The Jetsetter

Well, helllllo ~LAS VEGAS~! It’s been a long time since I have played in your sandbox. Thanks to two friends who wanted to take me to see Don Rickles for a 48-hour whirlwind trip/birthday present (I know, I have such great friends), I got to catch up on some Vegas action.

We flew in on a Sunday, and it never felt too busy—which sucks for Vegas, but as a tourist, I dug it. I liked being there in the fall—while it was a shame to miss out on some poolside action, then again, did I want to get my now-pale bod into a swimsuit in November? Eh, not really.

You can view my complete Vegas photo album on Flickr here.

We checked in at the ~WYNN LAS VEGAS~, and wow, what a property. The room was pure class, well appointed and sleek—and not too masculine or feminine, just nice. Really nice. The hospitality started with the valet who helped with our bags, noting our shopping bag with bottles of Champagne, and offered to get flutes for our room. Really? That is some extra-mile shit. Tip: ask for a room with a country club view—it’s breathtaking. And be prepared to fall in love with your plush bathrobe—my friend and I each bought one on our departure since we couldn’t bear to part with it.

Our first dinner was at ~BARTOLOTTA~, located in the Wynn, which my posse decided was one of the best meals we’ve had in a long time, and definitely our best Vegas meal to date. Chef Paul Bartolotta sources absolutely pristine Mediterranean seafood, and is so protective of some of his crustacean connections that the staff can’t reveal very much about where they’re from (“We’d love to tell you where we got the spiny lobster, but we’d have to kill you.”).

The room is sweeping and dramatic, with rich, vibrant colors, stunning light fixtures, comfortable seats (with arms!), round tables (I’m a fan), and very flattering lighting. The style balanced rusticity and luxury very well. It immediately puts you at ease, and makes you feel relaxed and in a good mood.

I enjoy family-style dining, so you may want to consider doing one of the family-style tasting menus (the Grand Seafood Feast clocks in at $155 per person). An ice case will wheel up to the table with a display of the fresh fish of the day, a bit steakhouse style. No joke, the langoustines in there were still twitching their antennae. And then the fish symphony began: we feasted on five kinds of the most lightly and impeccably fried fish (I haven’t had triglie like this since living in Italy!), a trio of beautifully grilled fish (the imperial red shrimp from Morocco were spectacular, and full of umami—we ate them heads and all), stunning soft-shell crabs (in November!) from the Veneto, and quite possibly the best octopus salad I’ve ever had. So tender. It was unreal.

Since it was truffle season, we also had a totally porno course of sheep’s milk ricotta ravioli with pecorino cheese and a Marsala wine glaze, paved with a flurry of shaved truffle on top. Total luxury, all the way. An inky black risotto was abundant with seafood (scallop, clam, shrimp, and more), and the sauce and plump shrimp in the spaghetti dish were excellent, although the pasta was a touch too al dente. The finale was a whole occhiona (red sea bream, $15/100 g), expertly prepared and filleted tableside (our guy was such a stud—what a pro). The bright green Castelvetrano olives and capers were a bit assertive for the delicate and creamy white fish, but the flavors were so harmonious—and very Sicilian. That was some crazy-fresh fish.

We noted some winners on the wine list (we especially enjoyed the Bruno Giacosa Roero Arneis 2009 I picked out), but I expected to see a bit more breadth and depth with the Italian selections (example: the only Italian half bottle in the whites was a Soave). Then again, I am a spoiled San Franciscan. We had to scoot early for our show, but came back afterward for dessert at the bar, which was a blast with the feisty Rich behind the stick. We found the entire staff to be fantastic, so warm and personable and charming, without putting on a big show—a great team.

Dessert ($12 each) included a vanilla bean semifreddo with dried figs that really stood out, or you can perk up with the coppa of mascarpone and espresso granita. The gelati were notable (don’t miss the pistachio, ricotta di pecora, and espresso), and the grapefruit granita was the best thing after a hearty fish fest.

I’m thrilled to have a Vegas restaurant I can strongly recommend like this one. It’s unique, special, elegant, and everything is top of the line. If you love seafood, this is your mothership. Paul Bartolotta knows what’s up.

Lunch the next day was at the much-adored ~LOTUS OF SIAM~. So glad to finally cross this one off my list—I’ve been wanting to try it for a looooong-ass time. This Thai rock star of a restaurant is tucked away in a desolate mini mall (our cab driver told us it was the first mini mall in Vegas), which LA has taught me is often a good sign for stellar food finds. Chef Saipin Chutima has been cranking out flavor-packed northern Thai-style dishes here since 2000, accompanied by an award-winning and much-lauded wine list that has enough rieslings to thrill you for days.

After a night of drinking and partying, you need some lunch. Spicy, fatty lunch. Late lunch was a good call—we were able to waltz right in, which is not the case for dinner (please note there is no lunch served on the weekend).

We started with nam kao tod ($7.95), a plate of crispy rice with little ham-like pieces of sour sausage, mint, chile (be sure to cut them into little pieces—they’re spicy buggers!), ginger, peanuts, and lime juice. Uh huh. Great texture and flavor. We all freaked out over the crispy duck ($20.95), which we ordered with the chu-chee red curry. The fatty-crisp pieces of juicy duck are exactly what will get you on the road to recovery, fast. Ditto on the peppery whole garlic prawns ($21.95), extracted from their shells but still attached, and then fried. You will eat the entire damned thing. Crunch.

We polished off the koi soy ($13.95), an herbaceous Thai-style steak tartare that came chopped into little pieces, with dry chile rice powder, lime juice, and cabbage on the side. On the northern Thai part of the menu, we tried the nam-prik-ong (red chile dip, $9.95), a smooth combo of ground pork, tomato, and spices that came in a cheerful blue and white bowl—you scoop it out and spread it on crisp chicharrones, vegetables, and slices of cabbage (we asked them to make it spicy for us—it’s normally served mild). We rounded out the feast with deep fried sea bass on “drunken noodle” ($28.95) and crab fried rice ($12.95). Yeah, we waddled out of there. And I can’t wait to come back—the menu is huge and full of dishes that I need to get to know on a first name basis.

For dinner, we were invited to check out ~JALEO~, the José Andrés restaurant in the brand-new Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas that opened early in 2011. The space is beautiful, with such punchy color, open sight lines so you can check everyone out, playful touches like a bull’s head on the wall in a lucha libre mask, comfortable and fun seating areas for groups, plus plenty of bar and counter seating.

Of course we had to try José’s gin and tonic, made with Hendrick’s gin, Fever-Tree tonic, a spherical ice ball, and juniper berries, kaffir lime leaves, and citrus, served in a wine glass. It clocks in at a hefty New York price of $17, but for g&t lovers, it would be a worthy spend. The food-friendly tomatina Negroni ($12) was refreshing and had a pleasing texture, made with Campari, gin, sweet vermouth, and tomato water—it would be the perfect “I am hungover and need to get back into the game” drink. Both worked well to spark the appetite.

You can start your meal with some molecular action, the aceitunas rellenas y aceitunas ‘Ferrán Adrià’ ($12), a plate of real olives stuffed with anchovy and piquillo alongside salty “liquid” olives that you pop into your mouth. You definitely want to order the pan con tomate ($6), toasted slices of rustic bread brushed with fresh tomato—but pony up for the version with Manchego on top ($9). There’s a reason you see the pan con tomate on almost every table—the kitchen has it down.

I was excited to see jamón ibérico de bellota Fermin ($15) on the menu, but the batch we were served tasted old, like it had been sliced two days before. Our server came back with a second round of just-sliced jamón, and then we were in the zone. My advice? Ask them to slice your meat to order, just as it should be.

The fried egg topped with caviar ($16) is mixed up tableside, and was delicious spread over toasted bread, but could have used less caramelized onion underneath and more caviar on top (isn’t that always the solution? Yup, more caviar.). The tender veal cheeks ($15) were cooked beautifully, and if you have zero fear about your cholesterol level, try the tender pork and foie gras canelones ($14) bathed in a rich béchamel sauce. To counterbalance the decadence, one of my favorites proved to be the espinacas a la catalana ($8), bright and barely cooked spinach with pine nuts, raisins, and apples. The kitchen sent out a few other dishes for us to try, like endive with goat cheese and orange ($8) that didn’t particularly wow us.

The showstopper of the kitchen is the paella station—there is a dedicated paella maker hard at work over a wood fire, with one of four paellas being made throughout the evening. We tried the paella Valenciana ‘Rafael Vidal’ ($20), made with chicken, rabbit, and green beans. We had a dramatic presentation of the pan tableside, but unfortunately the flavors and texture of the dish weren’t as dramatic. Maybe the seafood version is the way to go.

Dessert (all $9) is all about the flan (our server informed us it is made with grandma’s recipe) and served with a side dollop of crema Catalana spiked with Grand Marnier. (You’ll love it even more with a glass of the Los Bermejos Malvasía.) The chocolate hazelnut cake had a pretty presentation (it looked like a foie torchon), but was so rich that I’d recommend you share it with at least a few folks. A much lighter pick would be the olive oil ice cream with grapefruit supremes.

One thing that really stood out to me about Jaleo is the staff—each and every person looks you in the eye, says hello or good evening as you walk your way through the restaurant, and is very responsive—reminded me of what it’s like to walk through Boulevard here in SF. You’d never know the restaurant was barely a year old.

The staff was also knowledgeable about the wines, and made a spot-on (and off the menu) choice for us based on what we were looking for. I see an opportunity with the wine list, however, to make it read more consumer friendly with tasting cues since I can imagine many people making their way to the restaurant don’t know a lot about Spanish wines. While Jaleo didn’t prove to be a favorite this trip, I’d totally come back for classic tapas and drinks at the bar—would be a good spot for a bite before you head to a show, or after, and we liked the lively vibe.

You can view my complete Vegas photo album on Flickr here.

Quick Vegas Tips

Before stopping at your hotel, you’ll want to pick up some booze, bubbles, and most importantly, some water for your room. Yeah, one of those big 2.5-gallon numbers. Do it.

Don’t forget your Visine. Not only is the desert super dry, you’ll be up late. Get the red out, babe.

Catch the Le Rêve show at the Wynn. You’ve never seen anything like it. And hello, so many gorgeous, hot bodies. Meow.

I was told the fried chicken at Blue Ribbon Sushi Bar & Grill is ridonkulous.

On my short list for next time:

Raku
Everyone is talking about this amazing seven-seat Japanese place in a mini mall (of course). And it’s open until 3am, sweet.

Estiatorio Milos
I’m a huge fan of Greek food, and am curious to try this addition in the Cosmopolitan.

Eddie Lau is currently the chef-partner at The Summit. A Bostonian at heart, he has lived and worked in San Francisco the last six years. He is also the founder and creative director of progressive culinary concept project Dux.

Having worked tirelessly over the last year to get the wheels of a new business aligned and running straight, I realized that I hadn’t been afforded much of a chance to live on my schedule for quite a bit of time. Faced with an obligatory return to Boston for a wedding, I decided I’d take one of the few chances that I have had in order to decompress for a few days first in one of my favorite East Coast cities and nearby foreign retreats: ~MONTREAL~.

And, one of the best ways I could think to deprogram the madness of my work routine was to drive right through the heart of New England—where the beautiful late summer weather paired perfectly with an iced beverage from the land of Dunkin’ Donuts. It wasn’t a Kerouac journey, but I did enjoy the Sioux City Sue CD album that someone left behind in the rental. All in all, my ride cruised into Montreal in less than five hours and exactly four hours before my dinner reservation at Au Pied de Cochon.

One of the most common misnomers of a working professional is the assumption that keeping a schedule is the same thing as being on your own schedule. For instance, my own schedule would not normally include a 6:30am wake-up time—especially, when it involves beating an imaginary stroller rush at the Saturday farmers’ market. I understand the importance of keeping such a schedule is necessary, but working seven days a week does not allow much breathing room.

When I started to think about this short trip, I wondered whether it would be a good idea to have friends join, but I ultimately decided against it. The advantage of traveling alone—something that most people understandably dread—is the ability to reclaim your time. The chance to live according to your own schedule, for your own enjoyment, and on your own trip is one of the best ways to liberate and detox from the demands of our work lives. How often do you get the chance to be in complete control of your ability to lose control?

And so, I arrived in Montreal and sought to do anything my heart desired for the next 48 hours. These were some of the culinary exploits of my trip.

After checking into my room in Montreal’s InterContinental hotel, I immediately started lap swimming in the hotel pool. For those that do not know, you should try your best to burn every available calorie prior to dinner at Au Pied de Cochon. I swam more laps that afternoon than I had all year combined.

I arrived at Au Pied de Cochon and was promptly seated at the center of the bar as requested. They squarely placed me in clear and direct view of one of Au Pied de Cochon’s signature photo frames—one that I had read and flipped through so many times and so many miles away. It was a very “I have arrived” type of moment.

I ordered a starter followed by a couple of appetizers to start my meal. Now for those that are not familiar with APDC, you need to understand that a starter and two appetizers typically equate to a portion for an entire meal almost anywhere else.

First up, foie gras cromesquis—a little known classic that is credited to three-star Michelin chef Marc Meneau of L’Espérance. Foie gras cromesquis is a breaded and fried square of liquid foie (hard set with gelatin for breading/frying). Much like a soup dumpling/ravioli, the cromesquis explodes a gushing stream of savory and rich foie directly into your mouth. I love sauce delivery systems, and I like fried sauce delivery systems even more.

The appetizers followed the starter almost immediately. I decidedly made selections that I felt would be true to the heart of APDC, but I also picked a couple of items that I thought would possibly be lighter. I ordered the guinea hen liver mousse and the beef tartare in hopes of enjoying lighter spreadable dishes where I could pacify the quantity of intake with the activity of smearing food on other food. But as is the case with all the APDC dishes, there are no throwaway dishes when it comes to tiptoeing the limits of indulgence, fulfillment, and utterly ridiculous excess.

There are only a certain few meals in my life that I have strategized in terms of eating. Some of the more notable ones involved buffets (when I still enjoyed them as a kid), family reunion banquets, and family events involving collaborative cooking.

But on this night, I applied an eating strategy for my APDC meal—something I had not done in probably a decade. My last regret associated with not employing “strategic eating” happened at the 15-20 course dinner at L2O (details of all the items served during the night are still fuzzy). At APDC, eating strategy dictated I box half of both the appetizers prior to the arrival of my next courses. Unfortunately, the handrolled beef tartare threw me off my game and lead to a subsequent breakdown of game-planning. This basically means: impending punishment.

For my next course, I consulted the waitress on deciding on my pre-entrée foie course. If you follow the APDC menu as seen here, the foie section seems to be intentionally designed to be a secondary course; one that comes prior to the mains. It was a tough decision between a few different foie items, but my waitress insisted that if I was to have anything on the foie menu, it could be none other than ploye à champlain.

