Orsay

"Hey Mon, I'm in town!"

I've been getting this message a lot lately. Dad has meetings often at his company's Manhattan office and one night I was lucky enough to hang out with him. We were contemplating going to a concert in the park, barring the deluge that was supposed to come didn't. Dad's a huge Bonnie Raitt fan and she was playing that night. Trying not to be a pooper without much success, I was exhausted (see below post) and didn't feel up for a concert. Besides that, it was a New York City scorcher, so I cajoled him into taking me out for a nice dinner instead. A Dad after my own heart.

We ended up in my ol' stomping grounds on the upper east side. Thanks to my uncle's recommendation, we tried the French bistro Orsay. I walked by it for two years, always wishing someone would take me to eat there someday. It has inviting red wooden paneling and cream-colored awnings that scream French brasserie. I have a soft spot for French brasseries, a la Balthazar, so it was always on my "to go" list.

The hostess was very friendly, picking us right up in the entranceway and asking us whether we preferred outside or inside. There was a huge party making a ruckus inside (no, France wasn't playing in the World Cup that night) and since I've always daydreamed about eating outside we picked a table along the sidewalk. So much for caring that much about the weather. It was more important for me to sit outside on their veranda then to eat inside in the air conditioning.

We ordered a couple beverages and glanced at the menu. Dad knew exactly what he was starting with: escargots, served classic-style with garlic, breadcrumbs, parsley and pastis. When they came to the table both our jaws dropped to the pavement. Normally, you get six in the little snail-friendly plate, but not at Orsay. Dad had a dozen juicy escargots now sitting in his lap. I had to hold my hand and fork back to resist trying before he took the first snail. For me, I went with something a little more vegetarian-friendly: haricots verts salad, served with shaved artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, and truffled dressing. My salad was perfect for a hot summer day. The haricots were crisp and chilled, and the "toppings" worked really well with them. Sometimes I order meals with sun-dried tomatoes and they don't always mesh well taste-wise with the rest of the dish. But here they were right on. I am going to experiment with this salad on my own at home. Stay tuned for that adventure. Dad's escargots were little balls of warm juicy goodness. Mmm, I've never liked escargots until that night. Now I am no longer anti-snail, and I might order my own dish of the little guys one of these days. I could have dipped the pieces of bread in the empty holes of garlic and chopped parsley all night.

For our entrees, I chose the red snapper with eggplant caviar, warm bean salad, sherry vinegar and lemongrass dressing. Dad went for the wild duckling, blood orange glaze, chicory salad, warm heirloom potatoes, and roasted beets. He was debating between two things, per usual. When he asked me what I was having, I almost didn't tell him. Dad's famous for the ol' bait and switch. He'll ask you what you're getting. If you say you're debating between this and that, he'll say "Oh get that, I'm going to get this." Then when it comes time to actually ordering, he'll completely change his mind and what you could have gotten -well you'll just never know. The dishes came out and we were both wowed. My snapper had a thin crispy layer and was sitting on top of a mountain of beans. I couldn't wait to get my fork into it. Dad's duck was neatly sliced in thick pieces, with the potatoes on the side. I forgot to mention the last item we ordered -fries. You just have to order fries when you go to a French bistro. Theirs were the perfect density and saltiness. My snapper was thick and tender. The white meat of the fish was moist and flaked off with the slightest touch of the fork. Dad seemed slightly disappointed he didn't have a whole or half-duck in front of him. I think he expected it to be on the bone. I told him it's just how I liked duck, so I scored a piece. It was piping hot and tender, not too chewy, and the blood orange glaze had a slightly bitter taste to it, making the duck not too painfully sweet.

For dessert, Dad and I chose the key lime pie. I don't know what came over us, ordering key lime pie at a French restaurant. I should have known better. But that's what we did. I wouldn't order it again. I'd go for one of the more classic French dishes like profiteroles or souffle, but oh well. The key lime pie was kind of sleepy. Nothing very exciting about it, other than its chilled temperature tasted good in the heat. After a couple glasses of port we called it a night.
The service was top notch at Orsay. Our server was very keen on refilling our waters, refilling our wine glasses, and everything happened in a timely manner. Appetizers were perfectly timed, plates removed, entrees perfectly timed, and bread basket refilled. It was all very well rehearsed and I was continually impressed.

