How to Mainline Cholesterol

Since purchasing Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, we've made the trip to his original Les Halles outpost on Park and it was so good the first time, we went back last weekend. It's beauty is in the consistency: Alisa got mussels bathed in herbs and white wine twice and both times they were right on the mark. I got a steak (first hangar with a shallot sauce then flatiron with a made-to-order bernaise...key, because it can be vile when pre-made) both times that cut like butter. And the fries, as he promises in the book, were sublime. It is a rather loud joint though and even the second time when we sat in an alcove, where the din is lessened, we were across from a table of two drunk tourist couples who's banter drove us insane. That brings up a serious pet peeve I promise not to dwell upon at length: People with loud or irritating voices at adjacent tables who can literally ruin a meal. I learned during that second trip to Les Halles to soldier through it, enjoying my food and talking loudly to Alisa, in hopes of: a) being heard and b) sending a message to the next table that they were way too loud. I failed at the latter. Anyway. Enough said. Speaking of ways to mainline cholesterol, we made our second visit to Pearl Oyster Bar on Cornelia Street in the Village. Even at $27 apiece (the market price that day), their lobster rolls were fantastic -- a whole lobster, it seemed like, big chunks of claw and tail slathered in mayo on a bun barely able to contain all the lovely meat -- and accompanied by a mound of shoestring fries (I think there's something to thinner fries tasting better, probably related to more surface area to be fried in oil). As if that weren't enough to put us on the busroute to bypass, we split a caramel praline parfait (they put some caramel at the bottom as well so you don't eat the best part first, then find yourself left with lonely vanilla) and some steamers, which, even though I've had clams many a time, I had never officially ordered them as "steamers." A small bucket of long necks (I learned that's to indicate an actual neck of sorts emerging from them -- reminiscent, in miniature and far less intimidating form, the humongous neck that makes up the bulk of a geoduck clam, something I may never be brave enough to try) arrived with some warm salt and parsley water (Passover flashbacks) and drawn butter. Extras aside, the lobster rolls here are a dead-ringer for those at nearby Mary's Fish Camp, where we went once. Is there any difference? Someday soon, perhaps, I'll have an answer.

Random musings on Mexican and Cuban food

Forgive the long stretch since our last post, but between a trip to the other side of the globe and a job change, it's been busy lately and we've just now had time to settle again. There has been chowing going on, however -- and here are some regrettably brief thoughts on places we've been since the blog posts stopped: Dos Caminos on 3rd Avenue -- maybe it's just because I'm from SoCal and know good Mexican food, but it's been a rarity to find it anywhere outside. This member of the B.R. Guest empire (which includes Ocean Grill, Atlantic Grill, Isablella's, etc.) was not the exception. Even though Madonna was reported to chow here with A-Rod, it goes to show celebrity hot spots can also fall flat. Even though the fish we both ordered was cooked fine and tasted fresh, it was also bland (why anyone would think avocado "leaves" make an exciting crust for tuna is beyond me) and the guacamole scam perpetrated frequently in the city was on full display here, with a paltry amount offered up with way too much lime (a preservative for those who choose to make mass quantities in advance, as opposed to the charm and freshness of tableside preparation). Not a bad meal, but not memorable and overpriced at that. We did have a better Mexican meal several months back at Hell's Kitchen in, you guessed it, Hell's Kitchen, which offers an interesting menu balanced out by fair prices. The best Latin food in recent memory, perhaps ever in this town, can be found at Cafe Habana on Elizabeth and Prince Street. True, we've only brunched here twice, but the seasoned roasted corn on the cob covered in cojita cheese and lime juice alone is pilgrimage-worthy. I also opted for a "Michelada" -- something I'd
never seen or heard of before -- which involves a tall parfait glass half-full of ice, fresh lemon juice and Tabasco with salt around the rim. Into it you pour a bottle of Corona and squeeze lime. It's delish. For entrees, Alisa got the classic Huevos Rancheros and I got Chilaquiles, a dish done so differently so many places you never quite know what you're gonna get. It's one I ate growing up in San Diego that always consists of fried corn tortillas, red or green sauce, cheese and chicken or veggies in a casserole of sorts. Since arriving here, I've had it as a sad little pile of corn chips with red sauce and some grated cheese or a whole elaborate cheesy blissful casserole at Quantum Leap, a duo of vegetarian joints in the east and west village that does it expertly (although occasionally skimps on the portions). At Habana, it more resembled the pile of chips, put an ample pile that had started to submit to their soft tortilla form under the weight of a zesty green sauce and melty white queso with tender pieces of chicken hidden all across the plate. The accompanying black beans, with herbs still wading inside, are among the best I've ever had anywhere. We can't wait to go back.

