Brindle Room

The Brindle Room opened last March on a sleepy stretch of East 10th Street that doesn’t get much foot traffic.

The nouveau-Korean Persimmon was once here, but it is hard to imagine a more thorough transformation. The look is comforting, with exposed brick, polished dark wood tables and banquettes, and a warm butterscotch glow on the upper walls and ceiling.

The obscure name—Brindle is a shade of brown and black-speckled dog fur—has nothing to do with the cuisine, vaguely Southern-influenced comfort food that strays well past the usual boundaries. A poutine, much admired by reviewers, was offered for a while, but it seems to be on summer hiatus.

The menu is focused, which is always a good sign. There are fewer than twenty items in three categories—Spreads ($6–9), Small ($8–15), and Large ($19–23)—which inspires confidence that Chef Jeremy Spector is serving what he knows he can make well, and not wasting time by trying to please everybody.

There are just five entrées, er, Large Plates, with an emphasis on sharing the smaller ones, but as I was there alone I went the conventional route, ordering one of each.

 

An ample salad of Salt Roasted Beets ($8) with stilton blue cheese may not win any award for originality, but it was one of the most luscious, vibrantly favored beet salads I’ve had this year, and amply portioned at the price.

The Parmesan Crusted Pork Chop ($23), featured on OzerskyTV a couple of months ago, deserves the accolades. It’s massive, and Spector cooks it perfectly on the pink side of medium. The parmesan crust was slightly too aggressive for my taste, but I am a shade more sensitive to salt than most diners, which probably means Spector is getting it right. The chop is served atop a tomato and green leaf salad that could be a proper appetizer.

The beverage list, like the rest of the menu, is focused and not expensive: who else serves $9 cocktails these days? I was in a beer mood; $12 buys an 18-ounce bottle of Samuel Smith’s Organic Cider. It’s nowhere near as sweet as most alcoholic ciders and paired well with the pork.

On weekends, the East Village starts late and ends late. At 7:00 p.m., I had the place to myself, but a late summer Saturday evening is probably atypical. It would be pointless to judge the service when the staff had only one customer, but I found the Brindle Room comfortable and relaxing, the food excellent for its ambition and its price point.

The Brindle Room (277 E. 10th St. between 1st Avenue & Avenue A, East Village)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Breakfast at The Breslin

Like most hotel restaurants, The Breslin is compelled to serve breakfast. I say compelled because it is not the meal into which the chef pours much creative energy, although it is comparatively lucrative. The profit margin on a $2.50 cup of coffee must be around five hundred percent.

Still, April Bloomfield’s fingerprints are all over the menu: I don’t know of many places that serve poached eggs with curried lentils, yoghurt, and cilantro, or beans in pork fat. Ricotta, Bloomfield’s favorite cheese, makes an appearance in at least two dishes.

 

I had the Seasonal Frittata with — yes, riccotta ($14) — and the house-cured bacon ($7). Unlike the bacon you have at home, Bloomfield’s doesn’t get crisp. It is really a portion more appropriate for sharing, given the high fat content, but there I was by myself . . . and finished it.

The Breslin (16 W. 29th Street between Broadway & Fifth Avenue, West Midtown)

The Pub Mutton Chop at Keens Steakhouse

I’ve written before about the so-called Legendary Mutton Chop (it is actually lamb) at Keens Steakhouse. It’s the most quirky item on the menu: no other restaurant I know of serves lamb butchered this way.

The mutton chop in the dining room costs $45, and like most steakhouse portions is more than all but the hungriest diner will finish.

In the pub, they serve a half-sized version for $25 that is still ample, especially if you order appetizers and side dishes. (The limp greens that come with it are nothing to write home about.)

It is nice to have warm rolls offered beforehand; not so nice that they are served with butter that just came out of the fridge.

Still, it is worth your consideration if you’re in the Herald Square area and want a light bite without signing up for a heavy steakhouse meal.

The other useful thing is that there is no break between lunch and dinner service: Keens is open continuously from 11:45 a.m. until late.