I hope you'll get a chance to go to Orsay like I did. I look forward to going back with friends and more family. Now it moves from my "to go" list to my "go back" list.

1057 Lexington Avenue, at 75th street
212- 517- 6400

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Blue Fin

FoxyLady informed me it was our good friend BermudaBabe's birthday. We hadn't seen her in a long time and decided it was a perfect excuse to get together and catch up on the latest in all our lives. The original intention was to just get drinks, but if you keep reading you'll see where those "drinks" took us...

I had it in my head that I wanted to go to a rooftop bar (by now you know the drill) so we started at Pinnacle at the Hilton on 42nd. I know you're thinking, "What's the deal with Mona and midtown?" It's where I work and it's convenient. I know there are so many more exciting places to try, but on a school night it's easier for me to get home to the upper upper west side from midtown than it is from downtown.

The way Pinnacle Bar was described on a website (that I can't re-find) was completely off. It sounded like one of the coolest rooftop bars in the city. When we got there I kept thinking, this is it? I guess after 230 Fifth I'm spoiled. The bar is located in the lobby of the Times Square Hilton, about 20 floors up, and it's right off an enormous window that looks out over midtown. I guess I had an open-air rooftop bar in mind and it wasn't really fitting the bill. I gave a small sigh of disappointment, but my girls were good sports and decided to stay and drink up. The server brought us the wine list and moments later a bottle of what we thought was extremely reasonable wine. A bottle of white for 18 bucks? Bring it on! You can't go wrong with that -roof bar or not! Sadly, our dreams were shattered when it came to the table as a half-bottle. What a tease. Did our waitress think three young professional women were going to have a sufficiency with a half-bottle?

Several plastic canisters of their salty mix and two full bottles of wine later, we decided to migrate. We were bored with the lobby scene of big families checking in in the bus-loads. We needed some excitement.

We took the elevator downstairs and braved it through the hordes of Times Square, with a little help from a small wine buzz. After some very hazy decision-making, we walked into the W Hotel's Blue Fin. I've seen it several times but it never dawned on me to actually eat there. (And I can't even play the snobby card. I admit I've eaten at the Olive Garden in Times Square with my girl Fashionista. She had a gift certificate so we went for their soup and salad combo one day.)

Blue Fin is yet another B.R. Guest success story. The Executive Chef of Blue Fin is Eric Woods and the designer of the restaurant is Yabu Pushelberg. I hadn't heard of either until now. The interior of Blue Fin felt similar to that of Morimoto. They both feel like odes to water. Everything from the chairs to the lights, to the plates to the staircases had soft edges like it had been worn down like rocks in the sand. And the paneling on the walls was layered like the ridges of sea shells and layers in the sand. We sat down and the three of us were in awe of this newly discovered gem smack dab in the middle of Times Square.

We glanced at the menu after ordering another bottle of wine and picked the following: spicy tuna with a sweet Thai chili sauce, sesame shrimp in a curry sauce, BBQ freshwater eel and dragon roll, sake seared salmon and cucumber roll, fresh crabmeat California roll, and last but not least the big eye tuna with mustard miso.

Here's the generous platter fit for three kings (or in this case queens), courtesy of FoxyLady's fabulous camera.


The sushi was surprisingly crisp and fresh and brought us to smiles with each bite. The fish was tender in each roll and each different roll complimented each other. We were proud with our selections. My favorite part was each had its own distinct dipping sauce. I love sauces so that was a treat for me. The sweet Thai chili sauce was the highlight. I think I was mixing and matching everything with that towards the end.

Server who notices three girls getting drunk at table 52: "Would you like another bottle of wine?"

After some shrugging, doubtful eye-popping looks at each other, we blurted in unison: "Yah!! What the heck?! Bring us another Mister!"

