F.A.T.

Happy Friday, everyone!

The countdowns are on. Only seven days until my favorite holiday and I can't figure out what I'm going to be. Ideas? Anyone? And eleven days until the election and I hope you've figured out who you're voting for.

I've been under a self-imposed house arrest all week so this kid is ready to paint the town bright red. Here's your late October edition of Fridays About Town:

*FunStar Found Me the Tasting Table
*Trick or Treats
*I Love a Bowtie on a Man, Even More in the Bowl
*Because These Just Look Sick
*Status Fridays at Suzie Wong's ... Say What?
*Citrine Is Now Open for Your Business
*Happy 5th Bday Sunburnt Cow -- One More Reason YILUVU
*Chilly for Some Chili? Head to BRUCE
*One of My Favorite Games: If You Like A, Then You'll Like B
*Famous Chefs Are Ready to Make You Lunch at Supper Club
*I Vote, You Vote, We All Vote for Ice Cream
*Boo! Take a Tour of Haunted New York
*You Still Have Time to Hit the CMJ Music Marathon
*In Honor of Winette, Brookyln's Veg Week
*Gwyneth Eats? Star Launches Charming Goop

to keep reading

The Obama vs. McCain Burger Wars

photo courtesy of U.S. News & World Report

Not only is Spike Mendelsohn my favorite "Top Chef" contestant, even beating out Sam Talbot for the coveted spot, but he's also the news behind one of my favorite food-meets-politics stories.

At Spike's restaurant Good Stuff Eatery in Washington, D.C., you can order the Obama burger with bacon, blue cheese, onion marmalade and horseradish mayo. Or, if spicy's your thing, you can order the McCain burger with chipotle mayo, corn and roasted red pepper salsa, jack cheese, lettuce, and tomato.

Can you guess who's winning?


It may be a reflection of the beltway's political leanings, a simple red vs. blue issue, or it may very well be a tastebud preference. No matter, the Obama burger's killing it by a landslide of 717 to 257.

Which would you prefer? Would it be the same if the candidates' names weren't involved?

to keep reading

Shake Shack: Part I

TheTustler: I feel like your blog production has slowed as of late
TheTustler: haha
Me: you feel?
Me: it HAS
TheTustler: Yeah
TheTustler: I'm really in need of daily reading material
TheTustler: And the once a week isn't doing it for me

There's nothing quite like a good kick in the pants. I appreciate friends telling me that I'm slacking. I know if they're not reading my blog, nobody is. So thank you, Tustler. I will keep your daily Web surfing routine in mind when I contemplate missing a day's (week's) worth of blogging.

I skipped the gym today so I could expedite the blog updating process. Only I ran into a slight detour. I read several months ago that a Shake Shack was opening on the upper west side and I was shocked and excited. First Magnolia and now Shake Shack? Two New York institutions live on my walk home from work. It's too good to be true. Or is it too bad? I guess skipping the gym is not going to be an option anymore.


I had just eaten a big lunch, but could not walk by the Shack and not order something. I approached the big windows and glanced inside.

,

"Shake what?" A young man with sunglasses the size of his head shouted.

"Shake Shack!" The chorus of sassy girls replied.

A crew of rowdy teenagers with their blizzard gear and backpacks were all huddled in front of the menus outside. I'm sure they were falling asleep in Ancient Civilization less than a half hour ago and now they were more hyper than four-year-olds on Nerds. The menu may as well have been in Mandarin. They were so confused I don't think they knew what neighborhood they were in.

"What the hail ee-ihs thee-yis?"

"Shake somethin'!"

"Just MOVE!"

One of the taller girls towards the back pushed her pack of friends in the doorway and I shook my head in laughter and followed.


It was organized chaos. There were ropes and signs everywhere directing you with different arrows where to stand, which direction to face, what was up, what was down and where to order. They even had a young man sporting his Shake Shack T-shirt and hat, ready to take your questions. He was like the guy at the mall at the information booth, only he had no mall maps and no booth.

"When did you guys open?"

"Just yesterday," he replied with a smile.

"Great!"

I mentioned to a co-worker that he had to get a burger on his way home and he had already tried, though with no success. He said the lines were too long. I guess that's a good sign, though these places always have a honeymoon phase.



I nervously approached the counter like I was approaching the bench. I couldn't fit in a burger, and when I spotted the crinkly fries on the steel shelves ready to go I blurted, "Fries, please!"

"Sure. What's your name?" The girl behind the counter smiled at me like the Cheshire Cat.

