the hot plate

Cookshop-around

Note to restaurant publicists worldwide: the best way to generate buzz for an opening is to not open at all, or at least fake an opening once or twice.

Such was the genius behind the launch of the Five Points spin-off Cookshop on Tenth Ave. After a long over due, water leak, electricity shortage situation, Cookshop is finally open for business. And what business is that you ask? Why, of serving solid, locally grown food for reasonable prices, and with a slaphappy smile. All that goodness should make you happy, and for the most part it does.

The restaurant has a bar with enough nooks for a lingering drink, some bar tables for curious walk-ins, and then two dining rooms in the rear. One that overlooks the street through floor-to-ceiling windows, and the other that looks into an open kitchen. Which is more exciting? The searing streets of Chelsea or the searing of a Maine Diver scallop. Either way, wherever you sit you'll be sure to see the big chalk board with a list of the owners’ favorite farms. (How cute.) Not that supporting local farmers isn't a wonderful thing, but do we all need to know about it?

Apparently enough people do because the place was packed on a Wednesday night at 8pm. Service is prompt and attentive. Menus, water, and bread all appear within minutes of our waiter’s rendition of the nights special. Though the salted grissini are the perfect meal precursor, perhaps they should focus on finding a good bread farmer, otherwise known as bakery, to supply some more tasty bread. (Note, there is no excuse for bad bread at a good restaurant). We quickly forget this letdown as our fried market vegetables arrive. Tempura fried and served with a honey yogurt dip, we find little to complain or rave about, for it's hard to go wrong with a deep fryer, and they even threw in a tasty plum for good measure. (Since when is a plum a vegetable?)

The rest of the menu read like a remix of Five Points. A grilled octopus, a salad with pecans and blue cheese, as well as some little bites on the side of deviled eggs and the like. The entrees are classified by cooking method, such as sautéed or rotisserie, and there are, of course, sides. The scallops with celery root mash and mushrooms were tasty enough, and the waiter arranged an agreeable vegetable plate for the non-meater at the table. She was offered a choice of main course accoutrements, an accommodation that some restaurants are want to make.

The tables around us seemed to be enjoying their food enough, devouring plates of Roast Duck with Wheatberries, and Grilled Whole Porgy with Spiced Fries. Yet, the biggest winner at our two-top was by far the white cheddar grits with frizzled onions (divine). My suggestion would be to set up your shop at the bar, order a quartino of vino, and devour a plate of grits. You should leave a little room for dessert, especially if the Blondie Ice Cream Sundae is representative of the other offerings.

So while the PR buzz will surely keep the seats packed for the next few months, you're better off waiting until the crowds cool off, and the kitchen heats up.

Cookshop
156 Tenth Avenue
at 20th St.
212-924-4440

Quotable Potables

Quotation marks have invaded restaurants. They are not new to the menu scene, but chefs have become increasingly accustomed to using quotes to describe the inspiration behind their food or to insinuate the preparation. Though the more experimental the chef, the more frequent his/her use of punctuation will be, it is nearly impossible to eat out without being accosted by punctuation marks!

It therefore came as no suprise to find Dayboat Sea Scallops "Benedict" and Lobster "Steak" on the menu of David Burke and Donatella. The double d's (David and Donatella) teamed up to open this modern American restaurant over a year ago in an attempt to bring a little whimsy to an otherwise stuffy block of 61st off of Lexington. It seems to have paid off with a crowded dining room, even in a lunchtime seating that I was fortunate enough to attend.

Burke is a pioneer of Culinology, the marriage of science and food to improve the nutrition and flavor of mass-produced foods. Exhibit number one was the Pretzel Crusted Crabcake and Shrimp Tempura. Though I couldn't identify whether the batter was Herr's or Rold Gold, the result was crisp, crunchy, and delicious. Less successful was the union of bubblegum and whip cream in, you guessed it, bubblegum whipped cream.  Fortunately it arrives as an accompaniment to one of the better, and most famous, Burke creations - the Cheesecake Lollipop Tree. No quotation marks required, these lollipops grow on a silver "Pop Tree" with names like Cherry Pink Cashmere, Chocolate Tuxedo, and Toffee Top Hat. Coated in chocolate and toppings with a creamy cheesecake center, these bite size poppers are candy at it's best.

