restaurants « blogging for burgers

Archive for the 'restaurants' Category

Page 3 of 4

The Return: Minetta Tavern Redux.

A lazy tune plays over speakers, the tinny brass melodies permeate the air. The soft golden lighting casts a nostalgic hue over the scene at the bar.  Sipping a scotch on the rocks at the bar, I can’t help but think of countless others who have been in the same situation as I, and just as content.

A lonely madame sits at the bar, gazing into what should be smoke-filled air.  She listens to conversations of those around her, yet she herself is without companionship, at least for the moment…

A suave blond gentleman enters the scene, he appears to know everyone, and everyone appears to know him. Or perhaps they are just pretending.  He. looks around before wandering to the bar for an aperitif.  Receiving it, he retreats to a corner of the bar.  Perhaps it was all an act.

A cold whiskey warms to soul while it numbs the senses.  A good night to come.

Ok, maybe the scene at Minetta Tavern this past friday wasn’t so reminiscent of James Joyce, but it was still pretty good.  BG’s dad hooked up the friday night reservation, and out of the kindness of his heart, also paid the bill.

We first sat down to what I was sure would be another great meal at Minetta Tavern.  The black label was a must, but the steaks were to be the main event for the evening.  Kicking it off, I ordered an appetizer special of day boat scallops and mushrooms, which ended up being a delicious mixture of mushrooms, scallops, and butter.  I mean, how could you go wrong?  Some other apps at the table included fresh heirloom salad (I suppose the “healthy choice”), a puréed soup of some sort with oysters, roasted beet salad, and salt-cod stuffed calamari.

All that out of the way, it was time to relive a magical memory that I had experienced six months prior.  The black. label. burger.

Yes, the black label burger was an intermezzo. It came out, divided in thirds (for me, BG, and the BGD).  I didn’t waste any time, going straight in without adding anything to it, which is exactly how I had done it the time before.  It was as tremendous as ever.  Thinking about it now makes my mouth water.  No, seriously, it does.  It’s that good.  One third wasn’t enough.  I wanted more.  But I knew that a whole lot of red meat was on its way.

And it arrived.  The côte de boeuf, shared among three of us, even though the menu indicates that it’s for two.  I don’t think that I know two people who could polish that bad boy off.  It came with three giant bones split open for the roasted marrow action (a BB favorite), and a plethora of delicious meat.  And we rocked it.  We rocked it till the cows came home.  It was just a blur of carnage that my arteries have yet to forget.  I fully recommend it, but maybe, just maybe, start with something light and do the black label if (ok, when) you have room for it.

For dessert, we had the chocolate soufflé, which was light and fluffy like a soufflé should be, with a subtle egginess that made it like rich velvet on the tongue.  Chocolatey velvet, that is.  The perfect end to another fantastic meal at Minetta.

It already feels like it’s time to go back.

It's like Proust, only longer.

Deuxième Partie.  Êtes-vous prêts?  C’est parti…

Time for the second nail-biting installment of the trip to Paris.  Reading over the first entry, all it makes it seem like I did all weekend was eat.  That is maybe 64% true.

After the giant feast at le comptoir, the burger buddies were feeling a little sluggish.  Food was last on our minds as we headed over to the Louvre and wandered around the tuileries for most of the early and late afternoon.  Well, last on our minds until dinner time rolled around.

We both had a craving for something.  Something meaty, and something smothered in an addictive sauce.  And this meatiness “à côté de” some fried potato items.  I’m talking about the one, the only, Le Relais de Venise l’entrecôte.  Its original location is located in Paris’ 6th.  We walked over to it, only to find a line going halfway down the block.  I guess this will teach us to try to go to l’entrecôte on a Saturday night.

We ended up at a little bistro also locatd in the 6th arrondissement.  Overall, the meal was uneventful, except for the petite souris that BG saw in the corner of the covered outdoor area.  The reaction by the waiter: “c’est possible.”  So French.

