FORK PLAY April 23, 2008
Kitchen Under Seige. Bar Q, Grownup at Bar Milano, Peeved Again
Dear Friends and Family,
I forgot what an assault it is to have your kitchen painted. It's been years since I braved that torture, but was finally forced to confront the layers of paint curling off the wall under  the window sill. The days are long gone when we stripped antique tableware, baskets and vintage kitchen stuff off cupboard tops and windowsills annually to scrub the place down, and actually painted every three years. In my cocoon of sloth I manage to not think about it and we eat out eight nights a week anyway as the Road Food Warrior puts it when someone asks.
It's a tiny kitchen with just one drawer. I have champagne baskets attached to the wall holding wedding trousseau silver, tools and gadgets I've forgotten the uses of. I couldn't quite bear watching the ravishing of my pots and pan cabinet, organized for maximum layering of pâté molds, lead that once compressed my terrines, jelly roll pans and cookie sheets. I couldn't remember what was in there and I didn't want to face how long it's been since I baked anything more challenging than a fruit crumble. It all needed to be emptied so the thing could be moved away from the wall.
Steven piled everything into boxes. "Do you really need seven omelette pans?" he asks. "When was the last time you made muffins? And what is this?"
I stare at the plastic gizmo. "I think it could be a yogurt strainer or an attachment for the juicer that I use to make instant sorbet," I offer. He is silent and then disappears into his big arm chair in the living room.
"I never tasted your instant sorbet," he finally says.
Oh dear lord Julia. What kind of a woman am I? This indulgent man and I have been together here and in Aspen (where I last cooked) for 21 years and I have never pushed frozen pineapple through the Champion juicer to make instant sorbet. What could I possibly say?
I have already found new homes for the 36 inch wok and giant heavy duty sauté pan that hung on the wall all these years, and Steven's cousin Mitch is happy to recycle a bottle of unopened Bourbon and the Dansk wooden tray DHF and I got as a wedding gift.
I could donate the giant Moroccan platters with the gorgeous geometric patterns to the thrift shop but they probably have lead in them and I could be responsible for a stranger's lead poisoning. I am committed to giving away at least three omelette pans. And Jacques Torres is delighted to carry off my pewter bonbon molds - 25 pounds worth of metal in the bottom of the broom closet - to add to his antique candy-making artifacts on display. If you're a pack rat like me, giving away treasures can make you nervous. I'm running out now for a Ben & Jerry something on a stick. I'll think about this tomorrow at Tara.
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On Deck at Bar Q
It could well be we rushed off to Anita Lo's new Bar Q too quickly. But I have enjoyed her restrained and elegant food at Annisa and just couldn't wait. Often one can taste the dazzle  and excitement of a new effort in the earliest moment. I guess a lot of other fans were rushing too as I'm only offered a table at 5 or 10. That happened fast. Surely, another sign of global warming. A friend who planned ahead offers to share his table and I'm in. First I'll toast Lo for having the courage to serve a duck breast as a steak - enough already with the cliché fanning of duck breast slivers. I just wish I'd remembered to order mine rare. A trio of tartares in a shallow puddle of avocado soup is just a tease, not enough tartare, not enough soup. In time, I hope everything will be as hearty and powerfully lush as the stuffed spareribs with lemongrass barbeque, peanut and Thai basil and as beguiling as simple miso-glazed eggplant. 310 Bleeker at Grove. 212 206 7817
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Grownup Ambition
Bar Milano burst on the scene with rainbow panels of marble, brass accents and unexpectedly sophisticated food - mostly delicious. As a fan of 'inoteca on Ludlow I had expected rustic and cheap from the Denton brothers - Jason and Joe. But clearly they're lusting for more serious laurels - and a duo of chefs from Lupa and 'inoteca seem properly inspired by their recent total immersion tour of northern Italy with Jason. You must taste the scallop carpaccio with uni and the seafood tossed pici (pinci as the menu has it) that made the Road Food Warrior moan.323 Third Avenue at 24th Street. 212 683 3033
I discovered Steven Duong luring adventurers to explore Vietnamese steamed rice "ravioli" and wok seared monkfish at Cyclo in 1999. That success paid the way for him to return to Saigon for the first time since he was 8 years-old. With new visions of nunc man and greens he'd forgotten, he opened Nam on his own when traffic was still forbidden below Canal Street after 9/11. Now at Tet on the Lower East Side he aspires to greater authenticity, daring green papaya salad with head cheese, wonderful lemongrass crusted tofu and garlicky wok sautéed greens with crispy sun dried anchovies as well as easy winners like pan-roasted five spice quail and salmon simmered in chile-pineapple sauce. 83 Avenue A near 5th Street. 212 253 0800.
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Third Time a Charm
In between checking out what's new, not always an emotionally rewarding grind, I cheer myself up by returning to  places that I am excited about. Back for the third time at Mia Dona with no need or compulsion to pass plates, I eat like a civilian, though I should have let the waiter drop another plop of fresh ricotta on top of my baked pacheri - it isn't as sinfully creamy as I remember. And the generous starter of skewered meats is perfect as an entrée. True to my own advice. I order my own lemon sorbetto so my guy needn't feel pressured to share his.
206 East 58th Street between 2nd and 3rd 212 750 8170.
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Peeved on the Road
Reader Kelly Rice got a reminder of her pet peeve while staying at the Four Seasons in Phoenix this week "although in Phoenix it's more like the Three Seasons...they could use a bit of service training," she observes.
She hates when servers show you to your table and then stand there with a huge, heavy menu opened, "hovering over your plate, waiting, waiting for me to take it."
"Most days this week, I arrived at the restaurant for breakfast straight from the fitness center," she writes. "In my hands were an iPod, a newspaper, a bottle of water, my BlackBerry and my handbag. I wanted to sit down and get myself organized, put the paper down, stash my electronics. And still she stands there holding the menu, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, I look at her and 'sweetly' say, 'just set it down, please.' She looks at me like I'm daft and don't know how to dine in an upscale restaurant.
"Same thing at dinner. I guess I'm playing a mind game here because I want them to set it down rather than force me into dropping everything in order to take it After all...the menu is opened - so it's the same as saying - hey, as soon as your butt hits this chair, you will start READING. You will not settle in, take in your surroundings, drape your jacket and handbag on the chair and take a breath - you will start examining our menu so you can tell us what you'll be ordering.
"I have adopted the 'just set it down, please' mantra everywhere I go and can't understand why it's always a power struggle. Do you get this open-menu-hovering treatment or am I just eating at the wrong places?"
***
Photos of Antiques for sale, Bar Milano pasta, Tet rolls, Bar Q Duck and Mia Dona bread with roasted garlic may not be used without permission from Steven Richter.
Fork Play by Gael Greene, copyright pending, 2008
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