Category Archives: NYC

Towering above Brooklyn like a miniature Schlossberg, Sunset Park was THE place to find cooler temperatures and natural breezes in yesterday’s disgusting pre-thunderstorm climate.  Seems like too few of those in the neighborhood knew it, too, as the west-facing side of the park, with its panoramic views from Staten Island to Downtown Brooklyn and the distant Empire State building, was not nearly as crowded as I would have expected.  Though I didn’t stay long (no umbrella and weather rolling in meant I went back to my sweaty apartment and sulked), it was the only time I’ve felt human sans air conditioning in the last week and a half.

Yes, Virginia, I was inspired to return to Sunset Park by my bus trip through the area Monday night.  A neighborhood where the taqueria has seemingly replaced the diner as meeting point and budget dining option is my kind of place, and my visit was in many ways long overdue.  I too long lamented the lack of good Mexican in NYC without actually going to the Mexican neighborhood one stop away on the train – duh.

I ate at Tacos Matamoros, where neighborhood residents dropped in for a Styrofoam cup of water, take-out, or just to hang out with their friends for a minute before heading up to the park’s pool, courts, or informal-but-intense soccer games.  I suppose some, like the older man in the corner, were even there to ogle the servers, who dress more like cocktail waitresses.  

I was there for the tacos, though, and when I perused the menu, I was shocked to find that most of the tacos were a buck each.  Remembering a long-ago Chowhound post, I thought that there was a good chance that these were actually mini-tacos, and I ordered a quartet of them accordingly.

As the plate arrived, I knew I had guessed correctly – the tortillas were about the size of a compact disc (remember those?) and came with about half the filling of one normal-sized taco.  But, brilliantly, this size adjustment had enabled me to sample four different fillings: al pastor, suadero, tongue, and chorizo.  Tongue was obviously the outlier here, as I had never tried it before.  If you ignore the total lack of visual appeal, it actually tastes pretty good, and has a perfectly acceptable texture – they must marinate it, as it tastes very little like the pickled tongue I’ve had on sandwiches before.

The suadero was considerably more chunky than I recall Guerreros’ being, and without that taqueria’s sublime, melt-in-your-mouth flavor.  The al pastor was better, and I took a small pan-cultural thrill from seeing the spinning gyro-style skewer in the back (apparently introduced to Mexico by Lebanese immigrants!), but the lack of fruit and thrilling marinade didn’t thrill me.  It’s unlikely the chorizo was cooked fresh (a la Pio Maya on a lucky day), but it was probably my favorite of the fillings.  Make sure and lean over your plate, as the greasy meat juices will not be contained by your tortilla.

$6 later (tax and tip included), I was on my merry way to the park.  For the price, it’s really hard to complain, but when I know that Guerreros lies twenty blocks closer to home and is SUBLIME rather than merely good, my loyalty has not been challenged.  Further neighborhood investigations are definitely necessary.

Some additional commentary on Sunset Park, the neighborhood: the area around the park, particularly on the 7th Avenue side, is really nice.  If I were a real estate investor, I’d be so much more apt to buy in this neighborhood than Bushwick, for instance – the housing stock has obviously been well maintained, and the train options (9th Avenue/37th Street D, 4th Avenue/36th Street D/N/R/M, etc.) are, in my opinion, superior.  (As you get over to 9th Avenue, things start to look a bit more ragged, but not overwhelmingly so.)  Besides, where else are you going to have a Chinatown about three blocks from Little Mexico?  Fascinating place.

I think this week might end up being Brooklyn-only – last night, I went to the 21st entry on the list, Damascus Gate, on 5th Avenue at 72nd Street in Bay Ridge, and following after the delicious Greek-stravaganza of Sunday night, I feel like I’m on a roll.  

Not because the roll that came with the (store-bought) pitas and the Damascus Platter ($10.95) was necessarily that great, mind you, nor because the waitress was a cute relief from the often-surly and almost-always-ancient wait staff of many of my destinations.  It’s because I was hot and hungry, and the food was (mostly) cool, and, just like Sunday night, totally delicious.

