Community Food & Juice

Craving some comfort food on a cold night last week, I decided to check out Community Food & Juice, a newish, homey, fresh-ingredients-driven spot up near Columbia. It's run by the Clinton Street Baking folks, so I figured that at least the bread would be good, but I must say I totally enjoyed everything I ate... and, since the place was packed by 7:00 on a Tuesday, that seems to be pretty much the norm.

I started the proceedings with a crock of rustic White Bean and Cerignola Olive spread—rich, fluffy and with a surprising bite—which I slathered over warm slices of Peasant Wheat. This was one of four bread-and-spread combos listed on the menu, any one of which seems to be the sensible way to begin your meal here.

Next up was the stunningly good Lotus BBQ Chicken Wings, the plump—but not steroid-y plump—and juicy bird bits grilled in sweet hoisin, beautifully balanced by a heavily salted lemon dipping sauce. It'd be tough not to order this again.

For my main course I went the mollusk route, and was rewarded with four plump and lovely Pan Roasted Diver Scallops, full-flavored and nicely "medium rare", holding their own against the generous accompaniment of bitter turnips and smokey ham. Maybe this dish was a tad too much of a good thing, but I'll take that over bland or boring 100 times out of 100.

Community Food and Juice is located on Broadway between 112th and 113th Streets. All of my many servers were smiley and efficient, and they fixed a gaffe—initially, all three of my courses were delivered at the same time, which is never ideal, but especially since I was dining alone, made me feel like Albert Brooks during the "nine pies" scene in Defending Your Life—in an unhesitating, professional manner. The atmosphere here is comfy and convivial, the prices gentle, the neighborhood crowd thick with students, including the friendly, chatty trio who "joined" me at my end of the communal table halfway through my meal. I'll definitely be back, with Bo and Co, and hopefully soon.

Beard Papa's

Though far from a new idea—these cream-puff parlors have been around for a few years now, and my daughters and I definitely enjoy wolfing a couple of their creations every now and again—popping by Beard Papa's for a sweet treat potentially got more interesting with the recent addition of the Cookie Crunch puff. Also new, available this winter only: the Mont Blanc puff, featuring a dollop of French Chestnut cream atop a regular vanilla custard puff.

Unfortunately, neither of Beard Papa's new species adds much to the admittedly already quite satisfying sugarbomb experience. In fact, in a rigorous side-by-side taste test conducted late last Saturday night in my kitchen, I can confidently say that there is absolutely no difference between the Beard Papa's regular and the Beard Papa's Cookie Crunch puff (at right and in back, above). No difference in flavor. No difference in texture. Nada.

Not that either puff was bad—in fact the special Caramel custard that filled my puffs was pleasantly rich, sweet, and butterscotchy—but they really need to rethink how to crunch these babies up, if that's the direction they're going in (maybe add cookie bits to filling?). As for the Mont Blanc, the unapologetically unsophisticated take on chestnut cream did add a certain amount of new flavoring to the puff, but mostly it just doubled up the gloppiness factor.

There are several Beard Papa's locations in the City. On this night, I got my puffs on Broadway between 76th and 77th streets.

La Rural

It's a little confusing, entering the spanking "new" La Rural, located where Pampa used to be, all of the former tenant's decor still in place, the Argentinian menu pretty much—maybe exactly?—the same. When I asked the owner about the relationship between the two restaurants, he replied "the only thing the same is the meat." I assume he didn't mean the actual, physical meat I'd be eating that night, but you never know.


Anyway, new or not, the same or different, my daughters and I feasted on a excellent meal at La Rural this past Saturday night, the food much better than I ever remember having the three or four times I ate—and left disappointed—at its predecessor. We started slowly with some nicely addictive Aceitunitas Rellenas, green olives stuffed with almonds, goat cheese and parmigian, nearly submerged in oil. We probably could have eaten three times what they gave us, but at least the oil did double duty as a dip for our bread.

Next up: grilled meat, including a generous, if inconsistent, serving of Molleja, or sweetbreads, some bites divinely rich and tender, other bites a tad chewy (I had to chuckle, though, watching my kids bicker over who would get the bigger piece of pancreas); and two kinds of sausage, a lovely, juicy, spicy Chorizo (my daughters' favorite), and a hefty Morcilla, which was good for blood sausage—dense, aromatic, tangy—but though Bo and Co gave it a go, its gamey mushiness won't win any converts to the subgenre.


