American – Page 11 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Oklahoma Smoke BBQ

231 West 145th Street between Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Avenues
212/862.5335
about $31 for four people, with two sodas, without tip
â™¥

The day Oklahoma Smoke opened in west Harlem, they ran out of meat. I stopped by to check their menu and they told me they just didn’t anticipate how many people were going to show up. Really? You knew it was your opening day, right? The next day, I stopped by at 2pm. They were open, but the guys in the front had to ask the kitchen what time they think they’ll be ready. 5pm, someone said. Two days after that, I called to order dinner for pick-up. It was loud in the background but I managed to order a rack and a half of their pork jerky ribs. The guy on the phone said two side dishes come with my order, so I picked collard greens and rice and beans. He also reminded me that I can have a can of Coke with it.

Half an hour later, I walked in to pick up my order. There were a few of us standing around and waiting for our orders. Once in a while, someone would announce a number. They finally stopped when they realized their customers don’t know what the numbers mean. (Them: Who ordered number 23? Us: What the hell is number 23?) They packed up my order while I waited, but then realized someone had done it already. When I looked at that bag, the wrong sides were included. So I waited some more. When I received the sauce-stained paper with my food items checked off, the young girl at the counter didn’t know what buttons to press to register my order. One of the older men had to help her. At this point, I’m not quite sure who’s working for the restaurant. When I was finally handed my order, they told me they ran out of Cokes. I picked an orange soda instead. They gave me two.

Back at home, I served the ribs to three others. I had to use my hands because the meat easily fell off the bones. I wasn’t quite sure why they were called jerky; they tasted more like they were boiled before they were slow-cooked. Without the orange-colored sauce, the meat barely tasted like barbeque. Curiously, I texted Aaron, a friend who grew up in Oklahoma, and asked him what makes barbeque an Oklahoman barbeque? All I got in response was, We use a hillbillie recipe.

Harlem is going through a lot of changes. Business owners need more practice in running a restaurant to please more than just their neighbors. At Oklahoma Smoke BBQ, they’re trying really hard–at least they do their collard greens right.

P*Ong

150 West 10th Street off Waverly Place
212.929.0898
about $145 for one tasting menu and two extra dishes, with two drinks, with tip
â™¥

Where do you go on a first date? If you feel unsure about the other person, you may want to go to a small bistro where the fare would be safe and expected. If you’ve known the other person for a while and feel comfortable enough to eat with a very sharp knife, you may want to go to a steakhouse. If you want to be playful but still slightly impress, you might go to P*Ong.

It’s hard not to think about desserts as soon as you step inside P*Ong. The first whiff you catch is of a bakery’s. From the red wall down to the glossy paper used for the menu, the Dr.’s first reaction when we sat down was, “Are we eating precious little things?” He was skeptical and he was hungry.

I went over the short menu and bravely ordered the suite which consisted of ten savory dishes. They are adventurous, yet well thought out. No one lackadaisically combines the ingredients like chef Pichet Ong does at P*Ong. Who else would think of a stilton soufflÃ© encrusted in crushed walnuts and then pair it with a basil-arugula ice cream?

A fava bean and sugar snap pea dish sprinkled with thinly-sliced almonds and dusted with Parmiggiano reminded me of summers in Vermont. The sweet Maine crab with tarragon, lemon and chives was matched with green apple mousse, while the shrimp ceviche was flavored with Thai chili and mango purÃ©e. They were my two favorites even though I could have used more of the natural taste of the shellfish. Both were bright and cooling on the tongue. The bigeye tuna was overpowered by the olive dressing. I wanted to taste more of the fattiness of the tartare. The Wagyu carpaccio was biting with the arugula and the maldon salt gave it some extra texture. I barely had room for the goat cheese and the peaches served on a bed of smooth ricotta and brittled aloe vera. I was full and drowning in whimsical adjectives in my head.

The Dr. selected two dishes a la carte after the kitchen allowed us to order only one tasting menu. He loved the smooth polenta covered in a generous serving of morel mushrooms. A foie-gras brulÃ©e started off beautifully and interestingly until the smell of burnt sugar reminded him of something else in the hospital. Unfortunate and unpleasing, I know, and not to be blamed on the kitchen, but this was when the watermelonade cocktail worked its magic.

The Dr.’s skepticism dissipated as it got late and the house music was upped one level. P*Ong is certainly not the place you take your father to, but if your companion thinks stilton has some sexiness to it, you may just have to go out on a second date.

Blue Hill Restaurant

75 Washington Place between MacDougal and Sixth Avenue
212/539.1776
about $300 for two tasting menus and matching wine, with tip
â™¥ â™¥

The Dr. assured me that he passed his two-day long board exams. He won’t find out for sure for another three weeks, but I decided to prematurely congratulate him anyway. He’s always been curious about Blue Hill Restaurant and I’ve wanted to make another visit after a flying roach dropped on my bread plate in the middle of eating my main course. Two years ago, I could have given Blue Hill a four-heart review, but the insect cost them the other half. I know that other people wouldn’t even consider a return if they had the same experience I did. But the food is exceptionally good, inspired by local produce from the Hudson Valley and their own farm up in Stone Barns. I don’t care what people call it–water bug or a super roach–any insect has no place on my plate unless the insect itself is the food. (Hello, memories from eating beetles in Ilocos Sur and chapulines in Oaxaca.)

