I've always thought this Upper West Side stalwart's murals were enough of a reason to take a seat at the bar.
Little did I know that the real reason to sidle up for a cocktail in the Café des Artistes lounge is to meet its 93-year old grande dame Claire Oesch.
Once in a while the New York Times does things right. Today's profile on Ms. Oesch is a testament to that.
Mama Vamp stopped by for the Mother's Day weekend holiday.
The highlight?
Delivery Chinese and introducing my mother to "The Devil Wears Prada" on-demand.
The next Mama Vamp plan?
Her June birthday. I've already secured a reservation at Philadelphia's Osteria, where we will likely indulge in many fine Italian goodies, including their much lauded pizza (pictured above).
We'll just have to wait to see if the 'za can match the glory of my local Chinese spot's Pan-Fried Seafood Dumplings and Moo Shu Pork.
Note: YES I fully realize that the title of this posting is "Mother's Day with Moo Shu" and the photo isn't of the Moo Shu, but of the pizza yet to come. Deal with it!
There's nothing like a dinner with a great gal pal at a great restaurant. That is, except for a dinner with great gal pal at two great restaurants -- plus the added puffy addition of addictive Gougeres (pictured above).
Said gal pal was my dear friend Bethanne. First stop on our chick's night out was the bar at Eleven Madison Park where we gabbed like old school chums and popped ethereal Gougere after Gougere into our awaiting mouths, as we put back a cocktail or two for good measure.
Next, we headed over to the dignified Italian dining room of A Voce where we gleefully slathered slices of peasant bread with Sardinian Sheep's Milk Ricotta and ooh-ed and aah-ed over Spaghetti with Ramps, Speck and Parmesan as we polished off a bottle of wine to keep our buzzes buzzing along.
Would this fabulous gourmet experience have been as marvelous without Bethanne at my side? Heck, no!
Mind you, that might not stop me from whipping up a batch of Gougeres on a rainy day when I'm home alone. But I just might have to give Bethanne a ring as I take my first warm, delicate, unearthly bite.
Looks like pregnant women have gotten the go-ahead to indulge in one of life's greatest pleasures -- chocolate. The Philadelphia Inquirer, among other media outlets, reports on this new mandate to down more Cocoa Puffs, Hershey's and Cadbury's if you're "carrying":
More good news for pregnant woman: chocolate consumption may help reduce the risk of preeclampsia, a serious complication during pregnancy that's resolved only by delivering the child immediately.
It's long been known that chocolate can contribute to a healthy heart and reduce hypertension because it contains a chemical called theobromine, a natural blood vessel dialator and muscle relaxer...A Yale research study published in the May issue of Epidemiology tracked chocolate consumption in more than 2,000 woman during their first and third trimesters...Woman who ate the most chocolate...had a lower risk of preeclampsia, the study found.
Permission to gorge on Godiva almost makes me want to get knocked-up -- almost.
I've been back in the States for several days, but a bit too exhausted and slammed with work to report for blogging duty. But, I feel like I can't truly embrace writing about my adventures in the good ol' U.S. of A. until I tackle a few more Argentine keepsakes...
*Roaming around the tree-lined streets of Buenos Aires' Palermo Soho district, checking out chic boutiques and homespun jewelry stores, as well as stylish restaurants for a chilled glass of Torrontes wine or an Helado shop for a quick ice cream fix.
*Relaxing at our hip hotel pick - The Mine - in the heart of Palermo Soho, complete with jacuzzi tub, balcony, backyard pool and friendly staffers...
*The site of beloved dogs, dogs and more dogs -- not to mention their droppings -- creating a minefield along the city's sidewalks.
*Local crafts markets chock-a-block with handmade finger puppets, 70's hippie leather goods and silver rings and things galore.
*The wafting aroma of still-warm-from-oven breads and pastries in numerous street-side bakeries, beckoning Karen and I inside for a decadent dulce de leche-filled alfajor cookie or two...
*Growing tired of lunches and dinners filled with meat, turning to hipster Asian cafe Green Bamboo for Curried Vegetables and Peruvian hot spot Zadvarie for a cool, mouth-puckering, fresh Ceviche Mixto and a hauntingly flavorful rendition of Langoustine Ceviche served warm...
*The bitter poverty of the La Boca district contrasted by its 4-block tourist zone of brightly painted restaurants and shops, tango shows and makeshift galleries.
*A friendly lunch at the warm and inviting family affair called Social Paraiso.
*Winding our way through the city's famous Recoleta cemetery until we happened upon the resting place of Evita Peron.
*A glam dinner at Buenos Aires' restaurant-of-the-moment, Casa Cruz, where Karen and I swooned over a hedonistic appetizer of Foie Gras Brulee and an equally indulgent dessert of Earl Grey Souffle -- not to mention a swoon or two over the delectable sommelier.
