Spread's Spreads / Crumbs's Cupcakes

She may not be much of a dessert person herself, but my ever-gorgeous girlfriend Debbie definitely knows how to make me and my daughters happy. Case in point: last Saturday night, when she came over to our place and provided all the makings for a sweet-treat tasting spree.

First came the chocolaty, nutty spreads from Spread, an organic restaurant in San Diego that sells a seemingly endless number of varieties of the stuff online. The four of us sampled three different flavors, eaten straight from the jar or spooned onto shortbread and some excellent chocolate cookies from Grandaisy. By far the best—or, at least, by far the most deliciously desserty—was the White Chocolate Espresso almond spread: sweet, thick, the flavors deep and rich, the espresso beans adding a pleasant, bitter crunch. The Dark Chocolate Chile peanut spread was as good as this sort of thing gets, but we all had a hard time getting past the whole sweet-spicy trend/gimmick (I have the same problem with the wasabi truffles, et al, at Vosges....). Yes, it sets off an interesting little party in your mouth, but it doesn't really satisfy as a dessert.

Speaking of not dessert, the Cinnamon peanut spread turned out to be nothing more than unsweetened, roasted ground peanuts, liberally infused with the aromatic spice. A disappointment after dinner... superb with raspberry jam on my raisin english muffin this morning.

Then it was time for Dessert: Part 2. Now, Crumbs may be second tier when it comes to cupcakes in this town, but it certainly knows how to put on a good show. Plenty sugary and often filled with some sort of creamy surprise, the assorted mini-cakes in this lively 12-pack were as much to fun eat as they look like they would be.

You can find more information about Spread's spreads here. There are a half-dozen Crumbs Bakeshops in the City; I believe the cakes we ate came from the one on 8th Street between University Place and Broadway.

ChikaLicious Puddin'

In case you needed yet another reason to pop in somewhere and enjoy a tasty treat, enter ChikaLicious Puddin'. Located right across the street from ChikaLicious proper, this new, mod-looking spot with an impressively focused menu—there's pudding, and beverages that go with pudding—provides just the thing to tide you over from one moment of your life to the next.


My freezing daughters and I tried all three varieties the other night, liked one a lot, liked another even more, totally loved a third. The Adult Chocolate doesn't have booze; rather it's a very dark, almost bitter scoop of creamy pudding placed atop a mound of crispy chocolate soil. This is very good, unless you're really craving something sugary. Then it would probably only be just regular good.

Even better? Brioche Bread Puddin', a dense, generous slab of the stuff nearly drowned in a creamy pool of something sweet and anglaise-y and delicious. This hit the dessert spot in all ways. Best of all, however, was the Vanilla Custard Steamed Puddin', a sublime, warmed-up, cakey delight... intense, gooey, beautifully satisfying.


ChikaLicious Puddin' is located on 10th Street, just east of Second Avenue. There are no seats, but the center island makes for a convenient communal table on which to wolf your dessert. Closed on Mondays and Tuesdays for now; open from 11:00 until midnight the rest of the week.

Red Mango

The first of a promised horde of invading outlets from the Korea-based chain, the new Red Mango on Bleecker Street is not only now serving first-rate frozen yogurt—as good, or better, than its obvious (and copycatting?) rival Pinkberry—but is doing so in a surprisingly comfortable, unsurprising designy setting, with a definite coffee-house, lounge-all-you-like atmosphere.

The place was pretty empty when I stopped in yesterday, but it was mid-afternoon on a weekday, so maybe it gets as unpleasantly hectic as Pinkberry can during peak hours. Either way, this is a large, well-considered space—a fair number of seating options, plus plenty of standing room while you order, plus an alluring-come-spring outdoor patio in the back—that seems suited to handle a crowd.

Most important, Red Mango's fro-yo is terrific, with that deep tang we've come to demand since Pinkberry came to town last year. I sampled the Green Tea, and it was good, but ordered a small Original with two toppings, chewy, sour dried cranberries and intense Ghirardelli dark chocolate mini-chips. I could have gone for the Bear Naked granola, or the fresh raspberries, blackberries, or blueberries, or even the Captain Crunch, or graham crackers, but I didn't. I admit that, as I watched my exceptionally (but not irritatingly) friendly server construct my treat, I was thinking she was a tad stingy with the toppings, but I needn't have worried: every bite had plenty of everything, and I gleefully devoured my dessert in about 90 seconds. Next time I'm trying a Blender: yogurt plus toppings in a smoothie format.

