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BEST OF MANHATTAN
Eats & Drinks
BEST COFFEE REFILL
COSI
841 B'way, (13th St.), 212-614-8544
God says this one's on the house. Some people need peace and quiet to work. They rent cabins to write their novels; they hole up in their tiny studios; they close their bedroom doors and emerge only to take in food and discharge waste.
We need stimulus. A fresh-water flow of strangers does more to inspire us than anything we could expect to dig out of our psyches in inner-turmoil isolation. When the stale office air stifles us and the idea of heading home makes us shudder, we take the afternoon off and pick a public work spot. Sometimes it's the Union Square Barnes & Noble, sometimes a tiny cafe where we know the owners and menu inside and out; other times it's Cosi, just across the park at 13th St.
We know Cosi's a chain, but at least it's New York-based and we do like the bread. The 13th St. location boasts an attractive clientele: students between classes, daytripping tourists preparing to run the Broadway shopping gauntlet, other laptoppers. We bring the external drive that houses our music collection and a good pair of headphones, and settle in for a few hours.
One crisp spring afternoon, our work was interrupted by a visiting German who wanted to talk about the city, about politics, about us. We were deep in the middle of a deadline jag, not really in the mood for the curious-tourist routine. But having been on the flipside of the conversation many times, we hit "pause" and made nice.
When Fraulein Chitchat finally left, we went to the counter for a refill, visibly burdened by the lost half hour and drain on our social reserves. An attractive young lady filled our cup, looked down at the dollars in our hand and turned away, her sly smile giving us more kick than the caffeine would.
If there's a more elegant proof of karma, we'd like to see it.
BEST VEGGIE BURGER MADE BY A CULT
SMILE OF THE BEYOND
86-14A Parsons Blvd. (Normal Rd.), Jamaica 718-739-7453
Cult of the undead cow. If you walk up the hill at Parsons Boulevard and Hillside Ave. on the northern edge of Jamaica, you will see a lot of houses and businesses painted light, pastel colors, particularly a powdery baby blue. These are the homes and businesses of people in the orbit of Sri Chinmoy.
Chinmoy is an enigmatic character, a guru from Bangladesh who settled in the rough-and-tumble Queens neighborhood back in the 1960s. A spiritual guru to his devoted followers in the neighborhood and around the world (whose ranks included, at one time, Carlos Santana), Chinmoy been called a cult leader by the Rick Ross Institute, an anti-cult group in New Jersey.
What in the hell, you might ask, does this have to do with veggie burgers? Well, one of the businesses Chinmoy is involved with is Smile of the Beyond, a coffee shop that serves up vegetarian versions of all your favorite all-American dishes, from chili to BLTs to turkey clubs.
The veggie burger in question is actually a grilled soy patty covered with melted Swiss in a pita crammed with lettuce, cabbage, sprouts, carrots and tomatoes, so much that the pita usually breaks and you end up eating the leftover greens with a fork. The "steak" burger is topped with a sauce that, at first slightly off-putting for some unknown reason, later becomes essential to the sandwich, tasting like mayonnaise with a hint of soy sauce.
Smile of the Beyond's décor is modern American coffeeshop meets Eastern spiritualism, with more pastel baby blue inside and pictures of Chinmoy with celebrities, diplomats and musicians (as well as photos of him lifting all manner of large, heavy objects; this is one of the things he is known for, apparently). There's always Eastern music playing and little handwritten proverbs from Chinmoy's writings on each table next to the salt and pepper.
Throughout the day, locals and regulars wander in and out, chatting with the friendly staff, until the late-afternoon closing time. Even rap mogul Irv Gotti, head of the Murder, Inc., label, has been spotted getting his grub on in Smile. But that was in happier days, before his artist Ja Rule and 50 Cent started a rap war down on the Avenue. Disappointingly, however, there's no photo of Sri Chinmoy with Ja, 50 or Irv.
BEST PLACE TO PRETEND IT'S TOKYO, 1960
KENKA
25 St. Marks Pl. (betw. 2nd & 3rd Aves.) 212-254-6363
Have a ball. In awe, and not just a little confused, we stand in front of an ebony behemoth with red devil eyes, clad only in what looks like a rice-paddy hat.
"That is a raccoon," explains Yuka, a young woman waiting for a table. "And those big round things in front of him—those are his testicles."
"And that big bag…I mean, the one he is carrying—in his hand!—that is full of sake," interjects her twin sister, Lika.
Our friend Jun Nakayama informs us that Kenka means "fight" or "competition."
"There are many Japanese restaurants and sushi bars in the East Village," she says, "and in order to be competitive they must stand out."
Many of the places around the neighborhood are indeed boring, and this place manages to put up a good fight against pedestrian Japanese fare. The wonders don't cease with the penis-proud statue: The restaurant exudes a truly authentic aura. It might even be accused of being too Japanese. The walls are plastered with retro posters advertising everything from cola drinks to the latest aphrodisiac remedy from Yokohama. The back room sports scores of old-school (but unfortunately non-functional) pinball machines, while the sound system plays out melodies that could belong to the soundtrack of Kurosawa's early noir-films. Even the bathroom signs are written only in Kanji; after all, the majority of Kenka's patrons are from Japan.
Of course, this led us to a more than embarrassing situation. "It sucks to have a roomful of Japanese people laughing at you," we noted to our friends afterward.
The menu features a mixture of unique and ordinary options. Items such as bull penis, turkey testicles and fried frogs find themselves side by side with the more common sushi, tempura and even corn on the cob marinated in the deliciously sweet house sauce. Best of all, the liquor and the food are cheap as...well, balls.
Other stuff to note: The waitstaff wears cool t-shirts, there is a courtyard in the back where you can smoke, and you can make your own cotton candy at the end of your meal. The uniqueness of this place cannot be underscored.
BEST TINY WORKSPACE
MATCHBOX CAFE
403 W. 24th St. (betw. 9th & 10th Aves.)
212-414-4563
West-side hideaway. Recently, while discussing the mall-ification of Manhattan with a coworker, we noted that when it comes to anti-globalization activism on a local level, we pick and choose our battles. The new Home Depot? Bring it on. Kmart? Always buy our paint there.
Starbucks? Not if they had the last coffee bean on Earth.
He countered that with lots of power outlets and a constant flow of people—often attractive, fashionable and willing to smile at an earnest young writer slaving away on a PowerBook—Starbucks is a great place to work. To which we suggested Barnes & Noble, where the Starbucks can be enjoyed yet not patronized, or even Cosi at 13th St. (see "Best Coffee Refill").
Of course, we have our smaller work spots all around the city—places where the flow of people is less intense but the atmosphere more relaxing. When we're in the Chelsea area, we head over to Matchbox Cafe, a nook so cozy and friendly that we even forgave them the Blues Traveler playing on the stereo one afternoon.
A space appropriately named, Matchbox is tucked away just off the corner of 9th Ave. We've spent hours there, both inside and at one of their five outside tables, nibbling on chocolate walnut or oatmeal raisin cookies, sipping mugs of fresh coffee or tea. Though we've had lunch at Matchbox several times, we recommend sticking to snacks. (The smoked turkey and cranberry-sauce sandwich is filling and fresh, just a bit bland; the chicken salad is tasty, but without flair.) On hotter days, the ginger lemonade has a nice kick, reminiscent of a good ginger beer, and the frozen hot chocolate is delicious.
As for getting work done, there's at least one electrical outlet in the corner, and the wireless internet is free if you can hook up without bothering anyone. They've also been known to make their laptop available to those in need—free of charge.
There may not be as many people coming and going at Matchbox, but sometimes you just need to lock down and get to work. Pretty people can be so distracting.
BEST SANGRIA
AKA
49 Clinton St. (betw. Stanton &
Rivington Sts.), 212-979-6096
Pitchers of you. We once went for drinks on a first date to aKa. Our date's best friend worked the bar, so we were likely being put on display. We were poor and thirsty, thus very willing to trade a bit of performative dating for a few strong gins and tonic.
Though aKa operates as a restaurant, when we arrived at 10, the bar was more inviting than the tables. The entire place has a blue glow, loungier than a bistro but not painfully hip. It usually closes around midnight, so we had two hours to enjoy a calm, post-dinner vibe, rather than a pre-party mania. We were instantly sold, and perhaps a bit more enamored of the bartender than our companion, one of the many reasons it was to be our first and only date. Of course, we lost the bar in the settlement, and so began the requisite avoidance period, hoping aKa wouldn't change too much in the meantime.
Recently, we needed a place where we could catch up with an old friend who was passing through. We wanted a nice atmosphere without too much noise, and suddenly we were standing in front of the aKa doorway. The cute waitress saw us hesitate. "The sangria is really good," she winked.
The last time our friend was in town was just after that failed first date. We grabbed seats at the bar, both waxing a bit nostalgic, both quietly wondering how to catch up on so much time without boring each other. And then the sangria arrived: light, sweet, even subtle, without that cloying, cheap-wine aftertaste so common to other recipes.
"It's like strawberry rhubarb pie," our pal whispered, smiling.
The sangria at aKa is worth giggling over. And soon we were reminiscing through glasses of it, while a very cute, very attentive bartender silently refilled our cups.
BEST OUZO
UNCLE NICK'S OUZARIA
747 9th Ave. (betw. 50th & 51st Sts.)
212-245-7992
Opa! Opa! Everyone who's been to Greece has a favorite drunk-on-ouzo story. We'll spare you ours. And anyway, our drunk-in-Greece stories have more to do with the local wine served at tiny tavernas.
We've always liked anise-flavored liqueur—sambuca, pastis—but we love ouzo, if only for the ritual of drinking it. As Zen master teaches, ritual and form are the keys to understanding our existence, and there are both ritual and form to ouzo. We take ours neat with a cup of ice on the side. Such is how master taught us; so it is that we drink it. Sometimes, it's our aperitif, but often it accompanies a light meal of mezedes: saganaki (fried cheese), keftedakia (meatballs), tzatziki, taramosalata (fluffy fish roe dip), loukanika (sausage) and the like.
We add two cubes—no more, no less—into the glass of clear, thick liqueur; the mixture becomes cloudy. We sip slowly, savoring the bite of the anise, the layers of spices, then add more ice. We continue sipping and adding ice until the cold liquid has just a whisper of the original ouzo. Then, we order another.
We prefer Uncle Nick's Ouzaria to its left-hand-side neighbor, the proper Uncle Nick's restaurant. The casual companion lends itself to lengthy, light dinners with friends. Even at the bar, alone with a book, we've worked our way through two or three mezedes and a like number of ouzos. The local Greek channel is usually playing, and though the service can be a bit gruff, it's never been enough to put us off. Some might call it charming.
