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.
New York
New York
Code Ko
I was lucky enough to snag a seat at the hallowed (and reservation
demented) Momofuku Ko in New York in early October because someone had
(oh my god!) cancelled and I was quick enough to grab the reservation.
For those of you not yet in the know, Ko is the premier flagship in
wunderkind David Chang’s gastronomic empire. In keeping with its
cutting edge food and service (the chefs, like sushi chefs, do the
serving but not the busing), Ko only allows you to make on-line
reservations. Just like Amazon.com, you need to open an on-line account
(something I had done about six months earlier) which allows you the
opportunity, and some would argue esteemed privilege, to make a
reservation. This system guarantees a degree of egalitarianism which,
as an attorney with a career dedicated to civil liberties, I really
should respect and appreciate. So even if your last name is DeNiro or
Gates, you (or your assistant) still have to compete with the masses in
making a mad digital dash to score a reservation. As a supreme
testament to Ko’s popularity and scrumptiousness, over the last year,
even as the echo of high-end restaurants slamming their doors shut
reverberated throughout Manhattan, Ko rarely had a night when it wasn’t
booked to capacity for at least a week in advance.
Payard's
My father has a way of making everything unforgettable. He’s loud, temperamental, incredibly passionate, and a romantic to the core. So it seemed completely natural to me when he took me to Paris for my 14th birthday so that I “would see Paris for the first time with a man who truly loved me”. He showed me the sights, took me out to fantastic meals, and I left Paris with two promises to myself – that I would find pain au chocolat (chocolate croissant) as delicious as the ones we devoured for breakfast every morning in Paris and that I would one day return to Paris with the person I was madly in love with. My father was absolutely right about Paris being a city to only share with those you love.
It took me 16 years and many pain au chocolat experiences to finally discover what I’d encountered on my birthday trip to Paris. In the midst of Manhattan, in the Upper East Side at Payard’s, a charming French patisserie and bistro, was the perfect buttery flaky croissant filled with rich chocolate. Who was making such delectable pain au chocolat? Only a French man, of course!
Nathan's
My dad was a two job guy. We lived in a representative, working class
neighborhood in Brooklyn, which was to me, the paradise of the world.
Representative I learned years later meant not just Jewish people, like
us, but an equal mix of almost everything else. The working class is
obvious.
My dad worked at a brokerage house on Wall Street as a runner from 9 to
3. That was his first job. His second job was at the Morgan Annex
branch of the US Post Office, in mid-town Manhattan. He had started at
the PO as a teen-ager, and was in it for the longest possible haul, a
modest pension being the carrot at the end of his rainbow. His hours
on that job were 4 pm to mid-night. He rode the subway to work. He
never owned a car. Once in a long while he got driven home.
Kyotofu Dessert Bar
OK fine. I'll admit it. I'm the person who studies the menu online before going out to eat. I devour every edible word and let the taste bud anticipation work its magic.
The moment I knew I would be meeting up with a friend at Kyotofu, a Japanese dessert bar in NYC, I quickly jumped over to their site to take a peek at their online menu of tea infused sweets. Within seconds the matcha green tea crème brûlée had my heart skipping a beat.
Although when the plate met the table, the ginger/pear sorbet seemed to steal the show. Let me just say that they were a harmonious pair. As I broke through the delicate, caramelized top layer, a vibrantly bright green mini pot of matcha creme stood before me.
The richness of the matcha creamy treat was balanced by the airy, refreshing bites of ginger, pear. Matcha crème brûlée was a down comforter on a chilly winter night, while the ginger/pear sorbet was linen on a summer afternoon.
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