My Favorite Eating from 2008

I love making lists. Besides the added advantage of making me feel I've accomplished something just by telling myself to do it, lists also remind me to regroup and mull over things I really enjoyed and would like to remember.

My five favorite things from 2008:

1. Taiwanese oyster noodle. Thin vermicelli noodles in an incredibly thick, pungent broth scented with star anise and tripe, and topped with ribbons of cilantro and intestine, it's always delicious. But the best version I ever had was in Kaohsiung, Taiwan's second largest city and its seafood capital. Tiny, briny and tearfully fresh (I think of fresh shell juices as oyster tears - the mollusk sobs because it realizes it is not long for this world), the local oysters generously piled on top were the best I've ever eaten. Like many street eats, this was served in an alley with no signs or names to describe it (or how to find my way back...). Pic above.

2. Foie gras shavings at Momofuku Ko. I was an early Momofuku fan, but some of his more recent offerings (like the infant-sized Bo Ssam) have failed to impress me. The foie shavings are as marvelous as press clippings claim.

3. Ham and cheese belgian waffle at Bloom & Goute, in Seoul. The owner of this sophisticated cafe/high-end florist studied pastry in Paris and worked in Brussels. She now imports Belgian flour, and mixes equally good grated Swiss cheese straight into the batter, then tops with screamingly hot slab bacon. The result is a fragrant and chewy starch base, soaked with bacon fat, and occasional, surprisingly toothsome nuggets of cheese. Incredible.

4. Double-double animal style at In N Out. Sure, I eat this not just every year but many, many, times a year, but I never fail to look forward to it, nor to appreciate its existence and what it adds to my life (dreams, happiness).

5. Cherimoya, aka "custard apple", a ridgy green fruit indigenous to Central America and the northern part of South America. What looks like an inverted pine cone but tastes like a banana, pineapple and strawberry smoothie? Somehow, this unbioengineered, grown-in-dirt fruit. Finding oddities like this is why I love the farmers markets in southern California. The ones I hunted down in NYC were inedible.

Frank Bruni says 2008 was the best year for the New York dining scene since 2004. I can't remember what opened in 2004, but I do remember that 2007 was unwhelming. A glug glug for 2009 being more reasonably priced and even tastier.

Review: Grilled Cheese Night at Smith's

It's finally gotten chilly enough for me to look through pictures of summer meals with legitimate nostalgia. Here's to wistful sobbing for a meal I had at Smith's about a month ago.

Smith's (not to be confused with The Smith) is the first restaurant from Danny Abrams post-divorce from his Beanstalk group partner Jimmy Bradley. Anyone who's been to the Mermaid Inn, Red Cat, or my personal favorite of the three -- the Harrison -- will immediately recognize the vibe and sensibility. Apparently Smith's is supposed to look like a saloon car, but since I was born in the age of the aeroplane, I'm unable to confirm this for you. In any case, the space is certainly small, narrow, and glossily attractive without being slick (Nobu 57, anyone?).

Sunday Grilled Cheese Night is the Smith's riff on homey Sunday night meals being offered at a handful of newer restaurants around the city. Some clever local restauranteurs realized that deep in our jaded, smoggy hearts, most city dwellers nurture a craving for simple meals that bring comfort food to the table without making a big Chelsea scene about it (ahem, Cookshop).

Now, it's fair to say that a huge grilled cheese hog may not be in a position to offer a well-considered opinion on how delicious a grilled cheese sandwich is. But I defy anyone to look at that stunning specimen of edibleness above and tell me I should reconsider. Stuffed with soppresata, grilled red onion, summer tomatoes, and ossau iraty, on thinly-sliced, perfectly grilled sourdough bread, sprinkled with grated parmesan, and accompanied by a pailful of crunchy shoestring fries, this thing was GOOD.

Ossau-iraty is a firm sheep's milk cheese from the Pays Basque, a region in southwestern France. It's nutty, intense without being sharp, tastes distinctly of rind in the best way possible, and gifts you with a very lip-smacking, satisfying, creamy aftertaste. This was the first time I'd ever had it "cooked", and it was fantastic - an expensive upgrade from Cheddar, and more novel than Manchego.

There are a number of reasons why this meal is a taste of summer I'll have to wait another year for. Fresh summer corn, grilled and mixed generously with heaps of tender little chanterelle mushrooms, chives (erroneously called "green onion" on the menu) and bits of red onion made for a salad I'll be waiting for. It smelled strongly of butter and onions, which has always been a wordy way of saying "ravishingly delicious" (go ahead and OED it... I dare you). The other reason is this little buddy to our left, a bourbon-based 'lemonade' the very color of sunshine itself, not to mention the enchanting glee of the devil. Muddled mint, good bourbon, and freshly squeezed lemon juice with a bit of simple syrup made for a pleasing drink or four.


