Beaududer's Journal

New York City

One thing the big city is damn good for is wandering; bounce from place to place with perhaps one or two almost-definites in line and see where you end up. This particular trip had two spots lined up: a stop at Minetta Tavern and a Bill Frisell gig at Le Poisson Rouge. Only one of these came to fruition, to the detriment of a food blog, but good times nonetheless.

First stop is a good mid-town stand-by Ginger Man. Don’t get there too often but a drink was in order before hitting the subway deeper downtown. Arriving around two o’clock found a busy bar but not burgeoning, with two seats open toward the end. Beer galore at this tap-house but it is also known for a fine scotch selection. And while it is not the best it is eons away from the worst. Wood surrounds everywhere, dimly lit I settled back in my chair to a full pour of Octomore 5; an Islay that I haven’t seen so that easily gets the nod. The peat is certainly there, no second guessing that, but its youth is not a strong point. There really isn’t a whole lot going on past the burst and dying fire. I’m not looking for something hugely complex but for younger editions I’d have to give hand awards off to Caol Ila and Lagavulin before this Bruichladdich brother. Water did indeed open the floral notes but I tend to enjoy a full glass, not half; and it all goes down the gullet regardless. Number two was another nubile to me but not the cask, Ardbeg Arigh Nam Geist 16; a distillery that is often hit or miss with me the age was a pleasant welcome after the Octomom, -more… whatever. Darker, but still with the ole Ardbeg straw brightness it was a very even dram. Not overly complex in anyway, in fact the nose was fairly flat, but it had a smooth mix of peat and malt that completed our stay at the establishment well.

Onward meant a futile attempt to jump the subway with entrances blocked, so a crosstown trek got us to a One train and to the Minetta Tavern door. Well it seem drink number two placed us in the dead space between lunch/brunch and dinner. Still looking forward to a twenty-six dollar burger we vacated in search of a bit of grub to hold over.

Arriving at Puck Fair, unmistakably across from the Puck Building, we filled another two seats at the bar toward the end. And another good size bar but with far less to offer overall. Nothing new to choose, a typo of Lahproaig 15 at the 10 price gets me served a bit of disappointment. It soon fades as Laphroaig is the dram nearest to my heart, and the ten is always welcome. Our lighter fare choice was a Guinness Braised Beef Stew, full of big hunks of some well simmered beef and a very tomato based stew. The chunks were a bit too big and the actually stew too thin and well, tomatoey. Not bad, as it hit the spot, but not enough to recommend or return for. Fun place though and I gather to be quite hopping on a weekend eve.

From here we head toward Minetta yet again but see that we are a bit early for five and drop in to Slane’s Public House. A bar sharing the namesake of an Irish Whiskey I can’t stand, we go in and take up another far two stools and do the only proper thing: order Jameson neat. Modern bar full of modern folk, not a keeper either.

Down the street to Minetta we are turned down due to no reservations. This probably could have been brought to our attention earlier but eh, we’re in New York. Strolling, hunger and a shorter time frame land us at Amity Hall. Apparently one of the better beer bars in New York we shuffle to an almost vacant downstairs for a few more scotches (Talisker 10) and a Brat Burger: a big ole fat brat on a standard hamburger bun with a few toppings of mustard and light onion. Not tremendously great but a standard brat is always worth it. The venue never gained another customer but it was still early for the city that never sleeps… and we were downstairs.

Quickly finishing we head toward Le Poisson Rouge to get in a line that seems to have formed hours before we got there. The main floor is full of people ordering food and drink as comfortable as one at home; they’ve been there a while. A mediocre show and an overpriced Jamie lead to an early exit. Not a bad place but it exemplified a bit too much of the New York I don’t revere.

Time to head back finds us walking a bit too quickly toward a subway entrance we cannot find. A stroke of luck through a stroke barring break finds us outside Tavern on Jane. Unlike anywhere else on this voyage I take the first stool as I walk in and find myself immediately comfortable. Only to find out later the food here is to be experienced, a very warm ambience around a slightly more than standard bar and not too-close seating made me take note for a later visit. The break from the cold and Irish whiskey was well enjoyed but on uptown we must go.

Irritation and maybe, maybe, a little inebriation voted a taxi the proper idea. Eight dollars got us up the Grand Central with enough time to drop in at Annie Moore’s; really a diamond in the rough around the terminal. Directly across from a west entrance, a large bar with a fine selection caters everyone necessary for both food and drink. I’ve eaten here before and for a quick bite it’s notable. But the space and ability to get served quickly is really something to note well. A fine pour of Jamie is just the ticket before hoofing it over to track twenty-something for the long lull home.

Two bars in one day, it’s not quite the reaction of two chicks one cup but you’ll feel better after the experience. I know that isn’t exactly the heart of the matter one looks for in a food blog, but that’s us.