Server to his friends: "Bring 'em another bottle boys. Pretty soon they'll be dancing for sushi."

In comes fourth bottle of wine and out goes most rational thought.

Before things really get ugly, here's dessert - S'mores cake, or chocolate cake layered with chocolate mousse, a marshmallow icing, and graham cracker ice cream. It was ridiculous after four bottles of wine, imagine what it tasted like sober.


I know you're on the edge of your seats to hear what happened the rest of the night. Let's just say we ended up at a bar we frequent after work, we were the party, and we probably should have called it a night after dinner. But, we only live once, and BermudaBabe only turns 27 once. I just told FoxyLady, it's time for another Blue Fin night.

1567 Broadway
at 47th St.
212-918-1400

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Summer Sangria

I was home one weekend with my mom and we were doing a little shopping in Westport. Dinnertime was approaching and we started discussing some options when it hit me - I didn't so much care what the food was but I really felt like making sangria. Leave it to me to decide on something last minute, get this grandiose idea in my head, but not have a recipe on hand to back it up. So, I snuck into the local Williams Sonoma and headed straight to the cookbook section. I'm sure the ladies in their forest green aprons were wondering what I was doing sitting on the floor, taking notes from a thin cocktail book, but I was desperate. "Nope, don't need help, just stealing some recipes. And nope, no intention of buying the book, but thanks." Oh well. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

When I mentioned I was making sangria my mom was somewhat surprised. She didn't quite understand what the big fuss was about. I think after that night's pitcher of fun I've successfully converted her to a sangria aficionado. (I'm home today in CT and these words just came out of her mouth, "I would love to make sangria tonight!" Ha! Mission accomplished.)

Ingredients:

Recipe:

One bottle full -bodied red wine, Cotes du Rhone is a good pick
1/4 cup brandy
1/2 cup white grape juice
1 cup club soda
2/3 cup orange juice
1/3 cup lime juice
1/2 orange, thinly sliced
1/2 lemon, thinly sliced
1 apple, sliced and diced
1 peach, sliced and diced
other fruit: pears, strawberries, grapes, optional

The numbers here are rough. I'd say give or take whatever you like/dislike. And taste it as you go along.

The recipe we used didn't call for sugar. Most recipes do, however. I think we had so much fruit in ours it didn't matter. I normally don't like sweetened sangria anyway-blech!

Enjoy! I hope this post influences lots of sangria-induced smiling.

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Patsy's

Mom and Dad spent a day in the city and took me and my long time friend/roommate FoxyLady out to dinner. They were going to mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral before meeting us at Patsy's. No, not Patsy's the pizzeria, but Patsy's the nice Italian restaurant in midtown.

Unfortunately, I rolled out of bed and into work that Sunday so I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. FoxyLady had to bring me something from home to change into, but it all worked out. And I have a confession to make. I used my manipulative powers to get us seated without having the entire "party" present. Mom told me they needed our table at eight o'clock so we were going to have an hour and fifteen minutes to eat and scramble. I didn't want to rush dinner so FoxyLady and I showed up around 6:30. I batted my eyelashes and asked in the sweetest voice I could muster if they wouldn't mind seating us before my parents arrived; I was just coming off a long day of grueling work; and my parents, the good devout Catholics they are, were going to race over right after mass. The host must have liked me because we were seated and a bottle of white wine was on its way to the table in a matter of minutes.

Our server deserves his own blog entry, but here goes the abridged caricature. He was a tall elderly gentleman in his penguin suit with spastic white hair, and black, thick-rimmed, thick-lensed glasses that he was constantly nudging higher on his nose in between looking at us and scribbling down our dinner choices. He had a strict friendliness about him. He didn't mutter one extraneous word all evening. When we asked him a question we got the short and fast response, but without being rude. It made us smile and laugh more than anything. If we were debating between items A and B on the menu and asked his opinion, without even hesitating, he would write down the proper choice on his trusty notepad. And when we wavered between ordering dessert or not, he knew just the trick. He wheeled the dessert cart over to the table and pointed out each one, which ones were his favorites and boom. We were sold.