Prior to this, I had enjoyed some andouillette (AAAAA , of course.  Which stands for Association amicale des amateurs d’andouillette authentique, in case you are curious).  It is a delightful French treat, which is basically a sausage stuffed with tripe.  And it smells, umm, delicious… and earthy.  And that’s putting it lightly.

IMG00048-20091024-2213

After that we called it a night, since our stomachs were still reeling a bit.  And we had to get ready for a couple of strong days of eating (they were our last two, after all).

We awoke on Sunday morning and headed over the Raspail Marché Bio, a huge organic farmer’s market on Boulevard Raspail, also in the 6th.  The market is intense, and basically blows away any farmer’s market here in the US.  The artistry with which the food is presented is something to learn from, and it again proves that organic does not need to equal dirty and poorly-displayed.

14840_540400146698_8700059_32135894_5883611_n

Before.

14840_540400151688_8700059_32135895_4263789_n

After.

DSC_0018

DSC_0023

DSC_0022

DSC_0021

At the end of the market was a man making potato galettes, with onions and some sort of cheese product.  I had two, which were delicious.  After wandering around a little bit, we headed over to the île de la cité so that burgerboy could repent for his gluttony at Notre Dame.  Before that, of course, we needed to eat a little bit, so we had a pit stop at berthillon for some vanilla ice cream and a nutella banana crêpe.  Why not, right?

14840_540401992998_8700059_32135951_3939226_n

A couple of hours later, we found ourselves in the marais.  The Rue de Rosiers means only one thing: falafel.  More specifically, l’As du Falafel.  I had been there before, but it was burgergal’s first time.  She was suspicious, despite all of the positive press that she had seen and the myriad of blogosphere mentions.  However, her fears were allayed when she saw that Lenny Kravitz had given the place his stamp of approval.

14840_540402387208_8700059_32135977_7212603_n

L’as du falafel was tremendous, as I had remembered it.  The crunchy falafel balls were small and perfectly fried, nestled in a fresh pita with heaping handfuls of cabbage, eggplant, and tahini.  It’s nothing like any other falafel that I have had here in NYC.  It’s tremendous.  Check it out.  Trust me.  Let me also mention that it was about 4pm, and we had 8pm reservations at Senderens for dinner.  Yeah.  It’s worth it.

14840_540402432118_8700059_32135984_6461040_n

Then we walked over to the 1st arrondissement, to get some French macaroons at the Ladurée located on the Champs Elysées.  The place was a madhouse, but we walked away with a variety of French macaroons in a variety of flavors (lemon, red fruit, vanilla, chocolate, caramel, pistachio).  These little guys were going to get devoured at a later time, however since it was time for dinner (!).

IMG00050-20091025-1750

DSC_0057

And on that note, I will stop myself again.

Séjour à Paris: Première Partie

IMG00035-20091023-1724

I wrote this while in Paris, so it’s written in the present-time, for those of you who are too temporally aware in writing.

Bonjour à tous!

BG and I have been in Paris for two days now, and we have already done some serious damage (to our arteries and all muscles used for walking). for only a couple of days, but we have been here long enough to do some serious eating.  And some serious walking, so it seems to be balancing out.

Within hours of our arrival, we found ourselves at Bread and Roses, an organic bakery very near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  We walked in for a light lunch of a salad with fines herbes and giant pieces of quiche.  BG had a goat cheese, leek, and asparagus, and I went with the mushroom (girolles- chanterelles, which are in season here and are all over the place).  I don’t normally like quiche too much, but these were great.  Creamy but not heavy tasting.