Until we can get back to the Greek islands and conduct a proper survey of the country's national liqueur, Uncle Nick's selection of 12 different brands of ouzo is a solid substitute.
BEST HIDDEN
RESTAURANT
FREEMAN'S
(Top Secret)
Not for long. "We would prefer if at the moment we didn't receive any media coverage," said a cold, steely, German-accented voice at the other end of the line. We half expected him to end our conversation with "otherwise accidents may happen," then to break off in maniacal laughter. And of course, being the reckless rogues that we are, we decided to write about the restaurant anyway.
The location of Freeman's contributes to its shroud of secrecy; it can be found at the end of an alleyway reminiscent of Eastern Europe or Harry Lime's Vienna. The restaurant attracts a hip crowd, with downtown personalities such as design collective As Four, Norman Reedus and Larry Clark star Tiffany Limos spotted among the hunting-lodge/tavern décor.
The menu offers a rich assortment of appetizers, including the succulent "Devils on Horseback" (plums stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon) and the deliciously creamy (and vegetarian) artichoke dip. Yet the strength of the restaurant lies in the array of comfort foods offered as main courses and in the extensive wine list. The poached chicken, the grilled trout and the lamb sausage are particular stand-outs.
Why the mystery? "We want to keep the uptown and bridge-and-tunnel crowd away," a connected friend confesses. "We get enough people as it is and we just want a cool place to hang out without any hassle."
Shame that by the time this issue hits the street, the Freeman's spot will no doubt have been blown up by New York or Gawker.
BEST KOSHER
HAMBURGER
NOAH'S ARK
399 Grand St. (betw. Clinton & Suffolk Sts.) 212-674-2200
Two of everything, with everything. The disadvantages of keeping kosher are manifold, but among them is this: Most kosher hamburgers are rather tasteless glops of mystery meat slapped onto an unappetizing bun. Faced with the pictures of delectable-looking burgers in magazines, and the raves of free-eating friends, kosher eaters know there is a better world out there, but remain stuck in the ghettoized land of cafeteria-style grossness.
Enter Noah's Ark, the year-old kosher deli on the Lower East Side's Grand St. The first kosher deli in the neighborhood since the much-lamented closing of Bornstein's some years back, Noah's Ark is many things that a traditional kosher deli is not: clean, well-lit, polite and decently priced. And the burgers are unparalleled—juicy, thick and tender, with fresh tomatoes and onions, on a tasty roll, surrounded by superb fries. With this offering, Noah's Ark has unseated the traditional king of Manhattan kosher burgers—Dougies' on the Upper West Side. Much respect to Noah's Ark for getting the job done right for all of us kosher kats.
BEST RESTAURANT
POLICY
NO RESERVATIONS NEEDED FOR GRAMERCY TAVERN'S FRONT ROOM
42 E. 20th St. (betw. Park Ave. S. & B'way)
212-477-0777
Gra-merci! Since the death of the original Bouley, we're often convinced that Danny Meyer's Gramercy Tavern is the best restaurant in New York. Food, service and atmosphere are always superb, and the simple elegance without the snoot can make even us slobs feel like proper adults. The staff knows the menu inside and out: Ask a question about the wine and you'll get a decent, respectful response, not some opaque explanation larded through and through with bogosity. Gramercy features American food; the cooking is aristocratic, but the atmosphere is democratic. Nowhere is that more evident than in the Tavern Room, the relaxed and informal dining area next to the bar where a reduced version of the stellar menu is available.
That a restaurant of this caliber offers to seat anyone who wants to eat there, spontaneously, without a one-month advance reservation, makes us like Gramercy even more, if that were possible. Meyer is a master restaurateur. His other places are superb as well. (We can't stay out of Blue Smoke, despite the fratboy, Young Republican feel; the food is great and the beer list is vast.) But it's Meyer's ability to make people feel welcome and comfortable, and not like he's done you a big favor by allowing you to spend money in his place, that puts the sublime Gramercy Tavern at the top of the list. Next time Grandma slips a hundred in your birthday card, spend it here.
BEST CHICKEN ROLL
ROSARIO'S
173 Orchard St. (Stanton St.)
212-777-9813
And the ball rolls fowl. Everyone knows Sal, the manager of Rosario's. His avuncular face, framed in a sturdy chin and orange baseball cap, is a permanent fixture at his famed pizza joint, where he greets the late-night LES denizens, explaining the contents of the joint's half-dozen-plus "rollinis." A rollini, says Sal, is just a fancy way of saying "roll."
No matter: At $2.50 a pop, it's the best deal in town, the perfect chaser to a night of debauchery. Its Italian bread comes infused with stringy cheese and chunks of chicken, a perfect combo for dipping sauce. If chicken isn't your thing, try the spinach or sausage rollinis. Throw in the no-frills, casual atmosphere of Rosario's, with its windows made for people-watching and pictures of Italian hit-men on its walls, and you have the perfect late-night hangout. Lines are always out the door, and customers are of the rowdy variety. Don't bring a date. Bring a bevy of your drunkest friends.
BEST KEG
MUSTANG SALLY'S SAVES THE PARTY
324 7th Ave. (betw. 28th & 29th Sts.)
212-695-3806
Quick thinking for more drinking. We're not sure who miscalculated the crowd's thirst, but the two kegs ran out within seconds of being tapped. We were at the People's Improv Theater for a Saturday-night benefit performance of Neutrino, an astonishingly good comedy troupe that's twisted the standard improv model into something new. Rather than just riffing on audience suggestions or using song titles or CDs as inspiration, Neutrino hits the street, camcorders in hand. Within minutes, a runner returns with a short film, produced downstairs on the fly. As the first is screened, more arrive. The troupe's talents transcend the gimmick, making Neutrino our favorite improv group working right now.
Back at the party, with a play-dough roulette and blackjack tables, a $10 cover charge and a dollar-a-ticket raffle, there were plenty of ways for us to lend our financial support. There wasn't, however, enough beer. By midnight, the party looked doomed.
Off we went to Mustang Sally's, a bar across from the New York Press offices that's long been on the receiving end of our patronage. We've always liked Sally's, even when it's filled with happy-hour commuters and pre-game sports fans; the service is prompt and courteous, the bartenders are generous and the food is far superior to the other pub grub in the neighborhood.
The manager was hesitant to sell us a keg, and with good cause—it's not exactly common practice, nor is it a good precedent. Once we made the urgency of the situation clear, and promised everything from our first-born to a "date" with our girlfriend, he relented. We hauled up the lifesaver Budweiser from the cooler, and off we went.
The party rolled into the wee hours, and everyone had plenty to drink. Neutrino went to Scotland and improv'ed their asses off, and Mustang Sally's will forever be known as the bar that saved the day. Thanks, guys.
BEST BUDGET TAGINE
CAFE MOGADOR
101 St. Marks Pl. (betw. Ave. A & 1st Ave.) 212-677-2226
Just like Fadoua used to make. Our mother judges a restaurant by its breadbasket. Bread rates a B+ just for arriving warm, though the right combination of crispy-chewy is necessary for the restaurant to rank high. While we love bread, we love poultry even more. And beyond both of these is our true passion: bread and poultry, at a "weekday special" price. Pita, salad and our choice of chicken tagine for $7.95? Count us in.
We were salivating while waiting for mom to meet us at Cafe Mogador, where the pita arrives—yes—perfectly warm, delicately crispy on the outside and chewy inside. Then comes the salad, as basic as one will find, with mesclun, shredded carrot and a mild vinaigrette. The freshness of the greens and perfect amount of dressing makes this otherwise bland course a standout: just right for preparing the palate.
Then comes the tagine, a deceptively simple stew that we learned to love while traveling through Morocco. At Mogador, the tagine is served over a heap of rice or bowl of couscous accompanied by a plateful of tender chicken cooked in your choice of subtle sauce. There's the "Casablanca" (chickpeas, raisins, onions); apricot and prune; lemon and olives and a few others. Each is warm and filling, a lighter version of the classic American stew.
Mom, who rates the breadbasket highly, mops up the last of her potato, turnip and saffron tagine, then throws back a glass of Moroccan mint tea.
"This place has it down," she says. And she isn't just talking about the pita.
BEST BOERUM HILL BAR
BOAT
175 Smith St. (betw. Warren & Wyckoff Sts.) Boerum Hill, 718-254-0607
Rock the boat. Redoubtable and workmanlike, the Smith St. corridor neither cloys like Park Slope's 7th Ave. nor annoys like Williamsburg's hipster-oppressed Bedford. It follows that the Boat is the perfect bar for Smith St. We've spent several evenings quaffing draft lager amid a mix of local chin beards, mooks and Manhattan imports and loving it. Sure, the place leans hip, but never too much so. The bartenders are consistently friendly (a recent request to lower the AC from its frigid setting was immediately and cheerfully heeded) and only too happy to pour from the extensive beer list. The jukebox selections are first-rate, the thrift-store furniture not too flea-bitten, and c'mon, can you beat the fireplace?
BEST WING SPECIAL
MONDAYS & WEDNESDAYS
AT CROXLEY ALE HOUSE
28 Ave. B (betw. 2nd & 3rd Sts.)
212-253-6140
The new Riverrun. Take your pick: sales vs. editorial, thirtysomething vs. twentysomething, Jew vs. goyim. The challenge had been issued, the battle lines were set: New York Press advertising director Alex Schweitzer would face research editor Lionel Beehner in a wing-off. The man who ate the most 10-cent chicken wings in one hour—without vomiting—would take home the crown.
Okay, so a boxing match it ain't, but as far as diversions go, the Schweitzer-Beehner wing-off wasn't the worst after-work gathering we've attended. And the fact that it was to be held at Croxley Ale House helped. The bar itself is as good as any—quick pours, friendly service—but it's their outdoor area that makes this neu East Village joint worth visiting. With a full bar and seating for about 100 people, the side patio is among our favorite outdoor drinking spots. You can even smoke in the open-air section in the back.
That fateful Wednesday evening, the New York Press crew descended upon the street-side patio. When the first plate of 30 wings arrived, Schweitzer hit hard, assuming a 15-wing lead. But Beehner, the clear underdog, looked promising; some in the crowd suggested that he would be the tortoise to his opponent's hare.
Sadly, it was not to happen. When the final buzzer went off, bones were counted and a winner was declared. Schweitzer: 54, Beehner 42. Both were on the verge of puking.
But cry not for Beehner. There's always one lady who admires a plucky underdog, and this was no exception.
