Phoenix Garden
242 E 40th Street
The grand caveat over this snapshot is that I know next to nothing about Cantonese cooking, other than what I've picked up over the years from visiting the local second rate chinese restaurant. I know all the sauces shouldn't be the same color and flavor, and that one should taste something, but other than that, I haven't the slightest clue. Still, I think there's a certain extent to which someone with a decent sense of taste can say, "yes, this is likely to be a good example of X", even if they don't know much about it.
On that note, I'll say then that I think pheonix garden is probably quite a good cantonese restaurant. I was genuinely surprised by the sheer flavor of a few things I ate - there were these astonishing steamed pork dumpling, set aside from the usual unfortunate effort by the large chunks of pork tucked in each chewy ball - that's always been my complaint about dumplings, honestly - if you can't taste the meat, why not use something else? And the simmered eggplant in a clay casserole was tremendous - like the turkish/armenian/generally middle eastern iman bayadi, but interesting - with ginger, and spices, and, well, taste. My only regret about the place was that I didn't know about their bring your own booze policy (no corkage!), and that I didn't realize how aggressive you had to be to get served in the busy, crowded space. Still, next time I'll know to show up with beer, get in people's faces, and order what the people who seem like they're from Canton are ordering. And if you make a mistake - no matter - for almost everything's under a tenner. Other sources list Phoenix Garden as some of the top Chinese in the city - at this price, it's a flat out bargain.
6/11/2004
6/10/2004
Bouley
I visited the New York super-restaurant Bouley for lunch today. I don't put much stock in the Zagat's guide, but to give some perspective on the matter, that book has it tied for the top restaurant in the city. Obviously, my view is that dinner there is probably better, but there's something to be gained from observing lunch. For one thing, I was able to realize that the room on the right hand side, with its white ceiling and larger windows, is much preferable to where we were sitting, on the left - if at all possible, considering the general somberness of the dark maroon space, opt for the former side. Why ought you not see your food?
As for the meal, it began promisingly with a novel amuse bouche (called here a Chef's canape for one reason or another) of a clam topped with a sort of tomato coulis and a cold horseradish tinged cream. I have certain problems with the texture of the last two when combined with each other, but as a taste, the dish was quite striking. I also felt that the clam was entirely overshadowed by the other ingredients - what I wouldn't have given for a larger piece of beef tartare topped with the carefully balanced bite of the horseradish sauce.
I chose the lesser of the two tasting menus, which began with some pan fried soft shell crabs served atop grapefruit. I love soft shells, though I would be just as happy leaving their squishy centers to the hungry denizens of the sea. The chefs at Bouley, understanding this, had cleverly isolated the delicous extremities of the unprotected crustacean, leaving only the crunchy sweetness of its claws and arms to be shovelled delicately into my waiting mouth. Though I normally don't talk much about the physical plant of restaurants, I should note here that the restaurant erred in presenting a fish knife with the soft shell crab. I haven't the slightest idea what the proper etiquette is, but even the tenderest soft shell still has a leathery skin, that eventually hardens into the thorny armour that protects them from the depridations of fish, if not man. A sharper, more aggressive knife would have been more appropriate.
The crab was followed, after a slightly worrisome gap, by a Maine cod served atop a bed of wild oysters and organic peas. The dish was largely a low - key one, and I'm not sure entirely worthy of a place like Bouley. I will say, though, that I much admire a chef who can stop cooking fish at the very moment when it reaches translucence, before the fish begins to flake, and remembers to present it quivering atop its accompaniment. That's how fish should be served - at a consistency much more reminiscent of gelatin than of cotton. As another free tidbit, the kitchen presented two delicate plates of mashed potatoes - made with waxy fingerling potatoes rather than their more usual starchy compatriots. I would say that the dish was striking, but I haven't yet made up my mind whether I was pleased or not by a richness that verged so close to pureed butter that even our table of four champion eaters couldn't finish the two small plates. Yes, mashed potatoes should be rich - but this rich? I'm not sure.
The highlight of the meal, I would say, was Bouley's magnificent palate cleanser that followed the cod, a truly great combination of apricot and champagne puree, all topped with a sparkling buttermilk sorbet. The sorbet was clever on so many different levels - the low tones of the wine underlying everything, the astonishing use of buttermilk, which of course has little inherent fat, to make a sorbet, which normally has no milk. I can only say that I was terribly impressed. After the sorbet, we were treated to a well-executed but somewhat standard warm Valrhona chocolate cake, served with three ice creams of varying excellence, and several serviceable petit fours, including a somewhat surprising sesame biscuit of terrifying butteriness, all with a cup of excellent coffee. All in all, I saw tinges of what could be the best restaurant in New York, but I feel as though the real strength of Bouley's legendary cuisine is left for the evening. One day, I hope, I'll find out.
