Beacon

I've long meant to go to Beacon, mostly because the restaurant watching community in New York has a lot of respect for Waldy Malouf's food oriented, not over crowded, pleaser of a restaurant.  Part of the magic is the Thursday burger bar, and part of it is Malouf's kitchen counter Thursday night bacchanalian 12 course menu for a mere $98, but most of it is the fact that Beacon is a comfortable, happy restaurant churning out excellent food.  I loved my comfortable leather seat, I loved the spacious dining room overlooking the woodburning kitchen, and I especially loved my simple roast chicken and strong, bracing martini.  My fiancee's lobster salad was equally good, a full half of lobster set aside a number of roasted shrimp and delicate leaves. 

As we left, a tourist couple outside was looking at the menu and was wondering aloud if Beacon had only a prix fixe.  I assured them that there was a full menu inside.  They looked relieved, and then asked how much things cost.  "$27-41 for main courses, except for the burger", I said.  They winced, understandably, and then started walking along 56th street for what was likely to be a much inferior meal elsewhere.  Most places, I wouldn't have minded.  With Beacon, I wish I could have convinced them to go inside.

Maya

I awoke to a figurative fire drill at 4 am (ah, the joy of international law), so here I am at 5:45, things still smoldering.  It's as good an opportunity as any to blog about Maya, a haute mexican restaurant we ended up in Sunday night when I relied too much on the idea that everything is always open in New York, and thus left my fiancee and myself standing disconsolate outside a very closed Sushi Seki.  I was not in a good mood. 

I'm happy to report that the main courses at Maya, although a little dated (hey look, what we ate is mentioned in this old review from Ruth Reichl, who hasn't been the reviewer for the New York Times since 1999, I think) were terrific.  I have nothing but good things to say about my dark, mysteriously spicy, chicken mole, and her adobe chicken with warm pico de gallo was actually very tasty and just lively enough.   Of course, they could have been served at any time from 1984 to today without nary a change, but one doesn't always need innovation, even from restaurants who claim to be "modern".  

Dessert, however, plunged me back into despondency.  A mushy, cold tart, filled with tasteless almond (supposedly) cream, lashed with blueberry treacle? (Blueberries?  now?).  Just awful, inexcusable, glop. 

Maybe my judgment of the dessert is a little stilted, I think, because I was and still am in such an awful funk (see first sentence).  But then I think back to that pathetic, pale flour color circle, and the bland cream that wasn't even encompassed in the crust, almost sneaking shamefacedly away from a pie no one would want to hang around with.  Nope.  If anything, the fact that the mole was delicious probably made me better disposed to that awful dessert than I would have been.  It was bad. 

And yes, as the New York Times says, Maya is expensive.  Unlike many places, I cannot tell you why.