Dining Out

And I learned that by "Perch," they don't mean the fish.

Saturday morning, after a late night of grilling, poker playing, and a backyard bonfire, my roomie Nick suggested that it was time for brunch.  Fayaz was out of town to Miami on “spring break” and Meg was stuck in Midtown editing an article for the law journal, but a few guests had spend the night – one visitor from Maryland and two NYC friends who decided not to brave the 4:30 a.m. subway ride home from Park Slope — so we had a nice little crew.  After a bit of internet searching to decide where to go, we were out walking in the cool spring air to the Perch Cafe.

Before I talk about Perch Cafe I have a Minnesotan confession.  When I heard the name Perch, I immediately thought of the little fish that I would catch as a kid–not the thing birds do on sticks and wires.  I know, surprising since I currently live with two pet birds.  I guess it just goes to show: you can take the Minnesotan out Minnesota, but not the Minnesota out of the Minnesotan.

When the five of us arrived at 12:30, brunch was in full swing.  True to Park Slope the children were numerous, but after almost three years out here it’s kind of nice to see them.  There wasn’t an open table in the place… but there was outside!  All wasn’t lost, we wouldn’t need to wait 30 minutes to get seated, as we made our way directly to the patio.  The air was cool, but the sun was warm so we jumped at the chance to take the brunch outdoors.

Last week, I wrote a post about my brunch experience at Sette and I can’t help but compare.  The Perch brunch was filled with pandemonium, but the terrific attitudes of our server and the manager, plus the pure awesomeness of the food made for a night-and-day difference in brunching-experience at this place after my recent disappointment with Sette.

The confusion for our server seemed present from her first appearance: she poked her head out the back door, looked around and pondered, seemingly to herself, whether we were her party of five.  She slipped back inside and came back in a few minutes with water and only 4 sets of cutlery for the 5 of us.  But she was positive and upbeat and we all enjoyed exchanging a few stupid jokes as we ordered.  The food came out in spurts, and there was a need to switch-up an order of waffles because the kitchen had run out of batter.  After the first plate or two came out Matt, in visible pain, decided that the night before had gotten the better of him, and that it was best that he head home for a nap.  There seemed to be a lot of confusion about what food would be ready when.  At one point, refilling our coffee, the waitress looked  particularly stressed and we inquired what was going on.  A little prodding finally invoked a report of a fight in the kitchen (which she had just broken up), but she assured us that everything was back on track now and the rest of the food would be on its way.   We then, along with a number of apologies, received the rest of the orders  as they were ready.

It was all little crazy.  But the waitress was upbeat, apologetic, and happy to joke with us about the situation.  A complete contrast to the manner of the sulking waiter at Sette, faced with similar hiccups.  And, near the end of our meal, that manager came over, introduced himself, and explained that there was a new cook getting used to handling the big brunch rush and that our drinks and some of the food would be comped.

I should also note that the patio started to fill as we ate, and that other tables seemed to have smooth sailing with their orders.  I think we just got hit by some of the chaos that can happen at any restaurant and the people at Perch handled it well.

But, let’s not forget to address the excellent food.  Between the five us, we filled the table with huevos rancheros (my order), waffles, French toast, eggs Benedict, corn chowder, tomato soup, and grilled cheese.  With a lot of sharing  at the table, I was able to sample a little of everything.

The huevos rancheros started with a tortilla and with a layer of black beans, topped with two perfectly-fried eggs, some sour cream, and guacamole.  With a generous helping of the Tabasco sauce (I’m a big fan of spice, in case you haven’t noticed), I was very content.  I just love  the combination of black beans and eggs for breakfast.  And the eggs were done right, with nice runny yolks, but a good crisp on the bottom and edges.  (The color in the photo is a little  off, the guac was beautiful and bright in person–my cellphone camera sometimes just decides to blue out pictures.)

The eggs Benedict, which I have an ever-growing soft spot for, were delicious.  Again, nice runny yolk and a good ham-to-egg-to-bread ratio.  In an interesting twist, Perch used corn bread as a base, in place of the traditional English muffin.  In my experience, corn bread can be hit or miss.  Sometimes it’s just too dry for my taste.  In this case, either from some inherent cornbread moisture or from the runny yolk and Hollandaise sauce, the corn bread had just the right level of moisture and worked as a perfect base for getting all the deliciousness onto the fork.  This dish also came with homefries, which, in an interesting change-up to the standard fair, included sweet potato.

The French toast and the waffles were good–if you are into that kind of thing.  I just don’t understand why I would eat the “sweet” when there is so amazing “savory” to be enjoyed.

