New York Restaurants by Area – Page 27 – Writing With My Mouth Full

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.

Searching For a Good Taco: Staten Island

For non-New Yorkers, here’s a quick lesson about my city. New York City is made up of five boroughs: The Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan and Staten Island. In my quest to eat more often outside of Manhattan, Staten Island is the least represented on this site. Although it has the most suburban feel in all of the five, it has been experiencing a large growth of Mexican immigrants in the last 12 years.

The Mexican community–documented and undocumented–have contributed to the diversity of Staten Island, especially on the north shore. Staten Island has historically been known as the “whitest” borough in New York City, but now, almost 2% of its entire population is composed of Mexicans. According to the 2000 Census, Mexicans were the second largest foreign-born group in Staten Island. Besides more affordable housing, the mighty Verrazano-Narrows Bridge helps connect the borough to Brooklyn, Long Island and New Jersey, so a lot of contractors seek out workers there to fill jobs.

I visited to seek out the best taco. I started this food project last year and it’s gotten hot enough outside to warrant a continuation of my search, so I enlisted Staten Island locals Sean and Jane, and of course, Cameron’s stomach, to help me find the best tacos in the neighborhood. I had a few stores in mind from a few Google searches, but we let them walk us to the neighborhoods where the Mexicans live and hang out to find the more authentic tacos. When available, we always bought the chorizo because it was the easiest to compare. I’ve had so many chorizo tacos in the last year and a half that I think I know a good one when I taste one. When the offal kinds were on the menu, though, I gravitated towards them since I didn’t have a lot of them the last three times I went around Manhattan.

My favorites were the longaniza and chorizo from La Conchita, the suadero from Tacos La Abuelita and the cabeza from Tulci-Mex.

Here’s the complete rundown:

1. Taqueria El Gallo Azteca, 75 Victory Blvd., 718/273.6404

We were famished when we arrived in Staten Island via the free ferry ride from downtown Manhattan. We walked past the Taco Bell and made our first stop in St. George. (Who is by the way, not a real saint, but someone who was treated like one because he bought all the land the community at the time needed.) Even though we knew we had to make room for a lot of tacos, we still ordered one apiece from El Gallo. With the semi-chewy bistek, the spicy and salty al pastor and two of the lengua, or tongue, we were off to a very good start.

2. El Campesino, 718/447.1215

The cecina taco was the best. Cecina is a traditional cut of beef in Mexico, sliced thin, salted, and then laid out to dry under the sun. It’s like their version of jerky, really. We also had the lengua, the overdone bistek and of course, the chorizo. Everything was deliciously salty which is why I love simply-prepared tacos–they bring out the Filipino in me.

3. La Mixteca Poblana, 104 Victory Blvd.

They only had the al pastor kind here which is skewered in a vertical rotisserie. Like any gyro store, it slowly spins while cooking. The meat is seasoned with adobo and sometimes pineapple or avocado. What I liked was their brown tomato sauce. It added a toastier taste to the tacos.

4. Tulci-Mex, 108 Victory Blvd., 718/720.1221

They had the most offal selection here, but no one spoke English so it was hard to get a translation. I ended up ordering the only ones familiar to me. The cabeza was a favorite, or the head, because the gelatinuous stuff melted in our mouths. We had the orejas, or the ears, which had some crunch to them. Oh, those little earlobe bones!

5. Las Jarochitos, Port Richmond, 718/876.9090

Finally, a barbacoa kind, or goat! Like any goat stew I’ve had, this one was stringy and gamey. Unfortunately, tiny sharp bones were included. They are really difficult to separate when you’re stewing a goat for several hours and everything falls apart. The cecina and the chorizo were included in our order but they took a while. Thank goodness for cold Coronas.

6. La Conchita, 244 Port Richmond, 718/448.0154

In the Philippines, we use longaniza and chorizo interchangably, but both were available here. We didn’t really care which was which because both were the best we’ve had all day even though at first look, all you can see was cilantro. They were crunchy and the tips were a little burnt, which made a lovely snack when Mexico scored a third goal against Paraguay.

7. Tacos La Abuelita, 229 Port Richmond, 718/273.4648

The tacos here were a dollar each but they had the “especiales” for $2 and $3. We didn’t ask what made them special but the dollar ones tasted good enough. We ordered the buche, or the stomach, the cueritos, or pork skin, and the suadero, which is like stewed beef with all the fat included. The buche was a little unnerving to some of us because it obviously looked like chopped up intestine. The pork skin wasn’t as cripsy as I would have liked, but the suadero reminded me of lechon paksiw without the sour taste.

The best part of this trip to Staten Island? Ralph’s ices after all those tacos!

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

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.