CaB Magazine

Try to imagine the sounds of tinkling ivories, musical comedy, a jazz band, and several dozen men singing showtunes. Now try to imagine them all occurring at the same time. Now put yourself in the picture, sitting in the middle of it all, only somehow it works. Welcome to piano bar row, Grove Street between Bleecker and 7th. Welcome to The Grove Street Cafe.

The setting is definitely designed with the yuppie set in mind. Exposed brick walls, subdued lighting, glass front, sidewalk tables, and a waitstaff that is not only friendly, but is appropriately attractive and trendily dressed. The maitre d’ and manager happily took our bottle of wine (a tangy little bottle of Pomino, from Tuscany) before we were seated and put it on ice to chill. This is probably a good moment to point out that Grove Street is a BYOW – Bring Your Own Wine – kind of venue. A little more candlepower in the overhead fixtures would have helped, but we did manage to browse through our menus by passing the candle around the table.

Luckily, this urbane sophistication does not overwhelm the bill of fare. While chic salads of goat cheese and arugula with balsamic vinegar and the Grove Street Salad of baby shrimp and avocado (slightly skimpy on the avocado according to our expert in such matters) were definitely taste test winners, as too are classics like beef carpaccio with olive oil and shaved parmesan, and the basil, tomato and fresh mozzarella plate.

The main course menu is fairly extensive, and split into three realms – animal, vegetable, and pasta. Although the menu lists a fairly good selection of poultry, from chicken to game hen, and several tasty sounding beef dishes, we have yet to try any of them. We have once sampled the broiled salmon, which is cooked to a nice pinkish-orange medium, that virtually melted on the palate. Our main target has been the pasta selections. Tortellini, ravioli, linguine and fettucine proliferate, both on the regular menu selection and an array of daily specials. Some are simple, like a savory whole-wheat linguine with fresh vegetables. Others are fancier, like the delectable garlicky lobster fettucine. My personal favorite, albeit somewhat on the heavy side, is a plate of fettucine topped with wild porcini and domestic mushrooms in a rich cream sauce.

We capped our most recent evening with a round of espressos (if you like lemon twists, you will have to request them), and an array of desserts from a fresh daily tiramisu to blueberry cheesecake and chocolate cake. Sate, we prepared to leave, only to be presented with snifters of sambucca, adorned with the three apropros coffee beans mucking about in them. There does not seem to be a pattern to this gift, some tables got them, some didn’t, some were flaming, some weren’t.

The Grove Street Cafe should be a definite destination next time you’re in the West Village. Enjoy a meal and then your choice of musical entertainments to drop in on right down the block at The Five Oaks, Rose’s Turn, Arthur’s Tavern, or Marie’s Crisis.

The Grove Street Cafe, 53 Grove Street (between 7th and Bleecker), 924-8299, reservations recommended. Open 7 days a week for dinner, plus weekend brunch. Mastercard and Visa accepted. Dinner, $30-35.

As we all know, some days cheap is the operative force in our lives. Not cheap in quality of course, but, shall we say, easy on the wallet. With this in mind, we set out to visit our favorite low-expense neighborhood, the far East Village. Wandering down Avenue A, we found ourselves at that bastion of Cajun-Italian cooking, Two Boots. Named for its culinary origins (two boots – Italy and Louisiana – you’ll have to supply the visuals), this hopping eatery hangs quietly between 2nd and 3rd Streets.

The decor is classic pizzeria – lots of red and white check, and red walls, and things hanging from the walls, like strings of garlic, baseball pennants and cowboy boots. Cowboy boots? Not to mention the Caribbean and Native American looking chachkas and strings of miniature lights also shaped like boots. Boots are definitely a theme, eclectic though the collection may be. The waitstaff don’t necessarily continue this course, and have sensibly opted for comfortable shoes. I have no doubt this contributes significantly to their cheery manner. The pizza kitchen is open to the dining room, where you can watch the multi-tattooed pizza-maker do his thing, and the main kitchen is hidden away behind.

You may ask, what is Cajun-Italian cooking? The answer ought to be simple, and in this case, it is. Italian food with some Cajun ingredients and Cajun food with some Italian ingredients. That answered, we turned to the menus, which lists a variety of simple appetizers, mostly breaded and fried things, salads and such, which, other folk in the establishment seemed to dig into eagerly. We moved on to bowls of outrageously good and spicy gumbo and red onion soup.

While the main menu offers a diverse grouping of pastas with vegetables, chicken and a range of sauces, the real reason for coming here is the pizza. Take that standard New York thin, crispy crust and top with tomato sauce that has some Cajun fire to it. Topping choices include the old standbys like peperoni, ham and mushrooms, but add in an array from bayou country like hot, smoky andouille and mild tasso sausages, crawfish tails and fresh hot peppers. Another plus is the offering of individual sized pizzas, so everyone at the table gets a personally tailored pie.

We finished off the evening with good old American coffee, and slabs of gooey, luscious chocolate-pecan pie and creamy, rich cheesecake. And to top it all off, our ulterior motive was met, it didn’t hurt to pay the tab at the end of the night.

Two Boots also has two takeout pizzeria locations (Two Boots To Go), one directly across the street from the main restaurant, and another on Bleecker, just east of Broadway. The latter does not, in our collective opinion, live up to the quality of the other two, but it does save a walk to the far eastern frontier.

Two Boots, 37 Avenue A (between 2nd and 3rd Streets), 505-2276. Open 7 evenings a week, 12 p.m. to 12 a.m. American Express accepted. Dinner, $10-15.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

I suppose it was a mistake to sit down and watch Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Cooking videos. I realize it’s not the same as sitting down to, say, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles IIIIIII, but for a chef, it’s darned close. By the end of 130 minutes of tape I had collapsed on the floor, drooling, and moaning for jambalaya and blackened redfish.

Paul Prudhomme, the dean of Cajun cuisine, showed up on the New York scene a few years back with a Big Apple branch of his world famous K-Paul’s. Excessive lines and nearly as excessive prices made this Village eatery excessive for many of our budgets. But now Prudhomme’s former chef, Frank Krebs, has taken over the reins and reopened on the same site as the Louisiana Community Bar & Grill.