BEST REPLY BY A
WAITER TO A VARIANT
OF AN OLD CHESTNUT
ONE AFTERNOON AT
A WEST VILLAGE DINER
Waiter, there's a… There was something in our soup. Not a fly, but something. Actually, we never even saw it in our soup, a tomato-y, not-too-thick bowl of lentil, one of the two soups du jour on this Wednesday. Our eyes were bent on the sports section of the Times when suddenly something was sharing the space inside our mouth with the rest of our spoonful of soup. It felt like a curly stem, but was so fibrous it sprang back to life after each chomp. Working it forward, we plucked it out and held it up to our baffled eyes: a curly stem indeed, and decidedly metallic.
No more than curious, we signaled to our waiter, dressed in white shirt, black vest and black pants. How many times is a waiter called on to account for some foreign body in the fare? Our waiter was a seasoned professional in his forties. Given that fact, we expected a patently stylized performance in the role now given him to play in our drama: when shown the curly stem, a look of shocked surprise; when asked what it was, a look of consternation.
On the contrary, our man gave a performance all his own. When shown the curly stem, he didn't bat an eye. When asked what it was, he didn't miss a beat.
"That's from a Brillo pad," he remarked matter-of-factly, adding that the person in charge of washing the soup pot hadn't done a very good job rinsing it out.
The lack of fuss in his manner was so commendable, we would have been satisfied even if he hadn't then discreetly reported our scare to the Greek proprietor, who begged our forgiveness and comped our meal.
BEST SPICY MEATBALL
áPIZZ
217 Eldridge St. (betw. Stanton
& Rivington Sts.), 212-253-9199
Old Smoky never had it so good. The grotto-like ápizz is such a consistently pleasing establishment, we wish we could recommend more than just the meatballs. Problem is, since being turned on to the dish last winter, it's all we ever seem to order. Why mess with a good thing, right? Polpete pomidori, as they're called—the creation of chef/owner John LaFemina—are copiously sized pork, veal and beef meatballs stuffed with fresh ricotta and served in simmering, slow-cooked tomato gravy. Like all of the main courses here, this one is done up in the restaurant's wood-burning oven. Savory and with just a hint of smokiness, it's the ricotta that lends the dish an unlikely kick, adding a creamy texture to every bite. Accompanied with sliced sourdough and marinara—dispatched to our table as soon as we're seated (another plus)—and a glass of Primitivo, the meatball experience at ápizz is pure gustatory bliss.
BEST VEGAN MILKSHAKE
FOODSWINGS
295 Grand St. (betw. Roebling &
Havemeyer Sts.), Williamsburg , 718-388-1919
Don't got milk? When vegan fast-food joint Foodswings moved in around the corner from our apartment, we quickly settled into a pattern. On sandwich days, we eat the no-chicken caesar club, dripping with luscious homemade dressing and fabulous black olives. On healthy days, we eat the chili con soya and a side of sautéed spinach, with its huge slices of fresh garlic. Most days, we eat one of baker Jake's fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Then there came a day when we were lazily perusing the list of vegan milkshakes taped to the counter.
"What's good?" we asked.
Whoever was at the counter stared in disbelief. "You mean, you've never had one?"
We shrugged, mentioned our pesky routines and admitted that no, we had not. So we tried one: pistachio cookies 'n' cream. And it was the most fetching concoction of crunch and cool creaminess to pass our lips since we said adieu to dairy a decade ago.
Convinced the recipe must be complex and top-secret, we approached Freedom, Foodswings' Bronx-born proprietor, with caution. "What can you tell us about the milkshake recipe? What would you consider releasing to the public?"
He didn't laugh at us; his mom, copilot in the kitchen, raised him too well for that sort of behavior. But he clearly found the graveness of our tone perplexing. According to Freedom, the Foodswings milkshake is a simple affair consisting of soymilk, Klein's vegan ice cream and either peanut butter or cookies. The flavor combinations come mainly from the flavors of ice cream: strawberry, pistachio, vanilla and chocolate.
The most popular shakes are the Tank, made of chocolate ice cream, peanut butter and cookies; Crunchberries, made of strawberry ice cream and cookies; and Bella Vegan, which is vanilla ice cream, cookies and peanut butter. We're still head over heels for the pistachio/chocolate combination, made even more decadent when Jake treats us to chocolate soymilk instead of vanilla.
BEST NEW FINE-DINING IDEA FOR SHUT-INS
ARTIKO
1807 2nd Ave. (betw. 93rd & 94th Sts.) 212-996-1089
Fine dining, to go. Until we achieve Star Trek-level technology, Artiko may be the best option we have for instant gourmet cuisine. Think navratan korma with rice by way of the Jetsons. Ariane Kemper, a one-time marketing exec at Pfizer and single mom with two kids, first came up with the idea of a place that sells single frozen portions of gourmet food for busy moms and other shut-ins. Her Westchester location—the first of its kind—has been open since October 2003, and her Manhattan location has been here for two months.
Choose among Mexican, Italian and Euro entrees and soups. Artiko's most expensive dish is the shrimp ravioli with coconut curry sauce at $13.99, its cheapest the mac and cheese at $4.99. Try also the salmon with basil walnut pesto, poached tilapia in a white wine sauce, chile lime salmon satay, ostrich steak and the ravioli Magdalene. Parties cry out for Artiko's hors d'oeuvres trays filled with spanakopita, scallops in bacon, potato pancakes and veggie samosas.
Artiko also offers organic meats, sushi-grade fish and amazingly satanic desserts—including chocolate or Grand Marnier "lava," ultimate tiramisu, milk chocolate mousse cake, hazelnut craquant, pear tartlets, Chocolate Madness, Mosaic Bande—and of course the Ice Cream Puck, which children are fond of, along with fishies, frozen potato animals and Puff Doggies.
BEST RED HOOK DIVE
SONNY'S BAR
253 Conover St. (betw. Beard & Reed Sts.) Red Hook, 718-625-8211
A good place to kill or be killed. A pissy old salt once told us he judged a dive based on whether he felt like it was a good place to plot a murder. On that account Sonny's measures up beautifully. Yeah, this old fisherman's haunt has been around since the Koch administration, and it shows. The ventilation sucks, the red-leather booths are beat to shit and a layer of grime coats all surfaces.
Still, certain touches are to be appreciated. Like the irregular hours of operation: We're pretty sure the place is open only on Friday nights, but don't hold us to that. Or the fact that you don't pay for your drinks until you leave. (You make hash marks on a piece of paper and then bring it to the bartender at the end of your night.) Or the, ahem, casual adherence to smoking laws (proprietor Sonny is more than likely to bum cigarettes from you if you smoke).
If you read the New York Times, then you'll know this was the year that Red Hook was discovered. Celebrated additions to the streetscape have included the gourmet eatery 360 and the self-aggrandizingly named Old Pioneer Beer Hall, to name a few. High time then, that Sonny's gets props for being the true pioneer.
BEST MARIO BATALI RESTAURANT
CASA MONO
52 Irving Pl. (17th St.), 212-253-2773
Now that's Italian. His restaurants are like a Murderer's Row lineup—Babbo, Lupa, Otto, Esca, Bar Jamon and Casa Mono (and soon adding some French pop at the bottom of his lineup with Rue du Vent on 42nd St.).
We decided to go with the least-known, for a Batali restaurant at least: Casa Mono, also known as tapas heaven. We didn't have a reservation, but took a chance on getting a stool facing either the wine bar or the wide-open kitchen. Surprisingly there was a stool at both. We went with the kitchen view.
This Gramercy hot spot might be loud, but that's because the place is always packed. Despite the tight spaces between the tables, Casa Mono has a very romantic air to it, with even the kitchen view and wine- bar stools being great spots to bring a date (or start a conversation with other diners).
While we perused the menu and snacked on a mixture of olives with bread, our very lovely server, Andrea, suggested a quartina of delicious, fruity wine. With a 2001 Enrique Mendoza Shiraz from Alicante, our journey began. The first round: pumpkin and goat cheese croquetas, grilled artichokes and scallops with cava and chorizo. The second: chipirones (small octopi sautéed with white beans) and Andrea's favorite, quail with figs. For dessert, the Mono sundae: three scoops of plum-brandy ice cream topped with arrope syrup, chopped almonds that looked like paprika and pumpkin sticks that were somehow candied. We ended the meal with a double espresso and glass of port.
The menu offers equal amounts of seafood, meat and vegetable tapas, and the other dishes looked delicious in their presentation. On our next visit, we'll feast on the lamb chops, skirt steak, grilled squid and Mario's staple, tripe. We also intend to try the corn with braised butter.
It could have been the quail, figs and ice cream talking (or the shiraz and port, we suppose), but we informed Andrea that, should this be our last meal, we would die happy. Mario, we don't know how you did it, but keep it up.
BEST SOUL FOOD
BUFFET
MANNA'S
2331 8th Ave. (125th St.), 212-749-9084; 486 Lenox Ave. (134th St.), 212-234-4488; 51 E. 125th St. (Madison Ave.), 212-360-4975; 829 B'way (betw. Park Ave. & Ellery St.), Bklyn, 718-218-8575; 478 Rockaway Ave. (betw. Pitkin & Belmont Sts.), Bklyn, 718-922-2744
Manna from heaven. Something as delicious as soul food should be shared, which is why endless plates of fried chicken, corn bread and macaroni and cheese are perfect for family gatherings. Finish everything off with a bowl of banana pudding, and even the most hostile familial relations are soothed.
On the surface, Manna's may look like another salad bar, but with its close, cafeteria-style seating it creates a neighborly feel often missing from more expensive places such as Sylvia's or Copeland's. At its best, the food at Manna's is just as good (if not better) than what's offered at those famous tourist eateries: crispy fried chicken, crab cakes, tangy collard greens and candied yams so rich they're essentially a dessert. And then there's the banana pudding—made the old-fashioned Southern way, with plenty of vanilla wafers and lots of ripe, soft bananas. For the adventurous, Manna's even offers hog chitterlings, a soul-food delicacy.
The driving force behind Manna's is Mrs. Betty Park, a Korean-American who opened the first location (125th St. and 8th Ave.) with her family in 1984. Mrs. Park has given to the community (donating to various local causes), and it has responded in kind, allowing her to open four more locations in Harlem and Brooklyn. Our favorite is the branch at 134th and Lenox, near Schomburg Library and Harlem Hospital. In a clean, comfortable space, patrons stack food onto Day-Glo plastic trays and chat amiably while the latest Alicia Keys song plays in the background. Prices are reasonable (usually $4.49 a pound), so there's no reason not to go back for seconds.
While often maligned for its dietary content (high fat, cholesterol, etc.) soul food is a surprisingly good energy source, and lunch at Manna's is the perfect way to begin a walking tour through Harlem's many attractions.
BEST REASON TO
SHOP ON 5TH AVE.
