e a t e r y R O W

With a name like "Eatery", how could I not point out the window of Speeds' car and scream "That one! Find a parking spot and let's see if they live up to their namesake." Eatery, like my last review, 44 & X, and Cafeteria, which I haven't reviewed yet, does its thing by modernizing traditional American food and giving it some funk. Part of that funk is a trendy setting in a trendy neighborhood while being served by waiters who think they're better than you are. And part of it is a tweaking of the traditional foodstuffs, which in this case means giving it a bit of an Asian and a bit of a Mexican flair. Americexicasian?



By this point, I'm sure that some of my regular readers will think that Speeds and I are... an item. Even I wonder sometimes. But no, we're not. I'm specifically aiming this paragraph at Toilet, Speeds' should-be boyfriend (long story). Toilet, we're just friends. It just so happens that she likes eating out as much as I do (partly because she can't cook worth a damn) and appreciates a good dirty test message. Plus, since she'll split the bill 50-50, she's practically better than a date. Actually, Speeds was all set for a night out with Toilet when he cancelled at the last minute. Lo and behold, she was suddenly free and I found myself in her car zipping around the west side.



The waiter of ours, at least according to Speeds, was really hot. "Too bad he's so flamboyantly gay." But so was everyone who worked there. Our waiter, it must be said, was a total prick. But he improved over time. The first thing we got, after choosing tap over bottled water, were these odd peppered wafers instead of bread. The menus came and we tried to pick some things that we wouldn't have had before or that at least sounded fun.

We started with the Ginger Calamari, which was... uh... awful. One of the worst I've ever tasted, to paraphrase Speeds. Overcooked with a nice little burn to it. Actually, I didn't think it was so bad. I've eaten worse, and I figure that if you don't mind eating a fishy rubber band coated in 4C breadcrumbs, no problemo.



As I said, Eatery tries to blend American concepts with Asian and Mexican influences. And contrary to what you might think following the calamari fiasco (contrary to what we thought), Eatery succeeds immensely. Speeds went for the Apple Marinated Pork Tenderloin. It came with bok choi, which I love, purple potatoes, and a banana tamarind salsa. Speeds absolutely loved it, aside from the bok choi, which I took. I ordered the Wok Flashed Tequila Shrimp (see below), served over corn flautas with sweet potatoes and a cilantro sour cream. And I have to say that while I fully expected these to taste like something off the Blockheads menu, they were incredible. Eatery went from being a place I was planning to pan and ignore, to being a place I can't wait to return to.



No one, according to our hunky but distant black-clad waiter, was ordering coffee this 95 degree evening. But Speeds and I are smarter than your average bears and ordered iced coffee. Alongside the iced javas came our desserts. If you know my dining companion for more than two minutes, you know that the first word that comes to her mind after someone says dessert is chocolate. And hence, the Warm Chocolate Cake was the natural choice. I had some hopes that she'd order something different from her norm, like maybe the Oreo iced cream sandwich, but no. She was far from disappointed in her choice.

My option was the Tahitian Vanilla Bean Cheesecake. Very yummy, as you can see. The image tasted as good as it looks. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for cheesecake, ever since I was a little kid who ate y first slice in the crypt restaurant of an Irish cathedral. I've never found a cheesecake that can live up to the fantasy I've created as a memory of that one, but Eatery's was pretty damn good. I'd go back just for it alone.



Our meal, which consisted of an appetizer, a bottle of Magic Hat Number 9, two entrees, two desserts, and two coffees, tax and tip, came to $100 even.



UPDATE (7/24/09):
Speeds and Dogz and I, hungry in Hells Kitchen, wound up at Eatery for a quick dinner. Eatery was crowded, but we got a table with a pretty short wait and we placed our orders. The service was fine. Happy, pleasant, attentive. No one could really complain. The food was another story. No dish was necessarily bad, and maybe we'll find our way back here should we be unable to think of another place to go, but we were unimpressed with each dish.



Dogz ordered the Mac and Jack, a baked mac and cheese dish with fried onions. He thought it was good, but admits his bias having recently had what he calls, the best mac and cheese ever somewhere else. Speeds ordered the Grilled Pork Tenderloin, with red cabbage, almond-watercress slaw and red-potato bliss potato cake. She found herself disinterested and with good reason. The pork was flat, the potato cake mediocre and the slaw mostly for decoration. My choice was the Grilled Free Range Chicken Paillard over a bed of golden potatoes. Again, bland, and a little dry. Without the sauce, it wouldn't have had any taste at all.