Prime 16, in New Haven, will come up here in a proper form soon enough. It’s a haunt and a solid one at that; today it offered a fine chicken noodle soup and:

Rogue Double Mocha Porter: nicely colored dark head but the actually mouthfeel didn’t do it for me. Porters tend to lay near IPAs in the hop department and I am really moving away from those. What chocolate there may be here is lose in the hop factor and imbalance. Smooth, but that is not a crutch in any way. Also, the last time I had a Rogue brew was at their bar in San Fran; I don’t believe it is my kinda brew.

Lagunitas Cappuccino Imperial Stout: I don’t believe I’ve had this previously and definitely not on tap. Dark inch of head in a nice beer glass. This is a nice brew; the chocolate and coffee (though to a lesser extent) comes out like nothing and we have a nice think brew here. No hop shit in the way, this is a solid stout, through and through.

Great Divide Yeti Imperial Stout: Should probably give a handicap after the last brew, the Yeti was always solid out of the bottle (aside from the oaked abomination)  but this pour felt awfully thin and I rally didn’t feel like finishing. The choco notes suggested by the person next to me didn’t really make it appear; sure it’s a stout but there was more chocolate in the capp stout than this.

Wonderful service as always, Prime 16 will always be a keeper and will show up here again.

A dysfunctional train trip morphing in to a taxi ride culminates into a stop at the pub. The Crooked Shillelagh will be referred to as the pub from here on out as it is both the local pub by proximity and the only real pub in the city.

Ketel rocks is how I was rolling and the Corn Chowder was really something tonight; just a thick mix of corn, potato, milk and vegetables aside great folk. Got a Reuben to take home but this place is always somethin’ else.

New York City

Going in to the city I’m often asked to choose a venue that leans toward the vegetarian side. This has worked out beautifully in a New Year’s Eve’s Eve pre-Beacon Theatre rush at the Hummus Place and a few unrememberables (oh yeah). Tonight is a dinner rush before hitting up a small gig by The National at the Studio at Webster Hall. The purveyor of choice is Angelica Kitchen. Google led me to believe vegetarian, as did my lack of looking thoroughly at their very nice website and menu with specials updated daily.

The app ordered was a walnut-lentil pâté with fresh vegetables and rice crackers. Presentation was very clean with a good amount of pâté topped with a tofu based cream. Enjoyable as it was I seem to have an issue with lentils, the texture is just not my cup of whatever. But I will say it tasted fine and that same texture made the pâté work, the body was necessary.

Washing that down with a Kuchina (aka not fruity) Tea served chilled I enjoyed a fair helping of Miso soup. The broth itself was excellent, the only down here was what I hoped was the addition of think seaweed. It tasted like seaweed though it was a bit thick, however I don’t want to think it was anything else as that would force me to not like this dish.

Dinner was a special Hairina’s a Joy Good Fellow; and I should have taken more specific notes (aka some). A base of cornbread with various vegan concoctions alongside was a real mixture that didn’t seem to settle anywhere. There was a mild sour alongside a flat bready base with some other shit going on that really made for an unsatisfying mish-mosh. It tasted fine, but not great; and I do believe the culprit here may be the vegan bag of tricks being the lackey.

A true regret is that I did not recall this portion of their theme: Angelica does not serve alcohol but you are welcome to bring your own alcoholic beverage. Onward! Toward shitty pours of overpriced liquor in a music venue.

West Haven, CT

Going out to eat is rarely a solo experience. The food can often become secondary or even further back-burnered (yep, another) in regard to good-to-great company. Hell, how often would we go out anyway if it weren’t for friends. It can be an excuse to catch up, a reason to do something out of the ordinary or just a damn fine idea. The latter was this Sunday’s fruition: hunger coupled with a lack of desire to cook shared by another party.

Chuck’s is a steak house through and through: wooden wall horizontal on the out and vertical on the in reminiscent of Ahab’s quarters but at the least we have a salad bar. It has dropped a few of its offering over time (my cottage cheese is gone) but it is still fresh and sporting a pumpernickel-esque bread that is quite good. The specials rarely change, but a menu that is only two bold-faced font pages long with a short special menu is nothing to note if you do what you do well. And goddamnit do they.

Company equals appetizers in restaurant jargon, so four stuffed mushrooms were split among three individuals. There was a little sweetness going on here that really made you savor the bites, a true appetizer: I wanted more after this.

Just about anything else I’ll take vodka along side to keep the palate clean… but beef, well beef gets whiskey. Filet Mignon, medium rare with Béarnaise and a baked potato. About as down-home as one can get; and knowing that medium can get overdone in even the greatest places out of insanity the med-rare hits the plate pink but not too much. A solid crusted exterior that I could have watched occur over my right shoulder if I’d liked had the conversation not have been so good was accompanied by a few sprigs of parsley and nothing else.

