1 year ago
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Eating on the train
I don't actually have a restaurant to talk about here. This just came from the ol' wellspring of bitchiness that I drink from on an almost daily basis. Okay....so... don't eat on the fucking subway. I'm sure you're pressed for time and this may be your only opportunity to eat something before you start whatever it is that is more important that sustenance and nutrients, but it's fucking gross. It's grosser than gross. The subway system of New York City is about as sanitary as a toilet in Paris or maybe a Turkish bath changing room. You're exposed to so much foul shit that the very idea of eating should be unappetizing. I'm begging all six of you that might be reading this, spread the word. Eating on the train is a bummer.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Peter Lugers- Brooklyn
718-387-7400
What prompted me to talk about Peter Luger's is not an actual visit to the NYC steakhouse. I just returned from Obrycki's crab shack in Baltimore. I went there to have the "authentic" crab shack experience that I've heard so much about and that is only available close to the Chesapeake Bay. What I got was a watered down coke and a not-too-bad crab cake for fifty bucks. Fucking Peter Lugered.
I've been Peter Lugered more times than I'd like to count. Smith and Wollensky, JG Melon's, Oyster Bar, and even PJ Clark's on the East side have all done it to me, but none of these are better at Peter Lugering than (obviously) Peter Luger's. Actually, I stand corrected, Cheers might be the ultimate Peter Lugerer in the land. What is getting Peter Lugered? No my sick twisted followers, it is not a sexual maneuver involving a hand gun and some fecal. It is what happens when a restaurant becomes an institution and ultimately loses the quality that initially made it so yet charges prices that are inflated because they can. When I was twelve my 15-year-old brother was bored to death walking the freedom trail in Boston. He begged to go to Cheers for lunch. My parents succumbed, fearing a serious bout of pouting for the remainder of the colonial trip down memory lane. I'm sure you already know what's coming, so to wrap it up quickly we paid well over a hundred dollars for a lunch that Boston Market could have done better.
Peter Luger's is much the same. Now hold on a sec, before you discount my interpretation the steaks are good. It's a good steak. But...I've had better. I've had better in New York. I've had better steaks in Los Banos, California. And more to the point, these better steaks weren't served by some overweight, inconsiderate, Brooklyn cretin who seems to think it's a privilege to eat at such a NYC institution. And there's my beef. I appreciate Peter Luger's has been around one hundred years; in restaurant terms that's eternity. But to fleece people with such insane prices and curt unfriendly service under the auspice of an authentic New York City experience is lame. Even the website depicts these hand-tied bow ties and polished dudes from back in the day when an honest day's wage didn't include paid vacations or benefits. Luger's has taken these fellows' gumption, and through the slow, plodding degradation of generational entitlement, transformed it into a culinary tourist trap. Believe me, there's nothing left to milk. The creamed spinach: sucks. The hand cut bacon: sucks. The bottled sauce: sucks. They even carry a line of Peter Luger steak knives and cutting board! WTF? Isn't it about the simplicity of great steaks served in a humble atmosphere, free of all of the alchemy and sophistication of new cuisine techniques? Or is it about moving merchandise to unsuspecting Manhattanites?
I don't give a fuck if Peter Luger's is an institution. Lot's of things are institutions that don't necessarily connote quality: organized religion for instance, or the Macy's parade, or Disney World. What I want is a quality steak, served with quality sides, by a person who is grateful that I'm in the restaurant to begin with. And that is definitely not Peter Luger's.
What prompted me to talk about Peter Luger's is not an actual visit to the NYC steakhouse. I just returned from Obrycki's crab shack in Baltimore. I went there to have the "authentic" crab shack experience that I've heard so much about and that is only available close to the Chesapeake Bay. What I got was a watered down coke and a not-too-bad crab cake for fifty bucks. Fucking Peter Lugered.