I visited the New York super-restaurant Bouley for lunch today. I don't put much stock in the Zagat's guide, but to give some perspective on the matter, that book has it tied for the top restaurant in the city. Obviously, my view is that dinner there is probably better, but there's something to be gained from observing lunch. For one thing, I was able to realize that the room on the right hand side, with its white ceiling and larger windows, is much preferable to where we were sitting, on the left - if at all possible, considering the general somberness of the dark maroon space, opt for the former side. Why ought you not see your food?
As for the meal, it began promisingly with a novel amuse bouche (called here a Chef's canape for one reason or another) of a clam topped with a sort of tomato coulis and a cold horseradish tinged cream. I have certain problems with the texture of the last two when combined with each other, but as a taste, the dish was quite striking. I also felt that the clam was entirely overshadowed by the other ingredients - what I wouldn't have given for a larger piece of beef tartare topped with the carefully balanced bite of the horseradish sauce.
I chose the lesser of the two tasting menus, which began with some pan fried soft shell crabs served atop grapefruit. I love soft shells, though I would be just as happy leaving their squishy centers to the hungry denizens of the sea. The chefs at Bouley, understanding this, had cleverly isolated the delicous extremities of the unprotected crustacean, leaving only the crunchy sweetness of its claws and arms to be shovelled delicately into my waiting mouth. Though I normally don't talk much about the physical plant of restaurants, I should note here that the restaurant erred in presenting a fish knife with the soft shell crab. I haven't the slightest idea what the proper etiquette is, but even the tenderest soft shell still has a leathery skin, that eventually hardens into the thorny armour that protects them from the depridations of fish, if not man. A sharper, more aggressive knife would have been more appropriate.
The crab was followed, after a slightly worrisome gap, by a Maine cod served atop a bed of wild oysters and organic peas. The dish was largely a low - key one, and I'm not sure entirely worthy of a place like Bouley. I will say, though, that I much admire a chef who can stop cooking fish at the very moment when it reaches translucence, before the fish begins to flake, and remembers to present it quivering atop its accompaniment. That's how fish should be served - at a consistency much more reminiscent of gelatin than of cotton. As another free tidbit, the kitchen presented two delicate plates of mashed potatoes - made with waxy fingerling potatoes rather than their more usual starchy compatriots. I would say that the dish was striking, but I haven't yet made up my mind whether I was pleased or not by a richness that verged so close to pureed butter that even our table of four champion eaters couldn't finish the two small plates. Yes, mashed potatoes should be rich - but this rich? I'm not sure.
The highlight of the meal, I would say, was Bouley's magnificent palate cleanser that followed the cod, a truly great combination of apricot and champagne puree, all topped with a sparkling buttermilk sorbet. The sorbet was clever on so many different levels - the low tones of the wine underlying everything, the astonishing use of buttermilk, which of course has little inherent fat, to make a sorbet, which normally has no milk. I can only say that I was terribly impressed. After the sorbet, we were treated to a well-executed but somewhat standard warm Valrhona chocolate cake, served with three ice creams of varying excellence, and several serviceable petit fours, including a somewhat surprising sesame biscuit of terrifying butteriness, all with a cup of excellent coffee. All in all, I saw tinges of what could be the best restaurant in New York, but I feel as though the real strength of Bouley's legendary cuisine is left for the evening. One day, I hope, I'll find out.
6/09/2004
Pellegrino's
I don't understand restaurants like Pellegrino's. I don't get their appeal, I don't get their popularity, and I definitely don't get their 23 rating in Zagat's New York. Sure, it's nice to sit outside in an interesting part of New York's Little Italy. But we do really need to eat such mediocre food while doing it?
The problem with Pellegrino's is much the same as the much more upscale (and uptown) Grifone, where I dined in the fall. Simply put, the food is stuck in the mid 1950's - insipid, uninteresting, sugary pasta sauce, without that dark musk of garlic and onion that makes italian food italian, pasta on the very edge of bloated overdoneness, and main dishes that could be interesting, but in the hands of the Pellegrino kitchen, aren't. Veal with artichoke and mushroom, for example, sounds nice - it's not bad, I have to admit, though I'd like it a lot more if the meat hadn't gone an odd shade of gray. And as for the eggplant parmesan, I'm reasonably sure they got that eggplant the same place that the sub shop next door to my cambridge apartment gets theirs - what happened to fresh eggplant, salted, battered, and then fried in olive oil before being put in the oven with the sauce? The best part about Pellegrino's is that you can sit outside and plot where you're going to pick up some gelato for dessert. Otherwise, I'd skip this (admittedly reasonably priced) restaurant and shell out a little more money for Mario Batali's Lupa somewhat uptown, or for either Il Mulino or Batali's mainline restaurant, Babbo.
I don't understand restaurants like Pellegrino's. I don't get their appeal, I don't get their popularity, and I definitely don't get their 23 rating in Zagat's New York. Sure, it's nice to sit outside in an interesting part of New York's Little Italy. But we do really need to eat such mediocre food while doing it?
