East Village – Page 3 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Brick Lane Curry House

306-308 East 6th Street on Second Avenue
212/979.8787
about $200 for five, without drinks, without tip
â™¥

I’ve never heard of phaal until it made the Omnivore’s Hundred from verygoodtaste.co.uk. From that site’s must-eat list, I checked off 75 items that I’ve tasted and eaten. Among the other 25 is phaal, or phall, a South Indian curry dish that is supposedly spicier than the more familiar vindaloo. I was intrigued.

My co-workers wanted to order lunch delivery and Brick Lane Curry House’s menu satisfied the meat eaters plus the vegan and vegetarians among us. It took about an hour for the food to come and when we opened the lids of the containers, I have to admit I was very disappointed at the small amount of food. The lamb chops, infused with tamarind, ginger and garlic, while tender and tasty, were small and didn’t hold up to my growling stomach. I had to compensate by eating extra portions of rice. I only had a small taste of the vegetarian and the vegan curries, and I couldn’t tell the difference from the two sauces except for the fact that the vegan version had a smattering of white onions. The Goan fish dish was the best in the mix with its green chiles and coconut flavor enhanced by vinegar. Was it buttery? Oh, yes, it was.

Now back to the phaal, exaggerated by the restaurant as an “excruciatingly hot curry” but correctly described as “more pain and sweat than flavor”. Need to know more than that? When the sauce hits your tongue, you get the sting right away and then it sits and slowly burrows. (Un)fortunately, as soon as your tongue goes numb, the spiciness is replaced by bitterness, and at that point, all you want is either some more rice or more Goan fish curry. Michael above, though, talks about how it hit his sinus right away; he didn’t even feel the spiciness in his tongue.

I’ve had my share of spicy food, and up to this day, nothing beats the pickled Scotch Bonnet peppers I had in the Big Corn Island in Nicaragua. Go taste the phaal for yourself at Brick Lane Curry House and get a free bottle of beer when you finish a whole serving on your own.

Hearth

403 First Avenue corner of 12th Street
646/602.1300
about $80 each for four, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I don’t think I’ve met a more sincere maitre d’ than the petite woman at Hearth. We didn’t have reservations when four of us stopped by. We were hoping to get seated at the kitchen pass, a first come-first served area where food is served omakase style. They had just seated another group a few minutes before we walked in but the maitre d’ let us have a table in the back.

The restaurant was buzzing at 8pm so service was a little too slow. It took about 15 minutes to get the chance to order our cocktails and another 15 to actually receive them. We waited another 20 to order our food. I finally waved to the bread guy to get the sommelier’s attention. We didn’t mind, though, because we were able to catch up with our friend from out of town. (The wine list comes with a lot of copy that can keep you entertained while waiting.)

We started with the New Zealand red snapper crudo with lemon, red pepper and some rosemary. They easily popped in our mouths and they were gone in less than 10 minutes. The fava beans and Pecorino salad was more substantial; the pepperoncini adding just a touch of brightness to the dish’s summer flavor. Our Dame Judi Dench vodkas cooled us down while we waited for our main dishes.

Our friend liked the tagliatelle with Laughing Bird shrimp, arugula and basil. But the other wasn’t a big fan of the pork belly (!) that came with the Berkshire pork loin, so I ended up picking from his plate. After all, there is nothing more sad than pork belly going to waste. The Dr. and I split the braised veal breast with sweetbreads, peas, carrots and Hen of the Woods mushrooms. We paired the dish with a side of very firm but tender gnocchi. It was hearty and earthy at the same time, and with the bottle of delicious Sao, we fast-forwarded to autumn.

Hearth reminds me of the early years of The Tasting Room when everything tasted simple. If I wasn’t still mourning the loss of the Alevras’ restaurant, I’d probably make room for Chef Marco Canora and Jordan Frosolone. But like any other Cia favorites, that comes with more than one visit.

Ippudo

65 Fourth Avenue between 9th and 10th Streets
212/388.0088
about $40 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

Shigemi Kawahara became Japan’s Ramen King after winning three consecutive years in a TV program against other ramen chefs. After twenty years in business, people still line up outside his Ippudo branches in Japan. This East Village store is his first foray overseas. The pandemonium has now reached New York City and the wait for a table to eat ramen is already two hours long. Alas, Ippudo’s reputation precedes itself.