Red Mango is located on Bleecker Street between MacDougal and Sullivan. Coming soon, supposedly: 14th Street and Sixth Avenue; Eighth Avenue and 45th Street.

Hakata Tonton

Full disclosure: I've now eaten more pig's feet these past few weeks than I've ever had in my life. I mean, I love swine, and offal of all sorts, but clearly I'm no afeetcianado. That said, if ever there was place to get a quick education on the subject, it's the new Hakata Tonton, where nearly every one the 40 or so dishes features piggie peds.

Wait... is this an even remotely viable idea for a restaurant? Well, I've been twice, and though it was early, this small, dreary space (the only nod to any sort of decor is a plastic-encased prosciutto lying flat in the windowsill) was surprisingly full. Even more striking: most tables were taken by groups of young women. This still puzzles me. Not that women aren't as adventurous eaters as men, but the fe/male ratio here was probably 3:1. I mean, seriously... girls night out at the pig's feet place? Could it be the free packages of pantyhose (in three different shades!) offered in the bathroom? The free Q-tips? The fact that pig's feet are, apparently, extremely high in collagen, and some claim that if you eat just a half a pound of feet meat a day, you'll look younger in no time (then why so many already-young women?)?

Anyway, the menu is pretty much all under-$10 small plates, although for those more fancy occasions you can indulge in one of two tasting menu options. Yes, they take their pig's feet—Tonsoku, in Japanese—very, very seriously here. I tried six dishes in two visits, with decidedly mixed results. A good introduction to the genre for me was the Tonsoku "simply grilled with salt," a hacked-up foot's worth of the gelatinous, sticky, sweet, sumptuous meat, all given a nice flavor boost by some wonderful yuzu paste—intense, acidic, spicy, salty—served on the side. If you're looking for something a little less visibly porcine, Himi's Tonsoku Gyoza is excellent: six fat dumplings fried to a crisp on the outside, rich and meaty on the inside, and also served with that terrific yuzu.

Decent, too, was my bowl of sliced up Tonsoku marinated in Ponzu, the citrusy sauce pairing nicely with the fatty meat, although I thought there were far too many too-raw onions tossed in to bulk up the serving. One of the very few feetless options here is Oreilles du Cochon, or pig's ears, swimming in a vinegar soy sauce. It's also the only item on the menu listed in French, but that's neither here nor there. And no matter how you say it, this is not a dish for the timid: the mouthfeel score on these babies is about a negative-4, all crunchy cartilage and mushy meat.

If you're in a hurry, stay away from the Tonsoku Japanese Style Paella, which arrives without warning in an elaborate stove-like apparatus, to be cooked at the table. My server forbids me from opening the lid before the sterno burns itself out, "about 5 to 10 minutes." Twenty-five minutes later I still have no paella on my plate... and when the flame finally does go out, I'm greeted by a disappointing, bland stew of rice and mushrooms with maybe a couple of tiny slivers of pork. Also not worth the effort is the Deep Fried Tonksoku "Kara Age", which is sadly without flavor, though most certainly not without bone.

Hakata Tonton is located on Grove Street, just west of 7th Avenue. Both (week)nights I went the hostess/server looked concerned that I didn't have a reservation, even though it was before 6:30 and there were several empty tables. Both nights, however, the place was almost full by the time I felt. Clearly there's something slightly culty going on here.

The Smith

Put The Smith on your short list of go-to places in the East Village/Union Square area. In fact, put this spanking-new spot right near the top. I stopped by early this evening for a quick bite, hoping for serviceable comfort food, and was blown away by the care and thought that went into each part of my meal. The flavors were bold and balanced, the kitchen's execution near-perfect, the portions heaping, and the prices very low, with pretty much everything comfortably under $20.

Basically: Welcome to the neighborhood.