"Mona."

"That'll be $2.75. This will vibrate when your order's ready, Mona."

"OK!"



It was amusing that I needed the little gizmo when I ordered something that was staring at me in the face. I took three steps back from the counter and the gizmo started vibrating. I thought I was part of some practical joke. I guess my fries were done. I put some ketchup in the little to-go containers and walked across the street to the benches to snack on my first local Shake Shack purchase.



These were no Nathan's crinkly fries. I was bummed. They had all the trappings to be one of my new favorite snacks. They even looked the part with lightly golden centers and darker brown edges. Only I bit in and it was like biting into an empty French fry -- all the potato had been sucked out. I love crispy French fries, but I like tasting the soft, warm potato inside and these babies didn't have it. Their beauty was only skin deep.

A woman sat next to me on my bench with her Shake Shack bag in one hand and her Bugaboo SUV in the other. I noticed her inhaling a cheeseburger.

"How is it?" I asked, "I only tried the fries."

"The burger's good," she replied, "Better than the fries."

She must have sensed how underwhelmed I was.

"Well that gives me something to look forward to. I only had room for the fries today."

She smiled and shook her head and I let her enjoy the rest of her mid-day snack.

I headed home at a quick pace. Maybe if I walked at a rapid clip I'd feel less guilty for eating fries I wasn't crazy about. I decided to do Shake Shack in three parts. Next I'll try the concreation, and for the final act, I'll try the burger. I don't expect it to hold up toJ.G. Melon's burger, but I'm hoping for more satisfaction than I found in the French fry skins.

UWS: 366 Columbus Ave., corner of 77th St.
Madison Square Park: Southeast corner, near Madison and East 23rd St.

to keep reading

Seriously?

For those of you who don't scour Page Six for the latest in celebrity gossip, here's a blind item for you:

What football player on the IR is reportedly having his wedding reception at The Tavern on the Green?


Tom Brady, that's who.

More importantly I should ask why?

Can't America's quarterback and the world's highest-paid supermodel come up with something more original, unique and exciting than Tavern on the Green? The Tavern is the dumping ground for horse carriages and tour buses. Its "Hello, Dolly!" days are long gone. The hall of mirrors reflects nothing but its overpriced and underwhelming fare.

Brady, with all this extra time on your hands, why don't you try and come up with a better idea. Run it by some foodies. Even the Chowhounds could help you out. Perhaps the Waldorf or the Pierre -- pieces of old New York that haven't gone stale with age and popularity. One of N.Y.'s most dashing couples deserves the best, not a venue that's sadly come to be known as a local joke.

to keep reading

Bobo

Similar to the three Rs of basic learning: reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic, New York has its three Bs of dining: Babbo, Il Buco and Bobo.

Often when I share my B-list with people, they get one confused with the other.

"Bobo! That's Batali's place! I hear -- "

"Err...no. That's BAAH-bow, as in BAAH BAAH black sheep," I say.

"OK, what the heck is Bobo?"

"Just go. Trust me."

It was dinner no. 5 of FTDC. We'd each picked a restaurant to try over the past four months and it was once again my turn. After Fette Sau and The Grocery, the pressure was on to make round two even better. LoveLight's choice of Ninja for our fourth dinner was quite the amusing (atmosphere and staff), but forgettable (food) kicker.

I really wanted to try Mary's Fish Camp, and until I met Lee -- a University of Virginia undergrad who was interning at my office this summer -- we were going to camp with the fishes. I mentioned my blog and dinner club to Lee. She told me a friend worked at Bobo and if I wanted she could probably get us a table.

"YES!!!" I yelled with frightening alarm. You'd think she'd offered to set me up on a date/guaranteed make out session with Leonardo DiCaprio.

"OK. How many people? What time?"

"Four for whenever time you can get."

My own private office concierge. This was awesome. Or was it the opposite? Maybe I should have been embarrassed that this wahoo ('09) was hooking me -- the restaurant guru of my friends -- up with a dinner reservation. I swallowed my pride and was extremely grateful. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. FTDC was only days away and I wouldn't be heartbroken if we didn't get in.

"You're all set! Have fun."

Wow. I shot the crew an e-mail and made sure none of them would be opposed. It was like asking college students at a 21st birthday party if they'd mind doing a round of Jager bombs.

Not only did Lee score us a table at Bobo, but she nailed us a table in the outdoor garden. She had no idea what a feat this was.

