The Best Worst Super Bowl Foods

When I became a home page producer, I stopped writing news articles, unless a story popped up involving swim suits, Michael Phelps or food.

About half a dozen people have written me about the Bacon Explosion as first featured in The New York Times on Wednesday. Two days later it continues to be their no. 1 most-emailed story. When we discussed the pork monstrosity at our editorial meeting yesterday, and how we could turn it into a fun Super Bowl foods story, I jumped at the chance.

Click here to check it out! I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had putting it together.

And don't fret. Like age, calories are just numbers.

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Fette Sau

I can count on two hands the amount of times I've been to Brooklyn since I moved here roughly five years ago. Sad, right? It averages to about twice a year and one of my New Year's resolutions is to change that.

I can thank FTDC (Fat Tuesday Dinner Club for new readers) for a couple of my visits across the pond. Fashionista introduced us to The Grocery -- one of the most charming outdoor dining spots within the five boroughs, while TheDude introduced us to a hot barbecue spot -- Fette Sau (German for "fat sow" and pronounced FET-tih ZOH).

One of our rules within FTDC is we have to switch up the genre of food and the neighborhood each month. We can't always have French, Italian or the Lower East Side. Last month I was thrilled to venture to the Upper East Side for dinner at Sfoglia, another one of Fashionista's picks, because atypical from most nights, I'd beat my fellow club members home.

Before I headed to Brooklyn for Fette Sau, I printed out my trusty Hopstop directions. Yet somehow when I got off the subway I was lost. I felt like I was in Japan -- where the buildings have numbers according to the order they were built throughout the entire city as opposed to the order in which they appear on a street. I asked several pedestrians where to go and finally one gave me an answer I liked, "Follow this street straight ahead. It'll be on your left."

Fette Sau wasn't anything like I expected. It was the mini version of a beer hall I visited in Zurich with Swimster. It had about three or four long picnic benches, a small bar counter towards the back and a counter display where you ordered your meat and sides. I didn't even notice the flat screen with a faux fire until we were leaving. I would have preferred watching sports to the cheesy screen of flames.

When I arrived I was the only person in the place besides the bartender. I took my seat in front of her and ordered a pale ale. I was intimidated by the butcher knife tap handles in front of me. I felt like I was a sip away from being the Texas Chainsaw's next victim. The painting to my right didn't help the situation either with its cheat sheet of cuts. It reminded me of the cave paintings of Lascaux, but instead of learning the anatomy of a horse, I learned what a Saratoga chop looked like.

As my other dinner club friends trickled in we decided to go with a pitcher of beer. TheDude was drooling for one of Fette's many bottles of bourbon and whiskey. He's our token scotch drinker in the club. Each bottle looked foreign to me, and I encouraged TheDude to try one, but he stuck with beer.

After a solid pitcher or two we decided to graduate to picnic benches for our second, third and fourth courses of barbecue. Fashionista and I took our seats and put our stomachs in the hands of LoveLight and TheDude. When they came to the table this is what we saw:


Similar to Hill Country, Fette dumped everything on a big sheet of paper. But what I like about Hill Country's style is they separate each cut of meat you order into different paper so if you're not a barbecue-ficionado you at least know what you're eating. Here it was a gigantic hodgepodge of meat: pork belly, spare ribs and beef brisket galore. TheDude pointed it all out to us before we dominated the single tin tray covered in barbecue for the four of us. On the side we got some baked beans and broccoli. The baked beans were my second favorite on the tray besides the juicy pork belly.

I don't remember having a Meg Ryan moment over the barbecue at Fette Sau, but I know we killed every piece that was in front of us. It was all tender and juicy and crispy in the right spots, but I'll be the first to admit it. I don't have a discerning palate for barbecue. It's the same thing with ice cream and cupcakes. Is there really such thing as bad barbecue? Maybe I'm just fortunate and I have yet to encounter it. I loved Dinosaur and I loved Hill Country and I still have to try my friend Backyard Chef's Wildwood. I realize I am an amateur barbecue fan, and you diehards may scoff at my lack of experience with the cuisine, but know that I strive to learn more by trial.

FTDC Rules Clause 4: When your dinner (first Tuesday of the month) falls on the first day of that month we all go out for drinks after. TheDude brought us all to a beer garden a short walk from Fette Sau called Radegast. This was a risky move because I felt Radegast upstaged Fette Sau. I almost wish we had spent the whole night in this place. And when I saw the fries coming out of the kitchen in the back room it was all over. It didn't matter if I'd eaten half a sow at the first place, I could not resist these fries that looked and tasted like they were right out of a Bruges cafe.