The corn chowder was good pick for the cool day and actually pretty perfect to eat via dunking the bread that came on the side.  Finally, the grilled cheese and tomato soup was rock star.  Yeah, grilled cheese and tomato soup is pretty much always satisfying and it would probably take some work to make it fail, but this stuff was really done well: the soup was thick and chunky and grilled cheese had just the right crunch to the bread.

Each dish was a solid execution of a simple, tasty idea.  All-in-all, Perch Cafe should find it’s way into everyone’s BK brunch rotation.

Next up, the Do-It-Yourself brunch!

Who doesn’t love brunch?  And here in New York it’s practically an institution.  There is no better way to shake off whatever you got up the night before than a little grease or sweet paired with Bloody Marys or Mimosas.  But, with so  many great places to choose from, it’s a waste of an early afternoon to head back to a place that is OK at best–which is where Sette Park Slope ranks.  There was no single disaster when Meg, Stu, and I made our Saturday afternoon trip to Sette, but we were met with a seemingly constant series of missteps.

The restaurant is, without a doubt, aesthetic. The main dinning room presents an exposed kitchen, thick wood tables, and wine storage on the walls above the kitchen. On arrival,, we chose seating on the enclosed patio and got a table in a corner with a great view of Park Slope’s 7th Avenue and 3rd Street.  After being seated, we got water and some amazing raisin and walnut foccacia bread.

My disappointment with Sette started with our server.  He was a handsome man, with an intriguing accent (when he begrudgingly spoke),  who clearly didn’t want to be there and didn’t seem to care that we knew it.  Now I’ve worked in the service industry (admittedly only for a short time) and I appreciate that being a waiter is hard and often shitty job, but the active disinterest he showed our table was over the top: no  “how are you doing today?” and thinly veiled annoyance when we weren’t ready to order right away – and even annoyance at getting our  first round of all you can drink drinks.  Stu, always friendly, tried to warm things up by asking his name, which he gave half turned around sulking from the table.  Brunch is all about a fun times with friends but the server set the opposite tone, and a good friendly tone could have helped me over look the other problems with Sette’s brunch.

There were three choice for the unlimited drinks: a Bloody Marry, a Mimosa, or a Bellini.   All of which tasted fine, but were definitely on the weak side.

Sette’s brunch offers an antipasti and an entree, in addition to the unlimited drinks and the raisin walnut foccacia bread.  Both Stu and Meg ordered the ricotta fritters with fruit puree which were a complete home run.  Fried and the size of doughnut holes these little gems were moist, not overly sweet, and perfect when dipped into the fruit puree.  I ordered the seasonal melon, balsamic figs, and prosciutto.  I have fond memories of prosciutto melone from a past trip to Italy, so I may have had the bar set a little high, but I was very underwhelmed.  The  long thing slices of cantaloupe were under ripe, hard, and not sweet enough.  The prosciutto was fine.  The main problem came with the balsamic figs.  They were almost rock hard and were drowning in a super sweet syrup (balsamic reduction?) that would have been great on french toast.  The syrup was completely out of place in this plate and it flowed it’s way over to the prosciutto, overwhelming it and the melon with it’s toxin sweetness.

For the entree, Meg and I each ordered the poached eggs “Benedict” on foccacia bread with black forest ham and tomato sabayon (a sabayon is similar to hollandaise sauce, but without the butter–so in this case probably some egg yolks, sugar, and tomato puree).   Stu ordered the egg panini with fennel sausage and fontina cheese, but, being a vegetarian (yes, shock of shocks, I can be friends with a vegetarian), she ordered it with some onions and no sausage.

Stu’s entree was the first to arrive, with the onion, but also with the sausage.  The food runner or whoever it was that brought the entree was great though.   He apologized and took it back to the kitchen to get fixed.  While we were waiting for round 2 on Stu’s meal,  Meg’s entree arrived.  A few minutes later Stu’s panini made a return sans meat.  But I was still waiting on the my eggs Bendict.  So I asked the guy bringing out the food; he seemed confused and went to check with the kitchen.  He came back to the table and said the kitchen had never gotten the ticket, but it was making the dish now and it would be out soon.  A few minutes later, a nice woman, who seemed to be the manager, came over and apologized and assured us the food would be there soon.  After another few minutes, our elusive waiter stopped by to say the same, but started to run off as we were mid-sentence asking for a coffee and booze refill.  Finally, my eggs made it to the table.  Again, this wasn’t any huge disaster (thought I’m not sure how it seemed normal that I was only doing part of the prix fixe), but was just one of many things–especially the server’s attitude–that soured the brunch.