We put our names down around 7pm and bought a few drinks around the East Village before heading back to see if the maitre d’ was any closer to calling out our names from her book. Two more Sapporo and Kirin drafts later and we were finally seated in front of the beautiful sequin piece in the back (next to chef Pichet Ong, no less). I immediately noticed the heavy wood interior when we walked in. Everything inside Ippudo looks expensive. I realized I’ve seen this kind of design before (Wagamama in London and Momofuku a few blocks away), but Ippudo presents itself quietly and with grace. Don’t expect loud music inside; there’s a buzz but it doesn’t get as loud as David Chang’s Noodle Bar. During opening week, they seemed understaffed because service was slow. The waiters were attentive but I just didn’t want to wait for my food any longer after having already waited two hours.

It’s amazing how a simple food item like ramen can be glorified this way. There is no need to bill the Berkshire pork nor the organic ingredients. At Ippudo, it’s all about the art involved in making the ramen. The high-quality ingredients just follow.

We ordered the bowls Ippudo is well known for: Akamaru Shin-aji and Shiromaru Moto-aji. The akamaru was appropriately served in a red bowl (aka is “red” in Japanese) while the shiromaru was in a white bowl. (Shiro translates to “white”.) The broth is milky white, a sign that pork bones have been simmered for a few hours, but it didn’t have that slimy smell you usually get in regular ramen broths. It tasted of pork, but clean and rich at the same time. You don’t begin to really appreciate the Ippudo signature until you start chewing on the noodles. Firm and tender noodles. I never had ramen noodles like this before even from the small ramenyas in Tokyo.

They ran out of the kakumi, or pork belly with braised daikon radish, when we visited so we supplemented our ramen bowls with the Ippudo roll instead: grilled pork with custard and cucumber. We slurped loudly and happily, appreciating every effort that has gone to making each noodle the way ramen should be.

Watch out Momofuku.

Freemans

End of Freeman Alley, off Rivington Street between the Bowery and Chrystie Street
212/420.0012
about $80 for two, with drinks, with tip
â™¥

Package something well and watch the people come. This seems to be Freemans’ motto and it works. First, the location that still confuses people who do not hang-out in the area: where the hell is Freeman Alley? It’s a nook off Rivington, right before you hit Chrystie if you’re coming from the west. Then there’s the design of the space: modeled after a country lodge, there are stuffed birds behind the newer bar inside. I never thought of having my own deer antlers in my apartment until I first stepped into Freeman’s a couple of years ago.

The owners, William Tigertt and Taavo Somer, know that New Yorkers love being a part of something cool. From secret entrances that Angel’s Share made hip more than ten years ago, to douchebars blocked by big, burly men, we all like to brag that we got in before anyone else. In Freemans nowadays, you can count how many guys with facial hair are wearing fedoras and sweater vests under their blazers. After a while, everyone just looks the same.

What doesn’t change, though, is the length of wait and the service. I have spent an hour at the bar drinking with my friend waiting to be seated. I have also stood at the bar waiting to be seated at the bar. (Freemans only takes reservations for groups larger than six.) The other patrons can get testy and who can blame them when people hover, waiting to grab their seat? I have seen this happen where angry words were exchanged between hungry guests. The exhausted maitre d’ also gets impatient. God forbid, you ask how much longer you have to wait.

As soon as you’re seated, you just want to eat. There was an Estonian empanada our waiter couldn’t describe. I think the cook’s mom is from Estonia, he simply said, before he walked away to mind the three other tables next to us. When he finally returned, he took our orders down and we waited another thirty minutes before everything was served all at once. We were eating our artichoke dip with our fennel salad and our main course of roasted cod. We never heard from him again until we waved to get our checks. Good thing I’ve had enough Rum Swizzles to numb the painful experience of trying to be hip.

Momofuku Noodle Bar

171 1st Avenue between 10th and 11th Streets
212/777-7773
about $58 for two, with one beer, with tip
â™¥ â™¥

Updated: My bad. Momofuku Ko is still under construction in what used to be the original space of Momofuku Noodle Bar. Thanks, Zach.

Is there a stronger English word than savory that can describe the taste that is Momofuku? What I’m looking for is the translation for malinamnam, the Tagalog word for something really flavorful and delicious at the same time. What was Momofuku Noodle Bar is now a much larger and brighter space with more items in the menu that do not involve noodles. They needed it too, with all the accolades chef David Chang and his restaurants have been receiving the last couple of years. But that more-than-savory taste is still there.

A bowl of grilled baby octopus was tender. Julienned carrots and some seaweed were mixed in and made the dish more interesting. I thought the sesame seeds were a nice touch. They were out of the Brussels sprouts when I visited, so we ordered the Manila clams instead made pretty with slivers of celery.

I could have stopped there but every time I’m visiting one of the Momofukus, I can’t help but stuff myself. Even at more than $10, the big bowl of pork neck ramen with a beautifully-poached egg is a must-have. And it was as malinamnam as I remembered it from two stores down.