The ploye à champlain is both a terribly flawed and perfect dish all in one. It is a dish that is constituted of a little bit of cheese, broken pancake bits, slabs of pork belly, and a lobe of foie. Then all of this is stacked and smothered with maple syrup. To eat any of these elements separately seems to net a nauseous sensation, but the sum of the parts eaten together in one forkful creates an oddly balanced equation of sweet, rich, and salty. A villain by way of its success: the ploye à champlain is one of those dishes where you must eat everything together—and if you do, then you are likely eating everything on the plate. Again, I failed to prolong reaching my stomach capacity by eating everything on the plate.

For my entrée, I flipped back and forth on all the multitude of meaty options, but my intrigue and foolish hunger (prior to the arrival of three appetizer courses) insisted that I “go big or go home.” So I did just that and I ordered the foie stuffed au Pied de Cochon—a braised, breaded, and roasted trotter stuffed with braised chunks of pork and foie and topped with another giant piece of foie. This dish was so massive, they served it in a shallow oval crock pot. A dish likely meant to feed entire families or small islands. I barely finished a quarter of the beast.

After which, I waddled to my hotel, got a change of clothes, took a two-mile stroll, and enjoyed drinks and the random company of strangers at a bar called La Distillerie.

536 Ave. Duluth Est
514-281-1114

The next day I spent a good deal of time hanging out in the Mile End neighborhood of Montreal eating and sampling different bagel and sandwich shops. Those who have been to Montreal know that Montreal may quite possibly have the best bagels in the world. Led by two of the most famous bagel shops in the world: Fairmount and St-Viateur, the Montreal bagel is one that is hand-rolled, boiled, and open-fire roasted. The size, texture, and fire-roasted aromatics are what really set these bagels apart.

74 Ave. Fairmount Ouest
514-272-0667

263 Rue St-Viateur Ouest
514-276-8044

After a morning bagel binge, I went sandwich hunting for lunch. It is a little known secret that in the Mile End neighborhood, you can find some of the oldest deli sandwich shops—ones that still sell their sandwiches at unreasonably cheap prices. The oldest of them, I think, is Wilensky’s. A place that has served a classic smoked beef, smoked bologna, and cheese sandwich for 75-plus years. Wilensky’s certainly looks all of its 75-plus years.

34 Ave. Fairmount Ouest
514-271-0247

My favorite, however, is a little place called Boulangerie Clarke. I think I found this place like how all people find food treasures: hungry wandering. At Boulangerie Clarke, they make their own fluffy giant sandwich rolls and keep their prices in a time warp. Admittedly I’m not a fan of any of the pastries or loaf bread there, but the deli roll and sandwiches are a staple of my Montreal experience.

29 Rue Saint Viateur Ouest
514-276-7827

And of course, I went to Schwartz’s for a smoked beef (pastrami) sandwich. I’m not sure I can say much that hasn’t been said on a million TV shows that have featured Schwartz’s. So I will simply leave you with a picture.

3895 Boulevard Saint-Laurent
514-842-4813

After an intense afternoon of smoked meat sandwiches and a few more laps in the hotel pool, I decided to spend my last dinner meal in Montreal at a classic burger dive known as Patati Patata. Patati Patata specializes in their little bacon cheeseburgers and classic poutine. A fitting last meal and proper end to the trip. Sadly, this time in Montreal, I was underwhelmed by classic poutine—partly because I’ve been spoiled by the multiple interpretations (notably foie poutine), and partly because I’ve had better outside of Montreal. I guess it was naïve to think that I could reclaim all of the former paradise I had come to expect.

4177 Boulevard Saint-Laurent
514-844-0216

I roamed some coffee shops, stores, and bars along Rue Sainte-Catherine, including a stop at a place named Café Myriade—a spot that was serving Ritual coffee to a crowd that was all too reminiscent of the madness of my own place many miles away. A fitting “back to earth” signal for the end of a good trip.

1432 Rue Mackay
514-939-1717

It felt like so long since I had the simple chance to actually sit and enjoy my meals as they came. There was no need to shovel food in my mouth between tasks or prep items, and there was no need to confine my choices to proximity to my apartment. I think oftentimes people end up taking too many trips for specific reasons, aka other people’s reasons. Things like weddings, holidays, family reunions somehow begin to lump obligation with “vacation.” I’m not saying family time is not rewarding and fun in its own way, but it is easy to forget that a vacation is only a vacation when you choose to go somewhere for yourself, be on your own terms, and spend your own time.

Anyone who has been reading tablehopper for a while knows how much I adore ~LAKE TAHOE~. I have been going to the same family cabin in Tahoma (on the West Shore) every summer since I was two, and I am definitely more of a summer girl than a winter warrior up there.

I usually enjoy my cabin time as a chance to escape restaurant reviewing and to cook, fire up the outdoor grill (something I don’t have at my San Francisco apartment), and take advantage of the simply amazing Commons Beach farmers’ market every Thursday in Tahoe City (8am-12pm, May-October). The produce is spectacular, and there’s fresh fish, excellent grass-fed beef, and thanks to a tablehopper reader, I learned about the cheese vendor who sells a stash of imported burrata cheese (but you gotta hit her up early!). Suddenly caprese salad becomes the best dessert, seriously.

When you’re all done hitting up the market, pay a visit to ~THE DAM CAFÉ~, which is across from Fanny Bridge and near the Bridgetender and the triangle/roundabout. Again, thanks to another tablehopper reader who turned me on to this fabulous find: the Dam-burly burrito ($5.99). It’s the kind of burrito you could do for breakfast or lunch, stuffed with Costa Rican-style beans and rice, pico de gallo, sour cream, avocado, and cheddar cheese. Here’s the hot tip: ask them to hit it with some Cholula before they assemble it, and they’ll put it all over the inside of the tortilla. Nice. It’s also a classic kind of Tahoe place, with tanned and super-friendly young women with slightly mussed hair running the place. Total mountain mamas.

55 W. Lake Blvd., Tahoe City
530-581-0278

But this summer I also got to experience another side of lake time: the posh side. I was invited up for an incredible weekend getaway at ~THE RITZ-CARLTON, LAKE TAHOE~, and for those who don’t have a little cabin they call (second) home, this is quite the mountain escape. The property is at Northstar at Tahoe Resort, and is a total stunner: I especially loved the roundabout lobby (with such elegant furnishings) that circles a massive granite tower, and the surrounding mountains provide a dramatic backdrop through all the windows (including your bedroom). The resort does a swell job of balancing luxury with a natural style—it has some of the grandness of the Ahwahnee, but is also modern and chic.

The outdoor terrace is full of folks drinking and dining alfresco (ordering from the casual MountainBlue menu) all day, with some live music in the evening. There are two ever-busy swimming pools (one is more adult-oriented). Poolside cocktails? Why yes, thank you.

A highlight of the location is ~MANZANITA~ restaurant, under the direction of chef-partner Traci Des Jardins (and her chef de cuisine Jacob Ramos). The design by The Johnson Studio is so swank—we have nothing even like it in the city (well, maybe Twenty Five Lusk is a distant design cousin). For mountain dining, I was like, uh, whoa—glad I wore heels (although don’t get me wrong, kids are welcome too). Some features that caught my eye were the open kitchen with its gleaming chrome ceiling (someone must polish that thing twice a day), and the bar features a frosty tray that goes around the bar to keep certain bottles cold (I’d like that in my apartment). Couldn’t stop gawking at the modern chairs in punchy colors and all the dramatic natural materials used in the dining room. Just lovely.

Whatever you do, stop by the bar for a cocktail before dinner (try the TitaZitaRita) and get an order of the meaty pig tails ($12) in a spicy Buffalo-like sauce (a killer bar bite). You could also just come in for the burger ($18) and a drink if you’re not up for the full sit-down experience.

The dinner menu is very “market California”—starting with a summertime gazpacho ($14) that had Marcona almonds in it, adding an unexpected level of creaminess. A hands-down favorite was the Delta asparagus salad ($17) with Serrano ham, a custardy sous vide 63-degree egg, Parmesan, sun-dried tomatoes, arugula, and a panade of leeks. I couldn’t stop raving about this salad—I’d eat it for lunch and then again for dinner that very night. Anyone who has dined at Jardinière will note Traci’s classic warm bread salad ($18) with baby artichokes and marinated Bellwether Farms crescenza cheese, a San Francisco favorite (it certainly is for me).

The main dishes veer more into the elevated French-California style Des Jardins is known for, but were also a bit uneven: while the duo of beef ($45) featured a luxurious and flawless presentation of short rib and filet, the chicken roulade ($33) wasn’t as warm as it needed to be and felt a smidge too fussy-French for the location. (If the $41 price tag for the pork tenderloin makes you gasp like I did, there’s a summertime farmers’ market prix-fixe menu for $49—and $69 with wine pairings—available Sunday through Thursday evenings.) Desserts veer more toward the homey, with a strawberry-rhubarb crisp, peach cheesecake, and a toffee bread pudding (all $12). Wine pairings by sommelier Gail Oversteg were excellent, and it was a treat to be drinking vinho verde and Italian schiava outside the city. And of course the exceptional Ritz service is where it’s at.

After a meal like that, you could hit the fitness center, but each day we went for a hike (the one to Sawmill Lake was really scenic). Since the resort flanks the Northstar Resort, if you have teenage boys (or tomboy girls), they’re going to want to try the mountain biking that takes over the ski trails in the summer—it looked like a bunch of fun, but I didn’t want to lose any of my teeth.

I also highly recommend a visit to the spa, which has a steam room that must be especially fantastic after a day of skiing. And one of their many styles of massages? Icing on the cake. If you’re a couple up for a romantic weekend, there’s a room for couple’s massage that features a deep copper soaking tub for two. I also dug all the Bulgari body products everywhere—yup, everyone even smells expensive.

Be sure to look at the various packages offered on the website, and I recommend upgrading to the club level if you’re going to be there for more than a night—that way you can swing by the Club Lounge for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and my personal recommendation, an end-of-day glass of bubbles. And again, the view is hard to beat.

It bears mentioning that one of my very favorite things was the Ritz-Carlton bed. The custom mattresses are a thing of beauty, and the pillows and sheets are total fluffy cloud status—you will never sleep better, especially with that fresh air and high altitude working to put you to sleep.

As the valet pulled our car around when it was time to check out, it was a reluctant farewell to mountain paradise. Yeah, it was fun to see how the other half lives.

13031 Ritz-Carlton Highlands Ct., Truckee
530-562-3000

Over in Homewood, the ~WEST SHORE CAFÉ & INN~ has been a standby for some years on the lake, but recently went through some updates and renovations. The bar and lounge offer a smashing view of the lake, and the bohemian-lodge atmosphere felt a bit Santa Barbara, with Persian rugs and large wrought-iron chandeliers. There are some four- and six-top indoor tables next to the large open windows, or you can opt for a table on the long pier with heat lamps (it’s fun to watch people arrive and depart by boat on the dock all night—and there’s a boat valet).

The menu isn’t pushing any boundaries here, with dishes like Hawaiian ahi poke ($14) with won ton chips, and a little gem salad ($12) with blue cheese, Granny Smith apple, and candied pecans, complete with a circa-1992 squeeze bottle squiggle of a balsamic reduction around the rim of the plate. My friend’s fried chicken ($21) was more like boneless chicken tenders with gravy, and my burger ($14) was well past my requested medium rare—at least the flavor was good and the fries were hot.

But you know what? Sometimes a magical atmosphere really can make up for a lot, because my dinner date and I had so much fun sitting out on the dock, drinking Negronis, watching the sunset on the water, and joking around with our super-friendly but rather inexperienced servers. Would I come back for a special occasion dinner? Not so much. But for a drink and a burger on the water? Yeah, I would.

5160 W. Lake Blvd. at Fawn, Homewood
530-525-5200

So, on your way home, of course there’s the siren call of In-N-Out Burger. But the pit stop you need to strongly consider is ~TAQUERIA GUADALAJARA #3~ in Davis, which is even in a mini mall. It’s a quick five-minute jaunt off 80, and so worth the detour. My friend’s regular nachos ($4.69) with chorizo were diabolical, loaded with cheese, beans, guacamole, sour cream, and salsa. (I can’t even image what the super would look like.) The fresh tortilla chips here are fantastic, and I went to town on the salsa bar—it says a lot about a place when the salsas all pop like the ones here.

I ordered a couple taco dorados ($2.59 each) with adobada (marinated steak) and al pastor inside—don’t be a victim like I was and get stuck with a surprise sprinkling of lettuce on them (unless you like to be all old school like that). But the meats were well seasoned, and I’m glad I ordered the tacos as a plate, because I was totally digging the pink-hued and super smooth refried beans on the side (our server told us it’s a special house recipe). This spot is my new I-80 amor for sure.

640-E W. Covell Blvd. at Anderson, Davis
530-297-4000

One place that bears mentioning (I didn’t have time to check it out but have heard three rave reports) is the ~WILD GOOSE~. Lovely lake view, the New American menu is reportedly delicious, and the style looks rather sleek. On my list for next time!

320 North Lake Blvd., Tahoe Vista
530-546-3640

We all know foggy summers in San Francisco are the pits, so if you want some sun and pristine mountain air, head for the lake. Even for a quick weekend, you totally come home refreshed.

All photos © tablehopper.com (except Manzanita dining room photo by Don Riddle, courtesy of The Ritz-Carlton, Lake Tahoe).

You know one thing I’m grateful for? Friends who plan their weddings in ~NEW YORK~ in June, that’s what. What an amazing time to be in the city, and of course I had to stay for a few extra days to charge around and stuff my face.

A few non-related-to-food things you should check out in case you’re heading to the Big Apple in coming months: do not miss the Met’s Alexander McQueen show, Savage Beauty, what a marvel. The best fashion installation I’ve ever seen. The Picasso and Marie-Thérèse show at the Gagosian Gallery was also one to see. And the other thing that blew my mind was Sleep No More, the creepy and engaging theatrical production in a building in Chelsea that was like a cross between The Shining, the Exploratorium, and Eyes Wide Shut. Some of the best $80 I’ve ever spent. Don’t miss it.

You can view my complete photo album on Flickr here.

Birreria
200 5th Ave. at 23rd St.
212-229-2560
I went to check out the latest addition to the Batali-Bastianich empire, Birreria, which is perched on top of the Eataly building. Ended up being the perfect Sunday supper destination in my post-wedding, hungover state. There will soon be three cask-conditioned beers brewed on the rooftop from the brewmasters of Dogfish Head, Del Borgo, and Baladin, and in the meantime, there’s quite the lineup of beers on tap (9) and bottled (20). My friend and I tucked into a carafe of the DFH Festina Peche ($14), while working our way through some killer mushroom dishes, like fried shiitake ($15) with sage and a marsala reduction drizzled on top (we attacked this), and the roasted maitakes ($15) with a pecorino sardo cream sauce with asparagus and peas. (Whoa.)