Soba-tastic

Before we came to NYC, I never knew Japanese noodles extended beyond ramen and udon (and even udon I learned about just a few years before). The thick, ropey noodles at New Orleans joints like Kyoto and Sake were fantastic and a value, arriving with a healthy portion of tempura for under $15, generally. Then, spying something in the Times one day (is it clear how much I look forward to the back page of the Wednesday Food section?) I saw a $25 and under review of Soba Totto in East Midtown. We went there for the first time and tried the buckwheat noodles, which are thin like spaghetti and also have a nice nuttiness (not to mention being healthier than regular semolina noodles). They often come in a miso-soy type of broth, with green onion and any number of underwater delicacies resting on top, like uni, which adds a nice saltiness. At lunchtime, a combo meal often includes japanese pickles, a seaweed salad, fish or tempura and any number of other little side dishes. Best of all, soba is ubiquitous to the seasons and just as good cold as hot. Soba Totto also happens to be on an amazing block (East 43rd between 2nd and 3rd aves) populated by a number of amazingly authentic (I assume authentic...we haven't been to Japan yet) Japanese restaurants: Sakagura (where they have an amazing selection of sake, a fantastic array of non-sushi or noodle Japanese dishes, including something with squid liver that was ten times better than you'd think, not to mention a real Japanese toilet in the ladies' room, Alisa says) and Sushi Yasuda (last year ranked top sushi spot in the city by Zagat). Earlier today we learned it's possible to get great soba outside of that tiny strip, at Soba-Ya in the East Village, where not only is their soba equally good, but you can watch a dude make it right where it looks like they'd be running your credit card. Instead, he uses a variety of handle-less rollers to flatten out the dough and then chops off thin noodle strands. There's also a Japanese toilet (but, again, only for the ladies, although not quite as elaborate as Sakagura's, Alisa again says). For the record, there's also a recently-opened sake shop (the only one east of the Rockies, its owner says) a block east, Sakaya, that's definitely worth checking out (especially for the tiny cans that are like tasty little chocolaty flavor bombs).