I've been Peter Lugered more times than I'd like to count. Smith and Wollensky, JG Melon's, Oyster Bar, and even PJ Clark's on the East side have all done it to me, but none of these are better at Peter Lugering than (obviously) Peter Luger's. Actually, I stand corrected, Cheers might be the ultimate Peter Lugerer in the land. What is getting Peter Lugered? No my sick twisted followers, it is not a sexual maneuver involving a hand gun and some fecal. It is what happens when a restaurant becomes an institution and ultimately loses the quality that initially made it so yet charges prices that are inflated because they can. When I was twelve my 15-year-old brother was bored to death walking the freedom trail in Boston. He begged to go to Cheers for lunch. My parents succumbed, fearing a serious bout of pouting for the remainder of the colonial trip down memory lane. I'm sure you already know what's coming, so to wrap it up quickly we paid well over a hundred dollars for a lunch that Boston Market could have done better.
Peter Luger's is much the same. Now hold on a sec, before you discount my interpretation the steaks are good. It's a good steak. But...I've had better. I've had better in New York. I've had better steaks in Los Banos, California. And more to the point, these better steaks weren't served by some overweight, inconsiderate, Brooklyn cretin who seems to think it's a privilege to eat at such a NYC institution. And there's my beef. I appreciate Peter Luger's has been around one hundred years; in restaurant terms that's eternity. But to fleece people with such insane prices and curt unfriendly service under the auspice of an authentic New York City experience is lame. Even the website depicts these hand-tied bow ties and polished dudes from back in the day when an honest day's wage didn't include paid vacations or benefits. Luger's has taken these fellows' gumption, and through the slow, plodding degradation of generational entitlement, transformed it into a culinary tourist trap. Believe me, there's nothing left to milk. The creamed spinach: sucks. The hand cut bacon: sucks. The bottled sauce: sucks. They even carry a line of Peter Luger steak knives and cutting board! WTF? Isn't it about the simplicity of great steaks served in a humble atmosphere, free of all of the alchemy and sophistication of new cuisine techniques? Or is it about moving merchandise to unsuspecting Manhattanites?
I don't give a fuck if Peter Luger's is an institution. Lot's of things are institutions that don't necessarily connote quality: organized religion for instance, or the Macy's parade, or Disney World. What I want is a quality steak, served with quality sides, by a person who is grateful that I'm in the restaurant to begin with. And that is definitely not Peter Luger's.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sea--Brooklyn
(718) 384-8850
Something I've always found odd about New York is just how easy it is to ignore the fact you live in New York. Here I am having been here more than a decade, and I still haven't visited the Statue of Liberty or Ellis Island. I've made it to the MET twice, both times with out of town guests. And though I've seen more Broadway shows than I would care to admit, the trek through times square usually has my in-laws in tow. New York City has a lot to offer, which is my standby response to Uncle Brian when answering why I haven't seen the slow plod that is Ground Zero's construction. And this couldn't be anymore true about New York City than it is with its restaurants.
Sea is a place I walk by on a weekly basis. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I went in. It has a reverse bridge-and-tunnel vibe that I always steer clear of, yet, inevitably when I have someone coming in from the mid west for dinner I find myself reflecting at the over sized..um...reflecting pool about how this restaurant isn't that bad. For one, if you can get by the impractical circular bar and pod bathrooms the dining rooms is quite spacious. The surprisingly clean pool, the gigantic Buddha, and the fact that you wait maybe thirty seconds before being seated indicate intelligent design. And the price, holy shit, this place is by all means cheap. I've never spent more than $25 a entree.
The food is Thai. Not being a culinary expert, I would say that Thai menus are like sushi menus in that every restaurant offers the same cultural staples. And true to this fiction, at Sea you've got your Americanized items like calamari and fried chicken wings, and then your more traditional items with words like Pad and Noon and other monosyllabic choices your father would throw out while impersonating orientals. For the most part, Sea's menu is pretty good. Did I mention the price? Cheap cheap cheap!
Like Pastis in the meat packing district Sea is a place that most New Yorker's don't go unless they want to impress their friends with what New York has to offer. If you can handle some GQ Polish kids and some Benz-driving yokels, then you're brother and his wife are going to be blown away.
Something I've always found odd about New York is just how easy it is to ignore the fact you live in New York. Here I am having been here more than a decade, and I still haven't visited the Statue of Liberty or Ellis Island. I've made it to the MET twice, both times with out of town guests. And though I've seen more Broadway shows than I would care to admit, the trek through times square usually has my in-laws in tow. New York City has a lot to offer, which is my standby response to Uncle Brian when answering why I haven't seen the slow plod that is Ground Zero's construction. And this couldn't be anymore true about New York City than it is with its restaurants.