Beer. Meat. Bring it on. The mixed salumi plate ($21) had some gems, including a coppa piccante and garlicky soppressata. The sausages (all $19) are freaking fantastic, like the rich cotechino and the biroldo, a Toscana-inspired blood sausage. I liked how the cotechino was served: sliced and seared, so you get that crispy-fatty goodness in each bite, and you get some mustard and a choice of one side, from kraut to potato salad. And one of my dining partners was ready to double down on the beer-braised pork shoulder ($19), he loved it that much. I really enjoyed the airy space, and while I’ve been told the lines to get in can be insane, we literally walked in on Sunday evening.

Tía Pol
205 10th Ave. at 22nd St.
212-675-8805
I have been wanting to go to Tía Pol for far too long, and it ended up being a dream spot for lunch on a warm day. It’s a long and narrow slip of a space, so I can imagine it’s just as packed in the evening as I’ve heard it is. But for a midweek lunch? We waltzed right in. The Spanish menu is full of all the things you want to eat in warm weather: boquerones ($12) and deviled eggs made with smoky pimentón de la vera ($3 for three), all alongside big glasses of rosé, of course.

We also dialed in on a few more tapas, like the wicked paquetitos de jamón ($9): little triangular bundles of artichoke and manchego wrapped in serrano ham. Dude. The lengua a la plancha ($8)—veal tongue topped with pickled red onion on toasted baguette, was another decadent hit—while the piquillo peppers ($7) with potato salad and tuna were the only clunker dish—just kind of bland compared to everything else. Dessert finished strong: leche frita ($6), Basque-style balls of fried custard accompanied by drunken cherries. Seriously, hold the telefono. All in all, it was a fun little side trip to Spain while on the streets of Chelsea, and it’s right by the High Line, so you can enjoy a buzzed paseo after your meal.

Cookshop
156 10th Ave. at 20th St.
212-924-4440
My friends and I tucked into a hearty brunch here before cruising around the Chelsea galleries one afternoon. It’s a good brunch spot, with a spot-on bloody mary, and be sure to get some ricotta beignets ($11) (made with Di Palo’s ricotta) for the table while waiting for your order. My friend’s chilled beet soup ($8) was marvelous, and I ate every last bite of the radicchio and escarole salad ($10), nicely dressed in an anchovy-garlic vinaigrette with a flurry of Parmesan and breadcrumbs. My friend and I split the poached eggs with housemade pork sausage ($14) over Anson Mills grits (which were smooth but desperately needed some salt). I liked the airy space, the cheerful gingham shirts on all the servers, and the seasonal brunch menu is exactly what you want, from huevos rancheros to salads to a burger.

Mercato
352 W. 39th St. at 9th Ave.
212-643-2000
I wouldn’t necessarily go far out of my way to seek this place out, but boy was I pleased this cozy trattoria was directly across the street from where I was staying. I had a charming solo meal at the bar late in the evening, dining on rustic southern Italian dishes like garlicky rapini over a fava bean purée ($10), and trenette al pesto trapanese ($14), another garlicky dish with a rarely seen pesto made of almonds, garlic, tomatoes, and basil—delicioso. I liked how the menu had a variety of unique pastas, from Sardinian malloreddus to some Pugliese dishes (which is where I was told the owner is from). Super-friendly bar staff, and I ended up getting great tips on various Italian places to check out from a local in the neighborhood who sat next to me (I returned the favor by introducing him to Carpano Antica). Loved the bar setup—so New York.

Arthur Ave.—The Bronx

Before I flew to New York, my dad gave me a nudge, “Be a good girl. Go to Arthur Avenue and bring your father back some Crotonese from the Calabria Pork Store.” I was thinking to myself, “Now, when the hell am I going to have time to schlep all the way out to the Bronx to get some cheese?” On my first night sitting at the Mercato bar, my drinking partner Peter said the same thing: “Have you ever been to Arthur Ave.? It’s the real deal. You gotta go.” Armed with some great pointers from Peter, I decided to head out for a Monday excursion to score my dad some loot for Father’s Day. It was so worth the hour trip—that place is full of culinary gold.

I started with lunch in the Arthur Avenue Retail Market, an enclosed bazaar of sorts. I was told to hit the Café al Mercato in the back for a slice of pizza—I loved the thick rustic style, and the eggplant and tomato sauce slice I picked (after much mulling, let me tell you) was so packed with flavor. I enjoyed my lunch next to firemen (hot) and old Italian guys gossiping at the (classic) red-and-white checkered plastic tablecloth tables—too legit to quit. I also scored a reproduction of the Romagna in Bocca book for $20 at a neighboring stand (the Mount Carmel Gourmet Food Shop), and was so sorry I wasn’t staying much longer, because I wanted to cook the fresh fusilli and cavatelli they had on the counter.

I swung by the Madonia Brothers Bakery to pick up my dad some black pepper and fennel taralli, and on a whim, ordered some amazing-looking amaretti cookies. Let me tell you, they proved to be the best amaretti I’ve ever had. I’m ready to call and order a huge box of them, seriously.

I walked into the Morrone Pastry Shop to grab an espresso, and picked up a couple sfogliatelle to bring home. But when I looked at the pastry case and saw they had pesche (peaches), I had to order one. It’s a pastry I only see in Calabria—it’s a cream-filled pastry with a pink exterior that is dyed with maraschino to make it look like a peach. (There’s a recipe for them in Rosetta Costantino’s My Calabria book, and here’s a blog post someone did outlining how to make them). Sadly my pesca tasted a bit old, but it was still nice to be reminded of how much I love these pastries. Gotta set aside an afternoon to make them, soon.

So, the highlight of the trip was definitely my visit to the Calabria Pork Store. Mother of God, you walk in there and the first thing you notice is the exquisite smell of meat curing. Spicy meat. The ceiling is covered—literally covered—with hanging soppressate; it would be a perfect scene for a vegetarian nightmare, right out of Seven. I had a great chat with the owner, and ended up getting $60 worth of sausages (cash only, of course) and the requested Crotonese cheese for my dad. (I also couldn’t resist getting a caciocavallo that was hanging behind the counter—so glad I got it, it was creamy and sweet.) The hot soppressata is amazing, such sweet pork fat, and I loved their version of ‘nduja, a bit firm but full of peperoncino. I also got a soppressata with fennel, another amazing sausage. These guys kick so much ass with their salumi, it tastes right out of the old country. (I didn’t get any of their pancetta calabrese since my dad makes his own.) If there is a salumi cave in heaven (and in my own personal heaven, there certainly is), well, then this is the place it was modeled on.

Yakitori Totto
251 W. 55th St. at 8th Ave.
212-245-4555
Another place long on my to-try list has been Yakitori Totto, a hidden-away restaurant in Midtown (you have to look for a small sign and climb up a narrow staircase from the street to get to it). We had a short wait (the place is tiny) and then started ordering a parade of dishes, like the delicious Totto soup ($7) with chicken meatballs and mushrooms; ikura don ($11), salmon roe over rice; and a really interesting dish: bainiku and nagaimo isobemaki ($10), little “sandwiches” of pickled sticky yam with a shiso leaf inside—you pick it up and wrap it with a slice of nori. Not for everyone, but my friend and I dug the texture and flavors.

The house specialty, true to its name, is yakitori. Sadly the kitchen ran out of the prized chicken oyster, so we had the momo ($3, thigh) instead, along with our favorite of the night, the shishito tsukune ($4): shishito peppers stuffed with ground chicken meatball. There were a few dishes that fell short, but it was overall a fun, funky, and packed little spot to catch up with a friend over Sapporos late into the evening. And props to a restaurant for finally doing what I have wished all restaurants would do: put toothpicks in the frickin’ bathroom. Which is exactly where they should be.

Roberta’s
261 Moore St. at Bogart St., Brooklyn
718-417-1118
I didn’t think I was going to be able to make it to this much-recommended Brooklyn outpost this trip, but Roberta’s late hours (nightly until 12am) blessedly made it possible. And I would have missed out on my favorite dish of the entire trip: fried soft shell crab ($18) with spicy mayo and fresh herbs. So simple, but so sweet and fresh: total crustacean perfection. Of course we had to have one of the pizzas from the roaring pizza oven in the open kitchen—while the banana hammock was tempting (ha ha), we did the Specken Wolf ($14) with mozzarella, speck, mushrooms, onion, and oregano. Couldn’t stop eating the damned thing, and the taste of the char from the oven on the bready crust was fantastic. There’s a spacious outdoor area with a huge garden (impressive), so we couldn’t resist ordering a salad of miner’s lettuce ($14) with maitake mushrooms, bottarga, and Taleggio cheese.

Loved the low-key vibe of the place—felt like it was the neighborhood clubhouse, with young (and kinda drunk) couples sharing a pizza and canned Budweisers, while my friend and I were a bit more bougie with our fizzy bottle of Fattoria Il Gambero Bonarda. I am so coming back for an early evening dinner (or brunch!) so I can check out the gorg garden. And a tablehopper reader tells me the off-the-menu Cortez pizza is hella tasty (spicy tomato sauce, chorizo, cilantro, radishes, and a “crazy good creamy cheese”). It’s just a quick ride on the L train, don’t let the Brooklyn address deter you from this fab spot.

Colicchio & Sons—The Lot on Tap
Entrance on 30th St. between 10th and 11th Aves.
My friend and I swung by this makeshift outdoor beer garden for a quick drink and a bite before heading over to Sleep No More, which was just a couple blocks away. I was fired up to see the Taim falafel truck was parked there (green olive falafel? yay!) along with a couple other trucks, so you can nosh on something over a pint of Sehr crisp pilsner from Sixpoint Craft Ales (there are fives beers and wines each that you can choose from). This place will assuredly blow up during the summer.

Szechuan Gourmet
21 W. 39th St. at 5th Ave.
212-921-0233
My New York spice-loving pal is madly in love with this outpost of all things Szechuan, and boy did this joint bring it. Went in with a friend for a late lunch of their double-cooked pork belly with chile leeks ($7.60), shreds of smoked tofu with Asian celery ($6.95), and incredible dan dan noodles ($4.95) with minced chile pork. Each dish was spectacular—balanced flavor, and just enough heat that you got a little sweaty but could still taste your food. Total mother lode of flavor here, the price is right, and super-nice staff. I need to come back with a posse of eight and turn this place out.

The Dutch
131 Sullivan St. at Prince St.
212-677-6200
Nothing like filling up on a monster fried lunch before getting on a long plane ride home, right? I was thrilled to be able to check out Andrew Carmellini’s latest project in SoHo, primarily because I had my heart set on the fried oyster slider I’ve been reading so much about on Twitter. Well, that little treasure had been swapped out with a soft shell crab sandwich ($16) instead, with a yuzu-tobiko sauce, and a side salad of red watercress. Now that’s what I call a sandwich—move over fried chicken. (And move over lousy slice of tomato I had to rescue the sandwich from.) On the lighter side, the crab salad in a bloody mary sauce—bright with tarragon from the Green Goddess dressing—was also fantastic. The creamy avocado base brought it all home.

Okay, the fries, the fries! I think they’re the best fries I’ve ever had. Seriously. They almost shatter, but still have a slight tender chew to them, with a lovely golden exterior. Our server couldn’t tell me anything more about them except they’re cut in house. Uh, okay. Anyway, get them. We also loved the fried chicken ($19), juicy and even better with a few shakes of the housemade hot sauce—let me tell you, the leftovers made the best dinner I’ve ever had on a plane ride. Oh, and don’t fail to ask for their by-request-only scallion-cornbread with whipped butter.

The tavern-brasserie look is a bit Keith McNally-ish, and made for a fun lunch destination. I’ve heard it blows up at night, and I can believe it. I’m coming back for their famous pie. And more fries. And yes, that’s a threat.

Two more random bites:

Fresh mozzarella from Sergimmo Salumeria (a small little deli that makes fresh mozzarella every two hours)—their sandwiches also looked great.

Sable from Zabar’s (I can’t go to NYC without a visit to their fish counter)—and did you know you can score a free Zabar’s mug if you sign up for their mailing list? Now you do.

You can view my complete photo album on Flickr here.

It’s not every day your favorite band EVER is giving up the ghost, hanging up their hat, and calling it a night. So when LCD Soundsystem announced they were playing their last show ever at Madison Square Garden on April 2nd, my sister and I decided to make a long ~NEW YORK~ weekend of it. Hey, you only live once. Let’s do this.

You can view a complete photo album on Flickr here.

Millesime
92 Madison Ave. at 29th St.
212-889-7100
When chef Laurent Manrique saw that I was coming to New York, he kindly invited me to check out his latest project, Millesime (with executive chef Alan Ashkinaze), a seafood brasserie in the Carlton Hotel. It made for a truly perfect late-night meal since it was merely blocks away from where I was staying in the Flatiron. I dumped my suitcase, and we headed on over for a meal of fresh oysters; an elegant hamachi tartare crowned in wasabi tobiko and a chiffonade of shiso ($15); a big pot of plump mussels with garlic bread ($15, five to choose from); and a fantastically creamy clam chowder ($11). A standout for the table was the quenelles Jean-Louis ($14), two plump and tender quenelles of pike, in the most decadent, buttery lobster sauce that demanded to be mopped up with bread (when you’re not busy slathering your bread with the red wine and onion butter). The carbonara made of calamari ($14) was clever (and shockingly tender), rich with the flavor of smoked bacon, but it was sadly over-seasoned.

The stocked raw bar, cherry red banquettes, red and white napkins and plates, sparkly chandeliers, tiled floors, and shining brass railings all give it a snappy brasserie feeling, along with an exuberant staff, and there was an eclectic crowd dining late. If I was having an affair, it would be the perfect venue: the room is located upstairs from the street, there are lots of little tucked-in corner booths, and it’s in a hotel. Score.

Kin Shop
469 6th Ave. at 11th St.
212-675-4295
I have been curious to try chef-owner Harold Dieterle’s Kin Shop for some time (his first restaurant is the nearby Perilla), and it made for a spot-on lunch on a rainy day. Since I was technically on vacation, I started with the ALN, a martini of Farmer’s organic gin and housemade spicy Thai pickle brine. Um, yes. (I heart a boozy lunch.) We continued on the spicy train with the popular spicy duck laab salad ($13), a stellar rendition that was not shy on chile—and any menu item that has ** next to it and a footnote of “These are the spiciest dishes on our menu. They’re hot and we mean it.” is speaking to me. The fried pork and crispy oyster salad ($13) sounded like another must-try, but in the end, the duck was the one with the most personality by far. Until we tasted the massaman braised goat curry ($22). What a dish. The spices tasted so fresh, with such tender pieces of goat, along with purple yams, mustard greens, and a topping of fried shallots and toasted coconut. Pure heaven with a side of the crispy roti ($5), one of the better executions I’ve tasted in some time.