We all met haphazardly on the corner outside and walked down a small stairwell into Bobo. Unless you've seen the logo on the Web site, you'd probably walk right past it. It's my new pre-dining routine: to study where you're going and what the entrance looks like. We took turns expressing our excitement about Bobo and FTDC. There's a lot of love in the group and we're not afraid to show it or wax sentimental over it.

Bobo sits on the corner of Seventh Ave. and Tenth St., and if you asked me to say one thing I knew about it before our rendez-vous, I'd say "townhouse." FunnyGirl went for drinks and raved about it. "You're hanging out in a townhouse." Several months prior, FunStar went for dinner and hated it. "The concept of eating in a townhouse is cool, but the food was blah." That's why I avoided it with a 250-foot Manhattan block. That is, until I read a new chef had been installed in the kitchen. Now we were good to go.

You know when you walk in somewhere and you find yourself smiling for no real reason? This is how I felt at Bobo. I was drunk on happiness from the moment I walked in to the moment we left. The tight, cozy bar situated on the righthand side when we walked in made me smile. The uber-friendly hostesses made me smile (and made LoveLight's heart pitter-patter). Walking from the entrance up the stairwell, glancing at the artwork that accompanied me, made me smile. Peeking into the dining room with candles, chandeliers and bookshelves made me smile. It felt like a dining room right out of Newport, R.I. When we stepped foot onto the outdoor patio/oasis, my jaw stayed on the floor until we sat at our table. White wooden pillars and an overhang separated one side from the other. It didn't seem fair that one small corner in New York had the highest amount of charm per capita.

We ordered ourselves some fancy cocktails. Fashionista tried the pisco sour pisco, or lemon, orange blossom, egg white and angostura. It looked really pretty but I think she decided she's not a fan of the frothy egg white cocktail.

I couldn't resist the spicy cucumber margarita with cointreau, lime, cucumber and chili salt. I was reluctant at first, because cucumbers aren't my favorite veggie, but this was the most marvelous margarita I've ever had. The chili salt on the rim was the best part. I challenge you to find a more refreshing summer cocktail anywhere in this city.

TheDude went with the Pimm's royale, or Pimm's No. 1, bubbles and accoutrements. For the teetotalers, Pimm's is a gin-based bevvy that has hints of spice and citrus fruit. I'm not a gin drinker, but for those of you who are, I don't know how you could just go with the boring gin and tonic after trying one of these.

For starters, we tried three dishes. First the charcuterie plate of three porks with frisee.


We also went with the ahi tuna, white bean and arugula salad.


And lastly a dainty seafood plate of grapefruit, fig and diver scallops.

For the main dish I tried the cod.

Fashionista tried the Berkshire pork, shell beans, sausage and spring garlic.

TheDude tried the lamb pot au feu with vegetables.


Lovelight tried the slow-roasted rib-eye with baby carrots, turnip and scallion.


We ordered a wide variety of all kinds of meat and fish from Bobo. Normally a restaurant seems to have its specialty. Not at Bobo. Each dish was a special. No two flavors blurred into another. The meats were all cooked to our desired temperature in addition to the farm fresh vegetable pairings of all shapes, sizes and consistencies. We didn't leave a single dirty plate for the dishwashers.

Fashionista's sweet pork was definitely the fan favorite. I don't know why I shy away from pork. Perhaps it stems from the charred pork trauma I suffered at the hands of my mother who wouldn't take pork chops off the grill until they were burnt to a chalky crisp. Every time I see pork served to one of my dinner club-ers I wish I had ordered it. My cod was simple, but rich, though it didn't quite stand up to the juiciness of the pork. Both the pork and lamb had not an ounce of fat to speak of.

FTDC is not a competition, but the consensus leaving Bobo was no matter where we ate over the next three months, it was going to be a very tough act to follow.

Next stop? Little Branch. My dinner, like Les Enfants Terribles, fell on the first of the month, which means we all go out for cocktails after dinner (we went out last week too so it's not like we need the excuse). I was so in love with Milk and Honey that I wanted to try Little Branch.

The door was nondescript except for a small silver panel that said "Little Branch." You needed a magnifying glass to make it out (and my lousy camera picture doesn't help either). There was a short wait to get in, but thankfully the nice gentleman at the door was good about replacing the outgoing with the incoming. Little Branch feels like the kid brother of Milk and Honey, its more serious, grown-up counterpart. You could actually go and make a night of Little Branch --it's packed and there's a lot of commotion in front and behind the bar -- while Milk and Honey is more subdued, where I'd prefer to either begin or end an evening.

