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

If you missed out on Oktoberfest, not to worry–Chelsea Brewing company is currently holding their biannual cask ale festival, featuring nearly 40 beers. For more on the joys of sipping warm, flat-ish, flavorful ale made the way they used to do it in the old days read my post from last year’s festival.

The scene last night was pretty mellow, with most patrons tuned into the Yankees game and a few die-hard beer fans clustered on the outdoor patio overlooking the dock. A sheet of tokens ($20) buys a few 8oz sample-sized beers ($6-$8 apiece). Standouts included Chelsea 1000 Gyle Imperial Mild, a powerful orange-amber barleywine clocking in at 11.5% ABV; Corner Jackhammer Old Ale, a dark, malty brew; and Saint Somewhere Saison Du Chene, a rich, fruity-peppery Belgian-style. The festival runs through Sunday, so there’s still time to drink up–otherwise the next festival will be in March.

(the scene from the patio at Chelsea Brewery)

A tip–if you’re sitting outdoors, make sure your paper sheet of tokens is secured at all times. An errant wind gust can easily whisk it into the river and drown your $20 investment.

Chelsea Brewing Company
Chelsea Piers 18th St. and West Side Highway

Would you wait for 35 minutes on the most touristy stretch of Bleecker Street to try real Neapolitan pizza? When in doubt about a new place, I scope out the people leaving the establishment. Do they roll onto the sidewalk looking food-stunned and satisfied? Are they sighing “oh wow,” and lovingly patting their swollen bellies as if they contained precious cargo?

Well then goddamnit I’ll wait. It’s not that long and after all, a pizzaholic’s work is never done. To Keste’s credit, they brought out fresh pies for people in line to sample, as if to allay any fears that your time and money might be better spent at long-established John’s across the street (where, on a Saturday night, the line looked just as bad).

What Keste has on John’s is buzz and authenticity. Real Neapolitan pizza adheres to certain guidelines that guarantee its character and its quality, and according to New York Magazine, Keste is leading the city’s Neapolitan pizza revolution. The pies I had at Keste made the fuss seem justified. The ingredients in my marghertia pizza ($12) were top-notch. The sauce was fresh and sweet and just a little bit tangy, complimenting the delicate richness of the generously-heaped bufala mozzarella. The had a distinctively smokey flavor from the wood oven along its edges, but got pretty soggy in the middle. For the sake of balance, I like a little more sturdiness and a little less smoke in my crust. I think Neapolitan pizza is supposed to be a bit wet, but compared to Una Pizza Napoletana (now regrettably closed) I don’t think the crust attained the heights capable by this kind of pie.

That was my only complaint, however, and I would definitely try Keste again, though maybe during a less hectic time. The salame pizza ($14) which came with fresh mozzarella instead of bufala, and prosciutto-thin cuts of salame, was also very good. My Menabrea beer was pleasantly more flavorful than standby Peroni, which is basically Italian Heineken.

Interestingly, Frank Bruni at The New York Times totally dissed Keste but liked ho-hum Veloce. Crust Is a Canvas For Pizza’s New Wave is required pizza fan reading.

More Snackish posts about pizza

Keste Pizza & Vino
271 Bleecker St. between Jones St. and Cornelia St.
Daily: 11:30am-12am
No delivery, takeout available

Until recently, I didn’t do brunch. Actually, that’s something of an understatement. I used to start my weekend with a large black coffee, a Camel Light, and a quick jaunt to the puppy run. Now that I’ve ditched coffee and cigs I’ve been exploring new indulgences, betraying my inner Spartan by dabbling with things like french toast and morning cocktails.

Braving brunchtime hordes to find decent french toast can be arduous, so it’s rewarding when you find a place that’s gifted with their griddle. Cafe Condesa in the West Village uses what looks like french bread as opposed to the ubiquitous challah in their french toast. It’s relatively light, buttery-crisp on the outside but soft and eggy in the middle, and served with fresh berries ($7.75). My side of scrambled eggs were cooked to fluffy perfection ($2.50) but I could have done without the champagne with muddled strawberries which at $9 doubled the cost of an otherwise reasonably-priced and very satisfying meal.

This austere little cafe only has a few seats so expect a short, awkward wait and if it’s a cold day, beware the table for two by the front door, which doesn’t completely shut.

Cafe Condesa Brunch menu - served Sat and Sun 11am-5pm

Cafe Condesa, 183 West 10th Street at Seventh Avenue

I washed up at Joe’s Pizza for the first time four years ago, after I’d been suckered into going to Misshapes. (As we pushed into the party and I saw a barely-twenty-year-old girl with Weimar-era makeup and a sculptural Isabella Blow-ish hat/mask covering half her face I understood why the doorman had looked at our outfits and pronounced us tragic). The thing about feeling ridiculously old and unfashionable at 25 is that you still have the stamina to drink and dance all night, or at least until you feel start feeling pretty good. Still, certain worries edge this pleasant little mood you’ve blundered into–it’s so late, I’m so hungry, everything is closed, I’m so hungry, where the hell am I going to eat?

Joe’s Pizza at 4 am glows like a molten cheese bubble in the strange afterhours dark of the closed-down city. A glittering, laughing, sweating, exhausted cross-section of nightlife clings to this oasis, and spills onto the waiting sidewalk, held upright by booze and the smell of baking pizza. Unlike pizzeria of the moment, Artichoke, whose counter people serve with a slowness that seems lackadaisical or sadistic, depending on how hungry you are, the service at Joe’s is brisk. Orders are asked with a glance as a fresh pie is spun into slices that are scooped, drooping onto paper plates exchanged for cash–fast, fast, fast. If you’re lucky enough to snag a fresh mozzarella slice right from the oven ($2.75), go for it. The regular slice ($2.50) is good too, with sweet tomato sauce, the right balance of cheese and a thin, chewy crust that’s got a teeny bit of burnt crispness. The crust, however does not hold up for long, so the slices are best eaten HOT and immediately–and if you happen in at a slower time, it’s worth the wait for a fresh pie. There’s little to no seating to be had, but there’s benches in Father Demo Park across the street.

Since that evening Joe’s has been my go-to spot when I’m in the area at some unseemly hour, looking for a little comfort at the tail-end of a long night.

Joe’s Pizza 7 Carmine Street Open every day 9 am - 5 am