Though you'll be tempted to skip straight to dessert, a number of other creations are worth a visit - the Crisp and Angry Lobster "Cocktail," (served cocktail style), Dover Sole with Zucchini Chips and Tomato Mint Butter, and the Lobster "Steak" with Curried Shoestrings - to name a few. Butterscotch Panna Cotta is another dessert to try, or better yet clip the recipe from the New York Times and practice culinology at home.  If you'd rather just eat like a culinologist, you can order the cheesecake lollipops, as well as foie gras and smoked salmon ones, online at Gourmet Pops.

Either way, David Burke and Donatella is worth the pricetag - the average entree is $35.00!

You can quote me on that.

David Burke and Donatella

133 East 61st Street

(212) 813 2121

www.opentable.com

Making a Move

Studies show that moving is one of the most stressful situations in life. If this is true then imagine the stress involved in not just moving around the corner, but relocating one of the top restaurants in Manhattan? You better make sure that it is a smooth transition, which is prescisely what Marcus Samuelsson seems to have accomplished as he settles into his second month at the "new" Aquavit.

Having never been to the original location, everything about Aquavit was new to me. From the expanded cafe in the front, to the soaring narrow bar that leads to the uber modern dining room in the rear, Aquavit seemed comfortable in its new skin.  I on the other hand was less than comfortable. Though seated at a spacious four person booth, the two of us floated at our table, too far from our food, each other and the wall.

If an expensive prix fixe is second to awkward seating on your discomfort list, then Aqauvit is not for you. But if $75 sounds like a deal after begging to pay $150 at Per Se, then read on.  After an amuse of a uninspired tuna tartar tomato soup with coriander, we were offered a choice of three breads. Spreading the salty dill butter on my Swedish flat bread and basic pumpernickel roll did little to improve this sub par foray into eating carbs. I was waiting to be wowed.

And we were! My lobster roll, finely diced lobster salad wrapped tightly in paper thing apple slices was one of the best and most beautiful dishes I have eaten all year. Dotted with trout roe and dipped into a pistachio yogurt sauce, each bite was better than the next. My herring loving friend was pleased with her sampler, but not so pleased when her accompaniments, though advertised as "necessary" arrived after nearly all the brightly colored bowls of meaty fish had been eaten.

The waitstaff seemed nearly as uncomfortable as our seating arrangement. Not appearing at all, our wine glasses ran dry, and then magically appearing when least expected or least needed. The food, however, makes up for the less than perfect service. The signature brioche wrapped salmon was so light and flaky it quickly made its way from plate, to fork, to a quick dip in truffle ketchup, and into my mouth. Each bite a brief reminder of the kitchens dedication. The venison was equally delicious, but not half as exciting. What makes Aquavit such a success is the ability to not only describe innovative food, but actually deliver the same creativity to the table, and make it actually taste good. 

Still not convinced? One bite of the lemon pepper cheesecake and you'll be a believer. If only all moves were this delicious.

Aquavit

65 East 55th Street

212 307 7311

Gari Time

If you haven't heard about Sushi of Gari opening on the Upper West Side, then you are probably living under a rock. If you haven't made a reservation yet, what are you waiting for?

The most anticipated arrival to the neighborhood since Barney's Coop, Sushi of Gari has arrived and with it the official arrival of the UWS as a premier dining destination. For those who once trekked to the quiet corner of 78th and York to sample sushi heaven, don't expect the same tranquility and calm that graced the original Gari. Rather, raise your voice to be heard above the din of Wuppies (west side yupsters) chatting loudly over omakases in a bright bustling room across from the Museum of Natural History.

With an expanded menu, Masatoshi Sugio offers the sushi-phobic a chance to order from a carefully selected range of appetizers and entrees. From seared foie gras to octopus ceviche to a $45 Mishima beef, the menu is intriguing. We were intrigued enough to forgo a straightforward sushi feast in favor of trying the pan roasted short ribs and the tuna tartar to start.

