photo OP: dinner DATE in a different light

RER 8.15.15

We have been before. Maybe a number of times. Just for pizza really and desperate measures. This time, we saw Porta in a different light. It was dark and dinner. It was pizza and more. The atmosphere light cast dark banded, tangible shadows on our dinner things, making our pasta dramatic and our pizza dance.

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8.15.15

RER 8.15.15

RISKY business: Almond

RER 4.15.15

Dining out is always a risk. You never know what is going to happen or what you’re going to get…Or how long you’re going to have to wait.

Almond is beautiful. There is no way of telling from the front that the restaurant is that expansive and varied in feelings and décor.  We walked all the way from the cozy front, lined with windows, to the very back, next to a billiards room and an area that evoked a library. We passed a skinny bar, a mish of subway tiles and a variety of textures. It was lovely, as lovely as I wished it to be.

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Part of it was our fault, perhaps. The four of us sat at the table and studied the wine menu. We could not decide on wine. Picking appetizers and entrees was a breeze, but choosing a bottle of wine was proving impossible. As logical dining guests we asked the server for a little assistance. He was less than helpful; in fact, he practically walked away in the middle of our inquiries. Like, poof.

Finally, after much deliberation and a little eenie-meany-miney-mo, we chose our wine. We received our wine, were given a taste, and were poured glasses before our server was prepared to take our orders. He forgot a pen. He seemed to be very distracted and spread thin. Every time he walked away, we feared he wouldn’t come back, so when we ordered with a rush, hoping not to lose him.

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The appetizers came to the table— pretty and just large enough to share. The smoked bluefish served with a giant potato pancake and creamy yogurt sauce, was salty with a barrage of textures from the chewy smoked fish to the crunchy pancake and silky sauce. Cheese Fries Quebecoise was a messy slew of French fries, topped with globby cheese curd, brown gravy, and thick fat bacon. It was addicting and briny, but not amazing.

And then we waited. We waited a long time. Our bottle’s contents vanished and eventually our glasses emptied, and the dishes from our starters were swept away ages ago. The volume fluctuated as other tables quieted while chewing on their entrees or roared as drinks appeared, but we maintained skeptical chatter, waiting.

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Finally, after a solid 40 minutes had passed, our gorgeous entrees arrived. Each looked like spring danced on the plant, bringing pastel hues, fresh scents and floral accents.

The almost tender wine-soaked short rib was dark, but lightened by more pink bacon, a scant number of chewy soft gnocchi and a bed of greens, wilted with the heat of the meat. Eight ravioli plump with grainy fava beans and mealy cheese circled each other in the shallow bowl, playing keep away with the discordant mint sauce.

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Thursday’s shrimp scampi special was a riot of colors—peachy pink meaty shrimp, green and eggplant floral garnish, bright read grape tomatoes and the warm yellow of yolky pasta—with a lightness that was refreshing and mildly satiating. The delicate crab and uni butter pasta emitted a hum of nonchalant flavors except the occasional prick of chili flakes and the crunch of pretty white flowers, but little else.

Despite the stunning presentation of each dish, the luxury of the ingredients and the ove zealous use of edible flowers, the food was a let down. Flavors did not always add up and the portions weren’t worth for the price.

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And the wait for our food and service even was unacceptable. Unfortunately, I do not remember much other than waiting and being disappointed. I wanted to love Almond with its sexy menu, beautiful venue and my high expectations… but like I said, dining out is always a risk.

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4.15.15

NYCRW: BUTTER midtown

RER 2.18.15

Sometimes texture trumps taste. Sometimes what lingers longest is how each morsel felt on the tongue, silencing what speaks volumes with pure pleasure and interest. Sometimes it’s the seduction of touch and feel that is more invigorating, and disconnect is what binds.

The New York City Restaurant Week menu at Butter Midtown displayed a treasure trove of textures and a flourish of welcomed color, like watercolors on a studded canvas. It was a journey of aesthetics and consistencies battling it out—dissonant, jarring, evocative, subtle and sensuous.