The eggs Benedict was good.  The picture makes it look unappetizing, but it really looked amazing.  The white on the outside of the eggs had a perfect cloud like appearance.  My one criticism would be that there was too much ham.  More precisely, the  ham formed a meaty shield for the bread so that when I cut into the poached egg the wonderful yolk ran over the ham on to the plate and didn’t get much of a chance to sink into the bread.  Also, foccacia bread, because of the the nature of its outside, simply isn’t that absorbent.

We got the bill.  When we left we passed the manager, herself seeming a little stressed. I knew that she knew about at least part of the problems we had.   She asked how everything was.  I just said “fine” and continued out the door.  I know I should have asked for something, a little off the bill etc., but I hate doing that, I feel that when the manager knows about these kinds of issues they should be proactive.

All-in-all I think I might have hit Sette on a bad day.  If I had to guess, here is what was happening: more than one of the waiters called-in or just didn’t show up, our server got a call that dragged him out of bed after a long night out into a crazy understaffed brunch rush.  The manager was struggling herself (she was out re-filling drinks) to keep things going.  But that wouldn’t change the food.  Like the excess ham on the Benedict’s foccacia , Sette is reaching a little too far.  It has some really great thing going for it, but some of the dishes are just over the top and should be paired back and simplified for a better result.

There aren’t a huge number of brunch places in the Slope, but there is no reason to risk a mediocre C+ when there are enough great brunches to be found (especially considering the endless number in the city).

The Melodramatic Prologue

It was December 2010.  In the biting chill of winter.  The piercing wind whipped through the man-made canyons that are the streets of Manhattan. Two adventures set out on a culinary quest.  Months before Meg had eaten at a Japanese bar that she thought I would love.  It reminded her of Village Yokocho.  She wasn’t exactly sure where it was.  Between 6 and 7 Ave.  On 51st Street.  Maybe 50th.  Definitely in the 50s.  What was it called though…?  She wasn’t sure, but there was a boring bar a couple doors down and there were stairs in the restaurant  that bring you down to the seating area.   Against my better judgment, I became the second adventurer on this foolhardy adventure.

We started on our way, walked the five avenues over and four blocks down, the winter air challenging us to turn back at every step.  Once we got to 50th street, we walked its length west from 6th Ave to 7th Ave.  The mysterious restaurant did not reveal herself.  Meg assured me that it must be on the next block.  So we walked 51st going West from 7th Ave to 6th Ave .  The mysterious restaurant still did not reveal herself.  “I’m sure it’s right near here, it must just be the next block up.”  52nd Street from 6th Ave back to 7th Ave.  “OK, really, it’s right near here, I’ll know it when I see it.”  53rd Street from 7th Ave to…..  We made, snaking between 6th and 7th Avenues, it all the way up to 59th Street, where, frozen and defeated, we gave in and turned back to eat at Joe’s Shanghai midtown location on 56th.

But like all good tales, this one comes with a happy ending.  A few weeks ago, Meg tracked down the location of this mystery restaurant.  It’s on 49th, just on block South from where we started our Northward hunt!  But the meal we finally enjoyed this weekend made the earlier chilly trek worth the pain.

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The Place

Finding ourselves in Times Square, we stopped by the mystery restaurant, which we learned is actually an izakaya, or Japanese pub, called Sake Bar Hagi.  We had to pass an hour waiting for a table, so we passed the time at the bar of Pasta Lovers, a few doors down. It was early evening, around 6:30, which made us a little surprised to find a huge crowd at Saki Bar Hagi.  But, given the Midtown location, Hagi seems to draw a large after-work crowd.  (As an aside, please ignore all of the great things I say about this place, avoid it like the plague, so that next time I go there it won’t be so crowded!)

The sign above the outside door simply reads: Sake Bar.  Once past the first door, there’s a narrow staircase leading down to  another door to the bar and seating area.  I felt like I’d stepped out of New York and into an Osakan sports bar.  The actual bar is medium-sized, with most of the warmly lit room dedicated to long wooden tables, with smaller tables on the outskirts.  From pretty much wherever you sit you have a view of a one of the many flatscreen TVs on the wall and get a view of one of the many signs with the daily specials.

The Eats

The menu and drink list were a little overwhelming at first.  Laminated page upon page of bright text and pictures of unending deliciousness.  In the end, with the help of an unfiltered sake, we narrowed our choices to a seaweed salad, wasabi octopus with cream cheese (from the special menu), the octopus balls, a beef skewer, wasabi pork dumplings, rice and salmon, and the spaghetti with flying fish roe.