The place is casual, with a peaceful décor of soothing tones of verdigris, and there is a chef’s counter for those who want to watch the kitchen do their thing. I’d totally head back for dinner—the vibe and concept kind of reminds me of a Thai version of the original Slanted Door.

Momofuku Ko
163 1st Ave. at 10th St.
212-500-0831
Oh lord, the drama to get a reservation at this place. It basically entailed getting up at 7am on a Saturday (sorry, I don’t have freaking kids, and I like to sleep in, thankyouverymuch) one week prior to when we wanted to dine there, and fighting with a bunch of users at the same time over a few paltry reservations on a checkerboard screen. I felt like I was playing a really demented culinary video game. Then, if you are so lucky as to score a 9:30pm reservation like I did, you have 120 seconds to get your name and credit card info typed in. And then due to a weird bug, the damned thing wouldn’t accept my credit card expiration date. The countdown mercilessly continued. I tried another card, but it had the same expiration year that seemed to be causing the problem. Fie! And then I lost my reservation. Total #FAIL. And the Momofuku people had zero answers or recourse for me. Momofuku Ko quickly became MOMOFUCKYOU. But I was determined. I stalked that bloody website for a cancellation like a crazy person. Total SWF style. And guess who shockingly got a reso? After all that, let me tell you, dinner needed to freaking DELIVER. And it did.

Hilariously, no images are allowed at the restaurant, so all you get here is a picture I took of a poster in the bathroom. Total David Chang humor, what can I say?

You sit at a counter at an exhibition kitchen (there are 12 seats), and you are served directly by the chef (or in our case, a rather reticent sous). The place really is bare bones—they’re doing the minimum service-wise (I didn’t even get my coat put on at the end of the meal—the “gentleman” just handed it to me), but are giving you their best on your plate. Many of the dishes were fantastic, like a peppery daikon-potato soup with tiny bites of super-flavorful (and fatty) lamb rib with artichoke hearts and browned Brussels sprouts; smoked soft-boiled egg with hackleback caviar (I love some egg on egg), fingerling potato chips, onion soubise, fines herbes, and the groovy acidic hit of sweet potato vinegar; and the famed Microplaned frozen foie gras (it has a wondrous texture in your mouth) with lychee, riesling gelée, and pine nut brittle. Dessert also rocked, like a donut with parsnip glaze and another with hazelnut crumb, plus parsnip and caramel ice cream. Go parsnip. Great textures and balance in (almost) all the dishes.

I dug the quick pace of dinner: 10 courses, 2 hours. Boom boom boom. Impressive. Mercilessly wasn’t a three- or four-hour drawn-out affair. Will set you back $125. (You can also go for lunch, which is 16 courses for $175.) I wasn’t overly full afterward, but was definitely done eating. Music was a quirky mix of REM, Beck, Phish, In Living Color, Johnny Cash, and Dolly Parton. Crowd was mostly couples, including one who could have been straight out of central casting (she looked like Maggie Gyllenhaal in a bad wig and glasses). There was one solo diner—not sure if he had to pay for two, but I imagine so. So, was it worth it? Yes. And I was actually pleased to not take pictures or write down notes for a change (I know my sister appreciated it as well).

Dumpling Tour

I am really lucky to be friends with Jeff Allen, a total dumpling obsessive who took us on a lunchtime tour of some of his fave Chinatown spots (homeboy goes to Chinatown with a backpack, jus’ sayin’). It was a blast to be able to walk from place to place and eat our faces off with dough and pork items.

Here’s where we hit:

Prosperity Dumpling
46 Eldridge St. at Hester St.
212-343-0683
Go nuts: you can get the chive and pork dumplings (fried or boiled), and it looked like the fried sesame pancake disappeared in a heartbeat (I will be back to try it—we were on a dumpling tour). The dumplings came out piping hot, super juicy, with a rich and savory filling, and the dough was sublime. Cheap as hell. There is literally room for six people—it couldn’t get tinier—so be prepared to have someone’s elbow or ass in your face if you try to eat in there.

Mei Li Wah
64 Bayard St. at Elizabeth St.
212-966-7866
This place is all about their char siu baos/baked barbecue pork buns. Fully loaded, and some of the better ones I’ve ever tasted. $0.80 a pop. Get some extras for later. (Hence the backpack.)

Tang Tou Wang’s
15 Eldridge St. at Canal St.
212-343-0548
This literal hole in the wall specializes in a few Fujian dishes (from the city of Fuzhou, specifically) on a very straightforward menu on the wall—it’s okay, go downstairs and try to nab a spot at the narrow counters. Proceed to hork down a plate of their boiled dumplings, and the egg noodles with peanut butter sauce (although I heart me some ESL: “sause”).

Xi’an Famous Foods
88 E. Broadway #106 at Forsyth St.
212-786-2068
The grand finale of our tour was something that has been on my list FOREVER: the spicy cumin lamb burger ($3). This location literally has a counter with room for about five people tops, unlike their other locations—you’ll either have to get your treasure to go, or you can try to weasel in at the counter. So, that lamb burger. Oh yeah baby, it’s an explosion of cumin and chile and lambiness, with some grilled onion, peppers, scallion, and pickled jalapeño, all sandwiched in a slightly crisp and warm bun that is like a thick English muffin. Fortunately the “burger” is served in a plastic sandwich bag, so the hot chile oil and juice that starts dripping after your first few bites doesn’t end up on your shoes. I am craving it so much right now I almost don’t want to write about it. PANGS.

The other star of the menu we tried are the Liang Pi cold skin noodles ($4) that are also messy as hell. The noodles are thick and wheaty, with chunks of gluten that are all tangled up in the dish and soak up some of the spicy and oily sauce, with hits of sesame. You almost need a bib, no joke. And while you’re waiting for your order, you get to watch them hand pull their noodles right in front of you. Slap slap slap. Just like the chile oil in your face! Can’t wait to return.

Prune
54 E. 1st St. at 1st Ave.
415-677-6221
Since I was in the middle of reading chef-owner Gabrielle Hamilton’s book, it only felt fitting to swing by her restaurant for a quick dinner. Prune is as cozy and charming as I remember, but also as packed as always, with people practically sharing your table—if you need to have a big talk about your STDs with your partner, this is not the place to have that talk.

We decided to make a meal of the appetizers, often my favorite way to dine. Sis and I ordered the Parmesan omelette ($8), which ended up being a good accompaniment to the shad roe appetizer special that night. We also had the octopus ($15), nicely tender, and livened up with celery and the heat of chile flake. Of course we shared the famed sweetbreads ($14) that come fried with a satisfying crusty exterior, accompanied by capers and a slice of bacon. So good. And with that, we were done; it was a rich repast (we also had a hefty brunch that day). Although the grappa torte did pique my interest… Oh yes, and about the brunch here: although this place is famous for theirs (and their Bloody Marys), time is always too short for me in New York to be able to suffer that line. Maybe someday, when I live there…

Taim
222 Waverly Pl. at W. 11th St.
212-691-6101
Another long-standing item on my wish list was the falafel at Taim in Greenwich Village. Mother of God, what amazing falafel. This place is best in class—the savory falafel are fried to order, sporting the most sublime interplay between a crisp exterior and tender interior, and are stuffed into the fluffy style of pita I love (and proves so hard to find). You can choose the traditional green falafel (with parsley, mint, and cilantro), harissa (with mild heat), or red (made with roasted red peppers)—we were harissa all the way, baby. The sandwich comes slathered with a creamy hummus, tahini, Israeli salad, and marinated cabbage. Total home run. $5.25 for the keys to lunch heaven. I’m ruined forever.

We also tried the sabich sandwich ($6.25), with eggplant slices fried to order, a ton of sliced hard-boiled egg, hummus, tahini, Israeli salad, marinated cabbage, and amba, a tangy, pickled mango-fenugreek chutney. Again, pure, unadulterated sandwich love.

There’s a small counter, and one bench outside, but that’s it. Oh, you can now track down their Taim Mobile truck on Twitter as well. Some of the nicest service, as refreshing as their ginger-mint lemonade.

L’Artusi
228 W. 10th St. at Bleecker St.
212-255-5757
A dear friend who lives in New York treated me and some pals to dinner here one night. He said it’s one of his favorite places for a first date, and I can see why—it’s lively, with a menu that is easy to share dishes off of—but it was also perfect for our group of four. The Italian-inspired menu reminded me a bit of some local Cal-Ital menus; and while it didn’t read as particularly groundbreaking, dishes were well executed, with five kinds of crudo dishes and nine kinds of pasta (all made in-house), along with some larger plates. My hands-down favorite was the cavatelli ($18) with spicy lamb ragu and mustard greens. Incredible texture and ka-pow flavor. My friend’s orecchiette ($18) were also well executed, with the non-traditional addition of some radicchio. Points for having some Statti Gaglioppo on the all-Italian wine list, which our table polished off with verve.

Adult Beverages

I Sodi
105 Christopher St. at Bleecker St.
212-414-5774
I had heard about the selection of Negronis at I Sodi (four in all), and it proved to be a great spot in the West Village to meet up with a friend for a drink (and a plate of fried artichoke leaves) before my dinner at L’Artusi around the corner. We were served by a really savvy bartender, who was happy to tell us about all kinds of unique spirits he had behind the bar. Dude makes a mean cocktail. All I can say is I am so returning to this cool place for dinner—the artichoke lasagna that was served to a neighboring diner looked (and smelled) amazing.

Death & Co.
433 E. 6th St. at 1st Ave.
212-388-0882
This bar is always top of my “while in New York” list. Was happy to hang out with sis and a friend over three drinks here (funny how three drinks can suddenly happen), and we were lucky to score a table after waiting just 15 minutes. But for some reason, the three drinks I ordered (Morfeo, Hot Lips, Petticoat) all bordered on a bit too sweet. And since when do you play along with bartender’s choice and give a few specific pointers, and you end up with something that is already on the drinks menu? Yawn.

Little Branch
22 7th Ave. S. at Leroy St.
212-929-4360
Always takes me to my happy place. Gorgeous ice, spiritous cocktails, underground musty vibe, live jazz, moody lighting, little booth tables, and cheeky servers. Was (and will always be) the perfect place for my final-final.

You can view a complete photo album on Flickr here.

I am so sold on ~AUSTIN, TEXAS~. It’s a cryin’ shame I haven’t been there sooner, and the next time I’m going, I’ll make sure it’s not during the SXSW conference, which completely dominates the city (in a fun way, of course, but I’d like to see the city at its usual pace). I can’t believe how friendly people are—every day I encountered such kindness, lots of yes ma’ams, and for crissakes, when you put your car’s blinker on, they let you merge. Charmed. Even the menus say things like, “We politely request you limit payment to two credit cards per table,” or “Changes and substitutions are politely declined.” Well, since you put it like that…

Breakfast, boy, I hope you like it. Because in Austin, it’s the most important meal of the day. As someone who loves eggs, Mexican food, and tortillas, I was in my own personal breakfast heaven. Oh, and one thing to note: you’ll hear the term “interior Mexican” quite a bit. No, it’s not about Mexican rugs and tin mirrors; it’s what it sounds like: Mexican cuisine from Mexico (versus Tex-Mex).

Polvos
2004 S. 1st St. at W. Johanna
512-441-5446
A local friend brought me to Polvos, which has been over-feeding diners for 12 years. It draws a laid-back local scene, and is far from being a looker, but is big on sabor. Hello salsa bar—excellent choices (don’t miss the smoky ahumada salsa—it’s the one they keep running out of). I ended up getting two over-easy eggs with a trio of salsas (you get to choose from five—I picked mole, ranchero, and the oh-so-irresistible carne guisado), plus a side of saucy potatoes and refried beans, all for $7.99. Oh yeah, and homemade tortillas. I got to tuck into my first queso ($6.99) here, which is such dirty, slutty food. You get a bowl of gooey melted cheese with chiles in it, and you get to add ground beef, onion, cilantro, jalapeños, and salsa to your own liking, and then dip your chips in it. Plus guacamole. I can’t imagine a better hangover cure. My friend’s migas ($6.99) were also brunch bodaciousness: scrambled eggs with tortilla chips, jalapeños, cheese, onions, and tomatoes. Full bar (had my first Mexican martini), outdoor seating, and the nicest server were other highlights.

Joe’s Bakery & Coffee Shop
2305 E. 7th St. at Prospect
512-472-0017
Another killer local item is the breakfast taco, and the ones at Joe’s Bakery & Coffee Shop in East Austin rocked my world. This low-profile joint has been around for 45 years, and is full of families chowing down (breakfast is served all day, until 3pm). My local buddy told me to get the potato and bean taco (with thick slices of potato—I know, starch on starch—and boy was it tasty), and you can also get deep-fried bacon and egg (personally, I prefer the sugary-crispness of oven-baked bacon). Migas taco, another winner. And a kicky salsa verde that really says buenos días. The star of the show here is their flour tortilla—so fluffy, soft, and fresh. Kind of blew my mind. Never thought I’d say move over, corn tortillas. (Which is exactly why I bought a dozen of them to take home—that’s my idea of a souvenir. And I am going to be very, very sad once they’re gone.) This place is a great pitstop on your way to the airport—it’s barely 15 minutes away. And here’s one more tip: show your SXSW badge or wristband during the conference and receive a free taco with your meal.

Fonda San Miguel
2330 W. North Loop at Woodview

512-459-4121
Now, the place that took the cake on atmosphere was Fonda San Miguel, which has been here since 1975. You feel like you’re dining in a true hacienda, with fantastic art and beautiful furnishings. I was ready to move in. The big draw here is the Sunday brunch, with one of the best buffet setups I think I’ve ever seen—but it ain’t cheap ($38.95 per person). You can eat your fill of traditional interior dishes like cochinita pibil and pork in mole verde made from pistachios, all served from big clay ollas. The nopales salad was another standout, along with choices like ceviche, a luscious guacamole, and a bunch of other dishes that will challenge you to even make it to the dessert table, which groans with tres leches cake, flan, and cookies. Oh, and some dishes feature ingredients from their organic garden. Truly an hermosa setting, and most tables seem to have mango margaritas on them.

The Salt Lick
18300 FM 1826
Driftwood, TX
512-858-4959
The other big Austin topic is, of course, barbecue. The entire town smells like it, so you end up craving it all the time. I was lucky to get taken out to The Salt Lick, about 22 miles outside the city. It’s quite the sprawling setup: a huge ranch, with rooms filled with picnic-style tables inside and out, a monster-sized pit, and I sure as hell can’t argue with a heaping plate of ‘cue for $12.95, loaded with pork ribs (so meaty, and my sticky finger favorite), juicy links, and beef brisket, plus potato salad, beans, and coleslaw studded with white sesame seeds. There’s an all-you-can-eat option for $19.95, but that would have been a massive meal. Then again, Texans aren’t afraid to do it up. You can geek out on details of their barbecue method here.

