e a t e r y R O W

NO. 7

7 Greene Avenue

Brooklyn, NY11238

(718) 522-6370

Myna and I make it a point to eat in neighborhoods other than our own. We like exploring, wandering neighborhoods, eating in places that look interesting, looking into the un-draped windows of people's apartments at twilight and judging their decor... The last time we took our stomachs to Brooklyn, it was to a rather, day I say it, shitty Ethiopian restaurant in Cobble Hill. Mediocre, greasy slop that they actually had the nerve to charge us money for. I apologized and assured her that it would not be a repeated mistake. 

No. 7 made it onto my list of potentially interesting joints to hit up in large part because it wasn't in Williamsburg and I am, frankly, bored to death of always winding up in Williamsburg when I find myself south of Queens. But I like brownstones and trees and craft beer and feel at home (kindasorta) amongst New York's yupster crowd. The restaurant seemed to fit the mood I was in: smallish, fun, boozy, interesting menu, not too expensive, energetic.

I walked into the dimly lit No. 7 this particular Friday night to find it pretty crowded. I had some time to kill, what with Myna running late at work, so I decided to order a beer. I genuinely think I'm invisible to bartenders, and yet again, I found myself being completely ignored for more than a few minutes while everyone who wasn't me was served. Eventually, I was given a beer and found my way to free spot on the wall where I could lean and nurse and kill time on my phone. Myna's timing was impeccable. No sooner did she arrive than the hostess told us that our table was free.

The starter, which we shared, was the Charred Octopus, lightly seared octopus with pumpkin seeds and a black sesame tahini sauce. While the dish was fine, it was not better than fine. Ideally, eating octopus should be like biting into something softer than very tender chicken but stiffer than very firm tofu and there should be that degree of char that lets you know that it was on fire for just a split second without being burned. Sadly, the meat was too tough and dry and there wasn't enough of that very welcome charring.

For her entree, Myna had the Pork Chop, roasted in vadouvan spices and served with a cauliflower mash and green beans. It was extremely good. Myna felt that it was one of the best pork chops that she could remember and I don't think she was wrong. I would have personally liked there to have been more vegetables, but the meat itself was thick and rich (if meat can be rich) and extremely moist. It's rare to find a pork chop that isn't overcooked and akin to chewing on a pencil eraser, so this one should be cherished. I regret to say, however, that the same cannot be said of my entree, the Grilled Paillard of Beef, grilled and served under a crust of crunchy cheddar breadcrumbs, with a caramelized sunchoke sauce, and with a small watercress side salad. I liked the cheddar crust, but the watercress salad was tasteless and sad. It was basically there for color. The meat itself was far, far too salty and far far too tough. Myna actually enjoyed the saltiness, but in my opinion, it went overboard. We both agreed that the cut of beef used, however, was much too sinewy and, in a word, cheap. If I got this beef at one of those street fairs that close off Third Avenue every summer weekend, I wouldn't have thought twice. Here though, I thought twice.

For dessert we ordered the Angel Food Cake, served with ruby red grapefruit slices and a humongous dollop of black pepper whipped cream. It was either that or the creme brulee with a persimmon compote, and Myna is quite parsimonious about persimmon. The black pepper whipped cream, while interesting, wasn't really working. The angel food cake wasn't very sweet on its own, and where the cream might have otherwise remedied that, the pepper wound up taking over. The citrus slices might have been added to make the dish balance out, but instead, everything ended up vying for power like cold war powers on your tongue. 'Tis a shame. If the whipped cream wasn't peppery, I'd have liked it more and, in the end, the cake went unfinished.

In the end, we had a good time. No. 7's cocktail menu isn't bad (especially if you like herbal infusions and bitters) and my drink, the Boulevardier, was quite good. The food was somewhat hit and miss, but there's a fun energy to the place. Still, while I might find myself coming here pretty often if I lived nearby, I don't live nearby and No. 7 doesn't differentiate very much itself from countless other restaurants in the city that are just like it. Would I go back? Maybe if someone asked me to go with them, but I wouldn't go an hour out of my way. There are still so many other interesting restaurants I have yet to try out in all of the other neighborhoods with residents who leave their blinds open at twilight.

THE WAYLAND

700 East 9th Street

New York, NY 10009

(212) 777-7022

With out respective girlfriends off having girl time Captain and I decided to do what guys who don't care about sports do. We found a place to drink and eat sandwiches. That is to say, we went to The Wayland, an Alphabet City spot on Avenue C that had been on my go-to list for over a year.

There's a chunk of Alphabet City that has become home to a cocktail frenzy. It's almost as though every cocktail bar in the city has decided to open up there. God forbid they open up closer to a subway stop so yours truly can imbibe with ease. Instead, I literally am forced to have a home bar that's competitive in scope with some restaurants. Thanks a lot, bars. The last time I went out, I ordered a sazerac. They couldn't make me one. So when I saw that The Wayland had one front and center of their menu, I jumped on it. Cocktails is the focus of The Wayland, though they also have a small, and based on the couple of things we tried, very good food menu.

