Undiscovered: Food & Drink in NYC

Serene and Seasonal: Rosewater

2008-04-08T00:37:00.000-04:00

The wait at Rosewater is more than intimidating, but after being rebuffed during our last visit, we were more than willing to brave the drafty hallway for the requisite thirty minutes. We were lucky that our party was small enough to accommodate, since the reported wait for four or more was over an hour. As we chatted in the crowed hall, we observed several large parties give their names, taking the increasing wait in stride. We were pleasantly surprised by the host, whose poise and mental gymnastics while calculating our position in the cue was admirable.
Our previous visit was marred by a homophobic customer, who, in addition to the estimated hour and a half wait, discouraged us from pursuing our brunch ambitions. On this visit, the host apologized for the customer’s behavior, and informed us that he had refused to seat patron due to his inappropriate behavior.
I chose the brunch special, cheddar falafel with onion eggs, cauliflower, and cabbage. My companions tried the fried eggplant on focaccia, and the duck comfit. The duck was decedent, but messy, the fried eggplant was crispy, never greasy, and vaguely sweet, offset by a huge helping of roasted red pepper. I can hardly talk about falafel, which dripped with a core of smoked cheddar, the vegetarian equivalent of a foie gras stuffed burger.
The service was straightforward and friendly, our busy waitress taking the time to exchange sincere pleasantries.
Those interested in the ubiquitous mimosa or bloody mary will be disappointed to learn that no liquor is served with brunch. Rosewater more than compensates with innovative beverages such as pear ginger juice and hibiscus ice tea.
Since Rosewater’s menu puts emphasis on locally sourced seasonal fare, we anticipate that fresh delights await you on your visit.

Rosewater, 787 Union St @ 6th Avenue, Brooklyn, $-$$ ($14-$16 price fix brunch, with 1 drinks, no alcohol)

Trattoria Mangia: Hidden in Plain Sight

2008-02-22T18:44:00.001-05:00

Notes on the Inaugural Meeting of Brunch Club

Part I: Rebuffed and Refused
You have to believe in brunch, as a necessary institution, hangover cure, networking tool, weekly thanksgiving and culinary adventure to brunch successfully in this city.
However, no amount of blithe enthusiasm was going to get our party of eight a table at Essex on Sunday. As I was sternly informed, they suggest booking at least two weeks in advance, that is, unless you are prepared to wait until 5 p.m. for their sublime potato pancakes topped with salmon, poached eggs, and caviar. Upon reflection, we opted for Rosewater, whose seasonal, organically inclined menu piqued our interest. We were also lured by their $14 price fix, which encompasses such heady selections as “pear ginger waffle, with hazelnuts, and date cherry chutney.” We also rightly intuited this was the only circumstance under which we could patronize this overpriced, but legitimately hip establishment. Unfortunately, Rosewater was stern about their policy of not taking reservations for brunch. We were hopeful as we made our way to Park Slope, but quickly learned that not only would we would be seated in two parties, but would be subjected to a 45 minute wait. What were a pack of hungry, decaffeinated, foodies to do? We gathered our remaining enthusiasm and walked to 5th avenue, unwilling to give up on our dreams of mimosas and egg-laden repasts.

Part II: Brunching Ensues
Trattoria Mangia was a short walk away, and one of our members mentioned that she had a successful post-party brunch there last summer. Any remaining qualms, due to the strip-mall style Italian restaurant decor or the emptiness of the space, were quelled by the knowledge that they offered unlimited drinks (bloody marys, mimosas, or champagne).
The food was palatable, though not impressive, but the salmon hollandaise was actually decedent. Any problem of sub-par ingredients can be fixed with the right amount of butter and a profusion of creamy hollandaise. The frittata was similarly without much spark, but drenched in melted cheese and paired with perfectly fried potatoes, it left us satiated, though not inspired.
The service, as the space began to grow more crowded, was virtually non-existent. And the “unlimited” drinks had to be wrangled out of increasingly harried waiters.
Never the less, we left feeling elated. We had found the pot of gold at the end of New York’s brunch rainbow, the $10 price fix with unlimited drinks. And several mimosas in, everything starts to taste good.

