarbakery.com

I gave the basic sugar dusted version a try.

                                         photo credit:  lunchstudio.blogspot.com

A whole new world.  It was not even remotely greasy...more cakey than anything.  Perfectly balanced with respect to sweetness, and although I'm sure this little confection does quite a valiant job of clogging one's arteries, it didn't feel heavy in the least.  I am now a donut convert.  

So much so that I am now trying other flavors:

                                        photo credit:  Serious Eats, A Guide to the Best Donuts in New York

Banana nut...I believe it was pecan, but possibly walnut?  Yum.  Although I'll admit I didn't taste much banana in this banana nut creation, the glaze was satisfyingly hard, shattering as it should when you bite into it, and the nuts were a nice added texture.  I found this version slightly heavier than the classic sugar and just a tad greasy, but that is not to say I didn't thoroughly enjoy it.  One needs a bit of obscene decadence every now and again.

So now it seems that I do, in fact, like the odd donut now and again.  As long as it comes from Balthazar, that is.  Although I've heard Per Se does a nice one as well, so I suppose I shouldn't be too exclusionary with respect to my accepted donut providers.    

Salvation From The Mediterranean

I'm not usually the social organizer in a group, but recently I found myself coordinating a night out with a favorite professor from graduate school and some fellow women graduates of my program. As excited as I was for the actual event, I was having a minor panic attack with respect to the venue. I wanted somewhere fun but not too loud, somewhere with good wine and nibbles but not expensive wine and nibbles, and most difficult of all (for me at least), I needed somewhere in the vicinity of the upper west side.


This last one was particularly difficult for me because pretty much the only reason I ever go to the upper west side is to shop at Fairway, hence I have no idea about the food and drink establishments up there (although I do know that Martha Stewart is a huge fan of the new restaurant Dovetail which I fully intend to try at some point).


I was convinced that I would inadvertently drag everyone to an overpriced mediocre loud establishment that would lose our reservation. But thankfully I happened across someone who knew someone who knew something about this Bermuda Triangle of a neighborhood. And this savior pointed me in the direction of Kashkaval on 56th and Ninth Avenue. I'll admit that, based on their website alone, I was a bit skeptical. It looked like a dry goods store more than a wine bar, but New York Magazine gave it a check mark which I find to be a pretty reliable sign of a worthwhile joint.


So we went. This first view did not quite dispel my dry-goods-store fears.



But it began to look up...




And the farther back we got the more it looked up:


The wonderfully friendly staff had set aside a spacious booth in the corner for our group, so my fear about the reservation being lost was dispelled. The relaxed vibe and rough wood paneling made me feel as though I was in an establishment in the Village in the 60s....which I immediately dismissed as ridiculous given that I have had no experience whatsoever with the Village in the 60s. But my wise professor who has assured me that she used to frequent places exactly like Kashkaval back in the day.


The wine list centered around $20 and $30 bottles...and they were actually quite good which was a pleasant surprise. And none of the very delicious dishes seemed to exceed $16...also a pleasant surprise. After multiple bottles of wine, sampler platters with beet salad, walnut spread, eggplant tapanade and brussel sprouts (I could not pick a favorite among these, they were all wonderful), two cheese fondues (I highly recommend the Kashkaval fondue), and several kebabs, meatballs and spinach pastries, we ended up paying...get ready for it...$23 per person. I almost jumped for joy when the check was revealed, which I assure you is not my usual response in these situations.


I don't generally come across establishments that I consider "hidden gems"...a terribly overused phrase in my opinion...but I think Kashkaval is worthy of this title. I daresay you would seem very in-the-know to a new acquaintance if you brought them here. And if you'd rather not push past the cheese counter on your way to your food, they do deliver, as Laia made sure to confirm on her way out the door.

Just One More Soup Post

It's a little warmer today, but not much.  And tomorrow the temperatures are dipping back below 20 degrees.  So I feel that, despite my recent string of soup posts, I am at least somewhat justified in doing just one more.  But this time, it being the weekend and all, I've got a place for you to go and enjoy the fruits of someone else's hard work in the kitchen, rather than encouraging you to sweat it out in your own.

A ramen noodle soup craze has swept New York over the past couple of years, and at this cold and dark time of year I give thanks for that.  It all started with David Chang and his tiny ramen bar, Momofuku, which, when it opened, was a bit of a revelation.  Lovely Niman Ranch pork with rich broth and noodles that were a million times better than the 79 cent version I used to eat on those poor days in college.  But when the special ramen got up to $20, I had to move on.