Maybe we went on a bad night, but all of us left disappointed. Our three dishes ranged in price from $14 to $19.

Hell's Kitchen originally got it's name back in the day when Satan was a celebrity chef here. Not many people know that. More modern times saw a few waves of crime-ridden putridity so rank that even the most starving of starving artists wouldn't touch the place. Suddenly, something happened. Manhattan real estate prices jumped up so high and so fast that the definition of "bad neighborhood" went from meaning a place where you'd get mugged in broad daylight in front of a police precinct to one that's missing a Starbucks and that's kinda far from the subway.

Still, Hell's Kitchen does retain much of its neigborhoodiness, unlike some of the pied-a-territories of Soho and the Central Park ring. There are plenty of brownstones, local bars, and cool nooks mixed in with the new highrises and bistros. Some traditionalists will be happy to note that the farther west you go from Ninth Avenue, the more likely you are to run into some original residents. Fear not, they won't mug you, but they might ask for some meth money.



I first noticed 44 & X while walking down Tenth Avenue a few month's back. Maybe Time Out New York, or the New York Times, or New York Magazine, or something else with New York in the title wrote about them. I dunno. I have the misfortune of being a food blogger/critic who doesn't really have the time to read other people's opinions. Anyway, I pretty much based by entire decision to eat here on the cool name and the fact that it has scads of sidewalk seating.

Speeds, as I'm sure I've mentioned ad nauseum, is somewhat lazy when it comes to travelling. She was very reluctant to come and visit near where I work to find a restaurant, finding excuses like traffic or the air quality after the steam-pipe explosion and so on. But I convinced her to meet me halfway. I'd head west, she'd head north. And so we travelled. Archi, a friend of ours from DC, was in town, and came along. I'd attempted to convince Archi to move to New York, but apparently her career was more important than my restaurant blog. Women are selfish, selfish creatures.

We chose to sit in 44 & X's white-themed outdoor area, instead of it's white-themed indoor, air-conditioned area. We scooped up the nicest waitress in town, got a basket of multi-grain bread and lemon-slice garnished water and took a peekity-peek at the menu. The first thing in it were the drinks. We ordered the absolute cheapest white wine on the list, a 2006 bottle of Kanu Chenin Blanc from South Africa for $29.

If you've ever been to Cafeteria or Eatery (coming next), then you'll quickly get the concept of 44 & X: a high-brow take on American comfort food. So you can order macaroni and cheese, or meatloaf, or short ribs, or their buttermilk fried chicken (which I'm told is very good, but which I did not get), but you won't feel like you're eating at a kitched-out Cracker Barrel. Of course, when someone says "comfort food" at a place like this, you can rest assured that filet mignon's on the menu.

So that's what I ordered. Pan Seared Filet Mignon, which came with mashed potatoes, a tomato jam and was drizzled with a port wine "reduction" (ie: sauce). Very tender, very juicy. Oddly very heavy. A bit overcooked for my medium-rare taste, but still very good.

Speeds and Archi both went the salad route, to my dismay. And, apparently, to theirs as well.



They split a salad appetizer before their salad entrees, a Goat Cheese Pistaccio Souffle with endive over a bed of sliced asian pear and drizzled with a pomegranite syrup. This was actually really good and I caught myself picking at it. Just the other day, Speeds talked about how much she liked this dish.

Archi picked out the Mediterranean Chopped Salad, which came loaded with cucumber, hearts of palm, cabbage, chick peas, avocado, and baby tomato. She felt very Valley Girl. I tried it and it wasn't that it was bland, so much as it's so far removed from anything I can conceive of ordering for dinner that there's simply no way I could get into praising it.

Speeds went for a special to the menu, a Spinach Salad with Bacon, that also had asparagus, and artichoke. Do you like it?, I asked. "It's good" said her mouth. A wholly other message was conveyed by her face. Later on, after trying Archi's chopped salad, Speeds told us what we already knew. "I don't really like either one of them." The lesson here isn't that 44 & X is a crappy restaurant. It's that you should not eat salads when you go out for dinner with your friends. I had a steak and do you see me complaining? Nope. Know why? 'Cause I ordered a steak. Or to be more accurate, I didn't order a salad.




