FORK PLAY DECEMBER 10, 2008
Seven Days of Sex. Strip House. Ego Deflation. Three Tomatoes. 92nd Street Y Panel.
Dear Friends and Family,
Lamenting that sex is not much of a priority these days, even in Grapevine, Texas, the evangelical minister Reverend Ed Young commanded the married couples in his flock to have "congregational copulation" every night for a week. I read it in the Times so it must be true. Taking  stock of the smiling faces the following Sunday, he repeated his call for more intimacy. "If you've said I do, do it," he exhorted the faithful. But he didn't offer a ready balm for the unwed. "As for single parishioners, I don't know," he confessed. "Try eating chocolate cake."
Thank heaven for chocolate. Anyone who's read my memoir, Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess, knows how I feel about sex. I've never found any food to be as good as great sex, but then sex is not always great. So it's good there's chocolate. As for chocolate cake, I've just rediscovered "The Ultimate Truffle Cake" by David Glass at Zabar's - it now comes with a deep dark hit of espresso. The perfume of coffee hits your nose from inches away. The $9.98 size looks rather small - just 5 1/2 inches in diameter but I'd say it's enough for six. As it's so fudgy and intense, a small chunk goes a long way, unlike great sex, where the more you have the more you want. (Yes, Zabar's is an advertiser but we don't punish our advertisers by ignoring them.)
***
I Hear There's a Recession
Walking into the Strip House last week you'd think it was 2006. Every table was full - uninhibited carnivores in clutches of six and eight at every table and more huddled up front waiting - oblivious to rumors of recession, much less cholesterol. "That's $300 in appetizers right there," said owner Peter Glazier approvingly watching as a nearby table tucked into a tiered carousel from the raw bar.
The Road Food Warrior was unhappy with the unusual fattiness of his rib eye, but everything I ate was exactly as satisfying as I remembered from earlier excursions: The gorgeous Bibb lettuce salad, a strip steak I shared with a friend (rosy rare, meaty, caramelized), irresistible goose fat potatoes with raw garlic, sauteed brioche logs to drag through melted gorgonzola. And then, the skyscraper chocolate layered cake - a judiciously small taste leading to another small taste and another, and still enough for the table.
13 East 12th Street near University Place. 212 328 0000
***
After the Fall
I'm learning to be a civilian again - cold turkey - after  forty years as a restaurant critic. Actually, what's missing is just a salary and an expense account and a feeling of belonging. (And the magazine's resolute fact checkers.) I'm still the Insatiable Critic only now it's me subsidizing the tasting expeditions. "But you are my guest," a restaurateur friend insists.
I have to explain why I am not his guest. "I'm still a critic," I tell him. To be first in print with a tasting of a new restaurant for New York Magazine, I often went to "friends and family" nights at new restaurants where all the guests were invited and often asked to critique. After so many years of paying my way and fighting for the check when a restaurateur insisted it was his pleasure, it never felt right. But my blog is flexible. I can be first to comment. I can be last. No more friends-and-family freebies for me.
Not much has really changed. (Only my ego has lost weight.) We still eat out six or seven nights a week.
A colleague got us into the small finny and funky, impossible-to-book John Dory (85 10th Avenue, 212 929 4948), where the crudo had that impeccable fresh-from-the-sea texture of the raw seafood at Esca and we loved April Bloomfield's chorizo stuffed calamari. To read more about big fish, little fish, John Dory, click here.
Two visits within ten days to introduce friends from the Upper West Side to BarBao found Michael Huynh in the kitchen turning out his marvelous Vietnamese food. (100 West 82nd Street near Columbus. 212 501 0776).
Stretches of painstakingly hand-applied collages are everywhere on ceilings and walls now. The lounge is old Saigon, louche and sexy, and ought to be busier on a Saturday night. To know what you'll want to order, please go to this week's BITE and scroll down. You'll also discover why I am boycotting Eli's Health Crisps.
***
A Feast for Your Eyes
Most of the photographs here and on my web site are shot in the dark without a flash by my mate, the Road Food Warrior, who edits them in Photoshop, not always to his satisfaction. His discipline in his real work as a street photographer, framing a moment as he sees it, results in moving and often amusing revelations. "I was there but I didn't see that," is often my reaction.
Framed prints from Steven Richter's retrospective at the Aspen Institute are on sale now in our office for the price of the print alone. Click here to see some of these remarkable photographs from our travels. For more information or to visit, email Steven Richter.
***
Ezme with Love and Squalor
When new friends said they had a special fondness for Turkish food, I was shocked that they didn't know  Beyoglu, my long-time favorite on Third Avenue and 81st Street. I've been there so often I'm usually recognized, but on this evening I got to be the anonymous critic. So anonymous, they couldn't find the reservation I'd made in our friends' name. But never mind. They sent us upstairs, as I requested, where it's quieter. Everything we ordered was sensational: pan-fried eggplant with tomato, our favorite ezme (just spicy vegetables but always provoking thoughts of Esme with Love and Squalor), octopus, shepherd salad, cacik (thick yogurt) to smear on everything and that bubbly flat bread hot from the oven.
Okay, nothing special about the fried calamari. It could've come from the freezer case at the supermarket, but we eat it anyway. Then one bite of baklava and a sherbet glass of almond pudding. It didn't need to be a bargain but it was, $120 with wine and tip to feed four.
1431 Third Avenue at 81st Street 212 650 0850
***
Condolence Calls
Emails from friends across the country and readers I've never met expressed sadness and anger, my own feelings reflected, at being fired by New York. A journalist in Brazil who had read Glenn Collins story in the Times called to ask if I didn't feel compromised by romances with chefs: "Of course it was unprofessional," I agreed, "But it was hardly an addiction. Since there were only three chefs and three restaurateurs in a 40 year career as a restaurant critic, you might think I wasn't even trying very hard." I am amazed. Somewhere in Brazil there are people thrilled to know about my afternoon with Elvis Presley. How global can we get?
By the way, some wonderfully sympathetic emails have come from readers of The Three Tomatoes, a web site for "women who aren't kids anymore" where I am a weekly contributor, along with Arthur Schwartz and Liz Smith. It's full of advice, activities and addresses for living well in our city. Click here to check it out and sign up if it's for you.
***
Playing the "Y"
Ask Gael in person at the 92nd Street Y next Monday (December, 15) where I'll be sharing ideas about taste and trends with Ed Levine, chef Marcus Samuelson and Bon Appétit executive editor Victoria von Biel on a panel moderated by WOR's Mike Colameco. I'll be signing copies of Insatiable afterwards.
***
Photos of Strip House Bread and Salad, John Dory Calamari, BarBao Duck Hash, Angkor Woman in White, and
Beyoglu Meze may not be used without permission from Steven Richter.
Fork Play by Gael Greene. Copyright 2008
|
