Schiller's Liquor Bar--Manhattan

212.260.4455

One problem I encounter with writing about restaurants is the difficulty of expectations. There are all sorts of expectations to manage, some founded in reputation, others in dimwitted buzz, and still some in rating systems. When I went to Schiller's I can honestly say that I didn't know what to expect. I've been drinking myself to the point of black out in that neighborhood for years and years, and Schiller's was always this brightly-lit place that seemed to attract well-heeled Europeans. Certainly not the spot for a disheveled ill-tempered drunk that is rolling in off the Ludlow pubcrawl. To be honest, when my boss and long time Upper East side Socialite mentions it as part of his hoity-toity food go to places, I figured that it was somewhere in the meatpacking district, tucked between two bridge and tunnel uber-restaurants. Obviously, I was mistaking it for Pastis, same difference really.

So what can be said after not having any expectations? The place is pretty good. It's a well run restaurant. It has to be to turn over that many people. I went with my other wife and we managed to grab a seat at the bar right before the explosion of bridge and tunnel fashionistas. Our bartenders were a little too practiced at being cooler than me, and when they kept hitting on my other wife it got old, but overall they were congenial, friendly, and fresh smelling. The food was fast and prompt and delicious, I had a chicken Piard and we split some Nachos and to be honest they were satisfying. I guess if I could own a restaurant, and bang hot chicks every night with a devil may care attitude, riding around on a motorcycle wearing a red scarf I would probably have a place just like this one.

My one caveat for trying this restaurant is if you're fat, ugly, or poorly dressed. If you are any of these three, or like me and have a harem at your disposal to make you seem like you're rich, then this scene is not your bag. Places like this never really make you feel comfortable, and unless you're with a crowd of people exactly like you, you're going to be pretty bummed. Sad but true, sad but true.

Boqueria--Manhattan

212.343.4255

Tapas. I've mentioned my beef with Tapas before, but I was drinking around the corner with my other wife at The Room, and we tried Blue Ribbon and it was too crowded so once again I acquiesced. Fucking tapas man. A bunch of first courses cleverly disguised as dishes. No timing, just send it whenever it's ready!

I wouldn't normally go to a place like this, but if you're into banging slightly overweight, dolled up bridge and tunnel cougars than this is the place for you. The place was teeming with used trim. We had so many different items that I'm not about to comment on all of them. I'll make it simple and put grades next to them:

Dates w/ Bacon: B- Way too much blue cheese.
Hake: B
Sauteed spinach with garbanzos: B
Croquettes: B+ Out of pork, those fucks! Chicken creamy but good. Didn't try the mushrooms.
Cerano Ham w/ tomato Paste: B
Mixed Salad: B+
Kale Salad: C-
Tomato Bread: F Why don't you take a cold shit in my mouth instead?
Cod Fritters: B
Tuna: C Zombie tuna man.

Okay, sorry for the sauciness, but I've been drinking Beck's since noon. Word.

Vinegar Hill House--Brooklyn

718.522.1018

Since one of my wives relocated to Dumbo not so long ago, she has stopped eating out in Williamsburg altogether and has found a new restaurant to frequent daily. And due to my social outbursts and overall assholedom (that's a word) she has been reluctant to invite me down to visit her newfound dining oasis, Vinegar Hill House. The other week I visited for my very first time, and though I wasn't blown away, I wasn't thrown out either, a testament to what first impressions really amount to.

Vinegar Hill House, despite its intimacy, is surprisingly large with a downstairs and backyard that opens in the warmer months. It also has a surprisingly neighborhood-joint feel, despite it's reputation for good eats. What is not surprising is the casual dining atmosphere, though this could have been induced by my other wife's ultra-regular status, as it offers up culinary treats that are an anathema to my preferences without formality. Think Friend of a Farmer meets Diner.

At this point I could write two reviews, as the regular status of my other wife greatly affected the experience we had. As a challenge, I will try to do just that: one from the perspective of a regular who is granted perks for patiently returning time and time again, and one from the perspective of a first time eater.