Smith's
79 Macdougal Street (near Bleecker)
New York, NY
212.260.0100

Review: Too Much Talking at Terroir

I like Marco Cancora even though he took his chocolate doughnuts off the menu at Hearth, and didn't respond to any of my emails begging him to bring them back. And even though I didn't enjoy Insieme, his stuffy midtown eatery in a stuffy midtown hotel, I decided to give his wine bar, Terroir, a shot. Despite its pretentiously evocative name, Terroir is a shoebox located right behind Hearth on 12th Street in the East Village, with a decidedly neighborhood treehouse atmosphere. Other than the bar, the only place to sit is a long communal table squashed up against the wall, leaving people to squash against each other to get to that undesirable seat in the middle of the table. Get cool with this closeness, quick, cause you're going to end up sitting nearly as close anyway.

Warm fuzzy feelings dissipated quickly when I opened the wine list. It's a wine bar with fun graphic design screaming "Summer of the Riesling", so someone, please explain to me how the proprietors decided THIS is okay. Yeah, that's right. It looks like an abstract for an academic conference. And this was only one page of many: every type of wine on the list came with its own verbose disclaimer. This particular page wasn't even about a wine, it's a mini-biography of Alvaro Palacios, a superstar in the Spanish wine world. I understand that it's a wine bar where patrons may wish to be informed about what they decide to drink, but how are we to decide what to drink when we can't even finish reading about the first two grapes? Keeping the language cheeky and personal doesn't prevent the actual exercise from being pedantic - or overwhelming.

BUT the wine list was interesting, the staff was very knowledgeable, and they offered half-glasses at no premium, allowing patrons to sample a wide variety at reasonable prices. It's a great place for a self-selected tasting, with a small menu of snacks to keep you company. The food is unequivocally delicious, but did I mention that the chef (whose name I didn't catch) had the smallest workstation I've ever seen? It was a tiny counter about 2 feet long, with with a hot plate. Seriously; this somehow makes the food taste phenomenal. Major kudos to her for managing to keep other people out of her way long enough to send out perfectly toasted LARDO! bruschetta - this is a picture of the second one I ordered. To photograph the first would've required an X-ray within 20 seconds. Below is the roasted tomato and egg bruschetta.

In addition to bruschetta, there's a small selection of charcuterie, salads and panini, many of which I remember seeing at Craftbar, though I bet even those favorites taste better here, coming as they do from that hot plate. I also sampled the wild boar sausage at our server's recommendation - it was better than I expected, with a rich, chewy texture and hunger-creating gaminess. Am I a hunting outdoorsman in my heart? Cause you know, I'd learn to shoot a gun if it meant I'd have a lifetime supply of that boar sausage. Sorry, no picture as it too would've required an x-ray.

Terroir
413 East 12th Street (between 1st/A Ave)
New York, NY
646.602.1300

Review: Bar Boulud

Bar Boulud wins, hands-down, for having the most attractive table accent I have EVER seen. See below to agree on the elegance of the centerpiece's lines, blooming colors, and delightfully robust odor.
I'd come back here just to visit the ham centerpiece again, the smart choice for a restaurant labeled a "terrine machine" by Frank Bruni. So happy was I to see Signor San Daniele that I nearly hugged it - then realized I'd probably be charged Daniel Boulud-pricepoint retail costs for soiling its porky magnificence. I contented myself with a beautifully arranged, but rather ungenerous serving (Lupa doles out at least 1/3 more of its fantastic prosciutto).

It was obviously delicious, but couldn't compare to this breathtaking concoction of brilliance: moist, uber fatty, lyonnaise sausage studded with bits of pistachio and black truffle... BAKED INTO A BUTTERY, FLAKY, BRIOCHE MUFFIN. WHY DON'T I SEE THIS EVERYWHERE? Tactically, it's a sure bet for unreal deliciousness-making. It's like... MSG.

Just in case you missed it, the charcuterie here, the work of Sylvain Gasdon (a protege of Parisian genius Gilles Verot), is UNREAL. It's absolutely as diverse and interesting as critics have said, and all of it as fatty and sublime as even a pork glutton like me could hope for (pork pork pork). My snacking companion and I didn't bother to order any entrees -- had to save room for dinner in an hour -- and instead, delicately and tastefully, stuffed our faces with this inspired selection of pork product, excellent, crispy frites, and a superb rose suggested by our waiter. The waitstaff was so gracious, we even managed to ignore the typically Lincoln Center atmosphere of the restaurant (stuffy, calcified, etc).

Bar Boulud
1900 Broadway (between 63rd/64th St)
New York, NY
212.595.0303

One more picture of the centerpiece, cause it's great eye candy.