Getting Out

There was a time in the early naughts when I kept a lengthy list of restaurants and bars that I wanted to try on my desk at work.  I organized nights out with groups of friends tirelessly in an attempt to work my way through my ever expanding collection of new and delicious establishments.  But as the years passed I became increasingly jaded.  Half of the new spots that were opening reminded me too much of a million other places that I had already been, and too many were just not worth the hassle and/or the price tag.

So slowly but surely my socializing has moved from the streets of New York to the confines of my apartment. I find Sunday dinners with friends followed by the latest HBO show to be preferable to doing battle with a reservationist, and many of my regular dining companions seem to have come to a similar conclusion.  Which means that although I'm enjoying all of my homebody socializing immensely, I have virtually no clue when it comes to the latest in eating and drinking.  I need to rely on outsiders to keep me abreast.

One of my favorite former colleagues suggested a drink or two to catch up the other day, so I rattled off my usual spots in my office district (Union Square) and in her office district (downtown).  She went out of the box and suggested her new go to on the Lower East Side, Ten Bells.  She mentioned the cheap oysters and the fact that it was under a staircase (a "good design solution" she thought).  Excited to try something new and well reviewed by a trusted judge, I enthusiastically agreed.

front door, photo here

A bit of research revealed that Ten Bells is owned by the guys behind Pere Pinard, a haunt of my early 20s when I still favored the Lower East Side as a nightlife destination.  My last night there is a vague memory of a bar tender with liberal pours, far too much red wine and a far too enthusiastic party girl as my companion (an old friend of Paul's who was staying with us for a few days).  The rest is best left unsaid.  Mostly because I don't recall it.  But that aside I always enjoyed the rustic bistro and bar, so had high hopes for their new venture.

And those hopes were absolutely warranted.  I walked into a pleasantly, but not oppressively, full bar with low lighting, pressed tin walls and ceiling and gorgeous marble bars.  Faced with an impressive list of wine and of beer and gentle prices, I was happy to be settling in for a friendly catch up.  But then I had one of the $1 happy hour oysters and found myself more than happy...I was in hog heaven.  With only two choices the variety was not huge, but the quality was outstanding.  Sweet, briny and fresh as an ocean breeze, it was everything an oyster should be and more.

photo here

Well priced booze, wallet-friendly, delicious oysters, pleasant barmen, a noise level conducive to animated conversation, but not so loud as to hasten deafness...I seriously had begun to question my homebody tendencies.  If this is the kind of place I've been missing out on then I need to get out more, much more.

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.

Brightness In A Sea Of Darkness

I live and work in Lower Manhattan.  I have a true affection for the neighborhood...in the same way that a lot of people who grew up in less than picturesque places love their hometown.  It's not the prettiest place, it's not the coolest, but I've had good times here and I kind of like that everyone else thinks of it as the Siberia of Manhattan.

But I will admit that at times, I find the landscape, particularly when it comes to food and drink, a little bleak.  I have my favorites, like Bread & Olive, Zaitzeff, Financier, and occasionally I crave the moules mouclade from Les Halles (and the very excellent fries), but the limited options sometimes do make me feel like the neighborhood is the towheaded stepchild of the island.

Perhaps this is why I was so overjoyed when I saw that Zibetto Espresso Bar had opened on Fulton Street.  

Zibetto, although it is owned by a Greek, is quite the quintessential Italian espresso bar.  Just like in Italy, there are no chairs.  Just a long, narrow, marble bar that you can stand against whilst sipping your coffee of choice out of real cups.  Real, substantial, ceramic cups.  None of this paper stuff (unless of course you feel the need to ask for it).

The coffee is phenomenal, the baristas make beautiful milk foam designs in your cappucino...the whole experience is just so...civilized.

And, if you're craving a little something to go along with your cookie, they have many, many tiny little one or two bite sweets...a checkerboard cookie or a biscotti, along with a cappucino, is the perfect 3:00 pick me up.  And if you need something a bit more substantial than tiny cookies, Zibetto also has a beautiful selection of panini.

Hopefully this is a harbinger of good things to come for my poor little (beloved) neighborhood.

Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble

Last Saturday Paul decided to be very manly and have some friends over to watch a boxing match...Ricky Hatton (the son of Manchester) vs. the other guy.  So I decided to take refuge elsewhere and dragged Zenia out to a hole in the wall Vietnamese place in Chinatown that I've been wanting to try for a while.  Despite the fact that Zenia was vaguely petrified that she would be assaulted as she walked down the nearly deserted tiny street (Doyers Street) on her way to meet me, dinner was great.  If you ever make it down to this part of town (apparently the block in question was historically known as the "bloody angle" for its gang violence, so her fear was not totally unfounded, but it seems pretty innocuous to me now), do stop in at number 11 Doyers Street for some caramel pork and curry soft shell crab.

