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.
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.
Today, I ventured forth to Bryant Park to take part in the brouhaha surrounding the release of a new brew -- Starbucks' Pike Place Roast. Responding to customers who didn't like the bright, bold, heavily roasted flavors of Starbucks' traditional coffee, Howard Schulz and company have concocted a cup with a smoother, softer finish.
Huddling for warmth in a makeshift tent designed to look like the original Starbucks flagship in Seattle, I was lucky enough to speak with Andrew Linnemann, Starbucks master coffee blender. His passion for the bean was more than evident. It made me suddenly want to travel the world in search of the best coffee beans on the planet, and hook up with coffee gurus from Peet's and Caribou for an honest-to-goodness coffee klatsch.
But enough daydreaming. I was getting cold. I was ready for the main event. I wanted some coffee. I wanted to try the Pike Place.
Linneman was happy to oblige. A cup was poured. I inhaled the aroma. I took a sip. I considered.
Hmmm...
Sort of a cross a between the usual Starbucks bold java and your typical diner Joe, I could certainly taste the merits of the blend.
Still, for my palate, if I'm doing Starbucks, I want the Verona or some such deeper, darker experience.
Then Linnemann -- as if he had a sixth sense -- threw in a "value add.'' Apparently, alongside the Pike Place Roast, the mega-coffee chain is now offering a Seattle cult fave: Top Pot Doughnuts. Linneman had a Chocolate Cake specimen on hand for the occasion (pictured below).
Suddenly the Pike Place tasted just right.
What can I say?
Coffee and doughnuts. Those cops are onto something.
It's sad. The first restaurant in the Meatpacking District is closing.
It opened when the Meatpacking District was filled with meatpackers.
It is closing when the Meatpacking District is filled with over-priced apartments and uber-hip restaurants.
And so, Florent -- the beloved refurbished French diner -- will be shuttering in June.
Like I said: It's sad. Last night, I couldn't help feeling melancholy while sharing a bloody red Grilled Strip Steak, French Fries and Green Beans with my pal Kristin. We washed it down with a bottle of spicy Malbec, toasting the glory that is Florent and bemoaning its demise.
After paying our bill, we wandered out onto Gansevoort Street, slightly buzzed, sated, and all the while cursing the likes of Soho House, Spice Market, The Apple Store and Jeffrey.
Wandering down the neighborhood's cobblestone's streets, in true French revolutionary style, we shouted "Off with their heads!" to anyone willing to listen. Unfortunately, however, the throngs were too busy lining up for Pastis and Highline to care.
I was beginning to feel like a shut in. It was getting unattractive -- and that is unacceptable.
So, I slapped some makeup on my face, put a comb through my hair and made my way down to the bowels of Chinatown to meet my friend Tobi for a mellow version of a "night on the town."
She picked the perfect hot spot, Chef Frank De Carlo's Venetian pub Bacaro.
Bacaro was just hot enough for the evening's festivities. It was busy, but we could still land premium seats at the bar and the bartender even had enough bandwidth to chat with us for a spell. Between that, the bar room's "rough-hewn meets The Grand Canal" feel, its soft candlelit lighting scheme and a lovely glass of vino, and I was feeling healthier by the second.
A bright, crisp salad of Green Beans and White Anchovies (pictured above) set the meal off on a good start with a wonderful mouth-puckering vinegary wallop. Sardines en Saor kept things humming along nicely. And, a rich, tempting platter of stewed White Beans with Braised Duck Leg had me at "hello" with its crisp skin and sprinkling of garlic-scented breadcrumbs and herbs.
A sneeze, a breath, a cough or two, and then a bite or two of a decadent Panna Cotta, followed by a few sips of dessert wine, and I felt fortified. Not fully on top of my game. But, certainly fortified.
I might not be 100% in body and soul yet, but I will say that my faux trip to Venice helped in the soul arena -- and furthermore, I'm pretty sure that the body fared well in the bargain too.
Vodka. Mother's milk in Mother Russia. That's what we came for. That's what we expected when we got off the Q train in Brighton Beach to attend Elisabeth's birthday at the famous supper club The National.
We knew food would be included in the dinner price, but we figured the food was despite the point. Well, for being despite the point, there was quite a lot of it -- Blinis with Salmon Roe, a platter of Smoked Sturgeon, thin slices of Boiled Beef Tongue...
...Pickled Tomatoes, Cold Smoked Herring, Roasted Duck with Noodles and Gravy...
...Eggplant Stuffed with Goat Cheese, Beef Stroganoff and Fish with Mussels in Cream Sauce.
Thank goodness we had the vodka to settle our stomachs. The liquor was all the more necessary once the entertainment hit the stage.
It was surreal. It was the 70's. Russia in the 70's on crack cocaine.
We had no choice. We had to get up and dance.
And it was good.
And then the curtain closed.
