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