Category Archives: Eats

Best Brunches: NYC

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Brunch is my favorite meal, always has been. It’s also my favorite portmanteau; a perfect blend of  ”bring” and “lunch,” because brunch literally brings breakfast to lunch. Genius. Which, conveniently, also applies to its origination — while most believe brunch to be the lovechild of Hollywood and artisan muffins, they don’t have the whole story. Really, brunch dates back to the pre-Industrial Revolution days when people were running out of excuses to skip church [obvi].

Over the years, it’s developed into the behemoth event that it is [especially in New York, where it's practically an Olympic sport] and choosing where to go is too often left to guerrilla tactics such as looking for the longest line outside the smallest café on the narrowest sidewalk on the coldest day in winter.

And so, to save us all the pain of scouring the streets for various 20-somethings screaming into their phones, “No! They won’t seat us until the whole party is here!,” [the hallmark of a good brunch] I thought…why don’t we just all compare notes and share our favorites?

Here are mine, in no particular order:

1. Resto, Murray Hill

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 1.36.06 PMEverything about Resto is hearty — from the thick-cut bacon to the eggs swimming in tomato sauce and slathered with cheese to the almost-charred tasting coffee. Come hungry. Come because it’s close to your apartment. Come for the ambiance. Stay because you’re subdued by food coma.

It’s all sorts of wonderful.

2. Cafe Orlin, East Villagephoto-38Cafe Orlin is the home of pumpkin pancakes topped with cinnamon-yogurt glaze. Anyone who’s been will tell you to order them. Yelp begs that you do so. The wait staff proffer them as the solution for any debating patron. NY Mag scolds the idiocy of anyone foolish enough to dare consider an alternative plate.

And me? Well I don’t order them and choose instead to stare, longingly, with a smattering of drool on my chin at every plate of them whisking by.

But it’s all good, really. And it’s cheap. And it’s crowded and you should get there early and if you do, you can sit outside and enjoy the sights and sounds of the East Village as it wakes up on Sunday morning.

3. The House, Gramercy

IMG_0739This is a classy one, y’all. This is where you take Grandma and Grandpa when they visit. Where you put on your trusty brunch-pants and favorite brunch-shirt and revel in the glory of being awake/showered/made-up before 11:30 on a weekend — I mean, it’s impossible to feel mature when you’re sitting on your couch, lights off, sucking down Cinnamon Toast Crunch at 4:17 in the afternoon.

No, here you’re a grown-up. You perch on your bar stool, you sit in that revamped carriage house and you exhale a sigh of relief: “I am a mature, put-together adult who can reasonably order a pizza for breakfast and a bloody mary before noon and no one will think less of me…” Or something like that.

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4. The Guilty Goose, Chelsea

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 1.34.45 PMGG is good for exactly one thing: a boozy brunch. It’s the place you go when you wake up at 11 a.m. on a Saturday still mildly-to-completely drunk from the night before and think: “I am never drinking again, unless it is RIGHT now.” You [I] think this because you [I] know drinking is the best cure for a hangover….except that’s not true. It’s not ‘curing a hangover’, let’s be clear, it’s just ‘getting drunk’, again.

Anyway, you roll out of bed and begin assembling your brunch squad. “Guilty Goose in an hour!” you shout down the dark abyss of your hallways, hoping at least one roommate hears. You call your troop of delinquents from the last night, “What?! You’re still in bed?! Haven’t you heard? GG [a pet name, of course] in 30! Get moving!”

You don’t argue about location because where else can you get hours of bottomless mimosa pitchers, enormous entrees and Irish Coffees for $35? Oh, and those freaking frickles that you were certain you hated but suddenly can’t stop eating?

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 1.44.22 PMPlus, you’re spared the nightmare of trying to figure out who-owes-what [the constant curse of professionally stagnant 20-somethings]: “Your meal is $3 more because you added prosciutto. Sorry to be the bearer of the bad news.” “Um, whatever, you two shared an extra french press, hi! We’re even!” “Not really, because I paid .90 cents more on the cable bill this month, so get over yourself. Cheap ass.”

Save yourself. Go to The Guilty Goose.

5. Sarabeth’s, any of the locations

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 1.37.24 PMCrap, I love Sarabeth’s. I loved her from Missouri — hoarding jars of her preserves and hot chocolate mixes in every spare cabinet — and now I love her from a much more reasonable proximity. Between Taylor and I…the whole menu has been sampled. Devoured. Enjoyed. Sighed over. Face-planted into. You get it.

