e a t e r y R O W

GANSEVOORT 69
69 Gansevoort Street
New York, NY 10014
(212) 691-0069

Gansevoort 69 is not a new Florent. It is, instead, the Meatpacking District’s answer to Cafeteria, Eatery, Egg, and the city’s new wave of American-comfort-food restaurants. Traditionally un-cool dishes served in a cool setting by cool people alongside cool drinks in cool neighborhoods. Food that feels as if it were inspired by the Rachael Ray magazine, but Rachael's got a nipple-ring and a badass tattoo on her on her right ass cheek.

Four entrees, two desserts, two coffees, six drinks, tax and tip clocked in at $200 even. (The server who filled our water glasses was great. Give this guy a raise.)

BISTRO TRUCK
West side of Fifth Avenue and 17th Street
... but who knows where it may truck off to...

The last time I ate food served to me from the side of truck it was, shall we say, a less than stellar experience. However, all lunch is not created equal and the Bistro Truck was a pleasant surprise.

I was with Bro at the time, trying and failing to find a gift for our parents when the wee pangs of hunger began to set in. We knew that lunch in the Flatiron/Gramercy area is, with rare exception, either expensive or a slice of pizza. So when bro saw Bistro truck, I figured why not. The truck's menu is Halal, so you can imagine that the Frenchbistroesque graphics are pretty much for show. Most of the dishes are Mediterranean, but there is a French twist. Sadly, by the time we got there, he had run out of a considerable portion of his ingredients. The Dijon Chicken? Gone. The Marrakesh Lamb? Gone. The coffees and espressos? Gone. I wasn't really feeling like Vegetable Tajine. Sigh.

In the end, we ordered two sandwiches. I ordered the Chicken Brochette and Bro went with the Lamb Brochette. $5 and $6 respectively. The meat was cooked from scratch on the grill, so if you were going hoping to be handed your grub in two seconds so you could then shoot off to wherever, that hope should be set free. You will be waiting. I imagine the line can get pretty long on busy days. Anyway, the sandwiches. Both were very very good. Very. Spicy, juicy, tender. The caramelized onions were a nice touch and made the meals. They were everything hot gourmet sandwiches should be. We grabbed a "seat" on the marble window of the Banana Republic the truck was parked in front of and ate. It was relaxing to silently watch people as they walked by doing their thing and gaze at the architecture of the neighborhood.

WARD III

111 Reade Street
New York, NY 10013
(212) 240-9189

Food and drink. The two go hand in hand. Like like movies and popcorn, Betty and Veronica, Sgt. Pepper and the White Album, it's almost a shame for one to be without the other. Cocktail lounges, though, even if they offer food, don't really use their kitchen much. White Star and Dutch Kills have no food at all. PDT just gets hot dogs from next door. Death & Company has a small plates menu, but on no occasion that I've been there have I ever actually seen people eating. Rye is a full on restaurant, but in so doing, sadly backburnered the cocktail portion of their experience. Ward III, on the other hand, manages to mix the aforementioned food and drink ratio to perfection.

Stepping into Ward III, you quickly learn that this place, despite being tomb dark, is not designed for intimate conversation. It's loud. Loud music, loud people, touchy flirty waitresses. The menu is structured like the floor-plan. The cocktail list is smack on page one, just as the bar is the first thing you see when you walk in, and the food menu is actually hidden in the back behind a manila divider, just as the dining area is deep in the back along the exposed brick walls. Drinks are pricey at around $14 each, but the food is actually very reasonable with nothing breaking $20.

When Bro and I strolled in, it was around nine, and there was no crowd. We were immediately seated at a table in the back, and tried to figure out how we should start getting our drink on. By the time we left, we had tried half of the cocktails on the menu. Ward III, by the way, also has a "bespoke" menu, where you can just point to a word describing the mood you want your drink's aura to convey, but I didn't bother with that and decided I wanted my buzz to begin with Ward III's signature cocktail, the aptly-named Ward III, a concoction of Makers Mark, strawberries, lime juice, bitters, egg white and nutmeg. Very good, albeit dry thanks to the nutmeg. Fruity and Sweet and frothy. Bro's beginning round was the Tortuga. The name conjures up images of swashbuckling pirates swigging down grog, but this drink, made from rum, ginger, cinnamon and muddled lemon, lime and orange, was more like something one would drink on their patio as a crisp wind blew and the trees around them turned from green to orange. Sweet, but also a dry drink. Ward III likes leaving your mouth pasty. We drank a lot of water last night.