The Weekend We Ate Our Trip

Intentionally, we set out to eat the cuisine of every country we'll be visiting later this summer and unintentionally we ate it in the order we'd be visiting those places. First off, there was Sakae Sushi, the Singapore-based international chain which just opened its second outpost outside of Asia last month here in NYC's Greenwich Village (the second is in Midtown). The gimmick is conveyor belt sushi, similar to numerous places in Tokyo, or so I'm told. And it's worth going to just for the experience, but once may be enough. You sit in a long row of booths as a conveyor belt with various types of Japanese fare passing by...there's rolls of all kinds, some bright red octopus, squid salad and the occasional nigiri. Each rests on a color-coded plate that denotes price and under a plastic cover. We grabbed a few plates of sushi and it was fine, although nothing memorable. We even took a plate of puffy doughy things that passed by but upon realizing they were miniature cream puffs and being nowhere near ready for dessert, we clandestinely replaced the cover and put them back into circulation. Therein lies one of the potential issues with such a setup: who's to know another patron hasn't previously pulled a dish from the belt, examined it, perhaps sneezed on it, and then replaced it? True, one has to have faith in the honor system, but here's a more vexing issue with the arrangement: I swear I saw the same plate of krabstick nigiri pass at least 8-9 times over the course of an hour -- same with that octopus -- all of which makes me wonder how long it's allowed to loop the booths before it's taken out of circulation? Seafood left out room temperature can only last so long. Anyway. For those who don't want to leave their entire dining experience to chance, there is a monitor and mouse at each booth, from which you can order any number of tempura, sashimi, sushi and various other entrees...we had better luck with that, except for the fact that the system was somewhat on the fritz, listing some items they weren't carrying that day (uni, for example) and did not register our table number, so the orders went to the kitchen without telling them exactly who had ordered them. A waiter tracked us down, fortunately, since it was pretty slow when we got there near the end of the lunch hour. Those were all good: highlights being a roll with cheese of all things, wrapped in a black sesame breading and some deep-fried rolls...more because they were interesting than anything else. In short, it was fun once. I don't think I'd return again. Next in our journey, we followed advice of the NYT and ventured downtown again to Rhong-Tiam, a relatively new Thai joint specializing in authentic Bangkok cooking, or so it said in its slogan. We started with Crispy Catfish with Green Mango Salad -- a dish our friend Julie, who lives in Bangkok, has raved about -- that's essentially shredded catfish pieces deep fried. What arrived was a plate covered with what looked like random bits from the bottom of the deep frier that were crispy and tasty bits of fish, made all the better when scooped up with the mango, lime and pepper salad in the accompanying bowl. A true hit. For entrees, we shared a plate of blue crab fried rice (tasty, although a bit fishy -- Alisa knows from her time in D.C. that blue crab is something of an acquired taste and actually top quality, but I'm not quite there yet). I got something called Pork on Fire, which that same Times article called a "contender for spiciest dish in the city." That line led me to ask if they could make it less "on fire." The waitress politely replied that she'd been asked that question before and the chef could not, believing compromising the heat would also compromise "the integrity of the dish." I absolutely respect that answer: cater do your customer's wishes when you can, but go too far and you actually end up misleading a customer into thinking the altered dish will be fine and thereby only compromising yourself when it's not. Keep it hot, then, I said and asked for a second glass of water. It arrived and although I confess to avoiding the whole chilis mixed in, it wasn't terribly hot at all. Nowhere near the four-alarm, almost inedible dishes we had at the much ballyhooed Land in our neighborhood last year. The pork was tasty, as promised, sprinkled with fried kaffir lime and thai basil leaves on top. It was a hit, although not so sublime that it wouldn't stand up against a tasty tender pork dish at a good neighborhood Chinese place. Alisa got the Tropical Mango Shrimp, which arrived with plump shrimp and peppers resting inside a beautiful mango bowl. Too bad it was all covered in a sickly sweet, bright red glaze. After one bite, Alisa pushed it to the side. The waitress, without even being asked, promptly took it back and removed it from our bill. She was fantastic and we let her know it by tipping her the entire cost of the dish. To finish up, we got mango with sticky rice -- perhaps the most simple southeast Asian dessert and arguably the best -- fresh, soft mango with porridge-like rice and a bit of creamy vanillia-like sauce with black sesame seeds on top. Alisa slightly favors the version at Cafe Asia in Arlington, which comes with a bit of honey, but we both agreed it capped off a great lunch, leaving us with three favorites in the city: Sookk, Thai Market and here. Sookk, however, appears to be the most economical. Finally, we closed out the culinary preview journey with a trip to the very recently-opened Cambodian Cuisine. Not the most interesting name, I admit, but in a city with only two Cambodian restaurants, it doesn't hurt to clearly impart your unique offering (the other is Kampuchea downtown, which we stumbled into last year and was good, but more focused on Cambodian street food and catering to a hipper downtown crowd, with its selection of interesting sandwiches and savory crepes). It turns out the restaurant has had quite a journey to opening, with the owner plunging deep into debt and facing numerous hardships in a two-year attempt to open on the Upper East Side after closing his smaller Brooklyn outpost years ago. It was well worth the effort. The decor is minimalist at best, not in a sleek, hip sort of way, but more in the haven't-had-time-to-decorate sort of way. But no matter. We started with Prawhet Kroeurng, which was four fried fish patties filled with lemongrass and basil, which were tasty and a good starter. I also got a Cambodian Iced Tea, which was a dead ringer for Thai Iced Tea, but still delish. For entrees, we shared Nom Bonchok Tuek Kary, a lemongrass curry with potatoes, bean curd, onions and water chestnuts that included vermicelli. We also got Tonle Saap Fish Chop, which was a beautifully steamed piece of tilapia in its own curry (you can also get it fried, or opt for salmon, but I feared a crispy crust may not allow it to absorb the sauce as well) atop perfectly cooked broccoli florets. Both were dishes delish, especially after they were gone and we used steamed rice to absorb all the remaining sauce. To finish, we had Songkhya, which was egg coconut pudding on brown rice served in a martini glass. Also delish. We'll be back and are hoping Cambodian Cuisine makes it.