Seaweed Salad

I’m not really sure what they did to this seaweed salad, but it was hands-down the best I’ve ever had and it was Meg’s favorite dish of the night.  It was visually beautiful, with the dark black seaweed punctuated by little bits of green and red.  The flavor was sly and ephemeral with little bits of salt, light acid, bright onion?, garlic?, and lemon?  And the crunchy texture was great.  If I had it to try again I might still have to much fun eating it to really focus on all of the flavors going on.

Wasabi Octopus with Cream Cheese

What is wasabi octopus with cream cheese?  I had no idea my self when I order it off the chalk-written specials menu next to our table.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was definitely surprised when it got to the table.  There were maybe a half-dozen crackers on the plate with a small pile of what could pass for a dip in the Midwest sprinkled with something green (minced green onion I think).   After putting some of the “dip” on a cracker and biting in, I found the octopus hiding in 1/2 inch to 1/4 inch pieces in the mixture.  It was one of the more subtle uses of wasabi I’ve tasted–it was there adding flavor, but the burn was completely mellowed by the cream cheese.  My mouth got a barrage of flavors with each bite.   The cream cheese seemed to be mixed with something–it was much less thick than I expected it to be.  Honestly, given the texture, I’m not sure how it held it held together in a little mound rather then spreading all over the plate.  The flavors were bright and the cream cheese made the dish comforting as any good bar (izakaya) food should be.

Octopus Balls

On the menu, there were two options for the octopus balls: pan fried and deep fried.  I really wanted to try the octopus balls – in part to compare them to the ones I know and love and Village Yokocho, and since Village Yokocho pan fries, I had to go that route.  The first difference between the balls at Hagi is they are fewer but larger.  On biting in, the difference continued.  The Hagi balls are  bready on the inside, a very moist bread, but still a bread texture.  In contrast, Village Yokocho’s balls are slightly doughy.  The size of the bits of octopus encased in the little bread balls was also different.  At Hagi you could feel the chunks of octopus; at maybe an inch to an inch and a half you had to give a couple good chews before swallowing.  At Village Yokocho, the octopus comes more as bits than chunks and require no more chewing then doughy balls they’re in.

My verdict on the winner for octopus balls is still out.  But never fear.  I’ll take one for the team and eat as many as it takes until this problem is resolved.

Beef Skewer

Yeah, we ordered just one.  Something told us we might have enough food coming our way to fill us up.

The skewer was simple and great.  It was fatty (maybe a little grisly) cut of beef with a sauce coating of some kind.  With each bite the delicious fatty bits melted in my mouth.

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Wasabi Pork Dumplings

These bad boys packed a tasty wasabi fueled punch.  Again, I was interested to see how Hagi stacked up on a known favorite from Village Yokocho.  As with the octopus balls, size of the protein was bigger.  Hagi’s pork had a very coarse grind, where as at Village Yokocho the grind is finer.  Again, the stack-up here is tough call.  The only thing I can think to do is to take a day and head to each with Fayaz and implement a proper comparison.  (Too spicy for Meg’s taste.)

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Rice Ball

The rice ball really wasn’t much of a ball at all, but more of a rice triangle with a small dent in the middle filled with Salmon.  This dish was probably my least favorite  of everything ordered.  All-in-all it was just fairly bland.  A rice triangle, with a crispy outside, chewy inside, and some salmon flavor.  Still, if I’m throwing back the beers at Hagi while watching a game on the flat screen, I could see where this simple, filling rice dish might have it’s place.

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Spaghetti with Flying Fish Roe

Meg had sampled this dish at the encouragement of a friend the first time she came to Hagi and was determined to try it again.  It takes a lot for a dish to make me think to myself, “WTF is going on here?!” and this plate of spaghetti definitely made me do that in a very good way.  I liked, but didn’t love this dish.  Still it was exciting to try something so different.  The base of the sauce on the spaghetti seemed to be mayonnaise or cream based–maybe a little to much mayo for my taste.   The fish roe and a good level of saltiness and some interesting texture.  There were some other flavors at play but, like so much of what I tried,  I had trouble picking them out of the shuffle.

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The Epilogue

The food arrived at Hagi in a nice ordered progression with never more then two dishes on the table and never more than a few minutes with nothing on the table.   In contrast, at Village Yokocho the food either seems to arrive all at once or in random clumps.  But Hagi hasn’t replaced Village Yokocho as my go to izakaya. For once thing, it’s a bit more expensive, though only maybe by $1-$2 a dish.  For another, Village Yokocho will just always have a special little place in my heart (and a large piece of neighboring real estate in my stomach).  Still, I can’t wait to get back to Hagi and tear through some new menu items!

Grumpy!