Owned and operated by the crew behind Jane and The Neptune Room, the unGoogleable The Smith (how soon before it's nicknamed Morissey?) is bistro-y in its look and feel, all white tiles, dark wood, and small wooden tables. Also of note, decor-wise: vintage pinups cover one wall, and downstairs there's a photo booth, an ancient barber's chair, and an open, communal bathroom—stalls on the left, sinks on the right—designed for maximum interaction between the sexes.

The food. My feast began with what may be the best sharable starter of the year: an overflowing bowl of Hot Potato Chips with blue cheese "fondue," a simple but genius take on nachos, the warm, creamy cheese sauce turning the thin, salty chips just slightly—and beautifully—soggy and chewy. The mouthfeel is terrific, the flavors lively, the whole thing hopelessly addicting.

For my Main Course I went complicated, ordering the Lamb Schnitzel, which turns out to be an excellent choice of meat to pound, batter and fry. Because even coated in a sharp parmesan crust, spiced up with chili flakes, accompanied by lemoned-out greens and placed upon a mountain of wonderfully gummy, lumpy, dijoned mashed potatoes, I could still taste the (by the way tender) lamb. On all levels, this dish was a smashing success. If the pastas, burgers and salads are even half as good as this, The Smith is going to be packed and loud, well into the night. And my side of Brussels Sprouts? Charred to a caramelized crisp, exactly the way I like it.

The Smith is located on Third Avenue between 11th and 10th Streets. The dessert menu looked terrific, highlighted by several cake-and-ice-cream-sundae combos, but I was already ridiculously full. Definitely diving in next time, though—heck, maybe even be tomorrow night!—with help from Bo and Co.

Momofuku Noodle Bar 2.0 [BETA]

It's pretty much our favorite restaurant in town, so of course my noodle-head daughters and I had to check out the spanking-new, upgraded and expanded Momofuku 2.0 as soon as possible. Which, in this case, meant last night, less than a week after the grand opening.

The new space is handsomely designed by Swee Phuah, all light wood and minimalism; the 55 seats—up from 27, and including two bars and a bunch of communal tables—are jammed in tight; the place was packed and Led Zeppelin-blasting loud even at 6:20 when we showed, though we did get seated right away. In other words, nothing's changed in the land of the 'Fuku.

Or has it? I've have double-digit delicious meals courtesy of David Chang and Co., so I'm going to give them the BETA benefit of the doubt, but I must say that, until the kitchen gets adjusted to the volume of orders, and what must have been a substantial number of new hires added to the line get their feet a little wetter, a Momo-newbie might wonder what all the fuss is about.

Take one of our favorite starters, for example, the great Anson Mills Yellow Grits & Gulf Shrimp. At first it all seemed like the usual heaven: the grits creamy and rich; the bacon the best you'll ever eat anytime, anywhere; the poached egg perfect; the five fat grilled shrimp... totally without taste??? Seriously, it's strange enough to eat food as flavorless as these shrimp even in sub-par places, but at Momofuku, where bracing, uncompromising flavors are practically a religion, it was pretty shocking.

Also arriving as a First was a heaping funnel of Fried Veal Sweetbreads, which were wonderfully moist and tender but, again, oddly lacking punch, though the accompanying bowl of excellent chili sauce—the balance between sweet and heat exactly right—more than made up for any timidity in the batter. Even Chang's classic Pork Steamed Buns were a little off... not that Bo and Co didn't devour them in seconds, but the ratio of fat to meat was a slightly disconcerting, oh, let's say 75 - 25, especially since it was by no means cooked to a crisp.

We've never been able to resist the Ramen, and this night was no exception. Bo and Co split a serving of the standard Shredded Pork, and happily slurped their way to the bottom. I strayed from my usual Momofuku Ramen, simplifying instead with the Pork Neck, and was somewhat dismayed to find the meat a little dry, the broth a little too greasy, and, most surprising, a tangle of egg noodles in my bowl (and starchy ones at that). Apparently the Pork Neck Ramen is always served this way (instead of, you know, with ramen), so next time I'm sticking with the familiar.

As you can tell from our meal, the menu at the new Momofuku is pretty much the same as it was half a block down the street... except for the extremely welcome addition of Cousin Leroy & Arlo's Soft-Serve Ice Cream! The only flavor available on Saturday was Cream Cheese, and it was superb: tangy, rich, totally addictive, and twirled atop a sweet, crispy cone that came with an unusual surprise in its tip.