PRIME BURGER
5 E. 51st St. (betw. 5th & Madison Aves.)
212-759-4729
Saks Beef Avenue. We often find shopping frustrating, depressing, sometimes humiliating. Yet every season, we repeat the act that is necessary in order to replenish our sagging wardrobes. This brings about unwanted ego challenges, like the fitting-room rituals of trying to convince yourself that it's not you but the cut of the garment, or squinting so as to prevent seeing any new imperfections in the mirror.
Then there's the added discomfort of traveling to certain parts of town usually best avoided. The strip of 5th Ave. around Rockefeller Center, for instance. True, many neighborhoods now feature the same cluster of these generic shops—5th Ave. in the teens; Broadway in Soho—and these neighborhoods are slightly more tolerable than the St. Patrick's nexus, but we've found the carrot that draws us here, time and again.
Prime Burger is around the corner from Saks and has been there since 1938. The interior is deliciously unpretentious, complete with wood-paneled everything from the last re-decorative effort in the 1960s, and a varied and authentic clientele—from neatly dressed older ladies who drink tea with tuna sandwiches, to regulars of a less-refined ilk. Every time we run the gauntlet through Banana Republic and its brethren, we indulge in a hot, juicy cheeseburger on a crispy bun and a simple dessert of cherry pie. Not only does it alleviate some of the shopping stress, but our visits remind us that sometimes one must eat heartily—without fretting over an increasing waistline and decreasing fashion options.
BEST HIGH-END
JAPANESE RESTAURANT
MEGU
62 Thomas St. (betw. W. B'way & Church St.)
212-964-7777
Tokyo quality, Tokyo prices. Japanese-cuisine guru du jour Koji Imai's string of 30 highly acclaimed restaurants laces his homeland. Megu ("blessing") is his first U.S. eatery, and it's a showcase for Imai's remarkable talents and dedication—and for classy clientele who dine there.
Megu's success is all about exquisite detail, with equal attention paid to food and environment. Interior designer Yasumichi Morita's setting is stage-like: The huge boxy room with its enormously high ceiling and muted golden walls features a huge hanging temple bell under which sits an almost man-sized ice sculpture of the Buddha on a dais over a square pool filled with rose petals floating on clear water. As you walk down a grand central staircase, the maitre d's shout of Irasshoi ("welcome") reverberates through the room, signaling a resounding echo of Irasshoi from the waitstaff. In other words, it's impossible to not make an entrance at Megu.
Once seated, you're presented with a four-page food menu with offerings ranging from Tebasaki (salt or sweet soy-sauce-flavored free-range chicken wings, $5 each) to Omakase ("From the Heart" tasting set, $80, $120 or $150 per person), with a wide range of choices in between, including soups, sushi, sashimi, skewered meats and fish, and specialties categorized as "gems," "crown gems," "jewels" and "crown jewels." The menu's last page provides a glossary. A second menu, devoted to sake, lists 50 rice wines in 10 pages.
Selections are pricey, but Imai's purism about top-quality, organic, fresh ingredients is priceless. For instance, Megu guarantees that mackerel served as sushi ($6 per piece) was swimming in the waters off Hokkaido fewer than 27 hours ago, and sprinkles 250-million-year-old salt over your Bincho tan charred morsels of prized Kobe beef filet mignon that's skewered and flavored with wasabi-soy, gempie miso, rikyu sesame-soy and garlic chips ($60 for four skewers). Fresh edamame ($15) is served still attached to branches, which stand in a mound of ice that's shaved over tiny green and blue lights—the presentation looks like a snow scene in miniature.
Madai sashimi salad with sizzling sesame oil ($28) is a medley of tender Japanese snapper with fresh sprouts and other vegetables, nuts and piquant sauce, and sampling it will convince you that you must return to Megu—if not on a regular basis, then every once in a while. After that year-end bonus comes in, for instance.
BEST CHEAP BEER
IN CHELSEA
SALUMERIA BIELLESE
378 8th Ave. (29th St.), 212-736-7376
Cheap suds, normal duds. Chelsea isn't known for the big drink discounts, and it's not so much difficult, as taboo, to order a beer in most bars, guaranteeing bartenders with patronizing faces and pitying eyes. Most diners in Chelsea start their beers at $4.40, and ordering in a restaurant means paying at least $5 for a bottle of Bud. There are a few rare exceptions, and Salumeria Biellese is our favorite of the bunch.
A regular in our lunchtime-restaurant rotation, we visit the small corner store weekly. We typically order the chicken parmesan or the baked ziti, choosing from the warmer's metal cafeteria trays, and a water or seltzer from the drink selection filling the wall of refrigerators running the length of the counter. But, one day at lunch, we noticed the beverage list for the first time. The prices shocked us. While Snapple and Cokes cost a slightly more than reasonable 95¢, an impressive selection of beers could be had for as low as $1.25 for domestic, or $1.75 for imported, topping out at a whopping $1.90 for Italian brews. The collection consists of Stella, Becks, Amstel, Sam Adams, Michelob, Peroni, Heineken Dark, Corona and even non-alcoholic O'Douls, instead of the cans of PBR we expected. Also, 12- and 16 oz. cans of Bud are listed as $1.25 and $1.50 respectively, but we recommend these only for the seasoned drinker, already familiar with its fancy red and white tin.
Not much for ambiance, and consistently offering service that depends on your rapport, Salumeria Biellese may not be as fancy as the rest of the bars in Chelsea, but with beers this cheap, you'll know you've discovered an alcohol holy grail in this 'hood of velvet-rope excess. We're inspired to start drinking at lunch—and save!
BEST EASY-ON-THE-EYES FISH MONGER
UPTOWN: JAMES BYNUM AT ZABAR'S2245 B'way (80th St.), 212-787-2000
DOWNTOWN: JOSHUA RUSS TUPPER AT RUSS AND DAUGHTERS
179 E. Houston St. (betw. Allen &
Orchard Sts.), 212-475-4880
Scaling up. When we make our infrequent but cherished outings to Zabar's and Russ and Daughters, two of the crown jewels in Manhattan's smoked-fish trade, we're usually looking for a salmon fix, not hot guys. "Fish monger"—not the sexiest of job titles, is it? Not like, say, "meat man" or "corrections officer."
So how surprised were we when we found ourselves doe-eyed before two exceptional men in uniform, doling out goodies from behind our favorite fish counters? Beating the vocational if not the geographic odds, we were thrilled to find not only one hot fish guy uptown, but one downtown too. They may not know our name, but we sure know theirs.
Behind the smoked-fish counter at Zabar's, among the alluring delicacies—pickled herring, smoked sturgeon, belly lox—stands James Bynum. When we first saw him more than five years ago, we were stunned. Still a minion at the Zabar's deli counter at the time, Bynum struck us not only with his good looks, but with a certain air of danger that hung about him. Barking out numbers, moving the line along with aggressive skill, he mesmerized us. We've seen him graduate from salami to sable, and he seems to have mellowed with the Zen-like activity of fish slicing.
Downtown at a rival store, we were shocked to find a rival hottie. In many ways, the contrast between Russ and Daughters and Zabar's is stark. When we go to Zabar's on a Saturday afternoon, we're poised to scrap. Customers are hostile and pushy, so aggressive you'd think they were stocking a bomb shelter. Russ and Daughters, with its narrow storefront, white tiled floors, carefully laid display windows with old-world delicacies like caviar and a rainbow of dried fruit, inspires a bit more calm—if not decorum. What sent our adrenaline pumping wasn't a pushy old lady cutting us off at the cheese counter, but a certain Joshua Russ Tupper. It turns out that this fourth-generation Russ left a career in chemical engineering to join the family business. That's heartwarming and all, but what gets us warm is his olive skin, lupine eyes, spanking-clean white coat and the appealing swagger of a guy who knows his trade.
If Bynum's the one we'd sneak out of our bedroom window to drink in the woods with, Tupper's the guy we'd bring home to mom. Though we're embarrassed to admit it, when we first saw him, we resolved to go back the following weekend for another eyeful. And we wore a dress.
BEST L.E.S.
BUTTERMILK BISCUITS
CLINTON ST. BAKERY
4 Clinton St. (betw. Stanton & Houston Sts.) 646-602-6263
Sop that shit up. It's the most wonderful way to start your day since your lover stopped giving you head in the morning. Yes, Clinton St. Bakery serves lunch and dinner, but the meal that grabs our heart is breakfast. The wild Maine blueberry pancakes are extra sweet and fluffy, served with a warm maple butter. Their omelettes are golden, with caramelized onions and crisp peppers, hash browns well-done being the recommended configuration.
If you don't mind the mandatory line on weekend mornings, stop by for the best brunch since Bubby's. Head straight for the huevos rancheros, served with black beans, fajita vegetables, Monterey Jack cheese and chipotle cream. Or the brioche french toast with strawberries, pecans and more of that maple butter (you will never want to eat regular butter again). The Spanish scramble is our friend's favorite: three eggs with chorizo, bits of tomatoes, sautéed onions and scallions, lined with good ol' Monterey Jack. Delicioso.
No diner will be disappointed, even by the simplest thing on the menu, the Clinton St. Bakery specialty: the buttermilk biscuit sandwich. Simply stated, two fluffy scrambled eggs, cheddar and homemade tomato jam is served on the best damn biscuit in NYC. The buttery biscuit is full and won't crumble under the weight of the tomato jam and eggs like other biscuits. And remember, it never hurts to add bacon in the mix. You might as well.
This is a restaurant where the plates return to the kitchen completely clean.
BEST SMOKED
PORK CHOPS
ZUM STAMMTISCH
69-46 Myrtle Ave. (66th St.), Glendale
718-386-3014
Ist goot, jah? The reason gourmet dining in Glendale is not often talked about is, well, it doesn't really exist. Or does it? This unassuming little Bavarian chalet-decorated joint would argue the latter. Make a reservation or come early and eat at the bar for atmosphere and conversation. Among the hits here are angelic Wiener schnitzel and tender, juicy smoked pork chops that are sweet as ham steak and rich as prime tenderloin. The service is attentive, the prices reasonable and the crowds of families are jovial, as the beer flows and the oompah rings in your ears.
BEST TOFU WITH
MIXED VEGETABLES
MEE NOODLE
219 1st Ave. (13th St.), 212-995-0333
Bean curd done right. Some New Yorkers think you can't slap the label "best" on a Chinese restaurant, reasoning that people gravitate toward the Chinese joint closest to their digs, loving it (or tolerating it) blindly. Not true for us. We've never once touched the dicey-looking Chinese spots along Bedford Ave.; in fact, we generally only eat Chinese in one venue: Mee Noodle. Since we've never lived in the East Village, our patronage has nothing to do with geography. It's the tofu.