 

Le Timbre

After walking around for a few hours, it was time for dinner.  After hearing some good things from members of the burgergal clan, we walked over to Le Timbre, an aptly-named restaurant in the 6ème arrondissement, and snagged the last available table.  To the best of my knowledge, the place has three employees: a dishwasher, a chef, and a server.  And they rock out some pretty good food.  I started with some pork head cheese with capers (hure de porc… when in France?) and BG started out with a quick sauté of girolles (chaterelles), lardons, and a heap of butter.  I figured I had already started the day off with heavy cream and eggs, so why stop the fat-train from rollin?

IMG00023-20091022-2102

IMG00022-20091022-2102

Paired with crusty french baguette, it was like a light salad.  For our mains, I kept the cross-section of meat theme, and had the boudin noir, which I always love– I mean, seriously, how can you go wrong with a meat brownie?  Burgergal was a little limited in options, so she went with the pheasant with cabbage, which looked delightful.  I was mostly upset because my Laguiole knife was missing its bee.

IMG00025-20091022-2116

IMG00026-20091022-2117

We also drank a delightful bottle of wine, a Fleurie.  Dessert was good but unremarkable, but BG had a mille-feuille, and I had wine-braised figs.  Then we walked back to the hotel and passed out.

 

Day 2

Day two started with an almond croissant and pain au chocolat at a local patisserie.  Then a bunch of walking and a little musée d’Orsay action.  Saw the James Ensor show, which was great.  Also caught this little gem, to the delight of uberchef.  After a bit more of the sightseeing and a picnic in the Champ de Mars, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner.

And this was no ordinary dinner– it was the big night for dinner at Le Comptoir du Relais Saint Germain.  This is one of the hardest reservations to get right now in Paris, so it had to be good, based on the expectations alone.

After a bit of a mistaken identity issue, we started out with a couple of comp’d glasses of champagne, along with some foie gras on toast.  Not a bad way to start off a meal.  BG ate foie gras for the first time, and she actually enjoyed it (a member of the monthly dinner club appropriately called it “meat butter,” and I think that BG finally understood how applicable that is).

After this, some mini gannat (cheese bread), which was just brought around for a couple of laughs.

Then came the wine, a 2007 Chambolle-Musigny from Philippe Pacalet, a winemarker from Burgundy who uses traditional winemaking techniques and uses few chemicals in the process.  He is like the French slow food winemarker.  I didn’t know this when ordering it, but a little Google action has given me the low-down.

Then came the first course—the menu item was two lines long, and I forgot to take the menu at the end of the meal, but, it was basically cream and artichoke soup with various lobster parts (flesh and roe), some made into a foam.  It was one of those French food items that has around three hundred ingredients, but you can really just describe the flavor, which, I suppose, is the way that it should be.  It was smooth as silk, and had only a faint taste of the ocean.  The bits of lobster were delicate and perfectly cooked, and the dish as a whole was a great start to what I knew would be a delicious (and buttery) meal.

The second course was a pan seared monkfish with country ham and and cauliflower, with a cauliflower mousse and caviar.  While I found the dish to be good overall, I found my particular cut of monkfish to be a bit too sinewy.  The “poor man’s lobster” tasted a bit too much like the former and not enough of the latter.  The fish was perfectly cooked, but the cut was just did not do it or me.  BG ate about half of hers, about which I was proud, since she never eats fish.  I even made a point of telling the waitress this, who understood my pride after her initial shock wore off.

After the monkfish came the main courses.  Normally, the menu tonight included a pigeon, but the chef was making sure that everyone ate pigeon before preparing it, since it has a “particular and strong taste.”  In its place, there was also a rack of lamb that could be substituted.  Regardless of how BG felt about this, I told the waitress that we wanted one of each, and I told BG that she wouldn’t like pigeon, which turned out to be correct.  Now, I don’t know why they were warning people about the pigeon—I thought it was superb (I used the word “sublime”).  It was just half of the little guy, served with a heavy sauce that must have been made from a pigeon/game bird stock, because it was deep chestnut brown and extremely heavy on mineral taste.  It was cooked medium-rare and was as tender as could be.  BG had the lamb, which was very delicate and also tender.  The lamb must have been quite young, because it had none of the gamey lamb taste that the standard carré d’agneau would have here.  The fat had a little bit of that going on, but in general, very subtle.