Essex Resturaunt, 120 Essex St @ Rivington, Manhattan, $$-$$$ ($16 price fix brunch, with 3 drinks)
Rosewater, 787 Union St @ 6th Avenue, $-$$ ($14 price fix brunch, with 1 drinks)
Trattoria Mangia, 119 5th Ave @ Sterling Place, Brooklyn, $ ($10 price fix brunch, unlimited drinks)

Beast: Out in the Outer Boroughs

2008-02-04T19:08:00.001-05:00

Perched on an unlikely corner of Vanderbilt Avenue, in Prospect Heights, Beast looks like it belongs in a small gothic village, with heavy wooden doors, ornate iron gate, and blood red exterior. I must admit I was rooting for Beast from the beginning, as I am willing to travel to any borough to sample the fares at a lesbian-owned establishment.
Beast was a success from the onset. Our first visit, for brunch, revealed a cozy space, dominated by dark wood and a small cluster of two-top tables. Further exploration reveled a second dining area, in the back, where we were seated on our subsequent visit. Brunch showcased Beast’s most endearing qualities: a commitment to thoughtful, seasonal food, and a comfortable core of standards, creatively executed. Our simple brunch dishes, eggs any way and eggs benedict, left us feeling elated, though not overfed.
On our second visit, the mood was more boisterous, due to the super bowl crowd. We asked to be seated away from the action, and ended up in the bizarre back room, which resembles the dining room of a rustic Transylvanian inn, complete with gargoyles. Décor aside, we were once again impressed by the execution of our dishes. Our favorites included the “flat bread with white bean hummus and chipotle aioli” and the roasted seasonal, greenmarket vegetables. Both had enough seasoning to hold our attention, but the artistry of the kitchen never overwhelmed the natural, earthly flavors of the ingredients. It is also remarkable that the “season vegetables” were not limited to two or three varieties, but rather spanned the entire bounty the green market has to offer, even in the dead of winter. One of my companions was lucky enough to have his first parsnip, oven roasted, and crispy, with a tinge of sweetness.
We also observed that the menu changes seasonally, an admirable nod to the validity of slow food and the benefits of eating locally.
The service was attentive, but not pushy. On our second visit, the staff informed us that they were munching wings cheering for in the Giants, although that didn’t keep them from chatting. Industry vets ourselves, we noted that restaurant that throws periodic parties for their employees is a rare gem in our city.
Rumor has it that during warmer weather, Beast allows it’s patrons to sit outside, and we look forward to many mimosas during long brunches this summer.

Beast, Bergen Street at Vanderbilt Ave, Brooklyn, $$-$$$

Delightful Juliette

2008-02-02T22:00:00.001-05:00

As a resident L line commuter, I was thrilled to notice Juliette, the new French addition to the Bedford Avenue strip in Williamsburg. On our first visit, it was early summer, so we trekked up to the crowed, but lovely roof, with a profusion of red metal tables and umbrellas. The wine selection, though scanty, included Sancerre, one of my favorites. Sancerre is a new a discovery of mine, and Juliette's has a little sweetness, with full, apple undertones.
The Moules Frites were ample, easily satisfying our entire group. We ate every morsel, soaking up the buttery white wine sauce, with onions and fresh basil with our fresh chunks of baguette. The fries were wide-cut and crispy with a smattering of fresh herbs.
After another bottle Sancerre, we tried an unremarkable goat cheese salad, and a bright pink salmon tartar, with both green and red roe. This is one of the few salmon tartars I have sampled in the city (including those at the many French restaurants where I’ve waitressed) that did not attempt to mask inferior salmon with some sort of mayonnaise, leaving the tartar an oily, heavy disaster. Without showboating, Juliette’s tartar showcases salmon which is clearly above sushi grade, and the tiny beads of roe explode between your teeth in cold, bright bursts.
These two dishes remain among my favorites. However, last week we were pleased to discover that their brunch offerings are equally enticing. As a devotee of brunch as a New York institution, I have a bit of a critical eye when it comes to brunch food. Recovering as we were from our respective hangovers, we were pleased to find that there were several vegetarian options, including a version of eggs benedict with sautéed spinach, and a flavorful hollandaise.
The only major drawback to Juliette is the service, which is indifferent, at best. On the packed roof in summer, you are more likely to get a sunburn than a drink refill.