We've trudged through ice and snow from Chelsea to 13th and 1st for it. We'll bring home a second portion and feast from it for days. Everyone we've ever brought along has been hooked, for the simple reason that Mee Noodle's tofu and mixed vegetables in brown sauce is unparalleled. The two key factors are texture and flavor. At Chinese restaurants, tofu tends to arrive at the table either in steamy white chunks or irreparably maimed by a deep fryer. If the tofu is high caliber, and thus flavorful, we can hang with those steamy squares. At Mee, we don't have to. They nail the frying process. The outside is seared, but inside, the tofu is still copious and tender and full of fantastic taste. Mee's vegetables are fresh and healthy, though they pale in contrast to that dreamy tofu.
A plate heaping high enough to sate Godzilla costs $6.75. We generally get three portions out of it, unless a certain senior editor has joined us for dinner. That's under $3 a meal, and those kinds of prices lend Mee Noodle's beany goodness a whole new layer of savory. The same efficient, friendly folks have been serving us our tofu and brown rice for a bunch of years, and even when we've been absent for a while, they remember our face and our order.
BEST HANGOVER BREAKFAST
RELISH
225 Wythe Ave. (N. 3rd St.), Williamsburg 718-963-4546
Relish every bite. When your eyelids are puttied shut by an unnaturally thick layer of eye snot and the 50-pound weights that seem attached to them, what you need is grease, lots of it.
Dropped amidst formerly industrial Williamsburg and across from a biker bar is Relish, the kind of place where you'd expect to find a waitress named Jenny Bunny wearing too much teal eye shadow. Unfortunately, when the bullet-shaped diner was trucked in from upstate in the early seventies, they left Ms. Bunny behind. Instead, the wait staff of young stylish lads and lasses with hyper-trendy haircuts to boot.
Another thing that got a kick in the pants was the menu. No diner slop, this: poached eggs and prosciutto on a cheddar sage scone with hollandaise; biscuits with homemade chicken sausage, gravy and scrambled eggs; and, for those of you Southern country bumpkins who feel a tinge of homesick on your down days, cheddar grits with Serrano ham and two eggs sunny-side-up.
The Art Deco seems to have never left the building, with silvery edges on maroon upholstered booths that slip seamlessly one into the next. And staring into the ratty mirrored ceiling over the counter, it's easy to forget time and place. You might mistake that girl sipping a Bloody Mary from a milkshake glass for someone from your mother's yearbook—if it weren't for the tattoos and large piece of celery.
Speaking of milkshakes, this is where the video for Kelis' "My Milkshake" was filmed, just in case the place didn't have enough charming kitsch value for you.
ANIMAL: COD FISH PO' BOY
Westville, 210 W. 10th St. (betw. Bleecker &
W. 4th Sts.), 212-741-7971; 328 E. 14th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 212-598-9998
VEGETABLE: PORTOBELLO BURGER
Shake Shack, Madison Square Park (23rd St. &
Madison Ave.), 212-889-6600
Don't get mad, get cod. Call us foolish, but we still order our steaks and burgers rare, and will even indulge in the odd beef carpaccio. But two sandwiches that we tried this summer came damn close to erasing the burger from our memory. Who needs fried beef when you have two hot and juicy options, both deep-fried, wonderfully meaty, slapped in a white bun with some nice, sloppy sauce to go with it?
At Westville, the cod fish po' boy satisfied us in too many ways to count. The fish was juicy and tender, enrobed first in a layer of crispy, golden fried batter, then slathered with house-made tartar sauce. We couldn't think of a cleaner, more balanced fried-fish sandwich than this one. It boasts enough vice to be satisfying, but not enough to make it punishing.
Our other winner, maybe even better than the first, is nothing less than a work of art: the portobello burger at Danny Meyer's Shake Shack. Meyer's Shroom Burger is a succulent, panko-crusted fried mushroom cap topped with melted cheese, ripe tomato slices, lettuce and special Shack sauce. Crisp, meaty and brimming with juice, this little shocker was so filling that we could hardly finish ours.
Knowing these sandwiches are out there means that skipping a real burger doesn't automatically mean we must downgrade our tastebuds to prepare for chicken. Or worse, tofu.
BEST TOSTONES
CALIDAD LATINA
132 9th Ave. (betw. 18th & 19th Sts.)
212-255-3446
Mighty mighty tostones. For the uninitiated, tostones are green plantains that are fried, smashed to a pancake's thinness then fried again. They are available in some form at virtually every Latin American restaurant throughout the city, from high-end tourist haunts (Victor's) to hole-in-the-wall neighborhood joints—those mid-block lunch counters with names like "El Tina #1" and "La Chinita Linda." We've been to nearly all of them, and can now say that the tostones at Calidad Latina ("Latin Quality") are the unqualified best.
For all their double-fried satisfaction, tostones have proven a real challenge for restaurants. The more expensive places tend to make them into something dainty, with all manner of herbal garnishes and salsas. But tostones are an unapologetically simple food—there's no need for such frilliness. More often the problem is that the plantains are sliced too thickly or that they are allowed to sit too long after frying, resulting in a greasy, coagulated mess.
The owners of Calidad Latina know that tostones must be prepared freshly and delicately, and accordingly they devote great care to slicing and frying. The little disc-like plantains are served piping hot and full of lustrous flavor. If you're adventurous, ask the waiter (the entire staff is courteous and helpful) for an extra helping of mojito sauce, a combination of garlic, olive oil and salt (with a dash of lime) that can be layered on top. The mojito at Calidad Latina is so fresh and potent that it might just make you wince as you bite into it, but remember that garlic is one of nature's best cure-alls. Toughen up, and wash it all down with a swig of ice-cold Presidente. Your vascular system will thank you for it.
Tostones are just an appetizer, so make sure you explore the rest of Calidad Latina's excellent menu. The chicarrones de pollo deshuesado (boneless chicken chunks) are especially delicious—like the tostones, they're fried but never greasy. Top it all off with a strong café con leche, and you'll have experienced one of the most satisfying bargain meals in the city. Don't forget to bring dollar bills for the jukebox—there's no better companion to such gustatory pleasure than a five-selection helping of the latest merengue hits.
BEST DAY OF THE YEAR
FREE CONE DAY AT BEN & JERRY'S
Free Phish Food for all. We don't know the origins of Free Cone Day, nor do we care. (No doubt it has something to do with workers' rights or saving the rainforest or reducing ozone emissions.) We just know that we're embarrassed to be recognized by the dread-headed cone-jockeys when we go back for a third free scoop of chocolate-chip cookie dough. The date varies each year, so keep your ice-cream-fiend eyes peeled.
BEST BRESAOLA
DI PALO'S
200 Grand St. (Mott St.), 212-226-1033
Cured us, too. Trying to decide exactly what at Di Palo's magnificent store deserves the blue ribbon ain't easy. Brothers Sal and Louie (and their less extroverted sister) run what may be the best Italian store in New York. If they decide to sell something, it's because it's passed the Di Palo's taste test, meaning it's authentically Italian, and therefore superb. The cramped store is always crowded, so buying there requires some time. Not to worry: The educational floorshow you get from the boys while you wait is worth a semester at the Culinary Institute of America. And, like Italy itself, no one hurries at Di Palo's. They believe in slow food, taking as long as is necessary to explain what you're getting.
It's from genial Professor Louie that we learned about bresaola, which is now our favorite cold cut ("charcuterie" to you Food TV wonks). Bresaola is cured beef that has been air-dried. Di Palo's slices it so biopsy-thin that you could read a newspaper through it. (No other place outside of Parma has the good sense to cut it properly.) This delicacy now is the main ingredient of our favorite hot-weather dinner, bresaola with arugula and shaved Parmesan cheese. It's the beef that makes this dish: It has an otherworldly flavor and texture; with the cheese and the fresh arugula, dressed with a little lemon and vinegar—all washed down with some chilly pinot grigio—you've got Tuscany on the line. Best part of this museum/food store is that prices are ridiculously reasonable. Mangia, a lot.
BEST BAR TO HIT ON F.I.T. STUDENTS
TEMPEST BAR
407 8th Ave. (betw. 30th & 31st Sts.)
212-643-1502
Art-school fish in a barrel. "So, does everyone at this bar go to F.I.T.?" we asked the tall, skinny, just-old-enough-to-vote femme, who could have been a model, while staring at her black bra strap hanging off her shoulder.
"No shit!" she passionately replied, "that's what the Tempest is all about."
What else do you really need to know after a response like that?
The Tempest Bar goes with F.I.T. like butter on toast, with every woman sexy, cute, having a great body or all of the above. And like all art-school chicks, they're not shy about showing off.
They came in droves, and they all knew the name of the bartender. (So would you if you went to the same bar every week for a semester.) None cared about the open space in the back room, where you can play darts and sit down; they hovered at the bar demanding booze as if Prohibition were making a comeback. And they didn't go home until completely inebriated.
It was so hard to decide which of the students to hit on. Every hair color, breast size and ass width was represented. There were the Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie look-alikes. There were the quiet ones who are always a mystery. There were also a fair share of loudmouths, and we'd be remiss if we failed to mention the Lisa Loeb girls. We're not sure if there are any stereotypes for female fashion-design students, but these birds were very approachable. The simplest "hello" was all we needed to get their attention, and they're also not shy about approaching what they like. When we left the bar, one blonde student commented on our black Cartoon Network t-shirt.
"'Adult Swim,' I like that," she said. That was our in, but we were caught too off-guard to respond. (No one ever accused New York Press writers of being the smoothest cats in town.)
The recent installation of an eye in the sky has deterred any in-bar tomfoolery, but it makes one wonder what went on inside that a security camera was deemed necessary.
With a female-to-male student-body ratio at F.I.T. of about five to one (just fewer than 9000 females were students last year), there wasn't much competition from the male sect, or from the weekly regulars hanging at the end of the bar. So for anyone interested in college gals, whether you're in college or old enough to receive tenure, Tempest Bar makes the grade.
BEST PARK SLOPE NACHOS
LOS POLLITOS II
148 5th Ave. (betw. Douglass & Degraw Sts.), Park Slope, 718-623-9152
That's not 'cho cheese! When we were much younger, we ate junk food all the time, and a big night out was to the local T.G.I. Friday's or Applebee's. That was back in the day when our body could handle trans-fats and preservatives. Now that we've grown and our palate has, um, expanded, that shit just makes us sick. The last time we went to Applebee's, we ate an appetizer portion of nachos (big enough for about six people, of course) and walked around in a stupor the rest of the day, like somebody had jammed a chunk of charcoal up our ass.
These days, we get our nachos at Los Pollitos II, where the mix of tangy jalapenos, creamy Mexican cheese and sizzling chorizo dances off our tongue in all the right ways. It's a perfect meal that's never made our tummy hurt, and these days, that's saying a lot.
