Frederick's

LarchmontLass and FoxyLady asked if it was OK if their friend stayed with us for a couple of nights. He was flying in from London. He went to Duke with them. He was somebody's ex's best friend. Sounded juicy.

"Fine with me," I said.

The weekend was long and wild, but I promised my girls I would be up for a Sunday fun day, in order to show the British import a good time.

Since I met QuiteDashing, I have not heard the end of it. One mention of the blog and he was all eager beaver to get his honorary mention. He even went so far as to suggest a nickname for himself. I believe his "Thank you for your hospitality" note still sits on our fridge for posterity:

"Mona, I look forward to appearing on your food blog. I'm thinking something like 'Dashing Jetsetter' might work. Up to you."

I don't take requests normally, but we all got a kick out of his suggestion so I decided to work it in somehow.

Sunday fun day arrived and LarchmontLass and I sat on the couch throwing places back and forth, none of which were inspiring.

"We could do Boat Basin, or we could do Barrow..."

"Yeah ... or we could do White Horse Tavern. But I do love Boat Basin..."

"There's also Barrow, but yeah, we could do White Horse..."

"Oh, what about Freemans or Corner Bistro?"

It was the worst game of "Where are we going?" Ever.

Then the lightbulb.

"Frederick's. It's one of my favorites!" yelled LarchmontLass.

I'd never heard of or been to Frederick's but I share similar tastes in bars and restaurants as LarchmontLass, so I trusted her and went with it.

It was QuiteDashing and the ladies, FoxyLady, SassyShark, LarchmontLass and myself. We walked into Frederick's and I noticed a table of Euros sitting at the front window. Their feet were up on the chairs, I wanted to put my fingers through their dark, wavy hair, they had crisp button-down shirts and each wore fancy leather shoes or sneakers. Why can't all men look this good? They were angled towards the televisions to watch soccer, like bikinis aligned with the sun on the beach.

Instead of checking your ID at the door with a bouncer, at Frederick's, you unofficially check your physique with this soccer-watching panel. We're all pretty girls, but you would have thought Gisele Bundchen had just walked in. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself, thinking, seriously? Frederick's is French, but the last time I felt like this was when I was walking in the streets of Italy with my best friend CP.

We waltzed in to a table at the back with flying colors. Frederick's was fancier than I was expecting, almost too fancy. Its clean, white walls and white table cloths added a touch of elegance to the space. There's something about table cloths that scream, "Behave!" or "No mess allowed here!" If table cloths are to be used at all, I think they should be saved for dinner.

We all laughed when we saw the enormous movie screen to our right. Life-size soccer was happening. This place was serious.

A busboy immediately came to the table to pour us water. He was tall, gangly and doe-eyed and completely missed my glass. The contents started trickling over the table onto my leg. I quickly said, "No worries," and I meant it. The poor kid went to the back completely embarrassed where he received a scolding from the hostess. He returned to the table, and for some reason, with an empty glass, to try again. His hands were shaking and I wanted to invite him to have a seat, take a breath, and tell him it was OK.

Too bad our server wasn't as sweet and soft-spoken. He was on the track to stardom at the beginning, but then totally fell off. The place wasn't that busy so I'm not sure what he was up to. Perhaps soccer. He was preoccupied and every time we had a request, whether for another drink or more water, he was slightly agitated.

We ordered the caprese with pine nuts and balsamic vinegar. They both were a nice addition to the normal caprese with just olive oil, although pine nuts are always tough to eat. The tomatoes were a bit ripe but the mozzarella was excellent.


Artichokes are my weakness. I see them on menus and I cannot deny them. These came in a brown paper bag. I liked the idea of crispy artichokes and parmesan, but they turned out being better on paper than in the paper. All flavor was grilled right out of them and I was afraid I was going to cut my throat on the crisp artichoke edges.

FoxyLady ordered the granola with berries and yogurt and I think she was a bit disappointed. The yogurt was all natural and the small dose of berries did not make up for its lack of sugar.


The pancakes with strawberries were buttery and fluffy -- everything pancakes should be.

For me, the best thing on the table were the French fries. I was tempted to order a second helping. They are now among my favorites in the city. They were boxy, fluffy and crispy and straight out of a frites counter in Brugge.


After catching up on years since (and in) college, learning about London and hearing too many "quites" from our British import, we decided to press on in our Sunday adventure. I was nervous, yet again, to cross the threshold of Euros in the front. They were seated just as they were when we walked in. I held my breath, and my stomach, and bolted for the doorway. We paused for a few photos in Frederick's spacious outdoor lounge area, fully equipped with a sofa, and headed on our tipsy way.

God knows what compelled us to eat another meal a mere two hours or so after that at Frederick's, but we did. We headed down the road to White Horse Tavern and ordered some fried mozzarella sticks,


a tuna melt,



and QuiteDashing ordered this hulk of a roast beef sandwich.


I'm never too impressed with the food at White Horse. I suggest eating elsewhere and just sticking to the basics -- like fries or sticks -- at White Horse. My tuna melt was borderline gross and normally I want to try tastes of everyone else's food, but the roast beef sandwich didn't look appetizing to me. Next time I'll stick to Blue Moons.

QuiteDashing has since returned to New York a couple of times, but we have yet to enjoy another solid, around the clock, Sunday fun day. He did show up once, mid-afternoon at The Frying Pan. He was straight off the plane with luggage in tow. What a good chap, that QuiteDashing.

My friends and I don't normally walk the sidewalks of Manhattan arm in arm, unless it's 4 a.m. on a Sunday. But if you asked me to show you what Sunday fun day was all about, this would be it.


Where to next, QuiteDashing?

*Frederick's
637 Hudson St, near Horatio
(212) 488-4200

*White Horse Tavern
567 Hudson St., at 11th St.