The service can best be described as tough love. You won't be given a sushi menu unless you ask and you won't be told the specials unless you inquire. Tough would also accurately describe the little short ribs and dry would be fitting for the yuca fries on the side. The tuna tartar was equally uninspiring, though the nori crisps on the side beat out the yuca fries entirely.

The disappointment in our appetizers faded after one bite of the fried oyster roll. Deliciously sweet and crispy with a dab of Gari's signature blend of tartar sauce on top, this roll melts in your mouth. The special spicy scallop roll was equally divine, as was the kanpachi and scallion.  Our sushi pieces on the side were silky, sweet and delicately placed on sushi rice, that was good enough to eat, even for those that have sworn of white carbs.

We watched the sushi chefs plate towering delicacies and gently brush sashimi platters with a mystery glaze, dreaming of what the omakase that evening might include.  Perhaps Gari is best enjoyed on an expense account, like the one that the three suits in the corner who still lingered as we left seemed to be using. When money is no object, the omakase is surely the best choice, but otherwise skip the main menu, saddle up to the sushi bar for superb fish, where at least you can watch the chefs prepare all the food you can't afford.

Sushi of Gari

370 Columbus Avenue

(212) 362 4816

French...Batali Style

Imagine being Mario Batali, or rather King Midas. As either of these two portly fellows (OK I can't confirm Midas was portly), you come into a situation where everything you touch turns to gold, or in Batali's case tastes like gold.  Babbo, Lupa, Casa Mono, The Spotted Pig, Esca and now Bistro du Vent, all seem to be benefiting from the Batali touch, great or small.

Why else would I resign myself to dining at 10 pm on a Friday night in the less than hip neighborhood bordering the Lincoln Tunnel. A street more famous in song than in dining, it is also now home to the latest Batali backed enterprise. Shuffling between the kitchen around the corner at Esca and now at du Vent, Chef Dave Pasternack tries his hand at French bistro food.

Hot off my European vacation of bistro binging, I was eager to see if du Vent would be lost in translation or would it send me running for my own copy of "French Women Don't Get Fat."

While the decor was not overly Parisian, each dish is introduced by its French name and followed with an English detailed description. Simple, but not spectacular, my salad of frisee, lardons and poached egg was reminiscent of bistro lunches, though the one at Landmarc still remains my favorite New York rendition, and a roasted beet salad was pleasant enough. For a glimpse of Mario, look no further than the lamb prosciutto, homemade (and delicious) by Armandino, Mario's dad.

If you still feel like you need more meat, then the Cote de Boeuf pour Deux is definitely the way to go. Though be warned that this giant cut of meat will take at least 30 to 40 minutes to reach a rare temperature, so don't order if you want to eat fast, or cheap for that matter. The meat was worth the price, cooked to perfection, topped with a sprinkle of blue cheese and wilted watercress, and accompanied by crispy frites.

For the non-red meat lover, the menu offers something for the fish lover, chicken lover and of course the vegetarian. It's not a fortune, $19 for a fish stew and $21 for a poulet roti, but expect to pay for the sides, though by now you should be used to the $6 tab for a fennel gratin or braised greens.

Too full to contemplate all the desserts we took a safe bet on the profiteroles. Arriving drizzled in chocolate, the ice cream was icy and the pastry stale. Had they been assembled in the morning and then placed in the freezer all day? We posed this question to out gracious waiter, who had displayed the eagerness typical of just opened eateries all evening. Not only did he remove the aforementioned dessert, but also tried to make us feel better and by informing us that the large group in the center of the restaurant had also been disappointed by the profiteroles.

Well, at least the entire E Street Band, sans Bruce, agreed with our assessment. Yes, the celebs have descended, the phones are ringing off the hook and reservations are few and far between. Batali strikes again, and while he may not have gold yet, Bistro du Vent hits a balance that falls somewhere between the Lincoln Tunnel and the Left Bank.

Bistro du Vent

411 West 42nd Street

(212) 239 3060

Go Greek

So here are my 2005 predictions – blue will be the new black and Greece will be the new Spain. My forecast happened upon me the other night while dining at Onera, a new Greek restaurant in the culinary wasteland formerly known as the Upper West Side. Now a dining destination unto itself the UWS will even be welcoming the ultimate East Sider, Daniel Boulud, by Springtime.