There’s just something magical about it, something that makes Sunday — the only buffer between us and the work week — seem like less of an evil beast, something that immediately gets you thinking, “Everything in here is going to uplift my spirits and make me a better person.” It’s that good. Too good. Especially the Morning Crunch in the summer and the Papa Bear Oatmeal in the winter. Oh, and the $7 dollar grapefruit juice, it’s totally worth it [we swear].

5.28 038There’s more…but I can’t stand to hear my stomach grumble any longer…we’ll have to resume some other time!

Enjoy!

Kambi, East Village, NYC

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I don’t mean to be forward, ramen, but I love you.

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I love your broth, your spice, the way you make me giggle as I inevitably fail at slurping your noodles off my chopsticks and that irrationally shaped spoon.

Plus, I mean, pork. It’s all over you — pork broth, pork fat, pork slices.

I’ve tried a few ‘trendy’ Ramen Houses since moving to New York, and while I left with a warm tummy and a bit of dribble on my chin, none so far compare to Kambi.

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Kambi is simple. Not in that maddeningly minimalistic, asian way where despite your best efforts [all masked with an agitated smile], you can never get comfortable on that backless, wooden, mini stool.

Nope, just simple in a simple way.

It’s nestled between one or seven cheesy stores and the front entrance is slightly blocked by one of those game machines from hell — where you wield a joystick and attempt, tirelessly, to pick up JUST ONE stuffed animal with an impractical crane — so you can see how I passed it so many times [it's practically on my corner] before popping in.

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And while my first instinct is to shake an angry fist in the face of fate for having kept me away so long, I’ve been more than making up for it since my first visit.

I perch at the corner. I whisper “edamame” to the first person who will listen.

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And then I bask in it; the red pepper, the soy sauce, the miso…their commingling scents welcome me in. I let them slip off my coat. Hang up my scarf. Lay down my purse. My worries waft away with the scent of fresh ginger and sautéed garlic.

I pretend like I’ll order something different this time — I mean all ramen is good, right? I should totally try the Wahoo Sio with Chicken, right? Right. I’m definitely doing it this time.

Image 7But then my roommate orders it and it’s not like we need two of them. Plus she needs [needs!] to try my Spicy Miso Ramen with Pork and Chicken Broth, so I should [have to, really] just order it again.

Image 8And so I do. And I sip and I slurp and we giggle and share and an hour or two passes at the rate every day should but never does.

It’s my place.

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And while finding a new “regular” sitting in my corner spot might just send me straight over the edge, I’m happy to share with you, just this one time.

You Should Go to Chinatown

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You should find a large table at a comparatively small restaurant.

You’ve happened upon Fuleen Seafood? Excellent, you’ll love it.

You should bring some alcohol.

You’ve rolled with a 1:1, bottle per person, ratio? I applaud the decision.

Image 8The menu? Seems expansive?

You should order everything.

Image Image 5 Image 6 Image 7You should absolutely plan on making new friends.

They’ll range in sort and story — one will have a lot to say [she will also help herself to a lot to drink...].

Image 1And one will be slightly less of a chatter box…not to worry, he brings his own special something to the experience [namely, his arms and legs].

Image 4You should plan on making a mess…lettuce wraps prove difficult when sober [and, at this moment, "sober" no longer applies to you] and whatever that heavenly sauce is that’s coating your peking duck…well, it’s alarmingly sticky.

Image 2You should also go around the table and play the “in bed” game with each of your fortune cookies.

Image 3Unless you don’t know what that game is…or if you are either of my parents [because...oh gawd...awkward].

Meeting in the Middle

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My older sister came to town this weekend. Our birthdays are only 8 days (along with a few pesky years…) apart and we thought we’d celebrate together.

You know…simultaneously hand each other gifts, stay up late giggling stories from one pillow to the next, bounce around the 5th avenue shops, and gather all our nearest and dearest for a night out…

Here are some photos from our too short, too sweet, and much-too-soon over weekend.

An afternoon spent with L.A. Burdick hot chocolates and shopping…most agreeable companions, if you ask me.

A long dinner, set to the tune of clinking glasses and belly laughs.

We popped over to Empellon Taqueria in the West Village and higher remarks can’t be given: great margaritas, excellent service, and all the tacos my grubby little fingers ever hoped to grab.