*Making our way through Buenos Aires' smoke choked streets, when a nearby forest fire's fumes drift headlong into the city.
*With the air clear at last, a Sunday brunch at Palermo Hollywood's Olsen with new gal pals, happily met in Patagonia...
*Realizing that this was our last hurrah in BA, as we tucked into the Scandinavian-inspired restaurant's Smorgesbord delights, Gravlax and own breed of bagels before heading to the airport...
So, tonight I eat a bagel from Fairway in Red Hook, but it will be Olsen's bizarre (yet tasty) versions and BA's many charms that will be on mind. Frankly, I can't wait to go back!
Meat was on our minds. Luckily, Patagonia isn't vegetarian territory. Even the hotel's kitchen ended up doing right by lamb -- and us -- with it's Lamb Empanadas, with their golden brown, flaky crusts and rich, toothsome, meaty filling.
But our lamb lust wasn't satisfied. We needed more.
More we had.
Ready for another carne money shot?
Oh, yeah! This was the bomb! The cordero bomb!
I can't state it better than that.
This vision was beheld at La Tablita, an incredible carnivore's delight off the town's main strip.
The next night, with our new pal Amelia in tow, we hit up Casimiro Bigua, a more elegant spot with a similar asado set-up, but the lamb was insipid in comparison.
That said, the restaurant did offer some other top-notch carne -- muy guapo gauchos. Requisite flirting began. A kiss or two followed.
No sooner did we say adios to the hombres when we were jetting back to BA for more hot, smokin' adventures.
You won't hear from me again, until I'm back in Nueva York. Until then, may your dreams be filled with carne.
We arrived in Patagonia's El Calafate on time -- apparently a miracle when it comes to Aerolineas Argentina's on-time track record -- and checked into the designer boutique hotel Esplendor Calafate. (Hotel lounge pictured above.)
It would have been heaven, if it weren't for two things:
1. The hotel's heating system was out of whack, so our room felt more like a schvitz than a suite.
2. The food at dinner royally sucked. They even screwed up lamb -- Patagonia's most famous carne.
Breakfast was a much better affair, including fresh fruit, sweet medialunas and a special hot herbal treat: Mate.
It tasted like rotten grass, but I knew it's healing properties would be worth the bizarre bitter aftertaste. We had a lot to accomplish in Patagonia and I wanted to ensure that I'd be in top condition.
From stunning lakeside vistas...
...to the majesty of mammoth glaciers...
...to the sight of stupendous icebergs, Karen and I wanted to see it all and more.
That said, we weren't planning on leaving without an impressive plate of Patagonian lamb. Clearly, once we left the ice behind, we were on a meat mission.
Check back. Carne to come.
For the record, last night Karen and I ended up at the trendy steakhouse Miranda, where the industrial hip dining room was perfecto, the meat less so, and the waiters muy caliente.
Two out of three ain't bad. Besides, we'd already had knock-your-socks-off steak in Buenos Aires, and we were still on the lookout for knock-your-bras-off hombres.
Today brought the inate desire to enjoy other parts of the bovine. Namely the hide. For Karen, with her broken foot, Buenos Aires selection of gorgeous leather shoes called out. She and I liked to think of her shoe shopping as a therapy of sorts. Wouldn't a new pair of bewitching high heels encourage her broken foot to heal even quicker?
Besides, who could resist the exquisite "Sex and the City"-worthy pumps that caught her eye at Divia? Apparently, there are only six pair of these sublime butterfly-inspired zapatos in the world. (See photo of Karen's Aircast and one of the shoes in question above.)
Karen now owns one of those precious six.
And for the record, I wasn't strolling by her side without a shopping bag at my side. I had just purchased a magnificent red pocketbook from an aptly named boutique - Skin.
All that shopping (not to mention a stop at the Centro Cultural Borges for a stellar photography exhibit) made us a bit peckish. Lunch was a must-do. The "do" was done at none other than the popular Palermo Soho hangout Bar 6.
Grabbing a prime table, we attempted to order sandwiches and cafe con leches. Karen did much better than I. Although not on the menu, she simply requested a basic grilled cheese and tomato. I couldn't bother thinking (aka translating the descriptions from our waitress) and just said "todo."
The result was, as Karen said, not a sandwich -- but an experience...
The "experience" came with a thin steak, sauteed mushrooms, a sunny-side up egg, little mozzarella balls, sundried tomatoes, cheese, and much more.
Within moments I was full and there was still enough food for a small army left on the plate.
No time to contemplate my leftovers though, since Karen and I had to drop off our shopping bags at the Mine Hotel as quickly as possible and hail a cab to the Aeroparque.