More friendly, and a total table-pleaser: the Empanadas, fried and crispy, our Pollo moist and flavorful (maybe a bit too many peppers for my taste), the Caprese—mozzarella, tomato, basil, all fresh and far more liquid than stringy—a total success, and not at all the "Pizza Hot Pockets" you might expect.

Finally, my daughters split a bowl of Penne Bolognese—the noodles had bite, the sauce was garlicky, sweet and spicy, the dish a huge hit all around—while I tucked into a spectacular Bife De Costilla, a 22-ouncer, beautifully charred, intensely, deeply meaty, and, given its almost-too-rare appearance (I had asked for medium rare), stunningly tender. Really? I'd be surprised if there's a better $20 T-bone in town.

For dessert, we of course ordered the Panqueques de Dulce De Leche, the chewy, caramelized crepes oozing pools of Argentina's national food. Panqueques: fun to say; even more fun to eat.

La Rural is located on Amsterdam Avenue between 98th and 97th Streets. As of 1/12, they did not a have liquor license, nor were they accepting credit cards. We arrived at around 6:30, and though we were seated immediately without a reservation, the place was already pretty full and definitely festive.

Grandaisy Bakery on West 72nd

I've gone out of my way more times than I care to admit these past couple of weeks to sample the serious baked goodness they're serving at the new Grandaisy, an offshoot of the Soho original and a delicious new addition to what's fast becoming a major treat zone in the West 70s (think also: Grom, the just-opened Jacques Torres, Beard Papa, and, if you're so inclined, Crumbs).

So far, these baking wizards can do wrong. Three times already I've been back for their Ossi di Morte, beautiful crackly meringues studded with almonds. Get a couple on-the-go with, say, a cup of coffee, and you've just made your day so much better. Or share the love and bring someone gorgeous a dozen in one of their pre-packaged bags.

Last night I polished off a Tortino di Cioccolato, which is basically just your dream brownie come true: crunchy on the outside, rich and fudgy in the middle, with a distinct cocoa flavor AND a hint of almond, probably from the crushed up biscotti they use for texture. I had half right after dinner, solo; the other half at around 12:30 topped with coconut ice cream. Yes, it was totally worth it. Even more incredible, however, is the Tortino di Ciliegie, a chewy, buttery cake infused with frangipane (basically marzipan), topped with sour cherries, all sitting in a shell of chocolate. Seriously, it may look pretty innocent, but this is amazing.

Grandaisy is located on 72nd Street, just east of Broadway. They also serve several kinds of paninis, which sound great but I haven't tried, as well as a large variety of rolls and loaves of bread. I had an green olive roll yesterday for lunch and it was excellent.

Noche Mexicana

I had dinner here a few years ago, definitely involving tacos, prompted by a downright giddy Eric Asimov $25 and Under piece in the Times. I don't remember much about the meal beyond its total mediocrity, and it never occurred to me to eat here again.... until I noticed that it was listed in the 2007 Michelin Guide.

Huh? That Noche Mexicana? In the Michelin!?

So when the opportunity for a repeat visit presented itself, I leaped, thinking maybe I had missed something the first time around.

And... no. This is, no doubt in my mind, mediocre Mexican. "Authentic," sure—and certainly a huge step up from that atrocity Mama Mexico around the corner on Broadway—but mediocre nonetheless.

I started with a Chorizo Taco, the ground sausage plentiful and appropriately spicy, the tortillas reasonably fresh, the whole thing fine. I've had worse; I've had better (from the nearby Taco Truck on 96th Street, for example). Next up? Quesadilla de Flor de Calebeza, probably the tastiest thing I've had here, the pumpkin flowers adding a nice vinegary sweetness to the salty and surprisingly sharp cheese.


Disaster awaited, however, in the form of the Pipian de Pollo, my overcooked chicken smothered in a sea of bland, gritty pumpkin seed sauce. This, I thought to myself, is what it must be like to eat dirt. The beans were good, though. For dessert: the Flan, of course. It was OK (Móle has nothing to worry about in the Scoboco competition for best Flan of the year), remarkable mostly for his unconventional squareness. The glib lesson from all of this? Don't believe the French about Mexican.

Noche Mexicana is located on Amsterdam Avenue between 100th and 101st Streets.

Momoya on Amsterdam

Last Sunday evening two things happened almost simultaneously:

1. Our stove broke.
2. We developed a serious yen for a Japanese feast.

Well, I had the yen, but my empathetic daughters were kind enough to play along, so the three of us headed out to sample the sushi and soba at Momoya on Amsterdam... and arrived back home total fans of this spanking-new offshoot of the popular Chelsea spot.