Review #1:
The one thing I love about this restaurant, more than any other, is the vast selection on the menu. Firstly, every first course is completely different. The buttermilk dressing and bitter green salad is a perfect contrast to the market salad with vinegar dressing , there's grilled octopus, there's cheese, and all of this is differs from day to day depending upon the availability and season, guaranteeing freshness and quality. The entrees are delectable, again offering an array of selections the hilight being the porkchop. The cuisine is gourmet but not pretentious, using time tested techniques to create flavors commiserate with such a perfect setting.

When we entered, the manager instantly recognized my friend, and allowed us to sit even though our party was not complete; giving us a table right in the thick of the dining room. Drink orders were quickly taken and we seemed to lose our sense of time eating and drinking and conversing. By the time we were through, the restaurant was packed, though we didn't feel rushed whatsoever, enjoying the comfort atmosphere with full bellies and good company. The meal was resplendent with quality products fine-tuned for a perfect night out. And the bill was more than agreeable....

Review #2
We arrived at Vinegar Hill House and had a twenty minute wait to get a table. As the dining room is smack in the middle of the bar, there was nothing to do but to stand around like a dope waiting for something to open up. Eventually, we were seated and the waiter took our drink order. The place was pretty busy, so it took a while for him to get us our wine/beer, though I don't know why, as I saw him chatting with the manager for half the time.

We each had a different salad, all of them done quite well though the bitter green salad with buttermilk dressing was without a doubt the winner. My wife had the fish, my other wife had the octopus, and I had the chicken with a potato on the side. The potato had cod in it, sort of a spin on bacalao, which would have been nice to know ahead of time. This would have been less egregious if he hadn't first delivered brussel sprouts, which none of us ordered, but the manager astutely included free of charge. The bummer was that the sprouts were far superior to my fish-potato.

The food was delicious, but once again convoluded by an inattentive and spacey waiter. Each of us had something different, and each of us was quite pleased, though we all had to wait for our fourth order to be delivered--the steak with bone marrow. I still can't seem to wrap my head around restaurants who put so much time an attention into a product, and then have some brain donor execute. It's a good thing I was with my wives, as they seem to temper my outspokenness with their patience and understanding. All in all I can say that once again Brooklyn has opened a restaurant with far superior food than service, with more attention put on decor than lay out, and more concern with style and feeling than efficiency...

As you can tell from either review, I had a fine time, and it's hard to say whether the waiter was out of it because I was with a super-regular, or if that's what you get when you come to Vinegar Hill House. Take it as you will, but I must concede that it is definitely worth a try. And something tells me the more you try it the more you will acquire the taste.

The Standard--Manhattan

212.645.4646

Boy oh boy a fancy pants dinner at the Standard. I generally try to stay away from such dazzling hot restaurants, as I am far too much of an asshole and do not belong. And the Standard is the place so I've been told which is why I'd never been. But one of my wives wanted to go, and what sort of Husband would I be not to satisfy her every whim?

A place like the Standard reminds me of why I am a misanthrope by nature, as everyone there is good looking, rich, or both. It reminds me that outside of my tiny little fiefdom, the city is teeming with people that don't consider a night out worth it unless they're at the place where everyone else wants to be. It's a worthy case study in sociology, but studies such as these are always performed by people like me: on the outside looking in. The people on the inside know they're on the inside, and thus have no reason to question why. We were able to score a lovely table in the dining room as long as we weren't late to our 6:15 pm Friday evening reservation, nearly a late lunch. The waiting list for a more reasonable hour was weeks and weeks, so we sucked it up and left work early.

Immediately I was reminded how a well run restaurant should be: the host told us that we had until 8:15 pm, so don't dally with dinner. This prompt, attentive service underscored the entire experience (that is until we went up stairs to the bar) but we never felt rushed, a testament to their overall polish. The food was acceptable for the price. We decided to split dishes, and selected the quail, the venison, as starters, and the trout and brazino as entrees with some brussel sprouts and duck fat potatoes. We finished up with oversized portions of cheesecake and Pecan Pie. As the menu changes daily I don't know if these were stalwarts or whether they were experiments but were executed well, though, the brussel sprouts were without a doubt the best thing we had. All in all, my socks were still on my feet considering it was $250 for two three-course meals and a decent bottle of red.

