lost in the supermarket

One beautiful Friday evening we decided to tackle the new Dada show at MoMA and then (with a little planning and reservations for Restaurant Week) transition seamlessly into dinner at the well-regarded Modern Bar Room at MoMA. No pictures allowed in the exhibit, of course. But just imagine the overwhelming majesty of a HUGE and comprehensive survey of Dadaism... inclusive of all media and with multiple historical narratives from the POV of the different international cities (Zurich, Paris, New York, etc) in which the movement sprouted... and there you go. See? you're living Duchamp's ideal of readymade. Complete with urinal. Note that the original "Fountain" was lost years ago and the one that appears in the exhibit is a replica he made years later. I mean, who "loses" a provocative work of art-slash-urinal?



My only true gripe with The Modern's Bar Room is that the illustrious bartender of said Bar Room didn't even know what a Pimm's Cup was. (Did you hear that, Dawn? Taaaacky!) It was like he never even heard of it. Even after some bystanders instructed him (after I gave him the step-by-step recipe), he acted all confused and the drink turned out like total shite. And did I at least get comp'd in such a chichi place?? Noooooooooooope.

A meaty terrine. So dada. And by dada I mean awesome.

Is it an edible work of dada? Is it a perfectly shaped puck of pate? Is it foie gras? Yes.

Duck confit!! I can say no more.

Eric opted for spice-crusted lamb with some sort of noodle (spaezle like?). Well-cooked to perfection (rare) and quite savory.

Dessert: Rum baba ala mode. The ice cream in these things are always too melty runny for me but this was passable. Tasty and not too filling.



Then, on our evening stroll up Fifth Ave toward the N station at Central Park, we passed these chic store windows (Bergdorf? Sacs? something like that)...

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Less than three months after returning from our monumental maiden voyage to France, I am still pining away for the vivid flavors and charming milieu of Paris. In an attempt to ameliorate the mounting cravings for le Pot Au Feu served in a homey, cluttered Parisian bistro, we sought out a recently opened 'french diner' that promised dependable but heady fare like cassoulets and escargot. Zucco: Le French Diner turned out to be even better than a retracing of our steps through the 15th Arrondissement. Just a few subway stops from home, but a world away from the hurried, overly-processed, excessively fattening, factory-fed manner in which Americans are accustomed to eating (see: Applebees, Chilis, Olive Garden, TGIFridays, etc ad infinitum), Zucco and his eponymous bistro are already an indispensible part of this city's culinary skyline.

I have come to covet the hidden little storefront restaurant. The subtle hole-in-the-wall aspect has become a remarkably good indicator of probable dining delight. Zucco's place exemplifies this axiom with its teeny space (there's only room for about 15 people, chef and waitstaff included) brimming over with blooming aromas and tremendous character.

You are warned even before you approach the narrow doorway of the mini-eatery with this hilarious caveat on the sidewalk's blackboard: No ketchup. No Bud. Now that's admirable. He's French so he doesn't give a shit if you bypass this chance at real good French cuisine for another blissfully gluttonous moment at McDonalds. My advice is to venture inside and pretend like you're never heard of Heinz.

My favorite way to incorporate cheese into a meal is as the appetizer (mozzarella sticks be dammed). The salade chevre chaud is a classic course for bistros all across the Continent. Zuccos' version is actually better than its cousin across the ocean because: (1) sheer volume-- you get a giant pillow of warm goat cheese stuffed into a (2)delicately fried, flaky Philo dough pocket. Your generous package of warm, tangy creamy goat cheese is placed, ready for opening, atop a bed of mixed greens tossed with a perfetly complimentary [Dijon] mustard vinegrette dressing. How can I successfully subsist on this alone for the rest of my life? Tell me!! How?!

When we were in Paris, I could not resist getting a croque monsieur, even at the crappy deli/bakery where they were shamelessly pandered as pre-fab bricks of cheap white bread with lumpy bechamel. And so I could not resist the temptation of getting Zucco's croque madame (the monsieur with a fried egg on top) and reveling in even the remote possibility that I might get a moderately priced croque of a better quality on the streets of my own Lower East Side than on the Rive Gauche... and indeed such is the case. This is the Queen of All Hot Sandwiches and this particular one is a perfect homage to such sandwich royalty: thin sliced real ham with gruyere and bechamel, broiled on airy french bread and finished with a fried egg, sunny side up. The bad news? If you haven't tried this, your life is empty.

Tarte tatin!! The apples were perfectly cooked: uniformly tender and buttery without being mushy or mealy, almost like a firm pudding, but better because it was all apple. Eric pointed out the primary fact: that unlike that American icon apple pie, there is none of that syrupy gooey sugary gelatinous binding agent in this tarte tatin that is de rigeur in the apple pie with which we grew up. The crust was almost noodley in consistency. Not flaky (as in shortening based) but soft and thin. The best part? The creme fraiche that accompanies. The genius lies in the savory contrast of the sour cream. Fuck that Cool Whip crap (its not even cream).

