Dining-out disappointments on this scale only happen once in a blue moon so Snackish has returned from vacation to share the tale of her spotty dinner at The Spotted Pig. I’d been eager to to try this place for a long time. It is the gastropub of gastropubs in New York City–starred by Michelin, revered by Yelpers, and favored by the Times. Celebrities knock elbows with plebians in its small confines and its kitchen, bolstered by a well-regarded chef, supposedly justifies the sceneyness. I even have a couple of first-hand accounts from friends who said they liked it.

So Saturday night my associate and I finally landed at the Pig. After not-unbearable half-hour wait (they don’t accept reservations, you must walk in and put your name on the list) we were seated at the coldest table in the house, near the door. (Lest you think I’m a bloodless wimp, a bearded dude sitting next to us wore his coat and hat throughout the evening). But my need for food was greater than my need for warmth so I ordered a pint of highly-enjoyable Sixpoint Righteous Rye cask ale to combat the draft. Appetizers arrived in the form of perfectly-paprikaed deviled eggs ($3) and a plate of “devils on horseback”–pear-stuffed prunes wrapped in sticky candied bacon, speared with toothpicks ($7). They tasted better then they looked but were powerfully sweet, salty, and not entirely pleasant. My next course was the sheep’s milk ricotta gnudi in brown butter sauce with fried sage ($15). The sheep’s milk added an interesting bite to these tender dumplings, and I enjoyed the crispy sage, but yet again the dish was overwhelmingly salty. Next came more beer and an epically-proportioned burger under a heap of paper-shaving thin “shoestring” fries. Someone had tried, unsuccessfully, to make the fries substantive by adding a copious amount of rosemary. The burger all but disappeared under the funk of the Roquefort cheese which stubbornly adhered to the bun. I suspect it was a good-enough burger, but it was hard to taste anything but cheese, and for $17, I expected to be in burger heaven.

(Rosemary fries comin’ atcha. Run!)

At this point our server wandered off and we spent several minutes getting drunker and chatting with a couple next to us, who were similarly underwhelmed. By the time the she re-appeared, the sting of how much this meal would cost was sufficiently diffused for us to order dessert. I had a scotch and the creme caramel–a fine take on creme brulee ($8)–while my associate wound up with a stale-tasting walnut tart (perplexingly, the server recommended it but it was the worst thing we had all night).

Aside from the tart, I can’t say any one thing about the meal was terrible. But the combination of the wait, bad seating, strange seasoning, sluggish service, and just-beyond-reasonable prices is enough to keep me from going back. In retrospect the burger, perhaps, was not the thing to get (but judging by the steady stream of burgers floating by on servers’ upraised hands while we waited, it seemed to be a house specialty). I can say that the space had a convivial upscale-pub atmosphere and seemed to be full of pretty and interesting people. If you’re lucky enough to grab a seat upstairs you’ll probably stay warm, and on an off night I could see it being pleasant to cozy up to the bar for a pint of Righteous Rye and some deviled eggs. But I suspect that the Spotted Pig’s off nights are as few and far between as my epic dining disappointments.

The Spotted Pig
314 West 11th St. at Greenwich St.
Brunch: 11am-3pm (weekends), Lunch: 12-3pm, Dinner: 5:30pm-2am
Bar Menu: 3pm-5pm

I had my first lobster roll tonight. I tried to wait until I got home to eat it, but the toasty bread was just faintly warm under the crinkled aluminum foil wrapping, and I was feeling weak. So I just had a nibble of buttery bun. Inside were big, tender pieces of fresh lobster, lightly seasoned with celery salt and pepper. Mayo made only the briefest appearance, a mere scraping. But the time I reached home my roll was all gone, and I promptly went back for another one. My snacking associate kindly placed the order, sparing me the indignity of seeming a woman obsessed. This time I had a crab roll, which was almost as delicious as the lobster roll, though not quite.

