Category: New York

Raku (48 Macdougal Street, SoHo) 

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This is the second installment of the popular East Village Japanese spot that specializes in udon noodles. Before the haute ramen takeover of the past ten years, it seemed that Americans were solely aware of soba (buckwheat) and udon (thick wheat flour) noodles. They seemed to be everywhere, creeping up in our soups, stir-frys and hibachi theatrics.

Raku’s SoHo spot is only a few months old and receiving acclaim for a menu centered on  udon soup offerings. Unlike their ramen counterparts that are anything but minimal with ingredients, udon bowl compositions are more basic, allowing the thick almost “meaty” textured noodles to speak for themselves Most bowls don’t seem to have more than four ingredients – with vegetables or a protein, garnished with a smattering of tokyo negi (long onion) and spinach. While optional toppings are available, the original creations aren’t worth complicating.

A fan of Anglicized fried chicken I am not, but I love the bite-size, delicately executed Japanese version. The Chicken Tatsuta-age come in half a dozen or ten pieces with a spicy aioli and were perfectly fried, juicy and just the right amount for indulgence. Again, being “basic” with our starter choices, the Vegetable Gyoza were just right.

You can take the cold udon route, but opting for hot seemed like a first try must. Just as we lapped up the “greasy” goodness of our starters, steaming jumbo soup bowls were promptly brought our way. My friend went for the Sansai Udon, mountain vegetables with maitake (mushroom) tempura in a bonito broth (the base for miso soup). It was light with familiar-tasting broth and a good entry dish for those not daring enough to enjoy the honeycomb tripe, oyster or duck options. I went with the Spicy Curry Chicken Udon which was a much thicker broth topped with tokyo negi and a spoonful of spinach. It was hearty, warming and the perfect amount of lip tingle, heightened with my liberal chili pepper dosage.

Dessert was from the owners’ Patisserie Fouet – the [smartly designed] French-Japanese bakery near Union Square. We were wowed by the beautifully presented Chocolate Azuki Cake accompanied with a scoop of vanilla-whiskey ice cream. The dark chocolate, red bean (azuki) and tart black currant contrast was a sublime balance of Japanese flavoring with over-the-top French presentation.

The slim, wooden-clad space is Japanese minimalism making the most of a sliver of SoHo real estate, with cozy booths, communal tables centering the space and a dining bar – resulting in an inviting buzz. Enjoying a three course meal with complex flavoring and liberal portions in a beautiful atmosphere is the stuff that Michelin or James Beard level dining is made of. Again, this is proof that the price doesn’t have to be high or the menu doesn’t have try be too complex to create a winning restaurant. You can also book a table, another indicator of the Raku team’s experiential care.

Morgenstern’s Finest Ice Cream (88 West Houston Street, SoHo)

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By calling itself “finest ice cream”, Morgenstern’s is making a big declaration considering NYC isn’t exactly the home to the country’s best scoops. In fact, one of my main gripes with this town is that ice cream goes above and beyond to be so exotic, sometimes it’s really hard to find a basic soft serve cone that isn’t from a truck charging $8. It makes me long for the suburban quality of Colonia Dairy Maid. But, I really enjoy places like Soft Swerve and their inventive ube soft serve, and Milk Bar’s cereal milk flavor has become an old-reliable. I was aware of Morgenstern’s original Lower East Side shop thanks to the $20 King Kong Banana Split (also responsible for one of the best scenes on Master Of None). To me, Morgenstern’s was just another Ice & Vice or overly creative scoop shop, but upon reading about their flagship opening in SoHo and 88 flavor offering, something seemed different.

Yes, they have flavors like “Bread” and “French Fry”, and a ridiculous amount of vanillas, chocolates and refined American classics, but upon this week’s visit I am sold that they offer the finest ice cream in the city. The shop is a classic 1940’s style parlor, replete with sterile white counters and black and white penny tiles. The corner of Houston and West Broadway is a thriving business’s dream, and the sunshine pouring in through the stain glassed windows made the setting even more idyllic (bonus points for New Order blaring).