The problem with Pellegrino's is much the same as the much more upscale (and uptown) Grifone, where I dined in the fall. Simply put, the food is stuck in the mid 1950's - insipid, uninteresting, sugary pasta sauce, without that dark musk of garlic and onion that makes italian food italian, pasta on the very edge of bloated overdoneness, and main dishes that could be interesting, but in the hands of the Pellegrino kitchen, aren't. Veal with artichoke and mushroom, for example, sounds nice - it's not bad, I have to admit, though I'd like it a lot more if the meat hadn't gone an odd shade of gray. And as for the eggplant parmesan, I'm reasonably sure they got that eggplant the same place that the sub shop next door to my cambridge apartment gets theirs - what happened to fresh eggplant, salted, battered, and then fried in olive oil before being put in the oven with the sauce? The best part about Pellegrino's is that you can sit outside and plot where you're going to pick up some gelato for dessert. Otherwise, I'd skip this (admittedly reasonably priced) restaurant and shell out a little more money for Mario Batali's Lupa somewhat uptown, or for either Il Mulino or Batali's mainline restaurant, Babbo.
Grimaldi's
Yes, it's all the way in Brooklyn. Yes, there was a line even at 1 pm on Saturday, when we arrived. Yes, you have to pay with cash, and the menu fits on a small sheet. But Grimaldi's is a magnificent pizzeria, and I recommend a visit for anyone in the New York area.
To my mind, there are two really important attributes to a good pizza, though I'm sure some disagree. First, the dough has to be excellent. There should preferably be no oil, though I understand if kitchens cheat on that point to make handling the crust easier, it has to be properly (that is to say, relatively lightly) salted, and it has to have been kneaded sufficiently. Even more important, the dough must be baked in a good oven, preferably one fired by hot burning wood or fuel, and one that's been in the same place for a long time. Grimaldi's, in all these respects, is utterly spotless. The dough tastes of bread, blistered by a fierce coal fire that's been in Brooklyn for over fifty years. It has many of the characteristics of a good loaf - the outer skin of the crust seems to have been grafted directly from some of the better bakeries I've visited. There's simply no doubt that with the exception of Pepe's in New Haven, this is some of the best pizza in the country. If there's better, I would have heard of it.
Second, I think it's vital that the pizza is properly topped. This, to me, means an interesting and viscous tomato sauce dotted with the occasional ball of torn fresh mozzarella. No heavy lid of shredded pseudo-cheese - no filled crusts - no bizarre combinations of cheddar and mozzarella. Just a simple, light, meal. From the piles of mozzarrella sitting on the baker's counter at Grimaldi's, and from the sparsely topped pizza that arrives, it's clear that Grimaldi's understands the point exactly. Combined, the hot crusty dough and this perfect topping make a tremendous pizza - and in rough and ready surroundings, served quickly with a hastily filled cup of ice and bottle of coke, I'd pay twice the $14 that Grimaldi's charges for a large pizza. Go to Grimaldi's - it's one of the best restaurants in New York.
Yes, it's all the way in Brooklyn. Yes, there was a line even at 1 pm on Saturday, when we arrived. Yes, you have to pay with cash, and the menu fits on a small sheet. But Grimaldi's is a magnificent pizzeria, and I recommend a visit for anyone in the New York area.
To my mind, there are two really important attributes to a good pizza, though I'm sure some disagree. First, the dough has to be excellent. There should preferably be no oil, though I understand if kitchens cheat on that point to make handling the crust easier, it has to be properly (that is to say, relatively lightly) salted, and it has to have been kneaded sufficiently. Even more important, the dough must be baked in a good oven, preferably one fired by hot burning wood or fuel, and one that's been in the same place for a long time. Grimaldi's, in all these respects, is utterly spotless. The dough tastes of bread, blistered by a fierce coal fire that's been in Brooklyn for over fifty years. It has many of the characteristics of a good loaf - the outer skin of the crust seems to have been grafted directly from some of the better bakeries I've visited. There's simply no doubt that with the exception of Pepe's in New Haven, this is some of the best pizza in the country. If there's better, I would have heard of it.
Second, I think it's vital that the pizza is properly topped. This, to me, means an interesting and viscous tomato sauce dotted with the occasional ball of torn fresh mozzarella. No heavy lid of shredded pseudo-cheese - no filled crusts - no bizarre combinations of cheddar and mozzarella. Just a simple, light, meal. From the piles of mozzarrella sitting on the baker's counter at Grimaldi's, and from the sparsely topped pizza that arrives, it's clear that Grimaldi's understands the point exactly. Combined, the hot crusty dough and this perfect topping make a tremendous pizza - and in rough and ready surroundings, served quickly with a hastily filled cup of ice and bottle of coke, I'd pay twice the $14 that Grimaldi's charges for a large pizza. Go to Grimaldi's - it's one of the best restaurants in New York.
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