e a t e r y R O W

Speeds and I hadn't seen each other in a while, so she suggested we hit up one of our old haunts, a French place in Chelsea called Le Grainne Cafe. It's a great little place with the city's best Coq Au Vin. One day, I may review it (it's on the map), but not today. I decided that since a few of my recent posts have been about French restaurants, Speeds and I should go someplace else. Ostia, a West Village tapas place, has been on my shortlist to go to for quite some time, and what better time than now?



When I arrived at Speeds' apartment, she had just woken up from her post-workout nap. I know since I was the one who woke her up. Sweaty, cranky, and in need of a comb, she answered her door and I waited. Lucky for me, my cell phone has Tetris.

We arrived at Ostia a little later than we wanted to, but no later than I thought we would, since doing anything with Speeds means making sure you have an extra half hour to play with. No biggie. They weren't crowded and we got a seat by the window. It's a really great little place. Very dark, but romantic and warm. If this were a date, I'd have scored some serious points (note to self: go here on date).

The service is a tad on the slow side, but the bread is very good and the wine will have you forgetting what you ordered anyway. Noting the Arabian influence on Spanish cooking, the bread was served with hummus, not butter. And don't ask for butter, they don't have any. We checked and now impart our wisdom on to you.

They have a small, but decent-sized and decent-priced wine list made up mostly of Spanish vintages. But unfortunately, if you're not really up to polishing off a whole bottle, they don't have too many choices for those who just want a single glass. Luckily the wines that they do serve by the glass are very good. The whites are very sweet and better suited for dessert, so we stuck with a glass of dry red. A Toro, I think.



Speeds is allergic to the onion family. This means she can't have onions, shallots, scallions, and garlic. Can you imagine? A life without garlic? Where even a small piece gives you heartburn, an upset stomach, and all manner of digestive discomfort? You might as well eat tofu for the rest of your life and bide your time until all food can be had in pill form. Suffice it to say, we learned too late that she would be unable to eat a fair number of these plates. Suffice it to say, I ate more than I was supposed to. Suffice it to say, I guess every cloud has a silver lining... even if that lining is destined to line someone else.

The first things to come were the Almendras y Aceitunas, a mix of olives and salted roasted almonds and the Ensalada de Cabraldes, Manzana y Nueces, a blue cheese salad with apples and walnuts. At the end of the meal, Speeds told me to note for you all that the salad blew her away, which I will infer meant that it was her favorite dish. I liked it, too.

Next up were the Croquetas de Jamon Serrano, fried croquettes filled with ham and cheese. I liked them. Speeds was less enthusiastic. There were four. I ate three. Admittedly, they were the weakest and most generic of the dishes we ordered. If you like your steak raw, the the Montaditos de Solomillo (filet mignon carpaccio with artichoke) may well be for you. While I thought that they were superb, right between the steak and the toast the steak was on was an undisclosed thick layer of garlic that pretty much ended any hope of Speeds being able to have any. More for me. Heh heh heh.

Although we were slowly filling up, we weren't there yet. The beauty of tapas is that the small portions mean you never feel guilty ordering more and you always feel like you're eating healthy. So we pulled over the waitress and ordered some more. The Setas a la Parilla, grilled mushrooms, were incredible. Yes, there was garlic on them but enough was enough, said Speeds. And she ate. The last dish were the Patatas Bravas, a potato pie-type dish served with mushrooms. Another fantastic one. Actually, these last two were the best two in my opinion, even though Speeds voted that the salad should get the ribbon.



The whole thing: six dishes, two glasses of wine, a cocktail, plus tax and tip came to $100 even.

BEST 1 SUSHI
109-21 72nd Road
Forest Hills, NY 11375
(718) 897-0460

Just when you think a point has been reached where there are so many places selling sushi that no newbie could possibly make any money, another one pops up. This newbie is called Best 1 Sushi, which I will call B1S for short, and it's literally half a block away from another sushi bar, Sushi-Oh. Neither burden their customers with hot food options. These are sushi joints, not Japanese restaurants.

