I was all geared up to wax poetic about Scott Conant’s new place on 14th street that’s been garnering all kinds of praise. I dined there prior to the Bruni three stars and Platt’s exclamation of the food as “almost priestly.” And I cannot deny that the food at Scarpetta made an impression on me. However, the crowd was boisterous, making the already brazen dining room too loud. In the Diner’s Journal last week, Bruni talked about a restaurant’s clientele adding to (or subtracting) from a restaurant experience. Did he have Scarpetta to himself when he reviewed it?
I think I could have put all the pomp aside and chosen to focus on the high quality food if I had not, the very next night, gone to Barosa, a real Italian restaurant in my very Italian neighborhood. I do not have space to discuss each individual aspect of the two evenings so I will analyze the first impressions, because they both essentially mirror the dinners that ensued thereafter.
At Scarpetta, I sat at the bar before being seated. I ordered a cocktail on their list that, it turned out, tasted like cough medicine. After one sip I ordered another drink. The bartender did not ask me if anything was wrong with the one I’d just ordered and was ignoring; he simply poured my new request. All fine except while closing out before we went to the table, we saw that we had been charged for this putrid syrup. We made no fuss about it, but something about the first interaction—this act that left me feeling ripped off and not personally cared about—wholly permeated the dinner. The entire thing felt programmed (as have the reviews: Ah! Scott Conant! We are supposed to like him, right?! These reviews seem a little hyperbolic).
At Barosa, we were greeted with a warm welcome from the owner, told we could sit anywhere that was open (the restaurant was equally as full as Scarpetta), and when I asked about a four-top, our host proclaimed, “whatever makes you happy will make me happy.” Ahhh, well said. The repast that followed was friendly, delicious, and came with a free tiramisu when they’d run out of our requested cannoli.
Conant’s family is Italian and he may cook a wonderful rendition of spaghetti, but before you believe Bruni’s claim that, “it’s the best dish of its kind in the city,” just give it a try from the fellas in Brooklyn. A three-star Italian restaurant should be more than Italian food; it should be an Italian experience.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
My Birthday
The Icebox cake recipe dates back to 1930, when it was first printed on Nabisco Chocolate Wafer boxes—classic cookies that are difficult to find now. Any old chocolate wafer is fine to use, but it’s important to use fresh whipped cream in my opinion, sweetened with plenty of sugar and vanilla. August is my birthday month and this year I want an icebox birthday cake. Icebox cakes are so cool—actually literally. This no-bake treat is simply layers of whipped cream and chocolate wafers that get mushy while the zebra-like stack sets up in the fridge. When it emerges, cleanly cut into the layers to reveal the black and white sheets of cream and chocolate. Garnish it with chocolate curls or raspberries or birthday candles and it’ll surely be a crowd-pleaser. Or, a me-pleaser.
My [Dinner] at Paloma
It all seemed like a dream. The Greenpoint restaurant emerged like an oasis on a relatively deserted neighborhood block. High ceilings, walls of rotating artwork, a projector showing an old movie, and lively music invites diners to take a seat at Top Chef Season Three contestant Camilla Becerra’s Paloma.
We started out our meal with charred octopus served with a citrusy garlic aioli and scallops accompanied by red lentil fritters. Both tasted heavenly—the charred flavor balanced by the cool aioli and the crunch of the fritters with the tender bivalves. We had to pinch ourselves to ensure this was reality.
The seabass special with beet greens and a pico de gallo plus a vegetarian stuffed poblano engorged with calabasa pumpkin, quinoa and cheddar made up dinner; plus a side of onion rings for good measure…hey, if this was a dream, why not go all out?
A caramel chocolate tart, a slice of nectarine mascarpone pie and a Tom Colicchio spotting later, we weren’t sure if we’d woken up yet. So, unless it was a figment of my imagination, get to Paloma!
We started out our meal with charred octopus served with a citrusy garlic aioli and scallops accompanied by red lentil fritters. Both tasted heavenly—the charred flavor balanced by the cool aioli and the crunch of the fritters with the tender bivalves. We had to pinch ourselves to ensure this was reality.
