Clerkinwell--Manhattan

212.614.3234

A few Saturdays ago I went with my wife to the Zeigfield to see the new Star Trek. Since we were already in the city we decided to go down to the LOE on our way home for a fancy dinner out on a Saturday night. I had downed something like forty ounces of Sprite, and had to pee before even getting in the cab, but figured I’d wait until we got to the restaurant. We first headed to Schillers, thinking we could sneak into the bar; no dice. My bladder was beating. Then we walked towards Frankie’s in Manhattan, but I couldn’t make it so we bounced into a dead Clerkenwell. I mean D-E-D dead, which made the trip to the bathroom a little conspicuous. Going into a restaurant that is dead to pee is sort of like going to the retarded kid’s house after school to play. Sure you get to play with his GI Joe USS Flag, but at the end of the day he’s still retarded and completely unaware that you’re just there for the playtime with Keel-Haul. I digress; after running into the Clerkenwell to pee there was no way I was not eating there after seeing the bartender, server and hostess give me the puppy dog eyes. I felt so guilty that I convinced my wife to stay and eat.

The food was good. I must say that. My wife had a Cesar salad and risotto that were both pleasing, and I had a fresh rocket salad and a Toad in the Hole, sort of a bangers and mash with some puff pastry. It’s English pub grub done well, and though English food has an uphill battle in the culinary world, Clerkenwell serves good English cuisine. The décor had a pubby-feel, but it was open and didn’t smell of beer or vomit or swill. And I wish the place well only because I remember working at a restaurant that ultimately didn’t succeed. And much like the Clerkenwell I remember our close knit staff would watch throngs of potential customers walk by on their way to some other destination, surely not run by such dedicated and devoted people. It’s frustrating to see a place run with compassion fail when so many douche bags are successful in their douche baggery. Well, hopefully I’ll return to the Clerkenwell years from now, and the owner will be chewing on a big fat cigar, and the place will smell of swill, and the tenderness with which we were served will be deafened by the ring of a busy cash register. If that’s something to hope for.

Queen's Hideaway--take two

So if you haven't figured out by now, many of these reviews have been written over the years. I've informally started posting them just to get into the habit of "blogging"--something that I think used to be called writing. I've been writing these reviews over the years for several reasons: 1) I thought the restaurant review to be an interesting medium. 2) It's an easy way to keep in writing shape, sort of speak. 3) I work largely in restaurants these days. 4) My friends were sick of listening to me bitch.

Queens Hideaway is now closed. Sorry. You're welcome to the review I wrote years ago. If you're reading this to get up to the minute information on restaurants then you're almost as internet clumsy as I am and should look somewhere else.

Here are some suggestions:

eater.com
nymag.com
tastespace.com

What's so funny about these listings is they are the first three listed after googling 'restaurant blog nyc.' If you had me do that for you, then you're definitely more inept than I am. And chances are you're old.

Okay. Good luck!

Acqua Santa--Brooklyn

718.384.9695

One word: Garden. The interior of this place is like a mom and pop pizza restaurant. It’s hot, kind of gross, and certainly not hospitable enough for a long three-course meal. Outside though, it’s a different story. The two-tiered garden is a perfect place to spend a nice summer afternoon. In fact, until recently, this restaurant was a summer venue only, that is until the red-car inclined owner bucked up enough dough to enclose it for year round dining.

Let me just give you a quick anecdote of what a good garden can do for you. August 14th, 2003. I took the day off from work because we were heading out of town, and since I had a few hours to kill decided to head to Acqua Santa for some bruschetta and Peroni’s. I was reading Death in the Afternoon, and like most Hemmingway books, reading it made me feel as though putting down eight beers before dinner was perfectly acceptable. Nonetheless, around eight or so my girlfriend called. She was walking over the Williamsburg Bridge and was wondering if I was okay. Of course I was, I said trying to hide my slur, I was sitting beneath grape vines eating a fresh tomato bruschetta and drinking beer. What more could a fellow ask for? It turns out that the entire city had blacked out and I had no idea, only because I was outside of space and time and everything else that reminds you that you’re in a city. That’s what a nice quiet restaurant garden can do.

On this one the food and service can take a back seat. And for the record, unless you head several blocks east or north you’re not going to find a standard Italian dinner like one that is offered at Acqua Santa (There’s a new one, relatively speaking, that’s cropped up on South Bedford but more on that later). The food is good enough, they have pizza’s, pasta’s, caprese salad, etc… Italian food. And for a backyard like Acqua Santa’s that’s all you need.

Fada--Brooklyn

718.388.6607

So I don’t really know what to write about Fada. It’s quite simply a run-of-the mill French Bistro. I can’t really say I’ve ever had the time of my life there, nor have I ever left disgusted at the food or the service. And I should add that I have a thing for French chicks, which every French Bistro in the city seems to attract. I like French chicks, they have a sort of sexy appeal in skanky, unabashed way. But that has nothing to do with restaurants, let alone Fada.

The tuna tar tar is quite nice, though on occasion I’ve been served an older batch and it came out a little gamey. Their muscles are good, steak frites, also good, brunch consistent and pleasing. The space has a nice easy feel, and if you catch one of the bar stools you can watch the new home owners hoof it down Driggs towards their emerald city north of the park. Yup, Fada isn’t a place that is going to blow the doors off your friend visiting from any other cultured city, but at the same time, you're not going to be embarrassed taking them there.