Our quartet descended on this darkened depot of the deep south. A minor error in our reservation was taken care of reasonably quickly, but, although tables were available, we were still asked to have a drink at the bar before sitting. We demurred and hovered around the hostess stand until the hint was taken. Passing through the crowded brick bar we reached our red and white checked table – nestled quietly between the swinging kitchen door and the wait-station.

We began with a perky waitress and a round of Cajun style drinks. The fire of Cajun Martinis and Creole Marys, the smoothness of a Hurricane, and a deep, dark Blackened Voodoo beer whetted our appetites perfectly and dulled the roar of the crowd. Appetites were a definite must as the plates of food started rolling in.

The menu at Louisiana changes daily, with some carryovers. We missed out by a day on the smoked crawfish tails, but settled on a selection of gumbo with chicken and andouille sausage and fresh Louisiana oysters on the half shell. Delicious doesn’t begin to describe the gumbo, and the oysters were superbly fresh and tasty. A platter of alligator fritters with garlic mayo arrived. After a sampling of this off-beat (at least for New York) appetizer, we concluded that alligator tastes somewhere between crocodile and rattlesnake. Not like chicken at all. We also gave close attention to the necessary mound of Cajun popcorn – deep-fried crawfish tails with a sherry-mustard sauce.

We bypassed the selection of salads (most of the lettuce we saw looked like it had been wilting in dressing awhile) and po’ boy sandwiches and moved on to the entrees. No one was in the mood for blackened anything, so we disregarded the yellowfintuna, prime rib and pork chops and moved on to what we hoped was lighter fare. No such luck. We found ourselves swamped with a tasty slab of grilled salmon adorned with a, yes, a, crawfish tail and a scattering of chicken and shrimp “Avery Island” on a veritable mound of pasta. In the end, we had a split decision on which was better, the outstanding fried smoked seafood cakes with tasso hollandaise or the incredibly luscious classic crawfish etouffee.

We topped the whole meal off by splitting a large bread pudding with lemon sauce. All in all, service is a bit scattered, albeit friendly, and prices are a trifle high, but I can heartily recommend the food.

Louisiana Community Bar & Grill, 622 Broadway, 460-9633. Open seven days a week for dinner. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner $35-45.

Okay, pop geography quiz. Where is Afghanistan? Yes, I knew it was in Asia too, but I had to look at a map to figure out exactly where. Starting clockwise from the twelve o’clock position, it is surrounded by Tajikstan, China, Pakistan, Iran, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan. If that mix doesn’t have an effect on your cuisine, nothing will. Our favorite place to find out smack in the middle of St. Mark’s Place is Khyber Pass.

Well trodden, bright green carpeting covers the outdoor dining area, an amusing sidewalk spot to sit in warm weather. the rest of the year we enter through the narrow doorway into one of the East Village’s more interesting spacewarps. The dim lighting glows in reflection of silk pillows and highlights intricately woven rugs, tapestries, and yes, afghans. Take a seat in the window and prepare for an exotic feast.

We discovered quickly that our pronunciation of the English transliterations of Pushtu, Dari, and Uzbek just doesn’t make it, and it’s easier to let the waitress select the meal. So I’ll describe what we had instead.

Crispy triangles of pastry stuffed with our choice of pumpkin, scallions or potato and herbs dipped in yoghurt with fresh chopped mint. Savory dumplings, spicy mung bean soup, and herb salads are also around to handle round one.

Moving into the main event, we found ourselves confronted with a selection of “kabobs” – delicious skewered filet mignon, lamb, chicken, or vegetables charcoal grilled to juicy perfection. Vegetarian specialties abound and range from sweet, deeply spiced roast pumpkin to “palau” (pilaf) of fresh vegetables on rice with raisins and nuts. Palau is also available in meat varieties, as are most of the dishes. Lamb is especially prevalent. Among my favorites, the simple selection of buttered noodles topped with a choice of meat, yoghurt, or onion sauces. Though there is that incredible roasted game hen with orange peel, nuts, spices…

We generally pass on the desserts, but the rice pudding with rosewater is good if you are among those who like rosewater. A waitress here once explained that it is traditional to end an evening meal with a steaming mug of cardamom tea, and personally, I like the tradition. For those who want other options, everything from herbal teas to Turkish coffee, thick as mud, are available.

Khyber Pass also offers two prix fixe options – one a $36.00 dinner for two selected direct from the menu, the other, and one we’ll be trying one day, a $200.00 “King’s Feast” for four that must be ordered a week in advance to give the chef a chance to plan something special for you.

Khyber Pass, 34 St. Mark’s Place (at 2nd Avenue), 473-0989. Open seven days a week for dinner, and serves late on weekends. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner, $15-25.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

Let me start with the obvious. China is a big place. With almost four million square miles of land a billion residents, there are a lot of variations on home cooking. There’s an area in the northeast that the Chinese call Tung Pei and Americans call Manchuria. In truth, Tung Pei no longer exists as an entity, and has fractured into the provinces of Kirin, Liaoning and Heilung Kiang. Bordered on different sides by Mongolia, Russia and Korea, and once under Japanese domination, the cuisine has developed some interesting stylistic blends.

There are a lot of Chinese folk here in New York, too. Strangely, for many years no one brought the tastes of Manchuria to our fair city. Then, seven years ago, restaurateur Jimmy Sung decided it was about time to introduce New Yorkers to the flavors of his northeast. Combining the talents of some top chefs, he brought Manchurian and Hunan dishes to the second floor of the Hotel Lexington, at J. Sung Dynasty.

One of the perks of being a restaurant reviewer is that sometimes I get invited to be the guest of a local restaurateur looking for a little publicity. This can make things difficult if the restaurant isn’t worth the trip. Luckily, in this case the food and ambience make it easy to like. Climbing the stairs off 48th Street, we were greeted by dozens of photos of Jimmy himself with sports and political figures from all over the world. A thank-you note and photograph from Jean Kirkpatrick graces the coatcheck. All of this opens up into a beautifully designed formal dining room, with private banquet alcoves surrounding.

