Magazine articles

CaB Magazine
Summer 1992

You Are Where You Eat
Restaurant Reviews

July. Time for family get-togethers, for outings, for rediscovering our collective heritage. Picnics on Independence Day, vacations at the beach, slot machines and a show in Atlantic City. At the end of the day, there’s always Aunt Sophie’s green jello salad…. Maybe we could go out to dinner?

The mere mention of fried kreplach is enough to start our mouths watering. And while boiled beef flanken may not look like much, it conjures up memories of grandma’s kitchen. Not our grandmother, but somebody’s, we’re quite sure. We hop on the 7th Avenue IRT and head for the border of SoHo and TriBeCa, where Bobby, Eddie, and Dave await us, the identical triplets of Triplets Roumanian Restaurant. Jewish soul food from the old country.

Open space complete with balcony, wood furnishings, plenty of theater lighting, and a staff direct from Central Casting set the stage for a great performance. We wave away the menus; that’s not why we came. It’s the prix fixe dinner that got us here. We prepared with the obligatory twenty-four hour fast, and have no plans to eat before next Thursday.

The waiters arrive in waves, laden with baskets of bread, bowls of intensely garlic-marinated and roasted peppers, plates of creamy chopped chicken livers with sweet radish and onion, and thick potato piroegi, platters of beef stuffed cabbage simmered in spiced tomato sauce, and savory lamb and garlic sausages. All-we-can-eat. Seltzer, fright from the blue glass seltzer bottles. No olive oil, butter, or margarine graces this feast. Instead, the golden nectar of high cholesterol – schmaltz, pitches of schmaltz.

The appetizer binge over, we dive into our main courses. Broiled lamb chops, grilled salmon with rich dill mayonnaise, a Roumanian tenderloin studded with cloves of garlic, a tender breaded veal cutlet.

Instead of a trendy sorbet to clear the palate, our waiter brings more seltzer, milk, and a bottle of U-Bet chocolate syrup. The production of egg creams commences, followed by an encore of cookies and pastries for dessert. We fight over the apricot rugelach and the jelly rings. Thank God the subway station is only a short waddle away.

Triplets Roumanian Restaurant, 11-17 Grand Street (at Houston), 212-925-9303. Open for dinner Thursday to Sunday during the summer. Cash or credit cards. Dinner $40.

We were in one of those soul food kind of moods, so we decided to check in on another set of roots. Just a block away from Piano Bar Row on Grove Street, behind a facade of twinkle lights, we set ourselves down at The Pink Tea Cup, serving up what is arguably the best southern barbecue in New York City.

The Pink Tea Cup is brightly lit, with rows of tables along two walls of picnic benches. A rickety spiral staircase leads down to the bathrooms, where the walls are a mosaic of celebrity patron photos. When not busy, the casually competent wait-staff are only too willing to chat. Sometimes we hear about more than we wanted to know, and sometimes we tell more. We’ve even been asked to help peel and core the apples.

So what if the shredded salad with creamy house dressing isn’t arugula with basil vinaigrette? Who cares if the bean soup needs more pepper and less salt? Bring us an order of apple fritters and another of corn fritters, light and juicy on the inside, dark golden fried on the outside, and a spark blossoms around the table. Wash them down with tall glasses of iced tea, “sweet or unsweet.”

We have ordered the chicken and dumplings, the half-a-fried chicken with hot sauce, the smothered pork chops, and even the chicken-fried steak. We weren’t disappointed. But we’re here for the barbecue. Chicken, ribs, or chopped pork. Showing complete ineptitude at decision-making, we cover the checked tablecloth with plates of each. Adding to the spread are side bowls of black-eyed peas, simmered greens, okra, corn, creamy potato salad, and cornbread.

With our eyes rolling, we order dessert. Bread pudding, jello, pecan pie, and what may just be the best sweet potato pie this side of the Hudson. A proper sized cup of coffee and we’re ready to wander up the block and drop in on the piano bars.