Juliette, Bedford Avenue at North 5th St, Brooklyn, $$$

A Winter Odyssey: The Perfect Hot Chocolate

2008-01-25T17:11:00.000-05:00

For a city obsessed with the decadence of winter, one thing seems surprising difficult to locate, a drinkable mug of hot chocolate. When I think of the hot chocolates of my youth, I recall a small mug of deep, heavy liquid, so dense that it takes half an hour to sip the entire cup. I also remember a puff of homemade whipped cream, as light as the chocolate was dense. This fall, as the days grew chilly, I began to crave that beverage that captures everything that is warm and homey during our city’s most unpleasant season.
When setting out on this quest, I thought nothing of it. Like Odysseus, I believed Ithaca was a short sea voyage away. This was before I had sampled a total of almost twenty cups of watery, brown, clumpy liquid that disguised itself as the holy grail of winter beverages, only to scald and disappoint. I won’t regale you with the messy details, but do want to highlight the biggest and most glaring disappointment.
Max Brenner: Chocolate by the Bald Man was recently given a spot-on review by Frank Bruni, so there is little need for me to elaborate. However, our experience, like Bruni’s, serves to highlight a disturbing trend in niche chains. They seems to be gleefully hoping you will lose yourself the circus-like atmosphere and ignore the most essential elements of their stated culinary vision. In Max Brenner’s case, he hopes we are so distracted by “chocolate,” that we forget to taste the actual chocolate, which is disturbingly low quality.
We sampled the Italian thick hot chocolate in white, milk, and dark, as well as several of the specialty hot chocolate drinks, Choco-Puffs and Toffee Hot Chocolate. The Toffee Hot Chocolate was sickly sweet, slimy, and simply unpleasant. The Choco-Puffs, floating on the surface of the tiny cup of scalding liquid, grew instantly soggy. The small spoon barely helped to scoop out the goopy mess that quickly floated to the bottom of the mug. The Italian Dark Chocolate was the only drinkable beverage in the mess, but its disturbing sweetness still managed to ruin the day.
Does Max really believe that we can be befuddled by winding tubes painted brown to imitate flowing chocolate, faux-vats, and a shop of mediocre sweets?
In spite of my unfortunate former employment at the establishment, rumor has it that the only place to get truly pleasing chocolate is at the hands of Lucien, the proprietor of Lucien’s Restaurant and Bar in the East Village. From what I recall, the only uses we found for the chunks of dark chocolate hidden behind the espresso machine were alcoholic and after hours.
Out here in Undiscovered land, we’re still looking for that perfect, rich brew. If you happen to find it, please, have a cup on us.

Max Brenner: Chocolate by the Bald Man, 141 Second Avenue @ 9th Street, $-$$
Lucien’s Restaurant and Bar, 14 1st Ave @ Houston, $$-$$$

Surly Sake at Decibel

2008-01-23T15:24:00.000-05:00

The nondescript awning and wooden sign with a sake bottle and cup carved into its surface, above the unlit steps gave us an idea what we were in for, an utterly unique New York institution, the underground sake bar.

Once inside, we were let under a rope (don't leave your i.d. at home) into a candle-lit basement crowded with tiny wooden tables and a unobtrusive bar. The walls were covered with random paintings and copious Japanese graffiti. From what I heard, the emptiness of the room was due to the early hour, about 6 p.m.; my companions insisted that the average wait on weekends could be 45 minutes. They do not take reservations, so be sure you have time to spare.

The large leather-bound menus consist of several pages of well-selected sake, and a smattering of unremarkable appetizers. The sake is truly the star here, and we tried an incredible amount of the sharp, heady liquor, much of it recommended by our ornery, but knowledgeable, waiter. On that note, the service was spotty, at best. One of my companions had to twice get up and seek out our waiter,who was idling in boredom by the bar, when our glasses were empty.

Our favorite sake, by far, was the Mu, of the Ginjo Type, which was crisp and we had several glasses as the night progressed, because it complimented everything, including our increasing inebriation.

The Koshu, a unique type of sake, was another standout, nutty with an almost burnt flavor. The shot glass it was over-poured into was not nearly enough to satisfy us. One of my companions described it as our "most complex" choice.

Another all-star was the unfiltered sake, served cold. The deep and creamy flavors were almost as shocking as the number of the glasses we had consumed by the end of the evening.

The plum wine, straight up, was a little too sweet for most of our party, but I found the almost-syrupy wine a perfect low note with the sake. The wine was served with a shriveled plum, that my cohort referred to as "a brain." The little brain was decadent and we fought over who would consume it.

The food is hardly worth mentioning, though the recent addition of Udon to the menu was a shrewd move, given the chilly weather. If you need some tempura to offset Decibel's indulgences, it would be a much wiser choice to visit one of the many small restaurants specializing in Japanese cuisine that dot the block.

Decibel, 240 9th Street @ 3rd Ave, $$-$$$