But until then, chef Michael Psilakis commutes from the island every day to bring a spiffy clientele tastes from a different island, Crete. Amid a navy and white room I had my color epiphany. In a navy sweater and white shirt, I was a tad nervous I might even blend in, but the gracious staff and enthusiastic chef immediately guided us through the wine list and recommended the tasting menu.

“What are you in the mood for,” the chef inquired.

“Something light and easy on the offal.”

As you may have heard you can feast on a delicacy of animal parts if your stomach desires, but this evening ours did not. Apparently eating light exists less in Greece than it does in France and we were treated to an eight course tasting extravaganza. Since raw is the new cooked, it seemed only fitting that we started with a sampling of raw “meze,” the star being paper thin slices of lamb with crispy shallots, feta and sun-dried tomato emulsion.

The bevy of small plates that followed included ricotta pillows with a spicy lamb sausage and a cinnamon crusted scallop with caramelized cauliflower. Sadly the octopus and a john dory aimed high but fell flat. Greek ingredients and reference are everywhere on the menu and on the wine list, but this is not your mother’s baklava, though the one for dessert was inspired by the chef’s. His creative approach on the dessert menu yielded an interesting chocolate sesame combination and a deconstructed baklava with cinnamon ice cream, but the roses four ways belonged in my own mother’s powder room and not on the table.

So while Onera has all the ingredients needed for success in 2005 – a location in a rising culinary neighborhood, a menu heavy in obscure meat products, a nod to the crudo, and even killer sheep milk dumplings – the sea is a little rocky and the Upper West Side is a long way from Crete.

Onera

222 West 79th Street

(212) 873 0200

Santa the Chef

If Santa were a chef then he would be Joel Robuchon. After coming out of a semi-retirement over a year ago to open his appropriately named restaurant, L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon, this Santa has been gifting tasty morsels to the hungry masses from his workshop on Rue Montalembert.

Though the big dog was no where to be seen when we arrived at 9:00pm, his little elves were busily cooking away in the open kitchen, searing the Dover sole special of the evening and plating the twenty some odd tasting portions that are available every night. The verdict on our wait was an hour and a half. The young hostess took our cell phone number and we settled down for an aperitif at the Hotel Montalembert next door, to escape the bitter cold that has descended upon Paris.

Promptly an hour and half later we took our place at the bar, luckily securing two corner bar stools, more conducive for conversation and food sharing.  With only bar seats, L'Atelier is best enjoyed as a couple, though a boisterous group of four Americans opposite us seemed to think that everyone wanted to hear their conversation.

Our waiter/bartender/sommelier suggested an aperitif. Maybe we said, a response he seemed to think warranted treating us to two glasses of champagne. So far the evening was a success and as we turned to the menu, scanning the small tasting plates and the larger entrees and plats, we had a feeling it was only going to get better.

Correct we were. An Italian inspired mille-feuille delighted our palettes with its fresh simplicity and basily essence. A fluffy ravioli of langoustine with truffles tasted of utter perfection, but sadly there was only one for us to share. I could have eaten three more but at 25 E for one, I erred on the side of restraint. Our mini lamb chops were delicious but uninspired, while the pigeon stuffed with foie gras, wrapped in cabbage and topped with a glistening piece of bacon ended the main portion of our meal on a high note.

We had ordered only four tasting plates at the suggestion of a waiter. Though satisfied, with room for dessert, we eyed the massive l'entrecote and steaming bowl of mussels that the twosome on our left had ordered, wondering if next time larger plates might be in order.

Two more complimentary glasses of wine arrived with our cheese plate, a selection of four, including a goat cheese from heaven and a creamy camembert. A baked apple with vanilla infused ice cream added that touch of sweetness to the end of the meal, just what we needed.

It certainly had felt like Christmas tonight. While we had paid dearly for some of our gifts and had graciously accepted the generosity of others, dining at L'Atelier had definitely made us feel like kids again. We bid adieu to our waiter and the young hostess lingering over the near empty restaurant and braved the bitter cold outside. But after a meal like this one, we felt a little warmer.