The ice cream is prepared in small batches, versus the mile long tubs you normally see. Batches are prepared in-house, using only the best ingredients… all which reminded me of Berthillon in Paris. Despite crowning Berthillon as the best ice cream I’ve ever had, Morgenstern’s comes in second. Their fastidious approach to quality (perhaps not as stringent as Berthillon’s top-secret recipes) and attention to flavor detail align these two businesses. I tried the Cherry-Chocolate Chip and the icy yet creamy texture, tart, almost natural tasting cherry flavor and crunchy dark chocolate chips were in sync – and took me back to that recent Summer’s day in Paris. I will be going back for more.

 

 

Forlini’s (93 Baxter Street, Chinatown)

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Baxter Street means a lot to me. It’s where my great-grandparents got married at the Most Precious Blood Church. It’s around the corner where their families started their American tale at the turn of the 20th Century, after immigrating from Southern Italy. Little Italy has dwindled down to no more than a few blocks, with neighboring Chinatown growing in its place. Walking around this area is more about a reflection on memory lane vs. thinking about eating or nightlife.

That all changed a few years ago when we were getting a taxi downtown, and a misunderstanding with the driver led us to Baxter Street, right in front of Forlini’s. Having been familiar with the [sadly disappointing] Little Italy dining “scene”, I was shocked to discover this 1940’s establishment, standing alone on the other side of Canal Street.

“Has this place appeared overnight? Is this a figment of my imagination?” Forlini’s is the Italian-American time capsule I had been searching for in Manhattan for quite some time. At that point I had been more familiar, and comfortable with the Brooklyn “red sauce” spots – as they deliver both Mid-Century ambiance and delicious food. Having that combination under my nose in Manhattan seemed surreal. Most downtown spots are no more than a page in a tourist’s guide with high prices and average food – from Monte’s to John’s of 12th Street to Gene’s.

Since that fateful night Forlini’s (along with Sevilla) have been my old-world go to spots. Nestling into a salmon pink booth, under endless walls of portraits in heavy baroque frames, I go there to enjoy special evenings. I take both local and out of towner friends who want to experience a morsel of old New York. I take my parents to enjoy eating the classics and maybe watch Angelo Ruggiero in the back room, singing the classics.

I was amazed, but not totally surprised, with the post NY Fashion Week-NYTimes write up talking about Forlini’s being a hit with (how I DESPISE this word) “influencers” and Insta-crowds. How am I not surprised though? Of course the fashion crowd seek out these places – from China Chalet to 88 Palace, every so often they unearth a deep, dark downtown gem and briefly make it their own, falling prey to some neon lighting, seafoam colored booths and wood paneling. I mean, Forlini’s is a photogenic delight, how could they not have found this place to take their choreographed photos.

While the food isn’t comparable to my die hard favorites, the garden of eden, L&B Spumoni Gardens or Joe’s of Avenue U, it is still solid “red sauce” at a perfect price point. The connected bar is also a great stop, a mainstay for the court folk (the antithesis of cool kids, or maybe so ironic they ARE cool)!

The food isn’t what brings me back to Forlini’s, it’s soaking in the environment, because it is a special place. Ridiculing the Insta people and their flash-in-the-pan hashtagging aside, I won’t say I am beyond being dazzled by an avocado, salmon or mustard colored interior of our past. I just hope that these Insta people become actual patrons of Forlini’s, bringing a steady flow of business, enabling it to remain one of Lower Manhattan’s last bastions of Italian American authenticity.

Eat Up: Mozzarella & Carozza, Clams Casino, Fried Calamari, homemade chicken-stuffed Anolini and pasta dishes are the way to roll. Order up when it comes to the wine, and start off with a classic cocktail.