While Fette resembled a small beer hall, Radegast was straight out of Oktoberfest. I cannot wait to organize a big crew to go back there. It was tables and beer steins for as far as the eye can see.

It's been almost a year since we started dinner club and I've grown to love us and our monthly dinners immensely. Sadly one of our crew, LoveLight, is tackling a new, challenging work schedule and he will not be able to continue with dinner club. The news was a crushing blow to the rest of us. FTDC started as a foursome and we hope to continue it as such. FTDC Rules Clause 5: FTDC must be a devoted foodie group with an equal guy to girl ratio.

In order to preserve the foundation of FTDC, I will be holding open auditions for any male who wants to become our fourth member. Please prepare a monologue discussing your favorite N.Y. restaurant and be ready to answer some hard-hitting questions on local eateries and chefs (i.e. can you name every Keith McNally restaurant in the city). You will also be tested on how fast you can down a J.G. Melon burger and a beer. LoveLight always brought the fun. His shoes and heart will be tough to fill.

Fette Sau
354 Metropolitan Ave., near Havemeyer St.
718-963-3404

Radegast
113 N. 3rd St., at Berry St.
718-963-3973

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Where to Go on Valentine's Day in New York

Last year I wrote the anti-Valentine's Day list. I targeted it to all the single kids in the city looking to have a good, date-less night with friends. I think a V-Day group dinner is the best alternative to moping around the apartment wishing, hoping and praying for romance.

I'd barely recovered from New Year's Eve and the barrage of e-mails started trickling in about where to go for Valentine's Day. I know us New Yorkers tend to be on the pushy, impatient side, but seriously? I needed a few more days of wallowing in my post-holiday (post-Giants loss) blues before I could think ahead to the first holidays of 2009.

Thanks, Young'un and TheTustler, for getting me off my laurels and pushing me to come up with a decent list for all the gentlemen looking for love this Valentine's Day. If you're a lady who wears the pants, well, I guess this list is for you as well. Call me old-fashioned, but you won't find me asking a guy out on Valentine's Day.

I prefer the idea of cooking in on Valentine's Day. Give the girl a little surprise. Take her out for a Valentine's Eve dinner, maybe even make super late reservations so at the stroke of midnight you're still out and able to wish her a Happy Valentine's Day. Then to avoid the cheesiness of being out on 2/14 you can plan something at home. My boys didn't buy it.

TheTustler: What happened to our Valentine's Day list?
(this was quite the alarming IM since he had only asked me for a list less than 24 hours earlier)
M: Dude. Would you relax? My life does not revolve around your romantic evening planning.
TheTustler: Yes it does!
TheTustler: Well, anyways, I suck at getting reservations ... too impatient to keep redialing. I'm gonna do Raoul's.
M: I know it's your favorite place, but it doesn't scream romance or V-Day to me. I'm just sayin'.
TheTustler: Really?
M: You have a month. Why are you freaking out?!?!
TheTustler: Dude ...
(umm ... he did not just dude me)
TheTustler: What's your phone number? I'm calling.
M: I can't. I'm in the middle of something.
M: WHAT! I feel like our friendship has fallen off lately. Haha. Just kidding ... Anyways, almost every good restaurant I tried to get reservations for was already booked. Although they were all somewhat well known: Blue Hill, WD-50, Bouley, Babbo ... all booked up. I like restaurants with Bs.
M: OK, I'm just going to pretend you didn't say that friendship thing. Tear tear...Try Il Buco ... very charming/romantic.
TheTustler: Good call.
M: Young'un is going with L- for her birthday. It's great for a special occasion/date.
M: Allen and Delancey is another one. AWESOME dark, candlelit atmosphere.
TheTustler: Interesting. I'll try both. Thanks M!
TheTustler: You going to practice tonight?
M: No. But wait, Tailor is super cool.
TheTustler: All right, I got Il Buco so that's good. But at 9. Kind of late, but not terrible.
M: No that's better.
TheTustler: Yeah, true. Alright, I'll keep those two. Now to find a date.

Had I been on the phone with TheTustler he would have heard my belly-aching laughter. You'd think he was asking Princess Stephanie to marry him on February 14. Here he was begging for a place to eat and he didn't even have a date yet? How awfully presumptuous, but I love it.

In addition to the places mentioned above, here are a few more heavy-on-the-romance spots. I haven't checked if tables are available. I'll leave that up to you. After all, you have to do some of the leg work.

Though I've only been to Alta in big groups, the dark, Mediterranean atmosphere is hard to beat for a hot and heavy twosome.

Dylan Prime's a little on the machismo side, but if your girl's a steak and potato kind of girl, she'll love it. Not to mention they serve a wicked dirty martini.