Round two (pictured below) for me was the Sweeter Heater, tequila, white pepper, lime juice, basil and hot sauce. The very spicy and very sour tequila drink is definitely an acquired taste that Bro had yet to acquire. But I liked it. I liked how the drink opened up my nostrils. Again, the tequila notwithstanding, this is an autumn drink. Bro went for the Baby Eveline, vodka, lemon juice, crushed strawberry, bitters and champagne. It was sweet and chunky and not bad. I usually pass up strawberries for blackberries though. Round three were beer and then I topped off the evening with The Collective, which, I'll be honest, was my least-favorite drink of the night. Scotch, sweet vermouth, lemon juice, honey water and egg white, it was sour and irritated me for some reason. I wouldn't get this one again.

Between drinks, we did some eating too. Ward III kindasorta fancies itself Moroccan, but it's really just Moroccanesque. Moroccan themed. And they don't really try that hard to stay loyal to that theme. For example our first appetizer were the Boxty with Two Dips, which they describe as a "traditional Irish dish". Potato pancakes with a bleu cheese dip and a bourbon barbecue sauce dip. The dish was fine on its own and only mildly improved by the bleu cheese dip. Skip the barbecue sauce, which was far better on the duck sandwiches than as a cold dip. Up next were the Bacon-Wrapped Dates. And that's what they were. Four sweet dates wrapped in bacon which were, and I say this with all honesty, holy-shit amazing. For dinner, Bro ordered the Mini Pulled Duck Sandwiches, three duck and red onion po-boys with a side salad. These were tasty but the entree was a bit small overall. They should add a fourth. My entree was the Moroccan Chicken Pot Pie; chicken olives and raisins. Again, I'm willing to bet that this isn't a traditional dish served by grandmas across Rabat. But anyway, I like pot pies.

Our five drinks, two beers, two appetizers and two entrees cost $130 plus tax and tip.

DUTCH KILLS
27-24 Jackson Avenue
Long Island City, NY 11101
(718) 383-2724

"Pretend," said a friend of mine one recent evening "that you could date any celebrity you wanted." Who would it be, he wanted to know. I rolled my eyes. Dating seems to be a constant source of both conversation and consternation and reducing it to this sort of juvenile preposterocity has been the story of my recent life. Still, it was an easy answer. Nellie McKay. Because, I bet, she's the type of girl who'd think it'd be fun to grab a drink at Dutch Kills (... but who knows... maybe she's a total pain in the ass). And that, dear readers, is one of the many, many preconceived prerequisites in rolling through yours truly's simple noggin. Is someone willing to get drinks at Dutch Kills? 

But what, and where, is Dutch Kills?

Dutch Kills is the latest cocktail-lounge-in-an-abandoned-building by Petraske & Co. and this time, it's in Queens. It used to be that if you wanted a speakeasy, you had the choice of Manhattan or Brooklyn (or your grandfather's Alabama bathtub). Queens, meanwhile, has always been the least cool of the three big boroughs. The most family-ish, the least artsy, the most suburban. But Long Island City is doing its damnedest to change that rep. If your success in cool-potential can be rated by quasi-hidden, quasi-underground cocktail joints, then LIC is finally in. Finally, Queenslanders can get a decent drink without having to transfer off the E train. I met Bro (clearly, not a date) down the block by a grungy Chinese restaurant that looked like it had it's fair share of armed robberies, and we headed towards the small unlit neon "BAR" sign mounted modestly on the wall of a building that also bears the yellow tin sign of an engineering company.

Walking into Dutch Kills is like walking into a wood-lined tunnel. There are only about eight tables, so get one while you can. The bar's deeper inside and while it can be fun to watch the bartender do his thing, for private conversation, a dimly lit table is the way to go. The drink menu consists of five or six specialty drinks, otherwise, you should arrive with an idea of what you want already in your head. You can always seek advice in placing your order. I didn't ask, but if Dutch Kills is anything like the other Petraske bars, there won't be any vodka options.