Kyotofu

Months ago we discovered Tafu on 51st St. near Lex, which arguably has the best green tea in the city -- I'm a fan of the iced sencha, which has a wonderful clean grassy taste -- and its accompanying desserts, each with a green tea flavor. There are financiers (a fancy word for dense cookies, I've found), cheesecakes, cupcakes and even ice creams -- and not the blah green tea ice cream that often stands alone on the dessert menu and your neighborhood Asian restaurant -- these use the actual flavors of Matcha, Sencha and Genmaicha and somehow make them work well in a sweet dessert. I can't say I don't prefer a Mr. Softee cone to sweet toasted brown rice-flavored ice cream every day (Alisa can), but their desserts are original and always great. It took a bit of reminding over time, however, that the desserts at Tafu (which is tinier than our Manhattan apartment and has only four seats) are made at Kyotofu, a Hell's Kitchen nouveau Japanese restaurant where, we found after riding down there on our bikes Saturday, the savory entrees are just as good (if not better) than the sweets. We arrived while there were 3-4 other parties there, with a waiter and a waitress attending to everyone and a single chef in a tiny kitchen right up front, with glass windows looking in on her. The one-woman show may have been to blame for the relatively sluggish service, but no mind, we were hardly in a rush. We started with an order of cold green tea soba noodles that were fresh, tender and tasty, with a soy dipping sauce. Next, I opted for chicken and tofu tsukune burger with lotus root chips. It was delish, a very loosely packed patty brimming with a tangy teriyaki-like flavor on a soft brioche bun. The chips, with lots of holes in the middle, were crisply fried a golden brown. Alisa got the smoked salmon donburi -- tasty bits of loxlike salmon atop a puffy, almost crispy rice. Others sitting nearby got dishes we're eager to try next time, especially, for me, a artisanal cheese souffle and a kurobuta sausage puff. Each entree also came with a free cocktail as part of the brunch special. I got a Mimosa, Alisa got a Bellini (peach juice instead of OJ). For dessert, we got a chef's omikase (tasting) of five desserts: a mini chocolate cupcake and a sugary cookie, a berry tofu cheesecake (probably the best on the plate), a tofu version of flan, a dark chocolate cupcake with a gob of green tea icing on top and a panna cotta with soft apricot on top. Alisa was more of a fan than me of these, but I at least agree they were all worth trying. But for my money, the savories won out and will bring me back -- soon -- for more.

Dovetail

Hailed as one of the best new joints on the UWS, we scored a res. at Dovetail about a month before we were able to get in. It's easily missable, behind a glass door with the name artfully etched in beside routine apartment building entrances on 77th, caddy corner to the Natural History Museum. Decor was dark, sleek, clean and service was very attentive. We started off with a glass of wine (I got a Long Island sauvignon blanc that was OK, Alisa a Spanish white that was better) and they soon brought two individual loaves of white cheddar cornbread along with a trio of amuse bouche. The hot cornbread was yummy, although somehow the neandrathal American in me wanted it to be cheesier, looser inside, but still a nice starter. The amuse bouche were all good -- a radish on a toothpick with some grated cheese that tasted like parm, a teeny shrimp quesadilla on a fork and, the best of all, house-smoked salmon on a green, tofu-y cube. We started with chilled cauliflower soup with oysters in the middle, perched atop a little island of chopped apples, onions and pine nuts. Let me say here that I almost opted against the soup, in favor of some scallops with lime and caviar, but Alisa wanted the soup and, I have to say, I'm glad we got it. No cream or chunkiness, it was like a gazpacho, but more soothing and flavorful in the heat of summer and without the intense spice of its Spanish cousin. It would be one of the best things we ate there -- a statement that's not at all a dig at the joint, the soup was just really that good. Next we got gnocchi with blueberries, goat cheese and white truffle shavings. I think Alisa liked this one a bit more than me. While interesting, all the flavors never really came together for me. For our entrees, Alisa got a snapper with fava beans and a sea urchin broth. I got a cod with bacon, itty-bitty clams that were delish, polenta croutons and some leeks. Both of our fish were expertly cooked -- flaking apart into slices with just a bit of pressure from your fork. The problem was that while our sauces were tasty (as were the bacon bits and clams), the fish itself had nothing distinctive or particularly flavorful about them. They were just nicely cooked, quality pieces of fish...which just isn't enough. Dessert brought us back to the glory of the soup. We opted for a peanut butter tart with beer ice cream and pretzels. It was tasty, but not the highlight. Instead, that honor was reserved for one-third of our other dessert: an ice cream trio of lemon verbena, cinnamon and croissant. You guessed it: the croissant was mind-blowingly good -- like a sweet butter bomb in miniature scoop form. It was accented by what we first thought were bran flakes and then realized were croissant flakes (we think) at the bottom of the bowl. In all, a fine meal and a place we'll definitely return to, but perhaps in the fall or winter, when there's a whole new menu to try (a Bruni review from last winter suggested a totally different offering). But in short: cauliflower soup and croissant ice cream alone were worth the trip...the rest was fine, but not memorable.