It was time to head to Patagonia...
And up, up and away we went, in hopes of countryside adventures including icy trails, breathtaking glaciers and maybe a gourmet meal or two.
After only one meal in Buenos Aires, Karen and I were already feeling the meat coma setting in. Something had to be done. We couldn't overload on steak. We had to keep the beef buzz going over the course of the next week!
So, after a paradilla lunch at La Cabrera, we settled on another classic Argentine fare for dinner - pizza.
We hailed a Radio Taxi from our uber-hip Palermo Soho district hotel and for a mere $5 US took a 20-minute ride to one of the city's favorite Italian hot spots, Filo. It wasn't fancy in the least, but frankly that was just what we wanted.
And so was the lightly dressed salad, followed by a small thin-crust pizza topped with a brightly acidic tomato sauce, anchovies, olives and mozzarella cheese, as well as another pie graced with tomatoes, artichoke hearts, slivers of proscuitto and melted mozz.
It was all delicious. Still, we couldn't finish it.
BA was wiping us out for the count. But we persevered. We made our way back to Palermo Soho for a pit stop at Bar Uriarte for a couple of cocktails and the chance to flirt with the restaurant's muy guapo DJ, who was spinning Motown in our soulful honor.
With the strains of the "Jackie Brown" soundtrack still running through our heads, we headed back to Mine Hotel and slept the sleep of exhausted turisticas.
In the AM we were ready to hit the town once again. First up, the flea market in San Telmo, chock-a-block with handmade ponchos, old seltzer bottles, antique silver sets, jewelry from someone's abuela and an amazing selection of gaucho leather gear, including heavy duty bolos.
Karen and I weren't swayed by the bric-a-brac (although there was an undeniable appeal to the bolos). So, we marched on. This time in search of contemporary culture at one of the city's finest museums, the Malba. A modern gem, brimming with Latin American art, we took in works by artists that ranged from Frida Kahlo to Fernando Botero -- with a stop for Cafe Con Leche thrown in for good measure.
We had one more museum to hit before we could call it a day.
Yes, we went to the Museo Evita to view the history, wardrobe and propaganda that was Eva Peron.
We didn't exactly leave humming "Don't Cry For Me Argentina," but somehow we were feeling like that evening we might just be able to handle another steak dinner, preferably bloody rare and with a side dish of adorable waiters.
Clearly, here in BA, there would be no need to cry for us.
Well, I made it. And even the flight on American Airlines wasn't too painful. The trip to the terminal's spiffy wine bar Vino Volo even set me in the mood before getting to the gate, as I sipped and swirled a flight of wines entitled "Passport to South America," including a Michel Torino Torrontes and Bodegas Juan Benegas Malbec from Argentina.
And a mere 12 hours after boarding with my buzz, I deplaned in glorious Buenos Aires. After making a quick pit stop at the Mine Hotel to drop my bags and pick up my gal pal Karen, who had flown in from San Francisco for this south of the equator adventure, we made a beeline to one of the city's most famous steakhouses for lunch - La Cabrera. They believe in large portions at La Cabrera. Large portions of incredible, melt in your mouth beef, grilled to perfection.
You thought that looked sublime? Hold on for a sec. Here's the real money shot...
If that isn't enough to make you wish you had been with Karen and I for almuerzo, you should also know that we polished off a bottle of Malbec with our meal. Oh, and we also indulged in an itty bitty sweet...
Crepes filled with decadent, gooey, Dulce de Leche. Moan-worthy fare to say the least.
The only things we could think of doing after this gluttonous affair was to hit the gym or hit the streets of Palermo.
As Miss Karen has broken her foot and is wearing a unwieldy Aircast, the streets seemed the better option, especially once we began window shopping. It was even better, once we got past the windows!
Needless to say, I've already succumbed to a lovely silver necklace and a magnificent green leather handbag.
So, leather goods, great steak and delicious Malbec have all been had in less than 24 hours of my arrival. Next up -- God willing -- is a handsome gaucho!
Stay tuned.
If American Airlines will cooperate, in a few short hours I will be jetting off to Buenos Aires. Once there, I hope to indulge in fabulous leather goods, great steaks, delicious Malbec and fine gauchos. Not necessarily in that order, mind you...
Breakfast at Balthazar. It's already an undeniable classic.
Throw in a heavyweight Internet industry blogger as your Latte and Granola, Yogurt with Fresh Fruit companion, and we're talking about a true-blue New York City experience.
Follow it up with a buttery, flaky, just-baked Apricot Tarte, and you can't help but believe that this is indeed the center of the world.
Justifiably so.
It's good to be at the heart of all things good, caffeinated and Manhattan in the morning.
It's good to be at Balthazar.
And even better when said big shot blogger picks up the tab.