Most mornings I make my own coffee.   It’s easy enough and cheaper than the coffee shop cup.  I get to sit down with my bowl of cereal that I share with Mika (my excitable parrot), sip the coffee from the french press, and watch New York 1 before heading out the door.

But, on days I’m running late, I give in and grab my coffee on the way to school.  The problem is that  Joe’s, the coffee shop near school, always has long morning line–to  make me all the later getting to class.  The bodega coffee near school is weak and needs a ton of sugar and milk to be drinkable.   So when I was running late Tuesday, I decided to try a new coffee shop (having seen it’s enigmatic frowny face sign time and time again) that’s on my walk to the subway:  Café Grumpy.

I went to the counter and asked for a large coffee to go.  I’m not sure what it was about the place, the limited sitting place, the few people, all the actually ceramic cups…. but I could tell that there was something different going on.  The guy asked what I kind of coffee I wanted and , sensing a little confusion, he pointed me towards the printed list at the register.

When I looked at the list, the first thing that struck me were the prices.  There were three coffees listed, one for $2.75, one for $3.50, and one for $4.50.   This had the potential to be dangerous.  But deciding that this place probably had really good coffee I went for the middle of the road in the price range, the Rodomunho, hailing from Brazil. After I ordered, I was informed that they only had one size, but that my pick was very “robust.”

Then I found what probably accounts for some of the price and what was going to hold me up.  First, the barista (is it still barista for a man?)  measures out the correct amount of beans on a digital scale, then grinds the beans, places a metal filter in a glass holder, places your cup underneath, puts the grounds in the filter, pours a little water into the grounds, and spends the next minute to minute and a half checking in and pouring more water over into the grounds until the cup is full.  (I missed my train by seconds–this is how I got to be 2 minutes late to Criminal Procedure.)

When the brewing was done and the barista asked if I needed room for milk, I was right in guessing that this brew wouldn’t need it.  So he took my full coffee cup, poured it into a metal pot and then back into my cup (probably to mix together various layers from the slow brewing process).

I walked the next two blocks to my train letting the cup cool before trying my first sip at the subway entrance.  It was probably the best coffee I’ve ever had.  There was nothing completely magical about it, I didn’t feel like the skies opened and the light of god shined down upon me, but it was a great coffee.  It had that acid that coffee has but I would say it was soft, rounded and had a roasted nutty sweetness.  It had a little texture that started to remind me of espresso.  Oh, and yeah, it was “robust”,  packing  the full caffeine kick I was looking for.

A little research has revealed that Grumpy’s is a chain is a few other locations around the city.  All seem to just have the same enigmatic frowny face sing outside.

All, in all, Grumpy’s is off the list for my regular morning coffee–but holds first place in coffee shops I want to get back to again.  I can’t wait to sit down and order this fine coffee in a proper glass or to venture a sip of their espresso.

Café Grumpy
383 7th Avenue
Brooklyn NY 11215

www.cafegrumpy.com

Toby's Public House

Some of you Manhattanites are believers.  Others have heard the stories and aren’t sure what to think.  Well I’m here to tell you the rumors are true: amazing food can be found just a subway ride outside of the island of Manhattan.

Down in South Park Slope, just off the N train, is a gem of pizza places.  Toby’s Public House manages to fit the best of a pub, a sports bar, and small Italian restaurant all into one place.  When I first moved to the Slope at the beginning of the school year, a neighbor told me I had to go for the great beer selection.  Upon arrival, I found a beer list that, while not vast, is varied and regularly updated and includes some uncommon brews.

Toby’s is in three story brick building with tall narrow windows and heavy wooden shudders.  The “faded” painted name on the brick exterior above the door suggests a timeless establishment, despite its 2008 opening.  The old style character continues as you walk through the door with dark woods, exposed brick, and a hammered tin ceiling.  Once inside, you find yourself looking down the length of the one room bar at the large bell-shaped wood fired brick oven that is truly at the heart of Toby’s.

Out of the wood burning oven come some of the best pizza I’ve found in New York.   I know that’s a huge statement, but Toby’s backs me up.  (And for the Minnesotans out there: this pie beats Punch Pizza.) The pizzas are seemingly Naples-styled (or at least influenced, given it’s a little larger than a true Neapolitan pizza), in that the high temperature of the wood burning oven yields a wonderful crispy thin crust.  My biggest disappointment with this style of pizza at too many New York restaurants is a soggy middle.  A good Neapolitan pizza should have a crispy under crust from the edge to the center—end of story—and Toby’s delivers, without fear of piling on amazing topping combinations.

