e a t e r y R O W

KYOCHON

319 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10016
(212) 725-9292

The day of the Boxing Day Storm, the storm that ate our city, Bro and I walked to Koreatown for fried chicken. The recent popularity of Korean fried chicken, has led me to a few places for it here in New York City. Since I live in Queens, I've usually found myself eating it in Flushing or Elmhurst. This time, Koreatown was more convenient.

KyoChon follows the Asian tradition of crazy-over-the-top modern. So there are little TV screens over the urinal displaying people watching you while you pee, music videos are projected onto one wall while another wall rotates rainbow colors like a Pride parade on E. Is it fun in a sort of anime-esque, bubblegum-blowing tween holding a beer friendly kind of way? Yeah. I won't lie. It's kinda fun.

Korean fried chicken differs from American fried chicken in that the American fried chicken tends to have thick, flaky, batter-heavy crusts on thick pieces of meat. The crust almost becomes a side dish. The Korean chicken batter is thinner and smoother and more rigid in its crispness. It's practically a candy shell. There's more to KyoChon's menu than just fried chicken, but that's what I was there for, y'all. Bro ordered a sandwich. Feh. Anyway, KyoChon has all of three flavors. I ordered all three. The Honey Wings were okay. Not wonderful. But okay. Too sweet. Too thickly coated in the syrupy glaze. If you like eating honey glaze with a hint of chicken, instead of the other way around, then they were perfect. The Hot and Sweet Wings were also good. And they were hot. A little too hot actually. Too hot for Bro and while I like my wings to burn, they can't mask the flavor. So like the honey wings, but ironically in reverse, I still found myself asking where the chicken was. One thing that I'll give them a heaping of credit for was that the hot sauce didn't taste like hot sauce. In other words, it didn't taste like an afterthought where all they did to make them hot was splash Tabasco on them. The best wings had to be the Soy Garlic. Tangy. Chickeny. Sweet with a hint of bitter. Ahhh. Finally. This was why I was here.

Bro's sandwich, the Mango Mayo Grilled Chicken Breast Sandwich was a little heavy on the mango mayo sauce and a little light on the flavor. So while it didn't outright suck, I wasn't blown away and I was forced to wipe my hand and wrist off after only one bite from all the dripping sauce. He also tried the Chicken Croquettes, which were pureed chicken and mashed potato, breaded and fried. These were pretty good.

RAINES LAW ROOM
48 West 17th Street
New York, NY 10011
phone n/a

Let me preface this post with two statements. First, I love speakeasy-style cocktail lounges and get downright giddy at the prospect of being able to go to one. Second, I don't plan to return to Raines Law Room. Hard to believe, I know, but this bar really managed to piss me and Bro off. Interestingly, I was warned away from going by a fellow blogger. But did I listen to her? No. Why? Because I'm stubborn.

Raines Law Room should be the perfect speakeasy. Below street level on West 17th Street, behind a door with no signage, lies a velvet lined living room of sorts, where patrons sit not at regular tables but on sofas and chairs, candles aglow, waitresses only coming when you press a buzzer to request them. Beyond the living room is the kitchen, the space provided for the bartenders to shake and stir and concoct.

When I arrived, I was told by the host that there was an hour long wait, but that he'd take my phone number and call me. This was to be expected. It happens at just about every place like this. So, I gave him my number and he told me to pick up when a blocked phone rings me. I met Bro, we grabbed some terrible pizza at Vapiano, and waited. And waited. And waited. When two hours passed with no word from the bar, we walked over and buzzed the door. With a guilty look on his face, the host sheepishly let us in, told us that when the next seats in the living room opened he'd give them to us, and pointed us towards the kitchen, where he said we could wait. And wait some more we did. Two more hours passed and Bro and I slugged our way through a handful of drinks, on our feet the entire time, watching people who arrived after we did get seated while we leaned on the wall. Maybe we looked too young? Raines Law Room clearly caters to a decidedly older clientele. Gray hair, sweater vests, and botox treatments were everywhere.

What made it worse was that the drinks weren't even that remarkable. They started off fine, me ordering a Southside Gin Rickey (gin, lime, sugar, mint and club soda) and Bro ordering a Sleepyhead (Applejack, lemon and lime juice, ginger and club soda), but went downhill from there on. These were sweet, had some depth of flavor, and dare I say it, tasted good. The Peat and Rose, made from Scotch, Applejack and Grenadine was only just okay, while the American Trilogy (brandy, rye and bitters) was like drinking gasoline. Finally, I tried the Philadelphia Story (Scotch, St. Germaine and grapefruit bitters) and was also none too thrilled. It's entirely possible that it wasn't the drinks' fault (certainly the bartenders were extremely nice) and that we were just POed at having been forgotten about (or maybe ignored?) by the host twice and having to stand the whole time. But still, what happened happened and if it happened to me, there's no reason to think it doesn't happen to others, too.