B1S definitely gives off a Japanese vibe. Having never been to Japan, I can't say if it's authentic or not, but if the movies are accurate (and when are they not?), this place is spot on. One thing of note, though, is that there's no bar, so while you can watch the guys make the sushi if you want to, it means standing up, so you're probably just better off sitting down. It's more if a sushi-restaurant than a sushi-bar. But it's always a good sign when you walk into a sushi place for the first time and you see a Japanese businessman* eating there (* businessman = guy in suit. He could have been a doctor or possibly a well-dressed hobo).

Despite it's unfortunate name, and the tacky "dot-com" after said name on the awning, Best 1 Sushi is anything but tacky inside. B1S is bright and spotlessly clean. Though they sell those cliche Japanese snacks on one wall, the snacks were neat and look like they'd been arranged by someone with OCD.



When I went in initially, I had no plans to review B1S. I just wanted dinner after work. I normally hate (HATE) eating by myself. But there was something inviting about B1S and once inside I decided that rather than take dinner home and veg out by the tube, I'd sit down and read. And I ended up ordering way more than I would have since I ended up staying there way longer than I planned to.

First up, the Miso Soup. It was good. It was miso soup. I'm not really sure what else to say. You either like it or you don't, but most people do. This one had less tofu than I'm used to, but more scallion. It wasn't salty in the least.

I also ordered a hot tea, but my ignorance meant getting a brew that I'm pretty sure was boiled seaweed. To say it was "not my cup of tea" would be polite. Honestly, it was vile. I ordered a Diet Coke too though, so problem averted.

B1S has no liquor license yet. I apologize if I dashed anyone's hope at getting sake or Sapporo.



I stuck with rolls this evening. For starters, the simple Tuna Roll. Excellent. Very good. Yum.

One of my favorite rolls is the Philadelphia Roll, and while this one was very good, it could have used about twice as much cream cheese. I know, it's not authentic Japanese. Blah blah blah. But I'm not authentic Japanese either, so calm down and gimme my Americanized sushi! I also got the Alaska Roll. It's made up of salmon and crab wrapped with asparagus and cucumber. It wasn't bad, but was a bit on the bland side. And if you're craving being able to eat more destinations, they have numerous varieties of the ubiquious California roll, plus the New York roll, the Boston roll, the Michigan roll, and the Mexican (wtf?) roll.

But far and away, the best roll I ordered, and the roll which is now my bestest mostest favoritest roll of all, is B1S's Dragon Roll. Tempura shrimp wrapped by rice with cucumber and greens and then wrapped again in eel, topped with slices of avocado and with that sweet eel sauce drizzled on top. Furthermore, it's huge, taking up half the plate. Hot damn, I don't even want to know how unhealthy that puppy is. But I'm getting it again.

B1S is seriously cheap. Standard rolls are between $3 and $6. The special rolls go up to around $10. A la carte sushi will go for betwen $2 and $5 per piece. You can get a combo that I suggest you share (or risk exploding like a Monty Python skit) consisting of 20 pieces of sushi and four rolls for $35. And though they have saner, smaller versions available, this is what they call their "regular".

My youth back in the 1980s was spent just a skidge north of Alphabet City. And during that youth, Alphabet City was verboten. There weren’t too many places my parents feared I tread (well... maybe there were), but our neighbor to the south made it onto the list. In fact the only time I can recall ever going there before college was to get sneakers at some discount shoe store near Tompkins Square Park.

Over time… actually, a really short time, Alphabet City became this bustling gastronomic hub. It didn't become a place where celebrity chefs would set up shop and mug their patrons with $300-a-plate sushi, but rather became almost a center of affordable food. And by "affordable". I don't mean Burger Kings and Chilis. I mean regular restaurants with chefs whose menu wasn't approved by a focus group. Clubs and bars and restaurants have become so plentiful that nowadays if you’re walking down one of the avenues and trip, you’re liable to smack your head on a bistro table.

Home now to hipsters and artists and college students, Alphabet City is actually a place yellow cabs will go trolling for customers. I remember when they would actually kick you out of their cab if you wanted to go there at night. Times change. In fact, they change so much that the old residents who endured the litter of crack vials, gangs, and destitution were the subject of a documentary on PBS a few years ago that was critical of the neighborhood’s gentrification and the shift from the way it was to the way it has become.

But I like it this way.

