Vintage Wine Bar

My friend MassPrep and I were hoping to see "Macbeth" in Central Park earlier this summer, but after she waited in line in what a theater worker called the "longest line ever" and there was "no chance" she could get tickets, she gave up. With very little discussion, we decided to go for drinks. When all else fails, grab drinks.

My friend and neighbor from work recommended Vintage Wine Bar on 93rd and Broadway so we gave it a try.

We walked past a store called Vintage Wine but figured it couldn't be the place. After looking around at all the stores on both sides of the block, we figured how many places named Vintage Wine could be on the same block? It seemed strange because it looked like a wine store. We slowly walked in, pretending we knew what we were doing, and I think the cashier picked up on our clueless-ness. He smiled and pointed straight to the back. A wino reads minds, apparently. There, past the wooden shelves of wine bottles and a fridge of fresh cheeses and chilled wines, we found the bar.

The bar consisted of a nice-sized counter that could fit around eight people, a few tall tables with stools in the middle, and a wrap-around counter with more stools. We decided to sit against the wall across from the bar so our conversation, which usually revolves around the latest in dating adventures, didn't completely gross out the bartender.

There was an extensive menu of all kinds of wines, many of them local New York vintages. The chalk board above the bar had a few featured wine specials and a list of snacks. The menu is limited so don't go to Vintage hungry, but it's perfect if your main focus is wine and you just need a small snack to accompany the glasses. MassPrep and I ordered a cheese plate and some olives. The bartender served us a fresh mini baguette and a platter with a block of cheese. The highlight of the night was discovering there were several wines for as little as $4 and $5 dollars a glass. I was stunned when the bartender offered tastes of these cheap glasses, that the wine was actually drinkable. I liked that no matter what you chose, the bartender offered you a taste. I wish more restaurants would practice this without having to plead, beg and watch the eyes role.

MassPrep and I stayed a little later then we should have on a school night but it was well worth it. I'm glad I've discovered a place in my neck of the woods to go for wine without having to take out a loan to pay the tab.


2 locations: SoHo and UWS

482 Broome Street, corner of Wooster
212-226-9463

2492 Broadway @ 93rd St
212-721-9999

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Blaue Gans

My roommates and I live together, but are all rarely home together, and it's even more rare that we all have the same night free to hang out outside our humble abode. LarchmontLass initiated a rendez-vous for us and a few other friends. After several dead end emails of "You can pick the place." "No, you." "Here's another place we can try." "Well how about this place?" the guest of honor Sharktale leaving town the next morning finally said, "Let's go to the Yard." Amen. So, thanks to NYMetro's recommendation of places to eat outside, we went.

FoxyLady, LarchmontLass and myself showed up at the Yard and didn't really know where to go. The Yard is off the Soho Grand, and what was confusing to me was whether we had to walk through the hotel to get in or not. There were two scantily clad twigs of women standing alongside a rope between two wrought iron gates. Behind them was what appeared to be a narrow patio, like what you'd see off your neighbor's pool in suburbia: a few small tables, some umbrellas, a nice large grill, and guests smiling, laughing and clinking their beverages. The reason I suggested the Yard was because I read the word "grass" in its description. Well, I didn't see any grass. When we asked Twig #1 politely if we could cross the rope, she looked at us with a markedly confused look on her face, like we had just asked her what two times two was. She barely mumbled something, shrugged her shoulders, and pleaded with her eyes to Twig #2 for help. Maybe this one had her multiplication tables down. Twig #2 looked at us, not confused like we asked her to solve an equation, but with disgust, as in how dare we - these sub-human sub-cool beings- ask if we could come into her bar and actually be served.

Twig #2: There are no tables.

Me: Well, can we put our name in for one?

Twig #2: We don't do names.

Me: Ok, well, about how long will it be for a table? (Fishing for some kind of helpful response. Isn't it her job!?!?)

Twig #2: I don't know.

Me: Ok, well...can we sit at the bar and wait then?

Twig #2: No. You'll just have to stand there.

Me: Excuse me?

Twig #2: The bar is full. It's closed for a private party.

This sounded fishy as the small bar barely had anyone sitting at it, but I'd had it with this chick. I wasn't going into her yard even if George Clooney showed up behind me, grabbed my elbow and asked me to be his date for the evening.

We spoke to our friends who were meeting us and shared the bad news with them. They were a few blocks down at Blaue Gans so we decided to join them there. Only, there was one slight problem. Sharktale was supposed to meet us at the Yard but he didn't have his cellphone on him, which forced us to awkwardly mope around the Yard entrance and watch the Twigs let people in left and right.

After about a 45 minute wait and a downpour that sent people in the Yard running for indoors (aha!), we gave up waiting for Sharktale and ran through the puddles to Blaue Gans.