The layout is a simple one: a big horseshoe shaped bar on the right, seating for twelve on the left. Conceivably, you could bring a bunch of people here for a large get-together if you wanted to and were able to snag the one supertable, but odds are that by the time you arrive, it will have been taken by three small groups vying for dining space. Captain and I sat by the window for better people watching and camera angles.  

The menu is rather small, which in retrospect should have been expected, but somehow I figured that it would have been at least slightly larger. Perhaps that's a byproduct of The Wayland's drink-centricity. Snacks are emphasized. While enjoying a drink made with hibiscus-infused gin or lemongrass syrup or apple pie moonshine, you can munch on oysters, Brussels sprouts, hot nuts,  and oysters. Captain and I ordered sandwiches. I got the Pernil Romero, a pulled pork shoulder marinated in orange and then roasted with garlic and rosemary, served with a garlic mayonnaise on a baguette. It was divine. De-fucking-vine. Captain had a hankering for the Pulled Chicken Sandwich: apple, tomato, fennel, and chili-braised chicken with spicy pickles and a cilantro aioli on country bread. I didn't steal a bite, but he made one of those finger-kissy motions when I asked how it was, which I took to be a positive.

The vibe at the Wayland is super chill without being slobbish.  Old wood and vintage iron accents are the theme. If you've ever been to Ninth Ward, then you'll know what I mean. The bar is large, as is the open floor space. As we sat bullshitting, the place filled up. By the time we left (this particular Monday) I thought that a handful of tall tables where people could sit or even simply place a drink while they stood, would be appreciated by a few people. 

The Wayland is surprisingly inexpensive. Our sandwiches were $10 and nothing on the menu cost more than $12. The drinks are $7 until 7pm (then $12) and beers average $6. I don't know that I'd come here for a real dinner, but as a place to hang out and drink and snack, yeah, I'd be back.

MINCA RAMEN FATORY

536 East 5th Street

New York, NY 10010

(212) 505-8001

The East Village has become a de facto Ramen village. It seems that there are no fewer than ten options within walking distance of each other. Just a short while ago I hoofed it over to Kuboya with Dogz for a hearty, hot, filling, delicious bowl of noodles, and here were were again. The same block, the same half of the block, the same tenth of the block. Next door. When we were at Kuboya, we were seated right away. Just next door, patrons lined up in the cold to eat at Minca. Kuboya was good. Could Minca be that much better? It was time to find out.

Minca is owned by the same people who run Kambi on 14th Street and First Avenue. It couldn't be more different from a decor perspective if it tried. Kambi is clean and modern. It's been around for a few years but it's got a new feel to it. Minca, on the other hand, looks like the kind of place you expect to get food poisoning in. There's graffiti on the exterior door, there's a pile of garbage as high as a car out front on the curb, the interior is cramped and dingy, and the staff is on top of each other in the small space. Luckily, the food was fantastic.

Honestly, there is no getting around it. Minca's ramen was superb. Dogz and I were lucky and only waited five minutes to get a seat. By the time we left, the crowd on the sidewalk had grown to a dozen people. At least it wasn't too cold this evening. The small table we were given was right up against another small table, so expect to share your conversation. We shared our discussion about 1980s action movies and they shared their discussion about some album that the guy was trying to make. Then we ordered the Pork Gyoza (I never did care for shrimp gyoza) which was delicious, save for the dipping sauce which was too tart and vinegary. Nevertheless, I would surely get this again in a heartbeat.

Like most ramen joints, Minca has a selection of broths (chicken, vegetable, pork, miso, and various mixes of them) and noodles (thick, thin, wavy, wheat, and bean) to choose from, into which they will add their fixin's. I like my ramen spicy and Minca didn't disappoint with my Spicy Basic Ramen in a pork broth with thin noodles. Scallions, sprouts, an egg, mushroom, and a hearty, fatty piece of pork rounded out the bowl. It was nose-clearingly hot, but it was so incredibly rich. Mr Dogz, also a fan of food that has the opportunity to hurt you both going in and coming out, went for the Spicy Miso Ramen. His broth, served with corn, an egg, some pork, was even thicker than mine and also fantastic. He gave me his egg. Score! Having tried just these two broths/noodle configurations, when presented with a menu that, while small, offers a range of dozens of options, might make it seem that my ability to ably review Minca is for naught. And that might be true. But I think that these two soups were so good that the odds are that if you really prefer chicken broth ramens over spicy broth, then they'll do well there also.

So the question remains. Would I wait an hour for this a bowl of Minca ramen instead of walk five feet to Kuboya? No. Of course not. That's ridiculous. Standing idly on sidewalks is for hookers and homeless people. I have better ways of spending my time. If there's no wait, however, Minca would be my first choice for the food. The interior is another issue. As I said, it's shitty. Remember that couple that was seated at the table next to us with the would-be album? Well, the guy was huge and his girth literally expanded beyond his table into our space. We shifted our table a couple of inches for extra space but could go no further without blocking what little aisle there was for the wait staff. Even then, poor Mr. Dogz had to move his chair over a bit more so that he and Tiny wouldn't literally be touching each other. If space is a concern, then Minca's lack of it should be taken into account.