Karakatta (230 Thompson Street, Greenwich Village)

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Every time I have a hankering for ramen I think “I need to go to CALCUTTA.” It’s very annoying. Once I remember that this wonderful little space is called Karakatta, the quest begins, and I am pestering Timbo or a friend to join me. Yes I know, we’re all experts on ramen now. We use words like “bouncy, silky, wavy, hand-pulled” to describe the various types of noodles floating before us, and “velvety, umami, murkily hearty” to talk about the broth we slurp up with those large wooden ladles. In a city rife with below average ramen vs. the real deal – I wouldn’t even begin to doubt the validity of Karakatta because upon walking in, you know this is serious biz (the owner also has Mr. Taka on the LES and Bigiya in Japan).

There is a claustrophobic joy brought on by dining here, with every inch of the space serving a dutiful purpose that fits no more than 30 patrons. You’re either propped up on a stool flanking the open kitchen (which is a treat) or nestled tightly in low-level seating. The large neon pink signage emanates throughout the space, seeping into your eyeballs and serving almost as a fiery warning that spiciness is underway. I almost wondered how the lovely servers don’t go slightly jumpy (a la Kramer in the “Kenny Rogers Roasters” neon sign episode).

Take in the blinding surroundings and wait for your palette to be empowered by the jumbo gyoza, pillowy pork steamed buns and the crunchy yet goopy karaage. Karakatta focuses on spicy ramen, and the Spicy Ginger Stamina is the main attraction. One minute your mouth is tingling (you can up the spice levels quite liberally), soothed by ginger zing, then tempered by the tender, smoky pork belly. I love the crunch of the cabbage and peppers for texture’s sake.

Major shout out to their drinks menu. Happy hour is 40% off booze until 7pm on weekdays, including ice cold Japanese beers, and J Pop, wonderfully described as a “1970s Japanese sparkling cocktail.” Even if the ramen was terrible I think I would come back just for the grapefruit J Pop, jumbo gyoza and some happy hour window gazing onto Thompson Street in this delightful hot pink room.

Ideal for: A party of four max, any bigger and getting a table or row at the bar will be difficult and not fun for conversational purposes. If you can, come early (6pm is a golden time).
Eat up: Jumbo Gyoza (pork or veggie), Steamed Buns (pork or fried chicken), Karaage (fried chicken topped with copious scallion and spicy mayo). Spicy Ginger Stamina ramen or Veggie Curry.
Fancy a nearby nightcap? Dante for a romantic cocktail in old-world surroundings or 142 Sullivan to keep the party-in-a-small-space vibe going.

 

Holiday Cocktail Lounge (75 St Marks Place, East Village)

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Authentic dive bars wreaking of mid 20th century charm provide me with joy and comfort. It bothers me to think that in almost 20 years of going out in the East Village I managed to surpass this gem before its renovation and upgrade to match the price tag of today’s EV drinking dens.

I am not a cocktail aficionado. If I never hear the word “mixologist” or am presented with a stupidly pretentious “cocktail programme” ever again, I would be a happy, happy lady. Growing up, cocktails were Tom Collins, Harvey Wallbangers, Long Island Iced Teas… predictable, dated standbys that made you feel a little bit special while safe in the knowledge that two more of those babies and you’re officially in drunkietown, USA. I cringe at the thought of paying $20 for a cocktail, but living in NYC means you will rarely escape this first world fate.

That being said, on a recent rainy Saturday afternoon, Timbo and dear friend Amy (fellow appreciator of all things throwback) decided to pull up a stool around the horseshoe shaped bar, under the twinkly-lit awning. We had already downed a few at Amy’s favorite Joseph Leonard, so what else was there to do but wile away the afternoon supping punch out of a giant copper pineapple?! While I enjoyed the deceptively boozy, tarty drink that kept on giving, I was more impressed with the tasteful preservation of the bar itself. It’s easy to sense that before the 2012 renovation, the floor gave off a pungent scent of matted cigarette smoke, atypical of East Village oldies. It didn’t take much to feel the nostalgia of this basement bar, when the outside world was a dicier, different place than 2018’s version.

