Eating out in New York, by Eliot Archer
From MemoryArchive
Found, as is, as a submission to the Sun and Sundry, for late edition run on p. 14 Sec. D, June 12, 2005. Never published.
New York is a gourmands wet dream. That is, if you have wet dreams about sardines and soy sauce. Wait, I’d better start over, that was a terrible analogy.
When a mid-Western paper as popular as the Sun and Sundry sends you to the Big Apple as a food critic (that’s the nickname New Yorkers give their city; see how it’s already food related?) you’d better do your research. So I did.
Forget it, I’m going to dump the wit and just write like I felt when I ate the goddamn food, ok? The pressure working for this goddamn paper is getting to me. Carl, when you sent me out here I thought you were going to at least pay my expenses. You know how much food costs in New York? Who ever heard of a freelance food critic? Jesus.
Delanceys (***) All these hip places in New York have free barbeques on the weekend to get people into the bar. Free cheeseburgers cooked on a Mom & Pop grill put me in the right mood for the evening. Even the coleslaw slopped from an industrial-sized white container was gold. And then they busted out the goddamn FREE DAQUIRIS. Who gives away tequila? Who?
Falafel place in Greenwich Village (**) So I forgot to write down the name of the place. Big deal – they’re all the same. Carl, do you know how many falafel places there are in New York? No, you don’t because you’re hiding in your office back home, you punk.
Capone’s pizza (****) This place gives out a free pizza with every beer. Now you’re going to write me back and ask me to clarify, but there’s nothing to clarify – I didn’t stutter did I? This place gives out a whole freaking pizza with each beer. Four stars.
Gyros outside MOMA (*) I was very anxious this day wandering through the streets trying to find museums and such. I was hungry but wanted a salad or some fruit. Instead I got this charred piece of meat from a Turkish guy who looked angry when I said “no hot sauce.” The only good thing from New York vendors are those nuts fried in caramel or whatever.
Cafeteria (**) The waiter asked us if we were from New York. The people I was with lived in Brooklyn and said “Yes. We’re from Brooklyn.” And he said “Are you having a good time in New York?” and they said, “No, we’re from here” and he said “Everybody’s an honorary New Yorker tonight” like we were morons from the mid-West. (Crap). I was really hungry and had fried chicken and collard greens, which was a big mistake (except for the collard greens).
Ray’s Pizza & Pizza Rays & Rizza Pays or something. (*) The pizza in New York is terrible. There, I said it, now you can write angry letters. I went to a few places that professed to have the best pizza in the city and they were all soggy and undercooked. The only redeeming factor was the beer, which was still bad. I went to Fornino’s (**) on Bedford which called itself the “Art and Science of Pizza” (what is this, the Enlightenment grill?). Dough fried dry as cardboard, with awful blobs of basil and whole melted cherry tomatoes. The two stars are for the hot waitress and the gay host, who let me read the first essay in his copy of the new David Sedaris book.
Fabiennes (**) “I’d like the turkey sandwich.” “Oh, I’m sorry we’re all out.” “Oh, ok, I’ll get the chicken sandwich.” “Hmm, yeah, we don’t have that either.” “Ok, can you tell me what else you don’t have?” “Sure, I’ll get the manager.” (Pause for manager) “We don’t have that, that…that, or, that. We have all the salads, though.” “Ok, thanks.” (Pause for manager exit) “Ok, I’ll have the avocado salad.” “We don’t have that.” (sic)
Italian Place on 2nd Avenue (***) Just across from KGB bar where those girls did their fancy dancing. I had the gnocci and a bottle of white wine and there was a mirror in front of me so I kept sneaking glances at the boobs of the dancer beside me in the white tank top. That’s all the action I got, because it’s kind of hard to get laid in New York on the salary of a freelance writer.
Anytime (*******/0) You know when you’ve been drinking for a full day and suddenly you realize with a bolt that it’s not another drink you need, but a pile of grease on a plate with some cheese or chicken stuffed in the centre? That’s what this place is for. There, my stomach just kicked me thinking about it. (Perceptive readers will notice that the 7 stars are tempered with a secondary rating of zero. That’s because on my last night as a food critic in the Big Apple [yes, I said that] we stumbled over to Anytime at 4 am and it was closed. It’s not anytime then, is it?)