Sea is a place I walk by on a weekly basis. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I went in. It has a reverse bridge-and-tunnel vibe that I always steer clear of, yet, inevitably when I have someone coming in from the mid west for dinner I find myself reflecting at the over sized..um...reflecting pool about how this restaurant isn't that bad. For one, if you can get by the impractical circular bar and pod bathrooms the dining rooms is quite spacious. The surprisingly clean pool, the gigantic Buddha, and the fact that you wait maybe thirty seconds before being seated indicate intelligent design. And the price, holy shit, this place is by all means cheap. I've never spent more than $25 a entree.
The food is Thai. Not being a culinary expert, I would say that Thai menus are like sushi menus in that every restaurant offers the same cultural staples. And true to this fiction, at Sea you've got your Americanized items like calamari and fried chicken wings, and then your more traditional items with words like Pad and Noon and other monosyllabic choices your father would throw out while impersonating orientals. For the most part, Sea's menu is pretty good. Did I mention the price? Cheap cheap cheap!
Like Pastis in the meat packing district Sea is a place that most New Yorker's don't go unless they want to impress their friends with what New York has to offer. If you can handle some GQ Polish kids and some Benz-driving yokels, then you're brother and his wife are going to be blown away.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Dressler's--Brooklyn--take two
I haven't been to Dressler in years, only because the last time I was there they confused their cuts of meat. But now they have a Michelin star, and I had to see what all of the hoopla was about. To be honest, up until five minutes ago I wasn't crystal clear on what a Michelin star is. I mean, I knew it was good sign if a restaurant has one, but I wasn't sure what the criteria was based upon. Here's a refresher from their website:
The MICHELIN Guide uses a system of symbols to identify the best hotels and restaurants within each comfort and price category. For restaurants, Michelin stars are based on five criteria:
* The quality of the products
* The mastery of flavor and cooking
* The "personality" of the cuisine
* The value for the money
* The consistency between visits
Michelin stars are awarded to restaurants offering the finest cooking, regardless of cuisine style. Stars represent only what is on the plate. They do not take into consideration interior decoration, service quality or table settings.
* A very good restaurant in it's category
** Excellent cooking and worth a detour
*** Exceptional cuisine and worth the journey
Here's the website if you need more: www.michelinguide.com. I won't get into the history of where it came from because to be honest I'm too lazy to do so. I mean, you have a computer so go figure it out if you're so curious.
I'd say that Dressler's is worthy of a star, the night I visited was after a long book reading on the upper west side and was famished. You could have served a plate of steaming dog shit and I would have been satisfied. I had the trout salad, followed up with a rib small plate and mash potato combination frankensteined together. Both were very good, Michelin star good I suppose, and since the restaurant was empty I suppose I would also qualify the service as good. My wife had something off the specials list, I think it was the fish. She was happy with it. Okay, not too much more to mention.
The MICHELIN Guide uses a system of symbols to identify the best hotels and restaurants within each comfort and price category. For restaurants, Michelin stars are based on five criteria:
* The quality of the products
* The mastery of flavor and cooking
* The "personality" of the cuisine
* The value for the money
* The consistency between visits
Michelin stars are awarded to restaurants offering the finest cooking, regardless of cuisine style. Stars represent only what is on the plate. They do not take into consideration interior decoration, service quality or table settings.
* A very good restaurant in it's category
** Excellent cooking and worth a detour
*** Exceptional cuisine and worth the journey
Here's the website if you need more: www.michelinguide.com. I won't get into the history of where it came from because to be honest I'm too lazy to do so. I mean, you have a computer so go figure it out if you're so curious.
