BonChon- Financial District

The opening of BonChon on John Street in the Financial District is a gorgeous mess. The highly addictive Korean fried chicken- coupled with the gregarious staff- has offered a handful of fantastic nights. In fact, I have to admit that it's rare I walk by the venue without noticing boisterous laughter, someone being woken up at the bar or a crowd a patrons smoking outside encouraging you to join. With this character, BonChon has quickly secured a position as an after-hours venue within the Financial District.

I ordered a glass of pinot grigio- which, despite the number of vodka/sodas I had already consumed- I clearly identified as watered down. The bar keep took a breath, then inspected the bottle he poured from, "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Here's a new glass and it's on me---I don't know---?" He sealed the apology by pouring shots of soju for both of us. I requested a small order of mixed spicy and soy ginger bon chon chicken with fries and radish. The chef must have been heavy fisted with the spice tonight, (my throat was burning) but my tongue cooled with the pickled radish and soju.

Image: 1- from my iPhone, 2- grace&kate

a dinner at City Crab

Having had a big brunch Saturday afternoon, I didn't have the desire for dinner. Regardless, there's always room for oysters on the half shell. We settled into City Crab on Park Avenue in Union Square. The cocktail list tempted- though the bar keep admitted that most of my choices were quite sweet and I found myself sip sampling the Central Park (mojito) then opting for an Absolut Ruby and Soda, followed by house bubbly.

To eat, we shared the Maryland Lump Crab Cake and a platter of seasonal oysters. The crab cake came in a well formed cylinder with a mild Dijon sauce and garnished with edamame salad. It should be noted that this dish is the closest to the impressive crab cakes I've sampled in Baltimore: with succulent lumps of blue shell crab dominating the flavor.

The Oyster platter represented the East and West coasts with four each of British Columbia Fanny Bays, Long Island Saddle Rock and Fisher Islands. I tend to prefer the sweetness of West Coast shellfish to the briny East- but the Long Island were quite gorgeous this evening.

A word to the wise- happy hour on Saturday begins at 10:00pm. Enjoy half priced house pours with your seafood!


Image: from my iPhone.

The Open Door Gastropub

I'm beginning to think John Street is giving Stone Street a bit of competition- between recently opened Bonchon and my introduction to The Open Door Gastropub- I'm no longer as temped to lazily avoid better venues in further neighborhoods. We shuffled in at 1:00am with little confidence in food- thinking a few cocktails and a deli sandwich would suffice. A massive bouncer approached and requested my ID as he shuffled us to a place at the bar. He waved my lisense under a candle then apologized as he returned it- not requesting my bearded partner's.


We mulled over the list of libations- noting with a hearty chuckle that over half of the beers were misspelled. I selected the Spicy Cucumber Margarita. The cocktail came served up and compromised of Tanteo jalapeno tequila, fresh lime, agave nectar, muddled cucumber and a jalapeno garnish. The blend proved refreshing and could have bit more on the spicy side- but certainly even keeled enough to sip more than one. My partner indulged in a few of the adorably misspelled beers: Palm and the Dogfish Head 120 minute IPA. The 120 came served in a wine glass and earned its $20 price tag with each sultry, hoppy sip.

The victory came with: a gorgeously detailed menu of dishes still being served at this hour (full menu, minus the entrees). We selected the Truffled Blue Cheese Fries with tomatoes, scallions, cilantro, melted Gorgonzola and drizzled with white truffle oil. The heaping plate satisfied our palates while a middle aged group of men took Jager shots and lone soldier at the other end of the bar sang/clapped to the bartender's personal mix of tunes. Serpico played on two TVs overhead and a rousing snowball fight commenced on John Street.


images: from my iPhone.

Forum Bar

While picking up a few bottles of wine in Union Square, I considered the few drops trickling down my arms. The escalating threat of rain cajoled me into the Forum Bar. The 3500 square foot space offers an airy, open feel, with slightly offensive lighting. I settled into a seat at the fifty-foot mahogany bar and accepted a cocktail list. The decided to veto the only cocktail that peaked my interest: Julius Caesar (blood-orange puree, Grand Marnier, lime juice and vodka). It just seemed a little too- involved(?) for a rainy evening. I requested bourbon. The bartender raised a brow, I nodded: give me the bourbon.

After a few drinks, food seemed appropriate. To nibble, my company and I selected the Calamari and the Summer Tuna Rolls. The Calamari came in a cone with red and white sauces. Tender and light: a perfect snack for sharing. The Summer Tuna Rolls are composed of mango, avocado, cucumber and raw albacore with wasabi and sweet chili sauces. The dish is a decent contrast to the breaded/fried calamari. Above average, but short of spectacular. The mango enclosed in the thin wrap was well-ripened, which I found to be a pleasant surprise.