Archi thinks that when one opens their menu, the very first page should be the dessert menu. This way, you can fingure out exactly how much you should order so you can get dessert before you're full. But this completely disregards the two-stomach theory.

Our desserts were very good. Speeds and Archi, disappointed over their salad-ordering mistake, needed them to be. When I was in college, I took a trip out to Key West for spring break, and since then there are two things that when I see them on a menu, I find it hard to pass up ordering. I need to see if they measure up to the originals. One is conch, which no one seems to serve anywhere. Sad. The other is obviously key lime pie. Well, 44 & X doesn't serve key lime pie, but they do have a Key Lime Cheesecake drizzled with strawberry syrup. Very good, but too heavy for me to finish. Archi chose the Peanut Butter Mousse, which was very creamy and very smooth. She liked it, but I can't get into peanut butter desserts. I dunno why. Finally, Speeds got her requisite chocolate dessert, a Falled Chocolate Souffle, which was as rich as all sin. If you like dark, heavy, rich, creamy chocolate desserts that leave their chocolaty taste in you mouth for ten minutes after you swallow, this is the dessert for you.

The thing about 44 & X isn't that I don't think it's good, since I think it is, and it isn't that I think it's terribly pricey, because it really isn't. But at the same time, I feel that comfort food is one of those things you don't play games with. It exists on a timeless plane where variation is based mostly on whose grandma's recipe you use. So for real, traditional comfort food, I have to endorse Friend of a Farmer in Gramercy.

Our total meal, tax and tip included, for a bottle of wine, an appetizer, an entree, two salads, three coffees, and three desserts came to $174.50.

Better Burger

burger joint at Le Parker Meridien
DuMont Burger

Sex and food. Long the domain of a few select products (strawberries, chocolate, oysters, and edible panties), hamburgers have begun to take on the task of turning us on. But can you really be turned on by a girl squeezing a big, hot piece of meat between her glisteningly moist lips?

I guess so. Mmmmmm, yummy. Yup, burgers are so sexy now, the Utah state legislature wants to label backyard grilling a "perverted art". Even McDonalds, long the family favorite choice for getting a burger, has gotten hotter.

You know what she wants. You know she wants it badly. You know she wants it now. Yeah baby. The only question that remains is: where does she want it?

BETTER BURGER
587 Ninth Avenue
New York, NY 10036
(212) 629-6622

I hate Times Square. I loathe it. Why? Because I'm a New Yorker. You can always tell whether someone's a New Yorker by asking them what they think about Times Square (Herald Square, too). If they answer in any way other than "I wish it were cut off from the island and floated out to sea", then they're a tourist. Yeah, it looks cool at night. But that's really about all it has going for it.

Better Burger, at least the location I went to, mandated a crosstown trek through the aforementioned, shlock-ridden, filth-strewn tourist trap. But through it must I go. After all, Better Burger is considered, at least by the powers that be, to be one of the best burger joints in the city. A standard bearer, if you will, of burgerdom. Bro met me at the Starbucks on the corner and we went in.

Past the homeless person sleeping in the first booth we strode, and went to order. Better Burger gives off the air of a wide-body rail-car diner, the last real one of which left Manhattan recently on a flatbed truck for a museum in Pennsylvania. Hey, a high-rise luxocondo had to be built. We placed our identical orders and grabbed a booth on the opposite side as the homeless guy and waited. My burger and fries came damn fast. Bro's took way longer. Five minutes versus fifteen.

The burgers were really good. I won't beat them to death with praise, but I recommend them. Is that a whole wheat bun? Better Burger brags about how they're all natural and organic (soy American cheese, air baked French fries). And who doesn't like organic? But I'll be honest. I'd rather that they pump their beef full of steroids and curb their styrofoam cup use. One reason I don't get my coffee at Dunkin Donuts is because they have a styrofoam fetish. Another reason is because their coffee sucks.

The fries were damn good, too. Better Burgers has a small variety of ketchups. Regular, Cajun, and something Indianish. They don't give you many fries, so order two rounds. Should you be going with someone who doesn't really care for hamburgers (a freak), well there are plenty of non-burger options available, including a collection of salads.

burger joint at LE PARKER MERIDIEN
118 West 57th Street
New York, NY 10019

You just spent $400 for the night at the Le Parker Meridien Hotel and you're just about broke. You want cheap and good. What do you do? You head downstairs to the burger joint in the lobby.

