Slow Cooked

Mango Shrimp with Glass Noodles

To be totally honest, I'm not sure how I feel about this recipe.  I went from Ooh Mango! to Hmmm, too sweet, to Ick, too much vinegar, to Yum, nice and spicy! and then round and round and on top of that, I'm not quite sure how to keep my glass noodles clump free; mine were just a wet nest of noodle for the most part.  But, the mango, pepper, scallion, basil, lime juice (my addition) and shrimp were all very fresh and bright and flavorful...it just didn't work for me overall.  For such an easy, simple dish there was too much going on, I think. 

At least it was pretty...

Recipe adapted from Gourmet, via Epicurious:

• 1 lb shrimp, cleaned
• 1-2 mangoes, diced
• juice of one lime
• 4 scallions, finely chopped crosswise
• 1 Serrano pepper, minced (no seeds)
• 1 handful basil, coarsely chopped
• 1 half package glass noodles (4 oz)
• 1/3 cup rice wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat oil in large skillet and saute shrimp until pink and cooked through.  Set aside.  Chop mango, scallion, pepper, basil and place in bowl, douse with lime juice.  When cool, add shrimp.  Place glass noodles in large bowl and cover with boiling water, 8 minutes.  Drain in colander, rinse with cold water, drain, and then return to bowl.   Mix vinegar, sugar and salt until sugar is dissolved; add half to noodles and half to shrimp mixture.  Plate noodles and pile shrimp and mango on top. 

Zucco: Le French Diner

New York changes seasons like flipping a switch; one day you're sweltering on the subway platform and the next you find yourself thinking, Hmmm, you know, I think I might need a sweater...  Just as suddenly, my food cravings change.  The first nip of fall, which arrived (as best I can tell) on Saturday, left my little household craving red meat and red wine. 

Our unofficial tradition has become to celebrate Kevin's birthday with steak frites.  We've steak frited all over downtown Manhattan and our neck of Brooklyn, and upon the recommendation of a Francophile friend of mine, decided to take this year's steak fest to Zucco, on the Lower East Side.

Anyone who knows me knows I like quirky, I like small, and I like back story; Zucco provided all those, in abundance.  The space is tiny - as in, two proper tables, a few stools, and a bar; one of the articles I read quoted the owner (the single-monikered Zucco) as saying he can seat 20 thin people, or 14 fat ones.  Frankly, I can't imagine 20 people in the little space, but the size wasn't a problem as the bar was entirely open when we arrived.   The dim space is full of French kitsch that leans heavily towards both religious icons and boxing memorabilia, and manages to feel art-directed and shabbily haphazard at the same time.  Bowie was playing on the stereo, and behind the bar were three people: the tattooed host, the busboy, and the cook.

The menu is straightforward French bistro fare, and the prices are moderate (I didn't see anything over $20 and most dishes were under $15) and the selection is plentiful.  I ordered the lentil salad, tangy with red wine vinegar, and Kevin started with a spinach and goat cheese salad that was made even better by the bird's eye view we had of the preparation: the cook sliced disks of goat cheese on top of baby spinach, then wrapped the whole thing into a sort of phyllo dough envelope, which was sauteed in butter and then plated over mixed greens.  Divine.  I had the hangar steak served with a red wine shallot sauce and a bubbling potato gratin, and Kevin had the shell steak with herbed butter and crisp, brown frites.  Everything was great, but what I loved most was watching the cook; the French Onion Soup was one of the most enticing dishes I've ever seen prepared -- seeing the onions sauteed in stock and then poured into a crock with a piece of toast, heaped with cheese and sent under the salamander made me regret my lentils, just a little.   With our meal we had a $24 bottle of Cotes Du Rhone which was nothing to write home about, and in hindsight perhaps not meaty enough for our entrees, but was nice and dry and also, $24.  Our entire bill, before tip, came to $88.