Let There Be Beef

As in New York, dining in Paris is full of choices. Right or Left? Bistro or Brasserie? With so many choices, sometimes it can be overwhelming, so where does one head when food is the only choice you really want to make? Why, Le Relais de l'Entrocote of course, where the decision is made for you.

OK, so you will have to choose between the two outposts of this steak frites standby, but once you are seated behind the red and white checked tables, simply indicate the temperature of your meat, rare, medium or well, and leave the rest to them.

They don't take reservations, but on a Thursday night we waited barely ten minutes for a cozy table next to two older couples with three bottles of house wine to the wind. Simple green salads with walnuts and crusty bread appeared as we gave the waitress our meat preferences.

The temperature of our wine was unfortunately off, arriving ice cold. But no one seemed to mind, or rather we all knew we had come for the beef, not the Beaujolais. So at last when our perfectly cooked steaks arrived, with perfectly crispy fries, we toasted to each other and all the things we were thankful for, since the meal also doubled as our Parisian Thanksgiving.

And what a way to celebrate! With succulent meat dripping with l'Entrocote's secret sauce, of which butter is most certainly a dominant ingredient. But when something tastes this good who cares how bad it is for you? We did show some restraint and when done, requested only the check and not dessert.

The following evening I walked past the restaurant on my way home only to see a huge line pouring out the front door. Have patience I thought, it will be worth the wait, but to those who might go in the future I would say, have foresight and don't go on the weekends.

Le Relais de l'Entrecote

20 bis, Rue St-Benoit, 6e

15, Rue Marbeuf, 8e

Au Gourmand

I couldn't believe it. A week had passed in Paris and I had yet to really eat out at a restaurant.  With late night pastry classes and afternoon cheese binges, I had little room left for a full-on sit down dinner.

But all that was about to change.  Approaching Au Gourmand from the Luxembourg gardens, one would never expect that such delicious food lies within its modest facade. Just over a year old, Au Gourmand offers a "Diner 3 Plats" for a mere 35 Euros, and believe me with the dollar getting weaker by the day, 35 for an entree, a plat, and a dessert, is mere  The chef is a finance refugee, and you too will be glad that he moved into the kitchen.  Ambitious, without being pretentious, the menu and service is presented by two well dressed, friendly managers, eager to answer our questions in broken French and English, though we were the only English speakers there.

Foie gras-ed out from our afternoon kitchen demonstration, we had come to eat not-too-French, French food, which is precisely what we got.  The autumn vegetable tart splashed with white truffle oil, melted in my mouth atop a flaky puff pastry.  The tartare of oysters with smoked salmon was a bit on the briny side for my friend, but our visitor from the states dove into his salad of fresh lettuces, and I used a crust of bread to get a taste of the divine twelve year old balsamic.

The crowd was older too, a combination of couples and groups of four. We couldn't decide if the table to our left was a mother and a son, or an indication that tad poling was the new trend in Paris.  The entrees were a bit mixed, but not for lack of high quality and taste, more for personal preference.  The filet of beef, ordered rare, looked like it was still breathing, caged in by perfectly round mounds of truffled potatoes. The shellfish risotto was brilliantly orange, with black mussels and langoustines, but a but on the decadently creamy side. I had opted for a simple roast pork chop, which arrived on a lone plate with a side of pure fat the same size as the loin. Left on for effect, and more so for flavor, I also received a little pot of roasted vegetables, sprinkled with a crunchy sea salt.

As we neared dessert, our waiter professed his love for the restaurants of Chinatown in New York, regretting his premature return to France after September 11. As he wished to stay longer in New York, I thought that I wished my stay in Paris might be extended, only to realize that this meal marked my first full week.

Invigorated by my personal realization I heartily devoured my sorbet trio of fig, melon, and litchi, nibbled my neighbors cheeses and tried our visitors trio of green tea. His green tea ice cream, too green for me, was topped by a orange chocolate that tasted like the sherbet I once looked forward to in my middle school cafeteria.

