Blue Hill (New York, NY)

July 2010

75 Washington Pl
New York, NY 10011
(212) 539-1776

Almost every night, when my furry personal trainer, Mr. Barkypants, is taking me out for my evening stroll, I pass by a little pane of glass, nearly level with the ground. I can't help myself from voyeuristically peering in at the simple, pleasant dining room on the other side. Even traveling by at the speed of dog, some of the food has been beautiful enough to catch my eye: here, a blur of pink radish against a bed of vivid green; there, the yellows and reds of glistening jewel-like tomatoes.

It'd been years since my last meal at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, so it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to the near daily reminder of Blue Hill New York. I am so glad I did -- and I'm so glad I did so at the height of summer, in the midst of our great season of bounty.

Yes, Blue Hill does do farm-to-market, locavore food so well that it starts making you think in terms like "great season of bounty". I'm not always a fan of the genre, in truth. I find Market Table kind of dull and uninteresting. Green Table in Chelsea Market has the nicest service, but the food always seems to be heavily oversalted these days. And frankly, I think Alice Waters is rather irritating as a public persona. Blue Hill redeems all these bad associations to a great extent.

We had:

- This Morning's Farm Egg served in this season with a sweet corn, almonds, lardo and new potatoes
- Summer Bean Salad with new potatoes, purslane (both the greens and a few of the delicious flowers), melon and green gazpacho vinaigrette
- Wild Striped Bass with string beans, currants, curry and pine nuts
- Berkshire Pig with braised and grilled radicchio, pistachios and smoked cherries
- A few glasses of wine, including a really nice, crisp Albariño that was not on the menu, but went nicely with the striped bass

I thought the farm egg would be the better appetizer, since I am probably clinically obsessed with very fresh eggs. The egg was very good, but the accompanying soup / garnish overwhelmed the clean, pure flavor and texture of the perfect egg to some extent. I may be in the eccentric minority, but I think I would've preferred to've had the egg all by its lonesome. Still, the dish was quite good and if I can believe my eyes, all those vegetables were diced by hand.

Surprisingly, the bean salad was even better, though not really for the headline ingredient of green beans. The bed of purslane underneath the green beans was the truly remarkable component, fresh, perfect... and so very VIVID in flavor. It was as intense as a strong childhood memory of a taste -- perhaps the first taste one ever had of apricots or ice cream or something you like very much -- magnified by time. This salad has inspired me to plant a bed of purslane in my garden next year.

I was a little bit skeptical of my striped bass at first, in truth. I don't often like dishes that are labeled as "curry" at European restaurants or restaurants of European derivation. Too often, gringo versions of curry involve untempered "curry powder" and the acrid flavor that results is an abomination. Thankfully, Blue Hill's curried green beans, served with a nicely cooked, fresh square of striped bass, were not that at all. There was a slight hint of sourness that was somewhat reminiscent of a Thai curry, but the unlikely addition of pine nuts and a few currants made the dish its own thing, completely. The flavors mostly worked. My only complaint about the dish is that the green beans in it were mushy and overcooked.

I didn't try any of my SO's pork, but it came as what looked like small medallions of tenderloin and a slice of pork belly with a smear of what tasted like toasted pistachio butter. He loved his dish. I loved the lick of pistachio butter I stole from his plate.

Whether it was because of the heat or the portion sizes or just the fact that the courses took a long time to come, we were pleasantly full by this time and didn't really want to stick around for dessert. Despite our less spendy ways, our gracious waiter didn't change his attitude at all. He was, in general, very helpful and on the ball. Earlier in the evening, he'd brought out three wines for me to taste after he found they were out of the original dry Riesling I'd ordered. The Albarino was his recommendation and a very nice substitute. I was even more impressed by the fact that he really took the time to chat with a single diner sitting by himself a few tables away.

It is true that the kitchen (and therefore service) are a bit slow -- but I've read that the kitchen is also remarkably small, which helps to explain things. I'm not sure I'd be able to sit through an entire tasting menu, though the glimpses I caught of it as it went to an adjoining table looked like fine art.

Very enjoyable meal, overall. I can't wait to try more of the menu.

August (New York, NY)

July 2010

359 Bleecker St
New York, NY 10014
(212) 929-8727

August is a true neighborhood restaurant: It's charming and friendly, with a nice covered garden in the back, and it serves food that's good enough to have earned many repeat visits over the years, without being exceptional in any way.

Meals here are somewhat inconsistent in quality. There's a tendency to oversalt. A recent pea soup was refreshing, served with a nice dallop of horseradish creme fraiche and two mint leaves, but was so salty that the salt actually obscured the pea flavor rather than enhanced it. Salads are excellent and substantial. Smoked salmon salad, served as a lunchtime entree, came with what must've been an entire side of salmon chunked into the salad.

In general, mammals and avians have been more deliciously prepared than seafood in our experience. Fish has come to us overcooked several times. On the other hand, the slow roasted suckling pig and lombatello grigliato are consistently tender, though sometimes overbrined.

Wines by the glass are fine and probably a little bit overpriced for what they are. An $11 glass of cava was a overly sweet and not a serious enough wine to merit that price tag.

Overall, though the food isn't the best that the neighborhood has to offer, we're still won over by the package deal. The servers are really genuinely friendly and warm, the bar menu is far better than your average bar menu (and currently includes a pleasant, but oversalted, white gazpacho). Seating is tight and loud on a crowded evening, but this can also translate as casual and fun if you're in the right mood. If you can ignore the table next to you, it's possibly even romantic.

The Rusty Knot (New York, NY)

July 2010

425 West St
New York, NY 10014
(212) 645-5668

Boy, I'm not even going to try to psychoanalyze the ironical-ness or non-ironical-ness of the decor (if I may reference a favorite Bushism of mine). What the Rusty Knot is, is a damn fine place to drink and nosh, watch the sunset or not watch the sunset, and in general shoot the breeze with a bunch of pals and make like you're on the Jersey shore.

Yep, the Rusty Knot (the eponymous house drink and best described as a frozen mojito) will sneak up on you and bite you in the ass if you're not careful, much like the good ol' pickle back (a shot of inoffensive Jameson followed by a shot of some of the best pickle juice I've had in a long time... and this is coming from a kid who used to drink pickle juice from the jar when her mamma wasn't watching). The dark & stormy isn't as good as Little Branch's IMHO, but the ginger will grab you by the nuts (if you have nuts)... in a good way. It demands attention.

If you need something to soak up the alcohol, the Rusty Knot has some of the best guac in town, a classic, true-to-form guacamole served in a half avocado shell with warm chips. For such a simple dish, it's all about the attention to detail -- and the kitchen at this fine establishment does, indeed, seem to pay attention to detail. Everyone's favorite snack seems to be the pretzel dog. And though I'm not usually a big hot dog fan, I get it. The "pretzel" (which actually tastes more like a buttery croissant pastry) is delightful, with or without the dog. The mustard served alongside is a long step ahead of French's.

The crowd is an enjoyable mix of pretty people, who generally seem to just come for the sunset, but quickly flee the ironical (or non ironical) digs for a sleeker Meatpacking district lounge, artists with Fidel Castro beards, and 30 something office Dilberts, disguised as someone cooler for the weekend. No matter who you are, you'll fit in at this live and let live, drink and let drink neighborhood bar.