Oh, and I got to experience my first dry county! (We were able to bring a cooler packed with Shiner Bocks, no prob.) Cash only, cowboy.

Franklin Barbecue
900 E. 11th St. at Branch
512-653-1187
The other joint that was on my list was Franklin Barbecue, which was just moving out of their trailer into a brick-and-mortar location the weekend I was there. While chilling out at a Twitter afternoon event, I was stoked to see a table selling a couple of their sandwiches. I was able to sample their pulled pork (I squeezed a Carolina-style vinegar sauce on that one) and topped their chopped beef with a kick-ass espresso-based sauce. I couldn’t even choose a favorite—they were both so meaty, and tender, and just the right amount of fat and smoke. All kinds of amazing. Check out this charming video CHOW did about their brisket.

Buenos Aires Café
1201 E. 6th St. at Waller
512-382-1189
One meaty experience I had that wasn’t barbecue, but totally memorable was at the Buenos Aires Café. This Argentine place is all about lunch, because it’s when you can order their lomito steak sandwich ($12.99). It’s quality beef: a juicy six-ounce piece of tenderloin that is remarkably tender and full of beefy flavor, especially with a ton of chimichurri slathered on it. The juice just soaks into the baguette, and while you can add cheese and tomatoes, the simplicity of beef-bread-sauce makes for quite the trinity. You’ll also want to get at least one of their empanadas, with an exquisitely dark gold and flaky exterior—I went for the carne picante ($2.59), filled with ground beef, green olives, onion, raisins, and spices. The dessert menu is huge, and includes the pionono ($5.49), a cake soaked in Kahlúa and coffee, with strawberries and a layer of dulce de leche, and an exterior of whipped cream. 100% bad for you.

Gourdough’s
1219 S. Lamar Blvd. at Lamar Square
The food cart scene here is INSANE. Everywhere I looked, there were parking lots with trailers, stands, and trucks. And it’s civilized—many of the trailers are parked permanently, with tables and chairs set up, and even bathrooms. Good luck trying to choose. But if you happen to find yourself really stoned (I wasn’t) or wasted (wasn’t there yet) and dealing with a fierce case of munchies, you’ll need to amble your way over to Gourdough’s, a trailer that specializes in donuts with savory or sweet toppings. Demented toppings. Our fave was the Flying Pig, with bacon and maple syrup icing. A close second was the Slow Burn, with cream cheese (a bit too much) and habañero pepper jelly. The Mother Clucker came with cut-up pieces of heavily battered fried chicken and honey butter, which got better when we requested even more honey butter. There are a bunch of sweet options as well. Even eating one donut here will take you down faster than the Kool-Aid man busting through a wall. Tread carefully. Come stoned.

G’Raj Mahal Cafe
91 Red River St. at Davis
512-480-2255
Over on Rainey Street are a bunch of bars and outdoor trailers within a couple blocks. The atmosphere at G’Raj Mahal Cafe was tough to beat, very casbah at night, with tiled tables and tents. Sadly the dishes we tried (lamb vindaloo, aloo gobi) were really aggressively spiced, and the paratha and salted lassi were also missing “the touch.” Bummer. But they do win for their extremely clever name.

El Naranjo
85 Rainey St. at Davis
512-474-2776
A better trailer in the area was El Naranjo, which serves a variety of interior dishes. I went for two tacos for $4.50 (which they let me mix and match). I tried the tinga verde (shredded chicken) and the carnitas estilo michoacan—both were so fresh-tasting, with good flavors and execution, but didn’t turn on the monkey part of my brain that says, “HOW SOON CAN YOU COME BACK HERE AND EAT MORE?” Maybe they were too “clean” (if you know what I mean).

Papalote Taco House
2803 S. Lamar Blvd. at Manchaca
512-804-2474

The place that definitely turned on that part of my brain was at Papalote Taco House, a new-ish place that my local pal recommended. I wanted to eat my way through the menu, starting with the lengthy list of guisados (stews/braises)—12 in all—which included tinga, mole poblano, and puero en pipian (shredded pork in pumpkin seed mole). I opted for the cachete/beef cheek taco (a weekend special only), which came heaping with meat that had the texture of carnitas. A squirt of their fresh salsa roja, lime, and cilantro and onion, and I was in THE ZONE (yes, the all-caps zone). What a taco. This place is a gem, and was one of my favorite bites this trip. It’s a tiny spot, totally spotless, zero atmosphere, and quite possibly the first place I’ll hit when getting off the plane the next time I visit.

Uchiko
4200 N. Lamar Blvd. at W. 43rd
512-916-4808
My absolute, hands-down, favorite menu of the entire trip was at Tyson Cole’s Uchiko, the somewhat recently opened offshoot of the cult-like Uchi (top of my list for my next visit—since it’s a no reservations place, the SXSW-induced madness would have made it a suicide mission). We sat at the sushi bar (which includes a great view into the kitchen), and proceeded to eat our way through the menu, losing our minds over each dish, from the BBQ scallop sashimi ($18) with the hit of kaffir lime, to the hama chili ($18), with yellowtail, orange supremes, and Thai chile. The dishes on executive chef Paul Qui’s menu were beautifully composed, all so balanced and full of texture and flavor. Really inspired kitchen here. Even the sushi options were fun, like the gyutan toro nigiri ($3.50)—grilled beef tongue with “fish caramel,” and our neighbor at the bar insisted we try his ham and eggs ($10): maki with pork belly, yolk custard, and showered in espelette.

Desserts are some badass mofos. Haven’t had desserts like this in a while—like the tobacco cream ($9), rich with the taste of scotch and yes, tobacco, plus a huckleberry tuile that looked like an exotic flower. Talk about a buzz. The textures and flavors of the fried milk dessert ($9) were also mindblowing. Pastry chef Philip Speer is the man.

Barley Swine
2024 S. Lamar Blvd. at Hether
512-394-8150
Another meal I enjoyed was at Barley Swine, a tiny gastropub offshoot from Bryce Gilmore, the chef behind the wildly popular Odd Duck trailer. (How popular? Well, the night we swung by the trailer, the wait for food was an hour.). Seating is mostly at high-top communal tables, but we parked it at the bar by the grill station (the line cook threw wood into that thing all night). The menu is full of small plates of chef food, from a puck of crisp pig trotter ($11) with a soft-boiled egg, to plenty of foie, pork belly, and sweetbreads. You kind of have to get the fried Brussels sprouts ($5) with lemon and capers. The smoked fish and potato-stuffed pasta ($10) was unexpected and a standout, with the softest base of scrambled eggs that were more like a sauce, and the barley- and foie-stuffed quail ($17) was juicy and savory. Nice list of beers (hence the name), and try to save room for dessert, like the hazelnut crunch ($7), with a caramel génoise swiped on the plate and the crunch of honey-nut nougat. Great staff, fun social vibe, and the price is right.

Foreign & Domestic
306 E. 53rd St. at Avenue G
512-459-1010
On my last night we took a drive out to Foreign & Domestic for a bite at the bar. It’s run by a husband and wife team (chef Ned Elliott and his wife Jodi, the pastry chef), serving some clever New American fare in a cool space with some vintage flair. We sat at the counter overlooking the kitchen—and man, they are right there (you could almost garnish your own plate). We dug the perfectly seasoned venison heart tartare ($10) topped with crisp pigs’ ears—and while I paused over the inclusion of thin slices of white chocolate covered in pepper on the plate, it oddly worked. The menu features all kinds of little creative touches and obvious training, from the involved technique behind the night’s rabbit special (a ballontine, $23), to the elegant plating. Dessert was marvy: almond tart ($7) topped with lemon granita, whipped crème fraîche, and a dark honeycomb.

Olivia
2043 S. Lamar Blvd. at Oltorf
512-804-2700
My friends and I came in to James Holmes’s chic Olivia for a late-night bite. I was pretty stuffed from earlier meals (and the price point was a bit steep—well, for Austin), so I just tried a few dishes, like an excellent carpaccio ($18). Some bites of the other appetizers didn’t quite win me over, like the foie gras céréales ($21) and lamb tongue ($11). But dessert ended things on a high note: a decadent duck egg crème brûlée ($9).

Haddington’s
601 W. 6th St. at Nueces
512-992-0204
Thirsty? I thought so. I dug the style of the recently opened Haddington’s, which reminded me a bit of the tavern-y vibe of Freeman’s in New York. There are two bars, multiple rooms, and a full menu with some tasty-sounding bar snacks (there’s weekend brunch as well). My friend took on the boozy duck fat sazerac ($9), while the bartender kindly obliged us in our request of Frisco Sours. Both came out well executed; the menu has plenty of spiritous cocktails to get you tipsy.

Patika
2nd and Congress
Oh, and thank heavens for the Patika coffee trailer, which hooked me up not once but twice. Owners Andy and Nick are big fans of Blue Bottle, and are super friendly (and talented) baristas.

Continental Club
1315 S. Congress Ave. at James
512-441-2444
It was a bummer I didn’t get to see more music on this trip, but I did get to catch singer Toni Price at the Continental Club one Tuesday evening. What atmosphere. Loved the show. And someone likes their whiskey (and I’m not talking about me).

Oh, and I had a blast watching movies at the Alamo Drafthouse theaters (there are a few in town)—can you say full bar and food service? Supposedly the milkshakes are killer.

If I was trying to figure out where to stay, the Hotel Saint Cecilia looked pretty fab, but its sister hotel, the Hotel San Jose, has a mesquite pit in the back, and is right across the street from the Continental Club.

If you’re into vintage treasures, swing by Uncommon Objects—great merchandising. And merch.

Places on my list for next time:

Omakase dinner at Uchi.

A visit to Barton Creek Farmers Market.

Brisket from Rudy’s.

An open-face egg salad sandwich at the Blue Dahlia Bistro.

Tacos and cocktails at Takoba.

Dinner outside at the Odd Duck Farm to Trailer.

A meal at the high-end/stylish La Condesa.

Dinner and drinks at David Bull’s Congress and Second Bar + Kitchen.

Dancing with a cowboy at the Broken Spoke.

Cocktails at East Side Show Room.

Additional Resources:
My Austin Twitter list
Austin Food Bloggers
Fearless Critic

So there I am, out for my first walk in Paris, standing by the Louvre and Jardin des Tuileries, the clear afternoon light glinting off the majestic buildings, and I totally burst into tears. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been to Paris since I was 20. Why was I missing out on so much pure beauty for the past 18 years? How could I forget?

And it also meant I have been missing out on a LOT of eating. Before I left San Francisco, I did a call out for recommendations, and proceeded to be deluged with a flurry of bistros, brasseries, boulangeries, and cafés that were all deemed “can’t miss.” It seems everyone has their own favorite Paris spots, holding those special qualities of whatever it is that means Paris to them. But to be honest, soon after I arrived, all I really wanted to do was walk around. The light was incredible, the high clouds, the winding streets… I had a very limited two and a half days there, and didn’t want to spend each precious day running around the city on the metro and in cabs on culinary missions—I was more inspired to wander instead.

So while this writeup is certainly an incomplete and abridged writeup of Paris, I do have some recos to share that remain on my hit list for next time. And so, allons-y!

(Oh, and you can view my Flickr album for many more photos of what I ate, drank, and saw.)

Chez Georges
1 rue du Mail, 2e
01 42 60 07 11
No, not THAT Georges. This one is a delightfully easygoing restaurant tucked in the 2nd near the Place des Victoires and Palais Royale, and is reportedly a favorite of Anna Wintour. The room had that perfect unstudied French casual-yet-refined air about it, with vintage pictures on the walls, tall mirrors, warm light, flowery and not particularly delicate china your grandmother would have, a handwritten menu full of changes and cross-outs, and the packed tables had a close, social vibe (lots of groups of four or more dining together). After the complimentary baby radishes, my friend and I had an insanely delicious frisée and lardons salad (prepared tableside), with some of the best meaty lardons I’ve ever tasted (transcendent when coated with the yolk of the poached egg on top). I ordered the rognon de veau, kidneys in a decadent sauce with sautéed Charlotte potatoes. Talk about a plate full of France. The show-stealing dessert was the “gâteau maison” the server casually mentioned, much better than the tough chocolate profiterole. The food was homey and rustic, with hearty portions that really delivered on the price (you can look at a pic of the menu here).

Café Charlot
38 Rue de Bretagne, 3rd
01 44 54 03 30
This corner place in the 3rd was recommended by a local for lunch, with perfect people watching and a model-y, fashion-y crowd. Oui. (A friend said it’s like they studied Pastis in New York for the design, which is funny considering Pastis is modeled after a French brasserie.) The house special is the omelet, served with an herbaceous tomato sauce inside, and particularly good with a side of frites. My friend and I had a fun lunch sitting outside, watching the neighborhood scene amble by, having fun with our cheeky waiter, and our carafe of chablis went down nice and easy. My favorite entertainment, however, was watching the breadstick-thin mademoiselle at the table next to us eat her hamburger with a fork and knife. Such manners! Cool neighborhood, one I’d like to explore more.

Chez l’Ami Jean
27 Rue Malar, 7th
01 47 05 86 89
After being pointed to a picture of l’Ami Jean’s rice pudding, I had to eat at this random Basque restaurant tucked all the way out in the quieter 7th. It’s become pretty popular of late, has quite the gourmand reputation, and it’s definitely one of those places that could only work in Paris—in San Francisco, people would complain the lights were far too bright, the tables too close, and for this diner, the food was too inconsistent for the prices they were charging. I wanted to love it, I really did—the menu was so whimsical and random, with exclamation points and wandering trains of thought. So quirky. I was seated right next to the kitchen, and with one look into that packed space with the spirited chef, Stéphane Jégo—barking out orders and watching the room like a hawk—made me love their style, but the meal, damn, it never really came together. Maybe we just didn’t order the right things.

The highlights: the thinly sliced jambon de boeuf Wagyu, rich and fatty like Iberico ham and unlike any cured beef I’ve ever had (move over bresaola), along with the accompanying pat of butter studded with huge pieces of salt, mon dieu; my plate of mushrooms were delightful but a little preciously plain for $32, cough cough; and the sauce on my friend’s boeuf bourguignon was amazing, but the beef itself was all about hard and chewy little nuggets, and our accompanying pomme purée was lukewarm. Our canard sauvage for two had haunting spicing and flavors, and was one hell of a carnal presentation, but it was undersalted. And here we go again, $84? Ow. Just when you’re ready to write the place off, and then the freaking rice pudding comes out. What a ridiculous, amazing dessert: a massive bowl of the creamiest rice pudding you’ve ever tasted, with plump and soft kernels of velvety rice, which you ladle into your bowl with a wooden spoon. Then you take your pick of sprinkling a muesli-like mixture of chopped-up nuts on top, plus meringues, and a dollop of salted caramel cream. Holy sweet Jesus, what a dish. It made me feel like I had an imaginary French grandmother who would only make this for my birthday or something. It made me practically rabid. I walked out the door, and I was already craving it again. Not sure if you could come here for plates of cured beef-ham and rice pudding, but I’d sure try.

