I have always wanted to eat at Balthazar. After many years of
fruitlessly trying to go to Balthazar, I finally succeeded. Maybe it
was the way the restaurant teased me over these past few years that I
had become thoroughly intrigued: The restaurant’s Parisian frontage and
the crowds of diners seen through the windows beckoned me. Maybe it was
the promise of la vie Bohème. From afar Balthazar has that
je-ne-sais-quoi look, but from up close it seems just a bit faux and
overdone. I think the restaurant tries too hard to look authentic with
its crackled mirrors, dark paneling, and dim light fixtures.
To
make sure I got in this time, I made reservations almost three weeks in
advance, but I still could not get the specific time I wanted. Still
the eventual time was suitable enough for a stress-relieving Friday
night out this past week with my friend Amanda of the Undomestic Goddess.
When we arrived, one of the many hostesses confirmed that indeed the
reservation was made, but then told us to wait for the maître d’ to
direct us to our seats. A little confusion followed in which we were
stormed by a large group coming from the bar area and then another
group entering. We almost didn’t get served—a somewhat sordid start to
an evening meant for relaxing.
New York
New York
Prune, My Kinda Retro
The East Village is, was and always will be my hood in the big apple. Sure, I now stay on the Upper West Side and much to the dismay of my husband, I gravitate downtown. He will often say “downtown again?” My friend Peggy always lived on the Lower East Side and she was my friend-to-stay-with in New York. It was really seedy and exciting then, the 70’s. It’s been totally gentri-yuppie-fied in recent years. The Hells Angels owned the block – or maybe even blocks – around where Peg lived. And each day as I ventured out, one or another of them would ask me to fetch him something like matches perhaps from the corner store. So I did. Who wouldn’t? It was always more of a command – and I was to obey.
One hot summer night when Peggy and I were feeling playful and fearless, I actually hopped on the back of Mike the Bike’s Harley for a quick spin around Alphabet City. She was on the bike of another Hells Angel whose name I cannot recall; I only remember his toothless grin and his notoriety from the Altamont infamy of some years earlier. I am not the biggest adventurer – in fact, I’m not adventurous at all.
Carmines NYC
My new best friend, Laraine Newman, recently took me to Carmines here
in Los Angeles, an old school Italian joint that was once the stomping
grounds of the Rat pack. From what I heard, there was quite a lot of
stomping that took place there. Not only rich in City of Angels
History, it has terrific food and a staff eager to please. If you ever
feel the need to step back in time and slip your butt into a comfy old
red leather banquette that boasts the resting places– at least temporarily –
of such legendary butts as those belonging to Dean Martin, Sammy Davis
Jr., and Frank Sinatra, this is the place. A history of Carmines is
available on this site, written by Laraine, and is well worth the read.
However, my Carmines story involves the other coast. In the early 90’s,
Godfried Polistanna and partners opened what was the first new ‘Family
Style’ restaurant in maybe fifty years on Manhattan’s Upper West side.
Designed to look like it had been there for ages, it was also as ‘old
school’ as a new place could be. A huge space with lots of dark wood,
simple tables and white linen, it was adorned with mismatched
chandeliers and lamps, its walls covered with old photographs of every
conceivable Italian looking man, woman, child and family. It was a
revived Don Peppi’s in Queens, a throwback to the Italian joints on
Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, and it was a huge, huge hit. Most nights
the wait for a table was two hours, maybe more. People couldn’t get
enough of it.
Serendipity 3
Trips to New York City have become scarce over the years. (Maybe non-existent is a better description.)
I don't have family, friends or business in New York. All past trips have been purely hedonistic, with food always at the top of my list.
I visit all the tourist traps. I can't help it. I am a tourist when I'm there, a downtown poser in every sense of the word. Every trip has consisted of visits to the Empire State Building, Tavern on the Green, a carriage ride through Central Park and Serendipity 3.
Serendipity 3 reminds of a place you would celebrate your sweet sixteen. A glorified malt shop with faux Tiffany lamps, long lines, marginal service and so-so food. However, they won't let you make a reservation for just dessert...you have to eat a meal. So we would eat....just to get dessert.
There is only one reason I patronized Serendipity 3...for the Frozen Hot Chocolate. It's out of this world.
Pizza by Certe
Would you eat there
On a lunch break?
Would you eat there
For the earth’s sake?
I would surely eat there on a lunch break
I would surely eat there for the earth’s sake.
How could you resist—green walls and bam(boo)
When it comes to being earth friendly, Pizza by Certe says:
“Of course I am.”
Pizza by Certe, which recently received three stars from the Green Restaurant Association, is an inviting, environmentally friendly pizzeria, tucked into a nook and cranny that once was a Quiznos, on 56th street between Park and Lexington.
A generic passerby, who is in a rush, might miss this little gem, because all that marks it’s presence outside is a tiny circular sign that says “Pizza by Certe.” However, the strong smell of fresh tomato sauce and dough that is brewing from within is difficult to miss—especially, on an empty stomach. And if by chance you are in the area, and do catch a whiff of the wonderfulness that lies within, I suggest you follow your nose and step inside for not only the widest variety of food, and one of the single best slices of breakfast and regular pizza’s in town, but also for a peek at New York City’s first environmentally sustainable pizza place.
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