First I tried Ippudo, which was delicious, but I think an hour wait for a bowl of ramen is a bit much.  When I complained to Gerald, the maven of the east village restaurant scene, he pointed me in the direction of Rai Rai Ken on 10th between 1st and 2nd Avenues.

So on a lazy (and, unsurprisingly, cold) Sunday afternoon, Laia and I headed over there for lunch.  We were greeted by a cozy, narrow space that was divided in half by a bar.  One side was the kitchen, the other side was the seating area for customers (from what I read, fourteen seats to be exact).

We took our seats (no wait!) and ordered our ramen (Laia had miso ramen, I had the shio ramen), which were both less than $8 (not $20!).  The charming proprietor behind the counter handed us our ramen after a few minutes, and we dug in.  Nothing to say but yum.  Delicious slices of pork, flavorful, complex broth, and oh those noodles.  Nothing picks up the spirits better than long strands of carbs in a hot broth.

And when we looked over the bar into the kitchen, it became clear why everything was so good.  There were massive vats of homemade stock simmering away on the burners, with bits of meat scraps and vegetables poking out the top.  Whenever an order came in, the cooks scooped out a bit of fresh stock to use in the ramen bowls.  As the supply got low, water was added to replenish and create new beautiful stock.  

So there you have it.  Delicious, comforting food that you can watch being prepared, served by friendly people who charge you a fair price.  See?  Miracles do occur occasionally.

Lifting Your Spirits

Our family had a lovely Christmas, I hope that yours did as well!

After a truly beautiful Christmas Eve dinner at Five Points (this really is the best possible parent restaurnt in New York by the way...gorgeous, mellow, reasonable noise level, polite waiters, wonderful food, not offensively expensive) we all wandered for a bit, taking in the Christmas-y-ness of New York.

We eventually ended up by Washington Square Park where everyone stopped to check out the menu at Babbo, as several family members seemed to have heard of this guy named Mario and wanted to check out his place. In fact, they were so engrossed in the menu that they completely missed Brooke Shields and her family on their way in, despite my discreet punches to their arms, to which my mother responded, "Oh honey, I'm sorry, am I in your way?". Oh well. Onward.

We're not a religious family, but we couldn't resist stopping in at the University Parish of Saint Joseph for some caroling (do not fear, despite the very Jewish last name, we actually are not Jewish...as far as we know anyway). This beautiful little church put on quite the show, with fabulous soloists (to the man who sang O Holy Night, sir you have the voice of a god), some of our favorite Christmas carols, and a crazy, seriously off-key homeless-ish woman sitting next to Robin thrown in for good measure. As lovely as the service was, we left before we could "get sucked into sitting through long prayers" as my mom put it. (Actually, as she points out, she wanted to leave before the mass started so as not to disturb the religious service)  Paul, who was raised by a devout Catholic mother, was suitably horrified when I relayed the story to him.

After a bit more wandering, we cabbed it back to my building, where we all tucked into bed in anticipation of the magical Christmas morning to come.

And come it did. We opened presents in the soft glowing light of my little tree, and ate poppyseed bread until we could eat no more.

It was probably the best poppyseed bread ever. At least, since the batch we had last year.

As I continued to eat, my sister decided to do some yoga.

As you can see in the background, the rest of us decided to watch TV. I believe it was a DVD of Robby Coltrane's show, Incredible Britain.

Then, after packing up the parents and taking a short stroll around, Robin and I packed them onto the subway to JFK. And then proceeded to be sad that they had left. On Christmas Day. Something about anything after Christmas morning being depressing and they might as well spend the time traveling rather than moping.

So Robin and I were left to our own devices to entertain ourselves for the rest of the evening. After attempting to find a movie to see in Union Square and failing (plus which Robin had forgotten her glasses so wouldn't have gotten much out of her $12), we opted to walk around the East Village for a bit.

On the way over, we passed by the most charming little Korean place on 9th between 3rd and 4th, called Su Ra. As it was cold and we were depressed, warm, spicy Korean food sounded perfect. So we went in.

And thank god we did. Sweet waitresses, beautiful place, excellent food, and oh so cheap. Now that Seh Ja Meh has vacated the storefront across from my building, I needed a new Korean, and I'm telling you, this is the place.

Our lovely, very stylishly displayed kim chi amuse bouche:

Robin with her kimchi and tofu stew, and my kimchi and tofu and pork stew in the foreground:

Those stone pots were so hot that the stuff was still boiling violently when it came to our table. Utter pleasure. And my giant piece of chestnut cake with whipped cream wasn't so bad either (although obviously not as transcendental as the main courses, which were several notches above good, and many many notches above what you get generally in New York).