The food at Zucco can hold its own with most of the other bistros in New York I've tried, but the atmosphere sets it apart.  I've had my share of zinc bars and red banquettes; this funny little spot endeared itself to me with the ephemera and the attitude and most of all, the open kitchen.  Zucco (212 677 5200) is located at 188 Orchard Street and accepts American Express.            

Trestle on Tenth

Some friends were in town last week and upon the recommendation of a co-worker, we ended up at Trestle on Tenth, a spot I must have walked past countless times but never noticed.

After about an hour of drinking and chatting and nibbling, we all sort of looked at one another and proclaimed, We have to come back here when it's cold.  The menu, which is seasonal-American with French and Swiss influences, was full of the kind of toasty, rich (borderline heavy) fare that goes best with scarves and coats and lots of red wine.   (The cocktail menu, however, was all Summer: refreshing drinks with bitters and fizzy things and cucumbers and watermelon...there were maybe eight signature drinks and the three or four that we sampled were absolutely delightful.  Delightful enough to have had seconds.  And by seconds, I mean thirds.)

I started with a glass of Riesling -- it was sweet, almost too sweet to have had with food, but was perfect as a cocktail -- and we split the charcuterie plate which featured some nice, nutty cheeses.  Emilie has a hard time resisting sweetbreads and the bite I had of hers was pretty fantastic; seared to a crisp and served over white asparagus with pea shoots, they were actually a really nice balance to the Riesling, now that I think about it.  Caroline and I both had the crepinette of pork shoulder, which - according to my South Carolina-born girlfriends - was like home cooking: braised pork shoulder formed into a sort of pattie (although I don't remember a casing, which I'm pretty sure is what makes a crepinette a crepinette, no?) and heaped over sauteed greens, and it was very, very good.

Emilie also tried the chilled tomato soup because it is served with corn and crab meat, which are two things that are basically impossible to resist.  Caroline and I went straight for the heartiest, heaviest, most comfort-foody thing on the menu, the gratinéed pizokel with onions and gruyère, which was, more or less, a trough of fried dough, onions, and cheese.  (And when I say a trough of fried dough, onions, and cheese, I mean to say YUUUMMMMM.)  The downside, sadly, was that I had a stomach ache for the better part of the 15 hours that followed our meal, but it was worth it.  However, in case you are wondering, ONE order of the pizokel is more than enough for three people.

In terms of design and atmosphere, Trestle is exactly the sort of place I love.  It's small but airy, comfortable and cozy while still maintaining a nice, sleek vibe, and the music playing was fantastic.  The service was a little off, and sort of hard to describe; our waiter would be extremely attentive but then forget to bring us something we'd requested (I got a wine glass 5 minutes before I got the wine, and another 10 minutes went by before Emilie and Caroline got their cocktails, and the bar was not that busy).  Still, the overall experience makes me comfortable recommending Trestle as a great weeknight neighborhood option.  I plan on returning, for sure.  And I highly recommend the cocktail that is called a Scottish something or other, because WOW, it was good.

Trestle (212 645 5659) is located on the southeast corner of Tenth Avenue and 24th Street, and accepts all major credit cards.

Del Posto

My parents visited New York last week, which meant that dinner reservation planning began at least a month prior.  They generously took Kevin and me out to Del Posto one night, and I have to say: if you are looking for a grown-up, elegant-without-being-stuffy, downtown-but-not-sceney dinner, Del Posto is an excellent place to start.  It's hard to pin down the vibe, exactly, and there's an element to Del Posto that seems contrived -- the food, after all, is not fussy, so things like purse stools and valet parking seem a bit over the top, but I think that's the point.  Del Posto wasn't created to be the new Babbo or Lupo; it's something else entirely.

First of all, it is huge.  Huge.  There are three levels in the cavernous, high-ceilinged space tucked under the high line tracks on 10th Avenue.  Having not lived through New York in the 1950's I can only say that the decor of Del Posto captures the way I picture it; dark wood, amber lights, heavy linens, round tables facing out towards more marble than I have ever seen in any restaurant.   Despite the retro decor, however, thee menu doesn't feel dated in the least. 

