Tartine

Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this morning so here's a bright, summery post to wish us to warmer weather.


I received the following e-mail from my dad last week, moments before I posted about Fette Sau:

"Hi, Mona. Seems like you've given up on your blog. How are you? I'm busy as hell. Won't be getting much sleep for the next week or so. I love you. Cheers."

My chin dropped to the desk. I stared at the e-mail blankly for two minutes before I snapped out of my shock and disbelieving laughter. What? Is he crazy? Yes, it'd been almost a week since I'd written, but I've hardly given up on my blog.

"Oh, Dad," I wrote back. "Always so dramatic. I had a posting prepped for today. I've been super busy and it sounds like you have been too. With my second New York Magazine listing I have HARDLY given up on the blog. Don't give up on me, Dad!!"

To which he responded, "Very funny ... I didn't think I was being dramatic ... just an innocent observation ... and great news on the mag listing ... which one ? and ... btw ... fear not, Miss ... I will never give up on my two great kids."

"Ohhh, Daa--aaaaad!" I exclaimed at work out loud, wiping the immediate stream of happiness tears that fell from my face. Crying on a dime was the theme of my week.

"I need air!" I shouted, forgetting I was in a newsroom with about two dozen people. I grabbed my coat and my seatmate and took off downstairs.

While waiting for the elevator I heard, "Mona, you OK over there!?!?"

"Ye-eeeeees!" and down we went.

I was having one of those days at work: missed the bus, took a cab, had no cash, cab wouldn't take a card, had to get cash, was late to work, couldn't log into computer, boss in a mood yelling and looking for news, dealing with angst among friends, had to put out fires and I just wanted someone to put out mine. Then this e-mail and all seemed OK with the world. My dad's simple words of love and support snapped me out of my funk. I am a lucky girl.

Like my dad, I hope you, my readers and friends, haven't given up on me either.

***

Fashionista had dinner with a girlfriend last week and when I read her e-mail, "I freaking love Tartine," it reminded me I owed a special somebody a blog post.


"Stay right there, HarvardBack! I'm taking a picture! Stay RIGHT there!"

He looked at me cross-eyed as I skillfully flew across the street exercising my best skills in jaywalking.

"One second!"

HarvardBack visited New York late last summer. We swam together at the Wilton YMCA and we'd been good friends for a long time. After school, HB moved to London before he was accepted to Stanford Business School. I know thou shalt not covet your neighbor's hometowns, but if I could move anywhere in the world tomorrow the first place would be London and the second would be my birthplace Palo Alto, Calif.

"Can I be in the blog? Can I be in the blog?"

"Yes, HB, we'll do dinner and you can be in the blog."

My blog has turned into a sort of friends' version of Page Six, or a "Who's Who?" of my life. FunStar was the first to make the comparison. Some have the false belief they're not really my friends unless they've been written up in the Apple. This is all very amusing, but hardly the case.

FunnyGirl is one of HB's best friends from high school and she arranged dinner for the three of us at one of her favorite places in the city Tartine. FunnyGirl is a downtown girl through and through. She braved the Upper West Side for my New Year's Eve bash but that was the first I'd seen of her north of the Columbus Circle line. She has introduced me to a couple charming restaurants in her neighborhood. The first was Malatesta.

"Make sure to bring wine and cash. It's BYOB!"

I got out of work and met up with HarvardBack in search of some vino. All three of us arrived at Tartine in the nick of time. We scored a four-top table inside with no wait. As soon as we sat down a server dumped a tin bucket of bread on the table and I went in for the kill. It wasn't the best French bread I'd tasted but it did the trick.


Tartine is the French version of La Lanterna di Vittorio, a small Italian cafe near NYU. Both ooze country charm and simplicity. Like Lanterna, Tartine also boasts a great big display case of pastries. My back was towards it at dinner. Good thing or I would have been drooling the entire time.

Tartine's floor to ceiling, wraparound windows give the space a light and open feel. I enjoyed being in the fish bowl as we watched people stroll by, peek in and plan their return to Tartine on a less-crowded summer evening -- if that exists.

We were seated for not 10 minutes when a couple walked in, did a double take of HB then mini-chaos broke loose. They were in HB's business school class at Stanford. What are the chances!? I can't take him anywhere. Of all the restaurants in the city and he meets classmates in a small corner cafe in Manhattan. The world is an awfully small and mystifying place.

Our server got the A+ for being a first responder. Before we even asked HB's friends if they wanted to join us for dinner she grabbed two extra chairs and swung them around to the end of our table with two extra place-settings.

HB ordered the spicy chicken with guacamole and French fries.

I couldn't make up my mind what to order so I went with fries ...

mussels ...

and the Bibb salad.


FunnyGirl ordered the French onion soup ...



and we all shared some escargot.


Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

I wasn't blown away by the food at Tartine. The mussels were good, but hardly the best ever. I like my mussels drowning in broth and the mussels on the top of the pile were dried out. I'd eaten the best mussels I'd had in the city a few weeks prior at Esperanto so maybe I was ruined for all other Manhattan mussels. The French fries were also disappointing. They looked way better than they tasted. Too much crisp, too little potato.

On the other hand, my Bibb salad, HB's chicken and the French onion soup were well worth the trip. I loved the sour lemon vinaigrette on my salad. I tried a chunk of HB's chicken and it was tender and juicy and the guac was surprisingly right on. I tried a spoonful of FunnyGirl's soup and it was the perfect amount sweet and savory.

Last but not least we went with a berry crumble for dessert. This was the best thing on the table that night. We had three spoons and scarfed it down faster than you can say merci.


I'd only been to one BYOB place in the city with Swimster ages ago. What's not to like? I think there will be a surge in popularity of the BYOB concept within the coming months. One of the easiest (?) vices to cut out of the budget is booze and if you're tightening your wallet, a BYOB dinner is the perfect solution. Next stop for FTDC is TheDude's pick, and another BYOB spot, Kuma Inn. I hope to make it a habit of finding more restaurants like Tartine in the future. God knows I could use a little tightening of the wallet and the belt buckle...

253 W. 11th St., at 4th St. 212-229-2611