The food lifted our spirits a bit, which were promptly crushed as we walked back downtown and realized that, based on the multitude of darkened windows in all of the apartment buildings we passed, that everyone had left the city. We were the only non-tourists in a five mile radius!

But we got home safely, comforted ourselves with several episodes of "The Secret Diary of a Call Girl", and all was pretty much well again.

I recommend this exact order of things...Su Ra and TV if you ever are feeling despondent, depressed or beat down. Or even if you're in a fantastic mood and just want some great Korean food.

The Old Homestead...But With An Hour And A Half Wait

My parents are fascinated by Brooklyn. As much as they enjoy my little forced marches/tours through the sights of Manhattan, Brooklyn seems to hold some sort of mystique for them. Perhaps it is, for my history buff dad, the important Revolutionary War events that took place in Brooklyn Heights. For my mom, perhaps it is the fact that her father spent time at Floyd Bennett Field when he was a navy pilot during World War II. Who knows, but either way, I always try to squeeze a little BK time in on their trips here.


So when I saw a write-up by New York Magazine's Underground Gourmet on the new restaurant just north of DUMBO, Vinegar Hill House, I figured it was a must for this season's Kirschbaum Tour de Brooklyn. So I called the restaurant, asked whether early Sunday evenings were a good time to come from a waiting-time-for-a-table standpoint, and when I was told that it was one of the best times to come, immediately made plans with the family to trek out to the wild yonder this past Sunday night.


After a wonderful cab ride with the loveliest cabbie alive (how often do you hear that phrase uttered? Not too often would be my guess) over the idyllic Brooklyn Bridge (much excitement from the back seat when the route became evident), we arrived at what looked to be a totally residential block.



But, upon turning the knob of 72 Hudson Ave, we entered a convivial, candlelit space reminiscent of a farmhouse. Absolutely perfect on a frigid night when snow lays all around.



We were a tad shocked to be told that the wait was 45 minutes (apparently a few other people had read the write-up) but the bar looked cool, and we had brought a couple of bottles of wine with us (they are waiting on their liquor license, so in the meantime the place is BYOB), so we thought, what the hell, we'll hang out for a bit.



And we were especially unbothered by the proposition of waiting because we were right next to this:


The wood burning oven in the kitchen. Beautiful. As was the food coming out of it.


So the first forty-five minutes was fun. But then we began to get the sense that the wait would be significantly longer than forty-five minutes. And we were right. We ended up waiting for an hour and a half. And we seemed to be "next" for the last half hour or so. And we had to endure the indignity of waiting next to a totally empty table for six that was being held for a reservation that never came. I mean it was totally rude of the party not to show up (this table must have represented 20% of the restaurant's seats), but it was equally rude not to let us sit there after they hadn't shown up. But I chalk the whole thing up to the hostess, who was very pretty and sweet, being either untrained or inexperienced...or both, I suppose is the more likely option. Either way, this is an issue that needs to be addressed, because despite the utter charm of and wonderful smells coming out of this little restaurant, the whole getting a table episode nearly ruined the night.


But then, we finally sat. And we took a look at the menu. Total basic comfort food in the best way possible. And well edited. There were maybe four appetizers and probably five or six entrees. Everyone was happy (even my dear little vegan sister), everyone ordered something different and everyone liked it. Was the food transcendent? No, of course not. But it was quite good. It was competent, honest, American food. And the best part? It was competent, honest, American reasonably priced food. I think the most expensive thing was $16. How many places can you say all that about? So including entrees, a few coffees and a slice of their fantastic Guiness cake (this really is a must if you go here...chocolatey tasting but not too sweet, and with phenomenal cream cheese frosting) the whole dinner cost about $80 including tip. OK obviously the whole BYOB aspect contributed to the reasonable price tag, but still, $20 per person? So wonderful.

So overall, as long as they sort out the whole hostess situation (which really must be done post haste if they plan to make any money or retain my good feelings about the establishment) I am totally in favor of this place. Nice little road trip for Manhattanites, and a solid local option for the Brooklynites.

UPDATE:  Oh no!  Andrea Strong, of the New York food blog The Strong Buzz, did as I did and checked out Vinegar Hill House based on the New York Magazine review as well, and on a weekend night had a multi-hour wait and some not-so-great food.  Now since our food was good, I can only assume that this cute little place is a little overwhelmed by all of the attention.  Lets hope the early positive reviews don't crush it in its infancy!