Keens Steakhouse (72 W. 36th St. between Fifth & Sixth Avenues, West Midtown)

Lunch at Prime Meats

 

To visit Prime Meats for dinner, you need the Goldilocks plan. A couple of months ago, I arrived at 6:30 p.m. on a Saturday evening, when the wait was quoted as two hours. That was too late. (I dined at the same owners’ Frankies Spuntino instead.) Last week, I was so over-eager that I arrived at 4:45 p.m., which is considered the lunch shift. That was too early. Maybe next time will be Just Right.

In any event, I had traveled an hour to get here from Washington Heights, and I was not going to waste the opportunity. Prime Meats at 4:45 is almost empty, which is delightful. You can sit back, relax, enjoy the late afternoon sun, and not feel guilty that a hundred other people want your table.

With its Germanic Alpine theme, Prime Meats is an odd follow-up from two guys who opened a pair of Italian snack & sandwich places, both called Frankies Spuntino. It shares with them its rustic homespun décor, a commitment to locally-sourced ingredients and making as much as possible in-house.

They also share a no-reservations policy, and until recently credit cards weren’t taken either. Sam Sifton spent four paragraphs of an otherwise glowing two-star review complaining about that, and within a week they caved. American Express is now accepted.

At lunch, Prime Meats serves a much abbreviated version of its dinner menu, and the items in common are a dollar or two cheaper. (Click on the image above for a larger version.)

I’m sure that either Steak Frites ($25) or a burger ($15) would be just fine, but I wanted a better example of the restaurant’s Teutonic theme, so I decided on the Vesper Brett ($14), an “Alpine tasting board” with mixed charcuterie.

It’s a bit like a sandwich without the bread—an Atkins-friendly appetizer. I won’t try to describe the different meats, all excellent, which included everything listed on the menu and more (e.g.,duck prosciutto, fanned out in the lower-left quadrant of the photo).

Like the charcuterie boards at most restaurants these days, the Vesper Brett works best for sharing: it’s really too big to be an appetizer for one. As I was alone, I settled for that and a side dish of sautéed spinach with garlic ($6)—again, too much for one person, but very good for what it was.

 

The bread service, though, was underwhelming.

There is an alcoholic punch of the day ($5), which on this occasion featured gin, mint, and lime, with a hint of grapefruit juice. It came in an itsy bitsy glass, and even with the restaurant empty, it took a long while for the server to notice I was ready for a re-fill.

If you don’t live in Carroll Gardens, and you’re not keen on waiting for an hour or more, it’s hard to find the right time for a visit to Prime Meats. One of these days, when the time is right, I’ll try again.

Prime Meats (465 Court St. at Luquer St., Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn)

Death & Co.

Death & Co. was the third stop on my speakeasy crawl—after Please Don’t Tell and Angel’s Share. As I write this, I see that their website is blocked at work, which is hilarious, given that there are dozens of other bars with websites that I can get to easily.

There’s no hidden door to get into Death & Co. The street entrance is in plain sight, but it’s a barely-marked wooden door with the name of the establishment written in such small print that you could easily miss it.

Like the other speakeasies, standees aren’t allowed, so you have to wait until a seat is available. The host is outside, so you don’t even get to look at the place until he lets you in. It was about 9:00 p.m., which is pretty early for a Friday night in the East Village; even so, I waited about five minutes, but I was alone. For couples, the host had a long waiting list.

The dark photo (above) is no exaggeration: there isn’t a lot of light. Like a casino, there are no open windows, and you could easily lose track of time. But I hadn’t lost track of my cocktail count, and I decided to have just one.

The cocktail menu is in categories organized by the main ingredient (gin, rum, tequila, brandy, etc.). They are every bit as inventive, and as well made, as at Please Don’t Tell. I settled on the Black Magic ($13; cognac, angostura, 5-year rum, white crème de menthe, fernet branca, and absinthe).

The food here is compelling, with a selection of bar snacks (most under $15) that go beyond the obvious—for a cocktail bar. I had an order of really well made barbecued pulled-pork sliders ($12): three plump helpings of pork on toasted mini-buns, and potato salad too. Most nights, that could be dinner for me.

I’m not quite sure when I’ll make it back—the line to get in is rather daunting (to me)—but I was impressed here.