For our starters we went with clams arreganata, or littleneck clams stuffed with breadcrumbs, garlic, Parmigiano-Reggiano, oregano and fresh parsley; and a plate of cold antipasto served with grilled vegetables, roasted peppers, fresh mozzarella, and prosciutto and melon. The clams were sizzling hot off the shells and light and crispy. The antipasto was the perfect size for a table of four.

For the main entrees Mom and FoxyLady had their signature lasagna, I tried their
spaghetti and meatballs thanks to the servers voiced opinion, and Dad tried their rigatoni with sausage. Mom and FoxyLady loved their lasagna. I snagged one multi-layered bite and the sweet marinara sauce with the thick creamy ricotta made my tastebuds very happy. I can't remember the last time I ordered spaghetti and meatballs. It was probably when I was a pre-teen. Normally I go for the creamy sauces or pesto, but I'm glad I went with the Italian classic this time. Patsy's kept it simple. The spaghetti was cooked al dente, the sauce was thick with fresh chunks of tomato, and the meatballs were right up there with my Dad's (I know he's reading this with a smile).

We were stuffed, but Dad insisted we couldn't end the night without having dessert. We would have been fine with one, but our server would not have accepted that for an answer so off we went: a chocolate mousse cake, a cheesecake, and a moist rum cake. The chocolate mousse cake was the only one that really stood out. We were fighting at the table over who got the last forkful. The cake part was dense and moist and the mousse part was the same way, it was more like a chocolate fudge cake than a mousse cake. I tried the rum cake after some hemming and hawing from Dad (his favorite last words are how can you be half Italian and not like...), but I have to admit and much to my Dad's disappointment, rum cake is not really my thing.

Just a reminder in case you missed it at the top, Patsy's is not to be confused with the pizzeria joint of the same name. And when I went to Patsy's website I found this very amusing. In big bold letters at the top of the page by its location it says, "One and Only One Location." Yes, they're right, there's only one real Patsy's, and there's only one word I can say about it-go.

236 W 56th St, between Broadway & 8th Ave
212-247-3491

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My Moon

K. Adler invited me to my first art show in Williamsburg and on a Monday- imagine that! I couldn't believe it. Mondays are my weekend and I hardly ever have anything fun to do (except luckily this year July 4th fell on my weekend-allelujah). She suggested we do dinner in Williamsburg before the art show because we were sure to discover some unexplored territory.

We got off the subway and I felt like I was in a different world. There were no massively crowded crosswalks, no honking horns, and no skyscrapers blocking my view of the starry night. I could get used to this.

Unfortunately, K.Adler and I roamed around for about a half hour but nothing seemed to strike our fancy. Perhaps we had just walked the wrong way on Bedford. She got out her trusty New York Mag and we read about a couple restaurant openings, but it was a matter of finding them that was the problem. While we were following one street towards the water we ran into a large fence and a bouncer. K saw a menu lit up on the stone wall and what I thought looked like a crazy club scene was actually a restaurant. So what the heck, we gave it a try.

We walked into the large courtyard outside My Moon and walked in to a huge party inside. I wasn't sure where we were going to eat. It seemed like all the tables had been cleared away except the ones along the wall because there were a hundred people milling around in the middle with drinks. We approached who we thought was the host and he told us it would be about fifteen minutes. And because of all the noise and ruckus going on, he even asked for a cell phone number so he could call us when a table opened. I guess there's a first for everything.

After fighting our way to the bar, scoring a couple small cups of sangria, then fighting our way back through the crowd wher we'd be spotted by the host, one of the managers grabbed us. In a thick Turkish accent he asked if we were waiting for a table and swept us into a fairly large semi-circle of a booth. The back of the booth was really tall and looming over our heads and I felt slightly awkward there were only two of us eating in this larger-than-life table.

