Midtown – Page 4 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Crave Ceviche Bar

946 2nd Avenue between 50th and 51st Streets
212/355.6565
about $120 for two, with five drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

Depending on whom you ask, ceviche may have originated from Peru or Ecuador. Wherever your allegiance lies, it’s seafood marinated in a citrus-based concoction to “cook” the meat without heat. Crave Ceviche Bar doesn’t want you to forget what they’re trying to serve you–everything is creatively “ceviche’d”. I had fun determining which taste originated from where.

The Kona Kampachi, my new favorite fish from Hawaii, was marinated in pressed lemons and tomato paste. The chorizo happily melded with the natural sweetness of the kampachi. The puré of artichokes and red peppers balanced everything out. Spain, right?

I loved the salmon tartare in yuzu and huckleberry. A mess of galangal, capers and white truffle essence may sound confusing but for some reason works here. I couldn’t miss its Asian-flavor galore. Throw in the oven-roasted tomatoes and cauliflowers and you have yourself some old Italian influence. We enjoyed the black cod sashimi with roasted beets and crispy latke ceviche’d in apple cider vinegar and yellow bean apple purée. It could be your next Hanukkah special! I found the spicy yellow fin tuna the most simple, but at least the yuca made it somewhat exciting.

In a more hushed setting, restaurants like Le Bernardin have thrived in the New York City scene for years. Maybe it is Eric Ripert’s footsteps that Crave Ceviche Bar is following. They have a raw section on the menu, as well as “cured but cooked” and also traditional dishes using shrimps, lamb loin and Peking duck in the same vein that their midtown counterpart has “almost raw”, “barely touched” and “lightly cooked” selections.

Each dish will set you back at least $14 with the most expensive topping at $28. Add the cocktails the cute bartender mixes behind their newly-licensed bar and you’re looking for a $120 bill for two. After a couple of hours, we were tipsy and out of cash but still hungry. I can’t explain how we ended up at a Japanese bar for a pitcher of Sapporo draft and a big bowl of pork belly soup afterwards, but Crave Ceviche Bar definitely made us crave some more.

Robert’s Steakhouse at the Penthouse Executive Club

603 West 45th Street off Eleventh Avenue
212.245/0002
about $90 each for a group of six, with drinks, with tip; dances were separate
â™¥

When a friend of mine told me about an upcoming girls’ night out that involved going to a strip club, I immediately said yes after I confirmed that they wanted to see girls stripping, not boys. Just right up my alley because, really, naked boys are not as nice to look at. Speaking from experience, I told them that we can only go to Penthouse on the West Side highway because it’s the only club that will allow a group of man-less women to enter. It’s a ridiculous rule, but we had no choice in the matter. I was told that girls do not buy as many drinks as guys, and if they’re not that drunk, they won’t be buying as many dances. Whoever came up with that had obviously no clue who we were.

Our table was for 7:30pm. Our party of six wasn’t completed until 8, but they let us sit and wait at our table next to a pole dancer. We all decided that an expensive bottle of red wine might just make us too sleepy, so we ordered our martinis. Drinks were $20 each even if you were just getting vodka with soda.

At Robert’s Steakhouse, they didn’t discriminate: my friend’s first lap dance was at $40, the same price charged to the guy sitting at the next table wearing a crisp suit. The girls dancing in the corner told us they can’t come to our table because they don’t do lap dances, so we had to wait for the others to approach us. After several drinks, we were brave enough to go up to a girl we liked and pay for our own. After more drinks, they just came up to offer us a dance.

But this is a review of the food, and I must tell you that a hundred-dollar porterhouse steak is much better with some form of entertainment. We only managed to finish one porterhouse and I felt bad when we had to leave the other one barely touched. I suppose I could have sat there and finished it for the next two hours, but my friends were eager to go downstairs and meet the ladies. (One said, You don’t want to smell like meat when the girls dance for you.) We had the steak packed to go, but after several hours of giving away Andrew Jacksons, no one knew who ended up taking the extra food home. After several hours of $20 drinks, too, no one knew what the hell was really going on. I do remember the delicious bowl of Brussels sprouts. The creamed spinach and roasted potatoes were also good matches to our meaty, charbroiled steak. Whoever was in the kitchen wasn’t distracted by the view we were getting.