The service is efficient, if a bit stiff. Most of the staff we had contact with spoke fluent English, a nice change from the typical Chinese establishment in this town. When Mr. Sung is present, he brings a cheerfulness and enthusiasm for his restaurant that infects the staff; if he could bottle it and leave it when he’s not around, he’d have it made.

The menu starts with the standard numbered fare found anywhere. It ends with a description of the restaurant’s founding and the cuisines served. In between are the Manchurian and Hunan specialties and a delightful taste treat. There’s also a complete wine list, with upwards of thirty top-notch choices. The biggest plus here is that you know immediately that the ingredients are fresh. From the first bite, I had no worries that anything had been sitting around waiting for an unsuspecting customer to drop in.

I recommend starting the meal with dumplings. There are the usual fried variety, which are tasty enough, but for a nice change try the Steamed Dumplings in Hot Oil – delicate rice noodle packages with a mildly spicy sesame sauce. The Crispy Spring Rolls are another good choice, and count on the dipping sauce being a whole lot better than what normally shows up in those plastic packets. The soups are generally good, though a bit bland for our tastes.

If you’re feeling a bit daring, give the Flavored Crispy Jelly Fish a shot. Unlike the usual tasteless rubber-textured mound, you’ll find yourself nibbling on brightly vinegared and seasoned seafood that may change your opinion about trying the unusual. While you can certainly order your main course from the customary selection, I recommend diving right into the specialties of the house. On the Hunan side, you’ll find everything from honey-cured and smoked ham in herbs to lobster in garlic and ginger sauce. Top raves go to the Tangy Tangerine Beef, a nice twist on the usual orange variety found around town. Crystal Prawns with Walnuts, dressed in a lightly seasoned sauce also got a thumbs up.

J. Sung Dynasty is also one of the few places around that you don’t have to order your Peking Duck the day before you show up for dinner. With the dozens of orders requested out of the kitchen each evening, the chefs make it fresh every day.

From the Manchurian options, I can heartily recommend the Sweet and Sour Crispy Fish. This lightly breaded treat is actually cooked through, and coated with one of the best glazes I’ve tasted on this dish. Sizzling crisp-fried Dalian Scallops are another good choice. The beancurd casserole is a litte bland but with some salt and pepper picked right up, and certainly made a nicer light choice than some of the tofu dishes we’ve been subjected to. Top honors go to the Smoked duckling Chang Chun Style with crispy vegetables drizzled in hot sauce, and the Sauteed Chang-Pei Pheasant in savory brown sauce.

Make J. Sung Dynasty a definite stop next time you’re hanging around Grand Central Station. And tell Jimmy who sent you.

J. Sung Dynasty, 511 Lexington Avenue (at 48th Street), second floor in the Hotel Lexington, 355-1200. Open 7 days a week for lunch and dinner. All major credit cards. Lunch, $20-25; Dinner, $35-40.

Ever since I saw The King and I when I was a child, I’ve been impressed by things Thai. Surrounded by the mountains of Laos and Burma, and the jungles and plateaus of Cambodia and Malaysia, the cuisine of Thailand has not only its own magic, but the influence of those other national cuisines as well. I realize that the hallmark of Thai restaurants is to have cheerful waiters, but if you like that style almost to excess, and food that is a definite cut above the norm, Bangkok House is the place to go.

From the moment you enter this lavender, bamboo and polished-wood upper east side establishment, you’ll be fussed over by some of the most chipper waiters this side of the Hudson.

It’s almost always hard to get a group of folks to agree on splitting fewer appetizers than there are people, especially when everything smells and looks wonderful. Our waiter happily agreed to have the kitchen make up a sample platter with some of the house favorites. The Beef Satay (Sate) was grilled perfectly and served with a peanut sauce and cucumber “salsa” that outshines the usual. Paw-Pyak, or spring rolls, were crispy little fingers of flavor served with mild and medium-spicy dipping sauces. (If you want things really spicy here, you have to insist.) Paw-Yak Koong, jumbo shrimp stuffed with black mushrooms, pork and white pepper wrapped and deep-fried were a new treat for all of us, as were the Hoi-Jo, a delicious combination of pork, shrimp and bamboo shoots deep-fried in bean curd.

Outside of this selection, I can personally recommend my favorite Thai dish, Laab Gai, tiny bits of minced chicken dressed in ground chili, onion and lime juice, extra spicy, of course.

The main courses run the gamut of Thai food, with everything from sauteed broccoli (Koong Ka-Na) to the deep-fried spare ribs (Si-Krong Mu). Everything we’ve had here was wonderful and beautifully presented. Extra sighs of contentment went to the house specials, including Pod Ma-Kahm, my personal choice, a superb crispy half duck and fruit drizzled with a tamarind and curry sauce. Also the Haw-Muck, a spicy combination of shrimp, scallops, mussels, squid, and sole steamed in red curry and coconut milk; and the Gai-Ta Krai, or lemongrass chicken, a delicious marinated and sliced breast of chicken, cooked to perfection. If you don’t have personal favorites, let your waiter pick out a selection for you, you won’t be disappointed. Bangkok House also has a short dessert list but unlike the usual fare of ice creams and fruit this one is worth at least sampling – creamy coconut Thai Custard, Fried Wrapped Bananas soaked in honey and sesame seeds, and Chocolate Mousse.

Bangkok House, 1485 First Avenue (between 77th and 78th), 249-5700. Open 7 days a week for dinner, takeout and delivery available. All major credit cards. Dinner $25-30.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

Travel has been hard for me ever since spending a day unsuccessfully searching Paddington Station in London for a bear from deepest, darkest Peru. So I looked with trepidation towards thirty hours in transit to the land of Oz. But according to our Editor-in-Chief, we have two, count them, two, paid subscribers in Sydney. Who am I not to serve our readership?

So here I am, sitting on a balcony above Mosman Bay, an extension of Sydney Harbour. The haunting throb of local kookaburras echoes around the marina. A small group of rainbow lorikeets are perched on the railing begging for food.