Comptoir de la Gastronomie
34 rue Montmartre, 1st
01 42 33 31 32
I am so glad a reader recommended this place to me. One day as I was cruising around the 1st, looking for a place to pick up some bites to bring to a friend’s aperitif hour, I recognized the name on the awning. Talk about an homage to duck liver. You’ll find French ladies inside buying huge lobes of foie in the épicerie, and my favorite section was the one with at least eight different pâtés and terrines and rillettes you could choose a slice of, so delicious. I parked it outside for a little sampling of charcuterie and a glass of wine, and was ready to move in. This place rules.

L’Avant Comptoir
3 Carrefour de l’Odéon, 6th
08 26 10 10 87
I had a fantasy about dining at Yves Camdeborde’s Le Comptoir one evening, but I was all short on nights to eat out. This little stand-up place next door is like a slice of Barcelona, but the zinc bar and French bites are all Paris. You can order crêpes to go out the window (and I totally would, because the ham they have here is some of the best). Inside, there’s a small counter where you can lean while deciding what to eat, and hello, drink.
We grazed our way through the menu items listed on signs hanging from the ceiling, from the ham croquettes (creamy and delicious), to a little oxtail croque with horseradish cream and sprouts, and some of the best goddamned ham. Oh sweet pig of pigs. Just wait until you see the wall of hams and other cured meats. I recommend the jambon noir de Bigorre de Pierre Matayron—it was deep red, unctuous, and so deeply hammy. You can also slather little epi rolls with the round of communal butter that sits on the counter, pick some cornichons out of a ceramic pot, and try other little condiments. The guys who work here were friendly, quick to pour you some wicked riesling or Sancerre, and make recommendations on all of it (they even gave us tastes of the ham). I wanted to teleport the entire thing to SF, stat. And I am coming back for that freaking macaron of boudin noir (they were all out). We were also out the door for 22 E, amen.

Les Fines Gueules
43 Rue Croix des Petits Champs, 1st
01 42 61 35 41
I was invited to come along with a couple friends to this corner restaurant tucked away back near the Palais Royale. I was told Sunday reservations are especially hard to secure in Paris, so this was an unexpected little adventure. The place is famous for their cav du vins (it’s a big ‘un), and they’re definitely fans of natural wines here, so if that’s your thing, here’s your spot.
It’s a cool space, stylish and modern with multiple levels (wait until you experience the mini bathroom). When it’s time to order, the server schleps over the blackboard with everything listed right to your table—nope, no menus here. I tried the veal carpaccio topped with thin ribbons of Parmigiano and olive oil (pretty dang special, and a unique pairing with the ‘04 Pierre Overnoy Arbois Pupillin that was recommended to us). Since it was a warm night, I continued with the excellent steak tartare (it has an herbaceous element to it) and salad, with little fingerling potatoes. The ingredients were all fresh, seasonal, and tasted like quality. Amazing butter. Mmm, butter. Cool spot, would be fun for a date at the zinc bar, or cozied upstairs.

Marché Biologique Raspail
Boulevard Raspail, between la rue du Cherche-Midi and la rue de Rennes
9am-2pm
One of my favorite eating moments was on Sunday at the Marché Raspail outdoor farmers’ market, known for being organic (bio). We started our day with the most delicous potato and onion latke, hot off the griddle, and of course bound together with cheese. Major. (The name of the stand is Les Gustalins.)

At that point, I couldn’t believe all the snacky options that were presenting themselves. Hmmm, a piece of chicken from the rotisserie guy? Perhaps some fresh bread and cheese? Some tarte? Uh huh. I was also very excited about trying a slice of a carrot and chèvre quiche (!!), but then some man cockblocked me and bought the entire thing! Merde! Anyway, this place was a goldmine. And we even spotted Isabelle Huppert! Tres cool. (Catherine Deneuve reportedly lives in the neighborhood as well, can you imagine spotting her? I would swoon.)

So, that was about the extent of my mini damage in Paris. Here are some spots on my hit list for next time—no idea how fantastic they are or not, but they seemed tempting to me for some reason or another:

Crêpes at Breizh Café
109 Rue Vieille du Temple, 3rd

L’Arpège
84 Rue de Varenne, 7th
Really, really want to go for the lunch menu L’Eté des Jardins (The Summer Garden).

L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon
5 Rue de Montalembert, 7th
When I come back to Paris with some cash money, you’re gonna find me at the counter here.

Les Cocottes
135 Rue Saint-Dominique, 7th
Was told to get there right when it opens in order to score a table (no reservations here).

Frenchie
5 rue du Nil, 2nd
So popular, I was told lunch around 2pm is the smarter option if you want to get in there.

Le Chateaubriand
129 Avenue Parmentier, 11th
I gotta go here, looks so up my alley.

Monsouria for couscous
11 rue Faidherbe, 11th

Chez Michel
10 rue de Belzunce
Told by a couple folks how much they enjoyed their meals there, and was told to get the Paris-Brest for dessert.

Du Pain et Des Idées
34 rue Yves Toudic, 10th
Was told: “Gorgeous bakery with old painted mirrors and tin ceiling. This place is heaven. Any day of the week try their baguette tradition and MUST HAVE chausson (an entire half apple inside pastry for a melt in your mouth experience); croissant (I usually skip them but here they are incredible), and on Fridays only they make a saffron walnut bread that I think has West African origins. Delicious with a whiskey at the end of a meal.”

Pierre Hermé for macarons, as well as Ladurée (was also told their hot chocolate is amazing)

La Grande Epicerie de Paris at Le Bon Marché
38 rue de Sèvres, 7th
Yeah, French meat and cheese heaven.

Other things to note:

• Dear lord, bring the most comfortable shoes you can muster up. You will walk, and walk, and walk, and walk. French women don’t get fat because they’re walking all over the damned place.

• Don’t be afraid to take the Vélibs (public bikes), which you can pick up and drop off at any station, which are all over the city. Especially when your feet start hurting.

• Sunday. Shit is closed. For real. So plan on hitting up the farmers’ markets and flea markets that day. And follow David Lebovitz’s advice for where to eat.

Some helpful lists and resources:

David Lebovitz:
10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn’t Miss in Paris
Favorite Paris Restaurants
Paris Favorites: Eating, Drinking and Shopping
My Paris

I found Paris By Mouth’s web page of restaurants by arrondissement to be very helpful.

Dorie Greenspan’s Paris Ten Tastes

The Paris Lists by Steven Barclay and Peggy Knickerbocker

Le Fooding

Hungry for Paris

Gridskipper

NY Times article on eating in Paris

Hip Paris

You can view my Flickr album for many photos of all the establishments I mention, and more.

In mid-May, I had to fly to ~CHICAGO~ for a couple days of work, which means I had two nights to eat out as well. Sadly, Alinea and L20 remain unchecked on my list, because I just didn’t have the time for a five-hour dinner each night. In fact, my first night there, I only had about 30 minutes since I was on deadline for tablehopper. So I figured it was time to finally experience the infamous “Chicago beef.” And after a little interneting, I discovered one of the better examples was just a five-block walk from my hotel (The James, by the way, is a fab place to stay).

Al’s #1 Italian Beef
multiple locations

I wasn’t at the original location—this one actually had tables and chairs. You gotta love a place where the first thing out of the counter guy’s mouth is, “What can I get for you, young lady?” (Mind you, he was my age. I heart Chicago.) Anyway, I ordered as I was instructed by a native Chicagoan: “I’d like a beef, wet, hot, and sweet, for here.” Yeah, it sounded filthy. Which is exactly what I got: a filthy, dirty sandwich. It was a soft roll stuffed with the most thinly sliced (and spiced) beef, topped with a mix of sweet peppers and a finely diced giardiniera in a chili flake-studded hot oil. And the whole thing was just dripping with roasting juices—you can order it wet or, for the full experience, dipped.

Sure, it’s been a while since I ate a dinner off a tray (the counter guy talked me into a combo meal with their skin-on hand-cut fries and a soda). But man, that messy-ass sandwich was crazy delicious. It definitely tapped into the reptililan part of my brain—I managed to wolf that puppy down, and practically had to unhinge my jaw in a python-like fashion to do so. I almost killed a forest with all the napkins I used. The tender meat was so juicy and relatively lean—I was way into the subtle spicing, and the acidity and crunch of the peppers and the “hot” giardiniera. While I won’t be craving a beef for a long while, it’s the kind of sandwich I’d love to see a San Francisco sandwich-maker do a twist on.

And in case you’re hankering for a Chicago beef right now, you can head to the Da Beef cart in SoMa and they will hook you up—although their Twitter feed is best for learning if they’re open or not. (Phat Philly in the Mission makes one as well, but I’ve never had it.)

All aboard the meat train! Well, I was in Chicago, what did I expect? Vegetables? Riiiight. The next night I went out for a proper meal (with silverware) with a friend at:

The Publican
837 W. Fulton Market at N. Green St.
312-733-9555

This Fulton Market tavern (the area feels very warehouse-y/Meatpacking District) is from the team behind my other Chicago favorites, Blackbird and avec restaurants. As soon as we walked in, I was like, well hello there—I’ve never seen a restaurant like this one. There were three long communal walnut tables in a U-shape in the center of the room, with tall-backed wood chairs, and a soft glow from the suspended brasserie-like globe lights hanging overhead. I cracked up over the “veal pen” private tables along the wall, contained by a tall wooden fence of sorts—just like opening a pen door to get to your table. There were also some standing-room tables near the bar where folks could easily gather for a pint and a plate of aged ham with the wonderful crusty bread and goat butter. And my favorite: the three large canvases of big, fat, roly poly pigs on the walls. Here pig!

Executive chef Paul Kahan and chef de cuisine Brian Huston’s menu reads like a love letter to meat and all its various and sundry cuts; its offerings include cones of spicy pork rinds from Becker Lane pigs (chicharrones to us Cali-types), charcuterie plates, bollito misto, duck heart, and whoa, calf’s brain sausage. Whole animal in effect. There are also eight kinds of oysters, fried clams, a crudo… and fortunately about six seasonal vegetable side dishes (although some contain meaty items like, oh, ham crumbs). A vegetarian would just dissolve into tears here.

We started with the little gem salad ($8), topped with crunchy strips of pig’s ears, plus the kick of radish, the twang of basil, and a creamy buttermilk vinaigrette. It was a beautiful salad—such fantastic texture and flavor. Next was the lightly smoked char ($15) with fingerling potatoes, giardiniera (hey, we’re in Chi-town!), and fromage blanc, simultaneously rustic yet elegant—and rich. Everything is meant to be eaten family style, and I was digging the mismatched style of the large plates and silver (such big forks!)—the American-meets-European elements all conspired to have you feel like you were in a Boston tavern back in the 1800s—with, perhaps, a Belgian tavern-keeper (which is actually what a “publican” is, a tavern keeper).

Let’s pause a moment here for the BEERS. Oh lordy, what a list. I’m not even going to begin to count, but it looked like at least 70, with 12 on tap, most from Germany and Belgium (and with the biggest sticks I’ve ever seen). As for the bottles, you could take your pick from Trappist to abbey to lambics to Flemish reds to micro-Belgians to Italian, even Swedish beers. We stuck with the saison section, putting back bottles of the Brasserie Dupont and Brasserie à Vapeur. (You can geek out on the list here.) The wine list was also full of some unique and quirky picks, but we were all about the suds.

So back to the food: truth be told, the sweetbreads almost put me over the edge; they came as two very large lobes, with barely any breading. Just too much gland for me. Our hands-down fave was the juicy and pink lamb saddle ($32) with bright English peas, shoots, and a nest of grits. Staggeringly tender meat—the dish was the essence of springtime. Oh, and the side of ramps ($10) with a super-garlicky romesco—hell, who are we to turn down some ramps while we’re in the Midwest? (Next time, and there will be a next time, I am so going to try the amazing-looking farm chicken, and the ham chop “in hay.”) We finished with the lemon tart with graham cracker, coconut, and brown butter ice cream—even though we were deathly full, we needed a fresh note to finish on.

More than anything, what I loved most was the sense of humor of this place, whether you wanted to “buy a six-pack for the kitchen” ($10) off the beer list, or the jaunty waitstaff uniforms, to the bathroom that made me feel like I was shakin’ the dew off my lily (as my cowboy country pal used to say) at the OK Corral—the wood restroom doors were tall and rancho-like, and you wash your hands at a faucet fountain in the center of the room. For once, a unisex bathroom that ended up amusing me rather than annoying me.

There isn’t a single place in San Francisco that pushes the envelope design- and concept-wise like this restaurant. I tip my cap to the entire team, and architect and interior designer Thomas Schlesser. It’s no mistake that it won the James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurant Design in 2009.

We finished the evening with cocktails at:
The Violet Hour
1520 N. Damen Ave. at N. Wicker Park Ave.
773-252-1500

It was about a ten-minute cab ride away in Wicker Park. Fortunately, the bar is affiliated with The Publican, so we had the host call ahead for us. Yeah, it’s one of those no standing room (but no reservations) and slightly speakeasy-ish bars, but boy, is it a beaut. Once you enter through what looks like a plywood/under construction façade, and check in for a table with the hostess, you will have a glimpse of the breathtaking room. The décor is so glamorous, with a salon style that features a few separate rooms, tall-backed leather chairs, hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, and dramatic floor-to-ceiling curtains. No old-timey music here—it seemed more like a Stanley Kubrick movie set. And yes, I was ready to move in.

We scored seats at the bar, where our barman extraordinaire, Henry Prendergrast (yes, his real name), proceeded to blow doors with his beverages (all drinks on the menu are $12). The back bar is full of vials and house bitters and a staggering selection of liquors. I requested he shake or stir up some custom drinks for me (“bourbon and refreshing” is how I usually call it), and it was like he had been making drinks for me for years—they were exactly my heart’s desire. No, I didn’t take notes—I was just having a good time. And at this place, you will. Until we meet again… And when we do, I want to try some of the snacks on the menu as well (hello country-fried pork sandwich on a buttermilk biscuit with hot pepper jelly—that’ll fix any damage you do with too many Spring Sidecars).

Boy, was I overdue on some ~NEW YORK~ scouting. Since I spent last year writing and working on my book, it had been a while since I took a bite of the Big Apple. I hope you’re wearing some comfortable pants, or at least have an extra hole or two on your belt, because it’s time to get down to biz-ness.

Oh, and you can view my Flickr album for more photos of all these eats, drinks, and establishments.