I'd say that Dressler's is worthy of a star, the night I visited was after a long book reading on the upper west side and was famished. You could have served a plate of steaming dog shit and I would have been satisfied. I had the trout salad, followed up with a rib small plate and mash potato combination frankensteined together. Both were very good, Michelin star good I suppose, and since the restaurant was empty I suppose I would also qualify the service as good. My wife had something off the specials list, I think it was the fish. She was happy with it. Okay, not too much more to mention.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Gino's--Manhattan
(212) 758-4466
My first time in Gino's was a bit of an experience. I was there with a friend, his girl friend, and her friend. We were all just out of college, and I'd been in the city maybe a week passing through on a road trip across the states. My friend grew up in this place; all of his childhood birthdays, his graduations, and most of his holidays were spent dining at Gino's. I was so intimidated by the wealth that seemed to ooze from every geriatric patron, that I could barely hold my flatware, let alone enjoy the easy wasp driven attitude. I was wearing my nicest shirt from a mall in the fashionable Midwest, and the snot that my friend wasn't banging sized me up by asking where I had bought it. My friend the regular ordered for me and when the veal Milanese (still on the bone) arrived the simplicity and recognition relieved me, I didn't have to pretend to enjoy it. It also distracted me from trying to keep up with Hampton and Nantucket references, from deciphering just exactly what this girl did to enjoy a pent house apartment on 55th street, and from wondering why her inflection was so god-damned nasal. This experience was not so much about the meal I enjoyed, but rather about the first time I interacted with old, stodgy, money. I mean the class of people who look at your Ross shirt and Dockers, and know immediately that you are several pegs lower than them on the backwards, elitist code the entire Upper Eastside seems to live by.
Now I've eaten their a million times with my friend, and can be honest when I say that this place is worth checking out though the cuisine is nothing to get excited about. Upon entering you can feel that Gino's was really swinging in the late fifties, thick with smoke and loud with boisterous drunks, braces holding up their pants and hair slicked to their skulls. But the fluorescent lighting, the faded red wallpaper with Zebras, and the waitstaff that are roughly the same mean age as the patrons are a clear indication that its time has passed. The food is consistent red-sauce Italian. It's good, but not great. Words like infused, organic, and healthy should be left at the double swinging barn doors. The service is professionally brisk, honed from decades of repetition. The waiter walks up, takes your order, is annoyed for a bit, and from that point any two or three people working the dining room will deposit food and drink in front of you. Their assured way of serving leaves no doubt that they have the utmost confidence in what they are doing but also attests that they forgot long ago about hospitality. Interestingly enough, Gino's is one of the few restaurants in the city that still operates under the suffocating umbrella of the local restaurant union. And like many of the classic places of yesterday, Rainbow Room and Tavern on the Green to name a few, the Local 101 is driving Gino's right into the ground.
If you're dressed for it, and want to experience how the top 1% used to spend their days, then Gino's is for you. It won't be flashy, it won't be exciting, it probably won't be that impressive, but as a bedrock for old family money, it's an example that's tough to beat.
My first time in Gino's was a bit of an experience. I was there with a friend, his girl friend, and her friend. We were all just out of college, and I'd been in the city maybe a week passing through on a road trip across the states. My friend grew up in this place; all of his childhood birthdays, his graduations, and most of his holidays were spent dining at Gino's. I was so intimidated by the wealth that seemed to ooze from every geriatric patron, that I could barely hold my flatware, let alone enjoy the easy wasp driven attitude. I was wearing my nicest shirt from a mall in the fashionable Midwest, and the snot that my friend wasn't banging sized me up by asking where I had bought it. My friend the regular ordered for me and when the veal Milanese (still on the bone) arrived the simplicity and recognition relieved me, I didn't have to pretend to enjoy it. It also distracted me from trying to keep up with Hampton and Nantucket references, from deciphering just exactly what this girl did to enjoy a pent house apartment on 55th street, and from wondering why her inflection was so god-damned nasal. This experience was not so much about the meal I enjoyed, but rather about the first time I interacted with old, stodgy, money. I mean the class of people who look at your Ross shirt and Dockers, and know immediately that you are several pegs lower than them on the backwards, elitist code the entire Upper Eastside seems to live by.