Indeed, the platter was an excellent sampler of the meze dips of Syria, sided with two falafel nuggets and two stuffed grape leaves.  The obvious hummus and babaganouj were excellent, but the mtabbal, which seemed to be comprised of garlic mashed up with eggplant and peppers, was good and unique enough that I considered taking home a gallon.  Also worthy of appetizer consideration in summer homes everywhere: the yogurt-y concoction that resembled a cross between tzatziki and cacik (the name escapes me, of course – I didn’t see any takeout menus, and the whole note-taking operation seems so…professional).

As to the grape leaves and falafel – the former were good, and I haven’t historically been the biggest fan (something about them sitting around for days on end, perhaps).  The falafel were, thankfully, freshly deep fried, and provided excellent leverage for the dips when the bread ran out.

After the meal, I grabbed the B63 bus all the way up 5th Avenue to Bergen Street (it took quite a while, let me tell you).  I’d never seen Sunset Park’s 5th Avenue strip before, and there are a TON of possibilities for eating there.  The park looked quite nice, too – maybe on a cooler weekend day, I’ll mosey on down and grab some picnic tacos.

Last night’s solo excursion to Bay-Dyker Ridge-Heights (in the shadow of the Verrazano Bridge run-up) was inspired by Friday’s Sietsema article which promised good, cheap gyro.  I felt a bit like those people who immediately swamp the latest chic restaurant after the NYT offers its esteemed opinion.  Difference being that, when I got to Spartan Souvlaki, there was one table taken, rather than hordes of review-chasing glitterati stuffed into every corner.  Thank goodness.

Spartan Souvlaki’s premises are anything but undecorated – it’s the only restaurant I’ve been to in the last few years (with the possible exception of the dining room in my great-grandmother’s nursing home) that has had flowers painted on the ceiling.  The rest of the décor seems to be like the living room in a suburban McMansion as imagined by someone whose hobby was painting reproductions of ancient pottery.

Let none of this distract you from looking to your right upon entry – behind glass and running rampant over the condiment cooler is a pile of some of the ripest tomatoes I’ve ever seen.  On days like today, when the heat is so bad that cold meals seem far preferable, it’s enough to make you wish for a cucumber or possibly some fresh mozzarella.  They find good application, though, in the gyro sandwich – a true monsterpiece that adds enormous heapings of yummy meat, lettuce and red onions to the tomatoes, and adds a generous dollop of tzatziki to bind it all together.  Warning: this tzatziki has so much raw garlic in it that it is just as pungent as a hot pepper, only without capsaicin.  It’s enough to ward off Dracula, or maybe just figure out if that cute girl you dragged out here really likes you or just wants a weird story to write about on her blog.  Mmm, garlic-breath.

A brief word on the meat itself: Gyro meat should not be the same formulation as doner kebap meat.  Something about the spicing changes between the Turkish and Greek meat, despite visual similarity.  In my opinion, too, it shouldn’t be dripping – the meat should have fat, but it ideally walks the line between un-rendered grossness and dripping greaseness.  Spartan Souvlaki gets this, and I’m glad they do – it’s the best Gyro I’ve had in a long time, and maybe ever.

Did I mention it was huge?  Okay, fair enough, but you should also know that it’s sided with fresh, skin-on, hand-cut French fries that are mighty tasty.  Save some room.

I used to go to a Greek place outside the city walls of Rothenburg o.d.T, Germany – it was one of the few places in town that served anything but German food, and was also the last place to eat (besides the Shell station, which sadly had no microwavable burritos) on the way back to the place I was staying.  I’d grab a table in the leafy garden (I actually don’t think I ever went in!) and have a leisurely meal.  Spartan Souvlaki, which also has a fairly pleasant-looking outside garden that I’ll investigate on a cooler day, is Brooklyn’s equivalent, and I actually think the food is better.   Sweet.