The Pink Tea Cup, 42 Grove Street (at Bleecker), 212-807-6755. Open seven days a week for lunch and dinner. Cash only. Lunch $10-12, Dinner $15-20.

When we were growing up, we had Cantonese take-out on Sunday nights. Sweet and sour chicken, chow mein, and egg foo young were the height of adventure. Then came Szechuan and Hunan, with their hot peppers and garlic. We eagerly sampled whatever was pushed our way, and soon the mavens of food were throwing us Japanese tempura, then sushi, then Thai with tamarinds, limes, and searing peppers. Now, the hot new trend; Vietnamese food, haute form. Tasty, but refurbished by years of French occupation. It took the New Viet Huong to show us from whence it came.

At the height of the Vietnam War, Craig Claiborne talked The New York Times into sending him to Saigon to find authentic chagio, the delicate spring rolls of Vietnamese cuisine. Without having to brave bombs bursting in air, we were able to tuck away a half dozen of these crispy delights with fresh mint leaves and a brightly vinegared dipping sauce. Whole battered prawns encircling a juicy scepter of sugarcane were as appealling to our eyes as to our taste buds. Spiced beef wrapped in vine leaves left nothing to be desired.

The list of entrees at New Viet Huong goes on for pages, ranging from simple rice dishes to elaborate multi-dish samplers. From whole fried bass to curried goat to barbecued beef, we’ve ambled through a couple dozen of the selections. The staff at New Viet Huong is friendly, and always willing to make suggestions if you’re not quite sure what to order. Among the winners to date, tender sautéed squid with strips of sour cabbage, salt and pepper fried crabs, battered and spiced soft shells, and garlic and ginger snails. The latter require being french-kissed to suction them from their shells. It may take some lung power, but it livens up even the toughest crowd.

We accompany our meals here with tea, soda or milkshakes. The shakes don’t come in the usual chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry; but jackfruit, durian, and baby coconut make enticing substitutes. New Viet Huong also serves the most unusual soda we’ve had, salty plum. Next time you want taht touch of the orient, and moo shu and yellowtail just don’t make it, wend your way through the Chinatown markets and drop in.

New Viet Huong, 77 Mulberry Street (at Pell), 212-233-8988. Open seven days a week for lunch and dinner, free delivery available. Cash or credit cards. Lunch $5-10, 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!

CaB Magazine
June 1992You Are Where You Eat
Restaurant ReviewsEvery now and then, we have moments when we want to stroll down the back streets of London; a chance encounter with Sherlock and the good doctor, perhaps the Artful Dodger and Fagin, or Mary Poppins and the children. We step lightly out on the pavement and go in search some tea and sympathy. But, we’re in New York City.

So we amble our way down Greenwich Avenue to Tea and Sympathy itself. Ducking in through the slightly seedy doorway, we find ourselves in Her Majesty’s outpost to the colonies.

With ten small tables for two to chose from, we settle in a back corner where we can eye the scene. A steady stream of Brits flows in and out, sometimes for tea, sometimes for a meal, often just to say hello.

We’ve come to know that we can count on a delightful bowl of the day’s special soup, undoubtedly consisting of potato and another vegetable – parsnip is our favorite. The special salad brightens the day with its crisp green leaves, crunchy walnuts, and crumbly, pungent Stilton.

Despite our combined culinary knowledge, we hadn’t dealt with a Tweed Kettle Pie before – shreds of salmon, cod, and parsley baked under a crisp crust of fluffy mashed potatoes. Shepherd’s Pie, Fish and Chips, Bangers and Mash can all be had here, washed down with glasses of fresh ginger beer and tart English lemonade.

And for dessert? Topping our list like the hot custard tops each selection, the blackberry and apple crumble, rich in ripe fruit, and the ginger cake, spicy with the bite of fresh ginger.

On another day, we stopped by for afternoon tea. Tea and Sympathy has a delightful collection of ceramic teapots, each of a different design. We selected our favorite brews, which arrived accompanied by a three-tiered silver salver of finger sandwiches, scones, and wedges of cake – a perfect end to a day of window-shopping for crown jewels.