One nice feature that I must point out is the waiter gave us a free glass of grunervetliner for our fish. We had selected a heavy red wine, and it did not pair well at all. In fact, it paired so poorly that I actually noticed that it paired poorly, much like a blind man saying the color is off. My point is, this guy hooked us up out of genuine concern for our experiece. We were joking around--I believe an off-colored aside about anal sex kicked off our relationship--but it was nice to have someone be personable and generous but at the same time totally professional and respectful of his craft.

After dinner the menonite server, no really, his Grandmother was omish, recommended we visit the bar upstairs. The bar closes at 9:00 but reopens late night as an ultra swank lounge. Evidently their is a VIP bathroom where things get a little wierd. For all of the earnestness we experienced downstairs, we saw nothing but pretension and general loserdom associated with the Meat Packing District upstairs. The prices ($50 for two whiskey's) the jokey airplane stewardesses and nero jacket attendants, the douchebaginess of the the patronage, and the fact that a VIP bathroom even exists, all extoll an accurate first impression that this place would never be my scene despite the stunning view.

I suppose that it's awfully presumptious of me to assume that anyone who frequents the Standard would give two squirts for my opinions, but perhaps this was written to warn the would-be sociologist. I have no doubt that the restaurant will eventually lose it's busyness and settle into a great place to take out of town guests, as I am also assured of the eventual lameness of the upstairs bar. And I suppose with the comfortable nugget of self-assuredness, I can sleep at night.

Jimmy's-Brooklyn

(718) 218-7174

This place for a long time was a sandwich shop, and then it closed mysteriously after a visit from the health department. I only remember that because before the Emerald city was constructed we'd play bocci on the south east corner of the park and we used to go there to pee. I always remember it odd that it closed due to health department orders, because it didn't seem that gross. Then one of my venues failed a health department test for not having a current food handlers (our sous had the old one that was nothing more than a piece of paper) and not having soap in a hand sink dispenser. So it isn't to say that this old place wasn't crawling with vermin that are a hybrid of mice and cockroaches; but rather it's not that hard for the health department to close your doors for some ticky tack shit. None of this has anything to do with Jimmy's other than geographical coincidence by the way, but at least I got to say my piece about the NYC Department of Mental Health and Hygiene.

If I had to sum up Jimmy's menu in one word it would be: fried. If I had to write a haiku about Jimmy's it would read:
Hungover again
Let's eat taters and bacon
Good lord I am full.

I wouldn't recommend Jimmy's without a note from your doctor. On the flip side, if you're like me and your palate was honed on Wonderbread, Ding Dongs, and Pop Tarts, then you're in heaven. Everything on this menu could be classified as junk food. It's a place designed around the sustenance required when you're reeling on the morning after from an all day drinking binge. The place has a pretty solid dinner menu/sandwich menu as well, though I've never been there for anything but brunch.

On separate note this place is obviously family run. I like that; it means that the waitstaff actually give a shit about what's going on. Furthermore, they're also going to treat the place like their own, so if they're busy they probably won't be the most courteous or hospitable servers to pushy people who are bleary-eyed and think they deserve prompt flash-fried relief. But if you keep coming back for their abuse they eventually consider you to be part of the family.

I suppose that's all. The have some freaky photography on the walls, I particularly like the naked chick wearing the gas mask. Oh, and try their milkshakes. They may not be fried, but they're still quite fattening.