Eleven Madison Park was probably one of the best meals I've eaten in the city. Went there for an anniversary once and it was amazing. They'll treat you like royalty. Here it's more about the impeccable service and food, rather than the romantic atmosphere. It's too huge to be really romantic.

I vow to return to Firenze with someone who is not afraid to venture to the Upper East Side for dinner. Went here with the family and it was probably one of the cutest romantic spots I've been to in the city.

If you're a foodie and you're thinking more casual, less cheesy romance, hit up Public or Freemans. It's hard for me to leave two of my favorite spots in the city off any list.

Gradisca does great homemade pastas in a cozy atmosphere.

Bacaro's another one of my new favorites that would be a great V-Day destination. Just don't be dismayed when you walk in. The downstairs level is where the party's at. It has more nooks and crannies than the catacombs in Paris. Be sure to order the rabbit lasagna.

If you're a V.I.P./high roller and money is not an option for you and you have a restaurant bookie who gets you reservations wherever and whenever, then you obviously can't go wrong with the big three: Jean-Georges, Il Mulino or Le Bernardin. If you've been dating someone who judges your very existence on your V-Day restaurant selection, you'll want to go to one of these show-stoppers.

If your date goes extraordinarily well and you don't want it to end, take your girl for a post-dinner drink that'll knock her socks (clothes?) off. You can't go wrong with Milk and Honey or Little Branch. And if music and jazz are your thing, hit up the downstairs of La Lanterna di Vittorio. You can cozy up with an aperitif (if you really want to impress her, suggest she try something with St. Germain in it) and listen to local NYU students rip it on the bass.

Questions, comments or concerns? Drop me a line. Until then, good luck and happy date-hunting.

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Day Two of Mourning

The Giants homepage shows a deserted locker room with the words "AN EMPTY FEELING....." emblazoned across the image. Yes. That is correct.

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at newspaper cutouts from the day after we, the New York Giants, won the Super Bowl XLII on February 3, 2008. Eli Manning, David Tyree, Plaxico Burress and Tommy C. are all here with me, sprinkled in between Yankees and Michael Phelps photos.

Even after Burress, in total dope fashion, shot himself in the leg at a night club, I kept his picture hanging, no. 17, with his hands reached over his head in victorious celebration. Whether his presence would have made a difference Sunday, nobody can speculate (though it's no secret Manning and his G-Men were 1-4 without him).

"You gonna keep that Burress picture up?" a co-worker, who happens to be a Boston fan, said in passing about a week ago on his way to the water cooler behind my desk.

"Yup." (I won't mention that before the Burress incident I was contemplating buying his jersey.)

Next to Burress is no. 85, David Tyree, with his over-the-head, fingertip save of a catch. Within a second of Tyree laying in an awkward, upward bow pose across the Patriots' Rodney Harrison, I was off the floor of our Dream Hotel suite and on the couch like Tom Cruise on Oprah. I was crying and laughing and screaming all in the same breath.

My office Giants gallery used to give me pride and comfort... until now.

I am no sportscaster. I am just a fan. I am no football expert. I am just a fan. I am, however, an athlete. I never played professionally for a world championship, but my Virginia women's swim team won the Atlantic Coast Conference championship twice in a row. From the second we left the pool in February of 1998, the score was back to 0-0. My coach Dino let us gloat and celebrate our victory for about a day before he shared the following: "We went from being the hunters to being the hunted, ladies. Get that ingrained in your heads." Our signature team T-shirt for the following year was "Got heart?" Without it, we knew we'd be nothing. We won again.

The Giants didn't seem to understand this simple concept of being a "repeat" team. They played like a scared, disjointed, misguided mess, nothing but eagle bait. The defense can only be as strong as the offense, and regardless of our big D rocking it in the first half, there was no cohesive offense visible on that field. There was no magic. There was no sign of Eli the Brave of last year's Super Bowl team. He was a ghost who threw 15-for-29 and two interceptions.

Brandon Jacobs, once off the injured list, was crazy and fired up last week in the locker room, according to his teammate Chris Snee. Where was this energy on the field? Why didn't the other players feed off this fresh, hungry spirit?

I hoped coming back from half-time we'd see a different team. I hoped Coach Coughlin gave the squad a good thrashing in the locker room. Nothing like a good yell got me fired up to kick some enemy a**. But that didn't happen.

My friend Blaz leaned in and asked, "Are you into this? I'm feeling you're not into this and you need to be into this." I promised him my nerves had taken over and silenced me. I don't know what it was. I was jazzed over Ahmad Bradshaw's 65-yard run off the opening kick, and that was it for the rest of the 59:45 minutes of play. Something was off. I knew it. I had a really bad feeling and I couldn't get the L-word out of my head.