Nice'n Crisp

The only drawback to Toby’s is that, despite its Brooklyn location, it has Manhattan prices.  Pizza prices range from $13 for the classic margherita to $18 for the tartufata (complete with black truffle cream sauce, mozzarella, crimini mushrooms, prosciutto cotto, truffle oil).  One of Toby’s pizzas can satisfy a single ravenous person or be split between two less eager diners.  The real danger comes off the pizza menu.  Though tempting and, yes, delicious, the antipasti can quickly make your bill spiral out of control.  If you venture off the pizza menu, mussels in a spicy marinara sauce (on the list to be made cheaply at home), served with focaccia to soak up the extra sauce, is sure to be a hit.

A favorable departure from the ol’time feel of Toby’s are the three flat screen TVs playing everything from soccer to college football.  I can’t think of a more tempting bar at which to watch “the game.”  And though the football season may be over, with its outdoor patio seating, Toby’s is sure to be a favorite summertime destination.

Toby’s Public House
686 6th Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11215
www.TobysPublicHouse.com

Every now and then, I stumble across something here in New York that just can’t be found in the Twin Cities.  This time it was a dimly lit bar with a brightly lit stage with a full band pumping out swing and jazz music to the bar and the dance floor.  For those from Minnesota, I know that the Twin Cities has places that sound similar to this, but not ones that are really on the same level in terms of size and energy.  I think the closest was Sophia’s in down on St. Anthony Main, which unfortunately closed around 2005.

Meg had been to Swing 46 before, but I was a virgin.  We didn’t start the night with plans to hit up Swing 46.  One of Meg’s friends, Rakesh, was doing a little Valentine’s show down the street (46th Street–aka Restaurant Row) at a piano bar: Don’t Tell Mama.  On our way to the show, Meg convinced me to stop outside and take a look at the televised live feed Swing 46 has of their dance floor.  While  watching a pre-show dance lesson we got to chatting with the promoter who was working to pull people in from the street.  We told him our plans for the show and dinner reservation down the street and he offered to waive the $12 cover if we wanted to come back for a drink later.

The Bar

After the Valentine’s show (good, but too heavy on the serious songs and too light on the funny and fast-paced fare) and an fairly average dinner at Don’t Tell Mama’s restaurant, we headed back to Swing 46.   As we walked in and the music from the stage in the main room rolled over us, the first thing that struck me was the size of the place–a large bar area and huge main room.  After checking our coats, as asked by the hostess, we found ourselves in the bar area, a large room with table seating opposite the bar.  The room with the bar opens into the larger main room, featuring a stage and a dance floor lined with larger tables for dinner seating. We were able to grab a seat at the very end of the bar which provided a great view into the main room at the stage.  After seeing the stage and the white table cloth tables I couldn’t help but feel like I was waiting for Indian Jones in the opening scenes of The Temple of Doom.

Okay, so this place has great music and atmosphere, but why am I writing about it here on Eat Cook Live?  In a word: cocktails.  The bartender Jake was a man who knew his booze.  For our first round, which at the time we thought would be our only round, Meg ordered a cocktail off the menu, the “Swing 46,” and I ordered a negroni.  About 20 seconds after we put in our order, the bartender swung back.  Usually this means I need to walk the bartender through how to make a negroni: equal parts gin, campari, and sweet vermouth, topped with soda water and severed with an orange peel.  But, as it turned out, the opposite was true.   Jake said something along the lines of “since you ordered an negroni I’m going to assume that you know something about cocktails and steer you away  from the ‘Swing 46.'”   After quick exchange with Meg about what she likes,  a gin based drink was decided on.  Jake muddled two cucumber slices and a little lime into some Hendriks  gin.  With the addition of a little simple syrup (sugar water), a shake, a pour, and a cucumber garnish and the drink was ready.  The cucumber was refreshing and the simple syrup added just enough sweetness.  A few minutes later my negroni arrived.  Jake used a lemon instead of the usual orange, which was fine, given that this was also Hendriks based.  With a little extra attention, Jake was sure to carefully squeeze some of the oil from the lemon peel into the drink.

George Gee

Realizing we had found a good thing with the drinks, and loving the George Gee Band on stage, we decided to have  one more drink.  This time I ordered us each a champagne cocktail and again entrusted the details to Jake.  A combination of vodka, muddled lime, simple syrup, and honey was mixed and topped with champagne.  Again, the drink was light, flavorful, and not overly sweet.   As we sipped we watched the stage and dance floor.  The leader of the band is a short stocky Asian man, whose voice is nothing like you’d expect.  With seemingly endless energy he kept the room and the band rolling.  The male vocalist, John Dokes, had voice that I can only describe as golden butter.  The dance floor would fill and wain depending on the song being played.  The mix of the people dancing was broad, from the young and fit to the heavy and middle aged.  The dancing highlight was a woman who I am guessing was somewhere in her mid 80’s.  Dancing with vocalist Dokes, she tore up the floor.