Just like the sherbet, our meal at Au Gourmand began to melt away as we walked towards the lights of St. Germain. Moments later we traded the quiet intimacy of our dinner for the overflowing sidewalk in front of Cafe de Flore. With my first restaurant dining experience complete, I set off quickly down the street to ponder what I had eaten, where I would eat next, but mostly to exercise away what I had eaten that night in anticipation of what I would eat tommorrow.

Au Gourmand

22, rue de Vaugirard

01 43 26 26 45

(Monday - Friday)

French Laundry Plates

Restaurants are the new Broadway shows. The chefs are the directors, the restaurant design is the set, the uniforms are the costumes, the tableware the props and the food is of course the star. While it is often easier to get a seat for a matinee performance, with understudies in the wings, it is the evening performance we covet.

Just like a show tune you cant get out of your head, restaurant goers often want to take home a souvenir from their experience. A cookbook to recreate dishes, a pan endorsed by the chef du jour, or even a bag of petit fours direct from the kitchen. Sadly, the oysters and pearls doesn't come out quite right, the pan under performs on your sub-par stove and the petits fours disappear in the cab.

With the opening of le monde des chefs, Jean-Claude Gotheron provides you with the only thing you really need to recreate your meal at French Laundry or simply to create your own version. With dishes, cutlery and glassware from some of the top toques in the world, you could easily miss this three-week old store on your way to the Rue de Cler Market if you walk too fast.

Part gallery, part shop, Monsieur Gotheron displays the tableware of up to four chefs at a time, currently showcasing Tom Colicchio of Craft, Joachim Splichal of Patina, Thomas Keller of the aforementioned French Laundry and the hometown favorite Michel Rostang, whose namesake restaurant is one of his personal favorites.

 

After sending each design to the chef or restaurant for approval, the tableware is handcrafted in France and then perfectly placed for the eager foodies that happen to stumble upon the world of chefs.

While dining with plates from the French Laundry may cost less than actually eating there, expect to pay a pretty penny for these original and exclusive items, such as 57 euros for a plate from Patina. For those who are matrimonially inclined, you can register at le monde des chefs and pray that someone eyes the tortoise cutlery set from Craft.  As for the rest of us, holding on the reservation line may be the closest we'll ever get, but you can be sure that I will be cleaning my plate either way.

le monde des chefs

170 Bis, Rue de Grenelle

Paris 33 (0)1 40 62 98 88

lemondedeschefs@thanakra.com

Falafel Bite

We had arrived just in time. The lunch crowd was picking up at L'As du Fallafel, and a line quickly formed just after we squished into our tiny table.  Though many people visit the Marais for the Soho-like shops, Picasso museum, and Jewish bakeries, we had come for the falafal.

And that is what we got. Two special falafals, complete with eggplant, hummus, crunchy onions and oozing tahini out of a fluffy fresh pita.  The motto adorning the front "Always imitated, never equaled" sums up this perfect Parisian snack that can be had on the go from the takeout window, or eaten at your leisure, next to locals and tourists alike.

    

"I heard that Lenny Kravitz said this is the best falafal in the world," said my companion, spooning salty hot sauce onto her half-eaten sandwich.

Well, if it's good enough for Lenny, I encourage you to go his way.

L'As du Fallafel: 34 Rue des Rosiers (01 42 72 78 91)

Fashion Find: If eating falafal this good doesn't put you in the mood to try on clothes than I am not sure what will. On the tiny Rue D'Ormesson pop into Aini, an even tinier boutique where the Japanese-French owner sells tunic-like sweatshirt tops and poofy skirts. She'll even show you how to achieve that "je ne said quoi" with a simple knit sweater jacket. 11 Rue de Ormesson (01 42 71 00 98)

J'ai Faim

The ability of French women to eat but still remain thin has been well documented.  Yes, we gluttonous American women understand that it is about balance, about enjoying food and wine without guilt and about not being a slave to the gym. However, are these qualities inherited from the culture and the city in which they live, or can they be learned? Can one American, such as myself, embrace morning croissants, afternoon salades, to be followed by a buttery pastry at a salon de the, not to mention three course menus complete with wine? Pas de problem, but can I do so without purchasing a whole new wardrobe, which would not be so bad, except of course it may be in a different size.