As we did at Milk and Honey, we told the bartenders what we liked and voila! The custom-made cocktails appeared. I can't afford to drink at Little Branch every night, but it would be a nice treat from time to time.


Bobo stems from a term coined by The New York Times' David Brooks to describe the info-savvy niche of "bourgeois” and “bohemian” consumers. According to Ms. Hodgson, one of my favorite food writers of The New York Observer, Brooks told PBS in 2000, “You go into their homes and they’ve got these renovated kitchens that are the size of aircraft hangars..." I laughed out loud. I don't have a kitchen the size of an aircraft hangar, but I wouldn't mind being able to store my Lear next to my Whirlpool.

I saw more bourgeois than bohemian that night at Bobo, but no matter your style, anyone can fit in and be wooed by Bobo's classic flair.

A friend recently asked about restaurant recommendations for her family over the Christmas holiday. The thought of Bobo at Christmastime makes me giddy with excitement.

With no hesitation I answered, "Bobo. Just go. Trust me."

*Bobo
181 W. 10th St., at Seventh Ave.
212-488-2626

*Little Branch
20 Seventh Ave., at Leroy St.
212-929-4360

to keep reading

Things I Learned This Week

Inspired by my new favorite blog, 1,001 Rules for My Unborn Son, I'm jotting down a few things I learned this week.

+ One dirty martini is enough to start off a night. Go for two and bad things happen to good people.

+ TheDude (along with Pete Wells) loves and frequents Apotheke so much, a bartender already named a drink after his girlfriend. And contrary to my tendency to pronounce things that look French in French, it's uh-PAW-thuh-key, not AH-poh-tek.

+Cafe Loup was much better the second time around than the first. I had a great steak frites there last night over FTDC.

+Jackson Hole serves a hamburger the size of my fist, the likes of which I have never seen.

+Black & White may be my new favorite bar.

+A kiss is the best birthday present, followed closely by a surprise.

+Always call a restaurant before bringing in cupcakes or else face a $30 surcharge.

+The only difference between being 29 and being 21 is the paycheck and the bills, which both cancel each other out, so there's really no difference.

+Flying cross country for a weekend is possible.

+Julius in the village is a gay bar.

+A good vacation is coming home after one week and feeling like you've been gone for months.

+I have the most amazing family and friends on the planet, I am jealous of myself.

to keep reading

The Birthday Dinner

"Please come to dinner to celebrate my birthday at (insert expensive restaurant here)."

We've all received the e-mail.

But the part left out is: "Please expect to pay $85 - $115 for your dinner and mine."

We've all gone to the dinner. We've all even been excited about the dinner -- often it's at a place you'd never try on your own, for fear of its pricetag. We've all gawked at the bill, and re-gawked at the bill. And we all know the understood, unwritten rule that you're paying for yourself and the birthday celebrant.

It's a common practice I find awkward and amusing. The expert fumbles to reach for the wallet (the amateur fumbles to find the bag), while feigning disgust and surprise when friends yell, "Oh please!" or "Get outta here!" or "Put it away!"

I know. I've done it.

This would never fly in your mothers' or grandmothers' etiquette books. Unless, of course, your birthday dinner solely included you and a + significant one. Or would it?

More often than not, my friends are savvy enough to pick places that won't put the party in the red for the next six months. And to them I am grateful. But there are the rogue birthday-ers who will throw in a fancy place from time to time and I wish they had better sense. I'm no Scrooge, but I'm just sayin'.

This year I struggled trying to pick a place for my "birthday" dinner. I e-mailed several friends asking for advice. Dinner? Brunch? Where should we go? I told Fashionista I was going schizo because I couldn't settle on a place that would be reasonable, yet fun.

I asked Bradbury for tips.

"My favorite resto by Black and White is Gotham Bar and Grille. Actually it's my fave in all of NYC."

I checked out the menu. Not kid-paycheck-friendly.

I responded, "I feel awkward suggesting a really nice place and then everybody paying for me, you know?"

He wrote back, "True. In this economy, people would be bummed spending $200 per head- haha."

Haha indeed. I'd be bummed in any economy paying that much for dinner, if it wasn't at Per Se or French Laundry and there was no proposal involved.

This is why tomorrow I decided to celebrate my friends, not my (belated) birthday. There will be no false wallet-scrounging. We will all pay our share.

And if the evening proceeds as hoped, we'll all be paying dearly on Sunday.

to keep reading