Park Avenue- Summer/Winter/Spring/Fall

212.644.1900

It would be fitting to cover each season of this restaurant, and since they change their menu's seasonally so maybe I will do that. But for now I'm going to cover the spring menu because that's what I ate with my other wife, on a lovely afternoon some time in May. This was actually pre- Berlin, but I've been so slammed that I had to flip through my little journal to dig up the notes. Superfluous details aside, I was with other wife so we inevitably sat at the bar.

The food was superb. We had a light lunch so we didn't delve too far into the menu but instead shared three small dishes: The Beet Salad, the Crab Salad, and the Salmon Tar Tar. Each were light and delicious in that deconstructed cubist sort of way that makes me think "I don't know what the fuck this is but it looks pretty." And then I pop it in my mouth and think "I still don't know what the fuck this is but it tastes good." Yes, you heard it here first beloved seven, I think those things.

The bartender deduced that we were industry insiders, and gave me a free Pimms Cup float. As much I love the ol' number 1 I would have rather have him jump up on the bar and piss in my mouth. Perhaps the pastry chef is a lush (and voted best by Beard no less), maybe he's bored and trying to do the impossible, but whatever the reason that dessert was an abomination. Anywho, we'll probably come back for Summer. Maybe they'll have a Carpiriihna sorbet!

Berlin- Iconman Style

My wife and I took our baby moon to Berlin. Originally we wanted to visit Barcelona, but opted for Berlin because of the time constraints. Some would say we were crazy to fly to Berlin for only three and a half days, and on paper I would say they have a right to call us crazy. Berlin is easily doable in that amount of time though, and since we aren't planning on an extended European vacation any time soon we figured it was a good locale for a surgical strike. This entry should serve as an all encompassing Berlin tour. Iconman style.

Oscar and Co.

Oscar-co-Berlin.de
Potssdam Platz
oxstraße 1 10785
030-2529-2792

This place looked pretty sweet from the outside. It was our first meal (dinner) and we were jetlagged and our anuses were sore from getting screwed by Delta. This happens every time I come to Europe. I have no idea where I'm eating the first night and stumble into the first place that has something on the menu I like. My wife was in tow, exhausted, and her mood befit an exhausted woman dragged into a restaurant. The food was okay. It was sufficient for its price. I had steak and bruschetta and my wife had a cesar salad and fish.

I Due Forni

Schonhauser Allee
030-4401-7333
Mitte/Prenzlauer Berg

What is it about traveling that forces you to revert to Pizza? After a day of walking, literally we walked the fuck out of Berlin; we ended up at this place for pizza and beer. It was run by Italians, all Italians, and because my German is about as good as my Chinese I reverted to Spanish. Close enough right? The place was enormous, easily three hundred covers. And considering the tiny little kitchen it must be slammed when invaded by krauts. It also had a sort of punk theme going, with NOFX and Bad Religion posters all over the place, which lent itself to the European authenticity. Italian punk rockers, what could be more quaint than that? Then a foxy Euro-punk Italian bird served us lunch, and I realized I had underestimated the powers of eyeliner and tattoos. As for the food it was pizza; delicious, familiar pizza.

Guy

www.guy-restaurant.de
Jägerstraße 59
030 2094-2600

We originally wanted to go to a place called Borchardt which located in the same Soho-esque region of Berlin, but our concierge talked us out of it. I should rephrase that, he bullied us out of it in a typically German manner. His description went something like this:

"Why would you want to go, yah? This restaurant is for people who know people and wear the Guess and wear the Armini and have I-phones. I know a better place, the food is better, and there isn't this nose in the arm (he actually said nose in the arm) attitude. Now, the humor of this man's expression wasn't nearly as amusing as the irony of the fact that we were staying at a 19th Century palace design to cater to these exact type of people. And for the record I'm not one of those people, though I'd like to be, this palace was discounted through our entire collective American Express rewards points. We didn't want to be rude, and we did need this German maniac to make the reservation so we went with his suggestion: Guy.

Initially we were pretty psyched. It was definitely highfalutin. Linen table cloths, greeted at the door, offered aperitif the whole nine. The problem was this: it was sort of a faux luxury, like they read all of this stuff in a book somewhere and figured this is what luxury was so they should give it a whirl. I could swear I was in Vegas or something. How do I know? Good question, my beloved septuplet of followers. I know because luxurious places are devoted to the details. The effortless of clearing silver (with out dropping it), the subtly of crumbing. They work in the microexperience, the uniforms fitted, the well poured glass of wine without dripping on the table, the thick-tined fish fork. The bells and whistles approach, the shock and awe of an amuse bouche or hospitable hostess are definitely part of the package, but when you don't deliver on the nuts and bolts of good, efficient, and for lack of a better word experienced service, you come off looking cheap. Dont' get me wrong, Vegas is the capital of cheap, and for the idiots that flock their (as well as the entrepenuers that fleece them) this is the haute couture of luxurious service.

The food was okay. Not great, not bad. It's tough, the European palate hasn't been dulled by as much processing and corn syrup. We both had a tasting menu of four courses, and for whatever reason each dish made me feel as though I were a guest judge on top chef. There were so many extra ingredients and flavors to make a pretty standard dinner unique, but somehow everything tasted a little off. It was a seasonal menu, and for obvious reason each Spring menu gets overloaded with asparagus. My pee still smells funny. But the fish was good--lemon foam unnecessary, the chicken three way, well, not exactly what you'd think was passable. Another annoying contrivance was my recommended wine. I had veal, and asked to pair my meal to a red wine. The waiter brought me the cheapest wine on the menu, a Cabernet perhaps, which was about as paired with veal as two male genitalia. At least I didn't have to leave an expect 20% tip.