You're in town on business and got through a day of meetings with people you smile at because you had to. You're tired of wearing a suit and want to relax. You want to feel cool and young again. You want to go back to that time when you didn't have to think about anything resembling a responsibility. You're tired of being the forty-something family man with the keys of yet another requisite and ubiquitous BMW sitting dead in your pocket. What do you do? You meet your business buds downstairs at the burger joint in the lobby.

You're a yuppie with a food blog that no one reads. You've been hearing people wax energetic about this incredible place for a hamburger hidden away behind a curtain in the lobby of a hotel in midtown. What do you do? You grab MLE and head to the burger joint in that lobby.

The line at the burger joint wasn't as long as I thought it would be. About 15 minutes. The real trick is getting a table. The seating here is tight. Really tight. My suggestion is to go with another person and while you order, send them on a recon mission to find a table. They should go armed and ready to pounce the minute someone starts wiping their mouth. It's kill or be killed out there. MLE was a pro, beating a Eurotrash couple that thought they could get the better of us.

The parts of the walls not covered by seemingly random movie posters or framed and signed glamour shots are heavily graffitied by celebrities’ comments on the awesomeness of the burgers here. Did you know that Andrew Dice Clay thinks the burgers here are the best? I mean, if that’s not a celebrity endorsement worth its weight in gold, I don’t know what is. Right? Anyone? Hello? Is this thing on?

The burgers, while good, were not the kind necessarily worth standing on line for. Better than fast food, for sure. They did have the messy habit of dripping scalding streams of grease down over my hand and down my arm. If you like the french fries from McDonalds, you'll love these. I swear they're the exact same thing. If you prefer something thicker-cut, you'll be disappointed.

DUMONT BURGER
314 Bedford Avenue
Brooklyn, NY
(718) 384-6127

Williamsburg can be divided into two halves along Bedford Avenue. The side north of Grand Avenue, and the side south of it. The north side is a hipster heaven with restaurants and shops and streets filled with no one who looks like they work anywhere that isn't an art gallery or as a computer programmer. The south side is, poetically put, a dirty pit. DuMont Burger is on the south side.

DuMont Burger feels like a bar, and it is one. It's a fully stocked pub that just so happens to have some of the best bar food worth eating. A large mirror lines one wall, and raw, dark wood lines everything else. It's like someone visited the saloon of an abandoned mining town and brought that essence to Brooklyn. It's a cool, chill place. But there's a sexiness factor to it, too. You could meet friends here, bring a date without looking like a cheapskate, and eat alone without feeling awkward. DuMont has no tables, only narrow bars with ultra heavy iron stools to sit on. Don't invite your friends in wheelchairs.

Compared to other places, DuMont's not cheap. The burger's $10.50, the fries are $4.00, plus it's full service, so there's tip involved. It actually ended up costing more than BLT Burger. But fear not, oh cashless society, they take Visa and MasterCard.

DuMont Burger's signature namesake, the DuMont Burger, was excellent. The burgers were wrapped in a nicely toasted bun that was both crisp and soft at the same time without being burned. The bun wasn't the fast-foody kind you get at the supermarket, which, by the way, was the kind used at Le Parker Meridien.

These are some thick wads of meat, not small or thin patties that feel pre-made. There was just the right amount of char on my hamburger. Bro thought his had too much, but he ordered his medium well and I ordered mine medium rare and juicy (read bloody).

I don't remember much about the fries, but my notes say I liked them. I do recall that they came unsalted, something I didn't like but Bro did. The burgers come loaded with slices of pickle. Normally I like pickle. But these were not the crisp kosher kind. These were the sweet kind. Ugh. On the side was another pickle; a big wedge of spicy pickle. It was actually worse. The sodas we ordered came in those teeny glass bottles that practically force you to order two.

I’ve been trying to spend more time eating in Brooklyn lately (note the emphasis on trying); after all it’s our most populous borough, and has some truly great restaurants. But it’s a long subway ride and driving means going through the neighborhoods that sit on the border of Brooklyn and Queens, which happen to have some of the most God-awful roads in all Creation. So I take opportunities when they come along.

After spending Saturday in the Rockaways (which has been declared by the federal government to be a restaurant-free zone), I was headed north on Flatbush Avenue with Bro and Shrink. We decided to get dinner in Brooklyn. I wanted a meal worth writing about; Shrink wanted a meal that wasn’t trendy; Bro had a cold and couldn’t taste anything, and just wanted food. Serves food? Not trendy? A restaurant that might increase my blog’s pitiful traffic? It had to be Rose Water (or Applewood, but I didn’t know where that was).