Mission impossible? I am not sure, but dedicated to try, I rolled out of bed this morning famished. Stopping at a small cafe down the street, I stood at the bar ordering up a cafe and a croissant.  I dropped a hearty sugar cube into my dark cup and began popping flaky morsels of croissant into my mouth (and he had given me three, one pain au chocolat as well). As I ate, speedily I suppose, nursing a killer hangover, courtesy of jet lag and prescription sleeping medication, I noticed a garcon eying me.

"Tu as Faim?" he half questioned, half stated, looking at my lightly greased lips from the buttery pastry.

What? I thought I was supposed to be eating! Looking down to my left, a gentleman was inhaling a gitane instead. Perhaps it was too early in the morning to be eating with such gusto, but I guess not to early for a cigarette.

Third Time's a Charm

A well known restaurant critic once told me that most "real" critics visit a restaurant at least three times, always disclose any biases and his own personal rule, order what you don't like.  Though I usually have neither the time, money or stomach to abide by these rules, the stars seemed to align this past Saturday at Landmarc in Tribeca.

Opened by yet another husband and wife team, Marc Murphy and Pamela Schein Murphy, Landmarc has received significant press for their extensive wine list of half bottles.  An idea that Pam, whose parents apartment I remember most vividly from many Christmas Eve parties, said was inspired by a restaurant in Paris (Le Bouchon de Francois Clercs). I thought perhaps it was just because the mini bottles looked so cute and went down so well.

Cramming our way into the three deep bar, I glanced at the six top in the corner that had been the site of my first meal and watched servers float upstairs to the second floor, where I had enjoyed a lovely summer supper as well. Now on my third visit, we squished into a plush booth, along the wall. 

Though the room was definitely hopping, the light from above cast a wide shadow over our table encasing us in a private space where movie debates and menu discussions could be hear above the din. We upgraded to full bottles and I perused the menu for new dishes, or those new to me. If you're starting light, the chopped salad gets jazzed up with hearts of palm, beets and celery, while the frisee salad with shrimp and capers is sinfully salty and delicious. I opted this time for the frisee and lardons combo, eagerly accepting the waiters offer of an optional poached egg, which oozed yellowy goodness all over my plate.

Others indulged in zucchini and mozzarella fritters, fried calamari and a dark pot of mussels, which come paired with your choice of sauce (provencal, dijoinnaise, chorizo) and size (small or large).  I dipped my fork into every plate retrieving smokey bites of cheese, crispy rings of calamari, and saving up for a bread dip, the action created by sopping up the mussels broth with a crusty nob of bread.

Main courses brought steaks, hanger and strip, as well as crispy fries. A lamb shank was particularly tender and delicious, while my salmon with sausage and white bean ragout was full of smokiness. We passed around small bowls of haricots verts and mixed mushrooms, prepared, served and priced the way that side dishes should be.

Decafs all around appeared alongside a complimentary spread of mini desserts, a chocolate mousse, tiramisu and creme brulee were the best. Five mini ice cream cones, topped with perfect single scoops disappeared next to the basket brimming with mint green cotton candy.  We waved a thank you to Pam, who was now in the midst of enjoying her own steak dinner with friends, as we devoured all the desserts, it was the polite thing to do.

Though there many be mini wine bottles and brulees, there is certainly nothing small about Marc Murphy's food, which explodes from his kitchen, landing on your table with speed, consistency, flavor and subtle depth, all while he periodically works the room overseeing the service, the regulars and the newcomers.

With a formula that seems to be getting better every time I return, now all they need is a bigger bar.

Landmarc

179 W Broadway

212-343-3883

One Night in Brooklyn

We chatted away catching up on two months as the bus cam to a halt. “Uh humm,” said the bus driver, “this is the last stop.” As we disembarked, he handed us two free transfers and pointed us in the right direction, the opposite way that we had come.  Our spirits still high, we headed back in search of our dining destination, 360.  We hailed a cab, the only yellow one in sight, who unfortunately was more clueless than we were.