John Dokes

While watching and listening to the show, we enjoyed random small bits of conversations with Jake–mostly about cocktails.  Somewhere  during the night I learned how to make lime infused simple syrup.  A potential gem for summer cocktails.

For the atmosphere and for the great drinks I will definitely be making a return to Swing 46.  On the next trip, Meg and I plan to take advantage of the free early-evening swing lessons to prepare for a night of more than just great booze.

Mochi Ice Cream

Yes, even food bloggers can live under a proverbial rock.  This week when I went out to lunch with Stu to a ramen place near school.  No, this isn’t the stuff I’ve live on off and on my whole life–a more detailed post of the ramen is coming when I get in a few more visits.   On the latest trip, after slurping down our bowls of deliciousness, Stu suggested something that I haven’t had before: mochi ice cream.

Now I would say that over the last 28 years I’ve developed some familiarity with ice cream, but I had no idea about this Mochi thing.  I love Japanese food and I’m not sure how I missed this one.  Well, it turns out that Mochi is, basically, rice ground into a paste that can be formed into shapes.

A View Inside

When it comes to mochi ice cream, the mochi is wrapped around an ice cream flavor of your choosing and put into a deep freeze.  As you hold it the outer layer of mochi softens, and by the third or fourth (and final) bite the ice cream itself starts to melt.  The mochi adds a little texture and lets you pick-up  the ice cream like an awesome Asian ice cream sandwich.  If I liked it this much now, I can’t wait to take some more of these down when summer finally comes around.

From the Inside

On what may well be my last first day of class for the rest of my life (lets not think about that LLM right now) it was time to grab lunch with the A Team, aka the old crew from Section A in first semester of law.    After an extensive group gchat the place was picked: Piola.

I’ve walked by Piola hundreds of times–it’s near school and on the way to the gym and what used to be one of my favorite bars (the Reservoir dropped like a stone in my rankings when they got rid of their Big Buck machine).  Piola always looked good from the outside, signs luring me with descriptions of tasty pizza, pasta and wine.  I was excited to finally make it through the door.

As the five of us sat at the table we found a tasty looking list of lunch specials, including pizza, pastas, and salads.  A quick scan of the regular menu revealed even more interesting dishes, but also told me that we were getting a good deal (probably $3-$5 off each entree).

I ordered the “Born in USA” pizza (which featured chicken, spicy salami, mushrooms and onions), Meg ordered gnocchi in a bolognese sauce, Nick ordered the “Pisa pizza” (ham), Debbie ordered a cheese pizza with diced tomatoes, and Rebbecca ordered a cheese pizza with tomato slices and dried oregano.

From where we were sitting we could see a beautiful wood burning oven.   I know I saw them put the pizzas in the oven.   But Piola made a mistake that all to many places make–they either have the temperature too low in the oven or don’t keep the pizzas in for long enough.   If there is a wood burning oven, the bottom of the pizza should be nice and crispy, NOT SOGGY, when it lands in front of me.  The toppings on my Born in USA were fine, though the chicken was dry and nearly flavorless.

I tried a slice of Nick’s pizza.   It had the same soggy crust problem, but the ham on the pizza was a good combination.

Rebbecca’s pizza, which I didn’t try, looked like it had been bombed with oregano–far more than a dusting.  She found it to be way too much and had to pull off the sliced tomatoes in order to make the pizza edible.

Debbie was very satisfied with her pizza, but then again, if Piola couldn’t handle making a cheese pizza they probably would be out of business by now.

Meg’s pasta was okay.   Though the sauce was entirely uninspired, just meat and some tomato.  No real flavoring, not even any onion.  The gnocchi itself was good, a nice texture in that it wasn’t too hard or too soft.  But, all in all, a very bland plate.

I wouldn’t avoid this place like the plague, maybe it was just a bad day, but I’m also not in a rush to check it out again.

Piola
48 E. 12th St.
New York, NY 10003

The following is adapted from a restaurant review first publish in the Cardozo Jurist.

The Bar That Keeps On Giving

The spring semester loan check is in the bank and I’m feeling rich again.  But I’ve made a promise to myself:  I’m going to remember that my beginning of the semester wealth is just an illusion and that come May I’ll regret my early frivolous spending.  So to satisfy my champagne tastes on a beer budget I will turn again to Dock’s Oyster Bar or, to be more precise, to their epic happy hour.