Death & Co. (433 E. 6th Street between First Avenue & Avenue A, East Village)

Angel’s Share

After a visit to Crif Dogs & Please Don’t Tell, I continued my East Village speakeasy crawl at Angel’s Share. The name comes from the splash of wine in each wine bottle that sommeliers sometimes keep for themselves — the angel’s share, as it is called.

Like other speakeasies, this one is hard to find. The tiny number 6 above the door is the only hint of an address. It’s not even immediately apparent that you can eat here.

Go up the stairs, and you’re plunged into a Japanese restaurant called Village Yokocho. The entrance to Angel’s Share is behind an unmarked wooden door. A hostess escorts you to the bar or a table, and as at other speakeasies, they will not accommodate you unless there is a vacant seat.

In 2002, New York called Angel’s Share the city’s best date bar, but I found the space charmless, the lighting too bright and unkind, the servers unfriendly. Even the menu seemed a bit shopworn.

I later spoke to a beverage director who has no interest in any East Village bars. He said, “I have no idea why Angel’s Share is mentioned in the same breath as PDT or Death & Co.”

I ordered a Cousin Mary, a cousin to the Bloody Mary, with cucumber, black pepper & garlic infused vodka, olive juice, onion vinegar, celery salt, and a garnish of olive & pearl onions.

In less time than it took me to write all that in my iPhone, the drink appeared. Actually, I had no more than glanced away for a few second. Clearly, it was pre-made, and poured from a pitcher. Not bad, but you can get a Bloody Mary anywhere.

Angel’s Share (6 Stuyvesant Street, east of Third Avenue, East Village)

Crif Dogs & Please Don’t Tell

 

The faux speakeasy cocktail bar is the most prominent development in the Manhattan drinking scene over the last five years.

Historically, of course, speakeasies were establishments that sold alcohol illegally. The modern speakeasy is legit, but usually concealed—as if it had something to hide. There is often a hidden or unlabeled door, and many of these places won’t admit you unless there is an open seat. There is generally a host at the door, as opposed to the usual bar, where you just saunter in and fend for yourself.

Last week, I went on an East Village “pub crawl” of three speakeasy-style cocktail bars that I had long wanted to try: Please Don’t Tell, Angel’s Share, and Death & Co. (The latter two are covered in subsequent posts.) That’s probably not the best way to experience them, assuming a normal alcohol tolerance, but I wasn’t sure when I’d find another opportunity.

It’s hard to imagine two more incongruous establishments operating under one roof, and having common ownership, than Crif Dogs and Please Don’t Tell. From the outside, all you see is the sign for “Crif Dogs,” with a giant hot dog bearing its insoucient catch phrase, “eat me.”

Inside, Crif Dogs is as divey-looking as you can imagine. Dimly lit, with a low ceiling and plain aluminum tables, it is an indoor hotdog stand. The name, by the way, is an inside joke. One of the owners (Brian Shebairo) once tried to say the name of his business partner, Chris Anista, while he had a hot dog in his mouth. It came out “Crif”.

Despite the Spartan surroundings, the owners aspire to serve the city’s best hot dog, and they just might have managed it. They deep-fry the wieners in fat, locking in flavor and giving the skin a satifying crunch.

The menu (click on the image, above left, for a larger version) offers seventeen varieties of hot dogs ($2.50–5.00), along with numerous optional toppings and side dishes. Beers ($3 or less) are the only alcoholic beverages.

You can make up your own hot dog with à la carte toppings, but I decided to order the server’s recommendation, the Tsunami, a bacon-wrapped hot dog with teriyaki, pineapple, and green onions.

Such odd combinations are typical of the menu, but if the rest of their zany creations are as good as this, then consider me hooked. I didn’t taste much teriyaki, but I loved the pineapple-bacon contrast, as well as the hot dog’s crunchy casing.

Please Don’t Tell (PDT), the adjoining cocktail lounge, does not open until 6:00 p.m. I had arrived at 5:45, which was about all the time it took to order and consume my hot dog.