I had a vague recollection of reading about a new bar on Doyers Street, and given that the street is less than a block long, I figured it had to be close.  Turned out that it was right next door to our new favorite vietnamese basement establishment, so we decided to check it out.

Apotheke supposedly is located in a former opium den/opera theater/restaurant (see Gold Flower sign below).  Who knows, but given the weirdly deserted nature of the street and the whole "bloody angle" history, the opium den thing isn't impossible.

Regardless, the bar was cool and unusual, and they really went there with the whole apothecary theme. 

Although initially it looked like the door would be a bit of an issue, with very minor cajoling the bouncer let us in with no problem.  Had he not that would have been the end of our night.  There is nothing I hate more than waiting in line to get into a bar.  It is mortifying, and given that my desire to get into a bar is inversely proportional with how long I have to wait, for me, it makes no sense.

Anyway, we walked into a very Victorian-sexy space.  Dark wood, low lighting, and the glow of thousands of apothecary bottles met our gaze.  The chandeliers are made of beakers, and the bartenders wear lab coats.  This whole theme thing could be cheesy except they really do make their own tinctures, which are lined up on the bar, and they actually use them in all of the drinks.  See what I mean about them really going there?

They have a whole menu of drinks, organized by the type of remedy they provide...stress relief, pain killers, health & beauty, etc.  It was extraordinarily cold that night, so I went with the warm persimmon cider.  They broke out a beautiful copper pot and some sort of burner, flamed whatever the mixture inside was, and out came what was essentially warm rum infused with persimmon.  Yum.  It took the chill right off, and the glass that it came in was beautiful.  All of the drinks here showcase the alcohol.  Nothing is sweet, which mitigates the whole $15 drink thing because it's hard to knock back anything quickly unless you're really trying.  You're forced to notice what you're drinking, which is sort of nice.  Thumbs up also on the Jasmine Sour (Zenia's first choice), the watermelon one (my second, can't remember the name) and the Five Points (Zenia's second).

To avoid getting bumped into too much, we decided to throw decorum to the wind and just park ourselves at the bar, despite the fact that we were blocking untold customers from ordering their drinks.  But it's a lot of fun to watch the drinks being made...they all are fairly involved.  At once point one of the very nice bartenders asked that I move my scarf off of the bar because he was afraid it might catch on fire.  I was perplexed, but thirty seconds later no longer was.  The owner (?) had created a pyramid of champagne glasses.  I naively assumed he would just be pouring champagne into them, which on it's own would have been entertaining, but no, it was absinthe.  And it was flaming.  I am telling you, this is a pyrotechnic spectacle worth going for.  He somehow lights two wine glasses on fire, pours the fire over the pyramid, throws it around...it is totally compelling to watch.  No idea how the absinthe tastes though.  At $35 per glass I'll wait until I can find someone with an expense account to drag down here.

Now I'll admit the crowd was a bit annoying.  It was a mixture of stylish europeans wearing giant fur coats, wannabe hipsters (I mean hipsters are annoying enough...but wannabes?  please) and various depressed looking finance people.  But hello, it was Saturday.  Rookie mistake.  I normally steer clear of these types of places Thursday through Saturday for exactly this reason.  The bartender, who I suppose saw that we were neither European, fur-wearing nor in finance, advised us to come back on a Monday, which we actually had already vowed to do.

So Monday through Wednesday, great place, albeit expensive.  Thursday-Saturday, still good drinks and fun atmosphere if you can create some sort of psychic wall between yourself and the crowd.

Local Winos

I enjoy wine immensely, but for some reason, I just can't get interested in it.  I can tell you what my favorite type of wine tastes like (I've read enough menu descriptions to throw around some jargon...you know, minerally, complex, and when I really want to impress I call for the off-dry white) but I have no idea of the vintage or provenance.  If I taste a particularly lovely wine, my reaction is basically "Wow, yum!", not "Oh isn't that delightful!  What am I drinking?".

As a result, when I shop for wine I tend to rely fairly exclusively on either the salespeople in the wine store (generally my M.O. at places like Sherry-Lehman), or the pithy little written descriptions (Astor Wine & Spirits) for my choices.  But somehow in these stores with huge selections I'm always left feeling a bit cheated.  Is this one bottle, out of all of the thousands available, really the best for my money?