Why the two hearts again with this review? I’m smiling as I type this: our table was visited by yet another flying roach. I will take responsibility for the fact that I requested, like the last time, to be seated in the back garden instead of the main dining room. Before our tasting menu began, I was already a little wary that it will happen again. The Dr., in his usual composed manner, assured me that it won’t. Sure enough, during our second course, the insect started buzzing around the room. This time, the other diners were also aware of it. It landed on the wall next to me. I stood up, trying to contain myself, and it flew away. Convinced that that was it, I sat back down to try and finish my fish. And then, plop! The insect was inside the Dr.’s wine glass. It fluttered for a second and it flew away again. It never came back, as if it was really just saying to me, Hello, nice to see you again. This time, the other diners saw what happened and complained to our waitress before we did. The Dr.’s wine was replaced and the rest of the night wiled away without incident.

Oh, and the food? Still fresh and delicious, if you can take your mind off the roach story for a minute. We opted for the farmer’s feast which included one appetizer, two main courses and two desserts. The bean salad was delightful, on a bed of purslane and sprinkled with pistachios, made warm with “this morning’s” pullet egg. This was matched with a refreshing Plantagenet Riesling from Australia. A beautifully-done rouget was perfect with some Stone Barns greens tossed in arcuri garlic. Flawlessly-cooked fish just makes me so happy. Another white from Bruno Giacosa in Piedmont was its match. The Berkshire pork tasted a little like offal to me. Maybe because it was too fresh–if there is such a thing. I had to ask for a steak knife to slice through it. It wasn’t tough in an overdone sense; it just didn’t fall apart. The artichoke that was served with it was stuffed with zucchini and ricotta cheese, a quite lovely side I would want to eat again and again. A tempranillo and mazuelo blend was heftier, but kept the buzz in my head going. And mmm, the last two courses were our favorite types of desserts: a fromage blanc sorbet with fresh blueberries and a strawberry granita and sorbet with red and black raspberries. Both were sweetened with a Pineto from Brachetto d’Aqui.

Blue Hill keeps their two hearts from me because I was still impressed with the food considering the circumstances. I will definitely come back a third time, but I’ll make sure I’m far away from the garden.

Goblin Market

199 Prince Street between MacDougal and Sullivan
212/375.8275
$150 for three, with four drinks, with tip
â™¥ â™¥

I’m pretty sure that when the poet Christina Rossetti wrote Goblin Market, she didn’t imagine a restaurant team to be inspired by it. There was something tempting, almost lustful, about the magical fruits the goblin-men were selling. The weak suffered, but one girl stood her ground and kept the evil fruits at bay. The restaurant itself is less creepy than the poem, but the menu is quite persuasive.

We started with a couple of glasses of Cava while we chatted over the menu. They were out of octopus and the charcuterie, so I picked the mahi-mahi ceviche to satisfy my seafood craving. The apple jalapeÃ±o vinaigrette had the right spike, and although creamier than the ceviche I’m used to, I could have ordered a larger plate of it. The watermelon panzanella didn’t fare so well. The sun-dried tomato emulsion was interesting, but the taste too powerful for at least one of us.

It was before July 4th and I was saving myself for the next day’s barbeque fest, but the only seafood dish available was the salmon. A bed of peas, bibb lettuce and mushrooms in a delicate lemon-flavored sauce sounded delicious, if not risky, because how many times have I ordered salmon and it was overdone? My companion encouraged me to give the restaurant a chance. I was glad I did–the salmon was flaky and moist at the same time. The peas and the greens needed to be there; I couldn’t help but scoop up some of the lemon sauce all over my plate.

For the one who wanted nothing but meat, the Angus steak was perfectly done. There wasn’t a trace of the potato purÃ©e on her plate when the waiter took everything away.

It’s rare when a restaurant in New York City has a lot to say but makes so little noise. Goblin Market was certainly in the news when it first opened, but it took me a while to actually visit and taste for myself. Thanks to tourists lining up for anything Mario Batali–they gave us a two-hour wait at Lupa–we walked over to the more quiet Sullivan Street without so much fanfare. I just wished I went sooner.

Related post/s:
Salt is on MacDougal
And so is Provence

Landmarc at the Time Warner Center

Third floor of the Time Warner Center, 10 Columbus Circle
212/823.6123
about $75 for brunch for two, with mimosas and coffee, with tip
â™¥

Baby strollers of different sizes and colors almost blocked the entrance. One of the babies being held by its father burped and threw up a gooey substance on the floor. Where were we? We were standing outside Landmarc in the Time Warner Center on a Sunday afternoon. Thankfully, we were seated immediately at the bar which kept us away from any more cranky babies and parents with their hands full. We both stayed out late the night before, so we needed to start our day right. Mimosas were in order–about three glasses apiece, in fact, until the small champagne bottles were empty. I ordered the smoked salmon peppered with capers. I was craving a toasted plain bagel and cream cheese, which I rarely eat, so I was more than happy to eat something unexciting. The salmon was tasty, though, and even the Philadelphia cream cheese was good.

Cameron chose the very filling eggs en meurette, poached eggs served with bacon, onions and mushrooms in reduced red wine sauce. The bacon was chunky and the crusty bread was softened by the sauce. It could have been a classic dinner option because it was so hearty. This stood out among the other breakfast selections. We also split the blueberry pancakes with warm maple syrup. I’ve had a lot of bad pancakes before and I have to say that the Landmarc pancakes were pretty good. Real blueberries peeked from the soft cakes at every slice with a fork. Even with our first two dishes, we didn’t have a problem doing damage to them.

We raved about the coffee. I had to call the restaurant two days later to ask for the source. The coffee is from La Colombe and roasted in Philadelphia. It is also served in restaurants like Daniel and Le Bernardin. It’s $15 for a pound in the Chelsea Market, so I’ll just visit this weekend for dinner and order it after my meal. Babies sleep early, right?