I only want fried onions once a summer, but it’s an itch that I absolutely have to scratch.  Why just once?  Well, mostly because afterwards I feel moderately ill, like I’ve been funneling the grease at the bottom of the fry-o-lator, and that’s regardless of how light the batter is.

Fortunately, a few places on Cape Cod combine onion expertise with seafood know-how, and the jointly-owned fry shacks Kate’s and Liam’s, on Route 6A in Brewster and on Nauset Beach in Orleans, respectively, churn out some of the best onion-and-fried-frutti-di-mare combos that you’ll ever lay lips on.

Liam’s beachside shack used to house the longtime institution Philbrick’s, which my mother and her cousins swear had the best onion rings in the universe, but they lost their lease somewhere around 15 years ago and moved into downtown Orleans for a few unsuccessful summers.  Having been too young to really give the Philbrick’s onions a fair comparison, I can only say that I can’t envision them being any better than Liam’s, which are practically perfect.  Sliced to tiny strands and fried in a flour dough so light it makes the food service onion ring batter look like sandy cement, then served to you in an overflowing miniature rowboat-shaped container, the only thing that can improve them is a hot summer’s day and a large soda.  (They’re available in sizes ranging from small to jumbo, and prices from $4 to $9.50.)

Kate’s, as befits its common ownership with Liam’s, also serves these onions – with the added bonus that you don’t have to have to pay the Nauset parking fee or brave the sandy crowds (though Liam’s does stay open after the parking fee ends in the evening).  Many menu items are a buck or two cheaper, too, including the delicious whole clams (Liam’s is $14 per half pint, Kate’s is $13).  The scallops (half pint $11.50) were my choice on a recent summer’s afternoon, and while the scallops one is served in a restaurant these days border on the planetary, the taste and cooking technique were unimpeachable.

As far as things I wasn’t impressed with, I can’t say that I really thought the clam fritters were that interesting, nor was the cole slaw anything but standard-issue food service quality.  But then, you’re not really there for the slaw, are you?  If you still have room after the fried goodies are gone, you should be aiming at ice cream or a frappe, not cabbage and mayo.  Me, I had room for neither, my fried onion and seafood objective for the year having been fulfilled, and the associated groaning having just begun.  

I’m writing this up really quickly before dashing to Penn to catch my beloved Acela, but I wanted to make note of the most successful (in terms of attendance) $20/D dinner yet before shoving off to the Cape for nine days.

I and nine others (would have been eleven others, if not for a sudden rainstorm-induced bout of laziness) barreled into De Guerreros Taqueria last night. Along with one visiting Welshman, whose introduction to Mexican food could not have been more authentic, my friends were as enthusiastic as possible about the array of food.

This enthusiasm translated initially into my ordering two batches of chilaquiles while everyone else perused the menu. Of the two, the red, which I hadn’t previously sampled, was the less spicy – but, of course, I liked the green better. One friend whose mother is Mexican said that he was surprised, considering the ubiquity of the dish south of the border as both leftover catch-all and breakfast(!) food, that it hadn’t caught on up here. I agreed, and so did everyone who tasted it.

Most folks ordered tacos, me included, and we managed to sample three-quarters of the offered varieties: bistec/steak, cesina/salted beef, chorizo/sausage, al pastor/marinated pork, barbacoa/goat, carnitas/pork, suadero/steamed pork, and pollo/chicken. I promise we’ll get to the tongue, ear, and stomach next time. Of them, the cesina was the most surprising to me – definitely really salty, but delicious. It’d make a fine sandwich – a possibility for subsequent visits.

Others’ favorites were the chorizo, which bests Pio Maya’s on flavor, if not freshness, the suadero, which everyone oohed and ahhed over just as I did upon first tasting it, and the al pastor, which was quickly devoured by everyone who ordered it. The bravest among us tried my goat taco and admired the way it simply melted in our mouths – “tastes like the earth,” someone affirmed.

