Fouberg--Montclair NJ

 (973) 542-7700

Holy Moly beloved Seven,

This place is massive!  I mean, super duper massive.  After seeing the tiny little kitchen line it makes you wonder.  I'm getting ahead of myself.  Dinner with a bunch of parent friends.  Sort of a first for us in spite of being a full-fledged suburbanites. This place is in Montclair, which is the equivalent of the Upper West Side, rich pretty people, but not a ton of cutting edge.  People with money, and Botox, and tans, and seemingly all Jewish though they could be Italian; so it was a little bougie for my taste but what can I do, when in Rome.  

Any who we were sat promptly at eight per our rezzie and dove right into dinner.  The entire I time I was trying to figure out how many people were there as there were rooms, and levels and fountains galore.  As we muddled through a typical menu (there was nothing incredibly eye popping) the six of us were able to canvass just about the entire thing.  The waiters were attentive, the cocktails sufficient, and the night was well spent. As much as I'd like to gush about the food, it wasn't earth shattering, but well prepared and as advertised on the menu--with the exception of a shrimp cocktail that didn't actually come with cocktails sauce.  As the gents ordered red meat we decided to order a bottle of red.  When the wine was delivered I was trying to scratch my restaurant itch, and thinking I was speaking to the Som asked some pretty basic questions (Covers 300, turns at least twice, family owned, etc...).  Turns out he was a floor manager.

After dinner said floor manager gave me a whirlwind tour,  kitchen line, garbage room, eventually ending at the bar where the owner was holding court.  Comped us desserts, though the the chagrin of my entourage that were stuck waiting as I circle-jerked the manager.  A very impressive and well run operation, these dudes know what's up.  That said, worth a trip, but only if you're already in Montclair NJ for whatever reason.

Gem Wine Bar--Manhattan

 Oh Boy,

So we can begin with the first trip, Other Wife, and friend surprised me and we had a lovely time.  This was months and months ago, and they had a robust by the glass wine list, replete with a nice selection of old world wines.  Right up my alley.  The food was well crafted and it we all left satisfied and impressed which is high praise from Other Wife.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago.  Either the wine by the glass was limited or perhaps my memory is incorrect, but it was much less impressive in terms of the selection. I'm not sure why it changed, I know wine by the glass can really compound on the waste side of things, but two varietals a piece was a bummer.  For the record, our first waiter actually misidentified a Loire for a Burgundy, which is a massive problem if you only offer two white wines.  So what they lost a little spit shine?  Then the food came.  The bread was still delectable, and we got a smattering of small plates and then caved and ended up sharing a Wagyu beef.  I had to bounce to catch the choo choo, and then it hit me.  I had to cork my asshole less I experience explosive diarrhea on the subway; eventually finding a NJ Transit bathroom akin to Trainspotting to relieve the toxins.  Our friend?   He was laid out for days.  

 We all suspect it was the Wagyu, though who knows with food born illness?  I believe other wife sent something through the reservation service.  Regrettably, I believe this place has now become a hard pass.

Radio Star--Brooklyn

347.799.1190

Beloved eight.  Radio star.  What can I say?  It's a long tale but Radio Star is the kid sister of Glasserie.  It's not a particularly big place, perched right next to Transmitter park.  And I believe the radio themed menu has a lot to do with said transmitter park, it being the birth place of public radio and all.  But there's something sneaky about this place.  It's not its very unique cuisine (pig cheeks anyone?) or its esoteric wine list.  It's the gigantic room in the back that sits calling, beckoning.  This place is a round the clock bar with an orgy space built in!

Okay, kidding aside.  The back room, called the Neptune Room, is run by Glasserie Events so this space is for private dining only.  I've not eaten the banquet food for Glasserie, so cannot enlighten you dear reader, but I can say that it's reputable as I run in those circles.  Radio Star the open-to-the-public space, on the other hand, I believe I've eaten the entire menu.  And I would say that, similar to Glasserie, I never know what to expect but am surprised at how delicious it is.  

My lack of expectation is due to my ignorance with food.  However, I'm quite adept at getting drunk, and they deliver in both departments.  Nonetheless, if you're in the neighborhood I'd say this place is a must see.

90 acres--New Jersey

908.901.4710

Ol' wifey wife and I agreed to a double date with some friends from the burbs.  They were married recently, and this place was their first choice but they didn't have the date.  There's a abundance of these places all about the tristate area.  Fine dining on some beautiful crop of Hudson Valley land that's essentially a prop to remind people of how everything used to be pristine, but now it only is this little parcel of 90 acres humanity has yet to spoil.  To add to the irony, the restaurant will serve you a ton of food that isn't locally sourced and isn't even remotely seasonal so that you can enjoy the splendor of our surrounding while eating food dripping in fossil fuels.  I get it.  It was beautiful.  The service was as good as you can ask from untrained NJ residents. At the end of the day, though, it was one massive fabrication.

The food?  In spite of my opening, arguably the fine dining we've had in Jersey.  Everything was done well, seasoned well, prepared well, but after eating at the real deal (French Laundry) this place is a reasonably priced nod to the real deal.  We ate most of the menu and nothing really stood out to me, but I must say that my ol' wifey wife said that the scallops were the best she's ever had.  And that's saying something as she eats scallops occasionally.