Delta Grill

At the recommendation of my editor, a Mississippi native, who called it more or less the best southern food in NYC, we went with our friends Marlene and Steven to Delta Grill in Hell's kitchen. The Christmas lights and decor reminded me of Jacques-Imo's -- the New Orleans version, not the failed NY outpost. We ordered Abita on tap, a nice touch, and Alisa and I shared a crawfish pie ($9) appetizer, which was surprisingly good, not terribly far off from the mind-blowing shrimp and alligator sausage cheesecake at JI's (I actually got the recipe, which I'll post here if there's enough interest, from Jacques one night while he was totally hammered...which was pretty often). It wasn't really typical crawfish pie, however, since it arrived as a slice. I usually found crawfish pie to come in smaller, individual pies like the one at Tee Eva's back in N.O. It actually is amazing how many examples of BAD crawfish pie I had in N.O., however, especially the one at Franky & Johnny's. Alright, enough New Orleans name dropping for now (is it obvious that I miss it a bit?). Anyway, Marlene and Steven split an order of the fried green tomatoes ($9), which would have been great if the tomatoes were actually green! A sweet red ripe tomato just made the whole thing bizarre, since the key to the dish is a sour green tomato battered and fried. Not a good sign. Anyway. For entrees, Alisa and I each got an oyster po-boy $13), quickly realizing we could have split one. They were surprisingly good, although somewhat stingy with the corn-fried oysters (although ersters aren't near as cheap up here as they are plucked fresh from the Gulf down there). The bread worked fine, although it sure wasn't Leidenheimer French Bread, the loaves delivered in those trucks with the annoying Bunny Matthews cartoon on the side back in N.O. Steven got some jambalaya ($17) he seemed pleased with and Marlene opted for a mac and cheese ($6) side. I think we'd go back at some point.

A brief note on pastrami

After checking out the pastrami at Carnegie Deli, the reopened 2nd Ave. (albeit off 3rd), the Stage, Artie's, etc. I just have to go on record saying that every one of them stands second in line to Katz's. Given that pastrami's so damn bad for you, my new resolution, aimed at preserving my body, is to only eat pastrami from Katz's. The true record of just how f%*!ing good it is comes right when you order it and they slice a few scraps onto a tiny plate, slam it on the counter before you and let you eat it with your fingers while they make your sandwich. It's meat masking as butter. You've got to be pretty damn confident your pastrami is perfect to make a gesture like that. God bless Katz's. Reason #138 why I love this city.

BLT Market

After being introduced to BLT Fish last year by some friends and discovering BLT Burger on our own, we clued in to BLT Market (BLT, for the record stands for Bistro Laurent Tourondel, LT being the chef's initials...not lettuce tomato) and went with our friend Julie, who we're planning to visit in Bangkok later this summer. After bellying up to the bar solely to take advantage of a free nut sampler that included de-shelled pistachios (can I say that until you've had the pleasure of eating MORE than one pistachio at a time, you haven't really lived), we got our table and were greeted, for starters, with a hot dog amuse bouche (pictured just below). Specifically, a beef-and-pork hot dog, wrapped up in a homemade Gruyère-flecked pastry and topped with sauerkraut and mustard. He had me at the hot dog. We started with a "mache" salad, with greens I assumed were watercress until a Google search identified mache as "a little known salad green with a mild lettuce like flavor." But screw the green leafy veg. The best thing about it and the reason we ordered it was for the tiny deviled quail eggs that tasted like truffle. There were five in all in the salad and out of pure stupidity masked as chivalry, I gave the last two to Alisa and Julie. It will truly be one of the great regrets of this week. Anyway. We also got a spice-crusted yellowfin tuna app that was entirely forgettable. As we waited for entrees, they brought out a narrow bag with a hot baguette, cut down the middle and filled with what we thought was pesto but tasted like creamed spinach but was fantastic whatever it was. Awesome bread seems to be a staple at BLT restaurants...at BLT Fish they have the best cheddar biscuits ever. Anyway. We immediately asked for another and the waiter, perhaps not quite understanding what we wanted, arrived with more of those amazing hot dog things. Score! A minute after that he came with another loaf of the bread. I was loving this place beyond words by this point. For entrees, Alisa and I both opted for a brioche-crusted halibut with a lobster curry sauce, a special on the menu that night. The fish was perfectly cooked, but I have to confess it was just sort of bland, not arriving tucked inside the big doughy pastry I envisioned, just flecked with some some bread-y stuff on top. Alisa begged to differ. Not wanting it to arrive suffocating inside some thick, doughy mass, she liked the combination of subtle flavors. She also enjoyed the heavily braised cauliflower. Too me it just tasted like burned veggies. Julie opted for a veal chop with morel mushrooms that seemed like the better choice. I feel like there's more I should say about the entrees, but isn't it so common to be wowed by everything but the main course? Anyway. To finish, we got two kickass desserts: a Mango upside-down cake with jasmine green tea ice cream that was really good but quickly upstaged by what Julie said was the standout of the evening and I may have to agree: Popsicle Sorbet with warm Orange Blossom Madeleines. The sorbet, topped with what I think was a raspberry sauce, brought you back to the sidewalk beside the ice cream man during the summer before third grade as your Big Wheel awaited another roll down the street. All in all, a great experience.