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On jade green ringed bread plates, fluffy golden parker house rolls, crusted with flaked sea salt, sat high and domed, only outshined by smooth rounds of sweet and herbed butter. Both bread and spread were sweet, but the crisp flaky outer layer of the roll and staccato of salt countered the airy insides and the creamy butter. Rougher slices of baguette with heavy singed crusts deserved the herb-studded variety, chewy and aromatic.

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A cube of chopped pale fluke was encircled by negative space and an emerald line chasing itself around the plate. The appetizer felt like an absence of color and life, only awakened by rich magenta blood orange pieces and thin slices of prickly green English cucumbers whose skin echoed the emerald ring. The raw fish and blood orange were cut to the same size, mimicking texture and slippery appeal, while the cucumber added an almost imperceptible crunch, varying the mood and tripping the tongue.

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Four plump ravioli, over-garnished, rested snugly in a shallow bowl; a tangle of toppings disguising the meat filled pockets and a pool of buttery sauces. The bowl’s rim, decorated with a red brown floral motif like at grandma’s, matched the julienne candy striped beets perfectly, again connecting plate to dish. The freshness of the beet was crisp like raw vegetable, but the buttered breadcrumbs crunched like oven-toasted happiness, while the pasta was soft, bursting with stringy tender meat. Bright green chile pesto added heat and a thick feeling in the mouth contradicting the garlicky sauce collecting at the bottom of the bowl.

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Again, a distracting decorated plate highlighted its contents, allowing dessert to visually blend in with its surroundings and transcend flavor. The springy slick custard of the crème caramel, glided through teeth, while the ruby red pomegranate seeds got stuck and stumbled. Crunchy almond brittle echoed the dance of the seeds, but it was the syrupy sweet kumquat rind that caused a stutter: stop, put down the fork, cut the candied peel and savor.

The experience was about texture— the way each element played with its compatriots and each layer added to the textual architecture of the dish, the way the mouth perceived moments and memorized them, the way texture can trump taste and produce something satiating and musical.

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2.18.15

photo op: FIRE & OAK

RER 11.19.14

We went all out for our sister sister dinner at Fire & Oak in the Westin in Jersey City. Maybe we were celebrating, but mostly we were having a good time with each other. Dinner was almost secondary to our giggle fits and chatting, fueled by a giant bourbon smash and berry and elderflower martinis. The burrata was not as good as our conversation, and the hefty portions of short ribs and creamy crabmeat and shrimp pasta were dim compared to our smiles.  But the apple pie a la mode finale made the night complete, and filled bellies and hearts till bursting.

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Thanksgiving is almost here! Learn a little bit more about the pilgrims to impress your guests, or take advantage of Thanksgiving hacks and general tips to make the holiday a little easier. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Making new traditions or sticking to old ones? Would love to hear from you!

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11.19.14

HOMESTYLED Italian: GP's Restaurant & Bar

RER 10.26.14

Sometimes I just want pasta. More specifically, pasta with pesto. There is something severely comforting about pesto pasta and shrimp. It brings me back to one of my favorite childhood dinners involving a Knorr packet of creamy pesto—a powder brought to life with olive oil and water, a little stirring and patience. Somehow, that packet is what I expect pesto to taste like, as inauthentic as it is.

This particular Sunday, that is what I was craving, but we decided on dining out. Lucky for us (yes, us, not just me—my yearnings can be dangerous), GP’s in Jersey City had the pasta dish to satiate my hankering.

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GP’s is a sweet little spot next to the even sweeter Hamilton Park. There’s a high ceilinged bar area in the front, some tables and a more intimate dining space, with dim lighting for atmosphere. The menu is typical of an Italian American spot, playing into the family-style feeling emanated by the tall red wall lined with photos.

There are antipasti like cheese plates and special crostini. That night a homemade burrata served with green olives, prosciutto, toasty croutons, peppers and a tart sweet balsamic reduction was highlighted. The burrata was not stringy and sticky at its center, there was no stretch and pull, but it was like soft ricotta, salt-less and rustic.