And we were happy.
More vodka arrived. So did more food.
And it was good.
And then the curtain re-opened.
And it was bad. Very bad. So bad it was good.
A picture tells a thousands words...
From musical skits involving hoop skirts to singers in Hassidic costumes and Elvis impersonators to a belting black diva in skin-tight denim it was a hoot and a half. And just when we thought it was over, there was more...
Let me just say, that no one should have to witness grown women dressed as Mouseketeers at 2am -- unless it's a special order from a place like The Emperor's Club.
It was our cue to go home. And home we went, if only to dream of Blinis and Caviar, Russian ballet and a never-ending bottle of vodka.
Fast food. The global perspective. From today's Wall Street Journal:
Homegrown Vietnamese fast-food companies are using Western branding techniques to grab a chunk of the country's fast-growing consumer market before U.S. heavyweights like McDonald's Corp. can sink their teeth into it.
After North Vietnamese troops marched into this city in 1975, then-21-year-old Tran Kim Thanh was ordered from his family's baking-supplies store. He was sent to work kneading buns and baguettes for the newly united Communist country at a state-owned bakery. Today, Vietnam is racing to embrace capitalism, and Mr. Thanh's Kinh Do Foods Corp. has become one of the country's biggest consumer companies, with a market capitalization of around $400 million. The company, which is publicly traded on Vietnam's stock exchange, is backed by investors including Citigroup Inc., Britain's Prudential Insurance PLC and one of Singapore's sovereign-wealth funds.
Kinh Do's distinctive red and yellow stores -- which sell specialties like dried-squid buns -- have become iconic symbols of the commercialization of everyday life in modern Vietnam.
"Vietnam is integrating with the rest of the world, and we have a very short learning curve to climb if we are to be ready to compete with foreign companies when they come here," says Mr. Thanh, who also goes by the name of Paul Tan. Since launching his fast-food chain in 1993, he has expanded his empire to include shopping malls. Soon, he plans to start a business offering consumer loans for household appliances and motorcycles...
Dried-squid buns and motorcycles. Two great tastes that taste great together.
Noodles. Oodles of noodles. Authentic hand-pulled noodles. That's what I was after. A trip to Manhattan's Chinatown for a full-on noodle crawl with Copyboy, Mrs. Copboy and the tow-headed Copyboy progeny was planned.
First stop was Lan Zhou Fresh Handmade Noodles, a dingy spot off of East Broadway. The sandwich board menu sign outside was makeshift to say the least. But how was the noodle making?
Breathtaking. As the deft hands of the noodle maker wound the dough round and round in mid-air, it reminded me of a bizarre food-play version of the childhood game Cat's Cradle.
This, however, was no game. This was expert noodle artistry. If that wasn't clear in watching the noodles' preparation, it became quickly apparent upon one hearty slurp of our bowl of Beef Noodle Soup...
The broth was a tad spicy. The chunks of stewed beef were toothsome. The noodles were long, tender and addictive.
It was only once every single noodle was devoured that we agreed to move on. It was tempting to simply stay put and order another bowl, but we resisted. Besides, Grand Sichuan International's Chinatown outpost beckoned. We had heard tale that their Dan Dan Noodles were the genuine article.
Having never traveled to China myself, I can't confirm or deny the authenticity of Grand Sichuan's Dan Dan offerings (a bowlful is pictured below), but I can say this: DAMN, THEY'RE HOT!!!!
One slippery, chili oil-coated noodle gloriously consumed and my mouth was set ablaze. This Dan Dan was searingly spicy. So spicy, in fact, that I couldn't down more than a few additional noodles before my eyes started welling up with tears due to the tongue-scorching pain.
Happily, my tongue survived. And, several glasses of water later, I was even ready for more noodles -- sans chili oil.
For our last stop, we ventured to the modern, hand-pulled noodle eatery Foo Sing 88 and ordered up two massive bowls, one each of the House Special (pictured below) and Roast Duck varieties.
Unfortunately, Foo Sing doesn't come with a noodle making side show, but their chewy noodles were delightful, and the beef and duck broth that accompanied them were satisfying as well, both scented with a bit of clove and garlic to bring out all of the soups' rich meaty goodness. Each bowl was filled with copious amounts of the handmade noodles, big pieces of meat -- whether roasted duck, tender beef short rib, tripe, beef tendon or more -- a handful of leafy greens and the House Special also featured a fried egg atop.
It was a challenge, but we laid waste to both helpings.
That said, we did pay a price.
We'd finally done it. We were full. Too full.
There were still other places on our noodle must-do list, including Yogee and Super Taste, but we were too stuffed to carry on.
Our ravenous appetites and lust for noodles had been conquered after only three stops on the Chinatown express.
It was shameful.
Yet, I know we'll live to slurp again. And another Chinatown noodle crawl will be in order -- soon.