Momofuku Noodle Bar 2.0 is located on First Avenue between 10th and 11th Streets, about four doors up from the former, smaller, Momofuku Noodle Bar, which will soon be the tasting-menu-only Momofuku Ko. There are no reservations accepted, though there's now a fairly large standing-room area set aside up front in which to wait. Despite my nit-picking above, I would eat there again right this second if I could.

Matilda

This is a restaurant you really want to root for.

The Tuscan/Mexican fusion cuisine concept appears to be heartfelt, rather than some sort of (ill-conceived) marketing scheme: the place is owned and operated by a one-of-each married couple. A lot of thought went into the design—the (sadly, scripty) typographic wall decor, the odd chandelier, the increasingly common communal two-sided bar—and includes something I've never seen before, a little slot in the table into which slides the dessert menu. Cute. The wife half of the team, Maristella Innocenti, was a frequent, smiling visitor to my table, and couldn't have been more pleasant. The place itself is named after their 3-year-old daughter.

So you'll definitely sit down to your meal really wanting to like the brand-new Matilda... but right now (or, at least, a week ago Saturday), the food is not there yet.

Things started off on a good note, with a basket of chewy bread and—fusion alert!—olive oil infused with habanero. And my pasta, Fusilli Con Chayotes, mostly worked, the addition of grilled zucchini flowers bringing some welcome earthiness to a dish perhaps too reliant on the more subtle, watery Mexican squash.

My Secondi/Platos Fuertes, however, worked not at all, but it was much more a problem of execution rather than conception which, presumably, the kitchen will address, given time. I ordered the Maiale Sulla Luna, which was described as pork tenderloin strewn with pineapple and habanero, served with a potato and cilantro pie. What I got was remarkably tasteless meat, flavorless fruit, and two slabs of something that reminded me of a terribly overcooked, dried out baked idaho, pressed flat. I couldn't even bring myself to eat much of this.

Dessert, too, was good news/bad news. All Matilda is serving now is homemade gelati and sorbet: the Mexican Chocolate was excellent, with a perfect, creamy texture and deep notes of cocoa, cinnamon and chilis; the Orange Panna Cotta was pretty terrible, all crumbly and bland. As Maristella herself told me after seeing my unfinished bowl of ice cream (!), "we're still working some things out."

Matilda is located on 11th Street, just west of Avenue C. On Saturday night at around 8:30 the place was pretty packed (with, in this case, Halloween-party goers, many in costume), though I did get seated right away at a table next to the window. As of then (October 27), it was cash only.

Dessert Truck

If there's a better place to live in this world than New York City, then... well, there isn't. And now, in addition to all of the other incredible things we have in this town, enter Dessert Truck. It's like an ice cream truck, or the Treats Truck, but instead of dispensing mobile frozen delights or baked goodies, this spanking new vehicle serves fully-realized, home-made-with-love, totally scrumptious, sit-down-fancy- restaurant-quality desserts, right there on the street!

A. Frikken. Mazing.

I waded through the costumed masses tonight to see if the story of Dessert Truck could really be true, and let me assure you my friends: it is. First I ordered the warm Chocolate Bread Pudding, its rich, sweet and full-cocoa-flavored sponginess lurking beneath a sticky pool of creme anglaise. This was a beautiful thing.

Did I mention that I purchased this on the street?! No waiting for a table, or a waiter... no dinner necessary... just me and my treat.

That would have been plenty on most nights, but seeing how it was Halloween and all, I bought a second dessert, this time going seasonal with an excellent Pumpkin Custard, creamy and autumnal, made even more delicious by the inclusion of gingerbread crumble, all surrounded by a bounty of crunchy, caramelized pecans, and topped with a gooey meringue. I was tempted to order a third dessert—Vanilla Creme Brulee? Molten Chocolate Cake?—but, you know... that would be kind of piggy.

Dessert Truck is parked on University Place between 9th and 8th Streets. Chef Jerome Chang (formerly of Le Cirque, says the website) and business partner Chris Chen were friendly, charming, and looked like there were having a great time. Dessert Truck will be open on weeknights starting at 6pm, weekends at noon, and will stay open until 2am on Fridays and Saturdays.

