New York Restaurants by Area – Page 21 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Esca

402 West 43rd Street off Ninth Avenue
212/564-7272
about $190 for two, with drinks, with tip
♥ ♥

I remember my first time in Esca as if it happened just last week. The $700 bill was split in four, my purse let out a small cry and I hoped that the next time my friends from Ireland visit, I would be able to afford dinner without wincing at the price. Several checks from other restaurants have since surpassed that moment so I knew it was time to go back to Esca. I was with the Dr. and I was armed with a more sophisticated palate for Italian cuisine and seafood.

So why did I think everything we ate was too salty?

We were tempted by the crudo tasting. For $30 each, we could have had six appetizers served in two flights but we wanted to save our appetites for the beautifully described pasta dishes. We started with half a dozen of the oysters and the geo duck ceviche. I’ve never had geo duck but I’ve always wanted to buy it from Chinatown just for laughs. The texture reminded me of abalone–tender and a little tough, but wait…I’ve had better ceviche than this before. Where was the chili and lime essence? My tongue was desperate for that spike. The oysters from Oregon were perfectly briny and all I wanted from the ceviche was more ocean taste to compliment and prepare me for the rest of our meal.

We had a very rich pasta course coming up so we decided to order two vegetable plates. The white asparagus was breaded and slathered with a thick sauce. I destroyed the brown crust–I wanted more asparagus than a fried casing. The insalata di porcini would have been my kind of salad if only it wasn’t overwhelmed with the cheese. I loved the beefiness of the porcini mushrooms and I was all over the mache, or lamb’s lettuce. I didn’t think the dish needed anything else; the cheese got in the way of the salad’s simplicity.

We were getting disheartened and knew that we only had one more dish to lift our spirits. The guitar spaghetti with sea urchin and crabmeat was to rescue the night! Alas, what we hoped for was a more Japanese treatment of the uni–bright and yet subtle–but what we got was an overpowering taste of cream and salt. I wish they left the uni alone to do its job with the crabmeat. It was supposed to be a rich and graceful dish, not loud and overbearing.

After two rhubarb bellinis and a panna cotta, we finished our meal and stepped out into the pouring rain. On our way home in the cab, we both wished Esca turned everything down a notch just like the faint tartiness in my drink and the delicate sweetness of my dessert.

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.

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.

egg

135A North 5th Street off Bedford Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
718/302.5151
about $90 for dinner for four, without drinks, without tip
â™¥ â™¥

Updated, December 2008: We closed egg for one Friday night to celebrate my birthday where we had fried chicken, sautéed kale, collard greens, mac-n-Grafton cheese, plus some corn bread and biscuits–all deserves another ♥

I know the owner of egg, that breakfast place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, with the hipsters waiting outside on weekends. George Weld is a good friend and he also happens to be the chef. Forgive me if this review may seem biased, but I swear I’m not giving anything to this restaurant that’s not well-deserved: three hearts for breakfast and two for dinner.

For years, egg shared space with Sparky’s and only served breakfast until noon. Now, egg has taken over the entire space and is serving lunch (on weekdays only) and dinner until 10pm. A liquor license is on the way. All the menus are still Southern-inspired, and they still get all the ingredients they can from small and local producers. Needless to say, I am happy and proud of the egg family–so we made the trek from Harlem to Williamsburg one weekend to congratulate them.

After a ridiculous 40-minute wait for breakfast, we were finally seated right by the door. A few more diners came in before the waitress put up a note saying that the kitchen was closed until 6pm. People still came in to try and get food, letting in the draft behind me. I was uncomfortable and cold, but our waitress made sure that we got the next table that freed up farther from the entrance. After being transfered, we finally took our coats off and enjoyed our late breakfasts of eggs, grits, scrapple (pork scraps with cornmeal), bacon, hash browns, and pork sausage. For a place full of hipsters, the attitude of the staff makes you feel like you’re not even in New York City. They’re friendly, accommodating, and very patient with the hungry customers.

Given the wait, we took our time to eat and only left when the restaurant was empty. My three-egg Grafton Cheddar omelet was served with broiled tomatoes and hashbrowns. The cheese was sharp, but the tomatoes balanced everything out. I wish the restaurant would offer more side vegetables in the future. I also got a side of sausage at the end. Perfectly salty and juicy, I would choose it over any kind of eggs. Cameron’s cheese grits didn’t last very long. They weren’t too mealy or too soft, and the cheesy tang was perfectly balanced with the creamy texture. And the biscuits–oh, the biscuits–transported us with their crispy edges and fluffy insides. Have I mentioned the lightly sugared donuts brought to our table before our plates arrived?

We spent the rest of our afternoon walking around the neighborhood and checking out the stores down Bedford and Grand. After several drinks at Larry Lawrence, two more people joined us, and we all decided to walk as fast as we could back to the restaurant to eat dinner. We made it before they closed the kitchen at 10pm, but alas, there was no more fried chicken. This was upsetting to our entire party, but we made do with the pork chops and sausage with cabbage, fish and hominy, and perhaps the best dish on the menu, slow-roasted duck and dirty rice.

The menu is straightforward, and the food is hearty. One of my friends was surprised to love the cabbage, but another wished the pork were tastier. My duck was crispy outside and tender inside. The “dirty” rice reminded me of how Filipinos would scrape off the oil and spice bits from the bottom of a pan with rice and serve it just the way it is: dirty. The fish was under-seasoned–we bet a side of fried chicken would have made it taste better! While they’ve got the breakfast down pat, dinner is very new to egg, and it definitely needs to be refined. Never running out of fried chicken would be the perfect place to start.