FORK PLAY August 10, 2010
The Wedding. Brooklyn Come Hungry.
Nuela. Torrisi.
Dear Friends and Family,
I'm furious about the wedding. I didn't really expect to be invited, though Bill did summon me to his Global Initiative gath ering once. He didn't respond to my request for a grant to cover the $10,000 attendance fee. The wedding is different. I didn't need to be there. I just needed full coverage.
I'm not denying that Chelsea Clinton deserves privacy on her big day after all she's been through - brokering the silences over the years between those two and comforting whomever was sleeping on the sofa. But what about us? We deserve a few crumbs. What do we get? One or two photos of Hillary and The Dress. Grudgingly. The groom in his prayer shawl. I wanted a full frontal of Hillary in bloom. How about some glass smashing, some dancing? And the cake for God's sake! Do you think it was Sylvia's?
After all we did for the Clintons. Defending him when he insisted fellatio isn't sex. Cheering her on even  after we knew it was all Obama. And if the Clintons don't owe us, certainly they owe the Times. The paper of record was so desperate for wedding news it ran a history of White House daughters' wedding gowns. Then they interviewed the rabbi and some interfaith couples soliciting marital advice.
I hear the newlyweds did a tango. Did they boogey? Did they feed each other cake? Was it chocolate? Did Hillary take off her shoes? Did Bill join in the hora?? Did they give out personalized M&Ms? I'll try to get over it.
***
Young arugula, celery and a desire to eat more veggies inspired our colors today.
***
Coney Island Memories I found myself nostalgic for a Coney Island childhood, which I never had since I grew up in Detroit. I spent summers in a cottage colony on Lake Huron sizzling in the sun, not knowing that one day our blotches would send dermatologists' children to Harvard.
Actually I discovered Brooklyn in my second childhood- my early years as the Insatiable Critic for New York when I followed my then husband, the Kultur Maven, to the haunts of his Brooklyn yout h. Lundy's, the real, the original, a sprawling canteen in Sheepshead Bay was a favorite for the mixed fried seafood platter and huckleberry pie ą la mode.
Our friends are eager to see the new salvaged (savaged?) Coney Island too so we hit Nathan's Coney Island (1310 Surf Avenue) on a surprisingly tame summer Wednesday. I could have eaten a dozen or more of those fat pink cherrystones, slurping the juices, inhaling the sea. But I'd already polished off a chili dog, some fries, and fried soft shell crab on a bun and I was saving room for red sauce Italian. Amazingly, considering my normally expansive appetite (and elastic waistband), a stroll on the boardwalk left the Insatiable Critic surprisingly sated. Click here to read more Coney Island tales.
***
Trolling Sheepshead Bay
Our Flatbush-born nightlife guru pal, Steven Greenberg, agreed to abandon the Friday night multitudes on his rooftop bar and lounge at 230 Fifth Avenue for a red sauce spree in Sheepshead Bay. He toted a bag of  internet and telephone research that led us to Randazzo's Clam Bar (2017 Emmons Avenue, corner of 21st Street), launched by a visionary grandma with a fabulous hot sauce. (Sifton's numero uno too.) Again it was clams shucked to order - tremulous cherrystones and Little Necks - that made me shiver with pleasure. The slurping of the cool pink flesh, the briny ooze. But the perfectly fried calamari dipped into Grandma Helen's hot sauce was wonderful too. Read what to order at Randazzo's and where to go for Moose Track ice cream afterward by clicking here and scrolling down. Click here for more photos from daytime Coney Island.
***
Nuela Exhales
It felt like the stars were aligned against Nuela. First, star chef Douglas Rodriquez said he had other fish to marinate and  would not be involved after all. Then the build-out took forever and the chef had to jump in to hang the art work. Even after a subdued opening, it looked like the liquor license would never come. But then...voilą! Margaritas and exotic Latino cocktails began to flow. It's still summer and the big time players are away most weekends so Saturday night might be a good time to stop in for ceviche, octopus and pork belly on a skewer, a couple of empanadas and Chef Adam Schop's wildly flavorful smoked chicken for two. For more on what to eat at Nuela, click here.
***
The Torment of Torrisi
The critics were wowed by Torrisi, the little 18-seat gastronomica-sandwich shop that morphs at night into a restaurant serving an ambitious dinner, family style, for just $50. But no way was I joining the queue of foodies waiting up to two hours for a table. Then a businessman wanting to woo me for a travel jaunt said he knew someone in the kitchen. Life is so unfair that way. But as long as it's in my favor, I occasionally indulge in unfairness. We met outside, stood for seven minutes, then settled at the corner four top. I study the blackboard - the only choices we need to make are black bass or duck, wine or no wine, red or white.
Everything else just comes. Five antipasti and a pasta, changing with the market or the kitchen's whim, but always starring the house made mozzarella in a shallow pool of De Vero olive oil and Milk Thistle cream, still warm, gently elastic, to eat with the house's storied garlic bread. My thrill gauge soars with such luminous promise.
Crisply fried spearing - like white bait - arrive sprinkled with seaweed, wrapped in a napkin. Chunks of summer zucchini are dressed in Chatham yogurt with a kick of chili. Lamb tongue and rye bread crisp in a salad is daring, even amusing but not fun to eat. I find the kitchen's version of fried rice whimsical but uncompelling and the baby shells with calamari and pepperoni delicious but very salty. I'm getting cranky. But then a splendor of black bass with pickled green tomato and rare duck with mulberry mustard and nutty crumbs arrive.
Lemon ice in a small paper cup is my favorite palate cleanser. And the plate of old fashioned cookies made and served by a young woman who introduced  herself as the baker, Katherine Beto-Ambarese. reminds me of nights in Little Italy. But better.
You can wait two hours if you wish. I wouldn't wait 20 minutes. The dinner I ate was perfectly fine - remarkable in a grocery store and only $50. Possibly the exuberant huzzahs raised my expectations too high. It didn't seem fair to write a BITE saying the emperor is in his skivvies without another meal or two. But I'm not willing to go back. Read this as a first impression. 250 Mulberry Street between Prince and Spring. ***
Photographs
of the window of Williams Sweets on Surf Avenue, Nathan's Coney
Island, Randazzo's clams, Nuela's smoked chicken for two or three, Waiting to eat at Torrisi and the house-made cookie plate may not be used without permission from Steven Richter.
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