After the mains they brought out the cheese tray.  They basically bring you a giant tray of cheese and tell you to go to town.  We shared the tray with the people next to us, who were of unknown origin, but we enjoyed it all.  There were about 10 cheeses on the board, and quince paste, black cherry jam, fresh honey, and a pepper jelly on the side.  All of the cheeses were excellent, and they basically give you free reign of the board until you stop.  To give you a sense of how much cheese there was—take the lid of an outdoor garbage can and cover it it with blocks of cheese.  That’s about how much cheese there was.  (Jean Luc, the maître d’ and general man about town (he was the Comptoir representative at Le Fooding, and he told us that the second night was actually much better), told us that they will often do an appetizer board as well, since there is only one seating per night.  The cheese board was good enough, I suppose.)

After the cheese course came dessert, which was tapioca pudding with chestnut ice cream, brown sugar “spaghetti” and various other fruits.  Not really being much of a dessert guy, I thought the pudding was good, but it had too much citrus for my liking.  Europeans love citrus in everything, but the supremed orange wedges, figs, banana, and grapes didn’t really do it for me.  I would have preferred to have the pudding and ice cream and the spaghetti only.

All in, the place was worth the hype.  At 50 Euros per person (for the food, at least), the experience and quality of food render it a veritable bargain.  Since they only do one seating per night, they maximize the experience, and the casual atmosphere contributes to a general feeling of ease and relaxation.  The staff were friendly and helpful, and if you don’t speak French, fear not, it appeared that they speak English (kinda).
More to come, in la deuxième partie…

Le waiting.

So this weekend was Le Fooding here in NYC, the sister event to one of the same name that has been going on in Paris for a few years now.  BG got us tickets, so we headed out to Long Island City for the amero-french culinary explosion.  She and I are heading out to Paris in about a month, so the timing was very a propos.  We also were going to see Gonzales that night and Phoenix the next day, so it was le kick-off to a very french weekend.

Arriving in Long Island City, I am not sure what I expected, but I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked that every foodie in the greater NYC area was there.  Since the general admission started at 7pm, I guess it was normal for people to get there at ten to six.  JBE’s better half got there early and snagged position number 10 in line.  My crew got there at about 6:45 and we were number 1000.  The line wrapped around the block, it was insane.

All of the people that were working there wore t-shirts that said, “i hate le fooding.”  I guess it’s partially a play on the french language, like “i ate le fooding,” but I can’t be sure.  At the moment, I really did hate le fooding.

Anyway, flashforward to 7:45, when we finally got in.  The event was a madhouse.  The french, for all of the things they do well, do a lot of things not well.  Organization is one of them.  The place was out of control.  People were in line everywhere.  Lines were wrapped around the PS1 courtyard like an MC Escher drawing.  I wanted to punch le fooding in le face.

The first thing I ate was a sampler of cheeses from CHEESES of FRANCE. They don’t really win any awards for creative naming, but the cheese they were serving up was pretty tasty.  Since I inhaled the three bites of cheese in about .6 seconds, my judgment was a little bit clouded.

Then we waited in a line for a mystery product.  Complaint number 1– I’d like to know what I am eating.  We got to the front of the line and were handed plastic cups with a little toasty piece of garlic bread.  The soup had the taste of pork with a mirepoix, and some of the pieces definitely had the old “parts is parts” thing goin on.  It was pretty tasty, and I later found out that it was from Yves Camdeborde of Le Comptoir du Relais fame in Paris.  BG and I are eating dinner there one of our nights (pops came through with the rezzie), so it should be awesome.

Next up was David Chang and the bo ssam.  For dedicated readers, you will know my thoughts on it.  It was pretty much the same, although I felt like I was betraying myself by not having eaten around 23 things before it.  It was solid, per usual.

