April 21, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
My Sfoglia Addiction
It’s been ten months since I emerged from a gig at the 92st St Y, cut across the stree to Sfoglia….and fell in love with the sophisticated and savory cooking of Ron Suhanosky and his wife, Colleen Marnell-Suhanosky, especially his surprisingly delicious strawberryflecked tomato sauce on spaghetti and her addictive bread – a turbanlike briche with crackling, buttery roof. Ultimately both New York’s Adam Platt and Frank Bruni loved it too. Now it’s a challenge to get in. The house is booking a month ahead with little left but 10 o’clock tables.
April 20, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
Cold Stone Euphoria
After last night’s riotous excess at Daisy May’s BBQ, today seemed like a perfect moment to begin a modest campaign of restraint for spring.
April 19, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
Gluttony at Daisy May
A gourmandlich life is full of great lamb. The tenderest spring lamb at Chez l’Ami Louis in Paris. The rack of aristocratic Jamieson lamb at Gotham Bar & Grill. The velvety marinated lamb chop just out of the tandoori oven at Devi. I still recall the first tastem the startling silkenness more than 25 years ago of lamb marinated Hunan style at the long gone Hunam.
April 18, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
Chinatown Brasserie Revises
It’s my first time back at Chinatown Brasserie since the Thai-Chinese executive chef decamped and the dim sum master Joe Ng was officially put in charge of the kitchen.
April 16, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
Sharing at Mai House
Though this place can work itself into an annoying uproar when it’s full, at times it’s relatively calm. The Road Food Warrior is always up for Vietnamese food, and the price is right. It’s where we’re happy to come on our own dime. A round trip taxi commute could add another forty bucks, but the subway runs almost directly from our house – avoiding traffic snarls -- and stops at Franklin, steps from a remarkably superior fried spring roll. My first visit last November was no fluke.
March 30, 2007 | BITE: My Journal
Obviously the appetite for amplified tumult is a generational thing. The fierce decibels gen X,Y,and Z thrive on are sheer torture to me and my boomer and avant-boomer pals. Still I’ve always trekked down to cacophonous Barbuto because I love Jonathan Waxman’s rustic Italian ways, determined never to be more than four, so we can lean in and shout over the din.