NovaCat kept saying, "It's not over, guys. It's not over."

We would catch each other with our heads on our foreheads or our heads in our hands and we'd whack each other. We'd switch Giants apparel, hoping to change our luck for the better. You take my hat, I'll take your hat. You take my shirt, I'll take his shirt.

"What if we really L? What if we really L? I think I'll die if we really L. We may really L."

For the past couple of days the e-mails have been flying and "depressing" keeps coming up. I am beyond depressed. I feel like somebody, and not just a dream, has died. It's all I can think about. I can't even watch football. Seeing Manning in TV commercials makes me physically sick to my stomach.

Goodbye Burress. Goodbye Tyree. Goodbye Manning. My desk walls are now riddled with holes where your pictures used to be. I feel like a traitor for pulling you down, but looking at these images of last year's momentous win hurts like open eyes in a tub full of soap.

I root for teams with heart. I give them mine for a whole season and I expect the same in return. Like forgiving a lover who's cheated, it's going to take a lot for me to give my full heart to the Giants again.

Got heart, G-Men? You've got about 240 days to prove it.

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Bouchon Bakery

Lunch with a view: Swallow your pride, go to Manhattan's midtown mall (aka the Time Warner Center) and take a seat at Bouchon Bakery. If there's a line (which there always is), stand firm, put your name down and be patient. There are dozens of stores to eat up your time: Cole Haan, J. Crew, Williams-Sonoma, etc., before your appetite eats you. Trust me. It'll be worth it.

My last Bouchon Bakery trip with Fashionista was my third time to Thomas Keller's eatery, and normally I don't rewrite about places I revisit, unless there's a darn good reason. Well, Fashionista's grilled cheese was so fabulous, on thick brioche bread, I couldn't resist posting it. The toasted bread was so smooth and perfect it was like a piece of art. Gooey fontina cheese dripped off the side and it was just the right dunking size for the hot tomato soup.

Bouchon Bakery is one reason why lunch is slowly outpacing dinner as my favorite meal. Nothing beats the hot sandwich and soup combo, not even my roasted turkey one below, which I thought was a good idea at the time, until I saw Fashionista's plate in front of me.


As the weather report reminded me this morning, it's going to be a brisk and cold week, so go unlayer and dethaw at Bouchon Bakery. Your tummy and your heart will thank you.

10 Columbus Cir., 3rd fl, nr. 58th St.
212-823-9366

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Cafe Select

A conversation among friends:

M: I think last night was a Monday night record.

Ray LeMoine: That should be your average Monday! Cafe Select is my favorite "cafe" in New York. I can’t think of another better one, at least downtown.

M: I'm Cafe Select's new, biggest fan. Thanks for the introduction. I know we partied there a few months back, but I'd been meaning to try the food. Lately I've been on a kick to find places where I can just stroll up solo, sit at the bar, drink some (two liters?) wine, chat with a bartender, make new friends and feel perfectly comfortable. Did it at Great Jones the other week and it’s going to be my new M.O. in 2009. Cafe Select is the same kind of place. It’s a challenge to find a spot that's equally as fun to eat in as it is to go out to. Had it been a Friday or a Saturday night, it would have been very easy (crowd permitting) to segue from spaetzle and schnitzel to vodka in the annex behind the kitchen. I walked my friend, TriGirl, to the back to show her the two-tiered cave and it was like I showed her the Oval Office. It was the coolest thing she'd ever seen.

RL: I like Select’s slightly tricky layout and retro-modern aesthetic. There’s a nice quality to the furnishings -- weird light fixtures, marble (?) bar top, ‘70s looking glass and steel wine case, shiny, black leather booths, candles, nice glassware and dishes. It's high-concept, with a table in the kitchen and the secret bar in the back (complete with an upper deck), but still low-key, kind of like Blue Ribbon meets Lil’ Frankies at design school.

M: Per your (and your waitress friend Fleur's) rec, I would order the exact same thing again, minus the veal with rösti and onion sauce, although the hash browns (crispy and well done) and onions (sweet like French onion soup, minus the broth) were pretty sick. The side of spaetzle was perfectly doughy and crispy. Probably the best I've ever had outside of Switzerland.


RL: Hating on the veal sausage comes at a price, Ms. Mona. That's my favorite thing on the menu! We also got the cheese tartlet and the mushroom puff, both of which I liked.