Moto--Brooklyn

(718) 599-6895

The first time I went to Moto I was afraid for my life. Not to say that I was in any danger, but rather I'm a puss when it comes to unfamiliar neighborhoods. Moto is wedged in an intersection directly below the elevated JMZ, and having to cut across South Williamsburg to get there I definitely noticed the socio-economic decline. I make it known that these are my own white-bred bigoted idiosyncrasies, which is a caveat at best and a poor excuse for character at worst. My snobbery is not the focal point of this, but rather that by the time I was finished at Moto I deemed it worth whatever self-contrived fears I had.

Some say Moto NYC is a copy of a well known Moto in Chicago, and this couldn't be further from the truth. They share the same name true, but there is no wacky gastronomical gimmicks coming from the Moto in NYC. Just take a gander at Moto NYC's kitchen; it's basically a hot plate and a microwave. Not to say Moto (NYC from now on I promise) doesn't have it's fair share of acclaim. There's a documentary about the making of this restaurant called Eat This New York (Directed by Andrew Rossi and Kate Novak) that depicts the hell it takes to open even a small restaurant like Moto. I don't know if it's a must see, but it's interesting at the very least.

As for the restaurant itself, I must be honest it's been a while. I admit the folly of reviewing a restaurant you haven't been to in a while, but this is the last of the old Williamsburg places I've been meaning to write about. I mean, it certainly deserves my attention. I've since moved well out of walking distance, but rest assured on the clarity of my memories of yesteryear. One, there's live music of the jazz variety. And considering the sqaure footage of the place that's a feat unto itself. Two, this place has a legitimate coolness about it. Opened in 2002, right before the New Williamsburg scene came to prominence, it secured itself a spot in the Williamsburg scene (5-leaves opened in conjunction with John McCormick and his bar tutelage). Three, the food, albeit comforty, is quite delicious especially considering the kitchen. The date cake in particular is about as good as they come and I vaguely remember having some tasty chicken. The service is what you get in old Williamsburg, self-respecting waiters not interested in a waiting career, but since Moto is so small and quaint it's impossible for them to ignore you.

I suppose that's as good as I can do considering I'm dredging almost all of this up from a memory my second wife calls "horrible." I'll eventually make it back there, and perhaps then can comment more on specific menu items. Regardless of what they're serving, I maintain that it's a restaurant worth the trip. But if you're a puss, or covered in diamonds, you might think about taking a cab.

Roebling Tea Room- Brookyn

(718) 963-0760

Okay so back from the holidays and back on the trolley...

I'm not sure what to make of a restaurant designed around the culture of tea drinkers. The immediate image that comes to mind is a bunch of British Aristocrats, straight from a Henry James novel. Not so appealing. If I dig a little deeper I think of mousy little librarians blaring Natalie Imbruglia songs. Excuse the blatancy but I can't help myself; not my cup of tea. So when I first walked into Roebling Tea room and saw a relatively cozy albeit sexy scene unfolding, I was a little confused.

This place snuck in under the radar and though has been open for a few years I would still classify it as old Williamsburg--you heard that term here first folks. Old Williamsburg, in my not so humble opinion, is what attracted the thousands upon thousands of people here to crowd the L train wearing suits and carrying Brooklyn Industry bags (that and an insane 15 year tax abatement on new construction). New Williamsburg is what is going to push the old Williamsburg trend setters to Bushwick--think Blue Ribbon's Brooklyn Bowl. Now I'm not sure if Roebling Tea Room came from the Diner/Dumont/Moto comfort-food coaching tree but it has the same approximate feel. Service is casual, seating is casual, food is comforty. Yet this place has a gimmick: shit loads of tea!

When there last I opted for some tea as I have been trying to dry out and I was, after all, at a tea room. I had peppermint and my wife had Early Grey. Not so adventurous considering the vast amount of teas on the menu, but I'm a man of simple tastes and I had indigestion. Regardless, there must be over fifty maybe sixty different teas on the menu and it looks as though they're all loose leaf teas, as our came with little hand-tied cheese cloth do-hickeys that only added to the overall tea-drinking quaintness. I suppose it wasn't so bad, drinking tea that is, and to give a great blogosphere description, my tea tasted minty. Whoopitydo.