Three and a half million people seems a small number for a melting pot when you’re used to New York City’s teeming masses. But Sydney is a stunning metropolitan area with everything from high-rises to bushlands to white sand beaches, and people from all over the planet have been wandering in for decades.

This is a country where a local chef informed me the typical citizen is likely to be happy consuming “bangers and mash” three meals a day, every day. It seems a contest at times whether the traditional Britishisms of the cuisine will give way to the onslaught of Asian, North and South American, African, and other European culinary invasions.

Native Australian ingredients do find their way into dishes from around the globe. Warrigal greens, wattle seeds and Balmain bugs are common enough on menus. On the other hand, the “bush” fare of the indigenous aboriginal population is unlikely to touch the average Sydney-sider’s palate. Witjuti grubs, blue-tailed skinks and fruit bats just aren’t on the daily bill of fare. With this in mind, I set forth to find out just what was happening at the local fine dining establishments.

Every major city has one restaurant that is a local secret shrine of incredible dining that natives just refer to as “the restaurant.” Sydney denizens have it lucky – hidden away in a back alley on a hill above Darling Harbour, theirs is aptly named simply, The Restaurant. Recommended by one of Australia’s most noted food writers, Stephanie Alexander, the choice was confirmed by my companion as his favorite in the city.

Down a flight of carved stone steps, a glowing garden of tables invited us to sit outside the slightly austere dining room. Alerted in advance to the presence of your faithful reviewer, Chef Stefano Manfredi greeted us as swiftly as his thoroughly competent waiters. At his suggestion we bypassed the menu and let him treat us to a stream of Aussie-Italian gastronomy not to be missed.

We started with a basket of fresh bread dipped in a glassy pool of olive oil and a bottle of one of the best cabernet sauvignons I’ve had (Plantagenet Cabernet Sauvignon, 1986, from Mount Barker in Western Australia), with a taste of ripe plums, cinnamon and toasted oak. Our plated courses began with seared Queensland scallops on a bed of linguini and sun-dried tomatoes tossed with garlic-olive oil. Sorry Long Island, but these scallops had more sweetness and flavor in their, ummm, little fingers, than a dozen from the Sound. For a second appetizer, a local delicacy, yabbies (something like what you’d get if you crossed a crayfish and a shrimp) served with incredibly light spinach gnocchi in a pool of browned butter.

We were then presented with a fish course of savory grilled kingfish steaks atop sauteed Chinese greens and accompanied by an olive puree and a basil, parsley, garlic and olive oil salsa verde. A meat course of baby lampchops from the Illabo region (you know, over near Wagga Wagga…) roasted with new potatoes and rosemary was good, but I must admit, baby lambchops don’t hold a candle to the adult ones in my palate. The final entree, roast pigeon (squab for the squeamish among you) was a stunning finish.

After a bit of time to settle comfortably, a platter of desserts was ceremoniously laid between us. A trio of baklava, an incredible pistachio mousse and slices of a delicious macadamia log was plated with scoops of outrageous pumpkin ice cream and tangy fruit sorbet. Scattered caramelized figs, and fresh rasp- and blueberries provided color and contrast. The Restaurant is a definite must-go when you visit Sydney.

The Restaurant, 88 Hacket Street, Ultimo, 281-2808. Cash or credit cards. Dinner $60-70 (US $40-45).

When the name of a restaurant comes up more than once in unrelated and unexpected conversation, I’ve been known to pay attention. A local chef had made a couple of his personal recommendations, and the young lady cutting my hair (and berating me for not doing it more often) announced firmly her favorite, a not to be missed, once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, on one of my solo nights out, I presented myself at Rockpool.

Located in the midst of The Rocks, Sydney’s version of the South Street Seaport, only much more so, this art deco establishment serves up top-flight “new Australian” cuisine. The waitstaff is competent and efficient, albeit slightly stiff. An eclectic mix of local and imported ingredients are prepared by Chef Neal Perry with touches of French, Middle Eastern and Asian style.

Ice water is not an automatic assumption in Australia, and is generally difficult to convince anyone to bring you. Rockpool won immediate American points by offering (and refreshing throughout the evening) a large tumblerful. This was followed by a first course perched on an ornate silver stand with a mound of shaved ice, a generous spoon of sevruga caviar atop a fresh Sydney Harbour oyster. A light squirt of lemon and I was primed for an impressive evening.

The first wine selected by the chef was a young, lemony Clare Valley Riesling with slightly grassy overtones (Grosset Polish Hill 1992 from Auburn, South Australia). Accompanying was a delicious dish of beautifully plated slices of steamed crayfish on a bed of braised looko and lamb’s lettuce and a sauce of olive oil, golden raisins, toasted pinenuts and strips of dried mango. A plate of crisp and savory pappadam triangles sat neatly on the side. This was followed by delightful sea scallops, seared and served with hummus and fava beans, all drizzled with a garlicky olive oil.

With a little respite to compose my appetite, my waiter delivered the next wine, a stunningly rich and buttery Chardonnay with a touch of toasted oak and crisp apples (1992 Pipers Brook Vineyard, from, oddly enough, Pipers Brook, Tasmania). the next course served up was the only disappointment of the evening. A Spanner crab and bean sprout omelette served in broth flavored with an Asian fish sauce. Unfortunately, the omelette became quickly soggy in the broth, and the sweet and delicate flavor of the crab was lost in the strength of the other flavors. However, this was immediately made up for with a main course of herb encrusted (turmeric, coriander, cumin, Spanish onion) salmon filet, pan-blackened and served with a red pepper sauce and savory roasted Szechuan eggplant.

The main course was followed by Rockpool’s signature dessert, a date tart, filled with plump California dates baked in a custardy pastry cream. Sighing contentment, I was unprepared for a second offering of caramelized nectarines layered with crisp waffles. the whole assemblage sat amidst a pool of caramel and vanilla bean sauce, with a scoop of nectarine ice cream at the side. I couldn’t have been happier, or fuller. Simply, add Rockpool to your Sydney itinerary.

