This very new restaurant does not yet have a functioning website, so I don't even know what they will feed me. But I know I want to go to there anyway. Why? The damn cute logo and, I must admit, the pink. I love the pink. Sunday, January 10, 2010
Gina la fornarina
This very new restaurant does not yet have a functioning website, so I don't even know what they will feed me. But I know I want to go to there anyway. Why? The damn cute logo and, I must admit, the pink. I love the pink. 
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
bathroom blog
When one enjoys an excellent entree, the hopes for a dessert of similar merit must always be in question. It is in this vein that I begin a new review section devoted to the bathrooms of the theres we have wanted to go to and gone. Of course, I never have need of one of these rooms, but I venture into them as a matter of curiosity.
Northern Spy's bathroom was actually a washroom, or so the door told me. And it was perfectly suited to the spartan, minimalist country store aura of the actual restaurant. Tile floors, walls a Martha Stewart green, freezing cold, and with Mrs. Myers lavander soap by the sink. It was a nice room, and reminded me of the pantry my parents used to have in their kitchen before they remodeled it--the one that came with the house in 1896. It was quiet, and cold, perhaps most importantly, it had good lighting.
Northern Spy's bathroom was actually a washroom, or so the door told me. And it was perfectly suited to the spartan, minimalist country store aura of the actual restaurant. Tile floors, walls a Martha Stewart green, freezing cold, and with Mrs. Myers lavander soap by the sink. It was a nice room, and reminded me of the pantry my parents used to have in their kitchen before they remodeled it--the one that came with the house in 1896. It was quiet, and cold, perhaps most importantly, it had good lighting.
Ruthless Review of the Week
Hiro's effort at cooking is far from heroic
By STEVE BARNES, Senior writer, Albany Times Union
First published: Sunday, March 23, 2008
It's easy to achieve front-runner status when you're the only one.
The challenge comes when others enter the arena. The 35-year-old Hiro's Japanese Restaurant in Colonie, once the sole example of its kind, has been eclipsed by newer, better restaurants, and two recent dinners proved why: The cooked food was dispiriting, sloppily presented and almost wholly without merit, while the sushi proved to be inexplicably expensive and not even on par with the fare from delivery restaurants.
Let me say right off that, no, we did not dine at a hibachi more properly called teppanyaki table, where a chef does a performance-art version of cooking on an iron griddle around which diners sit. And let me anticipate arguments right off by saying that one shouldn't have to sit at such a table in order to be served acceptable food.
It's hard to overstate just how glum the food is at Hiro's, especially if the frame of reference is other area restaurants that care about hallmarks of Japanese cuisine including gorgeous presentation and fresh, light, pure flavors.
One of my companions, who normally loves teppanyaki restaurants and does not consider herself especially hard to please, judged dinner at Hiro's the second worst restaurant meal she's had in her adult life; put off by the food, she ate a bite or two of each course and stopped at Subway on the way home.
One of our appetizers, mushroom teriyaki ($4.95), was a sad little bowl of quartered buttonmushrooms slicked with a teriyaki sauce that was both overly sweet and tongue-stunningly salty. Today, when exotic Japanese mushrooms like enoki, shiitake and maitake are available in supermarkets, it's shameful to be serving these generic, tasteless blobs. Beneath the mushrooms: flaps of wilted iceberg lettuce. Suffice it to say that teriyaki sauce and limp iceberg gain nothing from each other.
More iceberg, looking pathetic and obligatory, not decorative, appeared with our other appetizer, shrimp shumai ($3.95). The half-dozen steamed dumplings, each barely bigger than a screw-on soda cap, thankfully came with a dollop of potent mustard; without it they tasted like lukewarm, wet cotton balls, and the one we dissected appeared to have no more than a single tiny salad shrimp inside.
The half-hearted attempts at garnishing barely improved on one of our entrees, pork shogayaki ($12.95). About 10 thin slices of pork, each perhaps 2 inches square, arrived nestled on a sizzling platter and flanked by two broccoli florets and a chunk of underripe tomato. The tomato doesn't play a major role in Japanese cuisine anyway, and a wedge of the hothouse variety surely doesn't belong on a plate with pork marinated in ginger and soy.
I hoped to salvage the gummy side of rice by using it to sop up the sauce, but it turned out there wasn't any extra: What I'd taken to be a puddle of dark sauce in the corner of the sizzle platter turned out to be burn marks on the metal from years of use. Veined with fat and connective tissue, the pork also had a curious flavor, one that I identified as Canadian bacon and my companion that night said tasted exactly like a side of breakfast ham at the Gateway Diner.
We had high hopes for the sushi-sashimi combo entree, an expectation based largely on the fact that the dish, at $25.95, was notably more expensive than any other sushi dinner on the menu. What showed up was a humdrum array of predictable nigiri and sashimi salmon, tuna, mackerel, shrimp plus a small-bore maki roll, also with tuna. Acceptable but unexceptional, the fish was also less attractively plated, less abundant and cost $10 more than what Sushi House in Albany will deliver when I'm at home watching TV.
