To celebrate our wedding anniversary (7 years and no itch!), Jim and I traveled to the upper west side to Bar Boulud. I loved the sound of the menu and I happened to have a gift for a complimentary charcuterie plate that was about to expire. Hey you gotta do what you can in this crappy economy. Our charcuterie for two consisted of glistening, fatty slices of headcheese, chicken liver pate and beef cheek pate, along with a generous pile of ham. Oh my. The headcheese was incredible – just the right ratio of meat to gelatin. The bread (made in-house) was perfect and rustic. We were offered some pretty spectacular butter, which I’m guessing they have shipped directly from France, and our preserved meats came with two glasses of the pretty awful Petite Chapeau (a Daniel Johnnes private label Rhone wine). I couldn’t drink it.
Once the freeloading was over we ordered more: a venison pate (not bad) and the escargots (excellent). The wine list was okay, a mix of large conventional labels (Olivier Leflaive, Beaucastel etc.) and small producers (Puffeney, Francois Chidaine and Puzelat). Unfortunately, there aren’t many delicious bargains to be had by the glass. After enjoying the only reasonably priced wines that were to our taste – a Tissot Cremant (lovely) and a Quincy (can’t recall producer but it was perfectly good) – we had no choice but to trade up with a Huet Vouvray Sec 2006 (too young but still excellent) and a Prince Florent de Merode Ladoix Les Chaillots 2006 (quite a treat). Both were 19 bucks a glass.
The atmosphere wasn’t my cup of tea at all. In fact, it was most off-putting. It felt corporate, suburban and touristy. Mid-town is always a hard one. I’d love to take that country French fare and move it downtown, then get some more affordable and interesting wines by the glass and get rid of the mediocre brands. Would I recommend Bar Boulud? No. But if you happen to be in the hood and you’re feeling peckish, a seat and quick nibble at the bar is fine but once you’re done with the headcheese take the party elsewhere.
Shock, horror, there’s a restaurant in San Diego that I actually dig. Anyone who knows me well enough is aware I’m not a fan of this particular southern Californian city that miraculously gave birth to the man I married. By and large, SD is conservative, inherently uncool and for a relatively large city it feels incredibly suburban. I keep searching for its soul and the closest I’ve ever come is via its high population of Mexicans and the various Asian diaspora communities. In the past we’ve tried dining at restaurants that seem so promising but then disappointment creeps in when we eye the mediocre wine list or get a bite of something where the chef tries hard (or doesn’t try at all) but misses the mark. Enter: The Linkery. There has been a lot of national press about this North Park restaurant. How could you not be intrigued by an eatery that makes their own sausages, worships the entire animal and supports local farms?
We recently bellied up to the bar at Linkery and though I was sad they were out of the Edmunds St John’s wines, I was happy to sip on excellent cask beers (served at proper room temperature) and I actually had a wine from San Diego County, specifically San Marcos, which wasn’t bad at all. I kid you not. Twin Oaks Valley Sunset Red (a mix of Syrah and Cab) – check it out next time you’re stuck in San Diego. For chow, we shared a terrine of beef tongue, wrapped in bacon and served with a chicken egg. Then I enjoyed a steaming bowl of beef tripe (chopped very small) with faro piccolo & chorizo, while Jim feasted on sausage tacos served with a side of bean salad. Everything was so simple and delicious and the ingredients were obviously really good to begin with and, as my belly would say, the food was cooked with love. It reminded me a little bit of Marlowe and Sons or Diner in terms of the style of food. It also made me think of my other favorite out-of-town resto – Cochon in New Orleans.
My only gripe is with the damn TV above the bar. It doesn’t fit in with the rest of the vibe at all.
I wish there were another wine bar or restaurant in Manhattan that I could rave about. A place that sells beautiful, small producer wines by the glass at inexpensive prices. A bar that is bold enough to pour something oxidized, weird and downright stinky or a “still” wine with unintentional fizz, from grape varieties and regions that few have heard of. Yes, of course, I’m talking about Ten Bells. I sprinted over (that’s how enthusiastic I was) to meet a friend and to drink some guaranteed good juice on Monday night. We wanted to try different things so we went by the glass, starting with a Philippe Jambon Roche Noir from Beaujolais, the Robinot Concerto D’Oniss (Pineau d’Aunis), Claude Courtois Quartz (a Sauvignon Blanc from Sologne in the Loire) and the orgasmic Rene Moss Anjou Blanc. What a line up. It’s time to declare it: I love Ten Bells.
On our final night in LA we dined at Lou on Vine. I did some hunting online and came across this place, which is owned by a guy that’s into natural, low-intervention wines made from indigenous varietals, many lesser known and less planted grapes especially. He mentions many of the producers I love love love on his website. Little did I know that Lou had just been written up in the LA Times and we arrived to a long wait and a packed out scene. I loved the fact that it was in a strip mall and the menu is inexpensive, simple, fun and based on seasonal ingredients. The best wine of the night was a Fie Gris from the Loire. Lou was a sweetheart and came to chat with us about the wines despite being slammed. It made me sad there aren’t more places and people like Lou around but then again I was glad we’d found him – in LA of all places!
We had dinner at a fantastic izakaya restaurant in downtown LA thanks to the suggestion of a chowhound post. Called Izayoi, the restaurant serves the ubiquitous sushi but we were there for the small plates typically served in Japanese taverns. We started with their pudding-textured house made tofu. Next up was a tender and delish beef tongue stew enveloped in a rich boeuf bourguignon-like sauce. The pickled vegetables were tart, piquant and earthy, and rivaled David Chang’s own preserved veggies. Our medley of mushrooms (shitake, button, trumpet and enoki) arrived steaming in a foil pocket, which we dipped into scallion and tamari sauce. Finally we stuffed ourselves with beef tripe, swimming in a beautiful broth thickened and flavored with ground nuts and joined by chunks of turnips. This was one of the dining highlights of 2008 and it was worth the trip all the way to California for this place alone.
After an overdue trip to see the mother-in-law in Idyllwild we turned our wheels east and drove to LA. We checked into the Biltmore hotel downtown, dumped our bags and headed for Silverlake. That’s when the fun commenced. First stop was Intelligentcia, where I had the best macchiato I’ve ever had. We took our seats outside to enjoy the warm air and people watch. The Silver Lake neighborhood kinda reminds me of pockets of the Lower East Side and Williamsburg. Everyone around us looked like a musician, skateboarder or bartender. LA hipsters are decidedly more scruffy and grungy than their NYC counterparts, with just as many tattoos. The weather was remarkable but then it freaked me out every time I saw a Christmas tree because T-shirt wearing climates and xmas trees just don’t mix.
After checking out the brilliant “Index” exhibition (an overview of conceptual art in California) at the temporary MOCA downtown we continued to meander downtown and happened across a Mexican-heavy neighborhood, complete with street food and all. We saw countless mobile setups selling the same thing, a curious take on the hot dog, served with Mexican pickles and jalapenos.
We didn’t try the border hot dogs but we did have some of the best tacos I’ve ever had at Mai Super Tacos. Talk about a cheap shack. The place inspired me to move to LA and open our own little low-overhead, low-budget eatery except I’d have a few wines to go with. Fast food and natural wine, hell if the Japanese can do it, so can we! I digress. We ordered up carne asada and chile verde (though not sure we actually got the latter because it came in the form of a tender stewed chicken taco). Rather than dole out tacos with toppings on, she passed us our paper plates and we got to help ourselves to the buffet of accroutements made up of pickled carrots (fierce and crunchy), salsa, hot sauce and more. We devoured our tacos in minutes and Jim broke out in a serious sweat.