The good news began before we even sat down: this a beautifully designed place, with the main wall in the front room composed of the rough-hewn ends of wooden planks, all protruding at irregular distances, all running horizontally. In the cozy, secret-hideout-feeling back room, it's the same thing, except the planks run vertically. Very cool. We thought maybe it was the work of Lewis.Tsurumaki.Lewis (think: Fluff, and Xing... plus they were on my mind because I had just seen the by-the-way excellent free Winner's Panel discussion at the Cooper Hewitt last week), but according to Momoya's host the space was designed and built by Swee Phuah and Hiro, of Momofuku, ChikaLicious, Soto, etc, fame.

And the food? There's nothing exotic, or even unusual on the menu, but much of what we ordered was truly top-notch. Take the Shumai: five fat dumplings, soft but not mushy (the usual downfall of these things) with a chewy, patchwork coating of firm noodles, the filling chunky enough that you could actually taste the shrimp and chicken, accompanied by a perfect ponzu sauce. We all agreed, these are as good as we've ever had. Also as a starter we shared the Seaweed Tasting, a generous sampling of six varieties of the sea greens (and purples... and whites), topped with an interesting shiso soy vinaigrette, which I happened to like, but if you're not fond of shiso, don't bother with this dish. Finally, we split a plate Usuzukuri, the fluke appropriately melty and thin, the ponzu a never-enough condiment for my kids.


Next came the mains. Co went the noodle route and was rewarded with a "yummy" bowl of Tempura Soba, the toothsome buckwheat strands swimming in a rich, earthy broth filled with, among other things, many sorts of mushrooms. The tempura in this kind of situation always gets too soggy for my tastes—in fact, Co and I we both wished we could have ordered just the soba and mushrooms—but vegetables themselves were good.

But the highlight of meal, and rightly so, was the fish. I had the Chirashi, Bo the Sushi Entree, and though the selections were standard sushi/sashimi fare—tuna, salmon, yellow tail, mackerel, eel, fluke, etc.—we were totally impressed. These pieces were uniformly soft, fresh, and lively with flavor... better, for example, than I've had at next-door Haru, and at less than two-thirds the price (and served in a much more friendly manner). All in all, this is absolutely our new go-to spot for Upper West Side sushi.

Momoya is located on Amsterdam Avenue between 81st and 80th Streets.

Nanoosh

There's hope!

That's what I thought, at least, when Nanoosh was getting prepared to open. There are tons of these sort of small, interesting-looking places serving cheap, interesting-tasting food all over town... but not so much on the Upper West Side. Especially on Broadway, where it's like: diner, diner, Cosi's, diner, pizza, filthy Big Nick's, diner, Cosi's, pizza, diner. Why no ramen, or paulitos? Where's the cheesesteaks, the arepas, or the empanadas?

Anyway, getting back to Nanoosh, aka home of dashed hopes.

Now, I admit that I'm not a huge fan of hummus, which is pretty much all this modern-designy, communal-table-having, organic-chick-pea-crushing spot offers. I am, however, a huge fan of food that has taste, which, sadly, they don't seem to serve at all. I tried the signature dish, the Hummus Nanoosh, which comes with "natural" ground beef and unfortunately under-roasted pine nuts. It's looks pretty good, right? Yeah, well, let me just say that the warm pita that came with it had more flavor. I also ordered a side of Quinoa Salad, just to mix things up, which tasted pretty much like raisins and onions, and nothing like the also-included red peppers, or cilantro, or walnuts, or lemon juice, to say nothing of quinoa. A minor point: I had to ask for my menu-promised pickles and olives, and received a tiny, miserly crock, obviously pulled straight from the fridge, all dried up and cold.

Nanoosh is located on Broadway, between 68th and 69th Streets. The location is ideal for a quick pre-movie bite, but I guess for now I'll be sticking with La Traviata, a hole-in-the-wall pizza place on 68th Street just west of Amsterdam, to fit that bill.

Thai Market

Intrigued by the over-the-top design (if they put that much money and energy into the front of the house—however ill-conceived—there has to be some love going on in the kitchen, right?), I took my ever-game daughters to the newish Thai Market for an early dinner on Saturday, fingers crossed that their first exposure to this particular branch of Southeast Asian cuisine wouldn't be a disaster.

It was only half a disaster.

The room, wide open to the street on a lovely first evening of Fall, is fun in a cheesy way... as if Epcot had a "Bangkok food stalls" world. The service was totally scattered and unhelpful (granted, we may have caught the staff between shifts); the prices low, with most everything in single digits; the menus made to look like grubby old newspapers.