(And hey, if you really crave slumminess, you can still find plenty of decrepitude between the avenues where the gentrification takes longer to get to.)



At only a handful of years old, 26 Seats is one of the newbies to the neighborhood. The name
"26 Seats" is not artistic. Like "Automobile Magazine", it’s self descriptive. This is less a restaurant where you bring your friends to have a good ol' time than where you might go when you wanted a nice, dark, sorta romantic setting. I picked it because of the name, though. Hey, I'm just being honest.

Hottydoc arrived before I did but they gave her a nice little table by the wall where no one would squeeze past us, coats and bags akimbo. Points! Very little is more aggravating than being forced to stand in the doorway of the restaurant for 20 minutes because your friends haven't shown up yet and the restaurant won't give you a table unless your whole party's there. So kudos to 26 Seats for giving Hottydoc the table. Additionally, of course, I give Hottydoc points for beating me to the restaurant. ... maybe I should re-name her.

The wine list at 26 Seats is a pretty small one. There are only a handful of wines and only a handful within that handful available by the glass. But none of the bottles get very expensive. They average, if I can remember, somewhere between $25 and $35 per bottle, with the most expensive one going for maybe $50 or $60. Anyway, we just ordered a couple glasses of something white. She picked it out. I said, "make that two" and forgot to jot it down.

Hottydoc doesn't like to order appetizers, so she didn't. Normally, I'd follow suit so I wouldn't feel guilty. But I couldn't help it. Escargot. Escargot a la Creme D'ail, to be precise. Normally escargot is served soaking in lava-hot garlic butter in an oddly shaped dish specifically made for escargot. Each snail gets its own cozy little porcelain pocket. 26 Seats' escargot comes, however, inside a copper little pot with a pastry-puff crust on top. Inside the pot the escargot sit in a stew of vegetable cream sauce. Different, but very good. Hottydoc liked it, but felt that the sauce overwhelmed the flavor of the escargot itself.



The entrees we ordered were the Truite Meniere for Hottydoc, a seared brook trout with lemon butter and saffron rice, and the Magret de Canard, a duck breast with mashed sweet potato and mixed greens under a cherry sauce. The trout was great. Easily the best I've had in a very long time. Very light (watch the bones) and perfectly cooked. The duck was very good, too, but I think Hottydoc liked it more than I did. It isn't that it was bad by any stretch, but it seemed a bit on the tough side. And although I know that duck is a very fatty bird, a bit less fat would have been appreciated.

For dessert we shared a Creme Brulee, which I always love. And still do. Creme brulees are like escargot for me. If I see it on the menu, I need one. Just after college I even bought one of those kits that come with their own butane torch so you can make your own. I love cooking and I figured that if I could top off a candle-lit romantic dinner with a fresh creme brulee, I'd be charming the skirts off girls like nobody's business. I think I used it three times. Once to test it, once for a friend, and once for my mom. I don't think I need to elaborate further on the success of my creme-brulee-skirt plan.

Our meal, which included a shared appetizer, two entrees, a shared dessert, and a glass of wine each (plus tax and tip) came to just over $70. When you go, not if, you should know that the only credit card 26 Seats takes is American Express. AmEx or cash. So don't leave home without it. Or bring your dish gloves.



Update 10/22/07:
Gnome went with some friends the other night and told me how wonderful she thought 26 Seats was. So far today, she's thanked me three times for recommending it. She odered the Poulet Moutarde, a balsamic chicken breast with a potato pave in a ginger sauterne mustard. She tells me that it was one of the most tender pieces of chicken she'd ever had. As for the atmosphere, it was so romantic, she tells me, that the two friends she went there with hooked up after dinner and she left to go puke.

I arrived at Florent early. That’s normal for me. I’m usually early, especially when it comes to the social stuff. And dinner with Mr. Dogz and Speeds qualifies as social stuff. Having about a half hour to wait and do nothing, I plopped down my bag and jacket (it was kinda warm when I arrived) on one of the outdoor tables and went inside for a coffee. Florent was as close to deserted as a restaurant can be without being closed. I would have presumed that this would therefore mean that my quest for a coffee here would not be an elusive, near futile hunt for caffeine acquisition. But that was not to be. Rather than be met with a smile, I was met by the look of someone whose dinner was interrupted. My request for a coffee was taken, ignored, and forgotten. Twice. Third time's the charm and when I finally did get what I asked three times for, I paused to consider not even bothering to pay. But, I did. Probably because I’m a sucker.