Tea and Sympathy, 108 Greenwich Avenue (at Jane Street), 212-807-8329. Open seven days a week for lunch and dinner. No credit cards. Lunch $15-20, Dinner $25-30.

I have to admit it – I’ve never seen Gone with the Wind. Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler exist for me only in their most famous quotes. Not being thrilled with the idea of sitting through a multi-houred videotape, I agreed to a Georgia-style dinner outing.

We set off for West 4th Street to find the latest import from Wadley, Georgia (pop. 2,438), Georgia Boy. We were graciously greeted at the door by cheerful southern boys, and tables covered with blue and white checked tablecloths.

We immediately shifted into picnic mode. And what a picnic! Advised that our drink selection consisted of “co-cola or some of that sprite stuff,” we tucked our napkins on our laps and settled in to feed.

To start, there’s little reason to look beyond a plate of crispy chicken wings, tender inside, light, not oily; Florence Henderson would be proud. The stone-ground mustard sauce lent a subtle kick, and whetted our appetites for more.

At a picnic we never get tired of fried chicken, so a plate for an entree, hot sauce at the ready, joined our table. The fish cakes with zesty tartare sauce were perfectly seasoned, and fried just right. Since at least one of us likes liver, the tender fried calf’s liver with caramelized onions added to our cholesterol frenzy. Properly stewed greens and potato salad made our picnic complete.

Blueberry cobbler and banana cream pie were overkill, but oh, so good.

Lunch is a similar menu, while brunch abounds with grits, cheese grits, pancakes, and sausages – patty sausages, not northern style link, the staff is sure to remind you.

Frankly, my dear, I’d just like seconds.

Georgia Boy, 165 West 4th Street, 212-255-5725. Open seven days a week for lunch, brunch and dinner. Mastercard, Visa, Diners Club. Lunch $10-15, Dinner $20-25.

“Let’s do Mexican,” generally means heading for the closest eatery serving a greasy Tex-Mex mishmash of tacos, burritos, and chimichangas, usually washed down with an inexcusably large margarita flavored sno-cone. So it was with great anticipation that we headed into the West Village to a new establishment purported to serve culinary delights steeped in traditional Oaxacan cuisine.

Mi Cocina turned out to be worth the anticipation.

Opening late last year, this corner Mexican bistro is a delight of adobe, terra cotta, and colorful glazed tiles. it has already garnered two stars from The New York Times, and the continued capacity crowd testifies to that assessment. So does the food.

Starting the evening with a round of “Dona Margueritas,” made with top grade tequila and Grand Marnier, we peruse the appetizer selection. Without reservation, our list topping starter is the Camarones al Chipotle, spicy sautéed shrimp in smoky pepper sauce, rolled up in warm flour tortillas.

Other winners include deep fried and lightly breaded rings of squid, a delightful quesadilla oozing with melted cheese, and the vegetable salad of local produce in a biting, citrusy vinaigrette.

One of the most overlooked foods in Mexican cuisine is fresh fish. At Mi Cocina, the chef shows his stuff with a daily selection of fish, often grilled, with a unique repertoire of sauces that make liberal use of traditional Oaxacan ingredients like Seville oranges and epazote.

Enchiladas, moles, and chile rellenos do grace the menu, but no everyday red and green jalapeño sauces smother these familiar dishes. Instead, the stock of sauces is once again drawn upon, flavored with everything from Mexican chocolate to pomegranate seeds.

The dessert selection is limited, and early on consisted of a sole entry, almond flan. The list has lengthened, but there is room for improvement, and we look forward to a future selection that stands up to the rest of a memorably meal.

The evening must be capped off with a steaming mug of Mexican coffee, blended with dark roast java, Kahlua, and Tia Maria.

Mi Cocina, 57 Jane Street (at Hudson), 212-627-8273. Open seven days a week for lunch, brunch, and dinner. Major credit cards accepted. Lunch or brunch $20, Dinner $35.

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! [sigh… edit… and then he had a heart attack and passed away in 2016]