New York Restaurant Reviews – Page 25 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Daisy May’s BBQ USA

623 Eleventh Avenue corner of 46th Street
212/977.1500
$70 each for a whole pig for 12 people, with two sides, BYOB
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There are a few annoying things about reserving a group table at Daisy May’s:
1. You can only reserve half a pig or a whole pork butt to feed up to six people
2. Your other choice is a whole pig for up to twelve people
3. It’s BYOB–that’s annoying because
4. you only have two hours to eat and drink, from 8pm to 10pm, and
5. you also have to bring your own ice and your own drinking glasses

If you have more than five friends, then you’re forced to do the whole pig, but your group needs to have twelve or else each person pays more to contribute to the bill. You know half a pig is enough for you and your big group of friends, but alas, rules are rules.

When you arrive at Daisy May’s for your Big Pig Gig, however, you forget every annoying thing about the restaurant. Even though I’ve done so many pig roasts in my life, the whole pig is still a sight to behold when served on a large wooden block, halved and then chopped in smaller pieces. The meat is juicy and soft and even better with the accompanying brown sauce. But the skin is disappointingly chewy and inedible. There is no crunchy tail to be found, but our chosen sides, creamed corn and the sweet potato, more than compensated. We barely touched the Texas toast and the coleslaw that come with any of the Big Pig Gig, but the watermelon, although bland, was a good finish.

The staff gave us covered plastic containers when we paid our bill. Most of us were able to take the leftovers home. I took home the head and it was made into Filipino lechon paksiw the next day. Daisy May’s serves the pigs that keep on giving.

139th Street Barbecue

corner of 139th Street and Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard
no phone number
$25 for a whole rack of pork ribs
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Amidst the condo buildings going up as fast as you can say gentrification, there still remains the open drums on the streets used as makeshift grills to sell home-marinated barbecue in Harlem. The Dr. and I stopped by earlier this year when we saw the smoke coming out of a corner street shrouded in scaffolding. We still haven’t figured out who runs the show, but as far as we know, a big black lady sitting down is the one who repeats everyone’s orders to the more-able “staff” around her: an older lady who spoons the sides in a container, an older man who slices the ribs apart and another who mans the grill. She is also in charge of how much to charge her customers because no one really knows how much the food really is, especially when it comes to people who look like us.

During our first visit, four ribs with a small tub of potato salad and two slices of white bread were $10; a second visit with an order of a whole rack without any sides, even bread, was $25. A third visit cost us $70 for two racks, four sides and a giant watermelon. We’ve caught the big lady giving the older man a look when they calculate our totals.

The ribs are really, really good. They have a tangy taste to them–a North Carolina style using cider vinegar. The meat doesn’t fall off the bones, but is tender enough to pull when you give it a bite. And in this rapidly changing neighborhood, very satisfying.

Famous Fish Market

corner of 145th Street and St. Nicholas
212/491.8323
$12 for two fish and chips, take-away
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Harlem is teeming with fish and chips stores, and living in the neighborhood has taught me that the longer the line outside, the better the food will be. (It doesn’t work the same way downtown.) Case in point: Famous Fish Market on 145th Street and St. Nicholas. I got out of the A train and noticed the long line outside this hole in the wall even while the rain was pouring. I asked the lady what the line was for. Fish and chips, she said. I asked if it was any good, and there was no hesitation in her voice when she answered in the affirmative. I had no choice but to join the queue. When my turn came, I ordered the regular fish and chips. I tucked the brown paper bag under my arm and ran home in the rain to eat.

I like the English fish and chips as much as the next person, but what’s different with Harlem’s version is that the fish is mostly, well, fish. There is no art involved in the making of the batter–it’s just all fried fish! I like Devin’s Fish and Chips a block away, but I think I’ve found a new place to stop by on my way home.