La Kabbr

Taken by another Times piece, we ventured down to Hell's Kitchen -- the neighborhood, not the Gordon Ramsay restaurant from his annoying TV show of the same name (which, let's face it, is Top Chef for dipshits) -- to the only Iraqi restaurant in NYC. There's little to report. We started with La Kabbr Maza ($19.95), a sampler of hummus, baba ghannouj, tabouleh, etc. It was all good, with warm pita, but nothing memorable. We then ordered the spankopita ($12.95), which came with soup. The choices were chicken noodle or lentil. We chose lentil and tucked in, only to pull out short starchy noodles. "What does this taste like?" I asked. Alisa pondered the saltiness until it struck us. It was Lipton instant chicken noodle soup, the staple of any Gen X middle-class suburban childhood, apparently disguised by a top layer of lentil soup. Down went our spoons. Still went the soup. The spinach and feta under a layer of golden brown filo dough that arrived next was fine, but again unremarkable. So we can check visiting the only Iraqi joint in the city off our list. Once was enough.

Momofuku Noodle Bar

After walking by it frequently on our way to any number of the great places along First Avenue in the East Village, we finally made our way to Momofuku, turned on to it by the frequent gushings of Frank Bruni. Notwithstanding the desperately hip vibe, evident by The National song on the stereo and the dude reading Radical Chic beside us, we quickly found they were well deserved. We started off with the shiitake mushroom steamed buns ($9), which arrived as a pair of taco-style soft, thick white pancakes doubled over with tender sliced mushrooms tucked inside with a tasty asian brown sauce. Some cucumber slices inside gave a cool crunch, perfecting a dish that floored us both. Sometime I might have to try the pork. Next came the Cured Arctic Char ($14) - thin slices of what looked just like lox and made me wonder if it had come up from smoked fish mongers Russ & Daughters, just a few blocks south. It came accompanied with a panna cotta-shaped mound of dill-flavored tofu and four triangle-shaped puffs of rye flatbread. We cut holes in the crisp, flaky puffs and filled them with slices of the salty, perfect fish and lobbed gobs of the green tofu in the remaining empty spaces, topped off with some tiny strips of what looked like pickled taro root. Another hit. For the main course, we each went for ramen -- Alisa the Hatcho Miso Ramen ($14) with baby shiitake, tat soi (sort of an Asian mustard green, Wikipedia alleges) and radish. She loved it, digging up bits of barley from the bottom, occasionally drizzling it with some of the fiery deep orange hot sauce in tiny plastic bottles that we assumed was Sriracha. I went for the Momofuku Ramen ($16, pictured here), which arrived with noodles buoying a pile of tender shredded pork, two slices of thick, fatty pork, asian pickles, scallions and a poached egg in the middle. We both mixed the tender noodles (Alisa's flatter than mine but equally perfect) up with everything in our bowls and savored the perfect broth that tied all the flavors together. We can't wait to go back.

Crave on 42nd

So we rounded out the dining fest over Alisa's birthday weekend with a trip to Crave on 42nd, the recently-opened place by Dave Martin, the finalist from Season One of Top Chef known for his bold flavors and frequent bouts of sobbing. He made a black truffle mac n cheese with cognac in one episode that I recall craving myself, so when we saw it was on the menu here, we had to go. Sunday night we hopped a C train down to 42nd and quickly discovered that the $100,000 he lost to Harold, the Season One winner, might have helped Dave score a better location. After squeezing through the crowds at the Port Authority at 8th Avenue, we headed west, greeted in our travels by a rat the size of a kitten who crossed our paths near a construction site. We passed a FedEx facility, a bus depot and a crumbling economy hotel until -- just past 11th Ave., practically to the Circle Line terminal on the Hudson River -- we spotted a modern day high-rise apartment complex (more suited to suburban Virginia than Manhattan) with a few attached storefronts. Therein, we found Crave. The space was so big, the setting so mellow and far from the mobs I've grown accustomed to in NYC, I almost felt like I had left the city, the river almost visible from certain spots in the restaurant. It was Sunday, so only a few other tables were filled. We started with the mac n cheese ($15), which came out in a ramekin hot from the oven, with chopped tomato and green onion on top a beautiful bake of pasta, fontina, truffles and brandy. We both agreed it was the best we'd had, not greasy, not too gooey, but perfectly balanced. It alone was worth the trip. For entrees I got the $20 Hangar steak and fries and Alisa ordered a goat cheese, mushroom and white truffle pizza ($15). My steak was fine, unexciting but well cooked and I can't fault Crave for that, since I passed up a menu filled with interesting options (lamb marinated in cider and hoisin sauce, for example). Alisa's pizza, on the other hand, was great. She could only eat half, but I finished off the rest later after we got home. I had mentioned to the maitre'd that it was Alisa's birthday and for dessert, they appeared with a candle resting inside of a complimentary sour cream panna cotta with blood orange coulis, that was fantastic. It's nothing either of us ever would have thought to order, but it was delish. The waitstaff was as attentive as any I'd ever seen and overall, a great experience. Not highbrow or super-fancy, but satisfying, interesting and, with a $54 total check, a great value. We'll definitely be back.

