I started this site four years ago and I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without updating it. It’s gotten to the point where I feel guilty whenever I think about how long it’s been since I’ve posted. All I can say is I’ve been working very hard, not to mention playing around with Tumblr–which is great and all, but I have missed my site.

There’s one thing that’s been making life a little hectic, at least this week: I’m moving to Brooklyn, after living in the East Village for seven years. I have never lived anywhere this long and I have loved it here. Although I’m excited to be leaving, there are a few things I’m going to miss, like having so much good food mere inches away, at nearly all hours.

So I’ve been using the last few days in my neighborhood to hit all of my favorite spots one more time before I’m officially outta here. Last night’s dinner included Spicy Cumin Lamb burgers from Xi’an Famous Foods. Xi’an is a tiny noodle shop, but the burgers are what put it on the map. They pack about as much flavor as you can hope for in a $3 sandwich. The bread is stiff yet tender, rather like an arepa, and makes the perfect container for the moist and generously-spiced lamb. I always work up a low-grade sweat eating these but it is totally worth it. Best eaten on a dimly-lit and breezy Manhattan rooftop, or failing that, with cold water and napkins standing by.

It’s not like I’ll be moving far away but sometimes a little distance makes things seem a bit tastier.

Xi’an Famous Foods
81 St. Mark’s Place between First and Second Avenue
Locations in Chinatown and Flushing

Before I found out that “Gotham” is Anglo-Saxon for “Goat Town,” I expected the menu of this recently-opened restaurant to heavily feature goat meat. In actuality, aside from goat meatballs, Goat Town favors the usual seasonal gastropub fare: burgers, oysters, mussles, steak, pork chops, and veggie sides. The space looks like a comfortably elegant bistro, with an arched tin roof, a long bar with a view into the kitchen, tile-lined booths, and a promising-looking, albeit presently snow-covered, back patio. The bolt on the bathroom door was as thick as my thumb, a detail I liked. It felt cozy, like anyone living three block radius could slide into one of the booths and have a tasty and tasteful meal, without going to the uncomfortable effort of going “out” on a bitterly cold night. Read more…

I went to Vandaag in search of stroopwafels. This elusive cookie comes from Holland–which always sounds more proper in conversation than “Netherlands,” by the way. Stroopwafels are a snack consisting of caramel squished between two buttery wafers, often consumed with coffee, and placed on top of the cup so the steam makes the center gooey. They’re sometimes sold in fancy-pants groceries, although some of these varieties are fakers that use maple syrup instead of caramel, or are just not very good. In fact I haven’t had a really tasty stroopwafel since Dean & Deluca stopped stocking some forgotten brand years ago, so I’d built up quite a craving. As a result I’ve had Vandaag–a restaurant the New York Times described as “vaguely Dutch,”–on my hitlist since it opened. Read more…

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

After a disappointing burger at Back Forty, I wondered if maybe a non-fancy place, one that doesn’t give a damn about fresh greenery or artisanal cheese, would pour more love into its beef patties. I turned to the crowd-wisdom of Yelp.com to help me find a solid East Village burger joint and the reviews of Royale sounded promising. Located on Avenue C, on a stretch once out of the stumbling powers of weekend warriors who come to party but that is now dotted with cute nightspots, Royale has an understated appeal. Inside there’s a bar, baseball on TV, classic rock pumping out of the Wurltizer, and beer in a can on the menu. I’m sorry to say that I was distracted from a thorough perusal by the soaring rock opus that is Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin‘,” (imagine if Pavlov’s dogs played air guitar, and you have an idea of the spell I was under). I barely had the wherewithal to order a Bacon Royale ($7), can of pork slap ($4) and basket onion rings ($4).

In maybe ten minutes, a toothsome stack of medium-well angus beef, crispy bacon, cheddar cheese, lettuce, and tomato was placed before me. On the first bite a dribblet of hot grease ran down my wrist–a juicy, burning harbinger of sweet burger-scouting success. The batter on the onion rings could’ve used a bit more crunch, but I liked how they were sliced thin enough to bite through. No slab of onion becoming dislodged from its battered casing and slopping on your chin here! The pork slap was malty, gingery, and mild like a beery dessert in a can. I don’t think this is the holy grail of burger places, but this is relatively cheap and totally satisfying grub, attainable late, and probably even tastier when you’re drunk.

Eastvillagepodcasts compares Westville and Royale

157 Avenue C near 10th Street
Sun-Thu 4pm-2am. Fri-Sat, 4pm-4am