Rockpool, 109 George Street, The Rocks, 252-1888. Cash and credit cards. Dinner $75-80 (US $50-55).

[A third review was omitted from the published version because of space issues. Here ’tis.]

The following evening, a trio of friends insisted we drop in on a more casual venue in the neighborhood, The Bathers Pavilion. The building is indeed a former bathers’pavilion, for many years now a delightful restaurant and soon to be a small hotel. It sits squarely on Balmoral Esplanade and looks over an attractive, sandy beach and cove. The atmosphere inside is as relaxed as outside, with customers sometimes climbing in the windows from the beach and the staff attired in jeans and Pavilion t-shirts. Don’t let appearances deceive, the young and attractive group working the floor are completely knowledgeable about the food they are serving and their sommelier is one of the best I have met.

Chef Genevieve Harris joined the restaurant less than a month ago after a stint as the executive chef at Amankila Resort in Bali, and it was generally agreed by the staff that she was the perfect choice. While she was not present this night, her second, Greg Smith, took exquisite care of us. Unlike the standard tasting series of small plates, he served up platters of food that allowed us to sample a rather extensive range of the kitchen’s offerings.

We opened the evening with a light, dry 1990 Riesling from Howard Park (the private label of Plantagenet Vineyards) in Mount Barker, Western Australia, tasting of under-ripe peaches with a slightly dusty finish. Our appetizers arrived on two huge stoneware ovals and were divided amongst our plates as the waiter described each dish. The cold platter contained three delightful selections: a salmon tartare, lightly dressed and served on toast; a timbale of roast eggplant filled with goat cheese; and tea-smoked river trout with caramelized onions, lovage and feta cheese. The hot plate provided us with two superb dishes, Yamba king prawns with “rag” pasta, tomatoes and olives; and Western Australia sea scallops with sauteed pine mushrooms on a parsnip rosti (basically, a latke).

Giving us a bit of time to digest and look out over the water, our sommelier stepped in with his next selection, a 1990 Chardonnay from Geoff Weaver’s Stafford Ridge Winery in Lenswood, South Australia. This turned out to be one of the more unusual chardonnays I’ve ever tasted with a strong flavor that I could only describe as burnt vanilla and what one of my companions thought hinted at aniseed. I was at a loss to guess what dishes might go with it, but the chef came through. John Dory fillets, crusted lightly with pepper and served on top of crisp green beans and a mound of babaganoush made a light and tasty fish course. Next to this was a delectable Victorian salmon fillet surrounded by roast peppers, prosciutto and caramelized figs.

Almost simultaneously, our third wine arrived, a last remaining half bottle of Mount Mary Vineyard 1987 Cabernet from Lilydale in Victoria. We were informed that this might just be the best cabernet ever to come out of Victoria. It was appealing with its strong flavors of tart cherries and pepper. The kitchen served up a platter containing slices of Illabo lamb with field mushrooms atop a smooth puree of garlicky potatoes and a wonderful roast breast of guinea fowl with spinach, garlic and almonds.

We were then allowed to sit comfortably and chat for long enough to recover from this largess. But soon, a small bottle of Petaluma 1988 Botrytis Riesling was brought to the table. This absolutely delightful dessert wine with its flavors of apricots and spice was a perfect close to the meal. Especially when accompanied by two platters of desserts. A fresh raspberry and clotted cream tart left my companions unimpressed, but I like simple desserts. The chocolate and hazelnut semifreddo gave us our chocolate fix without overdoing it. The cinnamon bakhlava with custard filling and nectarine, roasted almond and candied orange rind salad was superb. The crowning selection, however, was coconut lace wafers with slices of fresh mango, whipped mascarpone cheese and a scoop of mango sorbet.

What can I say? If you have a taste for suburbia, relaxed atmosphere, a pretty view, and good food and wine, drop in on The Bathers Pavilion.

The Bathers Pavilion, The Esplanade, Balmoral, 968-1133. Cash and credit cards. Dnner $65-70 (US$45-50).

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

February is a time for romance, for fantasy, for coziness. It’s a time of holidays, of festivals, of celebrations. After starting off the month watching shadow-boxing groundhogs and the Japanese throwing beans on Setsubun, I’m ready for the grand twin festivals of Tu B’Shevat and Mexican Constitution Day. A couple of presidents, were they still alive, would be celebrating birthdays in the three digits.

By the end of the first two weeks I’m ready for the middle of the month fertility rites of Valentine’s Day and Lupercalia. Give me a small, intimate and romantic restaurant, where the staff are willing to have a little fun, and so is the chef. I may even take a date.

In preparation, the gang gathered for advance reconnaissance and took over a quiet corner at The Black Sheep Tavern Nestled in the back streets of the West Village, this corner bistro fits the bill perfectly. I was immediately impressed with the notations at the bottom of the menu that for humanitarian reasons, veal is not served, fish is line caught (no nets that might trap dolphins), and meats are free of steroids and antibiotics. Our health virtually guaranteed, we started a more thorough read of the fare.

The Black Sheep has a great menu setup that allows you to order either a la carte or in complete, 5-course dinner style. Each table starts off the evening with a basket of bread and large crudite bowl (fresh and marinated veggies for the uninitiated) and a good sized ramekin of aioli (garlic mayo) for dipping. With a selection of everything from carrot and celery sticks to cool steamed potatoes and beet-juice marinated cauliflower, this is one of the tastier alternatives we’ve had to start off an evening.

The staff is cheerful, quick and knowledgeable about the food and wines they’re serving. They do have a tendency to hover a bit, especially around those dining solo, as if feeling a need to keep you company. Wine service is a bit of a production, and could be done competently with a bit less effort. But all around, we had fun, and one looked disappointed when we didn’t want fresh pepper on each and every item on the plate.

The food here is hearty, and definitely not for the timid of stomach or light in appetite. Roasted corn chowder, grilled chicken salad, wine-steamed mussels, roast polenta with artichokes and Jarlsberg cheese, and wild mushroom ravioli are enough to whet just about any appetite. The terrine of orange duck, seasoned with brandy, oranges and a touch of wild lavender, is first rate.