(You should go! You should also make a reservation, frequent the bar for a house margarita, and order the skirt steak tacos with a side of smoked cashew salsa…)

And then a farewell and “see you soon” brunch at Resto. Surely, it was our impending separation motivating our orders…

House-made granola with greek yogurt, real bacon, and baked eggs swimming in tomato sauce and positively begging for the companionship of that crusty bread.

And then she was off (to Boston) and so was I (to work).

I miss her already. My small apartment is sure to feel too large when I return home tonight. She one’s of my favorite people; outrageously funny, peculiar (in all the right ways), and she laughs until she cries…which just might be the best quality one could have.

Eat, Eataly, Eated

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Today was one of those days at work. You know, when you stroll in assuming you’ve got just a few revisions waiting after which the stars will magically align and all will be right in the world and you can duck out early…

But then…of course…inevitably really…you are wrong. Attempt #1 quickly becomes attempt #467 and you’re positively dwarfed by drafts.

(sorry! But confidential means con.fi.den.tial!)

What got me through, you ask? Aside from the fact that it is my job and I do actually adore it…I had a little post-work adventure planned.

An olive oil and wine tasting/seminar hosted by two cogs (very, very important cogs, mind you!) in Mario Batali‘s food empire wheel. Nicholas Coleman is Eataly‘s Chief Olive Oil Specialist (and has graced the uber cool pages of GQ) and Dan Amatuzzi (who’s been honored with a place on Zagat’s 30 Under 30 List) who takes care of all the wine.

And so the choosing…

They taste the oils. They cook with the oils. They literally love the oils. They even drink them just like you would wine.

A swirl, a sip, and a nice long savor.

So, tonight, I did too.

We tried three oils. Never could I have imagined the striking difference between regions.

Why?

Well because we Americans so enjoy mixing everything together and selling “Italian Olive Oil”, when really what we should do is sell “Tuscan” or “Sicilian” oils.

We learned about pairing robust, grassy oils (Tuscan) with robust dishes, like steak or tomato sauce.

We learned about the delicate finish a light oil (Ligurian) offers a nice piece of white fish.

And in the end, we learned a lot about our own personal palates.

My favorite?

The Roi Oil from Liguria. It was buttery, light, and had a magnificently sweet finish.

Mario Batali has over 20 finishing oils in each of his kitchens (of which there are many) destined for specific dishes. If you’ve ever experienced the divine pleasure of his food…you are now the proud bearer of his secret.

And then it was time for wine.

A sparkling, which I didn’t love. A white, which I surprisingly did. And a red (pinot noir, to be exact) so velvety I nearly melted into my glass.

If you’re on the prowl for a fuller-bodied pinot, this is your gal. She’s heavier than most, certainly smokier than most, and dances about your mouth long after the glass has left your lips.

Bonus? She’s not all that expensive. $20 a pop and recommended by arguably the premier culinary figure of our time? Consider me sold and one of these on the way!

If you’ve been to Eataly, you know this cannot be all. The night can’t possibly end here, after just a few flights of wine and handfuls of soda crackers.

Oh no, soon after the speeches we retired to a cozy lounge for socializing and (more importantly) snacking.

Antipasto platters overflowing with prosciutto, brie, grapes, olives, crunchy bread and various garnishes filled the room while waiters manned with the wine tasting’s recommendations fluttered about.

Utterly indulgent.

Utterly necessary.

Thank you Eataly!

Lulu & Me Gastrobar, NYC

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I’ve been holding back. This overly romantic dinner with my mom happened ages ago. But it got lost in the shuffle and, alas, is just popping up now.

A few Many Saturdays ago, mom and I ventured over the exquisitely charming, hole-in-the-wall, Lulu & Me Gastrobar.

It’s cute and it’s quaint and its got deals to boot (who doesn’t love a deal?).

So we ducked in and snuggled up in a dark corner booth.

The menu is interesting, and certainly leans towards a small plates/tapas-flavor.

So we mulled over the enticements, each thoroughly discussed with perhaps the world’s most helpful waiter, while sipping white-wine spritzers.

I’ve revealed the family love for garlic…but there’s another particular affinity we all share: bruschetta.

Love.Love.Love.

We plan appetizers, meals, sometimes even desserts around the challenge of what fits on a crostini surface.