Zagat offers mixed reviews and a few angry people. It's a good place to scoop yourself into to avoid the rain, get a late-night bite and seat- but there are certainly more engaging spots in the East Village.


Image: Timeout New York.

B Café West

I'm still feeling out the Upper West Side restaurants...looking for Chinese laundry and grocery stores. B Cafe West sparked my interest, as I love Belgian Cuisine. Frites et Moules! Endive salads, stilton...I settled in for a late night bite. A pang of savage hunger compelled me to order the West Famous Burger: a thick 90z lump of beef, Chimmay aged cheese, grilled panacea and caper ramoulade on a Brioche roll. Frites are served to the side with: ketchup, mayo and chipotle mayo. I sat in awe. How am I supposed to eat this? I prepared the sandwich with a knife and took a bite.

Not bad. A decent burger. Sadly, I quickly discovered that it was still mooing. I do not send food back, but after another bite a raw ground beef, I just couldn't forge on. I asked the bartender to cook it longer. He was very kind, understanding and helpful. When the burger returned, I have to report that it wasn't much better. This is certainly the catalyst of the fatal error of forming such a massive patty. Regardless, I attempted to consume the most cooked portions, leaving most behind.

The frites were pretty good, a little thicker than I'm used to in Belgian cafes, but well presented and delicious. Here's the kicker: the most obnoxious woman tarnished the experience. Her character alone confused me: a dialect comparable to certain parts of Brooklyn, although she claimed to love Hoboken and to have grown up on the Upper West Side. I assure you, I wasn't being nosy, this woman shared all her nitty gritty details with the entire staff and surrounding patrons. Her speech (repeated several times):

"I love Hoboken. Love it. What should I eat? I have to have a meal you know. I want a salad, you coworker suggested the Cobby one"

"Oh, is good, but is not a meal," corrected the European barkeep. He returned his glance to the map of the Eastern states and continued to label: Maryland, Virginia... "Which is this?


"Delaware," another server offered.

"Is warm?"

The woman raised her voice again, "I'm supposed to be this cute thin girl. Oh I want mussels. But they come with fries. Could I have mashed potatoes? I gained seven pounds eating here. Mashed potatoes have butter and cream. I've gained seven pounds. Oh honey, you're going to make a million bucks here. This place is busy in the Summer. I walk dogs so I should be able to eat these, but I gained seven pounds."

The barkeep nodded, eyes darted around.

She continued, "Mussels. I love mussels. Have you heard about the sex over this pot of mussels? It's very enticing, to play with these mussels. But you can't do it every night."

---

When I stepped out, she stopped me. Welcomed me to the neighborhood and gave me her number, "Call me anytime you have any questions or need anything. I know this neighborhood. Shop at Met, it's the cheapest. But there's a deli next door."

--

Over sixty beers, eleven on tap. Good Luck.

566 Amsterdam Ave at 88th St.

midnight dinner: el centro, hell's kitchen

One can only take so much DJ action at BXL, ergo: forge on for sustenance. Having not been to El Centro in some time, we ventured towards Hell's Kitchen for a late dinner. Margaritas and Skinny Mojitos (substituting Splenda for sugar, it was actually tasty- a credit to the fresh squeezed lime juice), Grilled Shrimp and Jack Quesadilla and Goat Cheese Empanadas: d'lish! We ordered a side of guacamole, which I felt was a bit bland at first, but when coupled with the house made chipotle salsa and velvety spices of the dishes, it blended quite well.

The quesadilla was decent, for what it was. The serrano chiles and epazote certainly complimented the simple flavor of the jack cheese, although I felt that it was nothing spectaculor. Granted, it's a quesadilla, which has never really been anything to write home about. The empanadas were absolutely delightful. I think I'm kind of on an empanada kick right now. Although fried, they weren't heavy, just slightly rich with the goat cheese filling. The salsa roja exhibited a lovely smokey flavor to match the pungent cheese. I can't quite place my finger on it, but I genuinely enjoy this spot. The portions aren't massive, which is comforting. They know they can satisfy you with quality and interest, rather than size. A little less American, per se.

Kappa Sake House

A quasi-new place, Kappa Sake Bar opened as a reinvented Sakura Sushi. The atmosphere is defined by low-lit honey dew walls, soft voices and a record player. I considered the menu: brief, but intricate, it reads: thoughtful.