We then ran into JBE, who was already stuffed.  I was still starving, so internally directed all of my rage at him.  He didn’t know that, but it was true.  In any case, he told us that the place to be was the back room, where some deep fried corn was being served by the guys from Diner.  Again, the readers of my blog know that I am a fan of that spot, and I dig their casual attitude.

I got to the back area and immediately realized that I had no idea which line was which.  There were just crowds of people all over the place standing in lines that seemed to go to nowhere.  We ended up in the WD-50 line, where Wylie was serving up some grilled chicken necks with yuzu.  That is like the ultimate ROI dish ever.  A chicken neck must cost, what, 25 cents?  And he could probably charge a few more cents for that.  Bravo!

I enjoyed the neck, although all of the bones made it a little annoying to eat.  I did enjoy that the center of the neck had a brothy quality to it that was like a little mouthful of stock.  I think uberchef may have commented that it could be used as a meat straw to eat chicken soup.  Kinda disturbing, but it intrigues me nonetheless.

After Wylie BG and I got into what we thought was the corn line, but was in fact the line for Ze Kitchen Galerie, another french spot that I’ve heard about in several places.  They were serving up a pork rib with a teriyaki and pineapple sauce.  Although the LG didn’t really dig it, I was a fan, as was the BG and our dining companions.  Since he was there so early, JBE had around a half-slab and decided he thought they were just ok.

After much beating around the bush, I finally got me some of the bushel (I apologize for that one).  The deep fried corn with “scallop butter.”  The corn smelled awesome coming out of the deep fryer.  BG doesn’t eat scallops, so it was time for me to get my coquille st jacques on, deux fois.  I really enjoyed the scallops, although the crowd didn’t really seem to be feeling them.  They were buttery, which I guess explains the name, but they also really picked up the smoked paprika flavor from the sauce that was smeared all over the deep fried corn.  Deep frying corn, by the way, is a great way to make everyone think you are making zeppole, without actually making zeppole.  BG was disappointed I think.  I could see it on her face.  I, meanwhile, had scallop butter all over my face.  And parts of my shirt.

Believe or not, that’s all I had.  The ice cream line was way too long, and Bigarrade ran out of food before I could get to them.  They had a grilled sirloin if you were wondering.  However, the bo ssam line was nice and short (maybe all of le fooding crowd felt that the hometown champ was not shi shi enough).  So I filled up on that before heading out.

Overall, le fooding was a good experience, but I’m not sure I would go back.  I had some tasty morsels of food for sure, but I think that some logistical flaws really killed it for me.  But I am excited eat to do some fooding of my own in Paris, that’s for sure.

I didn’t take pictures, mostly because it was really dark and because I was too hungry to think about taking pictures.  This guy did, though, so you can re-live each bite here.  I’m also mad that I missed a second opportunity to devour Minetta Tavern’s Black label burger, being griddled up to perfection by Lee Hanson on Saturday night.  But I griddled up my own burgers on Sunday.  More to come there.

While it’s not food related, I suggest all of you go see Gonzales and/or Phoenix live.  They are both french love-fests (in fact, a trio from le fooding was also at gonzales), but they both rocked.  I expect uberchef to write a full recap.

Hopefully my heart will go on…

 

 It’s Monday night, and I have just been on a fatty food bender.  I can’t even remember the last time I ate something either green or something that didn’t involve animal fat or deep frying.  I guess it has all been worth it.  I’ve got a lot to say.

Since b4b isn’t really all about food reviews, let me just briefly touch upon the meals that have added a special layer of padding around my precious mid-section.  Fall is coming, and my instincts are kicking in full gear.  It’s time to get ready for a long drought.