Del Posto describes its dishes as "Cucina Classica" which, as best I can tell, means simple Italian dishes from several regions of Italy, interpreted and updated with green market ingredients.  The menu looked lighter and more balanced than that of Babbo -- or less rustic, at least.  Before ordering, the table was served an assortment of antipasti bites -- pickled radishes, fried mushrooms, fennel and grapefruit soup...and at least one other item that I am forgetting, but what I do remember is the creamy rosemary lardo (why does "fat" sound so much better in Italian?) that came alongside the breadbasket.

Our table opted for the five course modified tasting menu option, which was more of a screamingly good prix fixe option than a true tasting menu (which IS offered, in seven courses): the five course option was $85 per person and included a first and main course of everyone's choosing, plus two "bites" (small plates, much more than just a bite!) of pasta, and a dessert.  The only stipulation to this tasting menu was that the table had to select which two pastas we'd all be having; the other three courses were fair game.

I started with the yellowfin & tail susci, which was delicate and brightly accented with radish, fennel, snow peas and marigold petals.   I love seafood in almost all its incarnations, but raw and lightly splashed with heavenly olive oil is possibly my favorite preparation; I want to taste the fish above all else, and the crunchy radishes and delicate flower petals let the crudo shine through.

Our pastas were the Agnolotti dal Plin in a brown butter sauce and the gnocchi with braised lamb shoulder.  The agnolotti was rich and almost salty, and the gnocchi was gooey without being gummy.  We were drinking a delicious Barbera D'Alba that was especially good with the gnocchi.

I went back to ocean for my entree, though -- there were actually more fish options on the menu than I anticipated.  I had the roasted turbot with chanterelles and sweet corn, which was excellent.  It wasn't fussy, and I'm not even sure it wasn't something I could have replicated at home, but the fish was fresh and meaty and mild, the corn was crisp and sweet...everything was just good.  Mario Batali gets a lot of flack over his prices and over all the fanfare for what amounts to pretty simple dishes, but I'm sorry: the food is good.  Simple is fine with me.  I like a little fanfare now and then, and sure, I'm not going to spend $30 on an entree every night but there was nothing - nothing - to find fault with in any of the dishes we sampled at Del Posto.

Between my husband and my parents, the lamb and the pork were both covered, as was a nearly-transparent veal carpaccio starter; I heard nothing but happy mumbles as they ate their dinners.

My memory starts to blur around dessert (and the second bottle of wine).  I had the affogatto fredo (espresso over vanilla gelato) which, quite honestly, was nothing to write home about but I was so full that I just wanted something simple (and, I always, always, always love a good vanilla gelato).  My mother, we decided, won the dessert round; her Baba au Rum came in a silver tureen, involved a selection of rums poured over brioche, and I think there was also caramel in there somewhere.  It was extreme.

Before the bill arrived (and yeah, it was a million dollars; Del Posto absolutely screams Expense Account), one of the many servers (...almost too many.  The service was excellent but almost too visible, at times) brought over the petits four cart.  Which is an entire cart devoted to all the little bites of sweet things you can imagine.  I can't remember all of them, although I know my favorites were the teeny meringues, and the "fancy Reese's Peanut Butter Cups" were a hit with everyone else.  I am a sucker for teeny tiny dessert items, and also for all the extras that restaurants now seem to throw at patrons in an effort to distinguish themselves, so the petits fours almost distracted me from HOW VERY FULL I was by that point (I made the strategic error of drinking too much water, I think) but I think I managed to sample at least three of the little sweets.  And then I passed out.

Well, not quite.  We made it home first, happy and full.

Del Posto (212 497 8090) is located at 85 Tenth Avenue and accepts all major credit cards.  The restaurant begins accepting reservations exactly one month in advance.