BEST STRAWBERRY CHEESECAKE ICE CREAM
UNCLE LOUIE G'S ICE CREAM
718-677-9551
Low cholesterol is for babies. Since there're limited transit options in Queens and we don't own a car, walking is the way to go. When we're on our way to Kmart in the summer, a break for some ice cream is a chance to recover our wits. Through a small chain of stores and resellers across the city, Louie G's serves a variety of ices and ice creams with flavors like Bada-Bing Cherry Vanilla and Rocky Road Rage. But our pick is the strawberry cheesecake with a crunch of graham cracker and a rich ice cream that reminds us of licking the spatula.
BEST ORGANIC
RESTAURANT
JOSIE'S RESTAURANT
300 Amsterdam Ave. (74th St.), 212-769-1212
565 3rd Ave. (37th St.), 212-490-1558
Adopt an artery. The "conscientious cuisine" created by restaurateur and chef Louis Lanza at Josie's proves beyond doubt that wholesome organic cooking can be good-tasting as well as good for you. Lanza's dairy-free menu—featuring a superb selection of delicious soups, salads, appetizers, pastas and main courses made with free-range chicken or beef, fresh fish farmed in Iceland and organically grown vegetables and fruits—is designed to satisfy the various dietary needs of diners who may be lactose intolerant, vegan, diabetic and/or allergic to wheat, peanuts or other foods, as well as those who eat organic to promote health and well-being.
At Josie's, the atmosphere is casual, comfortable, lively. Warm earth-tone décor and miraculously smudge-free floor-to-ceiling wraparound windows create an appealing air of light and happiness. The friendly and well-informed staff is always willing to research a dish's list of ingredients (including details about names and locations of product purveyors) for curious diners.
Sit down to a basket of home-baked focaccia, seven-grain and corn breads, then get ready to choose. If you like calamari, Josie's ginger-grilled variety with pineapple red-pepper salsa ($8) is a must. Steamed dumplings with broccoli and Yukon gold potatoes on a bed of roasted-tomato truffle- oil coulis ($7) and sushi rolls with portobellos and steamed spinach ($6.75) are delightful light meals. For mains, oven-dried herb-garlic-crusted wolf fish ($18.95), seared yellowfin-tuna wasabi burger with pickled ginger ($16.75) and seared breast of chicken scarpariello (a balsamic-lemon sauce) with leaf spinach and chicken-apple sausage ($15.95) are favorites, and the Popeye loaf (ground chicken mixed with spinach, spices and soy parmesan, $14.75) is a best-seller. There are daily meat specials, plus sides, salads and soy-based smoothies with fruit, chocolate or peanut butter. Oh, and leave room for dessert.
Dine with at least three in your party, and you can sample just about everything. When solo, join others at the 12-seat community table, where conversation over good food and organic wine often leads to lasting friendships.
BEST FRIED
PORK DUMPLINGS
DUMPLING HOUSE
118a Eldridge St. (betw. Grand & Broome Sts.)
212-625-8008
What's in a name. The Dumpling House dumplings are the crispest and most succulent; their drinks, the most refreshing; their chefs, the hardest working and kindest. A better dumpling house could not be hoped for.
How to behold these bouncing, fresh pork dumplings? How to quantify their virtue, each a dough-wrapped present deserving of its own special consideration? We could talk about the magnanimity of the price, but what a paltry way to value such artistry. You should be shamed for three generations if that's why you've come to Dumpling House.
In the nature of things, these dumplings should occupy the space we usually partition off for the really good, free things in life. We should consider them like we would the sun setting, the majesty of Mount Everest, the blossoming of the season's first rose. They should be considered one of nature's mysteries, for somewhere in the interplay of the fried dough and the juices, the juices and the pork, the pork and the chives, a fundamental portion of the mystery of life itself is produced. When the tongue meets it, we feel as though we have just been kissed by the divine. It is not something that we can really define. It is beyond us.
It's not just the altar that makes for a mystical experience. Before we had the address tattooed onto our palms, we would lose the temple that is Dumpling House for weeks at a time. It was our culinary shangri-la—shrouded in mist, disappearing, always beyond the next bodega. At times, we were overcome by despair, believing the Best Dumplings to be lost forever, our heart torn that we would never again taste such sweet ambrosia. But then, always, on the tip of suicide's tongue, it would materialize in front of us, an ancient sanctuary in the mountains.
And perhaps a temple on top of a mountain is the best way to describe it. Only here, the eternal Zeus has been replaced by pork fried dumplings, with steamed vegetable dumplings and sesame pancakes playing Hera and Apollo.
BEST BAR TO GET BEAT UP OVER PLAYING POOL
TURKEY'S NEST
94 Bedford Ave. (N. 12th St.), 718-384-9774
Is that a pool stick or a Bo staff? There's something about the threat of violence that elevates our pool game to A-level. The raised fist, cockeyed stare, whiskey spit into our eyes—such hostilities make us run that green felt clean. Maybe that's why we love Turkey's Nest.
Like Bedford Ave. chum Greenpoint Tavern, the Turkey serves 32-ounce Styrofoam Bud drafts for under four bucks, and elephant-staggering rum-and-Cokes for a few cents more. Such frugal intoxication is a recipe for Jerry Bruckheimer-style disaster, especially when coupled with the clientele. Equally overrun by skaters, post-collegiates and the longtime locals that hate them all, the Turkey's Molotov cocktail ignites when the eight-ball is racked. It's an uncommon night when men with biceps the approximate size of pit bulls don't challenge wiry neighborhood newbies to prove their pool mettle.
We should know. On more occasions than we have fingers, our manhood has been tested by Jack Daniels braggarts. "Shoot the fucking ball, you fucking pansies," is a common refrain when we size up the cue. We're not the stoutest of men, but we can name the New York Giants' starting quarterback. Still, our opponents' ire hits 10 when our girlie arms sink the eight ball. One night, our best game was nearly our last.
"Your shots were bullshit. You double-hit that ball," Buzz Cut screamed. We demurred.
"Fuckin' cheater!" he screamed again, grabbing our throat. Our partner slapped his hand off. His partner slapped our partner's hand. Pool warfare boiled, but the battle ended when a third party bought us all drinks.
Still, we return to the Turkey's Nest again and again, even after hearing stories of similar pool victors being knocked unconscious and left outside for cops to sweep up. It's just the danger we need to sink those tricky combos. After all, only our trachea was bruised, not our pride.
BEST OUTER-BOROUGH STEAKHOUSE
JACKSON AVE. STEAKHOUSE
12-23 Jackson Ave. (betw. 47th Rd. & 48th Ave.), L.I.C., 718-784-1412
Claim your steak. We've been to most of the city's top steakhouses, from Peter Luger to Sparks to Ben Benson's. After a while, though each delicious and notable in their own ways, they all seem the same. Lately, we've been skipping the old-school, over-booked and over-priced chop joints in favor of something new. Since 1996 Mitch Catanzano has been grilling some of the city's best meat, but being located in Long Island City means that his excellent restaurant has flown under most foodies' radar. One taste of his 24-ounce rib eye could change all that.
Just try getting this most flavorful of cuts for a mere $26.95 at Peter Luger or Ben Benson's. The Jackson Ave. Steakhouse is in an historic Long Island City building, built in 1886. Catanzano, along with artist Tobi Kahn, owns the building. The ground floor is the set-up for the restaurant, bar and catering room, and upstairs are artists' lofts, where Kahn practices his craft. Even if you aren't a steak-lover, the place is still for you. The bar is made of marble and brass, and the ceiling and walls have that old-time tin covering. You can just sit and have a drink, as they offer more than 75 martinis and 50 bottles of wine. Jackson Ave. has a fine selection of fish, salads and chicken, and for the budget-conscious, the $8 burger and the $8.95 Thanksgiving sandwich—turkey, sausage stuffing, cranberry and gravy—are as good as it gets.
Head chef Francisco Gonzalez has been there since the joint opened, and he knows how to age and cook his meat. One tip from Gonzalez: If you are going to order steak, make it medium rare. He claims that brings out the best of the meat, and any man who has worked behind a grill for nine years knows what he is talking about. Gonzalez makes all the sirloin burgers and soups and sauces by hand, and if he is not too busy, he'll come out to tell you what is best that day. They have a succulent Kobe beef burger mixed with goat cheese and portobello mushrooms that, at $21.95, is a bargain. Other favorites are the roast Long Island duck, the pecan-crusted salmon, the blackened ahi tuna and baby back ribs that fall off the bone.
We've been going regularly since it opened and we've never had a bad meal.
BEST PASTRIES
JON VIE PASTRIES
492 6th Ave. (betw. 12th & 13th Sts.)
212-242-4440
We could lick the sugar on the floor. Since 1962, Nathan Prusack has overseen this pillar of West Village gourmet comestibles. He's the third generation of a family of New York bakers, and he's widely regarded as the finest scratch pastry chef in the five boroughs. Chances are, the knee-high tyke attempting to climb into one of the pastry cases today couldn't care less about Prusack's prestige; the trays of brightly decorated cookies were just more than he could bear. We can relate—the fragrant double macaroons, whose exquisite outer crisp encases a high-octave almond sweetness, spark a light in our eyes and a spring in our step.
This is not a place to fall into routines, however. Prusack and his internationally trained staff bake everything in the shop, including the rye and egg breads, and in our decade-long love affair with Jon Vie, we've savored most of the offerings.
The apple strudel weds fresh, tart apples with a crust flaky enough to deem delicate, but substantial enough to stay true to its fruit. The chocolate danish defies description, and the fluffy black and white cookie exists in a universe light years away from those shameful, shameful deli knock-offs. Jon Vie bakes goodness from across the globe: Italian cannolis and amaretto mousse, Swiss pistachio rolls, French petit fours, lemon rolls and Napoleons, Russian coffee cakes, Hungarian rigoyanchi. Fruit tarts and pies, cakes and croissants, 35 varieties of cookies—oh dear. For years, we've baked birthday cakes for ourselves and others, but when the next big one rolls around, we'll be coming over here.
Because the ridiculous low-carb craze has hurt bakeries citywide, Jon Vie accommodates the carbohydrate-conscious with their cream-cheese bar and other low-fat, low-carb and/or sugar-free sweets. But look—there's room for at least a little unadulterated Jon Vie in any healthy diet; the psychological benefits of good dessert far outweigh the effects of a few extra calories—especially calories that come from here, an establishment that embodies an endangered New York. There are few West Village cafes with as many tables or as much quiet as Jon Vie, and some quiche, a tea and a pile of work make for a productive, thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.