Of the non-taco-orderers, the chicharron (fried pork rind) and quesillo (cheese) gorditas were popular, if heavy, options. Similar corn meal was used to shape the huarache (which looked like a dugout canoe or a long incense burner) and the quesadilla (which bore no cheese, to the great surprise of the person who ordered it). Personally, I liked the tacos better, but you really can’t go wrong either way.

No margaritas are served (though we kidded about taking up a collection for a slushee machine for the place), but grab a beer across the street (one quart of Tecate is $2.75), or at the Polish market on 4th Avenue by the train (where I was charged $1.29 each for several 17 ounce beers with names I couldn’t pronounce). You won’t even miss the tequila.

Thanks to the lovely couple who cook at De Guerreros – they’re damn good at what they do. Go see for yourself.

Late night hunger pangs got you wondering if there’s an alternative to ordering from Bedouin Tent for the billionth time?  That’s where I was last night, anyway.  I love the Tent, and their delivery times (avg: ten minutes, for pete’s sake) can’t be beat.  I just couldn’t bear to order another merguez, though, so I trooped off through the humid-but-temperate night in search of one of the all-night Yemeni places on Atlantic Avenue.

I had thought to go to Hadramout, which was reviewed in the Voice not long ago, but before I got to the block in question, another place had caught my eye: Sanaa, which is named after the capital city of the former North Yemen.  I’m not any kind of expert in south Arabian cuisine, but the geographical difference (the area after which Hadramout is named is in the former South Yemen) was enough to lure me in.

One point of difference: Sanaa’s cuisine seems to be a bit more expensive than some of the comparable restaurants further down the block, perhaps befitting its new and recently renovated space (though the décor is mostly photos of the eponymous city).  As is true of all Atlantic Avenue’s Yemeni outposts, most of the Yemeni entrees are over ten bucks – you should note, though, that they probably have enough food to be shared.  As I wished to keep my expenses down, I flipped through the menu until I found something that sounded vaguely familiar: fatteh with dates for only $6.  To hedge my bet, particularly since I didn’t recall what fatteh was, exactly, I ordered some French fries on the side.

As sometimes happens when I order somewhat blindly, I ended up with an amazing meal.  The fatteh, which apparently ordinarily is a stew made of day-old pita (shades of chilaquiles, indeed), was completely pita-free, or at least that’s the way it seemed.  Instead, I was treated to a broken pancake made from ground dates and what seemed similar to rice krispies.  The combination of textures and sweet flavor (particularly on the edge pieces, which had a lovely crunch) was perfect.

The fries turned out to be fine examples of the frozen food service type, and were only $2.  Extraneous, though, particularly when you consider the soup that arrived before the fatteh – a kind of lentil soup that reminded me of sambar sans capsaicin.  The lemon wedge on the side doesn’t really add much to the flavor, though, in my opinion.

Take-out or eat-in, this meal is under ten bucks, and is a great change of pace from the usual options.  Fat chance I won’t go back to try the banana and honey & butter fattehs – Sanaa is a new favorite.

Normally I wouldn’t flip over a coffee shop, but this one’s too cool and conveniently-located (to me) not to give a shout out to: The Nascent, located at Bergen St. and Nevins St. in Boerum Hill, has recently begun operations.  Previously, the space was a doctor’s office, and they’ve done an amazing job of renovating it to an atmospheric and comfortable hang-out.  Wood-block-style prints and other nature-themed artwork adorn the walls, the countertop is adorned with hand-blown glass pyramids, and the floor sparkles with some kind of inlaid shiny grit.  Quite frankly, like the Brooklyn Circus clothing emporium across the street (where one can lately purchase “Vote for Huey [Newton]” t-shirts), it’s cooler than I would have ever expected a nearby joint to be.  As the owner admitted to me on one visit, the operation is a “labor of love,” and it really shows.