On Friday night, I headed out to Fort Greene, Brooklyn, to hang out for a bit with Uberchef and his gal.  After their most generous hospitality and a bottle of wine, BG and I headed to No. 7 for dinner with a couple of friends, whose nicknames I have yet to come up with.  I had known about No. 7 for a long time, since the owner’s wife is a friend of mine from our glorious days in the media business.  I guess in the spirit of friendship, I would have to say this meal was great.

The meal was great!

But really, the meal was pretty solid, although there were a couple of misses, in my honest opinion.  We started off with the fried broccoli (which I guess was green, so I take back my earlier statement), which was much better than I expected.  It wasn’t tempura style, but it was not as heavily battered as a good piece of fried chicken (I must admit, I just got back from Locanda Verde and I still have fried chicken batter on the brain).  We also got a scallop ceviche, which was pleasant enough, if not a little bit uninspired.  There was also a frisée salad with some fig stuff and a grilled octopus salad.  There were ok.  That’s about all I have to say about that.

Then we moved on the main courses– two orders of fried quail (see, fried food dominates my life right now), a Wagyu ribeye, and some chicken thing wrapped in cabbage.  I don’t really feel like commenting on these items, so I wont.  They were good.  The wagyu is probably worth going back for, but the quail and chicken are not.  I will comment on the buttermilk pudding, which was great.

But really, all of this just ended up being killing time before the main event of the night.  Unbeknownst to me, next door to No. 7 and down the block from uberchef’s lair is the Cake Man.  The Cake Man, which you may recall, was featured on Bobby Flay’s Throwdown, for his red velvet cake.  Needless to say, when you walk into the place, there are a lot of slices of red velvet cake in the display case.  A LOT of slices of red velvet cake.  In fact, there are so many, it just seems like there is no way that it can be good.  But this assumption is totally wrong.  This stuff was DA BOMB.  I don’t really like Red Velvet cake, and I couldn’t get enough of this stuff.  The cake was moist, the frosting was creamy but not overly sweet, it was just perfect.  I can still taste it if I close my eyes.  Maybe uberchef will find it in the kindness of his heart to give his buddy the BB some…

So that was Friday.  Saturday was time to party like it’s 5769 going on 5770.  For all of my jewish readers, “l’shanah tova!”  BG’s mom had me over for “the Rosh”, so I knew it was time to party and get my brisket on.  

I got my brisket on.  I got it on good.  I got it on again today for lunch with uberchef (man, uberchef has been getting a lot of shout-outs in this post).

What I really got on and what I’m going to be getting on for the rest of the week is some chopped chicken liver.  Everyone that knows me (so, basically everyone that reads this blog) knows that I love offal, and BG’s mom made a batch just for me.  In fact, I was the only one that got it at dinner.  And then I was the only one who took it home.  So it really was just for me.  And it is awesome.  Maybe I’ll post a pic on Wednesday, when I am reunited with this inner-organ deliciousness.

Now for the main event.  As heavily touted on my twitterfeed and FB page, I went to Locanda Verde’s fried chicken dinner.  For anyone who doesn’t know, it’s a 4-time occasion at Locanda Verde, down in Tribeca.  There are two seatings a night, and for $41 bucks per person, you get half of a fried chicken, a fatty slab of bacon, a bunch of sides, biscuits, and a slice of pie.  It’s a lot of food.  Serious eats has pretty solid pics, so it’s probably not really even looking at mine.  But I am going to make you look at them anyway.

I arrived at LV, and BG was already there.  Apparently there was a reservation mix-up, and my reservation wasn’t actually there.  After a moment of rage at Eva (WTF, Eva, you said we were cool!), BG confirmed that we were ok, they were going to “squeeze us in.”  At that moment, I felt like I needed to overcompensate that we actually belonged there and we weren’t just some losers who wandered in off the street and tried to pull the “but I called ahead… I talked to some woman… she said she would seat us right away…” trick.  I felt like I had to name-drop, but resisted the urge.  Whose name would I use, anyway?