Everything on the menu, after I read the English translation of course, sounded excellent. There were too many tastebud-arousing plates to choose from. After some minor deliberation, we went for sigara borek or pan fried crispy filo dough filled with feta cheese, parsley and dill, a plate of mixed Spanish and Turkish olives marinated in garlic, herbs and spices, and a hummus plate. The filo and feta dish was definitely the highlight. They came out looking like mini Mexican flautas. The feta was smooth and warm on the inside and I kept taking mini bites so they'd last longer. The hummus was served with warm freshly made pita crisps and it was the perfect consistency- not too thick but not too runny.

As you can see, we were light eaters that evening. I would definitely go back to My Moon with a big group of people and order a variety of their other Turkish dishes. And I am curious what the atmosphere is like when there's not a raging party going on. What I liked most was even though we weren't really there for the private party, the staff welcomed us with open arms. I can't imagine that happening in too many places on my side of the bridge.

My Moon
184 N 10th St, between Bedford and Driggs,
Brooklyn
718-599-7007

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Sascha

Days and days ago, maybe even months ago, Carebear and I decided to grab dinner. I had read about Sascha on Eater and the idea of eating anywhere that is even remotely connected with Pastis (the chef of Sascha used to be the chef de cuisine there) made it jump out at me. I'm a sucker for anything with Keith McNally's stamp on it.

We took a stroll from her West Village apartment, passed by many charming restaurants I someday would hope to try (and live next to ;), before we made it to the Meatpacking District where we found Sascha.

It's a two-level, three-part restaurant. One part brasserie on the ground level, one part formal dining room upstairs, and one part bakery. We chose to eat in the brasserie with the bar in closer proximity to our table. There were several tables outside (they took doors/windows off the hinges so it was almost like eating al fresco), but as it was getting a little chilly we opted for inside.

The hostess told us it would be a short wait so we sat at the bar for one drink. The bartender was a bit gregarious, throwing circular coasters at us, giving us all the wrong menus, and enticing us with his cocktail skills, we could have sat there all night and have been perfectly happy. Funny, as we were getting up off our bar stools, I specifically mentioned to Carebear, "I hope we sit on that side." That side referring to the side of the divider closer to the open windows. Well we weren't so lucky. We sat on the side kissing the bar stools but I guess that's why we were downstairs in the first place anyway, right?

Our first cocktail was a Bellini, and it was everything a Bellini should be: crisp, refreshing and just a little bit of icy foam. When we got the cocktail menu we decided we would branch out and try something different, at least I did anyway. Big mistake. I got this lemon drink that tasted like lemonade and moonshine. Just avoid anything with lemons on the cocktail menu.

Carebear and I looked at the one-sided menu and found there wasn't a huge variety of stuff to try if you didn't feel like big hunks of meat or seafood. But with a little searching, we each found something. To start we tried the fried oysters with cole slaw. This was my second favorite thing the whole night, second to my entree. There were about six small fried oysters sitting on top of an elegant cole slaw. I couldn't decide which I liked better the cole slaw or the oysters. But the combination of both made Sascha a shoe-in for my going back.

Carebear chose the trout with lentils and mini potato balls as her main course, and I went with a special, which I don't often do: braised pork shoulder in a red cranberry sauce over polenta. I'm worried this may have been a once-in-a-lifetime dish. I would call Sascha before going to see if they would still make it. The pork was melt-in-your-mouth tender and the sauce... mmm... the sauce! I've never had pork with so much punch. The polenta wasn't as thick as I like, it was a little on the thin and watery side, but I didn't let it bother me because I was too busy with the pork. It was the Meg Ryan at the diner in "When Harry Met Sally" kind of meal for me, if you catch my drift.

Our server was a delight. She was very friendly and helpful. When we asked her for something, we got it. When we asked her about things to try she gave us the appropriate recommendations, even saying, "Nah I'd skip that."

Sascha was a hit. And you won't believe me when I say this but we ate there the weekend right before it showed up in good ol' Bruni's column so, needless to say, we were two proud kids. Don't ya love it when that happens?

55 Gansevoort St
212-989-1920

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