And the food? I thought we were in real trouble with the starters. Under "Grilled" we tried the Loog Chin Ping, or Thai meatballs, which tasted and were textured like those canned vienna sausages with chili sauce; Pla Meok Ping, which was two skewers worth of, literally, the worst squid we've ever had—gummy, soggy, flavorless, unfinishable; and Moo Ping, satisfyingly juicy bits of pork in a sweet sauce. Also to begin, a forgettable, over-refrigerated Thai Salad; and Salmon Wrap, which sounded good—minced roasted salmon with all kinds of standard Thai spices, like lemongrass, bird's eye chili, and mint—but was so overseasoned that the fish was completely lost.


So after all that my kids had had only a few bites of food. Fortunately, we were saved by the entrees. Co played it safe and ordered the Pad Thai, which she photographed (above... pretty good, no?), then devoured. Bo also went the noodle route with Pad Se-ew, and was rewarded with a tasty plate of wide flat noodles, chicken, egg, none of the promised broccoli, in a sweet soy sauce. It's hard to screw up dishes like these, and they didn't. More impressive was my Gra Prow Kai Dow, a nicely balanced pile of moist minced chicken, chilis and such, and a perfectly cooked deep-fried egg. None of this warranted a return visit, mind you, but at least we didn't leave the place hungry.

Thai Market is located on Amsterdam Avenue between 107th and 108th Streets. We were there very early, on our way to other entertainments, but given the low prices and lively decor, I bet it gets crowded and loud.

Whole Foods Market at Columbus Circle

One of the great quick-bite spots in the city may be more supermarket than restaurant, but with its large hot and cold salad bars, dessert bar, baked goods (I always enjoy the muffins, and the cranberry almond cookies are excellent), brick-oven pizza-by-the-pound, plenty of immediately comestible fresh fruit, pre-made sandwiches and wraps, and—what I usually end up getting—eminently serviceable sushi, the prepared foods section at Whole Foods is reliably good, fairly inexpensive, and features enough of a selection to please a crowd.

Any of the locations will do—Union Square, Bowery and Houston, Chelsea—but I've dined most often at the Columbus Circle store, if only because of the lack of quick-bite competition in that part of town. Plus they have a Jamba Juice in the seating area, which Bo and Co like a lot, and so usually split a smoothie.


Now, I know none of this is a news flash to New Yorkers... but did you know that the completely renovated Columbus Circle Fountain is actually a surprisingly pleasant place to hang out and eat your food? That it's nicely-designed, relatively clean and comfortable? That the dozens of water jets that ring the interior not only keep the whole space relatively cool, but they also cancel out virtually all of the traffic noise from the surrounding rotunda? Well, it's true. Really: I can't believe they pulled this off so successfully.


The Whole Foods Market at Columbus Circle is located at 59th Street and Broadway, in the lower level of the Time Warner Center.

Spiga

The search for good food on the Upper West Side continues... and me and Mom just may have hit the jackpot at Spiga. This uptown offshoot of the popular East Village spot Cacio e Pepe has been open for about a year and a half now, and though it wasn't close to full when we were there last Monday night, and it's a little more expensive than you'd like it to be, the kitchen definitely seems to know what they're doing with what I guess you'd call creative Italian cuisine.

We started simply, with a bright and summery Insalata Mista, a nice pile of greens punctuated by grapefruit slices and shredded peaches, and then roofed by several large shavings of sharp parmesan. For our Primi we split a pasta, an excellent Garganelli with fava beans, pancetta and pecorino. My mom couldn't stop raving about this dish, and I was pretty excited myself: the beans were firm and flavorful, the pasta perfectly chewy, the bacon crisp and salty, the sauce creamy and cheesy. Well balanced; well-executed. It'd be difficult to not order this again.


I went solo on the Secondi and had the Trancio di Baccala' al Vapore (or, steamed codfish) with tomato sauce and—the primary reason I was tempted—a side of toasted almond ice cream. The fish was beautifully cooked, the sauce intense and acidic, and the ice cream, delicious unto itself, proved to be an outstanding complement to the rest of the dish, either taken together with the fish or used as a refresher between bites. After two such delicious offerings, dessert was a letdown. Not that there was anything truly bad about our Granita al Caffé, it just wasn't all that special, either, with too many large slivers of plain-old ice detracting from the espresso-ness of the granita, ending what was a memorable meal on a rather blah, nine-dollar note.

Spiga is located on 84th Street between Broadway and Amsterdam. The place is pretty small, the decor pseudo-rustic, the service servicable. The only credit card they accept is American Express.