The drinks that we tried were all $15 each including tip. But they have more than a few that cost far more.

NELSON BLUE
36 Peck Slip 1
New York, NY 10038
(212) 346-9090

Emma found me lost and staring at the mall-style map at the entrance to South Street Seaport. I had no idea where I was supposed to be. "Hey you," she said tugging my sleeve towards the water "I know where it is." Nelson Blue was our destination. It was just a hair off the Seaport (and so not on the map) and, from their website, seemed like a divey bar with a New Zealandy theme. I was expecting fishing junk, flags, New Zealand paraphernalia, an abundance of barely edible lamb dishes... you know, the kitchy works. All served with huge vats of beer to drown your sorrows and sooth your deck-swabbing muscles in.

Instead, what I got was an upscale corporate bar with the odd scent of both wood and swimming pool wafting through the air. The clientele was very professional, in their thirties-to-forties and drunk. Don't get me wrong, aside from the tipsy chick with the oversized bag who was repeatedly slamming herself into my back, none of this mix bothers me. Hey, they even have a real menu (though this is a real short review).

Emma and I didn't order much though. For some reason neither of us were hungry. But we wanted to go out and it just so happened that Emma had a coupon. Ka-ching! Emma ordered Nelson Blue's Mac and Cheese. It's a side dish, but man is that a large side dish. It was the same size as my entree. And it was actually very good. My choice was their Venison Chili, a hearty, thick mix of vegetables, beans and a lot of ground venison. It's not five alarm chili by any stretch, but it was quite tasty.

Nelson Blue is definitely the kind of place I can see going to when you want loud and fun, but also want business class and good food. More than your plain old happy hour pub, but less that Gramercy Tavern.

Emma and I ate and drank and drank some more and then left to go to her neighborhood to hit another bar. She threw up.

Wine averages $10 a glass. Beer averages $7 a pint. Entrees average $17. Sides average $6. Clearly, I lost my receipt.

WECHSLER'S CURRYWURST BRATWURST

New York, NY 10009
(212) 228-1170

A recent lunch brought myself and Dudeman to Wechsler's, "a temple to German sausage", according to their website. Wechsler's reminded me very much of my recent visit to Radegast Hall, albeit this version had been shrunk in the wash. Quite literally, there are seats for maybe 20 people. Three of those are at the bar. Three of those are against the wall, and the rest are crammed up between two tables. With twenty German beers available at the time that I went, even if they don't live up to sausage-temple status, they certainly can qualify as a mini beer hall.

But how about the sausage? Well, we tried two on this particular trip. Naturally, their Currywurst, since it makes up a third of their name, was ordered. This was noshed on alongside their Wild Boar Bratwurst. After all, how often do you get wild boar? They were both quite good, though never quite becoming sensational. The currywurst sausage was a bratwurst, sliced into pieces, coated in a curry sauce and served alongside thin cut french fries. The sauce somewhat overpowered the taste of the sausage, meaning that the sausage itself was more about texture than flavor, though it was there in the background. The sauce, for its part, though stronger than the sausage in the sense that you noticed it long before you did the meat, was extremely mild. Anyone with a stomach sensitive to spicy foods should have no problem enjoying this. The wild boar bratwurst was served in a little bun. But at only about five inches long, this was a little sausage. You quite literally get a serving that's maybe half size of the bratwursts offered at Bohemian Hall. Still, it was surprisingly heavy and, with a bit of mustard, my favorite of the two.

Though Wechsler's is dark (and it's very dark) it's about as far from romantic as one can go. The iron candle sconces, the dark woods, and the heavy feel of the furniture lend an almost claustrophobic feeling to the place. But it's an oddly welcoming claustrophobia. Maybe a better word is "cozy". I can only imagine how cool a fireplace would be. It's winter now, and the perfect time for this kind of meal. Heavy meats, dark beers, and a warm space to counter to cold windiness of the street. I can absolutely see myself coming here again with a friend or two, maybe three, to catch up and relax. But any more people than that would be too many. It's just too small.