To drink, I had the Kiiorka white wine from Koshu, Japan. The glass was ideal for sipping with a delicate flavor and dry finish. To satisfy my late night hunger, I opted for a few small plates from the special's menu. The lovely soft spoken server brought me the Spicy Salmon Roll with sesame seeds and the Fried Turkey Sausage and Shitake Shumai, with spicy mustard and ginger sauce. The server suggested that I finish with the Kappa Salad: crunchy cucumber, crab and special house dressing (above photo). The meal was certainly a trail of pleasures. Precise, fresh and subtly spicy. The presentation is well organized and exciting on a variety of petite and creatively designed dishes! If you like beer, the list is short, but packs a punch.

388 Fifth Avenue, Park Slope.

Image: roboppy flickr

coast swappers

NYC native Sal and I connected in my hometown years before I moved back East- and now he's considering returning to his roots! While in town feeling things out- we hooked up after I finished up at work in Midtown East. We wove around the miserably hot train station- to eventually catch the Six to Union Square.

First on our agenda: the opening event of Brooklyn Industries' new store. Snacks, sparkling lemonade and sample sale digs! Sal selected a few thin sweaters (dressy for the Left Coast, quick beer-in-the-neighborhood-wear, for NYC)- Offering up solid taste, he insisted that I purchase a wool dress in camel with dark brown piping, and a super soft plaid jacket with a belt at the natural waist.

The evening wandered into lower Manhattan. We perused boots in the East Village and found ourselves opting to take the D to Grand for a few drinks. We stepped off the train and pushed through a slight crowd. Sal erupted, "What is that smell?"

"Chinatown"

"Ugh"

"Fish balls, right?"

To be honest, It doesn't matter how many times I pop around here, I'm always seemingly disoriented and going the wrong direction, until I realize it a few blocks later, when I'm about to hit Little Italy. In good company, Sal was good humored about it. I approached the discreet door at Grand and Essex,

"Where are we? Do you even know where you're going?"

"Sure" I pushed the door to the East Side Bar company open.

"You really need to know about this place, don't you?"

We sunk into the prohibition style venue to sip slowly and divulge in our Coast swap. Although I am deeply content with my transplant to NYC, there is something primal and satisfying about being with friends from back home. I'm addicted to the separation of the environments, and more so, being with my people, in a place that is not home. Things happen. Information is exchanged. Plans are formed. (In other words, all you kids reading this from the Pacific Northwest: come visit).

After our third round of outrageous laughter, the Bar Company began to fill, we requested our tab- a scratch piece of paper with $41 handwritten on it- and stepped into the night.

"Cab?" I offered.

"We're subway people, come on"

"I'm toasty"

"We're taking the train."

I gave up. I knew I was simply trying to avoid walking what seems lto be a longer distance when you're heavy with buzz- A few mistakes cajoled us onto the F line.
---

Park Slope neared, a man stepped on. A subway performer. One I hadn't seen yet- he turned on a boom box and began to break dance. An Asian women exhibited an impressively disgusted facial expression for the remainder of the ride. We pushed through the laughter to meet Vadim at Rachel's for happy-hour and quesadillas. It got to that point in the night- the one when you realize you have to be in the office at 8:00am the next day, but hey- no mind. Let's go to Union Hall. Bacce ball, beer, wine! Easy lighting, bookshelves. Let's do this.

lovely PNW ladies in town!

Putting aside a longish-week of work, I met up with Julia and: weekend visitors Jessica and Devereux at Ono. We sipped on Peach Lychee martinis while catching up on PNW news.
Finishing up at Ono, we wandered along Julia's lead to the Meatpacking District. After a few dead end clubs, we met up with George who pushed us along to 230 Fifth Rooftop bar in Flatiron.

Dancing, rooftop seating and oldish couples from Jersey (not to mention the overwhelming vomit stench near the lavatories and West African attendants who immediately spoke to me in French, seemingly impressed with my ability to comprehend and respond) we made it work-
Jessica, Julia and myself danced until 4am when the music was abruptly cut and bouncers began to push people out the doors. Outside we considered our next steps: food, home.




Desperate for a slice, Devereux jetted around- while I talked Julia and Jessica in Gyros. A crowd of six men surrounded me and began to play twenty questions. Do you work in fashion? No? What do you do? Really? I do that too. Where were you tonight? Huh, what are you doing next? And after you eat that? Just getting in a cab? Where are you from? An Island off Seattle? Would that be Bainbridge? How did I know? I could tell. I know the area....

I looked around in desperation- Julia and Jessica were still negotiating with the gyro cart guy. George had long since caught a cab, Vadim was chasing the Pizza-minded Devereux back towards us. I pointed to Jessica and Julia, "They're from the Island too!"