The fried calamari is lightly breaded in cornmeal and served with a superb lemon and herb sauce. We found the sauce a little overpowering for the light flavor of the calamari, which we dipped in our aioli instead, and then promptly mopped up every drop of the lemon and herb sauce with the bread and grilled eggplant and zucchini that accompanied it. My personal favorite is, without second thought, the brandade de morue, a puree of salt cod, olive oil, garlic, cream and potatoes served on toasted garlic bread with marinated tomatoes and black olives.

For main courses, there is a range that covers everything from vegetarian fusilli in mushroom, vegetable, cream and fresh basil sauce to roast rack of lamb Provencale with a crust of herbs and mustard. The Norwegian salmon filet is cooked to perfection and served atop a salad of roasted grains and sweet peppers. The tuna steak is grilled rare and served swimming in tomato, olive and caper broth. Medallions of beef tenderloin rest comfortably alongside roasted shallots, lightly dressed in a red wine sauce spiked with smoky bacon.

As usual, we dug into some of the more interesting sounding menu items. The confit of duck leg was tender and meaty. Personally, I’ve had better, but the gang outvoted me, and I had to agree that the sweet and spicy ginger-plum sauce and pineapple chutney were perfect accompaniments. The steak au poivre is done to order and topped with cracked peppercorns, shallots, brandy and cream. At the peak of my list was the barbecued, marinated leg of lamb in North African spices and garlic, with white beans and mint mounded underneath. A light salad to clear the palate and we were ready for dessert.

Unfortunately, after several trips, I must admit that I’m not overly impressed with the desserts. The selections sounds great, especially the old-fashioned bourbon-sweet potato pie with toasted pecans, the Brittany butter-almond cake filled with prune and apricot and the banana cake with praline butterscotch frosting. They’re not bad, but they’re just not as exceptional as the rest of the meal. Creme brulee should have its sugar topping caramelized just before serving so you have not only a texture contrast but a temperature one too. Not here, I’d pass on it. Sample from the great after-dinner drink selection and wander on down to the closest cabaret to round out the night.

The Black Sheep Tavern, 344 West 11th Street (at Washington STreet), 242-1010. Reservations recommended. Cash or American Express only. Open seven days a week. Dinner $35-45.

A year or so ago, I was perusing a local restaurant guide and noticed a place that consistently was rated cozy and fun, with good food besides, by reviewers and patrons alike. Such concordance being fairly unusual, we checked the place out. We were suitably impressed, but hadn’t ventured back. With the theme of this column carved in stone, Angler’s & Writers came to mind immediately. [The apostrophe seems to have crept into the published copy, I’m guessing some sort of spell checker was employed.]

Once again, we garnered a corner table with sweeping view of the room. Of course, the place isn’t all that large, so the sweeping doesn’t take all that long. On the other hand, there’s a lot to see. Fishing and boating memorabilia are scattered throughout the room. ON the walls, on tables, on floors. We didn’t see much in the way of writing implements, other than a pen and guest book on a small desk at the door. Perhaps writers are expected to bring their own, which I had.

The staff is unrelentingly friendly, eager to please, and a trifle confused. IN the course of five minute the maitre d’and two waiters came around to give us the specials list. this initially seemed excessive, but since they each gave us a different list, we weren’t quite sure if it was. We settled on the list given by the second waiter, a charming young man from Alaska, mostly because he was the last. It also turned out he was right.

It was a cold evening, and we all opted for soup to start off. Chicken and vegetable sounded a bit tame, we went for the yellow split pea and the whitefish chowder. Both were absolutely delicious, perfectly seasoned and just the way I’d make them at home. The ubiquitous basket of bread helped us sponge up every last drop.

The menu is split into family-style and lighter-style selections. The implication being, I suppose, that families don’t eat light. Or something. There didn’t seem to be a clear difference in presentation of style, but more int he vein of traditional American cooking versus other stuff. Amongst the “light” offerings were a terrine of goose with lingonberries and sweet mustard providing a nice contrast, a roast half-chicken with sauteed spinach, and a hefty plate of gnocchi. Favorites around the table were the smoked salmon and one of the evening’s specials, chicken romagno, with roasted peppers and mushrooms.

On the family side, the battered whitefish was light and crispy, and the stew gave us a nice choice of beef, veal and venison. I went for the roasted chicken with stuffing (okay, for the native easterners, dressing) which was cooked just right and had a nice selection of roasted vegetables on the side. The lamb and mashed potato casserole was also a hit.

Desserts are appropriately family style also, with a selection of pies and cakes in portions big enough to really dig into. Ignore the list at the bottom of the menu, just ask one of the waiters for the evening’s selctions. Just ask one though, or you may get a different opinion. From a myriad of fruit pies and cakes, we selected the mixed brry pie and the apple-plum crumble. Both were, quite simply, good.

Angler’s & Writers offers a nice selection of teas and after dinner coffees to finish off your meal. We unreservedly recommend the Rum Runner’s Cafe, a blend of coffee, maple syrup, rum and cocoa.

Angler’s & Writers, 420 Hudson Street (at St. Luke’s Place), 675-0810. Cash or check only. No reservations. Open seven days a week for lunch/brunch and dinner. Dinner, $30-40.

Somewhere back in the early 00s, long before I’d converted this website to a blog format, I just had these reviews up, along with all the rest, as pages on a regular website. I was contacted by someone, claiming to be involved in a lawsuit that had something to do with The Black Sheep Tavern (long closed at that point), I wasn’t clear whether he was representing the restaurant, employees, or someone else, and demanding that I remove the review from my site as it was prejudicial and could be used against him. WTF? I mean, this is just an electronic record of a print review that was already out there, and I can’t imagine anything in what I said about the restaurant influencing a legal proceeding. Needless to say, despite his demands and threats of suing me if I didn’t, I ignored him, and never heard from him again.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

The New Year is a time of noise. Balls dropping, crowds cheering, Royal Canadians playing, party horns bleating, bells ringing, and resolutions breaking. Auld Lang Syne is the song of the moment, the Superbowl is filling the airwaves, and another year has passed, leaving us, as always, hungry for more.