Now I've eaten their a million times with my friend, and can be honest when I say that this place is worth checking out though the cuisine is nothing to get excited about. Upon entering you can feel that Gino's was really swinging in the late fifties, thick with smoke and loud with boisterous drunks, braces holding up their pants and hair slicked to their skulls. But the fluorescent lighting, the faded red wallpaper with Zebras, and the waitstaff that are roughly the same mean age as the patrons are a clear indication that its time has passed. The food is consistent red-sauce Italian. It's good, but not great. Words like infused, organic, and healthy should be left at the double swinging barn doors. The service is professionally brisk, honed from decades of repetition. The waiter walks up, takes your order, is annoyed for a bit, and from that point any two or three people working the dining room will deposit food and drink in front of you. Their assured way of serving leaves no doubt that they have the utmost confidence in what they are doing but also attests that they forgot long ago about hospitality. Interestingly enough, Gino's is one of the few restaurants in the city that still operates under the suffocating umbrella of the local restaurant union. And like many of the classic places of yesterday, Rainbow Room and Tavern on the Green to name a few, the Local 101 is driving Gino's right into the ground.
If you're dressed for it, and want to experience how the top 1% used to spend their days, then Gino's is for you. It won't be flashy, it won't be exciting, it probably won't be that impressive, but as a bedrock for old family money, it's an example that's tough to beat.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Self Aggrandizing Recap
Every once in a while I think it is appropriate to revisit some of the places I've already mentioned to see how they are doing. It makes it easier to keep tabs on things, and more importantly prevents me from pulling another Queen's hideaway gaff. I should also mention that I don't necessarily comment on the food in each and every single entry. If you are looking for that then I suggest a rather thorough food blog called Eat It Brooklyn, it is one of the links listed below. If you're looking for actual food comments, along with pictures of their Sunday brunch then this is the website for you. At Iconman I deal with nothing but the hechos, and by hechos I mean my interpretation of how things went down. Yup, a regular old Dick Tracy.
Aqua Santa (Originally posted 6/13/09): Just had dinner here with my other wife, and once again sat in the garden sipping on Peroni's. Sound as a pound this place, that is if you're into uninspired Italian cuisine consistent in its usualness. As an added bonus we witnessed a Godfather style drug deal occur, complete with stashing of the contraband in the toilet tank.
Hearth (Originally posted 2/24/09): Just had dinner last night and was much more impressed with the service than last time. It might help that the server is also a server at Terroir and knows me as a spaz. I also noticed that the menu clearly states the veal meatballs come with ricotta ravioli, which was the source of my complaint in the earlier entry. But, to my credit, they still wear ridiculous shirts. And the place is way more expensive than I want it to be.
Fada (Originally posted 6/4/09): Went here with my wife and other wife a few weeks ago out of desperation for some cold Sancerre. And let me tell you there was a waitress that was so hot I am still making withdrawals from the spank bank. Ouch. Too hot. She must not work there anymore because of the repeated solicitation by yours truly to have a foursome. Even my wives were into it. Oh, and the food absolutely sucked. It was a hot day, and the tuna tartar seemed like it was made of peach plado. I’m still going back in hopes that she's wearing a tank top.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Donahue's--Manhattan
212.650.0748
So the overwhelming response and questions--from currently all five of you-- have been quite difficult to keep up with. I will list the top five in order of frequency:
1) What does Iconman mean?
2) Could you include pictures with your blog?
3) Could those pictures be of your testicles? (Seriously. That is number three.)
4) Why do you always write about Williamsburg?
5) Where do I find your rating system?
Those are all very good questions. And for the purpose of this blog I am going to answer number four, followed up not coincidentally with my thoughts of Donahue's Steak House. The reason I write about Williamsburg is that I live here and have lived here for many years. I saw the slow transformation from Puerto Ricans on the south side and Polish on the north side to hipsters everywhere, to now hipsters on the fringes and yuppies everywhere. And for the most part, this slow transformation has manifested in the restaurants in the neighborhood. No longer am I subjected to Vera-Cruz, Pita Power, Williamsburg Diner, or Anytime, as there are a plethora of new places to check out. And for the record all of those places save Vera-Cruz are closed (also for the record I lived in a building owned by the owner of Vera Cruz and if you eat in that restaurant I hope you enjoy cockroach shells and mouse feces; but that's a tale for another time). I don't mean to say that I don't eat in other parts of the city, but rather I haven't gotten around to writing about them because they're not necessarily going to include the incisive social commentary that all five of you have grown to appreciate. Jesus, that was a mouthful.