 

Small plates like smoked salmon outfitted with accoutrements and Gorgonzola polenta, mix familiarity with freshness.  The meatballs drenched in a homey tomato sauce and heavily dusted with grated Parmesan, are the perfect example. A bit of home out, meaty but perhaps over-loved.

After a range of salads, a standard pasta selection—maccheroni Bolognese, spaghetti pomodoro, orecchiette with broccoli rabe, etc. The list finishes with homemade gnocchi with pesto and shrimp.

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Exactly what I came for. The gnocchi were plump pillows, doughy, with a floury aftertaste. They were swimming in a thick and creamy pesto sauce, sweetened by the succulence of the scant shrimp. The first few bites were all the things that I wanted, but it was thick on the tongue, heavy and slow going.

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Of the classics, the chicken parmigiana was intriguing in the most traditional of ways. We asked for pesto sauce on the homemade spaghetti in efforts to mimic a favorite. The portion was just enough, a healthy balance of overworked protein and delicate and chewy pasta.

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And the classics continued with dessert, a flourless chocolate cake and cheesecake, to name a few, but the seasonal came into play as well. A dense cheesecake laden with a thick layer of sweet fig was paired with a tangy fruit sauce, a little citrus to cut the intense sweet.

GP’s converges traditional with the now in an effort to create something timeless and timely. There is quality with some slippage but most importantly, feelings of familiarity, like a place where grandma could very well be stirring the sauce and your great friend is pouring your drink.

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10.26.14

tasting with a VIEW: Battello

RER 10.12.14

Stunning views steal breath. The night glitters with magic— the dark sky kisses the reflective water, twinkling, and the fall air drifts in, circling the high ceilings of Battello in Jersey City.

It is the perfect setting to be seduced. Open widows and glass let the still outside in. Vaulting rafters allow whispers to vanish, evaporate into intimacy and stay warm in the ear. Dotted Edison bulbs dangle just right, like tangible stars.

The menu speaks of a different kind of intimacy. A repetition of ingredients guarantees a closeness of flavors and feelings. The variety is pleasant, but the theme is to elevate: to inspire with the insipid. Many menu items seem done to the point of overdone; Battello wants to prove otherwise.

The Shipwrecked cocktail is a sweet note amongst its bitter companions, fresh with strawberries and savory with vibrant basil.

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A doughty crabcake sits on a bed of electric green slimy seaweed and capped with thick fennel. Each layer plays to the one beneath it, matching stringy texture, layering salt, fish and fresh.

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Smoky octopus, blackened with grill marks and effort, is brightened with green olive tapenade, briny and rough. The saltiness is soaked up by heavy grilled potatoes, creating a balance verging on innocuous.

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Added salt brings out the disguised sweetness of the autumn squash and the tender too cooked short rib dispersed through the curled edges of cavatelli. A monotonous blandness that weighs the dish down, flat-lining something that was destined for deliciousness.

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Pillowy gnocchi bathe in Bolognese pronged with spicy sausage and tangy acidic tomato. The browned pasta melts in the mouth, leaving fat chunks of crumbly sausage and not enough feeling.

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A four-bite braised short rib stands tall on a slab of smooth mashed potatoes and silky greens. The juices are sweet like fall fruits left with time, instant age for the fatty meat.

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Two delicate pancetta wrapped scallops sit triumphantly on red quinoa gravel, briny with green olives and sweet with gems raisins. Decorative pretty puffs of toasted almond supply another level of earthiness to the quinoa, highlighting the sweetness of the scallop.

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Dessert is a trio singing sweet songs with a melody too saccharine for honeyed ears. Almond ice cream lays thick on crunchy layers of cold granola, nuts, and the bluest of blueberries to make a tiny parfait. But bitterness invades with a round of dark chocolate gelato, towering chocolate mousse and a soft rectangle of dense brownie. A sole praline profiterole, salty and sweet, paired with a tart macerated strawberry, finish the group.

The airy atmosphere breeds romance—dim lighting, refined rustic notes, and glass, lots of glass.  Though luscious textures and refined ingredients are the language of the food at the eatery, a little piece of love is missing in some of the dishes, leaving them soulless.

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10.12.14