Barbuto--Manhattan

212.924.9700


Ahhhh...beloved nine.  How nice it is to have back to back posts about well known restaurants in Manhattan.  It's been too long.  No more of this slumming it at destinations around the States that pretend to understand what it's like to be in NY.  The hustling, bustling, pretentiousness of it all.  The young 20-something staff.  The smell.  The ambient ambulance sirens and taxi cab horns.  And let's not forget that bars close at 4am.

Iconman, shut the fuck up.  How was the food?  Well, it was okay.  Firstly, this place was seemingly packed when the four horsemen arrived (we are the old, very old banquet team of yesteryear) and were told that despite the preponderance of available seating the wait was two hours.  No problem, we know this drill.  We will simply stand at the most inconvenient place for the servers, clogging their flow, ordering bottle after bottle of over-priced Pinot Grigio.  Ipso facto twenty minutes later we were given a seat.  Service was brisk and professional. They even allowed me to bastardize one of their pasta dishes into a Carbonara (which it kind of already was but nonetheless this is a big plus for me.  If you can tweak a dish to make someone happy you should.  Right?).  Food:

Meatballs--A
Broccoli appetizer--B+
Barratta--B
Calamari--B+

Entree's--we all had pastas:

Shrimp pasta to el dante
My carbonara not enough something or other.
Other pasta--who cares I'm too drunk.  Seriously, that's a quote from my scribbles.

Cheeseplate--needed honey.

Tiramisu--lights out

As you can tell, when back in the city I revert back to my old ways.  The dinner was fine.  Was it $200 a head fine?  Unclear.  Also unclear is how many bottles of wine we consumed from start to finish.  It was definitely a place where you take your parents when you've finally come in to your own and want to impress them by paying for dinner.  There were quite a few of those people sitting at the bar waiting for four over-the-hill derelicts to finally vacate their seats.  Little did they know that sitting at the bar like a civilized person does no good.

Betony--Manhattan

212.465.2400

Holy shit!  Went here with the ol' Preggers McPregs for our 2nd babymoon thinking we were going to have a repeat of 11 Madison Park sans the pre-game bottle of champagne.  See 11 Madison Park post for reference.

I don't have my notes handy, but....

1) This place smokes 11 Madison Park in terms of cuisine

and perhaps most importantly....

2) They got the service ninja thing down!

There were at least six different people that delivered something to my table, un-intrusively and effortlessly.  At no point was our dinner interrupted by some smug, 20-something who thinks that working at 11-Madison Park as a server amounts to more than a hill of beans.  I mean, go slum it as the only waiter at Hooter's for an afternoon before you give me the George Clooney.  I digress, these guys had none of that.  True ninjas.  In, out, and done.

As for the food: Mushroom Jello?  Check.  Beet Wine?  Check.  Hand job in the bathroom?  Iconman, WTF!  Sorry folks, just keeping you honest.  I had the grill short rib and though dubious at first it was smack-down delicious.  Ol' Preggers McCankles had fish I believe, and it was also spot on.  In fact, though completely weird and adventurous the food here is amongst the best prepared food I've had.  Ever.  Say it isn't so Iconman! Yes, it's so.  I'm saying right now that there isn't a restaurant that I've been to that delivers a more interesting dining experience.  Oh yeah, it's also $400 a head no problem so keep that in mind before galavanting over there.

Light Horse Tavern--Jersey City

201-437-8650

So the burbs has been unkind, at least culinarily.  The ol' wifey wife thought we should migrate to a slightly more urban area, but not traipse into the city.  The toll and a half an hour of baby sitting time is cost preventative, so Jersey City was a good pragmatic choice.  She did her research and decided on the Light Horse, a seemingly Brooklynesque bar with a comprehensive pub grub meets classic American cuisine menu.  I was hoping to find something akin to Walter's foods in Brooklyn, what I found was a mouthful of shit.

Let's start with the raw bar.  Gross, gross and grosser. It simply wasn't fresh.  Besides that, it was flavorless.  And gross.  And awful. Man, I'm sorry I can't give you more of description but what this restaurant delivered escapes words. The burger was average.  The drinks average.  Just nothing special. A plain old boring burger and beer, cleverly disguised within a seemingly hipster bar.  There was a gaggle of lanky twenty-something's celebrating a bachelorette party, and somehow even that sucked.  Perhaps the most prevalent mistake though was the lighting.  As in, there was none.  The lights when out over our table for a solid five minutes.  As we fumbled around in the dark our server repeatedly walked by without bringing me some rice crisps that weren't stale, and all we could do was laugh.