All around us on the Saturday night we visited were the sounds and smells of a teppanyaki restaurant. Metal spatulas and knives pinged off the griddle, salt and pepper shakers knocked and twirled, flaring flames brought appreciative "Ooohhhs" from diners, and folks at the bar sipped cocktails from mugs that resembled buddhas. Hiro's isn't an ugly space, but it looks dated like a 1970s split-level ranch and the spot-stained tiles in the drop ceiling suggest a refurbishment is long overdue.
To see if the first experience was an aberration, a supremely off night, another visit was in order on a quiet weeknight. While the service was friendlier, the food proved even worse. This time, even the pork shogayaki's sizzle plate came garnished with a hank of wilting iceberg lettuce on a hot metal platter? the pork was fattier and saltier, and the nuggets of fish in the salmon teriyaki skewers were overcooked to the point of resembling orange flannel on a stick.
At least the service was fast: On one night we were able to order, eat a three-course dinner, pay and leave in less than 75 minutes; another meal, with extra courses, took just 50 minutes.
Dinner for two including two soups, two appetizers, two entrees and two beers totaled $81.77 after tax and tip on one night, about $10 less on the other.
By STEVE BARNES, Senior writer, Albany Times Union
First published: Sunday, March 23, 2008
It's easy to achieve front-runner status when you're the only one.
The challenge comes when others enter the arena. The 35-year-old Hiro's Japanese Restaurant in Colonie, once the sole example of its kind, has been eclipsed by newer, better restaurants, and two recent dinners proved why: The cooked food was dispiriting, sloppily presented and almost wholly without merit, while the sushi proved to be inexplicably expensive and not even on par with the fare from delivery restaurants.
Let me say right off that, no, we did not dine at a hibachi more properly called teppanyaki table, where a chef does a performance-art version of cooking on an iron griddle around which diners sit. And let me anticipate arguments right off by saying that one shouldn't have to sit at such a table in order to be served acceptable food.
It's hard to overstate just how glum the food is at Hiro's, especially if the frame of reference is other area restaurants that care about hallmarks of Japanese cuisine including gorgeous presentation and fresh, light, pure flavors.
One of my companions, who normally loves teppanyaki restaurants and does not consider herself especially hard to please, judged dinner at Hiro's the second worst restaurant meal she's had in her adult life; put off by the food, she ate a bite or two of each course and stopped at Subway on the way home.
One of our appetizers, mushroom teriyaki ($4.95), was a sad little bowl of quartered buttonmushrooms slicked with a teriyaki sauce that was both overly sweet and tongue-stunningly salty. Today, when exotic Japanese mushrooms like enoki, shiitake and maitake are available in supermarkets, it's shameful to be serving these generic, tasteless blobs. Beneath the mushrooms: flaps of wilted iceberg lettuce. Suffice it to say that teriyaki sauce and limp iceberg gain nothing from each other.
More iceberg, looking pathetic and obligatory, not decorative, appeared with our other appetizer, shrimp shumai ($3.95). The half-dozen steamed dumplings, each barely bigger than a screw-on soda cap, thankfully came with a dollop of potent mustard; without it they tasted like lukewarm, wet cotton balls, and the one we dissected appeared to have no more than a single tiny salad shrimp inside.
The half-hearted attempts at garnishing barely improved on one of our entrees, pork shogayaki ($12.95). About 10 thin slices of pork, each perhaps 2 inches square, arrived nestled on a sizzling platter and flanked by two broccoli florets and a chunk of underripe tomato. The tomato doesn't play a major role in Japanese cuisine anyway, and a wedge of the hothouse variety surely doesn't belong on a plate with pork marinated in ginger and soy.
I hoped to salvage the gummy side of rice by using it to sop up the sauce, but it turned out there wasn't any extra: What I'd taken to be a puddle of dark sauce in the corner of the sizzle platter turned out to be burn marks on the metal from years of use. Veined with fat and connective tissue, the pork also had a curious flavor, one that I identified as Canadian bacon and my companion that night said tasted exactly like a side of breakfast ham at the Gateway Diner.
We had high hopes for the sushi-sashimi combo entree, an expectation based largely on the fact that the dish, at $25.95, was notably more expensive than any other sushi dinner on the menu. What showed up was a humdrum array of predictable nigiri and sashimi salmon, tuna, mackerel, shrimp plus a small-bore maki roll, also with tuna. Acceptable but unexceptional, the fish was also less attractively plated, less abundant and cost $10 more than what Sushi House in Albany will deliver when I'm at home watching TV.