In the meantime, the people-watching made a fascinating study. If you didn’t know about PDT, you’d wonder about the people walking in, looking just a bit lost, dressed as if they were going to a three-star restaurant. (The PDT website doesn’t even supply an address.)

The entrance is behind a “false” unlabeled antique phone booth in a corner of Crif Dogs. Open the door, and you feel a bit foolish. There is a white phone inside. It was out of order when I visited, but when it’s working you pick up, and a hostess answers. If there is space for you, a steel door opens in the back of the booth, and you’re admitted.

Reservations at the tables notoriously sell out by mid-afternoon (they are taken same-day only), but the bar is first-come, first-served. As I was there early, I was seated immediately. Later on (or so I hear), you cool your heels with a hot dog while you wait for someone to leave, as standees aren’t admitted.

A more pronounced contrast to Crif Dogs could not be imagined. The bar is a gorgeous space. The booths and bar stools are plush and comfortable. The bartenders are solicitous, smartly dressed, and work with surgical precision. Cocktails are served with ice cubes the size of a fist—keeping the booze cold, without diluting it.

The menu lists a couple of dozen specialty cocktails, though you can also go off-book. But as this was my first visit, I stuck with the printed list.

The two cocktails I had are typical. A Benton’s Old Fashioned (bacon-infused bourbon, maple syrup, angostura bitters) had a deep smokey flavor. The Mariner (scotch whiskey, pineapple, citrus, and smoked cardamom syrup) offered a nice balance of citrus sweetness and the bitterness of the scotch.

The restroom has a long list of etiquette rules posted, which perhaps shows how hard it is to run a Serious Cocktail Bar in the East Village. For instance, “No PDA at PDT: hands on table, tongue inside your mouth.” Another warns customers not to try to hit on other patrons’ dates. I don’t recall any other bar that found it necessary to point these things out.

They serve food here too—mostly hot dogs, though different recipes than those offered on the Crif Dogs menu. One is named for David Chang (wrapped in bacon and smothered in a kimchee puree); another for WD~50 chef Wylie Dufresne. There’s also a cheeseburger, and what appeared to be the most popular offering, tater tots.

These offerings come from the Crif Dogs kitchen. When the food is ready, a low buzzer rings, and the bartender opens a small metal door, with a pass-through direct to the Crif Dogs side of the house.

In some ways, this minimal menu doesn’t seem equal to the surroundings , but I admit my curiosity to try any hot dog named after Wylie Dufresne. However, I’d already had one next door, so that will have to await another visit.

This is a relaxing place. Had I not been alone, I would probably have stayed longer. Since hitting on other guys’ dates is a no-no, I’ll have to bring my own next time.

Crif Dogs & Please Don’t Tell (113 St. Marks Place between First Avenue & Avenue A, East Village)

Café Boulud

 

Last week I paid a return visit to Café Boulud, my first since a renovation last year that brightened up the main dining room and added a cocktail lounge called Bar Pleiades.

As it has been from the beginning, the menu is in four sections: La Tradition, La Saison, Le Potager, and Le Voyage, as well as a separate printed list of daily specials. After two prior visits (here, here), I finally learned my lesson:

Order Anything but Le Voyage!

The only really disappointing dishes I have ever had here, have been from Le Voyage. Avoid them and you will have a happy experience. This was the best meal I have had at Café Boulud.

Full disclosure: my mom and I received a version of the VIP treatment, with a triple amuse-bouche (left), a comped mid-course, and a comped dessert. Perhaps the staff recognized my name, but I have never received extras at any of Boulud’s other restaurants.

For whatever the reason, service was superb—practically clairvoyant—but no amount of pampering could create excellent food unless the kitchen is already capable of it. Which it clearly is.

 

To strart, my mom had the oysters ($21), while I had the Jersey Corn Agnoloti ($18), with flavors wickedly fresh and vibrant. The kitchen comped a bright, colorful Heirloom Tomato Salad (below).

 

I love the wine list at Café Boulud. You can spend a whole paycheck, if you want to, but there is more variety under $100 than at just about any other restaurant in its class. There is still a whole page of wines under $60, but I decided to spend a bit more than that—a 2002 Bernadotte, a comparative bargain at $80, but still more than we normally spend. Not many restaurants right now have any 2002 Bordeaux at that price. We ordered it before the food (the only reliable strategy), and the sommelier offered to decant it for us, giving the wine time to bloom.