The seabass special with beet greens and a pico de gallo plus a vegetarian stuffed poblano engorged with calabasa pumpkin, quinoa and cheddar made up dinner; plus a side of onion rings for good measure…hey, if this was a dream, why not go all out?
A caramel chocolate tart, a slice of nectarine mascarpone pie and a Tom Colicchio spotting later, we weren’t sure if we’d woken up yet. So, unless it was a figment of my imagination, get to Paloma!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Charleston Gems
Dining out in Charleston was a seafood lovers dream. From crab dip to she-crab soup to thick rings of calamari… anything from the ocean ended up on our plates. We did our best not to overeat at every meal and had to resort to ordering mostly appetizers at each restaurant because we knew we wouldn’t be able to control ourselves once the food was dropped at our table.
Of course our first stop was 82 Queen, the restaurant where my sweet friend used to work in another life and where he expertly learned to make the crab cakes that I reference every few newsletters. Crab cake lived up to—maybe even defied—its reputation. Served with a tomato remoulade and a splash of red pepper coulis, the plump puck of crab was a perfect way to pop our Charleston dining cherry. She-crab soup was also incredibly tasty, especially after I was instructed to dribble a few drops of sherry onto each spoonful. Shrimp and grits were barbecue-y and creamy. We were grateful for the small portion, knowing that we’d have been in food comatose for the rest of the day had we been presented with any more.
At Blossom, we miraculously avoided the calamari—an item on which we consistently are feeding—but could not resist ordering another crab cake. This one came with asparagus and mustard. We liked it as we like most crab-packed cakes and these were especially so, though nothing rivaled the nostalgically delicious 82 Queen rendition. The scallops at Blossom were fantastic in their own rite. Accompanied by sweet onion polenta flecked with applewood smoked bacon and a drizzle of brandied apple jus, the scallop dish was a frenetic fusion of crispy and creamy, of sweet and savory. An herb-roasted portabella mushroom salad with pecorino and apples was an excellent supplement to the seafood.
The culmination of our dining exploits came at Fleet’s Landing where we indulged in fried green tomatoes with blue crab, old bay dusted shrimp, cold crab dip—our favorite of the trip, and, because we could resist no longer, “steak” calamari—which turned out to be extremely thick, buttermilk-drenched, and addictive.
We were able only to put a small dent in the sea-soaked world of Charleston cuisine; however, I foresee us diving back in very soon. You can never have too many crab cakes.
Of course our first stop was 82 Queen, the restaurant where my sweet friend used to work in another life and where he expertly learned to make the crab cakes that I reference every few newsletters. Crab cake lived up to—maybe even defied—its reputation. Served with a tomato remoulade and a splash of red pepper coulis, the plump puck of crab was a perfect way to pop our Charleston dining cherry. She-crab soup was also incredibly tasty, especially after I was instructed to dribble a few drops of sherry onto each spoonful. Shrimp and grits were barbecue-y and creamy. We were grateful for the small portion, knowing that we’d have been in food comatose for the rest of the day had we been presented with any more.
At Blossom, we miraculously avoided the calamari—an item on which we consistently are feeding—but could not resist ordering another crab cake. This one came with asparagus and mustard. We liked it as we like most crab-packed cakes and these were especially so, though nothing rivaled the nostalgically delicious 82 Queen rendition. The scallops at Blossom were fantastic in their own rite. Accompanied by sweet onion polenta flecked with applewood smoked bacon and a drizzle of brandied apple jus, the scallop dish was a frenetic fusion of crispy and creamy, of sweet and savory. An herb-roasted portabella mushroom salad with pecorino and apples was an excellent supplement to the seafood.
The culmination of our dining exploits came at Fleet’s Landing where we indulged in fried green tomatoes with blue crab, old bay dusted shrimp, cold crab dip—our favorite of the trip, and, because we could resist no longer, “steak” calamari—which turned out to be extremely thick, buttermilk-drenched, and addictive.
We were able only to put a small dent in the sea-soaked world of Charleston cuisine; however, I foresee us diving back in very soon. You can never have too many crab cakes.
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