Nola's am Weinburg

Veteranstrabe 9

030-4404-0766

Fucking Roschti. We were pretty beat up after a long night out hitting the ridiculous Berlin night life scene. We ended up at this cheesy club called Kaffeburger. It was pretty hilarious actually though I ended up drunker than I wanted to be. And I'm no spring chicken, so staying out to watch the bizarre dancing of the the Berliners had definitely taken it's toll. When we rolled up to this restaurant that felt as though it were an old fort or artillery hold or something, I was just hoping to grab some schnitzel in an attempt to subdue my hangover. What I got instead was Roschti. Hallelujah. How this dish isn't a staple at every single Williamsburg comfort food establishment is beyond me.

Roschti is basically pan seared hash browns topped with cheese. I had a little proscuito on mine as well, but it didn't make it that much better. Yes, German cheese potatoes. Mark my words, there will be a Roschti trend coming soon to the states. Its inevitable, like bad German dancing.

Vivaldi
Schlosshotel im Grunewald
Bahmastrabbe 10
030-895-840

So we had to eat at the restaurant in this ridiculous hotel. I flight left the following morning, and after our spa treatment we couldn't bring ourselves to leave the hotel. As opposed to Guy, this place was the real deal. Granted, it helps when the dining room is an anteroom to a 19th century palace, but the details were there this time.

I had some sole with lemon foam, and it was divine. The venison amuse bouche, perfect. The Lasagna, well, it was lasagna. Even the capacino was spectacular, really, the best I've ever had. It's kind of unfair to write about a restaurant like this only because I wasn't 100% sure of what I was putting in my mouth at any given time. (Not unlike that two week stretch in college..ehem.) But I can assure you that whatever it was it was pretty fucking awesome.

So that's Berlin. Probably not the most informative piece I've ever written, but damn it was long enough.

Aldea--Manhattan

212.675.7223

Hello faithful seven. It's that time of year again. The busy season. It sucks me into a frenzy of charity events, high end weddings, higher end Bar and Bat Mitzvah's, and the occasional swift kick in the balls. I'm too old to really complain about the hours, and the season also provides me with perks like nice wine and the already mentioned nut sack cinch. Unlike 2007, I've had time to dine at some nice places and even more time to tell you all about them.

The first thing Aldea made me realize is that I'm a food dummy. I don't necessarily know what I'm eating, why I'm eating it, or where it came from. What I do know is there are people who do know this shit and one of my wives happens to be one of them. Thankfully, she keeps dragging me to these places. Aldea is a Portuguese, though that really means nothing to me. The only thing I know about Portugal is that my friend caught herpes there years ago. But after eating here I must admit that Portuguese food is pretty good.

Since I am a food dummy, and don't know Portugese food, I'm also rather cowardly when it comes to ordering. I order only what I recognize, in this instance the hanger steak and a green salad with pine nuts. Pine nuts are like the green crayon in the massive crayola crayon box (you know, the one with the pencil sharpener) they make everything better. My other wife, being a polygamist by nature, has a far more adventurous palate. She had the urchin, the oysters, the ham, the pigs ears and ramps, and the egg pea and bacon. All of them were excellent.

Another interesting detail I noticed was the mention of the farm on the menu. This is a pretty cool idea, and after the Omnivore's Dilemma smeared everything edible in the United States I appreciate the attempt. Though, I only know of certain restaurants pulling this off in any sort of sustainable way (Diner comes to mind, that also has a butcher shop in tow) but to me it is a very cool idea but only to a select few restaurants. What would happen if every nice restaurant in NYC decides to do this? How much pork or lamb can they really grow in once season? What happens with a bad crop? Re print the menu? What about the hotels and banquets that serve six hundred rack of lamb at a pop? I nice idea, but it smells of gimmick to me. Then again, what do I know? I'm a food dummy with sore balls.

Marlow and Sons--Brooklyn

718.384.1441


Holy shit, it's been a while. Fucking busy season man. It sucks you in. I'm currently writing this while a horrible Greek band bellows four flights down. I'm in the attic of my place furiously typing a way. I've already written about Diner and though Marlow and Sons is a completely different restaurant, I've always felt like they're the same place. In fact, geographically, they are the same place; share the same kitchen, the same staff, and the same devil may care attitude towards service. It was my other wife's birthday, so naturally we ended up sitting up at the bar.

My other wife's birthday is at the beginning of April and my memory, as always, is a bit hazy. Here's what I got in my notepad:

Aloof once again. I suppose this was the staff. I don't necessarily think they were meaning to be aloof, but that I thought they was because I was intimidated by how cool they were.

Oysters. How do you hate oysters?

We ordered 1st courses. They were all good. I had a ravioli and my wives had salads. I don't want to get into it again, but it is Diner's kitchen, the food's always going to be good.

Tons of lesbos. One wearing sexy stockings. Wives wouldn't let me engage. I suppose that this was going to be the crux of the piece, as the place was teeming with sexy interpenetrated trim. The sexy lesbos were also quite young and modely, which means that they probably were just dressing the part.

Great Scale. They have a scale in the bathroom. I suppose that's cool.

Correcting the pee stream. I have no idea what this means other than I was drunk. You can tell I was scribbling it as I was peeing



So there you go, the inner thoughts of a review that expired. Hopefully that helps.

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.