But enough about me.



Florent is supposed to be a French bistro. But it’s really a French diner. A diner that serves French food. Oh sure, there’s maps of France on the wall and they’ve got cool kitchy matchbooks and postcards instead of business cards to up their difference-quotient. But change the menu to include gyros and plug in a neon jukebox playing the golden oldies and this place could double for any greasy spoon along I-95 right between a Cracker Barrel and a Waffle House. If they mysteriously closed Monday, you could find a Moonstruck here Tuesday. Don't read this as a put-down. I like diners. Just don't go expecting to find a place like an Ouest for young, trendy types.



Actually, the only reason Mr. Dogz and I were eating here (and you're reading a review of this) instead of getting Italian in Williamsburg (and reading of review of that) was because Speeds wanted to eat with us, but she didn’t want to go all the way to Williamsburg. Not when she can come up with a place right in her own back yard. And since we're two of the biggest push-overs you're liable to meet, we agreed to change our plans at the last minute to go someplace she wanted. Naturally, she was late. It's her thing. Dogz arrived on time, it's his thing. So we took bets. How late would we eat? He guessed 15 minutes. I threw out a more cynical half hour. Forty-five minutes later, we started ordering.



I usually stick to my unwritten policy of always ordering the escargot when I hit up a French place, but I wanted to keep this meal nice and cheap, so I broke the rule. We skipped ordering appetizers and went straight for the main courses. Mr. Dogz decided on the Veggie Burger. It wouldn’t have been my personal first choice, not being a veggie burger person and all, but he is. Upon finishing, Dogz leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. “Ahhh, that hit the spot.” I tried the Roast Free-Range Chicken. Pretty good. Not great, but I certainly can’t complain. After all, this is a diner. Their mashed potatoes were delicious. Buttery and Cool-Whip smooth. Speeds, once she showed up, also took her time figuring out what she wanted to eat. She picked the Roulade of Chicken Breast, a cheese and vegetable stuffed breaded chicken breast with salad. This was, uh, disappointing. While Speeds said she liked it, I thought it was, frankly, too dry and the breading a bit burned.

Mr. Dogz and I were happy waiting until we could get to a bar before ordering ourselves a hearty dessert of Guinness, but Speeds was itching for something sweet and figured she’d try out Florent’s Warm Chocolate Lava Cake. She liked it a whole lot and told me to recommend it. Dogz tried some and claimed that he thought less of the cake than Speeds did. Nonetheless, his flavor test prompted the inevitable debate come bill time about whether eating half of someone's dessert (it's not a big cake) meant having to pay for half its cost. (It does.)



So dinner was pretty good. And I had a really good time once everyone arrived. Actually, I had a great time. We were joking and laughing and as Florent got crowded and loud things only got better. In fact, given that service markedly improved once the dinner crowd started pouring in, I had almost forgotten the staff’s earlier infraction of treating me like I was wasting their time. So why, oh why, did I only leave a 10% tip?

Speeds and I got charged for coffee refills. Who charges for coffee refills? Speeds and I are coffee… enthusiasts (addicts is such an ugly word). So when she ordered her lava cake, we ordered both figured on having a cup of their heavily cinnamony brew. Little did we know that later on, when the nice lady came by to refill our cups, she’d be tacking it onto our bill. Lovely. I did not fight it. Sufficed to say, this reduced the discretionary spending portion of our day.

And so the evening ended as it began. With frustration over coffee.

Overall, I like Florent. It's pretty cheap. It's a lot of fun. It's very relaxing. Unlike the rest of the Meatpacking District, it's not a haven for poseurs enjoying a chicness that's only provided with daddy's credit card. It's an honest, unpretentious, and discounting the attitude I got in the beginning, an ultimately friendly place. They're open 24 hours, so I'm likely to go back, perhaps for a late night bite to eat, though more likely because Speeds wants to go someplace convenient for her and I'm a great big push-over.

Three entrees, a dessert, and four separately paid coffees came to around $60 plus tax and tip.