M: That cheese thing was incredible. I could have eaten one whole order myself. It was like a gooey, eggless quiche. Even the accompanying salad was good. I don’t usually like radishes, but I chomped them down in the light, sweet vinaigrette. Let’s not forget the chilled cauliflower salad.


RL: Oh right, the cauliflower salad, too. I think each appetizer was about $7 and the entrees float between the $14-20 range. Portions aren’t huge, but given the neighborhood (SoHo/Nolita borderlands), Select is good value.

M: Agreed. Yet somehow, even with the small-ish portions, I saved no room for dessert. I’m still kind of bummed we skipped it, but then there would have been less room for wine and late night bevs.

RL: I know I didn’t eat dessert because you made me eat the whole sausage!

M: Because you made me finish the entire schnitzel! Look at the size of that thing. It was enough for about four people. Thanks to parental guidance, I am really picky about this dish. Mom and Dad will have to accompany me in the near future to be the real judges, but until then, Select's schnitzel gets my stamp of approval. The veal was pounded to the perfect thickness and the breaded crust was just the right texture.


RL: As for the scene…The staff and crowd are drawn from the various nodes of Serge Becker-dom. Becker’s been around since the ‘80s. He was one of the people behind Area, “a nightclub that was like art,” as Glenn O’Brien wrote in the Times:

“It was riotously successful yet insanely oblivious to profit, and then suddenly it was gone — from a 13,000-square-foot nightclub with three bars, a swimming pool and a tank full of live sharks to a pile of pictures of a lost dream.”

At the time, all clubs in New York were music-themed, according to O’Brien, who is now the editor of Interview Magazine. The idea for Area was taken from Allen Ginsberg and the Beats’ “Be-ins” with a healthy dose of Andy Warhol. Every month Area changed themes, from, say, sex to skateboarding. This was circa 1983, and artists such as Jean-Michel Basquiat, Michael Heizer and Jenny Holzer would contribute their artistic talents to the space. Basquiat, famous for his graffiti art, would come by to DJ, Heizer would drop off some earth art and Holzer did the windows. A book about the club is forthcoming. From Area you can see the germs of later Becker venues, like the sex-theater, The Box (which is around the corner from Select), and the secret Mexican restaurant, La Esquina, across the street.

M: A swimming pool with sharks? Jesus, dude. You’re like a walking almanac of New York City nightlife. Tell me more.

RL: I only know this because I once had to write about another Becker venue. So yeah, Cafe Select follows in this restaurant/club as art tradition. Becker is a co-owner with Oliver Stumm and Dominique Clausen from Touch of Class. I'm not too familiar with those guys, but know they all used to DJ and are all of Swiss origin, hence the Swiss theme.

M: That was my next question. I didn’t know where the Swiss theme came from when the name seems to lend nothing to the type of food, unlike Blaue Gans or Heidelberg, where you know you’re getting brats and beer.

R: Swiss in theme but New York in execution, right down to the staff, most of whom are drawn from the art and music scenes. But unlike the other local Becker venues, Select's not a velvet rope, guest-list scene. You can relax there with a bunch of people. Yes, there’s a heavy art, fashion, media contingent, but without the arrogance of, say, the morning PR crowd at Balthazar or dinners at Waverly. One suggestion: Select should have a DJ from 10 on.

M: I didn't realize Select was Becker's. That guy is genius. When he builds it, New York's elite party set will come. I've never been to La Esquina, but I've heard great things. And we all know I'm a fan of The Box, even if I only get in one out of every four times I try to go. Staff was great, obviously, although I definitely wouldn't have received the royal treatment had I not been with you, my friend. But yes, Fleur was a doll and our glasses were never empty. I think having a DJ from 10 on is a great idea. That would kind of up the ante and encourage people's minds to ditch the food coma.

R: Yeah, by about midnight it was slowing down at Select and we made the move to a place with a DJ.

M: Where did I buy those tequila shots? And where did you take us before we ended up at the final stop Beatrice?

R: We stopped at Merc Bar, for little reason other than taking shots -- pathetic for two “adults” on a Monday. Those shots did make all the fashion Euros at Beatrice (it was a holiday week) tolerable. Wait, actually the tequila made me angry at all the sensitive, European facial hair. Note to French men: the Orlando Bloom/swashbuckler look sucks. Note to French girls: call me: 646-575-1039.

M: Beatrice has been at the top of my list of places to go and I was too drunk to appreciate it. Typical. After TriGirl and her boyfriend didn't get in behind us, I was in a sour mood the rest of the night. My 1:30 a.m. cab ride from Lafayette to 104th St. was painful. Worth it, but painful. The world was spinning. I feel a new tradition for Monday funday coming on. What say you, Ray?

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