Rose Water sits in Park Slope, known for it's brownstones, baby carriages, numerous bars and restaurants, gads of community spirit, and a healthy dose of anti-corporateism. The closest thing to a chain store there I can think of is the homespun Brooklyn Industries and a Barnes & Noble.

The last time I ate at Rose Water, I wasn’t terribly impressed. I thought that the staff was awesome; friendly, happy, smiling, attentive. The food, though, bordered on tasteless. I had gone with M many moons ago. We both ordered fish and I told myself that all the hype and friends’ raves were a lot of hot air. Hot, pricey air. Since then, I always wanted to return to see if I went on an off day. But months went by and the chance never came.

We circled the block a couple of times before finding a spot and then walked on over, winding through the forest of brownstones. Considering Rose Water’s small size and large popularity, I was shocked that on a Saturday night and with no reservation (at 7:30pm), we were able to get a table right away (and not the last one, either). But by the time we left, it had filled up. So the lesson for today is to show up before 8.



Shrink was instantly pleased seeing that the menu wasn’t grossly overpriced and the customer base wasn’t twenty-something hipsters who’d make her feel out of place. She'd love Park Slope. Jazz music playing in the background, light woods, a birch tree in the corner, and plenty of tea lights and flowers made for a very chill, bohemian aura that would relax any normal person. Of course, you might recall that I was also with Bro... So the relaxed part of the equation went right out the window.

The menu, presented on wood pallets, is small but cute. There were no specials the day I went. The wine list was decent, but Rose Water had a very small selection of wines available by the glass. I will give them a healthy dose of kudos, however, for their choice of hard cider, Doc's, which comes from the apple orchards of the Warwick Valley Winery about an hour upstate. Very, very good cider.



For an appetizer, Bro ordered the Blistered Shishito Peppers, which were roasted and served with a goat cheese sauce for dipping. These were excellent and I wish I ordered them instead of my choice, the excruciatingly bland Asparagus Soup. The soup was a creamy asparagus puree with mozzarella, ginger, and shrimp. But it was thin and flavorless unless you bit into a chunk of ginger. If you’re an asparagus person, this soup will bore you.

My entrée, the Duck Leg Confit, was the exact opposite. It was delicious. Spectacular. Magnificent. Spectificent. I was on the verge of gnawing on the bone. The dish was served with a small duck and radish salad and over-easy duck egg yolk bleeding over a thick piece of lightly-toasted bread. Man, I’m drooling just writing this. Bro’s Sauteed Tile Fish (which, remember, he couldn’t actually taste because he was sick), was delicious and came topped with a little dollop of spicy somethingorother that I liked but Shrink didn’t. As a side, it came with potatoes, sea beans, and snow peas. Shrink and I ate from the opposite side of sick Bro's fillet. Shrink’s choice, the Grilled Striped Bass, which Bro refused to order unless he could embarrass the table by pronouncing it “base” (this from a guy who’s supposed to be 24 with a master's degree), was pretty good. It was moist and tender and served over a bed of chard in a pool of almond milk, but was the least flavorful of the three entrees.

When the time came for dessert, I was the only one who opted for a non-liquid. Shrink and I got coffees and Bro picked the Japanese Sencha Tea, hoping it would soothe his throat. I chose the Strawberry Shortcake which was very good, albeit very small and really not filling in the way I think a dessert should be. Pet peeve. It was delivered with three sets of utensils. I always find that annoying. I think it's pretty obvious that we’re family. What kind of people can all use the same bathroom but can’t bear to share a fork?



While the food this go-around was a vast improvement over last year’s, the service was noticeably different. I can’t really put my finger on what it was, but there was a change. It’s not like anyone wasn’t there taking orders, filling water glasses, and delivering the food before it got cold, but gone were the smiles and eager bounciness that I most remembered from my previous visit. Alas.

Two appetizers, three entrees, three drinks, three coffees/teas, one dessert: $133.10 plus tip.

MARKT
676 6th Avenue
New York, NY 10010
(212) 727-3314

I've been to Markt three times and eaten there twice. The first time was on a Friday or a Saturday and I was, simply put, not cool enough to get in. When I asked the maitre d' if there was room, he actually rolled his eyes at me, asked if I had reservations (nope) and then told me that a table would be a two or three hour wait. Maybe if you came back at 10, he said with disinterest. I haven't seem him since then. I wonder if he was fired...