Fortunately, the quality atmosphere extends to quality baked goods and coffee, as well.  Like Baked but too lethargic to make the trek to their orange premises on Van Brunt?  The Nascent carries a healthy selection of their ungodly good treats, including a sugar-encrusted berry-infused scone that falls somewhere on the density scale between a crumbly cookie and a dense cake.  Brownies and cookies also are particularly nice, and the coffee has not yet been burnt on my visits.

I should also mention that The Nascent has wireless internet available, though I don’t know its cost.  So you could theoretically read this review from there – that’s surely a first for this blog.

Last night, I attempted to make a visit to the city’s most prominent (only?) Tajik eatery, Dushanbe.  Regrettably (for them, especially), I found no sign of a restaurant with that name at 1915 Coney Island Avenue – what I did find was a restaurant called “Night Dreams” that appeared to be shuttered, judging by the amount of mail that was piled on the other side of the locked glass doors.  Oh well, I thought, and trudged back under the Q tracks to grab a doner kebap from Memo.

This morning, pondering a write-up, I decided that I needed to count up how many places I’d been to on the list.  I was suspicious, with Dushanbe a scratch, that I was at fifty, and that some kind of halfway celebration was in order.

Close, but no phyllo cigar, as it turned out: counting Dushanbe and the three other closures so far (Samwongahk, which I didn’t get to, and Pop’s Pierogies and Philoxenia, which I did), I was teetering on the precipice of forty-nine.  Forty-nine, of course, meant that I had no article: unless you’re a multiplication table freak, the number has no special significance.

Thus, I simply HAD to go somewhere for lunch today.  No question, this makes things a bit difficult – while there are some Manhattan options close by that remained un-reviewed, I’ve at least BEEN to most of them at this point, and that wouldn’t help me get any closer to 50% nirvana.  Paging through the list, I noticed only one place, in fact, that I hadn’t been to and that was close enough to stretch out a lunch hour for: Taam-Tov.

Problem was, when I showed up at 46 West 47th Street, the building (as well as the one next to it) looked abandoned and with markings on them that seemed to indicate imminent demolition.  “Yet another closure?” I asked myself.  Walking towards 5th Avenue, I hoped that the address was a typographical error, but alas, decided to walk back on the opposite side of the street about twenty feet from 5th.  Not enough time during the lunch hour to fart around, I knew, and there was always the Kwik Meal cart somewhere nearby…

…then I found Taam-Tov.  It’s merely moved across the street to 41 West 47th, thank ‘hova, and its third floor balcony was a perfectly pleasant, if bizarre, lunchtime atmosphere, when you ponder that I spend more time in outer borough neighborhoods than midtown.  (Note: it’s only open from 10am to 5pm, weekdays.)

I was lured a bit into over-ordering, as is lately usual: $2 fresh-baked lepeshka bread lead to $4 worth of excellent hummus, which begat an order of 2 lula kebabs sided with French fries for $7 (or $3.50 each).  The lula were cooked through but not dry, and had just the right amount of grease.  The fries were fresh-cut marvels with just the right amount of crunch and salt.  To be fair, you could order either half of this array of food and be perfectly happy (I ran out of gas a few bites into the second kebab).  The meat is also about 50-75% more expensive than in Rego Park, but, hell, you’re on 47th Street!  If I worked in Midtown, I’d eat here twice a week, I bet.

So, to summarize, I’m now halfway through the list – fifty of a hundred restaurants sampled, and probably forty of those reviewed by this point.  To be honest, once I committed to the blog idea last September (about two months after I found the list and decided to use it for exploration purposes), I thought I’d have no trouble finishing the list by the time the next one came out.  As it turns out, I was both somewhat stymied by time concerns and by life in general.
Things I’ve learned:

1. People are either really interested in what I’m doing, or not at all.
2. Identifying this early in a conversation is critical.  Identifying this early in a potential relationship even more so.
3. I have fantastic friends and superb readers (those categories have grown to be mutually inclusive, to some extent) who have contributed immensely to this blog’s success, through suggestion, companionship, and encouragement.  This is especially important and unique when you consider that…
4. …precious few people are actually willing to go to the furthest corners of New York in search of interesting eats and…
5. …still fewer are willing to do it regularly.
6. One of those who WAS willing to do it regularly is now my EX-girlfriend, which just goes to show you that there’s more to solving life’s complexities than going out to dinner…
7. …but not much more.
8. New York City is a stern, demanding taskmistress, but I love her anyhow.

