I sometimes forget that New York is a tourist city. Or that not everyone has a 9 to 5 job.
Or maybe I've just been living in Delaware too long.
It still amazes, and excites, me to see tons of people in Manhattan restaurants at 2 in the afternoon or later. (What do all of these people do for a living? Does everyone have the day off? Are they skipping out of work early? Finishing up a long martini lunch? Are they out of work? Locals? Out-of-towners? Is everyone having an attack of the late-day munchies? What gives?)
Those thoughts were going through my head when we popped into Balthazar at around 4 in the afternoon. The place was jammed. Not a seat at the bar - in fact, it was two or three deep - nor in the dining room of this bustling and very noisy bistro. Balthazar has been around for almost 12 years, but I've never been. Usually I head to Pastis for the casual French experience. (Same owners as Balthazar.)
The "afternoon" menu at Balthazar which is different than the lunch menu - don't you love it? - has the usual bistro suspects: onion soup, chicken liver and foie gras, frites, etc. Just be warned: You'll need to speak very loudly to whomever you're with or they won't hear you.
Or maybe I've just been living in Delaware too long.
It still amazes, and excites, me to see tons of people in Manhattan restaurants at 2 in the afternoon or later. (What do all of these people do for a living? Does everyone have the day off? Are they skipping out of work early? Finishing up a long martini lunch? Are they out of work? Locals? Out-of-towners? Is everyone having an attack of the late-day munchies? What gives?)
Those thoughts were going through my head when we popped into Balthazar at around 4 in the afternoon. The place was jammed. Not a seat at the bar - in fact, it was two or three deep - nor in the dining room of this bustling and very noisy bistro. Balthazar has been around for almost 12 years, but I've never been. Usually I head to Pastis for the casual French experience. (Same owners as Balthazar.)
The "afternoon" menu at Balthazar which is different than the lunch menu - don't you love it? - has the usual bistro suspects: onion soup, chicken liver and foie gras, frites, etc. Just be warned: You'll need to speak very loudly to whomever you're with or they won't hear you.
If you want the same experience locally - well, somewhat locally - head to Parc in Philadelphia. 
The place that I've been dying to try - and finally did - is Prune in the East Village. (See photo to the right, which makes Prune look larger than it is.) When I visited the set of "The Rachael Ray Show" about a year ago for an article on Ray, I had planned to eat lunch at Prune; it opened in 1999. I started talking to someone from Ray's "team" about where I was going and she gave me a frown and said I should go somewhere else. She then directed me and photographer Suchat Pederson to Bobby Flay's restaurant Mesa Grill where we had a great table and an unmemorable meal. Later, I thought: "Why in the world did I listen to someone from 'The Rachael Ray Show'?" These are people who think it's OK that a grown woman uses words like sammies and yum-o. (Obviously I didn't have enough coffee that morning.)
But, during my recent Manhattan visit, I led with my heart - and head. (My pal Andy, who is in the know about NYC eats, said I must go to Prune. Andy also told me to go to Momofuku Ssam Bar and the Spotted Pig long before both became critic favorites. Andy is never wrong.)
Prune is a tiny slip of a place - maybe 12 tables at most in this storefront. The kitchen is open and there are about five seats at the bar. Chef/owner Gabrielle Hamilton, who writes occasionally for The New York Times and Food & Wine, wasn't cooking at lunch, but she did oversee the dining room and plates.
This is not the place for anyone obese and I don't mean because of the portion sizes, which are perfectly fine. What I mean is that there is simply no room. You need to squeeze into tables and you're so close, you will get to know your neighbors during a meal.
This also is not the restaurant for anyone without a certain sense of culinary adventure. I was thrilled to see roasted bone marrow and parsley salad on the dinner menu. (So was my companion who had the same dish with me at St. John in London.) And, oh look: Fried sweetbreads with bacon and capers! Woo-hoo! (See what I mean? If you're grossed out, then stop reading.)
But we were lunching at Prune. (I'm so going back for dinner.) We munched on the complimentary celery sticks and black olives while our server gave us the lowdown on the oatmeal sandwich with Trenton Pork Roll - it's made with Irish steel cut oats, peanut butter, brown sugar and fried pork roll. (The idea is salty and sweet on a sandwich and it looked very good.)