Did I mention I hardly ever eat seafood? In fact I had wondered if Luke’s Lobster was a wobbly proposition, when I spotted the Coming Soon sign, with its hand-drawn smiling lobster, tacked on a hole-in-the-wall next to Caracas Arepa Bar. After all, lobster is pretty expensive, maybe not ideal street fare from a little takeout spot. But on Thursday, as I threaded through a pack of foodies eager for Luke’s opening day, I thought there might be something to operating a lobster shack in the East Village. For one thing, although I’m hardly an expert, the tastiness of the lobster spoke for itself. For another, it cost half as much as it would elsewhere in the city. A 2oz lobster roll (maybe 4 inches) ran $8 and a 4oz roll was $14. My 2oz crab roll was only $5. Restauranteur Luke Holden ships his lobster wholesale from Maine, where his father owns a seafood plant, which may account for the low prices and freshness (according to NYmag, it takes 1.5 to 3 days for the lobsters to travel from the ocean to bun). Also, never underestimate the advantage of being open late on weekends on this stretch of East 7th street. I can easily foresee making a quick detour some evening, after a couple of drinks have loosened my hold on my wallet, and filled my head with strange ideas, and once-in-a-blue-moon cravings. Hopefully this winter has some clam chowder or lobster bisque in store.

Luke’s Lobster
93 E 7th St. between First Avenue and Avenue A
Sun-Wed 11am-12am, Thurs-Sat 11am-2am

Vinegar Hill is only a mile from Manhattan, but it feels about a hundred years away from anywhere. It’s not just the early-19th century buildings along cobblestoned Hudson Avenue or the Federal-style Commandant’s mansion, perched on a hill above the Navy Yard, that transport you to another time. It’s the lack of cars and people, the and the blank, paint-chipped storefronts, that evoke a place that’s been sealed off; by housing projects and the BQE on one end, and by a vast humming Con Ed plant and pungent sewage treatment plant fumes on the other.

(corner of Hudson Ave. and Evans Street with Con Ed towers)

(doorway on Hudson Ave.)

(Looking East into the Navy Yard from Hudson Ave.)

Freeman’s chef Jean Adamson, willing to bet a few people will venture east of Dumbo, installed Vinegar Hill House in a former butcher’s shop about a year ago. I have to wonder what the locals must think of it. They might be dreading an onslaught of a certain breed of bearded, plaid-shirted hipster, harbingers of gentrification to come. But the place exists so quietly (at least on a Sunday evening) that it seems to fit its surroundings. No sign marks its entrance and most of the renovations have been kept indoors. The wide plank floors and thrift-shop decor evoke early, rustic Americana; the seasonal menu follows suit.

According to their website the menu changes each week, so quite possibly the dishes I tried will soon be out of rotation. I ordered the corn ravioli with jalapeno, bacon, and sage ($13). I never met a ravioli I didn’t like, but I appreciated the crunch of sweet corn in a creamy sauce, with salty bits of bacon. My snacking associate had the boneless braised short ribs with heirloom tomatoes and croutons ($21). The ribs were deliciously flavored and tender, while a bit of blue cheese added lots of tangy flavor to the sauce. A roasted corn salad with cabbage, lime and parmesean ($8) would’ve fared better with a bit less cheese. My cocktail of tequila and peychaud ($10), while potent, did not equal more than the sum of its parts and was my least favorite part of the meal. I had to ask the waiter to bring a basket of bread–shouldn’t this be de rigueur?–and proceeded to sop up every bit of delicious sauce from our entrees with it.

Other than this oversight, the service was friendly, and while I didn’t think the prices were a bargain, the food was hearty, inventive, and probably a few dollars cheaper than comparable fare in Manhattan. Mostly, I’d stop here for the pleasure of finding a mellow nook in a forgotten corner of the city. Walking home over the Brooklyn Bridge can’t hurt either, especially if you indulge in the chocolate Guinness cake.

More about Vinegar Hill on Forgotten-NY

Vinegar Hill House
72 Hudson Ave. between Front St. and Water St. Brooklyn
Mon.-Thurs. 6pm-11pm, Fri-Sat. 6pm-11:30pm. Brunch Sat.-Sun. 11-4.
(718) 522-1018