Posts Tagged ‘restaurant review’
HA! I came across this lucrative sidewalk teaser yesterday afternoon, in front of Obao [222 E. 53rd St., NYC].
Where do I begin? Is it the strange-out-of-nowhere toupée “joke”? Is it the poor grammar and misspelled words? Or is it the convoluted assumption that this marketing technique will actually convince anyone to patronize said happy hour? Do I want to hang out at Asian fusion restaurants where people get so wild that their toupées get tossed around and left behind?
Well, ahem, actually…$14.95 for unlimited brewskis AND appetizers? For two solid hours?
I’ve actually been to Obao a few times and it’s not too shabby. Don’t bring your foreign exchange student here for a sentimental taste of home or anything…but the Clay Pot Ginger Chicken($14) and Singapore Laksa($10) are well done, and enough to conjure up memories of trudging through Southeast Asia with a sweaty backpack.
Can someone from Obao give me a call? If you want snarky sidewalk humor, allow me to offer my consulting services.
Hey guess what? Sorella was even more badass the second time around. My glowing review of this Lower East Side slice of heaven proved it’s cred after I brought 5 other friends to the resto this past Saturday night.
People who initially shriveled their nose in disgust (mental image: how your face looks when you notice someone farted on the subway) at the thought of chicken liver mousse were oohing and ahhing like 4th of July after one bite of Pate de Fegato.
Chef Emma Hearst (who is by the way, totally hot) has updated the menu for summer, with the most notable addition being the pork chop. Breaded in a mixture of Cream of Wheat and graham cracker crumbs, the thick chop is served with a light dressing, microgreens and a few cubes of watermelon. It reminded me of an elephant ear from the Midwestern county fairs of my childhood. A certain someone at my table gave manners a finger and allowed himself to knaw the bone.
Oh, and did I mention the music? Dope mix. Listening to The Cure while savoring a mouthful of bacony risotto really seals my deal.
I can’t even talk about those little donuts…they deserve their own post.
I’ll be honest. I’m a total bitch when it comes to food. If you build a beautiful restaurant and promote as a savior to local foodies, then that’s what I expect. If you park a truck on the corner of 96th and Broadway to peddle tacos, then I expect to enjoy a decent taco (or better yet, a beef tongue burrito).
It’s been a long time since I fell in love with a restaurant. I’ve been to lots of the new spots in town, The Breslin, Ma Peche, and Locande Verde…in addition to the stand bys, The Standard Grill, Momofuku and Extra Virgin. But, it’s been a long time since every single course that came out of the kitchen elicited borderline-inappropriate moans of satisfaction.
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Sorella [95 Allen St., NYC]. An Italian small-plate resto on the Lower East Side that has been churning out deliciousness for the past seventeen months. The menu is designed for sharing, so go with a group of three or more to maximize your ordering power. (Our group of three chicks ordered almost everything on the menu)
The Pate de Fegato, a menu item that transcends seasons despite it’s richness, is a thick slice of English muffin bread toasted with duck fat and topped with airy chicken liver mousse…and put over the edge with a fried egg and tiles of thick crispy bacon. The winter menu featured a beet risotto with arugula, which was earthy and creamy and comfortable.
If you max out your caloric line of credit and consider skipping dessert, skip dessert somewhere else. Sorella treats its dolci menu with equal respect, and expects diners to follow suit. The homemade gelatos and divine Molly’s Birthday Cake will extend the satisfied moaning throughout the end of your meal. Sorella is a restaurant to check your diet at the door, and indulge in the creative (but not exploitative) takes on rustic Piedmontese cuisine.
And if you soon find yourself on an East Coast beach feeling slightly regretful, just skip across the sand with confidence knowing that while you may be slightly chubbier than that boring chic from Murray Hill, you certainly don’t waste your calories having dinner at Banc.
p.s. Resi for 6 at Sorella this Saturday to stuff my face full of their new summer menu. Check back for updated post!
Whenever someone holds a particular disdain for a food that I find impossible not to love, I automatically assume that they just haven’t experienced that food in the proper form. I’m not just a food snob, I’m an optimistic food snob with the belief that palates can be changed. So I was honest. “Excuse me? My match.com profile specifically stated my policy against picky eaters. You probably just haven’t had good sushi.”
Thirty five dates later match.com accounts had been cancelled, but the real moment of truth was upon us. The moment that would ultimately determine our fate: the sushi taste test. We sat in front of Yoshi at Sushi Yasuda [204 E.43rd St., NYC]. The best sushi I’ve consumed in my entire life has been at Yasuda…even superior to a sushi breakfast consumed after the 4am tuna auction at Tokyo’s Tsukiji Market. Yoshi, on the other hand, is my favorite not for scientific reasons or specific skills, but just because he’s cute in a Japanese-anime sort of way.
Yoshi matted an oblong ball of sushi rice in his chubby, hairless hands, and placed a piece of fatty tuna nigiri on the wooden platter in front of him (who we’ll now refer to as Dr. Awesome*).
As he fumbled with his chopsticks and took his first bite of real sushi–I waited with baited breath. “It’s good” he replied. A church choir started singing and the entire restaurant glowed with white light. Yasuda had another convert.
When someone says they don’t like sushi, I immediately assume it’s because they haven’t had good sushi. I indulge in the occasional Whole Foods spicy tuna rolls, but that’s not the real deal shit. Dr. Awesome had Continue Reading