So when an entire section of the menu was devoted to our penchant, indulge we did!

Roasted cherry tomatoes, basil and ricotta. I’m not sure what Lulu does to their ricotta, but they do it very well.

And…

Ricotta (heavenly, once more), shrimp, capers, and arugula.

Giggles of delight were heard round the restaurant, I’m sure, as we enjoyed this fare.

Later, as the wine (one I highly recommend) was uncorked,

this arrived.

Ribbons of eggplant and zucchini overflowing with ricotta (you know what I’m about to say…) and smothered in red sauce.

If I go back, I’ll order this twice, once as an appetizer and once as an entrée. It was cozy, indulgent, and perfect for lingering over.

But really, everything at Lulu begged for lingering. The dark mahogany tables, the incredibly affable wait staff, the menu, the wine list…

I do have to admit, however, it wasn’t crowded. Its location caters to the post-work cocktail hour crowd, leaving weekends a bit quiet.

But (there is always a “but”) that’s not all bad! Sometimes the most refreshing thing in the world, and certainly in New York, is being able to sit down, eat good food, and get treated like family. That’s what Lulu is, and that’s what they do.

Go pay them a visit! And order the rollatini…

The Mermaid Inn, NYC

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With only 6 minutes left until Monday turns into Tuesday as I begin this draft, it’s safe to say the day got away from me. It all started off so promisingly with an early workout and doctor’s appointment…but from there it turned into a glorious, glorious on and off napping session until work.

But I’m not here to discuss that. No, no, I’ve something better. Something you must immediately jot down on your to-do list, perhaps even highlighting or decorating it with a garish amount of stickers (I’m, admittedly, guilty of this habit) to convey the proper urgency it requires.

Go to The Mermaid Inn. There are multiple locations, as you’ll see, but I cannot imagine anything better than the East Village hideout I snuck off to last night.

We showed up with just enough time to get in on the specials, and oh my were we glad.

With no seats available inside (it was packed from the moment we sauntered in until we rolled ourselves out) we chose a quaint little corner table on the cutest of quaint little porches.

Before tending to the seemingly endless array of delicious dinner options… this order had to be placed.

No really, it had to.

Sadly, I cannot claim to be an oyster lover…truthfully the texture all but makes my skin crawl. However, all was not lost! The littleneck clams were deliciously salty and thoroughly enjoyed.

So what happened to those slimy little devils I simply refused to touch?

My dining partner is mildly obsessed with the things and they were quickly demolished.

There service was ever so slightly slow, meaning we had ample time to debate, discuss and argue over the entrees.

In the end, the proper choices were made (because I made them ;-) ).

I had the shrimp cocktail and a rather devilishly good grilled romaine salad smothered in a lemon dressing, anchovies and capers.

And he had the famous lobster sandwich with a griddled brioche bun and old bay fries.

Everything was divine. No seriously, divine. Go now (please!).

All in all, it was a splendid evening. I’m already planning a return trip later this week and am dying in anticipation!

If in any way, shape, or form possible…go! You won’t regret it, and I’ll be overwhelmingly jealous.

I’m On A Boat

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(cue Andy Samberg)

It’s been hot in the city lately…concrete, exhaust, and 8 million people all crowding around makes the 90+ degrees feel like 110. So when a Saturday free of work rolled around, I fled.

Where to?

The Larchmont Yacht Club for an afternoon of boating, tubing, swimming and most importantly, relaxing.

While the views and fresh air were amazing…there was one little tidbit that made it even better.

My favorite Bess and our favorite men were there as well!

There was really only one reason to trouble ourselves to leave that position…

A few gloriously thrilling minutes of getting dragged behind a boat running at top speed. Oh, to feel like a 12-year-old again.

But as the sun slipped towards the horizon and our supply of snacks and drinks dwindled away, we headed back in, cleaned up, and reconvened on the veranda for what proved to be a most delicious evening.

A tequila for the lady (tequila, lime juice, club soda and just.a.splash.please of triple sec = a relatively low cal and refreshing cocktail).

And then dinner. Oh gosh, dinner. After appetizers of fresh spring rolls and crispy calamari I didn’t know if room could be found. But then this arrived and I was salivating all over again…

Red snapper topped with grilled papaya and pineapple, sautéed spinach, pearl onions and toasted coconut rice.

I hope the picture is enough because truly, I’ve no other words to make it appear any more amazing.