The food was passable if you're in missouri, but you're in the shadow of NYC which is a mere $14 and ten minutes by car and I'm telling you now just keep going.  I promised a while ago that I wouldn't bash non NYC restaurants as it's an unfair standard by which to compare.  This place was so atrocious, that I feel this is a public service record.

Enoteca Umberto--Providence

401-272-8466

Wowser, I had no idea that Providence had so many Italians.  Seriously, now I know why The Departed always refers to Providence.  It was eye opening.  I always though Providence, Hartford, and Boston were the epicenter of the wasp regime.  Way off there.  One general area, Federal hill, that had quite a concentration of red sauce Italian restaurants surrounding one minuscule, and historically significant fountain.  Compared to the great cities of the world, the fountain was laughable, but it still had a charm all its own.

Anywho, this place is right around the corner, owned and operated by a gregarious Italian named Umberto and his chef wife. Umberto was nuts, shouting to cars slowly cruising by while explaining the specials to the ol' wifey wife and daughter entranced by stickers.  I must say, it was about as authentic of Italian food I've had this side of the pond.  No frills, simple ingredients, just straight up combinations of butter and salt and olive oil with subtle flavors to boot.

I wish I could tell you what I had, but the bottle of Barolo took over.  It doesn't really matter as the quality was spot on and the menu changes constantly.  I can say however, if you're in the neighborhood, this place is a must.  It's got about ten seats though, so don't just walk up or you'll be stuck waiting by the sad fountain.

The Cranwell--Massachusetts

413-217-0166

Back to the Berkshires beloved nine, it's turning into an annual trip I suppose. The rigors of a career that allows a family vacation in two days leaves us little choice.  We went from one old hotel (Red Lion) to another in the Cranwell for a long weekend hoping for some golf, until the weather and a golf outing put an end to that.  So fuck it, another trip to the Prairie Whale and a much more expensive dinner at the Cranwell.

So Iconman, how was the food?  Over priced.  It was uncomfortable watching the staff.  They were doing their best to make it nice, and the picturesque setting in the rolling hills of the Berkshire mountains certainly helped, but they was nothing professional about the staff nor service.  It was as though they were hired to fill a role without any training, so they did their best to improvise what they think a nice resort should do.  Sadly, these clubs are a dying breed, with baby boomers doing their best to emulate their parents when this is what people did.  And to play along, the staff was doing their best to replicate the splendor of a huge club without the support of thousands upon thousands of loaded customers.

What to do?  Well, hire cheap staff.  Corporatize your golf operation.  Add a spa.  Invest millions into dumbing down the operation to be a mere shell of what it was in its splendor.  Damn it Iconman!?! How was the food?

Okay.  I got lamb chops and they were tiny, but still priced expensively. The ol' wifey wife got some fish or another, and our friends got a bunch of other slop that was what you get when an untrained chef watches too many cooking shows.  To be perfectly honest, it wasn't that bad.  I mean, we're willingly chose to stay at a castle, so who's the real asshole in this equation?  And considering that I have yet to actually play the golf course, there's a fair chance that we may return.  So I guess the food was good enough if you drink a dry martini and make believe it was decades ago.  Maybe there will be some renaissance down the road, and these places will come back into favor.  In the meantime, manage your expectations and you'll be okay.

Chatham--Massachusetts

Yikes

Went here for a wedding the other weekend.  I really don't get it.  It's such a bizarre culture steeped in one big homogenous dichotomy.  On one hand, you've got a crazily sublime and conservative culture, Vineyard Vines, boat shoes, old-world money entrenched in traditions that are as stodgy and predictable as the little whales on their shorts.  On the other, you've got latent alcoholism, debauchery, and conspicuous consumption born of wealth so deep that it lasts for generations.  So Iconman, thanks for the sociological breakdown, but what the fuck does any of this have to do with restaurants?  I'll get to that.