Bedford Cheese Shop (*****) The guy here asked me how much Wisconsin cheddar I wanted, but he didn’t seem to know how much a half-pound was. Turns out he was a Canadian, real honest to goodness, and used to live in Toronto’s Chinatown (Chinese people in Canada, ha!), and writes on American politics for a newspaper called Eye Magazine. Probably makes more money than me for that (C?). Free health care, too.
Edna’s (****) On the border of Greenpoint and Wlliamsburg is a small diner with a menu full of eclectic meals heavy on the comfort food factor (see, I can actually do the food-guy thing). I began with the “beer” and finished with the “bacon, eggs, and hash with onions” which made me want to nap on the table. The waitress broke a plate, which sent a piece flying onto our table. I wanted to eat that, too, but I just made some funny comment instead.
St. Helen Meal 1: Baked eggs with avocado, mixed greens salad + 2 vanilla lattes. (****) Meal 2: Grilled cheese and turkey focaccia sandwich with mixed greens and fruit salad + iced coffee. (*****) Décor: mid-19th century English century fox hunt + hipster girls (*****) Reading material: New York Times + National Geographic (***) Conversation: On the history of environmentalism in 19th century North America (****)
Picnic on Liberty Island (****) When you wouldn’t pay me an advance I sort of ran out of money so my parents came down and brought me some meals. We had a sandwich on Liberty Island looking out over the skyline of Manhattan. The sandwich had on it: cheese, tomato, lettuce. Also we had apples, and clear bags full of mixed nuts and raisins, just like family meals should.
Blarney Stone (*****) This is a small pub just outside Madison Square Gardens which my parents and I, weak from hunger, wandered into as a last resort. To our surprise, the bar owner was actually Irish (Irish people live in New York, Carl, don’t act surprised) and served us some pints (and a tomato juice for my Ma). The food was like in a cafeteria where you go up and ask for a slice of meat and some green beans and your choice of potatoes or potatoes, but it felt like being at camp and a Christmas roast all at the same time. Go here.
Cafe Havana (*****) Corn is a weird vegetable because it makes you shit. BBQ that up and cover it with cayenne pepper, mayonnaise, and butter and it turns into absolute gold. Add to this several Mohitos, some little corn tortillas with beans and salsa, some chicken with spinach and you have the best restaurant in Nolita. Word, I didn’t even shit the corn, it stayed in my stomach singing lullabies and massaging my pyloric valve (worth the gross analogy).
Dreams (****) When I was a kid, my Mom made me sardines on toast with tomatoes on the side, warmed up until the bread was toasted and the sardines were crisp and warm. I got this in one of the nicest cafes in Nolita and was not disappointed. My mother is disappointed in me, but that’s another story.
Grand St. Café (***) One of those breakfasts where you’re still a little drunk from the night before and laugh at each other and what you’re eating. Huevos rancheros? Ha-ha-ha. Pancakes? Ha-ha. I fell off the front step on the way out.
Sushi (***) I had a bunch of different Sushi meals in New York and they were pretty good. Last summer I went to Toronto and the sushi was better there. Japanese beer rocks (but because I’m a food critic I’m not supposed to get drunk when I eat. Carl, I got hammered.) One place on North 5th had this boat suspended from the ceiling with water dripping out of it, and another in the meat-packing district served me a Dragon Roll that looked like a little dragon that looked like it had flew through a vat of avocado. Japanese people are weird.
Tom’s Diner (*) Yes, this is the diner from Seinfeld. But only on the outside. What a gyp; it was like that time in Boston I went into the Cheers bar and was like, what is this place? Although this is also the same diner from Susan Vega’s Do-do-do-do song, but I’m not sure that has more cred than a placement shot on Seinfeld.
Nathan’s Hot Dogs (****) Coney Island, yes! I put cheese on mine even though it came from a tap. Later I had so much cotton candy in my mouth I almost barfed, but my mouth was so full I couldn’t barf. My desert was a candy apple which was stuck to my face for a week.