Murmurs of delight made up the majority of conversation as the sun faded behind the sails of all the beautiful boats.

It was the loveliest of lovely evenings. If anyone is ever so generous and invites to you the LYC (thank you Mark!), do take them up on the offer!

The House, NYC

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Brunch. My favorite meal. My favorite, favorite meal.

I’m always trying to convert those I love most to feel the same, so I labor over choosing just the right place.

This past weekend at The House, I do believe I was spot on! The restaurant is in a refurbished 1854 carriage house, making it a most charming step back in time (perfect for a lazy Sunday, if I may say so).

My older sister and I, plagued with a mutual inability to finish a bloody mary alone, asked for one to share…but the kind bartender went above and beyond and split it for us (double the garnish!) and charged a measly $4 a glass.

If you live in New York City, your jaw is on the floor at the cheapness, I know. So go and get one! It was still a sizable (and unfinished) cocktail.

What else was sizable, you ask?

The complimentary bread and pastry assortment. I fell prey to one sweet roll too many, but that’s what Sundays are for I suppose!

Now…we toiled over this menu. It all looked too good and we wanted a bite of everything, so sharing or splitting was immediately cast out as an option. We needed some of everything.

In the end, my mother ended up with the Breakfast Panino (scrambled eggs, asiago cheese, pancetta).

My sister, the Breakfast Flatbread (sunny side eggs, smoked bacon, gruyere cheese).

I do believe she was on the brink of death from sheer delight.

And I? Well I got the most quintessential-Madison breakfast a restaurant could provide.

A bowl of vanilla yogurt drizzled with honey, served alongside fresh berries, house made granola, and fig preserve.

A perfect start to a summer’s day. You should probably do the same A.S.A.P.

I’ve only been for brunch, but the dinner menu looks great and I’ve got a feeling I might give it a visit soon!

Until then I can only beg and plead and grovel and whine that you need to visit here if you’ve got the chance!

The House

121 E. 17th Street

New York, NY 10003

Bareburger, NYC

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Remember on Friday when I mentioned that I only indulge in burgers when a proper craving hits?

Well…writing about burgers  + seeing this

= a proper craving.

So off to Bareburger we went!

It’s almost as if as my health tastes evolved… so did theirs. Every meat, cheese, produce and grain served is organic and properly sourced.

Even their soda is all-natural. Seeing that little tidbit threw off any and all intentions of behaving maturely and ordering a beer.

It was amazing. I had one more after diving in and finishing off these bubbles far too quickly.

It’s got charm, that much certainly isn’t up for debate. It’s apparently also got a bit of a reputation, we were lucky to smuggle a corner table from the hostess when we did.

My date was ever so amused with the water jug and insisted I take a photo. To be honest (please don’t tell him), he was right and I kind of love the picture.

A few moments of people watching and staring longingly at other diners’ plates later, our meals arrived!

Wait…a salad? at a burger joint? ordered by the devoutest of devout burger lovers?

Yes, I’m completely and utterly guilty of succumbing to the Mexican Salad with Chipotle Chicken, but I had good reason.

These. If someone told me these were fried four times before arriving at my plate, I’d believe them. They were unbelievably crunchy and salty and fried-y (does that work?) and I needed them more than a burger.

Plus I knew this would be within reach, just across the table.

6 ounces of bison, bacon, cheese and caramelized onions hiding between two buttery slices of brioche.

I’m not sure he wanted to, given how much he was enjoying it and how quickly it was disappearing, but somehow I finagled a bite.

And I must say…job well done.

If you’ve never tried bison, I highly recommend you grab your keys and go to your local meat market. It’s not too gamey and balances perfectly between lean and juicy.

Bonus? It’s incredibly healthy. Why? Well because bison are incredibly healthy animals.

They’re handled as little as possible. Unlike those unfortunate commercial cows, their lives are spent on grass and very little of it in the feedlot (read: no chemicals, drugs or hormones). As a result, it boasts a higher iron density than other meats and an ideal proportion of protein, fat, mineral and fatty acids to its caloric value…all making it “the best red meat”.

You can read more about the benefits here, here and here. Take a gander if that sort of thing is of interest!

But I digress. What I want more than for your to eat bison is for you to eat Bareburger bison…or any of their other meats or cheeses or fries and ketchup.

Go!

85 2nd Avenue

New York, NY

10003

(other locations)