Related post/s:
Devin’s Fish and Chips

Blue Hill Stone Barns

630 Bedford Road, Pocantico Hills
914/366.9600
$720 for three tasting menus, with wine pairing, with tip
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Is there such a thing as too much? We arrived at Blue Hill Stone Barns just in time for our 5pm table where we were welcomed by fresh air and green grass. We sat in the lounge with our pickled ramps and cucumber martinis and black currant cosmo while they prepared the dining room. When we were seated, we met our waiter for the evening, Andrew, who happens to be from Brooklyn. He also introduced us to the sommelier, Thomas, after we decided that the farmer’s feast tasting menu with the wine pairings was the way to go. We hoped to stay for less than four hours–we thought it would be enough time to eat, chill and take the 40-minute train ride home. So how did we end up staying until 11:30pm? And how did Andrew end up snipping fresh herb leaves for our tea while we sat out in the garden? Sometimes, you just accept things as they happen and try remember every detail the next day.

As far as I can recall, we had a few amuse-bouche that featured the summer tomatoes and watermelon from the Blue Hill gardens. There was a tomato gazpacho we drank like a shot, with small tapioca bubbles that tickled our tongues. There were small balls of watermelon and cantaloupe sprinkled with black pepper that were so playful they reminded me of our night at Alinea in Chicago. There were the colorful tomato pulps that otherwise would have been discarded stuck vertically on pins held by a wooden block.

There was feta cheese and watermelon granita served in small wine glasses–a sharp icicle-like texture and smoothie in our mouths. There were roasted heirloom tomatoes covered with goat cheese mixed with arugula. There was the watermelon sliced like a thick cracker, topped with crispy pancetta, currant tomatoes and goat cheese foam. It was a beautiful presentation using the simplest ingredients. Only several dips broke the watermelon-tomato parade: fresh ricotta with honey and black pepper, roasted eggplant, whipped lardo, arugula salt and carrot salt accompanied by Balthazar-baked bread.

One of the main dishes I remember was the waxed beans with farm-fresh egg sprinkled with pistachios, a Blue Hill stand-by. The egg was encrusted in breadcrumbs which made it fun to break. I recalled the chickens running free as soon as our cab entered the Stone Barns property. I pretty much checked out after that: there was pork belly served with the chicken mushrooms they were parading earlier in the evening, and then there was apparently a lamb belly with peas–I couldn’t tell the difference between the two after several glasses of wine. But I remembered the mock-risotto made of summer corn with tomato reduction. Andrew grated an embryonic egg as if it was aged cheese before we took our first taste. The desserts were, unfortunately, erased from my memory completely. I was told that there was a granita of some sort with some whipped cream, but a third one that involved cheesecake came with a lit candle. Andrew knew it was one our birthdays, but he couldn’t let the rest of the table feel left out so we all had our own candlelit dessert.

He could have stopped there, but he made us feel more special by inviting us to check the herb garden in the back. He snipped some of the mint and thyme leaves while we sat out in the garden. He made us some tea to end our evening. It was an expensive night, but one I will remember for a long time, even if some of the details escape me.

Wu Liang Ye

36 West 48th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues
212/398.2308
about $50 for two, with two drinks, with tip
â™¥

Wu Liang Ye was highly recommended to me by a Chinese friend. As we walked on 48th Street, past the OTB, the black garbage bags in front and the two crackheads on the steps, I could see why: there was nary a white person in sight and all the wait staff are older Chinese men in suits even though it was almost 90 degrees outside.

I told one of the men in suits that I was there for a table for two. He asked me if I had a reservation. I looked around at the empty tables and said no. When I told him I will wait for the next table that opens up, he looked at me and ask, You really want to wait? He seated us in the back after five minutes.

I was looking forward to eating Sichuan food. We had a long drive to a wedding in Rhode Island ahead of us and all I wanted was spicy Chinese food. After our Tsingtaos, we ordered our usual favorites: dan dan noodles and kung pao chicken. There was nothing extra special about them, but they are our staples whenever we get Sichuan food. I noticed, though, that Grand Sichuan makes a spicier version than Wu Liang Ye. The pork dumplings that were supposed to be spicy, too, were tolerable. We knew we were only sweating because of the restaurant’s lack of air conditioning. We also ordered the bacon with leeks. They weren’t kidding about the bacon. The leeks provided the crunch while the bacon was the king of salt in the dish. We couldn’t finish it even though we wanted to.