 

I can’t begin to describe the excellent and beautifully plated entrées in detail—they were far too complex for that, and the joy of being an amateur blogger is that I don’t have to. (If I were Sam Sifton, I’d need to call the chef and write down every ingredient, for fear of misstating one.) So go, and order them: cherry-glazed duck ($38; above left) and rabbit three ways ($37; above right).

 

Goat’s milk sorbet ($10; left) was a fulfilling, uncomplicated way to end the evening. The kitchen comped an extra scoop for my mom, along with a “fruit soup” (above right) that was somewhat underwhelming. We did our best to lay off of the traditional beignets that come as petits-fours, but resistance was futile.

Frank Bruni once said that Café Boulud was his favorite of the Boulud restaurants. It took me a while to see why. Daniel, the flagship, is a formal dress-up evening, and I’ve never quite had the feeling that it lived up to its price point. The other three (DB Bistro Moderne, Bar Boulud, and DBGB) are all very good, and I enjoy them, but they are casual, quick-bite places. (Two of the three are dominated by pre- and post-theater business.)

Café Boulud is fancy enough to make you feel special, but casual enough that you don’t need an occasion to dine here. The restaurant used to be booked solid weeks in advance, virtually precluding an impulse visit, unless you were a regular. They’re still doing fine, but the reservation book has loosened up, and there’s even the occasional 1,000-point booking on OpenTable. We should go more often.

Café Boulud (20 E. 76th St. between Fifth & Madison Avenues, Upper East Side)

Food: ***
Service: ***
Ambiance: ***
Overall: ***

Sagaponack

 

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? How about a restaurant opening?

Sagaponack must have been the lowest of low-key openings in 2009. It did not attract a single professional review, which is unusual for a Flatiron District restaurant with entrées in the $20s. The various amateur sites (Yelp, Zagat, etc.) are mostly positive about the place, but from the critics it got no attention at all.

It turns out Sagaponack is a solid little gem: nothing revelatory, but a welcome addition to the neighborhood. The décor resembles a Hamptons beach house—hardly an original idea, but well executed.

You can probably guess the menu: a raw bar, lobster rolls, mussels, crab cakes, conch fritters, and the usual bistro standards. A few dishes sound like they belong on someone else’s menu, like Korean short ribs.

Prices are modest, with appetizers $8–12, salads $7–17, entrées $14–28, and side dishes $5.

  

The appetizers were all good, including Oysters Rockefeller ($9; above left), Lobster Bisque ($8; above center) with large hunks of lobster; and Duck Confit & Mushroom Duxelle Dumplings ($8; above right). I am not sure what the dumplings had to do with the restaurant’s theme, but I didn’t mind.

 

We also liked the entrées: Crab Cakes ($10; above left) and a hefty Lobster Roll ($26; above right) that is bigger than it appears in the photo. The accompanying fries, however, were too soggy. (Those crab cakes are technically an appetizer, but my mom ordered them as her main.)

On a Friday evening, the bar was packed three-deep with an after-work crowd. The tables were about half full. (The restaurant also has a large upstairs area for parties, which was not in use.) Service was about as it should be. The wine list is meh: I would have liked to see a few more Long Island wines at a restaurant that purports to represent the region.

Sagaponack feels summery—like a visit to the Hamptons minus the three-hour jitney ride, but also minus the beach. It’s not an adequate substitute for the real thing, but we can’t exactly run out to Southampton every day.

Sagaponack (4 W. 22nd Street, off Fifth Avenue, Flatiron District)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

WD~50

  

Note: WD~50 closed at the end of November 2014, giving way to a condo development. Chef Dufresne still has his casual restaurant Alder nearby, but at present he has no known plans to ressurect WD~50.

*

I probably spend far too much time seeking out the newest restaurants—which often aren’t that great anyway. Either they haven’t worked out the early jitters, or they just aren’t destined for excellence.