With that said, I feel that Donahue's is due because they serve indisputably the BEST CORN BEEF SANDWICH in NYC. That's right, I said THE BEST CORN BEEF SANDWICH in NYC. The owner, Maureen, is the daughter of the original owner of Donahue's and hasn't changed a thing in this small steakhouse sitting smack dab across from Bernie Madoff's ex-deluxe apartment on Lexington and 64th. This place is no nonsense, and though it provides prompt and attentive service, often by Maureen herself, bull shitting is not an option. The mean age is approximately fifty, and I since I lunch here just about every Thursday, the only day that the corn beef is offered, I witness many a retiree slurping down five ounce martini's or straight scotch with their meal. People are here to eat and drink, so shut up and get on the trolley.
This no nonsense attitude permeates the food as well. And now that we watch chefs compete on cable to out do each other by vacuum sealing halibut or infusing bacon fat with nitrogen, it's nice to know that there are places like Donahue's that haven't fucked with a recipe for 50 years. What is especially refreshing about Donahue's is that you're also not getting that PJ Clark's, JG Mellons, Peter Luger vibe, the attitude created from the instituition syndrome: we can shit on you because we've been around for a hundred years and there's a line at the door because everyone who doesn't live here thinks this is the best place in town. Nope, Donahue's is like momma bears porridge, so if you're in the neighborhood of the lower-upper-east side and it's a Thursday you'd be a fool not to try this sandwich.
So the overwhelming response and questions--from currently all five of you-- have been quite difficult to keep up with. I will list the top five in order of frequency:
1) What does Iconman mean?
2) Could you include pictures with your blog?
3) Could those pictures be of your testicles? (Seriously. That is number three.)
4) Why do you always write about Williamsburg?
5) Where do I find your rating system?
Those are all very good questions. And for the purpose of this blog I am going to answer number four, followed up not coincidentally with my thoughts of Donahue's Steak House. The reason I write about Williamsburg is that I live here and have lived here for many years. I saw the slow transformation from Puerto Ricans on the south side and Polish on the north side to hipsters everywhere, to now hipsters on the fringes and yuppies everywhere. And for the most part, this slow transformation has manifested in the restaurants in the neighborhood. No longer am I subjected to Vera-Cruz, Pita Power, Williamsburg Diner, or Anytime, as there are a plethora of new places to check out. And for the record all of those places save Vera-Cruz are closed (also for the record I lived in a building owned by the owner of Vera Cruz and if you eat in that restaurant I hope you enjoy cockroach shells and mouse feces; but that's a tale for another time). I don't mean to say that I don't eat in other parts of the city, but rather I haven't gotten around to writing about them because they're not necessarily going to include the incisive social commentary that all five of you have grown to appreciate. Jesus, that was a mouthful.
With that said, I feel that Donahue's is due because they serve indisputably the BEST CORN BEEF SANDWICH in NYC. That's right, I said THE BEST CORN BEEF SANDWICH in NYC. The owner, Maureen, is the daughter of the original owner of Donahue's and hasn't changed a thing in this small steakhouse sitting smack dab across from Bernie Madoff's ex-deluxe apartment on Lexington and 64th. This place is no nonsense, and though it provides prompt and attentive service, often by Maureen herself, bull shitting is not an option. The mean age is approximately fifty, and I since I lunch here just about every Thursday, the only day that the corn beef is offered, I witness many a retiree slurping down five ounce martini's or straight scotch with their meal. People are here to eat and drink, so shut up and get on the trolley.
This no nonsense attitude permeates the food as well. And now that we watch chefs compete on cable to out do each other by vacuum sealing halibut or infusing bacon fat with nitrogen, it's nice to know that there are places like Donahue's that haven't fucked with a recipe for 50 years. What is especially refreshing about Donahue's is that you're also not getting that PJ Clark's, JG Mellons, Peter Luger vibe, the attitude created from the instituition syndrome: we can shit on you because we've been around for a hundred years and there's a line at the door because everyone who doesn't live here thinks this is the best place in town. Nope, Donahue's is like momma bears porridge, so if you're in the neighborhood of the lower-upper-east side and it's a Thursday you'd be a fool not to try this sandwich.
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