Markt is Belgian, which in layman's terms means "French with a Dutch twist and an emphasis on mussels". Markt's menu is even half in French and half in Dutch. At least, I think it's Dutch. My apologies to anyone who's offended at my ignorance, and I'll make corrections if need be.

Once upon a time, there was a restaurant named Tomato. For all intents and purposes, Tomato was a trendy and overpriced diner. Tomato was replaced by the very nice, but now very closed, Sensa. Sensa was on the list of the "world's sexiest restaurants", but I guess that wasn't enough. I don't really remember what kind of food they served, but I do remember once being there with a friend and seeing this girl (woman) sitting alone and seemingly bored at the bar. So I went up and asked her if she wanted to sit with us (wink, wink). Joke's on me; she was the owner.



Markt's bread is the first thing you get and it's a good start to what will, in all likelihood, be an even better meal. As I said, I've been here twice: the first time with Speeds, and the second time with both her and Mr. Dogz. Initially, Markt was chosen because it was down the block from Speeds who, as you know, is allergic to travelling very far from her apartment to eat. Or actually to do much of anything. But I was genuinely impressed after presuming that it was going to be overpriced comfort food with a European flair.

Markt is a very cool place. It's appears trendy (okay, it's trendy) because of the clientele, but not because of the decor, which feels... normal. I don't think it'll ever make the list of one of the sexiest restaurants in the city, but while sexiness may be a good reason for trying a restaurant out, it's never a reason for returning. For example, take Markt's Chelsea neighbor, Elmo. Forget that it's basically a gay bar with waiters (another joke on me), it's food was a demonstration of what happens when you spend so much money on your image that you can't afford to hire a chef. Markt, in contrast, is similarly popular and crowded, but I'm betting it's drawing those crowds for the food.



Speeds was in training season for... uh, a sporty something-or-other. I don't pay that much attention. She was on one of these health kicks when we first ate here and decided to trade wine and an appetizer for dessert. Her entree was a salad. Me, I can't bring myself to order a salad for dinner. It seems like a con. But I can admit that if so many people like salad entrees, I must be the weirdo. Speeds went with the Salade Verte au Fromage de Chèvre/Salade met Verse Geitenkaas, a mixed green salad with goat cheese, croutons, honey, and toasted pine nuts. She loved it. Being at a Belgian restaurant and not at a Pax, I chose the Moules au Vin Blanc/Mosselen witte Wijn, which were mussels steamed in white wine. At the time, I was trying to decide between this or the mussels in cream sauce and think I should have gone with the cream. This dish seemed kind of bland. Not bad, but I wasn't wowed, either. The French fries it came with, on the other hand, wowed me. Thin, crispy, but creamy. Perfectly salted. Served with mayonnaise. We asked for ketchup.

On round two, we managed to get the same table outside, but a more irritating waiter. Speeds thought he was cute, I thought he was slow and never around. Mr. Dogz, less interested in attractive guys than Speeds and more laid back about service than me, had no opinion. Appetizers and vino again vetoed, we headed straight into the entrees. Mr. Dogz, an avid sushi fan, was drawn immediately to the Tartare de Thon/Tartaar van Tonijn, a tuna tar tare (raw tuna) over a sesame seaweed salad, served with fresh lemon juice, wasabi, and soy sauce. This was good. Very smooth with a little tang. I'd definitely recommend it if you like fish. Speeds again hit the salad, this time choosing the Salade de Crevettes/Salade van Garnalen, grilled shrimp on a bed of endive with pine nuts and an orange vinaigrette. Again, she liked it a lot. Again, I just can't think of salad as an entree. Stealing a bite, though, I'll admit the whole citrusiness was pretty tasty.

I wasn't really sure how the dishes that Speeds and Dogz ordered were Belgian, so I once more went with the more traditional choice of Carbonades Flamandes/Stoofvlees op Vlaamse Wijze, a Belgian beef stew prepared with Leffe Brown beer. I was expecting a stew that contained vegetables, maybe because that's what I'm used to. In reality, it's just beef with a healthy amount of gravy over it. A first I was disappointed. It didn't look like much. It didn't look like twenty bucks. But it was very good and also very filling. Adding vegetables would have made it impossible to eat dessert.