The potato, well it was a bit tough at the bottom. Not great but, really, it’s about steak for fuck’s sake. The Béarnaise had a nice heavy hint of spice to it, most likely prepared with a multitude peppercorn that is certainly a hit with me. The filet was a good eight to ten ouncer, well cooked and lightly seasoned. I want to taste the beef here not the chef’s believe of what is a good seasoning. In Bobby Flay’s hands this would probably be drenched in a truly overdone Béarnaise resulting in his getting knocked the fuck out, but we’re good here. A medium rare that might be a bit past for those truly stringent however perfect for me. Nothing left on the plate other than some parsley flakes and a potato skull; always a good meal.

An espresso alongside the ice cream mud pie was fairly suitable. Not eating to severe stuffage allows for such niceties, though a sweet tooth I have not. But really, hours passed without ever noticing and who was thinking about the food anyway?

Branford, CT

When one has unlimited resources I’m sure it’s fuckin’ awesome. But for normal peeps we tend to accent our normal haunts with flirtatious visitation of the random sort. It’s just the breaks.

As time passes the pub is sure to get a few posts here and there, nature of the beast. Bit of back story; I officially moved in to this abode July First 2008, the Shillelagh opened its doors the same time. Inviting staff and a pleasant location can say a lot, but for what it has become is culinary marvel.

This is my local pub, I’ll talk it up as much as I like; but the hiring of a new cook has meant new appetizers, courageous specials and damn fine solid cooking. Gushing aside, it is Wednesday, post ice storm and I was simply  goddamn hungry. Greeted with fantastic service and a quick drink I can order nothing else but the Reuben: corned beef, slaw and swiss on buttered bread. A side of slaw, which is now a dinner standard and kick-ass, along with sweet potato fries (which I championed for) evens out the plate.

The bread may have been rye but it really doesn’t matter, when you can gum through over an inch of corned beef very little has to be said. The cheese and dressing add a flare to the beef, but even the little bit of seasoning goes a long way; it is just engulfingly good. Yep, another new word. Very lightly salted sweet potato fries interjected with a fine slaw balance the meal perfectly. Well the glass of Jamie neat balances the world but that’s neither here nor…

New Haven, CT

Normally a trip to Scoozzi for myself takes place in mid to late November but life as it happens forces things around and out of normally enjoyment. In fact, I don’t believe I ever got here in 2010 and that folks is a sin. The visit, though infrequent, is always looked forward to and today was no different.

Sunday Brunch is served along with a great set of jazz guys doing some very nice work at an optimal volume. Carrying on a conversation while battling with music either live or recorded can be enjoyable, a chore or a downright pain in the ass; thankfully that has never been the case here, and I have sat at a front row table for two.

Today we were met with the normal menu along with the expected brunch additions but also a prix fixe special. The wine, an Il Giardino Pinot Grigio, was going to be my choice anyway so hell, why not toss a Chianti at me when the entrée arrives. Savagely lacking from the menu was the fresh calamari salad that is always on my mind walking to the establishment but I gather the season to be the bastard behind it and nothing personal. The prixe fixe is a sure thing now as my next selection is always a mista salad. The organic greens, usually a mix of arugala and spinach among others seemed to be a bit bolstered with romaine than usual. However the cipolinni vinaigrette offset with toasted pumpkin seeds is just about perfect. Not a pumpkins seed fan but it really works here.

For the main, the nod goes to a Ravioli Rustico: asiago and mozz ravioli with very tender chicken, tomatoes, mushrooms and kale under a black pepper tomato cream sauce that is perhaps a little on the sweet side along with the sun dried tomatoes until a bit more pepper is crushed to cover. Then it is just right.

With wine gone and food devoured the dessert of butter pecan gelato seemed sublime, but without think I order a coffee instead of an espresso but don’t completely tank and add my Sambuca which arrives sniftered with three coffee beans. No, it is probably not a word but even with the bonehead move neglecting me of my espresso the three tastes gelled exquisitely since they don’t have shitty coffee.

Always a treat, a suggested trip to Scoozzi can never be said enough. Perhaps it’s all you need. Disappointment is simply not on the menu.

New Haven, CT

Strolling around an adequately shoveled or snow-blown sidewalk we decided on a place that may have been dined in before but was not memorable enough to say definitively. Check your lack-of-Irish at the door we meander in to an empty house, not always a bad sign but often. Greeted quickly and offered the expanse to reside; we took the center booth offered and satiated happily our wants for the teles tilted and channels changed to the big Big East games.

Fair service brought us three beers and some time to look over a pub-esque menu with nothing popping out. Nachos and pub… fuck I know it can be good drunk chow but really. Now Irsih Nachos on the other hand, no, never mind.

Choice: Pastrami Reuben. Seems simple. Quiet place, we’re served quickly but my pastrami is actually cold and the Guinness ain’t warmin’ the cockles here. First bite ain’t bad but a real rip into the meat of it kept me there for a bit. I understand the meat goes through a drying process but the steaming should bring some moisture back. There was nothing forcing me screaming from bad beef here but far too tough for a sandwich drenched in sauerkraut (solid sauerkraut by the way) and Thousand Island dressing that was so tasteless I took it for poor cheese product on first nibble. Alright, that still sounds harsh. I’ve had worse, does that make it better?