All around us on the Saturday night we visited were the sounds and smells of a teppanyaki restaurant. Metal spatulas and knives pinged off the griddle, salt and pepper shakers knocked and twirled, flaring flames brought appreciative "Ooohhhs" from diners, and folks at the bar sipped cocktails from mugs that resembled buddhas. Hiro's isn't an ugly space, but it looks dated like a 1970s split-level ranch and the spot-stained tiles in the drop ceiling suggest a refurbishment is long overdue.
To see if the first experience was an aberration, a supremely off night, another visit was in order on a quiet weeknight. While the service was friendlier, the food proved even worse. This time, even the pork shogayaki's sizzle plate came garnished with a hank of wilting iceberg lettuce on a hot metal platter? the pork was fattier and saltier, and the nuggets of fish in the salmon teriyaki skewers were overcooked to the point of resembling orange flannel on a stick.
At least the service was fast: On one night we were able to order, eat a three-course dinner, pay and leave in less than 75 minutes; another meal, with extra courses, took just 50 minutes.
Dinner for two including two soups, two appetizers, two entrees and two beers totaled $81.77 after tax and tip on one night, about $10 less on the other.
We Went to There: Northern Spy Food Co.
Today I ventured out to a pleasant, if slightly barren stretch of E. 12th St. between Avenues A and B to go to there -- there being Northern Spy Food Co., a joint cafe and specialty foods shop named for a particular variety of apple native to the North East. Northern Spy has a quiet, unassuming storefront, made noticeable only by a little chalkboard sign inviting passersby to come in for lunch; with such eccentric 12th street neighbors as the curiously titled Jubb's Longevity (raw food market and self-reported celebrity mecca, run by one Dr. Jubbs) across the way, Northern Spy could easily go unseen. And indeed, it was a quiet day in the cafe, with only 3 or 4 occupied tables during the prime lunch hour -- less than you'd expect from a restaurant that Tweets on the topic of its full house during Tuesday night dinner service.
The meal, however, fulfilled high expectations. Northern Spy's menu changes daily -- "We're seasonal," the waitress reminded us, trendily -- but the basics are always the same. A few sandwiches are always on offer, including mushroom, country ham, and chicken. Entrees usually include, among others, roasted chicken and wild hive polenta. The "snacks" section consists of all things pickled, salted, and marinated -- or, in other words, divine. Our meal started with pickled eggs, which came 2 to an order, accompanied by pickled red and white onions and a chive-mayonnaise dip. These were salty, creamy, and tangy at once, and for me, unprecedented. Motivated by the high praise of bloggers since the place opened, I opted for the mushroom sandwich. A perfect, crusty baguette is hollowed out and stuffed -- "beautifully", noted my dining companion -- with maitake (rippled) mushrooms, clothbound cheddar, and fingerling potatoes, and served with a wedge of a McClure's pickle and a little pile of pickled red onions. It was every bit as delicious as I had heard, though I would have appreciated a bigger variety of mushrooms. Still, the buttery earthiness of it all was extremely pleasing, especially on such a cold day.
Margaret ordered the roasted chicken, which was supposed to come with eggplant, though the kitchen was out. The eggplant was replaced by collard greens braised with heritage bacon, and after some initial disappointment over the absence of eggplant Margaret declared the consolation collards the best she'd ever had. We finished the meal with the cookie plate -- what else? -- the stars of which were the chocolate chip and the pecan butter. I also enjoyed a cup of steaming apple cider, presumably made with the namesake Northern Spy apple. All in all, this meal was a success, complete with a post-lunch perusal of such exciting goods as the Liddabit "King" bar and Mother-in-Law kimchi.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Cascabel Taqueria
Excerpted from a recent New York Magazine article reviewing two new lucha-libre themed taquerias in New York City:
"In this corner, we have Cascabel, a casual counter-service restaurant with a luchador mural along one wall, framed photos of various combatants along the other, and rows of luchador figurines sandwiched between shelves of poblano peppers and Valentina hot sauce. The counter is manned by a preternaturally friendly staff, who take orders and ferry food to tables on rectangular tin plates that evoke the army or a camping trip. There are unexpected niceties, like frosted glasses for microbrew beer, $6 glasses of wine, vibrant housemade salsas in chilled caddies, and copies of the daily papers incongruously stacked alongside old issues of Box y Lucha magazine on a room-dividing condiment rack."
Dishes of interest: Rabano (breakfast radish, sea salt, Mexican herbs..); house-made chorizo; oyster mushroom tacos; ancho-spiced hot chocolate. Cookies? No. Churros? Si.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
A Wedding in Pittsburg
Have you ever tried cookies? I was at an acting studio in Manhattan this week, sitting patiently in a hallway awaiting my turn to perform, when I was forced to witness the mass enjoyment by hoards of strangers of a delicious looking array of cookies, the afternoon's refreshment for some reading of a new musical. I didn't take one. Not even one. But if you know someone getting married in Pittsburg, I'll be your plus one.
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