Now, as to the last fifty: I won’t be able to finish them, I am sure, by the time the next top 100 list comes out.  However, the new edition may not cover the same subject matter as 2005’s, so I suppose I’ll play it by ear as to whether to stick with the current edition or upgrade.  I’m guessing that, if “Cheap Chow Now” is still the theme, that I will have been to quite a few of the included places already, but, again, we’ll see – Mr. Sietsema is nothing if not gloriously unpredictable.

P.S.  I am officially dropping the NY Metro list from this blog’s masthead and objectives list, primarily because most of the rest of their list isn’t cheap enough.  You don’t mind, certainly?

On Saturday, Sophmoricles and I attended the Gothamist-A Hamburger Today “QBQ-BBQ.”  As this will no doubt be one of the most-blogged food events of the year, I don’t need to go too terribly in-depth with my coverage, but I will say that Harry’s Water Taxi Beach is a great spot, even if it’s a leap of faith get there (especially with the 7 out of service).  I’m sure that when LIC is built up, the layout will make more sense, but for now, with the beach at the far end of a parking lot, nobody stumbles in by accident.

As for the burgers – the elk burger arrived from Moscow, Idaho frozen and, frankly, tasted like it.  It was probably a wise decision to cook this one first, and it seemed like most people skipped it, in any case.  Having had great buffalo and venison meats before, though, I wasn’t about to pass it up.  Alas, though the flavor was intriguing, the after-effects of the freeze and the lean-ness of the meat seem to have conspired to make a less-than-appealing product.  I salute Harry and team for thinking out of the box, though.

Both Soph and I skipped the Motz burger – not out of disrespect for Mr. George Motz, guest of honor and active and integral part of the cooking team, but rather out of interest in the last three “specialty” burgers: the “Guber” burger (a recipe from the Wheel Inn in Sedalia, MO), the New Mexico Green Chile/Vermont Cheddar burger, and the Wisconsin butter-burger.

As it stood, we only managed to try the first two of the trifecta before Soph and I had to depart (I to hip-hop karaoke at Southpaw, with special guest star Big Daddy Kane, he to try and catch an express A train back to his uptown headquarters), but I will go out on a limb and declare that the Guber burger deserves to be considered on burger menus outside Missouri.  As easy as the preparation is, with heated Peter Pan peanut butter is applied to the patty at a late stage of grilling, and as good as the flavor is, since the peanut taste and the fatty, slightly crusted burger are a match made in sweet-savory heaven, it seems like an easy crowd-pleaser.  I’ll be featuring these at the Cape later this summer, no doubt.

The green chile cheeseburger was also pretty fantastic (you had me at the Cabot cheddar, guys), though I had the vague sense that I’d probably eaten something like it before out west.  Soph and I agreed that the level of spice was oversold, but I’m a spice freak and he’s a budding medical professional, so perhaps others had different reactions.

I’m sure the butter burger was delicious, too, but we took off after the first three segments of Mr. Motz’s movie had shown.  The film looked quite intriguing, actually, and I’ll look forward to seeing it at some future point.

(Special shout out for the fries, by the way.  I would have come out to Water Taxi beach just for those – fresh cut skin-on potatoes, golden fried with the perfect amount of salt.  Crazy delicious.)

Thanks to Adam, Matty, George, Harry, Jen, and the rest of the AHT-Gothamist-Harry’s team for making this event happen – deliciousness and beautiful views aplenty.