Located in Midtown East, the first thing that struck me about Dock’s was its size: a few years in New York has gotten me use to compact restaurants with close dining quarters.  Dock’s has high ceilings and a spacious dining area.  The wood paneling, dark tiles, dim light (an amazing constant in the face of the floor to ceiling windows), and rounded edges evoke a comfortable steakhouse.

Every time it’s the oysters that bring me through Dock’s revolving door.  Once I start thinking about oysters I can’t stop until I’ve taken down a dozen or so.  Lucky, at only a dollar each, I can satisfy my craving for these fresh briny treats for only twelve bucks.  The ice tray comes with the standard cocktail sauce and ground ginger but the friendly bartender will always brings over hot sauce or any other sauce my heart desires.

But when I’m done with the oysters, the happy hour isn’t over.  The buffalo calamari is a must-try—picture buffalo chicken with a calamari substitution.  I was skeptical of the combination, but at only $6.00 I had to give it a try.  I was a convert at first bite of the spicy and crispy morsels.  Dock’s offers up a few other savory gems with both sliders and BBQ pork sliders for only $1.50 each.  The sushi roll on the happy menu deserves a solid B—not bad, but not amazing at its $7 price tag.

Not actually Dock's oysters, but YUM!!!

Of course, Dock’s happy hour includes deals not only on the food but also on the booze.  Well drinks are only five bucks.  I recommend starting with the bloody mary which—at least in my mind—matches well with the seafood.  But if you’re not a hard liquor fan, grab one of the $6 glasses of wine.  When you delve into the savory portion of the happy hour menu you’ll appreciate the $3 off beer which makes a the whole draft selection only $4.

As a restaurant looking to turn a profit, Dock’s sports a regular menu as well.  In fact, you can only get the happy hour from 3 to 7 PM, Monday through Friday, in the bar area.  But if you want to eat later, sit at a real table, or have some loan money burning a hole in your pocket, the standard menu presents a classic mix of seafood and red meat.  The two times that I’ve ventured outside of the happy hour I found the service impeccable and the food well-executed.  When it comes to the surf and turf Dock’s does it right by keeping it fresh and simple.

Dock’s Oyster Bar
633 3rd Ave
New York, NY 10017
(212) 986-8080

So I realize it’s been a while since there’s been a post…. ok a long time, since Randy Moss played for the Vikings.  But it’s time to get back to it.  Anyway, on to the sushi talk!

It’s easy to find cheap sushi in New York, though it’s not necessarily so easy to find good sushi on the cheap.  All too often I’ve been tempted by seemingly amazing sushi specials, only to find tough, low quality cuts of fish or fish past its prime.  Cherin Sushi, however, offers delicious, fresh, and creative rolls at a bargain price.

As you get to the door of Cherin, through the front window you see a simple black rock garden.  Once through the door, you find yourself in a comfortably Spartan, long, dimly lit room.  The sushi bar itself is at the far end of the long room.  With only two seats, the small sushi bar, hard to see from most seats in the restaurant, may be Cherin’s biggest drawback.  It’s always nice to have the option to sit at the bar, talk with chef, and see the sushi being made.  Especially if you’re a regular talking to the sushi chef can sometimes get you the best cuts of fish and off the menu creations.

If you swing by Cherin any evening Monday through Saturday you can get in on a sushi early bird special.  Mondays, the specials run from 5 until midnight, Tuesday through Thursday the special is available from 5 to 8, and Friday or Saturday the special ends by 7:30.  Get your soy sauce and wasabi ready for the “Diet Special”: three rolls or one roll with six sashimi pieces for $9.95; or grab the “Dinner Special”: four rolls or one roll with nine sashimi pieces for $12.95.

Sure, the specials don’t include some of the fancy rolls; but they do have some deliciously innovative sushi on the list.  Among the standard rolls, Cherin’s menu has some awesome house creations: the Sushi Surfer roll introduces banana to eel (an odd-sounding yet surprisingly tasty union), the Jenny roll puts a pineapple and shrimp combination in your chopsticks, and the Crunch roll adds some apple into a standard cucumber roll.  And during happy hour, be sure not to miss the generously priced beer and hot sake.

Even if you think it’s lame to eat dinner before eight o’clock, don’t skip over this place.  The non-happy hour prices still include quality rolls for less than the pre-package stuff you find in stores.  But wait, there’s more.  Cheri is BYOB with no cork or cap fee and has a great liquor store with top-shelf bottles of sake just down the block.

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Cherin Sushi
306 E. 6th St.
New York, NY 10003

Hours:
Monday-Thursday: 5pm-midnight
Friday & Saturday: 5pm-1am
Sunday: Closed