Round one consisted of a Rumrunner (Grand Marnier, curacao, orgeat, grenadine, and lime juice)) for Bro and a Fancy Free (rye whiskey, maraschino liqueur, orange bitters and angostura bitters) for me. The rumrunner, pictured below with the mini-parasol, was a sweet (but not too sweet) and sour (but not too sour) citrus drink. Very good. The Fancy Free sat on the other side of the spectrum. It was also citrusy, but was quite the bitter drink. I happen to like bitter drinks for some reason, and I'm willing to bet that they're gaining in popularity as NYC's cocktail culture has shifted away from syrupy store-bought mixer-style drinks.

For round two, I ordered a classic Jack Rose, applejack, lime juice and grenadine. I made one for myself at home the other day and I won't lie, this one was better. Bro's imbibement came in the form of the Stanley Cocktail, a sweet mix of rum, gin, grenadine and lemon juice. Bro felt that Dutch Kills went overboard on the ice in the Rumrunner and was pleased that this had none. I can't say I noticed either way, but the nice thing about an ice drink is that you get to nurse it for longer.

When Bro and I left Dutch Kills, we walked onto a deserted street and moseyed on over to the waterfront for dinner. LIC, and caught in its wake, the rest of Queens, seems to be moving up in the world.

Cocktails cost $10 per and there is a beer, wine and champagne selection. Dutch Kills is cash only.

ROOM SERVICE
166 Eighth Avenue
New York, NY 10011
(212) 691-0299

There seems to be an inordinately large number of restaurants in Chelsea that value their menu secondary to their vibe. These restaurants want to be mini-clubs. The music is loud, the interior design is exaggerated, and sex appeal trumps the menu. Take Elmo. It's flat-out awful. But it's sexy, so people go there. Similarly, Room Service, here in Chelsea, like it's Hell's Kitchen duplicate, is not, I learned, where one goes to eat food. Here, atmosphere is the priority.

Deep down, Room Service is where you go when you want to feel like you're eating in a tacky club (patron in point: sketchy guy in a wife-beater eating dinner at the bar). Given the volume of the music, the need to scream at the other people at your table, a crystal chandelier, a disco ball, the lonely hanging bubble chair in the window and tables placed behind hotel-room style doors, I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if bachelorette parties were offered the option of male strippers waiting their table in rhinestone thongs. It appears that Room Service is yet another Thai restaurant hoping to out-trend the other trendy Thai restaurants. There's no theme here without really reaching, and all I could come up with was a Rococo version of the British TV series, The Prisoner. And what that has to do with Thai food is anyone's guess.

The meal for Bro and myself started simply enough with an order of Curry Puffs, a curry flavored chicken and potato dumpling-like dish. They were quite good and if I had only made five orders of them, I'd have left a happy bloke. Instead, we also tried the Golden Triangle, deep fried shrimp, chicken and water chestnut ninja star. Taste-wise, it wasn't so bad, but it was three-quarters fried dough with a teeny little pocket of filling. I also ordered the Lemongrass Soup, a tangy sweet and sour soup with mushrooms, lime, and chili. It was somewhat spicy, but despite this, more than somewhat bland.

While we waited for dinner, our neighbors got a friend who didn't want any food but did want to squeeze in next to me on the long bench seat. Lucky me, I got to have this guy pressed up against me for a half hour while he described his fabulous day, the fabulous gallery opening he went to and gossiped about his fabulous friends, occasionally standing up and sticking his fabulous ass in my face and waving his fabulous arms so he could emote that extra little bit. As it turns out, he did not help me enjoy my meal. I know that this guy wasn't the restaurant's fault, per se, but he did reflect the atmosphere and his actions (and on two occasions, his elbows) affected my dinner.

My entree was the Pomegranate Walnut Duck, roast duck, walnuts, and greens in a pomegranate sauce under a huge bed of coral-shaped rice twists. The duck was chewy and mediocre and that's about all I have to say about that. I regretted getting it once I bit down. Bro ordered the Tamarind Seafood, stir-fried seafood and vegetables over a bed of steamed broccoli. When I asked how it was, he made a face. Tasteless, he said. That said, he liked my dish more than I did, and I liked his dish more than he did. Thusly did we trade. I ate the seafood that he didn't like and he ate the duck that I didn't like. I guess we were both happier, though neither of us got to the point of actually being happy.