Enter Winesby.com, the owner of which seems to have read my angst-ridden thoughts.  The store, which also is an online seller within New York State, hence the vaguely bizarre name, carries a well-edited selection, probably about 100 different bottles, and is organized in a way that is exactly in sync with my wine decision making process.  On one side of the store is white, on the other is red (question number one:  Do I want red or white?).  And each wall is lined with a row of bottles on a shallow shelf, organized from cheapest (closest to the door) to most expensive (question number two:  Do I want to cheap out or not?).  

Despite the clarity of the display (and his helpful posted descriptions), I never purchase a bottle without checking in with the owner.  He'll always give it to you straight.  Tell him what you're having for dinner or what kind of a person you're buying a gift for, he'll give you the best option in your price range.  And I believe him when he tells me.  Partly because he knows what he's talking about, and partly because there really are only three or four options to pick from in any one price range so I figure he can't go too wrong.

And beyond the merchandise selection and display, I love this store for its location (Jones Street in the West Village, spitting distance from at least five of my favorite food shops), and for its neighborhood feel.  People quite literally hang out on the store's stoop!  The owner knows all the weird characters in the 'hood (there are a few left, despite the aggressive gentrification that has overwhelmed the West Village), and his dogs chill out on the shop's floor (at least they used to, I haven't seen them in a while, which I hope just means they've found somewhere else that they like better!). 

Nice owner, nice dogs, nice wine.  You can't ask for much more.

Cheap Off-Peak

In theory I am a fan of the happy hour, but in practice it tends to disappoint.  The offerings end up being cheap well drinks, giant margaritas that resemble sno-cones more than drinks, and greasy, luke-warm chicken wings.  Lure Fish Bar's happy hour is the antidote to the otherwise bleak bar landscape that exists between the hours of 5 and 7 on weekdays.  

Zenia and I stopped by Lure one day a few years back, and for some reason it was closed at the time, but the hostess implored us to return for happy hour, she whispered to us that it was really great.  A few days later we followed her advice, and were certainly glad that we had.

First of all, the setting just feels plush and civilized, like the yacht of a sophisticated Italian bon vivant.  This alone puts me in a good mood.  There's no angling for a bar stool, no waiting patiently yet futilely for the bartender to notice that you are in need of a drink, no fighting off sweaty men in blue button down shirts sans tie.  It is the kind of place where you can have a conversation unimpeded by noise or unwanted interruptions.

Now on to the food and drink.  $5 glasses of wine.  And the wine is good.  If you are a fan of rose, I would highly recommend the rose of the day, but the white and red are good as well.  $1 oysters.  They also are good.  And the piece de resistance?  The shrimp tempura is an absolute must.  Light, crispy, and with the most delicious spicy, creamy sauce drizzled over the top.

Now I realize that there are few people with steady jobs in New York who actually have the option of attending a happy hour between 5 and 7 p.m., but everybody has the chance once in a while, so I implore you, take it, and take it here!  And perhaps with the impending collapse of the job market a whole lot of people will have the chance a whole lot more often.  The good news?  You can afford this place, between 5 and 7 that is.

142 Mercer Street (across Mercer from the Mercer Hotel). 

Bunch of Winos

On a quiet Friday evening a few weeks ago, Marissa and I, after deeming the wait at 'ino to be too long, wandered around the corner to Downing Street and happened upon what looked to be a tiny wine bar.  We didn't immediately see a sign or a menu, so were standing outside uncertainly when a friendly host came outside to invite us in.  Turns out the establishment is the Blue Ribbon Downing Street Bar, the newest addition to the Blue Ribbon mini-empire.

As one would expect from the Bromberg brothers, the food is good (our dish of the night was the simple but totally delicious manchego and honey), the vibe is warm and relaxed, and the wines are thoughtfully chosen.  And what sets this bar apart from the other excellent places like it in the city ('ino, 'inoteca, Bar Jamon, etc.) is that you actually can get a seat in a reasonable amount of time.  About 80% of the crowd seems to be waiting for a table across the street at Blue Ribbon Bakery, which means that the turnover is quicker than normal.

I made a repeat visit recently with Zenia, again on a Friday night, and had the same lovely experience.  No wait for a seat, and although I wasn't the hugest fan of the oysters they were serving, the chicken wings (a dish I generally avoid like the plague) were a pleasant surprise, as was the Hummingbird cocktail.  And this second time around I also noticed that the bar offers trios of wines, a feature that I fully intend to take advantage of on my next visit.

Now I am apparently a bit late to the party on this one, as Time Out New York readers already deemed this the best wine bar back in April, but hell, it's still good!