Finally on a quiet (deserted) stretch of Van Brunt Street, we came upon a stone lined wall with tinted numbers identifying that we had arrived.  The door bore the words “Bullshit,” reminding us of the bullshit we had to ensue to get here, or perhaps the bullshit president the country re-elected, or rather to remind us that everything outside of a good meal with a good friend was simply bs. 

   

The view from the door revealed a small bar in the rear, a large celebratory party to the left, and scattered two tops to the right. After lingering at the door without acknowledgement for what felt like forever, a burly goateed man finally tucked us into a cozy table against the wall.

We had come to Red Hook for a change of scenery but also for a $25 non-restaurant week induced three course prix fixe, a rarity on the main land. The menu at 360 is rooted in France with subtle nods to less classical ingredients, a dash of cardamom in the nutty soup, and crunchy long beans dotted with ginger. In addition to the prix fixe an a la carte menu offers oysters, steak tartare and a simple green salad as well as one with confit of duck tongue and cornichons, a braised lamb or a sautéed skatefish.  My dining companion went for the prix fixe selection of a butternut squash soup and unfortunately had to settle for a vegetable plate when she learned they were out of the roasted chicken with spaetzle she had so desired. I ordered the “added value red hook” green salad and the lamb. 

We had most certainly worked up an appetite on our way there so the salad and soup didn’t last long.  When my lamb arrived it sat opposite a sad looking plate of fennel and kale, a poor excuse for a vegetable plate.  But the lamb was good, tender and gamey with a fragrant celeriac and porcini gratin, a perfect cold weather comforter. Though I did love this dish, I then had to stare at it for nearly 20 minutes, as our near empty plates sat in front of us waiting for any attention from our missing server. The service was absent at best, a result of the large party on the other side of the room.  Obviously regulars, the whole restaurant burst into song as a sparkling chocolate cake was ushered in from outside to their table.  Still staring at our food we also joined in infected by the congenial spirit. 

At last we said goodbye to our entrees, excited to try the crème caramel over the tarte de pommes and the panna cotta. Our excitement quickly gave way to disappointment as we learned they had run out of this dessert as well.  With two strikes against him, the server tried to compensate by offering us a banana puff pastry “special” with chocolate sauce.  More delicious sounding then it actually tasted we ate it none the less and also a complimentary piece of dense, but dry, chocolate birthday cake.

They were certainly trying and as I asked directions back to the nearest subway, our server balked, “you came all the way from Manhattan?” Indeed we had I responded, and he inquired as to whether we had enjoyed it and said to come back another night when there wasn’t such a big group dominating the restaurant, the kitchen and the service. Though I liked the comforting creative food, reasonable prices and lively crowd, I think this is one neighborhood spot I will leave to the actual neighbors.

360

360 Van Brunt Street (at Wolcott)

(718) 246 0360

Naughty or Snice?

The holidays are just around the corner. Tommorrow all the political ads will be gone replaced with christmas movie releases, holiday sales and New Years festivities. With plenty of openings from restaurants to stores to factories, there will be many goodies to please your inner foodie.

I had noticed some serious activity going on around one of my most frequented blocks the corner of west 4th and 8th. Upon closer inspection yesterday it seems that two new eateries will be opening within the next few weeks. Gioia, as reported by the Strong Buzz, will focus on feeding you slices of pizza from a L'il Frankie's founder. Complete with brick oven (direct from Italy) and billed as Pizza Napolitana and Vineria, Gioia, as the sign says will be coming to my neighborhood near you...very soon

But just down the block, covered with an orange gate was another sign, Opening Nov 10, Thanks for your patience. I did not realize I had been impatient until I began to read the menu at Snice, a place for vegetarian sandwiches and baked goods. I'm a sucker for seitan, and if my call to exercise your right to eat baked goods was any indication, I'm mad for muffins. I could only snap a quick picture from outside as hopeful employees, or maybe owners peered out from inside.

How typical, just when I am leaving town, I have two new neighbors, one that looks snice and another for a slice. Who needs to buy presents when you live in New York City- it's the gift that keeps on giving.