All in all, kudos to the proprietors for retaining the simplicity of this bar and not giving into corny, modern design additions (ie mason jars and Edison bulbs) or trying to “Mad Men” up the joint. Amy was drawn to the harem-inspired mural that turned out to be discovered during renovations when the space was known as the Ali Baba Lounge. If you want to save a few bucks, head to the Holiday for happy hour M-F, or lay off the cocktails and stick to averagely-priced beers.

Ideal for: A romantic rendezvous (tuck away in the back room) or a group celebration.
Drink up: Large-format cocktails are a fun share, or kick it simple with a canned beer and take in the environment.

Hunan Slurp (112 1st Avenue, East Village)

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Me + Timbo. In the midst of biting a chili pepper.

Apparently food critics have christened the East Village “Chinatown North.” Okay, whatever – but – that means some great new spots have been popping up. Hunan Slurp is the type of place that shines when dining with a group because it’s all about the sharing factor and discussing the exciting flavors. The menu is divided into appetizers, hot dishes and “mifen” – silky rice noodle bowls that are slightly soupy (hence the “Slurp”), and brimming with protein and veg. Everything was spot on – from the sharing possibilities, the current BYOB policy (awaiting their license) and bright, carefully designed (slightly Scandi) environ. The proprietor/chef is an artist which explained the heightened design sense. Diners sit nestled within an almost futuristic capsule of angular blond wood ceiling beams, oversized mirrors and glowing paper lanterns – with slight nods to heritage while feeling almost Jetson-like. Details extend to the stylish brass and ceramic dinnerware which added to the fun. New York is a Sichuan haven, so it was nice to sample straight-up Hunan food.  The spice factor was perfectly tempered, resulting in a little bit o’ lip tingle. Fires were put out by ice cold Narragansetts. It’s been a while since I’ve been to an affordable restaurant that is so fastidious with the entire experience.

Ideal for: Friends who are into New York’s latest food trends, design fiends, semi-adventurous groups (it gets as daring as chicken feet and frog’s legs), showing how urbane you are to open-minded parents/relatives.
Eat up: Cucumber and Spare Ribs to start. Skewed Beef (the abundance of toothpicks was slightly funny + a red flag as a must share dish), Whole Fish (shredded and drowning in chopped chili sauce), Wild Pepper & Beef Mifen, String Bean Mifen.
Fancy a nearby nightcap? Holiday Cocktail Lounge for cocktails with 2018 pricing in a mid-century den. William Barnacle Tavern is a musty ex-speakeasy with a penchant for absinthe, connected to the wonderfully programmed Theatre 80. Sophie’s is one of the remaining EV dive bars.

Sevilla (62 Charles Street, West Village)

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All roads lead to Sevilla. On a monthly basis I will find any excuse to take someone here, as we’re warmly greeted by waiters in classic uniforms. Sevilla has flanked the corner of Charles and West 4th since the 40s (previously an Irish tavern, reflected in the wood-cut bar, replete with regulars). My family has been coming here for decades and in the past few years I’ve rekindled my loyalty to this window into West Village life. Slide into a (narrow) rickety booth, try (+ definitely don’t mix!) their long list of unwittingly nostalgic cocktails from the Pink Lady to the Dubonnet, followed by a pitcher of sangria and watch the evening blur by.

Ideal for: A leisurely date, a raucous group dinner, indulging your fellow time travelers.
Eat up: Solid Iberian classics: Chicken Empanadas, Manchego, Chorizo and Croquetas to start. Paella Valenciana, Arroz con Pollo, Chicken Extremena and Shrimp Ajillo in all of their garlicky glory. Two main dishes are plenty for three people.
Fancy a nearby nightcap? Sevilla is within arms reach of many longstanding, beloved LGBTQ+ bars, from the Cubby Hole (another spot with an amazing neighborhood view), The Duplex, and Julius. Bobo is great for some pre-dinner happy hour in a whitewashed rustic basement, while St Tropez is the perfect wine bar to keep your date going.

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Every visit is an opportunity to try a different cocktail, then the obligatory sangria + it’s all a blur!