Perhaps I came on too strong, beloved seven (RIP Vapid Blond), but the idea that we're somehow preserving our planet with this window dressing gets my goat.  Nonetheless, if you happen to be in the neighborhood this is as good as it will get unless you head into NYC.

Tatiana--Manhattan

(212) 875-5222

The ol' other wife pretty much follows Pete Wells religiously, both for professional and personal reasons.  So when he gushes over a place, it's pretty much a lock that I'm gonna end up there eventually.

For this particular place it happened on April 4th of 2024, and ol' other wife's man piece somehow bought a reservation from some bot, so when I arrived amidst a tropical depression, I posed as someone else.  Not relevant to the dining experience, as Carla, the pixie like hostess handled it with class and aplomb, but the fact that you have to resort to such measures just demonstrates the influence of Pete Wells.

And how was it?  Meh.  I liken it to an amateur hour.  Where do I begin?  I asked for a Hemmingway daiquiri and when they could not make that specific daiquiri, the bartender recommended a whisky drink when they had two rum based drinks on the menu--both of which were much closer in spirit to my original order.  This is after I asked him for something close.  Certainly not a deal breaker, but for the best restaurant in the city I'd expect a touch more.  This slight over site turned out to be the standard.  The service was disjointed and unpredictable.  Many times the runners would come to our table with something we didn't order.  The serving utensils were smaller than the vessels, causing the oversized spoon to to fall into the vessel to get covered in sticky goo.  The food?  Interesting, but the best in the city?  Hardly.  Aside from the short rib pastrami I would argue it was gimmicky more than delectable, with heavy handed spicing. The bathrooms were a disaster.  The wine mediocre.  And the vibe was sterile and reminiscent of corporate dining.  Not sure what Wells is seeing in this one, but braving a copy right I quote:

"And after quarantines and masks and distancing and sundry social traumas, we needed a party. We needed a reason to get dressed up, to drink rum cocktails with spicy food, to stay out past 9 o’clock, to look around a dining room and see a new, heterogeneous vision of New York and to feel hope for its future."

So that's something.  Though, I feel that this restaurant is lauded more for its' cultural revolution, than for its food.  And I cannot deny the emotion and the gravity of a post pandemic, multicultural dining experience.  However, food is food.  If you're looking for a fine dining experience, I suggest you stick with me beloved eight, I won't steer you wrong.

Il Buco--Manhattan

(212) 837-2622

Surprised I've never been here given it's longevity and proximity to the village.  I mean, back in the day I remember that I was always looking for solid Italian, and Hearth always seemed to be the only game in town.  Maybe three of clubs?  It's been a decade or two, so spare me the judgement. Nonetheless it's great to see the City still has surprises even for old curmudgeons like myself.

The food was great.  Simple ingredients, well prepared, etc....  The veal chop seasoning wasn't spectacular because it has a big ass poblano on top of it that made everything taste like poblano, even the succulent fat off the bone.  The rabbit was tiny given it's price, like a whole rack of tiny little rabbit chops.  So cute!  But aside from those two overall it was a good value and excellent food.  

Given that it was (and still is) dry January the overall experience was quite boring and staid.  There were some lanky attractive girls at the bar, but they were children--maybe 25 or something.  How's that for some flash?

French Laundry--Napa Valley

707.944.2380

Holy shit.  Where do I begin?

So went with the ol' wifey wife, her sister and husband participating in said husbands' scratching off a bucket list item.  I was a tagalong.  And to be honest, I had no idea what to expect.  I've been to Frenchette, and 11 Madison, and as well as other gastronomically credentialed places all over NYC (see restaurant list), so part of me had my NY snob-o-meter dialed up.  However, another part of me was actually a bit curious and trepidatious of being simply too over my skis on this one.

How was the food you inevitably ask me after my longwinded intro? Spectacular.  However, this was only a mere component of arguably one of the best, if not the best dining experience of my life. Here's the dinner menu in its entirety as they hand it to you when you leave:

• Oysters and Pearls
• Bitter Garden Chicory Salad
• Sweet Butter Poached Nova Scotia Lobster
• Bread and Butter
• Applewod Smoked Wolfe Ranch White Quail
• Carnaroli Risotto Biologico
• Prime Rib of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb
• Gougere
• Caramelized K & J Orchards Sour Apple
• Hojicha Tea Ice Cream
• K & M Rogher
• Mignardises

There were some truffle and Wagyu beef options that other people tried, but not for me.  So aside from the abundance, the care and craft of the food, the wine pairing and service were equally unparalleled.  And perhaps that is why I'm still rock hard about this place weeks later. Alex, our front waiter and de facto sommelier was exemplary (he confessed he started working there after learning all he could at Charlie Trotter's!  Ha!) both in terms of breadth of knowledge but also affability.  The back waiters were personable not pushy.  Tod the maitre d'hotel took us on a personal tour.  Chris talked about fish forks.  There was wine poured when we arrived, even before water, and we drank the entire night.

Perhaps most amazing, however, is that I saw Alex keeping his distance from the romantic couple, and dumbing down his delivery to the status seekers that were their simply for cache. He knew that Husband wanted to talk shop, he recognized that my wine selections for the pairing (they paired wines not to the food but to our tastes first and then the food) were too expensive for our budget, so got close with what we could afford, and saw that my wife basically wanted to be left alone to dine so laid off the flirtatiousness.

Lights out.  Nothing more I could add to make it better.