24 Prince, revisited

What a difference a week made, and not in a good way. A week ago Saturday, cluing into the "24 Prince" beneath Nikki's name every time it popped on the screen during "Top Chef," we decided to pull up the webpage for her Nolita restaurant and check out the menu. Nikki, if you watch Season 4, is the one who made the sausage, pepper and onion sandwiches for the Bears game tailgate challenge, then ran out of peppers and onions before the judges showed up. Anyway, we went last weekend and had a great experience, start to finish. We got a reservation around 4 that afternoon for 8:30 and walked right in, even though we were 15 minutes late, and sat right down. Before long we realized Nikki herself was right there, mingling with guests between stints in the kitchen. It was a bit puzzling to see her in person just a few episodes into TC, but we quickly realized the show must tape far in advance of air dates. Staff said she's also bound to some contract with Bravo that calls for her to be disembowled if she reveals any spoilers before a show airs. We didn't bother to ask, but I did compliment her on the meatloaf wrapped in puff pastry and drizzled with a coffee-infused BBQ sauce ($17), which was among the best variations I've had on one of my favoriate comfort foods (except, perhaps, for Paul Prudhomme's Cajun version). Alisa had a salmon with pumpkin seeds ($18) and was equally pleased. For starters, we shared some mac and cheese eggroll-like things ($7) that, although pedestrian, were sufficiently yummy and a chopped salad ($14) that was fresh and satisfying. We were wowed by a rosemary pear tart ($7) dessert that finished things off. On our way out we made a reservation for the following Saturday, I noting to the maitre'd that we'd loved it and that next week the rez would be for Alisa's birthday. Fast forward one week. We arrive at 9 with our friend Kelly, check in, get a seat at the bar and aren't seated till 9:45. The maitre'd came over to assure us he was working on it once or twice, so we didn't get overheated. Food was more or less equally good: I did meatloaf again, Alisa got a tuna with cannellini beans and truffle oil ($24) and Kelly opted for a flatbread pizza with comte and mushrooms ($11), but interminable waits between courses/waiting to get our table cleared/waiting to order grated on all of us. We ended up at our table for two hours, often ready to order when our server arrived and quick to pay our bill when it appeared. We sat right near the front and often while staring blankly at our empty plates, as our waiter was AWOL, the maitre'd hovered just feet away looking utterly bored. But what really ticked me off was the complete lack of acknowledgement of Alisa's birthday. I mentioned it to the maitre'd when making the reservation, saw him write it in the book, and again reminded them when I called back to confirm the reservation. So when the pear tart arrived, equally yummy, but without a candle, it was just annoying. Sure, it's petty to get ticked over a little candle, but even TGI Friday's remembers things like that. And when you're marking another year on this planet, is it so much to ask for someone you love? Nikki, if you wanna be Top Chef, better school your staff a bit more. Till then, this town's got too many options to come back to 24 Prince any time soon.