Joseph Leonard
170 Waverly Pl. at Christopher St.
646-429-8383
Before I left SF for New York, a friend slipped me the business card of this joint. And then another pal sent me an iPhone picture of his lunch here. And then I realized the restaurant was only a block away from where I was staying. Okay, okay, I get it! I’m coming! Jeesh. A pal and I had a marvy brunch at this stylish and affordable corner spot—imagine if one of your stylish friends opened a bar and mini restaurant in their attic, and you’ll get a sense of the vibe here. My farm-fresh eggs were cooked to perfection, served with a house-made pork and garlic sausage and crispy hashbrowns, plus arugula, and a whisper of crème fraîche, for a relatively affordable $13. Meanwhile, my pal’s omelet with wild mushrooms and thick slices of brioche, plus a side of baby lettuces, was $14. Really fresh ingredients, and the dinner menu looked sick. Would love to return—especially for the beef tongue corned beef, are you kidding? Full bar, friendly staff, groovy eclectic style, and reportedly a hit with industry folks later in the evening (they serve until 2am Tue-Sat).

Kesté
271 Bleecker St. at Morton St.
212-243-1500
This much-lauded APN (Associazione Pizzaiuoli Napoletani) pizza place in the West Village has been on my list for a while. And it’s legit: all the guys working there have accents and dialects as thick as ciabatta, the oven was made by Italian artisans, and the menu of pizzas doesn’t have any American misspellings or weird combos. Of course I went for a margherita ($12). Whoa, the pizza arrived quickly—a sign of a hot-ass oven. The crust was sublime—tender but bready, with an even char, and salty. The San Marzano tomato sauce popped with acidity and brightness. But I found the mozzarella to be a little rubbery—I wanted it to be creamier. In an endearing gesture, one helpful neighbor offered me a slice of his “regina margherita” ($15), made with mozzarella di bufala—this cheese had the freshness I was hoping for. And then my other neighbor insisted I try his “pizza del re” ($19), with prosciutto, mushrooms, and truffle cream. SO decadent and delicious. I totally dug this tiny place, would totally go back. And kudos for drawing some of the friendliest fellow diners I’ve ever met.

Co.
230 9th Ave. at 24th St.
212-243-1105
If there was one place I wished I had more time to revisit on this trip, it was this one. Jim Lahey’s pizza is one of the best I’ve ever tasted—what a crust. So delicate, it almost disintegrates in one bite, but still has the sexiest whisper of crispness. Yeah, that wood-fired oven is cranking hard. The veal meatballs ($18) on top were so tender and savory, and the caramelized onions, olives, and aged pecorino conspired to make this pizza kick total flavor ass. The mozzarella (made locally by Lioni Latticinni) melted like a dream. Shit, I am gonna have a jones for this pizza until I get my heinie back to NYC. A lot of tables were crowned with the Popeye ($17), topped with huge, crispy pieces of spinach, and the stracciatella ($17) with crushed tomato sounded positively illegal. Call the cops.

Caffe Reggio
119 MacDougal St. at W. 3rd St.
212-475-9557

It was too late in the day for me to order their trademark cappuccino (this caffè supposedly served the first cappuccino in New York), but my macchiato on the run (I asked if I could just stand at the back bar) was lovely. I just wish I had time to linger at the tables, surrounded with the slightly frayed old world vibe of the place. Since 1927, gotta love it.

Stumptown Coffee Roasters/The Ace Café
18 W. 29th St. at Broadway
212-679-2222

The next time I stay in New York, I wanna book a room at The Ace. Partially because it means I can wake up with Stumptown coffee every morning. I think you have to wear a hat to work here—no joke, every single person behind the counter of this outpost of the famed Portland coffee roasters was doffing a sassy lid of some sort. Nice folks, who pull a mean espresso.

The Breslin
16 W. 29th St. at 5th Ave.
212-679-1939

After perking up with my Stumptown coffee, I meandered in to the post-work scene at The Breslin and found a perch at the bar. Damn, Fergus Henderson was reportedly in the seat next to me not 10 minutes before I had arrived. Dag! Anyway, love all the rock ‘n’ roll drink names (Rush of Blood to the Head, London Calling)—I went for the Beggar’s Banquet: bourbon with maple syrup, lemon juice, bitters, and topped with ale. Huzzah. Backed up with the scrumpets ($7), an effed-up version of fried chicken fingers, but instead made with lamb belly. I know, whoa. (You dip them into an accompanying sauce of mint and vinegar in a vain attempt to cut the swath of fat about to enter your mouth.) I only managed to eat one before fearing I was going to keel over off my barstool. Scrumpets: merely the tip of the brisket of the meat-centric menu here (chef April Bloomfield/Spotted Pig is to blame). Reportedly the lamb burger ($17) is a big hit, and I saw plenty of the thrice-cooked chips ($7) on the bar. Cool eclectic style, a bit of a tavern-meets-antique store mash-up, with wood everywhere, and piggies, natch.

Marea
240 Central Park S. at 7th Ave.
212-582-5100

Is this a lesson about hype? Perhaps just managing my expectations. Argh. The luxe space is quite beautiful, the menu of seafood and Italian cuisine reads like a dream, and yes, the ricci—sea urchin on crostini, with an almost-melting piece of lardo draped on top and sprinkled with sea salt—is out-of-the-park hold-the-phone delicious. So why was I left with a lingering feeling of disappointment? Every food writer I can think of was singing about the dishes here. But some of the crudos weren’t exactly what I’d call chilled (except the perfect ruby red shrimp with lemon and black lava salt), the pastas didn’t quite win me over (I really don’t understand why everyone is going stir-crazy over the octopus and bone marrow fusilli—the nuance of the bone marrow was totally lost), and the service needed to be a bit more dialed in considering the main dishes ring in from $38-$47. (Cough.) Example: I can’t even count how many times my chair was bumped by servers—I felt like I was on a plane with a squirmy kid behind me. Yes, it was all very pretty, but gorgeous plates do not a happy diner make. Le sigh.

The Odeon
145 W. Broadway at Thomas St.
212-233-0507

I know, it’s a classic that some might not even have on their radar anymore. But when your heel suddenly breaks off one of your high heels, and you’re in Tribeca, and you’re hungry, and it’s midnight, whatcha gonna do? Slide on into a table at The Odeon, that’s what. My croque-monsieur ($14) with mornay sauce and mixed greens was on point, and my friend barely gave me a bite of his burger, he was that into it. Hot frites, cheeky server, nicely made martini, and a timeless McNally brasserie style.

Kunjip
9 W. 32nd St. at 5th Ave.
212-216-9487

It’s late, your feet are tired from standing all day at the James Beard Awards, and you’ve got a posse of ten ready to eat. Where you gonna go? This Koreatown gem was like a beacon in the boozy night. We chowed down on kimchee and seafood-and-scallion pancakes, tucked into soon doo boo chigae (the ever-delish soft tofu stew with seafood), ate piping hot bibimbap, and of course, downed a fleet of OB beers. Open 24 hours, very gracious staff, and everything you want in a late-night bite.

Mandoo Bar
2 W. 32nd St. at 5th Ave.
212-279-3075

Sure, I just had a Korean feast the night before, but the call of dumplings was irresistible! (It usually is.) I figured it was time to try the Korean dumplings here upon seeing the cooks making them right in the window—doubly irresistible. I wish I had someone dining with me for my lunch, but I gave the menu my best. I took the friendly server’s reco and ordered the Vegetable Mool Mandoo (boiled dumplings; $9.24 for 10), and the Goon Mandoo (fried; $9.24 for 8). I liked the chewy texture of the wrappers, and compiling the trinity of soy/sriracha/vinegar for the dipping sauce—so good. I’d totally be a regular at this perfect lunch place—it has helpful servers (they let me do half-orders), affordable pricing for such handmade food, and I liked the simple, modern design. Am so curious about their bibimbob served cold. I know, wild! Wanted to transport this place back with me to SF.

Joe’s Shanghai
Multiple locations

Since we’re on dumplings, I went to this place just to try their xiao long bao (soup dumplings), which I was told are the best in NYC. (I wasn’t able to trek to Chinatown, so I went to their Midtown location during one of my numerous walks around the city.) Holy mother of pork, were these babies rich. I’ve never had such a rich broth filling—almost too much. They were also pretty hefty in size—they took some negotiating. The wrapper was mostly tender, but tasted a bit doughy to me. I guess I need to get my butt to Shanghai.

El Quinto Pino

401 W. 24th St. at 9th Ave.
212-206-6900
I heard about this evil sea urchin-butter-mustard oil combo on ficelle, and I had to have it. Yeah, it was $15, but that’s what I call a panino. Whoa, welcome to flavor country. This tiny Chelsea offshoot of the popular Tía Pol is the kind of spot where you would find me often. It’s a shoebox of a space, with a horseshoe bar and a few tables along the wall and front window, with a blackboard listing an array of tapas. And that’s about it. My friend and I were grooving on our drinks (his: a frozen basil-infused gin lemonade, and mine: a celery-citrus-sherry combo that rocked my boots). In the words of Arnold, I’ll be back.

Ippudo
65 4th Ave. at 9th St.
212-388-0088

This import from Japan is my ramen church. I don’t care how hot out it is, gimme a bowl of their porky perfection. My friends and I came in late, almost to closing (11:30pm Mon-Thu, 12:30am Fri-Sat), and it was assuredly the painless way to score a table at this always-packed spot. I dove into the Akamaru Modern ($14), a flavor-loaded tonkotsu bomb of a bowl of pork chashu, with half of a custardy soft-boiled egg, and scallions, and bean sprouts, and and and… it’s freaking heaven. My friends were equally enamored with their bowls. The noodles here are a benchmark for me. The design is totally fascinating, from the bundles of dried ramen under glass at the check-in counter, to the open kitchen that is total theater. Hearts.

Decibel
240 East 9th St. at 2nd Ave.
212-979-2733

When you’re done with your feast at Ippudo (or perhaps waiting for a table), put away a bottle of sake in this divey subterranean hideout that’s been getting people lit on over-poured sake in boxes since 1993. The walls are covered in graffiti, the lantern lights are low, the sake list is long, and the music and vibe is energetic—it’s the kind of place that’s ripe for trouble-starting.

SHO Shaun Hergatt
40 Broad St., 2nd Fl. at Exchange Pl.
212-809-3993

It’s like Vegas in New York—but dated enough to feel like a place Gordon Gekko would have liked. Mega technique and labored-over presentations and flavor combinations, and the mignardises cart literally had its own dry ice show (complete with four kinds of macarons). Not my preferred style of dining, but it’s a generous tour for $69 for the three-course menu. Service rode the waves with good timing, and then the tide would recede and someone’s wine glass would get empty. Too much show, not enough go for me to return.

Rouge Tomate
10 E. 60th St. at Madison Ave.
646-237-8977

With one sip of my Green Tornado, a juice of tarragon, spinach, basil, butter lettuce, fennel, mint, and lemon juice, I started feeling the evils of my week in New York get counter balanced. This modern and spacious restaurant near the southeast corner of Central Park has a format that I hope we see more of in the future: it has an in-house nutritionist who works with the chef to create balanced and healthy (and low in sodium) dishes; there’s a juice bar which they also use for their cocktails (which range from lighter to heavier drinks); and all the ingredients are local and top quality (and many are house-made). Leading the kitchen is Jeremy Bearman, a chef whose elegant food I adored when he was at LarkCreekSteak, and now he’s rocking it (the restaurant just earned a Michelin star). The flavors and textures were delicious, and it’s exactly the kind of food you want to eat when you go out because it’s so labor intensive that you’d be in your kitchen all day if you made it at home. For example, the farrotto (farro risotto) dish was enriched with an onion purée made from the scraps of soup stock—no butter was used. In fact, there’s no butter and no cream used at all here. Nor a fryer. (It takes quite a chef to make healthy food taste this good.) I did note a lot of garlic in a number of the dishes, so the kitchen does lean on it for flavor.

The concept is a smart marriage of high-end cuisine and nutrition, and it took a Belgian restaurateur (Emmanuel Verstraeten) to bring it to the U.S. Just look at the pictures I took—the food was as beautiful as it was clean and delicious, and the serene interior was full of natural elements and light. I can only hope they open one in San Francisco—it’s a concept whose time has come. (Yeah, I liked it.)

Nobu
105 Hudson St. at Franklin St.
212-334-4445

I know, random choice! But a friend offered to take me, and I had never been. We actually ate at Nobu Next Door, which has easy walk-in capabilities, and since we were both totally wiped out from our previous late night on the town, we were able to go on auto pilot and ordered omakase. And oh crap, how did I forget this place serves bluefin tuna? As soon as the first course of the bigeye and bluefin toro tartar came out, my heart sunk. I totally forgot. But what was I going to do, send it back? I considered it my guilt-ridden farewell to bluefin forever—a fitting place to do it, I guess. The omakase dishes were far from what I’d call a tour of pristine sushi—it was more about modern combinations and flavors, with some unique ingredients, and a lot of hot dishes. And I can’t believe the massive portion of lobster tempura they served us, I thought I was gonna die. It was a hefty omakase, that’s for certain. The décor was a bit dated and tired, but the majority of our attention was on our plates. The evening ended up not being what we expected, but we just had to go into a 1995 frame of mind, and it all came together. Besides that nagging bluefin guilt I left with. Why is that on the menu? Damn.

Grand Central Oyster Bar
89 E. 42nd St. at Vanderbilt Ave.
212-490-6653


Call me a sucker for nostalgia. I mean, come on, it’s an oyster bar in Grand Central Station. I parked myself at the counter and ordered a mid-afternoon snack from the surly waiter, which consisted of a few picks off their 30-plus list of fresh oysters, and I slurped down a Bloody Mary. It’s a fun scene, watching fellow tourists in the funky atmosphere with a cool arched ceiling. But was it love? Not really. I think it was one of those places where I needed to be with someone. Officially checked off my list. Next!

Serendipity 3
225 E. 60th St. at 2nd Ave.
212-838-3531

Another New York classic I had to check out. If it was good enough for Andy Warhol and Jackie O., then you know it was one for the tablehopper to try. It was a hot spring day, and after being thoroughly entertained with one of the most cleverly written menu covers ever (you can read it here, but it’s missing the whimsical illustrations), I plunked my straw into the massive frrrrozen hot chocolate, their trademark dessert. It was icy, chocolatey, and covered with a mass of whipped cream. Total danger. I was a little bummed with the out-of-context pop music playing on the soundsystem, but got a big kick out of seeing fellow ladies gleefully tucking into sundaes, which seems to happen often here.

Cienfuegos
95 Avenue A at 6th St.
212-614-6818

Just a few doors over from Death and Co. (another favorite of mine) is this sexy rum punch bar that is a welcome break from the omnipresent speakeasy style, although you’ll still have to enter through a sandwich shop (called Carteles). The vibe is very Havana boudoir, with robin’s egg blue and white tufted walls, curving high-backed salon chairs, and a pink cove of seating in the back. On the menu: delicious rum punches by Charlotte Voisey. You can order them simple (one person—around $13), amigos (two-three—around $30), toda la familia (four or more—around $60), and the royale (six and up—around $100). We rolled as amigos, and ordered the Cayo Romano Punch with Domaine de Canton, Mount Gay Extra Old, 10 Cane, lime juice, clementine juice, Angostura bitters, orange bitters, and St. Elizabeth allspice dram. We were feeling even more like amigos at the end of that boozy bath, man. Good thing there is also food on the menu, including an array of empanadas, to keep you from crashing your ship.