Wanting to leave sooner rather than later, we skipped dessert.

One soup, two appetizers, two entrees and two beers, plus tax and tip came to $70.

Rare Bar & Grill
Five Napkin Burger

In 1977, the Voyager spacecraft lifted off from Earth and took to the Heavens. A part of it's mission was not scientific. Contained within it was a gold record, on which were as many elements of human culture as could be fit. If, one unlikely day, the craft were to be found by another race, they would be presented with a glimpse into human culture. Quintessential pieces of earthling music, greetings in numerous languages, laughter, and other sounds are, this very minute, streaking across space at 17 kilometers per second. The Voyager does not, it must be said, carry examples of any food. If it did, the burger would have to be on the list. Oh burger, sizzling on the grill, I cannot make my heart stand still.

CORNER BISTRO
331 West 4th Street
New York, NY 10014
(212) 242-9502

Corner Bistro is known for having, and this isn't my advertising campaign talking here, the second-best burger in the city. Second-best? That's either insanely good, or very modest. Either way, does it live up to the quasi-hype?

Corner bistro is less a bistro than it is located on a corner. They're a bar, first and foremost. A bar that only serves hamburgers and that has lines out the door for a seat with waits of over an hour at times. I think that's silly and indicative of a customer base of tourists or name droppers who need to be able to say "I ate at Corner Bistro". The interior is reminiscent of Old Town and looks like a stiff wind will blow everything apart. The furniture would be turned away by the Salvation Army and the floors are like walking on permagum. It's dark as a cave in the afternoon.

Pike and I showed up one random afternoon in the recent past and, grabbing a rickety table in the back, ordered two Bistro Burgers. The burgers are a pretty good size (8 oz.), cost next to nothing, and come standard with a cheap slice of American cheese and a breakfast's worth of bacon. This is what a burger is supposed to be. No pretense, no flash, lots of calories, tastes great The fries were fries.

Wait for food: 10ish minutes.
Cost: Around $12.
Burger: Not the second best, but worth every penny.
Fries: They were fries.
Atmosphere: A seedy dive bar full of yuppies where you're sure the chairs will collapse under you.
Verdict: Definitely worth a trip if there's no line.

RARE BAR & GRILL
303 Lexington Avenue
New York, NY 10016
(212) 481-1999

Rare, the burger place at the Affinia Shelburne, is the exact opposite of Burger Joint at Le Parker Meridien. Burger Joint is a classless greasy spoon in a swank hotel where the poor can feel rich and the rich can feel normal. Rare is an expensive hamburger restaurant with a cocktail list, expensive beer, and burgers for nearly $30 each.

Walk into the lobby and turn left. You'll be presented with a vibrant cross section of New York. At the bar were two corporate types on what was clearly a Match.com date. Standing at a tall table were three Hamptonite-esque types in their pastel clothes pondering the cocktail list. A family sat at a corner table. My friends Doc and Turtle were dressed in stark contrast to the suits we stood next to while waiting for a table. When we sat down, it was right by the girls-night-outers.

While I was tempted to try one of Rare's more unique burger concoctions, it would go against the point of being able to compare their normal burgers to the competition. So I got their Rare Burger. Fries were $4 extra. Toppings were extra too. My Heineken Light was $8. I ordered it medium-rare and even though the waiter told me that their medium rare is really closer to rare, it actually came closer to medium, if not medium well. Still, not a big deal. It wasn't worth getting the onions and the burger was too greasy for my taste. Doc ordered the Rare burger as well, and he also found it too greasy. Since Turtle tried the M&M Burger (there are no M&Ms in it) and liked it, I'd like to go back and try one of their other options. The waffle fries were good, but you don't get that many. This is probably a good thing since the meal sat like a brick in my stomach.

Wait for food: 15 minutes for a table. 15 minutes for the food to arrive.
Cost: $30, less if you get soda, more if you get a second beer... which I did.
Burger: Heavy and greasy but it tasted good.
Fries: decent.
Atmosphere: like a midtown restaurant with only hamburgers on the menu.
Verdict: Burgers with pretension.

630 Ninth Avenue
New York, NY 10036
(212) 757-2277

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2315 Broadway

New York, NY 10024

(212) 333-4488

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35-01 36th Street

Astoria, NY 11102

(718) 433-2727