We enjoy the hand-lettered signs, the search for treats as-yet undiscovered, the chrome cases where Sid, who's worked at Jon Vie for 25 years, has boxed up so many delights for us. That box, imprinted with the tasteful line-drawing logo that could be the arch in Washington Square Park or L'Arc de Triomphe, might be what we cherish most: The ancient-looking contraption ties it up tight with plain white string and a satisfying "clunk."
BEST WINE AND
PIZZA COMBO
PIZZA BOX
176 Bleecker St. (betw. Sullivan &
MacDougal Sts.), 212-979-0823
Dig the box wine. Though not unique, Pizza Box is one of the few pizza joints that also offers red and white wine among their drink options. They serve a variety of slices (average price: $2.65) that are not uncommon to those of competitors, but the crust is thin and the cheese always has a great taste. For a mere $4, add a large plastic cup filled with red or white house wine (usually some low-end Italian or Chilean brand). They also have a small selection of beers on tap for about $3. With a few nice tables and a back garden open on mild days, it's a nice spot for a cheap, casual date—or for the end of a bad date, when you need a cheap drink and something to put in your shame-filled belly.
BEST RAINBOW ROLL
MIYAKO
143 Berry St. (N. 6th St.), Williamsburg
718-486-0837
Mackerel daddy. There are almost as many Japanese restaurants in Williamsburg as there are Thai. Miyako towers head, shoulders and adult torso above the rest of them for quality, taste and the stretch of your dollar. A typical Miyako meal for us consists of edamame or seaweed salad, salmon roll, whitetail roll and mackerel sushi: light, satisfying, healthy. Pleases the belly and pampers the plumbing. The Miyako mackerel is the only stuff in New York that holds a candle to West Coast offerings—flaky and buttery, yes, but it packs that salty, fishy punch that only an avid fish fan can profess to love.
When we need a special treat, we substitute the salmon-roll part of our Miyako meal with a rainbow roll. Deep down, the rainbow roll is just a California roll playing dress-up, but that's inconsequential. When avocado, salmon, tuna and fluke enter the picture, this pedestrian wallflower of every sushi menu from here to the Pacific is transformed. All those flavors pouncing on the palate at once probably contribute to the roll's name as much as its pretty colors do. The freshness of Miyako's food plays no small part in this small culinary joy. All that, and tasteful, muted décor with blond wood and shoji screens.
Though Miyako bills itself as a Japanese spot, there's a hefty length of menu devoted to Korean. Fill your belly with kimchee jigae, but preface it with a gorgeous rainbow roll.
BEST WORLD
FOOD MARKET
KALUSTYAN'S
123 Lexington Ave. (28th St.), 212-685-3451
Not a Central Asian republic. The city has no shortage of gourmet-food shopping options, but where do you turn when you need to make tea with sumac leaves? Or prepare a genuine tea masala at home? Or need a big tin of Turkish coffee?
Curry Hill, of course.
Even just the tea and spice sections at this mainstay (in the building where President Chester A. Arthur was sworn in) is a thing of beauty. But then there are countless grains, dried fruits and dessert offerings, a freezer section offering both batch- and mass-produced prepared foods, even fresh food upstairs. Stretching well beyond Middle Eastern cuisine, Kalustyan's is the last piece in your culinary puzzle, assuming you already have a good butcher and reliable farmer's market.
BEST PLACE TO EAT WITH YOUR HANDS
MESKEREM ETHIOPIAN CUISINE
124 MacDougal St. (betw. Bleecker
& W. 3rd Sts.), 212-777-8111
Don't think of cracking that joke. Stuffing ourselves with injera always makes our bellies ache because the dough seems to expand in our stomachs after being eaten. Right or wrong, this doesn't stop us from pigging out on the pancake-like dish.
Meskerem is a small but classy little joint that serves straight-up ethnic food, not some kind of Asian/Mediterranean/American fusion. Choose between several different toppings, both meat and meatless, to be scooped by your waitress on top of your injera, then communally eaten by everyone at your table. We've taken first dates here, met potential roommates and even hosted the out-of-town relatives. Eating with your hands isn't for everyone, but it is fun.
Just one second, though—you did wash your hands after touching that subway pole, didn't you?
BEST FLUSHING
DIM SUM DISH
EAST LAKE
42-33 Main St. (Franklin Ave.), Flushing
718-539-8532
Take the trip to K-town. The variety of dishes at a good dim sum parlor keeps the tongue guessing and roiling in ecstasy, from sweet pork buns to slinky rice noodles with shrimp, or, for the adventurous, chicken feet or tripe. But at East Lake, the dish that keeps us coming back is a bean-curd-wrapped fresh shrimp roll that's steamed simply with ginger and scallions. Eating this dish is like tasting spring at the seaside. Follow them up with the fried honeydew balls.
BEST RESTAURANT
TO TAKE A VEGAN
ANGELICA KITCHEN
300 E. 12th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.)
212-228-2909
For all but the Jainist monk in your life. She was five-foot-eight, with red-blond hair and perky nipples that showed right through her sundress. We didn't know if she would go for a guy who smelled of beef tallow and cheap beer, but we were more than willing to give it a try.
Thankfully, for just such emergencies, there's Angelica Kitchen, the East Village's famed culinary haven for the hopelessly left-wing. The warm, comforting earth-momma décor is enough to set even a veteran of university women's studies courses at ease, and the fact that the food is organic and vegan will impress upon her your political consciousness, or simulacrum thereof. The downside: It's kind of expensive, and they don't take credit cards. Also, they don't serve booze, but you can bring your own.
Fear not, carnivores: If you like Japanese food, you'll find something. Much of the menu, such as the dragon bowls, has an Asian flair, and the miso soup is damn good. The bean chili served with polenta is spicy and hearty, the fresh-baked breads are delicious and the walnut-lentil paté ain't no chopped liver. Besides, if something doesn't appeal to you, just douse it with the savory brown-rice gravy. Eat your greens, too: They're so fresh you can almost hear them screaming, and the vitamins will help keep you fit for your next bender.
"I was so wrong about you," she said, raising her arms to give us a hug. That's when we noticed it wasn't just the food that was free-range.
BEST FIZZ
BLACK VELVET AT JACK'S
LUXURY OYSTER BAR
246 E. 5th St. (betw. 2nd & 3rd Aves.)
212-673-0338
Oi, oi. Some might argue that the best reasons to visit any one of Jack and Grace Lamb's hip little restaurants is the impeccable attention to detail, impossibly stylish décor, stemware, flatware and dishes, Grace's porcelain-doll proportions and equally dainty fashion sense, or Jack's madcap sense of humor, which can be best described as that of a fifth, WASP-y Marx Brother.
There's also the food. Since opening two years ago, Jewel Bako, the first of their mini East Village empire, has climbed its way to the top of Manhattan's sushi-restaurant short list. Jewel Bako Makimono, the more casual version of the restaurant that opened earlier this year, has poised itself to become the Next Door Nobu to Jewel Bako's Nobu.
Their swiftly established legacy aside, our favorite of the Lambs' culinary troika is Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar, a nearly year-old New Orleans-inspired eatery swathed in red gingham wallpaper and studded with irresistible, albeit precious accoutrements, like the miniature copper egg cups that serve up an amuse bouche of pickled quail egg, or the ornate contraption that holds upright individual slices of chewy pumpernickel toast points.
We loved this place before its existence was validated this year with a best rising star chef award from the James Beard Foundation for the hard-working Alison Vines-Rushing, and we love it for reasons far more humble than that glitzy honor. Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar has brought to light one of the most idiosyncratic yet patently delicious cocktails in recent memory, which supposedly originated as a favorite among working men in Ireland. A perfect blend of fizzy and grainy, mouth-filling and effervescent, the Black Velvet, an unscientific mix of Guinness and champagne poured by the borderline-absurd French-accented maitre d', was one detail from our visits that kept us coming back even after the memory of succulent raw oysters and the alcoholic banana fosters had faded.
BEST ATKINS MEAL
CHURRASCARIA PLATAFORMA
316 W. 49th St. (betw. 8th & 9th Aves.), 212-245-0505
221 W. B'way (Franklin St.),
212-925-6969
Meets the need for meat. As recent returnees to Atkins, we're once again on the lookout for great restaurants where we can eat well while still remaining on-diet. To that end, few are more capable than Churrascaria Plataforma.
Be prepared to eat meat. Churrascaria Plataforma is a Brazilian rodizio, with servers in constant motion offering different cuts of meat, sliced on-the-spot and dropped onto your plate. The meat is fresh and cooked in varying degrees from medium-rare to well-done. Before digging into the flesh, however, take a trip to one of the city's best salad bars. There's sushi, shrimp cocktail, cheeses, several different types of salad and loads more. Careful not to fill up.
When you're done with the salad, refer to the coaster on your table. One side is red, the other green. Give the signal, and prime rib, flank stank, beef ribs, sausage, chicken legs, lamb and even turkey wrapped with bacon will soon arrive. Normal eaters will pace themselves by taking breaks and enjoying each serving. But we're on Atkins, so we do things a bit differently: We've no need for the side dishes (admittedly delicious cheese bread, fried yucca, plantains, rice, etc.), so we pack in the prime rib as quickly as possible before our body turns the internal coaster over to the red side. The same thing goes for dessert. Everything's quite delicious, but Mr. Atkins insists that we choose sausage over pastries.
The dinner is prix fixe at $44.95, a very fair deal considering the variety and volume we work through at any given sitting.
THE BEST SIGN OF GENTRIFICATION IN ASTORIA
VEGAN DINING EXPLOSION
Honey, look! Un-chicken! Whether we care to admit it or not, our humble neighborhood of Astoria is officially and irrefutably hip. Starbucks, yoga schools, one-bedroom apartments going for more than $1200 a month, a community garden, poetry readings, an organization called Astorians for Peace...
We valiantly tried to ignore the assorted symptoms of encroaching chicness until one signal came through loud and clear.
While strolling down Broadway (a Broadway sans regards), we came across a group of film students perfecting their craft. We were finally convinced. If those Jarmusch wannabes gathered the courage to venture outside of Washington Square Park for more than an hour, who were we not to accept reality? Astoria is a multi-culti enclave of off-the-boat immigrants, blue-collar Giuliani voters and cheap-rent gatecrashers. It's gotten so that our wife wants us to have a t-shirt made up that reads "Born in Astoria," so no one will mistake the intentions of our shaved head.
There are, however, some perks to living with the new fauxhemians. Prior to their arrival, eating vegan required a MetroCard. Sure, if we were willing to dodge the toxic clouds of smoke billowing from the incalculable souvlaki stands that dot our urban landscape, there was (and still is) falafel, hummus and babaganoush at the legendary Kebab Café, but real vegan dining in the old Astoria was more typically steamed vegetables at the local Chinese restaurant or begging the pizza man to leave off the cheese.
