NYC(etc) 25-28 January 2007

rizzo's pizza-

Astoria, Queens. Not much to look at, but the best Sicilian-style pizza I’ve had the ability to rabidly-devour. My prior experience with this genre is as an alcohol sop; bready, goopy, hot blah. Rizzo’s version is the antithesis; crispy, airy, a deeply-spiced tomato sauce, rivulets of orange grease draining off the back ridge, good mozz, eh...on the pep. This is barebones at it’s finest. They forgot to have us pay(we reminded them). And, supposedly they deliver, however, according to our host, that involves a byzantine tete a tete including passwords and much-cajoling. Fuckin’ A, that’s a great pie.

el parador-

http://www.elparadorcafe.com/
Murray Hill-ish. est. 1959. Mexican somewhere twixt haut and “authentic.” Cozy space with a lounge downstairs. Those 70’s metal lanterns one would punch holes in; pretty patterns. To a T-welcoming waitstaff and managers. Hella hawt deep-fried(no coating) jalapenos stuffed with chunky peanut butter(I’m no fan of peanut butter, really, but the chile heat did wonders to the smacky, sweet stuff). Chicken livers/sherry reduction. Out of this world shrimp quesodillas made magical on accounts of the liberally-applied anejo---here’s a quirk, they serve the quesodilla in portions one to each plate, cute. Barbacoa(pork ribs)Oaxaqueno/lime-accented mashed sweet potato: insane use of acid, here...it never occured to me, but the lime/sweet potato combo is transforming...delicious. Fish tacos...eh. Chorizo nachos...perfect. They’re dedicated to specials...nearly a 1/3 of the menu is new each night.
Fuck me delicious margaritas...the inclusion of lemon instead of lime makes them insidiously, dangerously drinkable. I took notice and switched to Negro Modelo...others suffered hangovers. A friend's birthday dinner after a fashion we all indulged in aperitifs/coffee and a shared chocolate volcano...good for that sorta thing. (feh...chocolate). We enjoyed ourselves to the extent that we reserved a table for the following Saturday. Again, the manager was wonderfully-accomodating and, when we were several people short upon reservation, took it in stride. Of course, offering that those there’d drink the difference probably didn’t hurt.

Knickerbocker(post-El Parador)-

We had the restaurant to ourselves. Great vibey, marimba/trumpet-based jazz quartet. We had the place to ourselves except for divers celebrities; I shuffled past Ethan Hawk, etc. whenever I needed the men’s. We closed the bar. Nice, unpretentious place. Accomodating bartenders.

arharn thai-

Somewhat worse for wear, next afternoon sought sustenance within the neighborhood(Astoria) and kinda what-the-hell’d the prosaically-named Arharn Thai.
I must say, not bad.
I did a soup and a laab, both decent renditions nothing to write home about, but not the execrement I’ve had at divers joints threaded through the New York area. They got the meat and the roasted rice and a respectable chile heat. Soup was a tad msg-heavy, I can deal. A decent lunch. The sparse clientele was utterly farang.

benjamin hotel restaurant-

We had a suite here for a couple nights. Nice enough hotel. The restaurant could use a little work(we had a short window to eat before our evening’s entertainment at Grey Gardens).
It was: crab cakes...good, more crab than filler, calamari more tempura than squid w/ a sweet “Thai” chile sauce(merely-okay), and, most-successful, a beef carpaccio w/ jicama and citrus dressed in a mysterious black pepper redolent oil. I had a service issue; the server deffered to my companion(I fucking hate when they do that)...but, all-in-all overpriced barfood is my verdict.

amma-

Oh my fucking god. This place probed all my culinary/dining erogenous zones; intimate, warm-toned room, welcoming, intelligent, forthcoming waitstaff, “simple” food elevated by attention to detail: our waiter(s) were genuinely happy to see us, the sedate room a welcome respite from the 5th Ave. hordes, our lunch specials, the kind of tasty makes you lick the bowl. Now, Amma was recommended by an Indian friend along with a list of other places each annotated with specialties, etc. Unfortunately(not really as it turns out) Amma had no such extra info. We went with what looked good...and here’s the thing...upon relaying our choices to our friend she hesitantly-offered that we didn’t order correctly(I guess fish and Southern Indian is the way to go here), but...everything we had was soooooo delicious. Everything well-executed. The s/o n I each ordered the Northern Indian lunch special: he, saffron chicken app. + paneer mahkni entree, myself, grilled salmon cake app. + lamb vindaloo(the waiter: you like spicy?...me, yes, spicy...absolutely spicy). And spicy it was...not incendiary(which I could have appreciated...but, then again, maybe not...spicy on par with my Texas Chili...perhaps a tad more)...a welcome perspiring at the temples...not water-gulping heat. The apps. were amusingly, perfectly-sized, another might consider them tiny...but they worked for me. The s/o’s chicken apparently-bare had tremendous savory depth and my salmon cake somehow reigned in sometime uber-salmony salmonness with consideration to fresh herbs and prep. The app.’s we’re each served with a sublimely-kicky dab of cilantro chutney and an elusively-earthy, sweet tamarind one. Excellent beginning.
Our respective entrees arrived with auspiciously-charred naan, a pleasant, unassuming dal, okay basmati(I always prefer bread to rice), and a bowl of our requisites. His house paneer had the delightful texture of deep-fried tofu continuing past that initial resistance to creamy goodness. The tomato-based sauce sung brightly, efficiently, yummy. My vindaloo, suitably hot, the exact catalyst towards intelligently-seasoned, fall-apart lamb. Oh...so frickn’ good. So, so good. I reposed in that euphoria reserved for the rare confluence of space, service, and flavor. Bangalore blanc de blanc...not bad...not great. Our friend(upon the telling) was amazed that it was even drinkable.

king cole bar-

one of my favorite places on earth
it didn’t let me down
gazing upon the Maxfield Parish mural(cocktail in hand) is better(and wittier) than divers psychotropics

essex bar -

It’s a hotel bar. Hotel Benjamin. Met with old friends. Drank beer.

el parador again-

So, we were short a few diners. They welcomed us with the same delight espoused a couple days before. Peanut butter jalapenos, more shrimp quesodillas served tableside, a lovely, tart tuna ceviche, more margaritas in their unusual lemon-ness, more negra modelo served in gigantic, laughable schooners. I forget: a paella, I had feh...fajitas(perfectly-cooked, underseasoned), oblivion and on...I iterate that El Parador is just a great, unnoticed neighborhood joint(oh...oh...the addictive table salsa more mole *for it’s use of clove and cinnamon* than dip and a pico de gallo welcome in it’s winter freshness). Kool.

dunleavy's (bar)-

We like it. Good jukebox; early Depeche Mode, more obscure ‘80’s and Irish jigs. We’re always treated well.

napoli pizzeria-

Astoria near Kaufman Studios
I had a mild concussion the first time I ordered here. To my mind a decent New York slice with some sops to the local Greek community. I’d eat there if it were on my block. Fuckin’ Chicago pizza.