It's been described as the "German version of a British pub." I'm not too sure that's entirely accurate for Kurt Gutenbrunner's (of Cafe Sabarsky, Wallse and Thor fame) latest dining venture Blaue (pronounced like wowie with a b) Gans, or Blue Goose. Blaue Gans has a lot more distinction and elegance than the British pubs I know. When I think of British pubs I think of the multiple versions of Pat O'Brien's, Rosie O'Grady's, and Scruffy Duffy's that riddle the streets of Manhattan. The only thing Blaue Gans has in common with these pubs is it serves beer.

We walked in and found a long bar to our right with large mirrors and several tables and wooden booths along the wall to our left. The atmosphere was a little rigid for my taste. But what it lacked in coziness it made up for with the friendly staff and solid food. We kept walking in until we bumped into a huge dining room table (that probably sat around 18) where our friends were sitting. I laughed with shock and thought who else could possibly be coming that we needed this huge table? Our friends pointed out it was a "community" table.

I noticed one of the guys was drinking a hefty, frothy beer when we sat down, and while that was tempting, I opted for white wine. I ordered a glass, and am still regretting not writing down the name of it. It was one of my favorite wines I've ever tasted. I emailed somebody in the contact list off their website and sadly have yet to hear from him. Typical. The wine of my life is now lost forever.

For starters, and since we were in an Austrian pub we tried one of each of their sausages. A Weisswurst, or pork and veal sausage with a pretzel; a Burenwurst, or pork and beef sausage, sauerkraut, mustard, and horseradish; and their Bratwurst, or smoked pork sausage, sauerkraut, mustard, and horseradish. This was the "no frills" part of the evening. Three plates came out with nothing but three big sausages, one on each plate. We cut them up with knives and each stole a piece with our forks. I am not a sausage connoisseur and couldn't really tell them apart, though I tried my hardest. All I know was each was hot, thick, and juicy. The homemade pretzel was an added bonus.

For my entree I tried the salmon special with spaetzle. It was simple and delicious. I'm very picky about spaetzle and I will be going back to Blaue for seconds - it was a little crisp on the edges and not too overdone. FoxyLady and MarathonGirl tried the halibut special. The men at the table picked the Jager Schnitzel and Spaetzle or Wiener schnitzel with mushrooms, bacon, and spaetzle. Sharktale ordered some sort of goulash with spaetzle. Besides my entree, his was my favorite. It came out in an extra large cereal bowl with big chunks of meat in it, with a deep red, almost purple colored marinade. I think the sauce was too rich for Sharktale because he barely got through it. Good thing I was sitting next to him to help him out. The girls were very disappointed with their halibut. I looked at it and it looked like something went really wrong. The fish was lathered in a greasy green goo, and I couldn't even make out what else was under it. MarathonGirl had a bite and her face gave it away. She wished she had ordered their pork dish.

We continued to drink at Blaue Gans before hopping to our next destination, and luckily our tab wasn't as painful as I expected. I was thinking about switching to beer before we left but I felt like a stuffed goose.

When I mentioned Wiener Schnitzel to my Mom and Dad they were immediately excited to try Blaue Gans. We fell in love with Austrian fare when we lived in France and spent every Christmas in Salzburg. I am excited to get back, and next time, I promise I'll write down what I drink, and stay away from the halibut.

139 Duane St., between West Broadway & Church St
212-571-8880

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The Peanut Gallery

I don't usually do this.

I can only think of a few brands I've endorsed on my blog: Magnolia Cupcakes, not omitting Buttercup cupcakes, FreshDirect, and that's about it. Of course, in some cases, restaurants can fall into the "brand" category, but I'm thinking along the lines of individually-wrapped packaged goods.

Well, here's a new one for my record books.

My Aunt was visiting us from good ol' Rocky Mount, North Carolina a few weeks back. My brother and I always tease our cousins, "Where's Rocky Mount?" "What's in Rocky Mount?" "Who's from Rocky Mount?" Well, now I know. Rocky Mount is the home to some of our favorite relatives and to the best peanut I've ever tasted. We're not talking Planters (the fake peanut) or Virginia Diner Peanuts. We're talking America's Best Nut Co., period.

I noticed a big, green tin sitting alone in a corner on our kitchen counter. A tin usually means nuts for the taking. But I didn't recognize the gold- rimmed tin as our usual peanut stash from Balducci's. So, of course, I had to taste for myself. I mean, every peanut's different, right? Just like every pint of Blue Moon is different.

The tin we had on our counter was a tin of "Sea Nuts," after the salt used on the peanuts. My mom stuck her tongue out because they were too salty for her. I, on the other hand, smiled and put my hand back in the peanut tin to steal a handful, which ended up being one of several. These nuts are crunchy - they actually make a loud noise when you bite into them. And the salt wasn't too powerful to me. I liked being able to taste the sea salt on my tongue. I looked at the side to see where in the world these came from and was shocked to read "Rocky Mount" on the label.

I have Auntie to thank, for turning me into a sea nut-ty lunatic. I can't eat any peanuts now that don't hail from AB-NC. And apparently they made my Dad a little nutty too. He ordered eight tins. I repeat, eight tins. I was lucky enough to walk away with one, thanks to Mom, always looking out for me, and stashing one in my suitcase headed back to the Big Hot Apple.

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