So we sat down in the back dining room.  It reminded me of the lodge at which I stayed while fly fishing in Alaska.  It was all deep, made-to-be-expensive-looking wood, and there was a fireplace.  In the corner, the Woes were warming up, getting ready to play “some music to stuff yer face to” (I am saying that, they did not ever utter the words, but I would have enjoyed them more if they had).  Behind me, one of the floor manager-types got a ragin’ fire burning, reminding me that if I wasn’t sweating my ass off from all of the fried products I was about to devour, I was going to sweat my ass off from the fire that was burning about four feet behind me.

Roaring fire

Roaring fire.

 

The Woes

The Woes

After a few minutes of hanging out and taking in the scene, the night’s plan of attack on my arteries was placed before me.  I knew that it was going to be a tough battle, but I was determined to get through it.  As I hoped, I only had two choices to make: what was I going to drink and what kind of pie was I going to have for dessert.  Fortunately, I was only forced to choose what I wanted to drink.

IMG00034-20090921-1836

 

The rest of the evening was a blur from this point on.  There was bacon slabs with lima beans, disorientating flashes from all of the amateur food bloggers like myself (but I, unlike those oafs, prefer to have blurry dark pictures instead of looking like a tool in a restaurant), buttery corn on the cob, buttery doughy biscuits, buttery fried chicken, buttery butter, buttery water, butter beer, buttery collard greens, and butter on my shirt.  

And a small heirloom tomato salad and some cole slaw, neither of which was buttery.

 

Bacon and Lima Beans

Bacon and Lima Beans

IMG00040-20090921-1912

Cornucopia of heart ailments

Then there was pie.  I actually felt pretty good going into the pie round.  My stomach had not yet reached full capacity, and since I am reading Mindless Eating, I had set aside some chicken in an extraordinary show of self restraint (by the way, BG and I had three pieces of fried chicken left over.  I know that we had three because in my head I had already planned out a leftover dinner around these pieces of chicken in which I would make a small salad on the side.  I secretly gave myself two pieces of the chicken in this dream while she only got one.  Anyway, when we got back to BG’s apartment, there were only TWO pieces of chicken.  WTF???  If you’re reading this, Andrew Carmellini, have that extra piece sent to my office.).  But the pie really did me in.  And, to be honest, I didn’t really love either of them– one was a blueberry crumble and the other was a peach pie.  They were both just ok.  I know that there was a lot of hype around them, but I wasn’t feeling it.

If you get a chance to go to the fried chicken dinner, do it.  Tell them burgerboy sent you.  Since that will probably work about as well as my reservation did, give them a ring (you can only make reservations starting the Tuesday prior, and you can only reserve one week in advance, ask for Eva).

 

Locanda Verde
Corner of Greenwich and N. Moore Streets

How about a side of flu virus with that creamed spinach?

I’m not really one to comment about restaurant cleanliness and all of that.  Maybe it’s the complete desensitization from watching too much Anthony Bourdain or my generally cavalier attitude about trusting eating establishments (“if you build it and people come and they don’t come back because they either die or get sick, they won’t keep coming”).  And, for those of you who don’t know me, it is true that I will not eat off of my own stovetop, but I will eat food off of tables in restaurants.  And, yes, I realize that those two facts diametrically oppose one another.

But sick restaurant workers is something that I do not stand for.  I think I saw a waiter blow his nose one time while standing at the POS station and nearly flipped my shit; since I have a really calm and cool exterior, I did it on the inside and hopefully it will stay repressed and come out as a panic attack in about 15 years (while doing something REALLY stressful, like getting my car washed).  However, a new New York City proposition might make this a fact of the past, according to an article I saw today on the NRN website.

It looks like the New York City Council is looking to make those tougher-than-thou restaurant biz give some sick days and not have employees worry about paying the bills.  Of course, since this would obviously double the hourly pay costs when someone calls in sick, the restaurant lobbyists are against it in full force.  According to Rick Sampson of the New York State Restaurant Association (NYRSA), this would place undue burden on the restaurant industry, and that it’s “totally ri-donkey-dick-ulous” (my words, not his).