Adam Perry Lang, the restaurant’s executive chef, also co-owns Daisy May’s BBQ a block away. He ages and cooks the steaks in a broiler with two different temperatures so that the meat gets seared the right way without sacrificing the juiciness of the inside. And boy, were they juicy. I love my meat bloody and buttery, and Robert’s Steakhouse served a mean plate of it.

Be thankful that this is only a review of the food.

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
â™¥ â™¥

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.

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.

Nobu 57

40 West 57th Street between Fifth and Sixth
212/757.3000
about $650 for omakase for six people, 60% comped, with drinks, with tip
â™¥ â™¥ â™¥

You know when people say it’s all about who you know? I realized what that truly meant last week when I was invited to join a friend’s family for a birthday dinner at Nobu 57. The birthday boy works in the omakase kitchen, so it was just appropriate that he took his family to work to celebrate. The Dr. and I were lucky enough to be included. We joined the celebration a few minutes late. The night was young and already, the restaurant was loud and buzzing with celebrities. Blistered peppers and grilled fava beans were on the table when we arrived. I rarely see fresh fava bean pods in the market, so I was thrilled to see them as appetizers. The kitchen continued to send plate after plate to our table for the next three hours. The celebrant was all too familiar with the dishes because they make at least 500 of the omakase orders a night from the time the restaurant opens for lunch until it closes around midnight. His friends in the back surprised him a few times with new specials.

They started us with the yellowtail sashimi with jalapeÃ±o peppers and the fluke in ponzu sauce. Both were so light I was led to believe that the rest of the night was going to be manageable. But then the presentation began–the kitchen staff trying to impress one of their own. The tuna with spicy cucumbers was served in a martini glass and topped with microgreens. The lobster and shiitake mushroom salad, a popular Nobu dish, became one of my favorites. The lobster was so succulent. The mushrooms only highlighted its decadence. A tofu and mussel salad was more mellow, served in trendy foam made of miso. Although impressive, it was probably the least memorable.

The rock shrimps were served with a spicy cream sauce. I could have done without the creaminess, but apparently, Scarlett Johansson loves them the way they were. The soft-shell crabs were lightly deep-fried and cooked to perfection. I loved them even more because they were served with small chunks of watermelon. Cubed fish was served next on lettuce leaves meant to be picked up with our hands. They were topped with fried phyllo dough that looked like dried noodles. We could have ended our meal there, but the food kept coming. The arctic char was delicately sweet, so grilled cauliflowers and purÃ©ed cilantro sauce were the perfect complements. At this point, I was unable to move, but I had to force myself to keep eating because the beautiful lamb chops came in. These lamb chops made up for all the bad lamb I’ve ever had in my life. Redemption is oh-so-sweet. I could have eaten a few more if only my stomach didn’t beg for me to stop. I had no choice but watch as the rest of the table picked up the sushi pieces in front of me which included a salmon lookalike ocean trout and seawater eel.

Thank goodness the drinks kept pouring. The beer and the wine flowed freely. Two carafes of cold sochu, one pomegranate, another lycheee flavored, disappeared immediately. We were too paralyzed to eat the desserts, but we happily picked on three kinds including the Nobu beer ice cream served with a white peach and jasmine soup and the whiskey milk ice cream with coffee crumble. One by one, the kitchen staff came out to greet the birthday boy. They brought with them a warm chocolate cake with green tea ice cream and a plate of fresh cantaloupe with a flickering birthday candle.

I’m not as young as the celebrant, but I had no reason to complain as we achingly walked out of the restaurant to digest. Happy birthday indeed.