Raines Law Room
48 W. 17th St. at 6th Ave.
(no phone)

This quiet little speakeasy has a less-stuffy vibe than many, with downright friendly service (once you get past the door), and no “I have a little mustache and a vintage vest” attitude. Classic cocktails are shaken and stirred in the back room and brought to your table (be sure to sit at a table with a little pull chain that sets off a light in the back room to signal someone at your table is thirsty). I liked chatting with my gay in the comfy upholstered chairs—but we agreed it would be a sexier place for a date. Bonus point for the complimentary kettle corn they send out.

Lather, rinse, repeat: Of course some of my favorite drinks in the whole world were at Little Branch (22 7th Ave. S. at Leroy St., 212-929-4360). That bar kicks so much cocktail ass. The penicillin was exactly the medicine I needed.

And after a night of imbibing, here’s how to fix it. I have Nicole Plue to thank for turning me on to the joy that is egg on a roll. Oh man, how did I miss having this item all my life? Go to any grungy corner deli, and they likely serve this heavenly combo of egg, American cheese (yes, that’s right, the processed stuff), and you can get ham or bacon if you’re especially hungover. It’s all stuffed into a soft and squishy Kaiser roll. Most rockin’. Here’s a pic of Nicole’s victory breakfast the day after winning her first James Beard Award for Best Pastry Chef. Breakfast of champions, indeed. (Photo by Nicole Plue.)

Murray’s Cheese
254 Bleecker St. at Leroy St.
212-243-3289
And as a final scene-wrapper, do not miss an opportunity to experience Murray’s. I had to put together a wine and cheese party for a friend, and was quickly corrected by my personal shopper at Murray’s, “No no no, it’s a cheese and wine party.” Damned straight. Some of the sassiest product signs I’ve ever read, and I had some great discoveries here. Viva New York.

You can view my Flickr album for more photos of all these eats, drinks, and establishments.

As my plane started its descent into Mumbai, some twenty-five hours after I had left San Francisco, I started feeling a spike of nervous anticipation about the chaos that was looming in the city below, starting with the end of safe drinking water. Then again, it’s definitely a bit jarring to go from the highly sanitized world of business class on a Lufthansa flight (I cashed in all my miles for business class, best decision ever), to landing in one of the largest cities in the world (18 million citizens) at 1:30am.

After waiting for my sister’s flight to land a couple hours later, we both got into our pre-paid cab and rode to the hotel we had reserved before our trip (most flights from the U.S./Europe get into India after midnight, so you want to know where you’re sleeping your first night). A couple airport tips: get your first bundle of rupees from the sole ATM (if it’s working). And in case it’s not, like we encountered, just change a little money at the exchange counters that are each hawking their services—but a weekly trip to the ATM is the best way to get rupees. Book your prepaid taxi voucher at the indoor stand before you walk outside, because there’s no getting back in past security. Out the door, it’s a slew of people and offers and cars—the voucher helped us stride past all the inquiries of “taxi, ma’am?” to our designated cab.

At first we thought our taxi driver was a madman, but no, we soon learned all drivers in India are mad. They don’t stay in their lane, ever (two-lane roads accommodate four cars abreast, with a few motorcycles and a bus thrown in for good measure). They pass on blind turns, they weave, they speed up and then slam on the brakes, and the horn is meant to be used at all times so everyone on the road knows where you are. The streets are filled with the swells of honks, and you are mere inches from the cars next to you at all times. It took me about a week to get used to the vehicular mayhem—I just had to surrender. And for the three weeks I was in India, I didn’t see a single accident, so that’s hopeful.

Nothing prepared me for the surreal arrival into Mumbai. The streets were full of all kinds of activity at 3:30am: carts being unloaded, construction, workmen in the streets… Dogs, dirt, burning piles of garbage lined the road. On the way into the city, you will eventually pass by the slums. I will never forget the realization that the shadowy figures on the side of the street were actually sleeping bodies, with anywhere from five to fifteen people all lined up next to each other, just their bare feet peeking out from under their sheet, if they even had a sheet. Little feet, big feet, medium feet. My heart sank. What were we getting into? The magnitude of the city’s poverty was a hard thing to comprehend, one of the first of many indelible impressions.

Our hotel was in the Colaba District, an area that is close to some major landmarks and has a number of hotels, restaurants, and therefore tourists, so it always has something going on. We happily discovered the next day that our hotel, the Hotel Diplomat, flanked the back side of the Taj Mahal Palace, so it was an easy landmark.

January is the perfect time to be in Mumbai: the weather is hot but not unbearably so, and it’s before the monsoon season kicks in. January is also considered the high season, so accommodations are a bit harder to find, and you’ll pay more. Our hotel was fine—not what I’d call a looker, but it was a decent deal for $85 or so per night. The staff was nice, our double room was clean enough, the location was ideal, and it was secure—really, all we needed. We were traveling on a budget, and fortunately our rooms or coconut huts in other cities on the rest of the trip were more in the $20 range.

Mumbai. I fell in love with this city, and my sister did too. The first day was a bit overwhelming, you’re trying to figure out a lot of things. How do the cabs work? (It was never easy: either you decided the price with the driver first, or you made the driver use the meter and then you’d have to decipher the fare chart, or the meter was broken so you’d have to haggle a price.) And how safe is it? People are everywhere. Is someone going to cut my purse strap and run away with my bag like I heard it could happen? (I loathe money belts, but we wore them while we were in Mumbai.) What about the beggars? What’s a dangerous street? What’s a safe street?

You’re trying to pay attention, but my head was swiveling around like a barn owl, there was so much to look at. I felt like I was on drugs. You see everything on the street: men getting shaved, playing cards, people praying, eating. Heck, we even saw some ear candling, no joke. And there are so many people selling everything from power cords to peacock feather fans to CDs to artwork to jewelry.

I had no idea how much people were going to stare at us. I thought Westerners were pretty common, but it ends up we were quite the sideshow. Our every move was watched, let me tell you.

Indians are some of the friendliest and most curious people I’ve ever met. Without fail, we would be asked daily: “Where are you from? What is your good name? Where are you staying? Do you like India?” I never got tired of the battery of questions, it was endearing to the end. I loved it; people would just march right up to us and ask.

People look you in the eye. They stare. We also got a lot of smiles. I can’t believe how many quick connections I’d feel throughout the day. And it’s quite fantastic that you actually get to speak English with most folks—it felt like a luxury to be able to communicate in a place that was so far from home.

Our first mission was to get some Indian clothes. It was hot and humid, and Indian cotton was going to be the way to go. Besides the little flashes of midriff you’ll see of women in their saris, the majority of women dress very modestly, with covered arms and legs, rarely in tank tops or short skirts. Sure, we saw some foreign women in skimpy tops, but we didn’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves, nor did we want to offend—I purposefully left all of my American sundresses at home. Our favorite store was Fabindia, where we stocked up on brightly colored cotton-silk kurta tops (loose tunics that were either waist or mid-thigh in length, with three-quarter sleeves) and cotton pajama pants.

The streets smelled delicious, heavy with sandalwood, cooking food, fruit, cologne, spices. The amount of street food was staggering. It was everywhere. It was a bit of a shame to be in Mumbai first, because we really didn’t know what we could or couldn’t eat. It’s hard, because you don’t want to get taken out on your first few days in. Seriously. We were told to stay away from anything with water, so the sugar cane stands on so many corners were out, because you could see them cut the freshly pressed juice with water. Damn. Those little bundles of paan? Yeah, the leaves were soaking in water, so those were out. We were also told to beware of anything with chutney, because those were often cut with water. Well, that wiped out more than half of what we saw. It was torture. We joked that India was a country of culinary landmines—you never knew what was going to cause an explosion.

Fortunately we discovered Swati Snacks (248 Karai Estate, Tardeo Rd, Tardeo, 91-22/249-209-94), a slick but casual place that specializes in chaat/street food, but makes everything “hygienically.” I would have eaten at that place every day, what a gem: we got to try the classic Mumbai snack of vada pav (imagine a fried and spiced potato slider on a soft and buttery bun with the texture of a Parker House roll) plus pav bhaji, lovely panki, a lacy pancake steamed in banana leaf, pani puri, and yay, at last, we got to try sugar cane juice. The place was a goldmine of flavors and super cheap. A bit hard to find, but it was pretty close to the Chowpatty Beach street vendors. And our entire meal was less than 500R (about $10).

Speaking of Chowpatty, you have to go by at night and check out all the pav bhaji hawkers yelling “pow bah-jeeeee!” (Here’s a brief video of the setup.) Had we not been totally stuffed from dinner the night we came by, I would have felt safe eating pav bhaji there—it smelled and looked amazing. All kinds of couples and families were sitting on the outdoor mats, and it was quite the entertaining scene.

One of my favorite moments throughout the day was the random appearance of a chai walla. You’ll be hanging out, or walking along the street, or just waking up on the train, and you suddenly hear “chai! chai! chai!” Music to my ears every time since I had subbed out coffee for tea this trip. (When in India…) They carry these metal containers with a handle on top and a little burner underneath, keeping the hot milky tea within piping hot. The chai walla will hand you a tiny paper cup full of spicy tea, and it was always a surprise, like, was this one going to be super sweet? Or kind of weak? Cardamom-loaded? A great little pick-me-up numerous times throughout the day for 20 cents, if that. (Tip: in a cafe or restaurant, be sure to ask for masala chai if you want the spiced kind, otherwise you just get tea and milk.)

Fortunately I got some great recommendations from friends on where to eat, and I gotta hand it to the Frommer’s India guide, they had some spot-on dining recos throughout our entire trip. One was Cream Centre (Fulchand Niwas 25/B, Chowpatty, 91-22-2367-9222), an overly air-conditioned place near Chowpatty Beach that blew our minds with the best samosa we’ve ever had, loaded with perfectly seasoned potato and fresh curry leaves, and their specialty: the fluffy and multi-layered channa bhatura, a puffed-up globe of fried dough deliciousness, served with spiced chickpeas and lentils. A side dish of bright carrots with mustard oil and chili was revelatory. We also noticed how onion and lime were the standard condiments—it was almost always the first thing placed on the dining table in Mumbai.

Mahesh Lunch Home (8D Cawasji Patel Rd., Fort, 91-22-2287-0938) was another great reco, a Mangalorean restaurant that specialized in super-fresh seafood. We adored the tandoori pomfret (so juicy and spicy), and the vegetable gassi, a coconut-based curry. We went for lunch, so we didn’t totally gorge (but the live crab was tempting). The staff was really engaging and kind. Was a bit more on the “pricy” side, but was still under $40 for two.

Probably one of the coolest experiences was at Bademiya (Tulloch Rd., Apollo Bunder, 91-99-6711-4183), a smoky street stand that specializes in kebabs and has a cult status in Mumbai. (It’s located close to the Taj.) Throngs of people and cars were on the street, waiting for a card table or a chair that would open up on the sidewalk, or a few got their order to go, or were eating off the hood of their car. As you wait, just watch the entire scene (here’s a quick video I took), from the guys taking your order in the street, to the fleet of servers expediting food to the tables, to the captivating rumali roti maker making roti so quickly I can’t even imagine how many years he’s been doing it (here’s another video I took), and in case you’re as mesmerized watching him as I was, here’s another, just watch until the end). We ordered the baida roti, an eggy fritatta-like filling with spiced chicken, plus onion and ginger, all sandwiched in the thin rumali roti, and then pressed. It was probably one of the tastiest things I have ever eaten. I didn’t even take a picture of it—as soon as my sister and I unwrapped it, we attacked it like jackals.

We also had to try a Frankie from Tibb’s Frankie (we had ours on the Colaba Causeway), a classic Mumbai street treat that is like their version of a burrito (every culture has their burrito, I am convinced). The tender roti wrap (I ordered mutton/lamb) featured a tangy vinegar sauce with onions. Loved. And it was less than $1.

We were also fans of the included breakfast at the restaurant Indus in our hotel, the Hotel Diplomat—every day it changed, from alu paratha, to pakoras, to our favorite concoction, a thin omelet with chili and onion that we would douse with sambar. We had our first lunch there (including stuffed paneer) and also ordered room service for dinner on our first night since we were exhausted—the chicken bhartha was impressively good. Now, I wouldn’t go out of my way for this place, but it was convenient to have good food in the building where we were staying.

We enjoyed a “civilized” break at the Taj Majal Palace in the afternoon—there’s quite a view of the water, and while we didn’t take part in the high-tea buffet (1,000R, 4pm-7pm), we did enjoy our tea and cookies while writing in our journals. The intense security at the entrance reminds you of the terrible tragedy that happened—it’s such a landmark hotel (for many reasons) that I think it’s important to visit.

We carbed up over some beers, biryani, lifafa paratha, and butter roti at Leopold Cafe (Shahid Bhagat Singh Rd., 91-22-2282-8185), a fun international scene packed with locals, expats, and tourists, since 1871. It was where the first shot was fired in the terrorist attacks, so expect some heavy security at the door. I also wanted to visit it since it figured so heavily in the tome I was reading on this trip (the remarkable Shantaram).

We probably had every meal with a Kingfisher beer or two (the “strong” version will catch up with you quick, I’m just saying). I definitely missed having wine with my meals, but beer was the obvious choice everywhere we went. It was freaking hot out.

As for the sights, each day was unique. Just wandering the streets was fantastic—some were tree-lined and quite romantic, while others were packed with people and dusty. The Crawford Market was full of exotic fruits, spices, vegetables, and was extra special with Ramesh, our pocket-sized guide for the day (he intercepted us out front and escorted us through the markets and shopping districts); I enjoyed our afternoon checking out the dhobi ghats (where many get their laundry done), the Jain Temple on Malabar Hill, and the unexpected oasis of Baganga Tank; the Elephanta Island Caves were peaceful and beautiful (and offered an escape from the sun); and be sure to visit the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus train station, formerly known as VT or Victoria Terminus, a magnificent building from 1887 that positively flows with people and trains all day.

While I enjoyed the other places we visited (Goa, Kumily, Kerala, Varkala), Mumbai is where I want to return to the most—we barely scratched the surface on the real life there. Now, is it a city I recommend for everyone? Not necessarily, but don’t be so quick as to let people steer you away from it if you’re traveling there for the first time—some say you only need a couple days and then you should leave, but I disagree. I’m grateful for every day we spent there, just four short yet oh-so-memorable days. In fact, I am missing it.

You can view my entire Mumbai/Flickr photo set here.