Appetizers $6 to $11; salads $6 to $14.50; sandwiches $7 to $11.50; entrees $7.50 to $18.50; desserts $5

Zucco: Le French Diner, 188 Orchard Street (at Houston)
Lower East Side
212.677.5200

Posted by Annie at 6:12 PM | Permalink | Comments | links to this post

I love eggs. One time, years and years ago, I had the most perfect incarnation of these delicious proto-embryos. I don't even remember where it was. Somewhere in LA, of course. But I made the attempt to replicate something like that eventful dish last weekend, with mixed results. Though totally yummy, my little experiment didn't turn out exactly as I had planned... Baked Eggs in ramekins with Crisped Proscuitto and Roasted Asparagus. Yes, that's a side salad with goat cheese and cherry tomatoes (to hell with nappy home fries!)

The problem was simple: the eggs were overcooked. Besides the fact that our oven is an abomination to all things culinary (the numbers on the dial are all arbitrary and indicate nothing of the actual real-time temperature), I neglected to place the ramekins into a hot water bath in the oven. DOH! But the roasted asparagus was phenomenal (rubbed with some olive oil and sea salt, spread out on a cookie sheet and placed under the broiler). The proscuitto de Parma puts ordinary hams (Canadian bacon included) to shame and crisped perfectly (with a sprinkle of savory) and made a nice little cup for the eggs... I'll be making attempt Number Two soon using this timely recipe from Anne Quatrano in today's New York Times. What serendipity!

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We recently scored free VIP tickets to the Taste of Brooklyn event to benefit City Harvest and other food banks (thanks Kathira!). Four hours of eating awesome little bites from some of the borough's finest restaurants, kickass cocktails and champagne, and of course free schwag bags courtesy Brooklyn Industries at the end of the night. And 100% of the proceeds went toward the charities (not that we contributed much else than our presence). I totally felt like a freeloading college student again (minus the part where I would hoard free sodas from alumni events in my backpack). Awesome.

Behold: the swanky (pronounced "schwankeee") VIP lounge. Some chumps (nee well-heeled Brooklynites) paid $150 for access to this. Too bad it sucked. Sure, Blue Ribbon Sushi was headquartered in this tent. And there was the 1000 year old cognac booth. But all in all, it was just a dead space where the easily fatigued could sit on hastily-upholstered ottoman-chairs while rifling though the free Brooklyn Industries schwag bag (which in itself was quite good). But all the action was outside. With Jimmy the Bartender and the many restaurants' wares...

Several bars were also in good showing, among them the hip Brooklyn Social of Carroll Gardens and the avant garde Galapagos of Williamsburg. Fancy seeing our favorite bartender Jimmy (formerly of the now-defunct Junno's on Downing) there, workin it for Brooklyn Social. The man was slinging out retro rum drinks like nobody's business, proving that he'd lost none of his edge even though Junno's is only a memory now...

Sweet, creamy veloute (of corn?) with some spicy dollops of pepper sauce. If only all cold soups could have this luxurious texture and flavor. Welcome to summertime!

Blue Ribbon Sushi!! Exclusive to the VIP lounge (sort of) and totally worth it. Not because it was mind-blowing sushi or anything, but because these guys were consistently churning out some of the freshest, most coveted food all night... all you can eat!! Some poor planning meant that the best rolls were made too early in the night (avocado-asparagus-flying fish roe-salmon!) and therefore ran out. But even hours later, a reliable spicy tuna roll, no frills, was the perfect amuse bouche.

The professionals at work. Best to get there early (if you sprang for the luxe VIP tickets!) to observe all the last-minute artistry.

A rich stew made from oxtail-- some Australian outback delicacy. Tangy and tomatoey... yet I was told that there's no tomato in it! Just slow-cooked tail. The bony rod sticking out of the pot is just that.

Slices of fresh, rustic bread with little savory treats baked right into them: one variety had sausage or something and the other had duck confit. Brilliant! And goes perfectly mit bier
(a savvy move on their part since this restaurant's also a brewery).

Chicken liver schnitzel: the grossest thing I've ever eaten under the premise of 'good food'. I have no qualms with liver (foie gras rules!) but this was terrible. Greasy, mealy, stone cold and utterly icky.


Fresh mozzarella "eggs" with a little grape tomato as the "yolk", micro arugula, and a pinch of chunk grey sea salt. YUM

Chocolate cake from the Chocolate Room.

Perfect way to finish up the night: with a glass of billion-year old cognac. Mmmmmm.

The Old Tobacco Factory at Empire Fulton Park was the most amazing venue... yes, its right under the majestic Brooklyn Bridge.

Posted by Annie at 2:20 PM | Permalink | Comments | links to this post