I have a few issues with this.  First of all, who the hell wants to be around sick people?  Sometimes I don’t even want to be around healthy people.  Secondly, who wants these sick people to be either a) cooking their food or b) serving their food or c) anywhere near their food.  Come on Rick, give me a break– next time you walk out of your office, wait on the street corner until someone visibly ill walks by and hug him/her.  Really get up in there nice and tight.  Then lick his/her hand.

That sounds disgusting?  Tell that to the line chef who has to come in to work with 104 fever and a nose running like a faucet just to keep his family fed.  Then have him make you a tuna melt.

Rick is quoted, “I don’t know how in this economy an industry such as ours can afford something like this.”  Again, come on, man, that’s just a dumb statement.  Last time I checked  I don’t know what Rick’s credentials are, maybe he is a brilliant businessman who just says stupid things.  In this economy when people are hyper-sensitive of where they are spending their money and health care is at the center of mass debate (MASS DEBATE, MASS DEBATE!  Get it?), I don’t think you can afford to NOT do this.  I mean, think about it this way: I open a restaurant and tout the fact that I give my employees paidsick days.  I make a HUGE deal of it.  People start wondering, “why is this guy telling me his restaurant gives its employees sick days?  That’s really weird.”  Then they realize that maybe some other restaurants don’t give their employees sick days.  All of a sudden, you are a slave driver and I am a saviour.  My restaurants go gangbusters, yours are in the hole.  Sure, maybe I have slightly higher fixed costs, but I’m a good guy.  People like eating in my restaurants.  My employees are happy and people feel good about eating there.  Maybe I charge a couple extra bucks for it, too, and buy myself a nice Ferrari.

I mean, let’s think of the worst possible scenario.  Line cook Joe comes into work, really not feeling well.  He was tossing and turning all night, and then felt nauseous all morning.  He goes to work anyway since he can’t afford to miss that day of pay.  He gets the whole work staff sick, and a few customers get sick also.  It’s not a pretty picture.

Adding some actual history, let’s go back to December, 2006.  Dinosaur BBQ, Syracuse, New York.  1,000 people get sick from the norovirus after eating at Dinosaur BBQ; the source of the virus is unknown, maybe it was a staff member, maybe it was a customer.  The restaurant closes for THREE days, and all of their food is thrown out AND they have to pay employees to sanitize the restaurant.  How much money do you think was lost there, Rick?  Step into 2009, homeboy– SWINE FLU is a-comin’, and cooking that bad boy low and slow doesn’t seem to make it any tastier.  Stop being so short-sighted, thinking only about today’s profits and failing to think about the long-term.

But wait, there’s more!  Rick’s not the only one against it– Robert Bookman has also gotten a sound bite out there.  He is the legislative counsel for the NYSRA, so he’s a lawyer or something, and he must be smart (right?).  He has said, “We don’t believe the city has the authority to pass such legislation… For one thing, the city has no enforcement mechanism. There is no city department of labor. Who is going to oversee this?”

Are you kidding me?  The NYC restaurant business has over 30 percent of its work force comprised of illegal immigrants, and you’re playing the labor enforcement card?  Is this some sort of fancy lawyer trick?  Or are you going to say, “of COURSE they don’t get sick days, they don’t even get rights!”

Clever.

Anyway, I will go on record that I would pay one dollar more for my food if I knew that the guy preparing it wasn’t heaving in the bathroom prior to making my quesadilla.  I’m sure 100 other people would, too.  There’s Joe’s sick day right there.  If you can’t muster up 100 diners, you’ve got bigger problems.

And I’m done.

By the way, went to Grand Sichuan on 24th street tonight for dinner– tremendous.  Any semblance I had of a cold has been sichuan peppered out of my system.