Once the hangover passes (the punch must have been spiked with Everclear), it’s time to continue our early year noise binge. Sometimes the gang is just in the mood for loud. Someplace with an ear-pounding, mind-numbing ambience, where not only can you not hear yourself think, but you know there’s no sense in even trying.

When the desire of the moment is the din of hundreds of voices, each raised to out-decibel its neighbors, we head for America. From the massive glass and brass doors to the neon stripes washing across the ceiling, from colorful murals adorning the walls and ceiling to a bar raised like a dais almost half a block away from the entrance, America is big, bright, bold, and brassy, a reflection of the owner’s concept of the country it is named for. Everything is oversized, with plates and bowls big enough for family servings.

The food, too, is America. There are South Carolina Low Country Crab Cakes, New Orleans Oyster Po’Boys, Cajun sausage Po’Boys, and Wisconsin garlic sausage sandwiches with sauerkraut and brown mustard. Chowders from New England Clam to Southwestern Corn, California avocados, New Jersey tomatoes, and New Mexican blue corn dot the menu. There’s even a Fluffernutter Sandwich (for those poor, unfortunate souls who haven’t a clue, it’s a peanut butter and marshmallow “fluff” on white bread). The menu stretches ever on and on, and we’ve spent upwards of half an hour just to figure out which of the fourteen categories (Soups, Appetizers, Egg Dishes, Omelettes, Salads, Griddle Cakes, Side Dishes, Entrées, America’s Sliders, Hamburgers, Pastas, Sandwiches, Pizzas, and Desserts) our food will come from. We haven’t even looked at the “special” menu.

One ritual must for the table is a basket of semolina herb bread topped with avocado butter, sundried tomatoes and Vermont brie. Start with the wild mushroom and shallot strudel, the duck terrine with apricots, walnuts, and pear chutney, or maybe the grilled duck sausage with Creole mustard sauce. It you’re in the mood for some spice, the quesadilla with chorizo sausage and poblano peppers or the New Mexican black bean cakes are hits, if a touch mild for my personal tastes. The applewood smoked chicken salad is one of our favorites, the San Francisco duck salad with macadamias and ginger chutney comes in a close second. We haven’t tried, but we’ve noted the Salade Mimi, with its iceberg lettuce and Thousand Island dressing.

There are almost too many things to choose from for our entrées. Will it be a night of pizza, with lamb sausage and roasted sweet peppers, or wild mushroom and pesto, or four cheeses? Perhaps dishes from the griddle menu, like apple and black pecan flapjacks, or Indian corn cakes with bacon and maple syrup. We pass on the Blue Plate Special, and decide that if we ever want “sliders”, we’ll hit the local White Castle. Maybe the Long Island duck pot pie or the Jersey pork chops with onions, gravy, dream whips and sautéed apples. One of my favorites is from the pasta menu, duckling meatballs braised in demi-glace with Cabernet Sauvignon and buckwheat noodles. Another thumbs up for the angel hair with rock shrimp and a tomato dill cream sauce.

Coffee is served in mugs the size of soup bowls. Death by Chocolate is a definite killer, with enough chocolate and enough size for the most dedicated chocoholics among us. The Mendocino Mud Pie with vanilla bean ice cream isn’t far behind. A White Chocolate mousse cake gets the nod from the gang’s white chocolate fanatic. And there’s even a real Key Lime Pie with just enough bite to brighten the end of the meal.

America, 9 East 18th Street (between Fifth Avenue and Broadway), 505-2110. Open for lunch and dinner, 7 days a week. Reservations recommended. All major credit cards accepted. Lunch $20-30. Dinner $30-40.

“Music so loud, it’ll spin you around, till your soul has lost its way…” Sometimes the pandemonium we’re looking for is that of lyrics and tunes. Booming from speakers mounted above in the the exposed pipe and brick trendy architecture. We stumble our way to Lox Around the Clock. Chelsea’s answer to the Lower East Side’s old line lox shops and Broadway’s touristy pastrami palaces.

I grew up hearing that there were basically five kinds of Jews; Hasidic, Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, and Gastronomic. Lox Around the Clock is the in-vogue stop for the latter. Service is a bit ditzy, but always with a smile. Our waiter can be counted on to recommend “whatever you feel like eating.” The multi-paned windows give a great view of passing foot traffic, with its usual Chelsea amusements.

We may as well start with a selection of all of our favorites. The chopped chicken liver prepared with garlic and hard boiled eggs, maybe a little hummus plate with pita bread, and a few cheese blintzes and pierogi. My choice, the potato pancakes, can be had with the traditional applesauce and sour cream or fancied-up with smoked salmon and salmon caviar. Personally, I’m not a borscht fan, but friends at the table say this one is first rate. The chicken and matzoh-ball soup certain is.

Entrées center around the world of sandwiches. I’m not sure if we’ve tried anything else. Sometimes we want something as simple as bagels with lox and cream cheese, or smoked whitefish, or even a little more chopped liver. Other times, a reasonably good burger, available in ground beef and turkey versions. But the homemade challah bread makes the regular sandwich selection the hands-down favorites. The curried chicken salad and sliced turkey breast sandwiches get good marks. But the all around winners are the lobster club with lobster, avocado, egg, bacon, lettuce and tomato, and the lox, cream cheese, capers, red onion, and tomato sandwich.

By the time we get to dessert, most of us are too full to move. But on occasion, we’ve managed to inhale a brownie a la mode, the sour cream apple walnut pie, or a banana split. I go for the bread pudding soaked in brandy. All this, they’re open late, and the Limelight is just down the block…

Lox Around the Clock, 676 Sixth Avenue (at 21st Street), 691-3535. Open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (7 a.m. to 4 a.m. Sunday to Thursday and 24 hours on Friday and Saturday). Take-out and delivery available. American Express, Visa, Mastercard, and Transmedia credit cards accepted. Lunch or dinner $15-20.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

Home for the holidays. An image that conjures up either nostalgia or terror, and sometimes both. For those who are off to visit the sites of childhood, parental retirement, or sibling settlement, I wish you well, peace on earth, joy to the world, etc., etc. For those away from home who remain behind in the Big Apple, I wish you a season safe from marauding tourists and roving packs of Kris Kringle Klones.