Wild Goose Tavern (508) 945 5590
So we didn't have a tremendous amount of options.  We went here for an early dinner with the ol' family and were assaulted with the full prep upon entering this place.  We were sat relatively quickly, and though the place was bustling we thought we were a-okay.  Enter said entitlement.  The staff were all young college-aged rich kids, forced to work to learn ethic and "earn their keep" even though they most likely live in multiple million dollar beach homes. Our waitress in particular was a bubbly little plain-jane. And she completely fucked up our order.  Not even close.  Wrong salad, wrong wines, delivered at the wrong time.  No milk for the kid, despite repeated requests.  I mean, we were better to go into the kitchen and place the order ourselves.  Here's the worst part, considering my proclivity to be an asshole, I couldn't help but flag down the khaki pants manager and express our discontent.  And when the little waitress came back, she was a total bitch!  As though her fucking up our dinner were somehow our fault.  5% tip here we come.  Food?  Meh.

Chatham Bars Inn (508) 945-0096
The following night was the night of the wedding, so I can't comment in full detail about the food.  The food was okay.  They had free-flowing Moet Chandon, so I'm probably not the best judge.  Weddings are all the same, they cover the basics, and there's a gimmick or two to make things special.  The gimmick in particular was a Dunkin' Donuts station.  Not a bad execution I suppose, though, who fucks up pre-made donuts?

The more important part of this tale is when those of us still drinking sauntered up to the hotel bar.  They had music playing, and though through a small PA we made a collective request to change it to something more contemporary.  They gave zero fucks.  We asked for a manager and when the smug grease-ball that eventually came out took fucks from us (that's negative fucks people!).  We sat there bemoaning the shoddy service, the contemptible disservice, how they have ruined this wedding to a less than sympathetic sixty-year-old bartender and one manager half his age.  I suppose his nature was honed in the fires of dealing with drunk preppy douche-bags, as his defense was impenetrable.  I mean if you worked 30+ years at a summer resort, I'd suppose you would also develop an indifference.  We got absolutely nowhere. A cool old bar nonetheless, perhaps a touch overpriced. Just bring your own tunes, or perhaps more importantly, be prepared to listen to theirs.

Del Mar Bistro (508) 945-9988
The last place for dinner was clearly where the locals go.  Food, service, up to snuff.  If you're ever in this neck of the woods this is a safe bet.  It was packed and had a cool converted garage type vibe.  I had the fish my wife had the fish and my daughter had the pasta.  It was good.  Lot's of hot local trim bustling around in yoga pants.  Those are my notes.  That's a direct quote: Hot trim, yoga pants.

Kang Suh--Manhattan

212-564-6845

This place has a sick view. I could probably stop there if I wanted to.  I mean, it’s got a whole bunch of other shit going on, but for an unheard of view, there’s maybe six or seven places in the city that offer this.  Off the top of my head:  Mandarin oriental, the Standard Bar, Rainbow Room, there I’m stumped.  I’m sure there’s more beloved nine—go to google if you feel so inclined.

Went here with the other wife and some old co-workers for our semi-annual recap that comes with being old.  It was a prime spot for me as it is ridiculously close to Penn Station.  Had a few glasses of wine, some Korean barbecue, caught up…  The food is interesting, very Korean, and though expensive it is worth that mother fucking view.

The hi-light of the night came, oddly, with the wine. They have quite a substantial wine list, but don’t expect people coming here to be drunks.  We drank them out of one particular varietal and they botched it like a bunch of amateurs.  Allow me the bigoted aside—I’ve always found that Asians are absolute horrible liars.  And this experience supports my opinion.  First they told us they had none cold.  We said well we would wait.  Then they came back heads hung in shame and said they were lying and they had no more.  Then they comped us the next two bottles of wine!  I must say there was a fair amount of drunken shaming involved, thinly disguised as displeasure…something to the effect:  “You ruined our dinner!  How could you do this.  We haven't seen each other in years, and we researched your restaurant to find this specific bottle, a wine of our ancestors, so that we could all come and drink to the death of our parents.”  (Obviously, I am still quite capable of being an asshole.)  Their reaction would make you think that afterwards, perhaps in the next staff meeting, one or perhaps all of the party involved had to perform some sort of public hara kari or something.  It was that fucking Asian.

Anyway, place is worth the money due to the view. If you have the opportunity though, try and exploit the honor and dignity of the staff.