Then came the upwardly mobile.
We now have four health food stores within walking distance. The newest is Sai's Organics (36-07 30th Ave. (betw. 36th & 37th Sts.), 718-956-1793), not more than a three-minute stroll from our somewhat reasonably priced one-bedroom (another perk of our pre-hip residential status). Organic coffee: check. Juice bar: check. Well-stocked organic produce section: check. And this is just the tip of the filtered-water iceberg at the popular Sai's.
Food shopping is now a non-issue, but let's say you've decided to indulge in a bargain matinee at Astoria's massive Regal Cinemas multiplex or, better yet, catch a revival of Them at the American Museum of the Moving Image (AMMI). Where does a non-flesh-eating film fanatic go for a post-movie meal?
There's Cup (35-01 36th St. (betw. 36th & 37th Sts.), 718-937-2322), a cavernous new diner directly across the street from the AMMI. Think Arnold's from Happy Days, but trade Joanie and Chachi for a wraparound bar and a portobello burger deluxe (and more than a few other veggie options). Open 24 hours with outdoor seating, at Cup it's no meat, no cheese, no problem for vegans who yearn for that authentic diner experience.
In the mood to go ethical and ethnic? J.J.'s Grand Tofu (37-05 31st Ave. (37th St.), 718-626-2425) was once nothing more than a particularly good take-out joint paradoxically owned and operated by a gourmet chef. In the new post-modern Astoria, that chef has indulged her inner Emeril by reinventing her place as something called a "fusion" restaurant with, of course, a plethora of meat- and dairy-free items on the eclectic menu. Suggestion: Go with the sesame tofu and broccoli. Potato spring rolls are your appetizer, with glazed eggplant a close second.
A few blocks from all the fusion action is Thai Angel Kitchen (34-11 30th Ave. (betw. 34th & 35th Sts.), 718-726-7029), home of vegetarian duck tamarind, which has won over even our most ardent flesh-consuming friends. The only problem here is making sure you get the right meal. The staff at Thai Angel is well-meaning but easily confused. Be prepared to try ordering "Vegetarian Duck Spice" to get your tamarind, and it doesn't hurt to slowly repeat the word "vegetarian" a few times throughout the ordering process to make sure no ducks are injured during the making of your dinner.
For those hungry greenies craving downtown cool along with a little of the Greek flavor Astoria was once known for, Astoria offers Cafe Bar (32-90 36th St. (34th Ave.), 718-204-5273). Big, comfy couches, cigarette smoke wafting around the outdoor tables and a touch of European pretentiousness are always in abundance, but any place with something actually called a "vegan sandwich" on their menu makes it simple to overlook the au courant overkill. Internet access doesn't hurt either.
Long before Astoria opened its arms to the likes of Victoria's Secret, New York Sports Club and Kinko's, finding a decent bagel was not difficult, but we have gentrification to thank for the all-new and addictive whole-wheat everything bagel with vegetable tofu cream cheese at Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Company (35-05 B'way (betw. 35th & 36th Sts.), 718-204-0141). It is an irresistible masterpiece of guilt-free indulgence. Get there early on weekends though: The competition for tables between old-country Astoria natives and the new trendy interlopers can take on a roller-derby-like quality without warning.
BEST FRIED CHICKEN FOR A HEART ATTACK
BISCUIT
367 Flatbush Ave. (betw. Park & Sterling Pls.)
Park Slope, 718-398-2227
And the blood gets thicker. When it comes to diet, we do our best to stick our foot up Atkins' rotting corpse. Fuck him and his fucking carbohydrate vendetta. Thanks to his thick-waisted followers, bread baskets and french fries are now food-pyramid pariahs. A half-side of cow is prescription for a fat ass. We have half a mind to spite his legacy by going vegan, and we would—if it weren't for some clucking-delicious chicken.
Biscuit's fried chicken is addictive as cigarettes, and clogs our arteries as well as traffic does its Flatbush Ave. location. From that first fowl bite, we were destined for doom. Crunchy like a lollipop, darker than a spray tan and as juicy as a medium-rare burger, this is the chicken for which angioplasties were created.
It's impossible to resist. Once we coat a thick breast with Biscuit's homemade mustard sauce, we can't stop until we've tongued the greasy nibbles from the plastic plates. We don't even mess with Biscuit's namesake. They're often as leaden as they are light. The mac 'n' cheese is serviceable. Roasted vegetables receive passing grades. BBQ is tender, if not noteworthy. The price, though, is right. About $9 for a breast and drumstick, and several scoops of sides. Maybe with all that money we save we can put a down payment on our first bypass.
BEST SIT-DOWN
MEXICAN FOOD SERVED BY ACTUAL MEXICANS
TAQUERIA Y FONDA LA MEXICANA
968 Amsterdam Ave. (betw. 107th
& 108th Sts.), 212-531-0383
Vicente Fox recommends. Mexican food is a tricky thing: Do it right, and you'll start seeing visions of the Virgin Mary on bus stops. Do it wrong, and you'll know why the Aztecs ripped each other's hearts out.
Unfortunately, "Mexican food" in many parts of this country often translates to bland, flour "tortillas" filled with some freezer-burned chicken and rehydrated beans, slathered with cheddar cheese and some red sauce that escaped from a school cafeteria, served with forlorn wilted lettuce and watery, pale tomatoes.
The next time you have a craving for authentic Mexican, head on uptown. Long a favorite haunt of insufferable Columbia students, the tiny dive known simply as "La Mexicana" isn't just the best Mexican food north of 96th Street; it might be the best Mexican food north of the Mason-Dixon line. Sure, it might not be the most romantic place to take a date, what with the fluorescent lighting, the tables with the uneven legs and the jukebox blasting Mexican balladas lamenting lost love, but you're not paying for atmosphere.
As with any good Mexican meal, this one starts with the chips. Crisp triangles of actual tortillas, still warm from being deep-fried back in the kitchen, they're served with three savory salsas. The guacamole is silky and laced with chunks of jalapeños and onion. Burritos are large enough to feed a family of six, while the tacos come stuffed with the basic beef, bean and chicken, but also al pastor (marinated pork), tripe and beef brain. Our favorite meal is the enchilada with mole sauce.
(Get there early enough, and enjoy a massive breakfast of rice, beans, eggs and tortillas. That's enough carbs to make Dr. Atkins spin in his grave.)
Here, the mole bears no resemblance to the bland, brown paste served at other so-called Mexican restaurants. Everything here is made with fresh meat and vegetables, cilantro, lime wedges, savory queso blanco instead of dyed-yellow cheddar cheese, real crema instead of crappy sour cream, and washed down with beer, margaritas or homemade lemonade, orangeade or creamy horchata. They're vegetarian-friendly, as well: Try the vegetable burrito, the chiles relleños (served with a savory tomato sauce) or get the enchiladas mole filled with vegetables instead of chicken. Come hungry; waddle home.
BEST POTATO AND CHEESE PIEROGIES
STANLEY'S PIEROGIES
5401 Metropolitan Ave. (betw. Arnold Ave.
& Fresh Pond Rd.), Ridgewood
718-821-3147
The pleasant potato place. Fresh homemade pierogies are not a dime a dozen. This little storefront just across the border from Williamsburg into Queens is a hidden gem. They sell a variety of fresh pierogies, from mushroom to potato and cheese, sauerkraut to seasonal fruit. Tell them the kind you want, and the label indicating the variety is slapped onto the packet when you buy it. The lovely women behind the counter generally speak little English but are certainly friendly and proud of their goods, which are fresh and delicious.
BEST STREET TREAT
COCO HELADO
One more month of deliciosoness. Everyone has a different attitude toward street food. Some think it's crawling with bacteria that can only be dealt with by employing hazmat-worthy measures; others can't imagine a perfect day in the city without it. Dirty-water dogs may be the sentimental favorite, but we can get slightly safer franks at places like Papaya King, Gray's, F&B and Crif Dogs. And while the street pretzel makes for a nice urban prop, they're generally steamed to the point of sliminess, or burned if they've been heating with the chestnuts. Soft-serve trucks offer a little more promise, but the last half dozen or so that we've visited have gotten away with stingy, turd-sized portions, and the ice cream itself seems to have diminished in quality, having become oddly creamy in that non-dairy kind of way.
The one street treat that retains an air of authenticity and can still be purchased all over is the Delicioso Coco Helado sherbet, prepared fresh almost every day in the Bronx, April through October. The custom-made carts are manned by employees who, with a few exceptions, seem to have the command of no more than 10 English words, and serve up the frozen sweets in Dixie cups sheathed in a napkin. Despite being fairly well-established, the whole operation has an air of the amateur or illicit.
Hands-down, the best flavor is coco. Still made with real fruit, it carries none of the Hawaiian Tropic taste that manages to penetrate just about every other coconut-flavored anything. With prices at some carts starting at 50 cents, there really is no good reason to pass one by.
BEST QUEENS
BAGEL SHOP
BROOKLYN BAGEL AND COFFEE CO.
35-05 B'way (betw. 35th & 36th Sts.)
Astoria, 718-204-0141
3509 Ditmars Blvd. (betw. 35th & 36th Sts.)
Astoria, 718-932-8280
Go south, young bagel store. Queens never gets a break. Even people not from New York ridicule Queens like it's some inside joke, as if their six months in the dorm qualifies them as experts. Those who've never stepped into the Boro of Choice are missing out on another face of New York. All those who stick their noses in the air to the Q-boro without seeing Long Island City, Flushing, Forest Hills can suck it.
And now this? The best bagel shop in Queens is named—what? Brooklyn Bagels and Coffee?
Don't let the misnomer fool you. Everything at Brooklyn Bagels is quality. The hand-rolled bagels here are huge and tasty, and come in beautiful varieties like whole-wheat oats and raisins, and theirs is the best everything bagel around. The long glass counter offers a yummy assortment of cream cheeses, with scallion, cinnamon-walnut and sun-dried tomato getting top marks. The spreads are deliciously airy and fresh, the butter they use nice and salty. Or ask for an egg sandwich, and pay as little as $1.40 for two fluffy eggs on the bagel of your choice. Add a freshly squeezed orange juice and cup of coffee that you can actually afford.
As for lunch, pick up a prepared wrap and brown-bag it to work. Soups and sandwiches are different daily, but make a point of trying their Greek salad with the reddest tomatoes and imported feta cheese. And don't miss the tiny to-go cups of delicious fruit salad.
The décor is modern yet simple, with a storefront that's all windows, attracting cute artists and young professionals (as well as the local Greeks) moving through Broadway or along Ditmars on their way to the N. The staff is cool and quick, accustom