Ditch Plains

Oh. Sorry.... Wrong slide.

Let's start over.

Ditch Plains

That's better. As you can see, Ditch Plains, Montauk, and Ditch Plains, Bedford Street, are... umm.... remarkably similar? And I wish I had taken some shots of the faux industrial interior, which really made me feel as if I were sitting at that picnic table near Lily's cart, eating one of her burritos....

Anyway, I was much closer to Ditch, the restaurant, than Ditch, the beach, on Sunday evening, so I popped in for an early dinner prior to a movie at the Film Forum. Like I said, the interior is cold, industrial, almost bunker-like, with a long gun-slit (?) peeking into the kitchen. The only nod the place's namesake is a flat screen playing surf videos... and, I guess, the fish-heavy menu.

I started with a bowl of New England Clam Chowder. The broth was excellent—briny and deep—the potatoes firm, the fatty ham a welcome addition, and the clams, of which there were many, were unbelievably, unswallowable-y rubbery. You know how sometimes you're chewing something and it's just not getting any smaller, and all the flavor's gone, so you can either swallow it "whole", or discreetly expel it into your napkin? Like that, these clams were. All of them.

Next up: fish tacos. Now, this is my fault, because I should have asked, but I was dismayed that my fish arrived fried, heavy on the batter. Even more dismayed that it was nearly flavorless, the dish saved only by the salsa. And the radishes. And the lime, too, was pretty good.

The only dessert available was S'mores for two. Being one, I passed.

Ditch Plains, the restaurant, is located on the corner of Bedford and Downing Streets.

Belcourt

Everyone will tell you that it's best to wait a few weeks—or even a few months—after a restaurant opens before you try it out. The kitchen needs time to get the recipes right, they say. The staff needs to get to know each other. And usually, on this issue anyway, everyone's right.

Except in the case of Belcourt.

Last night, a mere 48 hours into his new wonderful venture, chef Matthew Hamilton fired up a superb meal for me and my oh-so-cutting-edge daughters. Really, from start to finish, this was one of the great dinners we've had all year.

We began our feast with two starters: a beautifully autumnal Roasted Butternut Squash and Apple Raviolo—the pasta nice and chewy, the filling generous and sweet—topped with grilled wild mushrooms, brown butter, and sage; and what may have been our favorite dish of the night, a skewer of incredibly rich and butter-soft Grilled Sweetbreads, marinated in lemon and garlic, and accompanied by charred flat bread, a roasted garlic spread, and champagne grapes. Truly top-notch stuff.

We then split two mains, and two side dishes. A word about the sides... usually, of course, you order from this category because otherwise your entree will arrive sadly solo. But at Belcourt, the mains come fully loaded, so you should only get a side or three because they are very good, not because you'll go hungry without. For example, our deep bowl of Polenta with Gorgonzola. Yes, it was perfectly prepared, smooth and rib-sticking with the blue adding a nice bite. And the earthy, firm Baked Sun Chokes drizzled with hazelnut butter were a huge hit with Bo and Co. But did we need them? Please. We practically waddled home as it was.


Anyway, back to the mains. The Salt Cod Bourride was a hearty stew of a dish, the flaky fish sharing a big bowl with at least a half dozen manila clams, red potatoes, tender grilled fennel, and several amazingly intense brandade dumplings, which delivered an explosion of oceanic flavor. Speaking of hearty: the Slow Roasted Pork Belly and Sausage, a salty, spicy, crispy, fatty festival of pig products, balanced by terrific, vinegary sauerkraut, sweet pickled beets, and lavender spaetzle. This was so good that, even after all our food, Bo and Co still squabbled over who deserved the larger of the last two bites of belly.

The only hint that we were dining in a spanking-new establishment came with dessert, as they only had three available, one of which, the Ricotta Cheese Cake, turned out to be too cold, and too bland. What we should have done is just ordered two or three of the Chocolate Pot de Creme, which was thick and sweet and caramel-y and delicious.

Belcourt is located on the corner of Second Avenue and 4th Street. The place is casual, comfortable and fun, our waitress was delightful, the music good, Hamilton's two-year-old daughter cute as a button.