Wavering between the bacon and marmalade sandwich on pumpernickel toast and grilled tuna club with aioli and arugula, we decided finally to go with James Beard's onion sandwich (crustless white bread spread with French butter, fleur de sal, homemade mayonnaise and Vidalia onions and dipped in fresh chopped parsley) and fried chicken livers and the buttered brown rice with rock shrimp and pork cracklings. I was trying to keep it somewhat light since I had to fit in two other restaurant visits that day.
Some may think touting this kind of food is like crowing about the Emperor's New Clothes, but I found it to be honest, satisfying cuisine without pretension.
For dessert, we shared Hamilton's famed Breton butter cake. Read about here. It's served warm and is just simple layers of crusty, slightly orange-flavored, goodness.
We swooned with each bite. Hamilton saw us and gave a big smile.
The place that I've been dying to try - and finally did - is Prune in the East Village. (See photo to the right, which makes Prune look larger than it is.) When I visited the set of "The Rachael Ray Show" about a year ago for an article on Ray, I had planned to eat lunch at Prune; it opened in 1999. I started talking to someone from Ray's "team" about where I was going and she gave me a frown and said I should go somewhere else. She then directed me and photographer Suchat Pederson to Bobby Flay's restaurant Mesa Grill where we had a great table and an unmemorable meal. Later, I thought: "Why in the world did I listen to someone from 'The Rachael Ray Show'?" These are people who think it's OK that a grown woman uses words like sammies and yum-o. (Obviously I didn't have enough coffee that morning.)
But, during my recent Manhattan visit, I led with my heart - and head. (My pal Andy, who is in the know about NYC eats, said I must go to Prune. Andy also told me to go to Momofuku Ssam Bar and the Spotted Pig long before both became critic favorites. Andy is never wrong.)
Prune is a tiny slip of a place - maybe 12 tables at most in this storefront. The kitchen is open and there are about five seats at the bar. Chef/owner Gabrielle Hamilton, who writes occasionally for The New York Times and Food & Wine, wasn't cooking at lunch, but she did oversee the dining room and plates.
This is not the place for anyone obese and I don't mean because of the portion sizes, which are perfectly fine. What I mean is that there is simply no room. You need to squeeze into tables and you're so close, you will get to know your neighbors during a meal.
This also is not the restaurant for anyone without a certain sense of culinary adventure. I was thrilled to see roasted bone marrow and parsley salad on the dinner menu. (So was my companion who had the same dish with me at St. John in London.) And, oh look: Fried sweetbreads with bacon and capers! Woo-hoo! (See what I mean? If you're grossed out, then stop reading.)
But we were lunching at Prune. (I'm so going back for dinner.) We munched on the complimentary celery sticks and black olives while our server gave us the lowdown on the oatmeal sandwich with Trenton Pork Roll - it's made with Irish steel cut oats, peanut butter, brown sugar and fried pork roll. (The idea is salty and sweet on a sandwich and it looked very good.)
Wavering between the bacon and marmalade sandwich on pumpernickel toast and grilled tuna club with aioli and arugula, we decided finally to go with James Beard's onion sandwich (crustless white bread spread with French butter, fleur de sal, homemade mayonnaise and Vidalia onions and dipped in fresh chopped parsley) and fried chicken livers and the buttered brown rice with rock shrimp and pork cracklings. I was trying to keep it somewhat light since I had to fit in two other restaurant visits that day.
Some may think touting this kind of food is like crowing about the Emperor's New Clothes, but I found it to be honest, satisfying cuisine without pretension.
For dessert, we shared Hamilton's famed Breton butter cake. Read about here. It's served warm and is just simple layers of crusty, slightly orange-flavored, goodness.
We swooned with each bite. Hamilton saw us and gave a big smile.
2 comments:
I so agree with you about Rachel Ray. What idiot comes up with such ridiculous idioms like sammies and EVOO?? The sad part is we buy into her inane, goofiness, and think she is some cooking goddess. She makes some of the nastiest stuff that's ever come down the pike. Read a little about her background, and you may see her in a different light.
What would you rather be? A world famous cook or a writer for the NJ?
It would be professional jealousy if the NJ had professionals employed.
Boo-hoo
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