Although I would normally refrain from connecting food and illness, one malady seems fitting at this time of year. An infirmity which strikes when least expected – homesickness. The cure is not to pack your bags and hop on the next bus to the family estate. The reality of home has little to do with the imagined version. Better to hike yourself over to the closest “home-cooking” establishment and inhale the aromas of food that your mom never really did prepare, even though you’re quite sure you remember it that way…

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to round up the gang and head over to a place called Miss Elle’s Homesick Bar and Grill. It’s not often that we venture to the Upper West Side, but I figured we could always drop in for a set at Stand-Up New York after we dined.

Let me just say I really do mean the following as a compliment. Miss Elle herself greeted us, and as she guided us through the eclectically southern kitsch bar and dining areas, I found myself having visions of Miss Mona and The Chicken Ranch. There was a homey, easy quality about the room that, without being elegant, defines southern charm.

We came in with the expectation that the menu would be loaded with southern fare. While Miss Elle’s certainly serves southern dishes, especially side dishes, the menu is an interesting selection of cross-country entries, plus an entire section devoted to Italian pastas. Although peanut butter and banana (or jelly) sandwiches, chips and dip, beaners and wieners, and the “left-over sandwich (ask!)” provided us with amusing conversational ice-breakers, we decided on slightly more sophisticated sustenance.

Fried calamari was crisp and light, though just slightly over-cooked. Its mild dipping sauce was a nice change from the sweat-inducing condiments generally served with this dish. Cream of mushroom soup was hearty and tasty. And Aunt Sadie’s Chopped Liver was just as I imagine Aunt Sadie made it. Although good, it could have used a little seasoning.

We passed on the Italian fare, which seemed fairly simple, ranging from basic spaghetti and meatballs to fusilli with broccoli and mushrooms in garlic butter, after passing through “Oo-La-La-Lasagana”. I recommend the chicken dishes and the Chicken Française in particular. Lightly breaded and sautéed it was topped with an unusually intense lemon and butter sauce. A butterflied rainbow trout was topped with capers the size of marbles and bits of lemon pulp that, while delicious on their own, overpowered the delicacy of the fish. A grilled tuna steak was simply prepared, and cooked medium – slightly more than we generally like it, but not overdone. Accompaniments incline toward the south with light and fluffy mashed potatoes, carrots slightly candied with cinnamon, sweet potato fries, macaroni and cheese, and fried cauliflower among the offerings.

The dessert list was pure indulgence. Peach pie, berry pie, cheesecake, and banana cream pie all peaked our interest. Our chocoholics opted for the fudge cake, and deemed it a hit. My personal favorite was the harvest pie, a composite of apples, pears, and apricots in a flaky crust with a crumble topping. Warmed with vanilla ice cream on the side, the pies are definite musts. If, for some inexplicable reason, you find yourself on the Upper West Side, Miss Elle’s makes a nice home away from home.

Miss Elle’s Homesick Bar and Grill, 226 West 79th Street (near Broadway), 595-4350. Open 7 days a week for lunch, brunch and dinner. All major credit cards. Lunch $5-15, Brunch $10-15, Dinner $15-25. Free delivery to the Upper West Side.

I wanted to continue our venturing to the far reaches of the East Village, so when I spotted “home-cooking” in a Zagat guide description, we headed for the border of Alphabetland. Billing itself as German-Swiss with a touch of French and Italian, Roettele A.G. conjured a vision that it lived up to. We entered through a narrow foyer with pastry display case and take-out counter. Two long rooms, barely wider than the foyer are dark, with heavy wood beams and paneling. A string trio in traditional suspenders contrasted with dangling silver earrings played bas, fiddle and hammered autoharp in the corner.

A beer and wine list was presented first and included a small but very select group. German beers and wines top the list, a few French and Italian selections follow. We promptly ordered a round or two. The all-around favorite at the table was a Doppel Bokk beer with a name longer than a stretch limo and a rich, smoky and slightly sweet flavor that impressed even our non-beer drinkers. We were also presented with a “fondue” menu, with prix fixe mega-cheese dinners in three varieties. We passed and turned to the regular menu, which changes weekly.

The polyglot menu is a trifle disconcerting with German, French, and Italian lined up in random order, but at least they relate to the origins of the particular dishes they title. English translations are scripted below each. The “vorspelsen”, or appetizers this week covered a mixed salad, a frisée salad with bacon and sausage, a herring and potato salad, onion tart, lentil soup, mozzarella with tomato coulis, duck liver mousse, dried Swiss beef, and melted Belsano cheese with cornichons and boiled potatoes. My personal favorite was the Stuttgarter Zwiebelkuchen, or classic Stuttgart onion tart, which was beautifully presented and savory with sweet onions. Appetizer portions are a bit small given their prices, but the entrées more than make up for the missing volume.

“Hauptapeisen”, or main courses were divided by country, and were more evenly divided among the cuisines. The German dishes were a perfectly cooked, yet very simple, Jagerschnitzel, or veal cutlet with mushroom gravy, a sautéed red snapper in Champagne sauce, and roasted brook trout in Riesling sauce. The Swiss entrée was roasted veal in a white wine cream sauce. Italian fare consisted of a wild porcini risotto and spaghetti with pancetta and peppers in a spicy tomato sauce. From the French came a leg of lamb with sweet garlic flan, a filet mignon with Pinot Noir sauce, and roasted baby chicken with Calvados and cider. Everything we sampled was well cooked, simply presented, and not exceptional. But then that’s what good home cooking is.

We were almost too full for dessert, but managed to nibble at Linzer and Sachertortes. Both were dense and rich, almost to excess, but somehow, just the way I’d want them made at home. Put Roettele A.G. on your must visit list this winter.

Roettele A.G., 126 E. 7th Street (near Avenue A), 674-4140. Closed Sundays.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!