The Great Recession still casts a long shadow, and it’s harder than ever to find exciting new restaurants. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop looking, but perhaps it’s time to shift the balance a bit towards old favorites that are overdue for a fresh look.

WD~50 has been on my revisit list for a while, not because anything has changed, but simply for the pleasure of discovering the latest creations to come out of mad scientist Wylie Dufresne’s laboratory. His food might not be to all tastes, but in the avant garde niche he occupies, his work is without peer in New York City.

A few years ago, people wondered if Dufresne could keep the place going, but on a Saturday night, at any rate, it was packed. He has held a Michelin star for five years running, and two years ago Frank Bruni gave WD~50 a much deserved and overdue promotion to three New York Times stars.

The food is expensive, with most of the entrées over $30. Most of the bottles on the wine list are in three figures, and there is hardly anything under $65.

I’m not necessarily complaining about how expensive WD~50 is, merely putting the restaurant in context. Dufresne’s cuisine is well worth the tariff. It is also labor intensive, and Dufresne has only five services a week in which to cover his fixed costs: he doesn’t serve lunch, and he is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays.

The restaurant sells a lot of tasting menus at $140, up from $105 just three years ago (though I think it had fewer courses then). We had it, and so did the tables on either side of us. At a restaurant where so much of the food is unfamiliar, it is better to try a dozen items, as you do on the tasting menu, than to guess which two or three you’ll like.

Our tasting menu was one hit after another, with only one dud among twelve courses. I’m not going to try to describe every one, but I’ll list them all and describe the highlights. (The staff deposited a printed souvenir copy on our table before it began, so that we could follow along.)

The bread service (above) might seem initially disappointing, but sesame flatbread is surprisingly addictive. Before the end of the evening, it was all gone.

 

1) Veal brisket, honeydew, black olive, fried ricotta (above left)

2) Everything bagel, smoked salmon threads, crispy cream cheese (above right)

These dishes, like everything else on the menu, derive their success from unusual and often surprising combinations of ingredients that just happen to work perfectly. The “everything bagel” is actually a small donut-shaped circle of deep-fried cream cheese.

 

3) Foie gras, passionfruit, chinese celery (above left). When you see a disc of foie gras on the plate, you assume it’s a terrine. In fact, Dufresne has managed somehow to stuff the foie with passionfruit, which runs out when you cut into it.

4) Scrambled egg ravioli, charred avocado, kindai kampachi (above right). No Dufrene tasting menu would be complete without an egg dish, and this one was masterful.

 

5) Cold fried chicken, buttermilk-ricotta, tabasco, caviar (above left). We didn’t much care for the cold fried chicken. I’m sure Dufresne has a reason for serving it cold, but it was beyond our comprehension.

6) Striped bass, chorizo, pineapple, popcorn (above right). The striped bass was perfectly cooked.

 

7) Beef and bearnaise (above left). I think this was meant to be a neighborhood-appropriate play on matzo ball soup.

8) Lamb loin, black garlic romesco, soybean, pickled ramps (above right).

 

9) Chewy lychee sorbet, pistachio, yuzu, celery (above left).

10) Hazelnut tart, coconut, chocolate, chicory (above right).

12) Rainbow sherbet, rhubarb tarragon, orange, olive oil (no photo).

I have less to say about the desserts individually. Alex Stupak is the pastry chef, and he is every bit Dufresne’s match and alter-ego in the mad science department.

We wrapped up with Cocoa packets, chocolate shortbread, and milk ice cream (right), which took the place of the usual petits-fours.

The standard wine pairing is $85. We didn’t want to drink that much wine, nor was there a particular bottle that caught our fancy, so we asked the sommelier to choose four wines by the glass, and space them out over the two-hour duration of our meal, which he was perfectly happy to do. Like everything else at WD~50, his choices were off the beaten path, but excellent nevertheless.

Although WD~50 is a casual-looking place, the service is as polished and professional as at almost any three-star restaurant in the city. If you haven’t visited, you must. If you haven’t visited lately, it’s time to go back.

WD~50 (50 Clinton Street between Stanton & Rivington Streets, Lower East Side)

Food: ***
Service: ***
Ambiance: **
Overall: ***