Palm Court at The Plaza

For Alisa's birthday we did tea at the Plaza ($100 a pop -- a $60 version was available, but we lived large). On the first plate, you receive (clockwise from the yellow circular thing on top): caviar atop scrambled eggs on rye, lobster salad with asparagus, smoked salmon and horseradish cream on pumpernickel, roasted lamb with butternut squash, eggplant goat cheese and nicoise olive tartlet, black truffle and olive oil, prosciutto finger sandwich and in the middle, cucumber and mint on white bread. Along with it comes a pot of loose leaf tea. We each chose green, which was great. Then came scones with devonshire cream, madeleines, and a mini desert three-level tray with everything from eclairs with candied rose petals to mini chocolate cakes with edible gold on top. Well worth the price of admission, if you factor in being able to sit in a lovely room at the nicest hotel in the world (arguably). I can't complain about the gaggle of fannypack toting tourists who stood just beyond the hostess table snapping digital pictures of the dining room where we sat. Those around us who do this sort of thing commonly and can easily afford it seemed disgusted. I just thought it was nice to be on the other side for a change. Alisa called it one of her best experiences in NYC and I, as I often naturally do, have to agree.

Bar Americain

Had our second Bobby Flay meal, after doing Mesa about a year ago, at his W. 52nd St. spot. We declined wine, but I opted for a Belgian-style wheat beer (can't remember the name) from the tap. We shared the grilled oysters with a black pepper tarragon butter and hot chile BBQ sauce ($17), anticipating something like Drago's back in Metairie. That was our fault, perhaps. Upon arriving, five oysters in their shell were warm, but for some reason the shells were set on top of crushed ice. The oysters were plump, as if they had not actually been cooked, not the shriveled bits of garlic-butter deliciousness we loved back in Louisiana. Each was finished with a squirt of the dark brown BBQ sauce. Disappointing, but certainly nothing special. For entrees, I got a hanger steak ($31), which was tender ant tasty, although a bit small, judging by the guy next to me who got the much heftier rib eye, a whole chop, compared to about twelve bite-size slices that appeared on my plate. The BBQ sauce on the side (thankfully left on the side) was overpowering and best untouched. Alisa got the red Snapper Florida style ($32). She enjoyed it, resting on top a banana leaf with black beans underneath and a mango guacamole on top. She enjoyed it, but said it was cleared an also-ran to the monkfish we had at Le Cirque earlier in the day. As sides, we got the hot potato chips with blue cheese sauce and the Fries Americain with a smoked red pepper mayo ($9 each). The chips were long, apparently from a potato cut lengthwise and nicely crispy. The fries were even better, holding in some of the grease from the fryer (bad, I know, but hey...) and wonderfully salty. I preferred the mayo with both (the red pepper flavor made it a fine substitute for ketchup), Alisa was torn between the two sauces. We had to ask for a second tiny cup of the mayo, since the first was barely enough. For dessert, we shared the chocolate praline layer cake with caramel rice krispi crunch ($10). They brought it out with a happy birthday message written on the plate in chocolate, always an appreciated touch with a candle resting in a strawberry on the side. The cake was nice, with a warm chocolate fondant on top and many layers inside. The rice crispi (why the final 'i' I don't know) pieces resting on top and wading in a vanilla-ish sauce in the plate were delish...I just wish there were more of them. I certainly didn't expect the banana pieces on top and could have done without them, but we peacefully coexisted. The cake itself had little if any praline flavor, with the rich chocolatiness overwhelming any that actually existed. In all, it was fine. We both agreed it was a decent enough meal, but not a place we'll need to return to with any sense of urgency.

Le Cirque

Went to the cafe in Bloomberg's giant glass skyscraper for the $28 fixed price lunch. Sat near the bar and spied owner Siro Maccioni, who we recognized from a Top Chef episode, unmistakable in his tinted glasses and mismatched sportscoat. We each got the Australian shrimp with Coconut milk-lemongrass broth (more like a foam, really). Alisa liked it more than I did, but it was nice -- definitely funky flavors. Next we got the monkfish, which was perhaps the best piece of fish either of us had ever had. The consistency mimicked lobster and the flavors, in a yellow curry coconut broth, were sublime. If it were socially acceptable, I'm pretty certain we both would have licked the plates. After the entree, we hit a lull while somewhat forgotten about by waitstaff at the bar. But no matter. It gave us time to polish off the glass of Sancerre ($14) we each ordered with lunch, and which paired perfectly with the seafood. Upon being rediscovered, Alisa chose the Floating Island (creme fraiche, caramel, mixed berries and meringue in a martini glass) and I got the maple syrup rice pudding with a blackberry compote. We each got a scoop of pistachio ice cream. The Island was amazing -- sweet, creamy and balanced beautifully by the tart fresh berries bobbing on top. The rice pudding was also nice, but lacked the maple flavor promised in its name and any there was got immediately overpowered by the berries, served alongside in a shallow glass goblet. The pistachio ice cream we each got with it was fantastic, truly tasting like pistachios and resembling their pale green color, unlike so many of its artificially-flavored relatives. All this cost us $85 before tip. We'll definitely be back!