Check One-Two.

Fred and I just returned from our final trip to San Francisco before we embark on our Eastward adventure. Our last trip, period, before we head East. So, of course, I had a few restaurants, two in particular, to cross off my never ending list. One was Mission Chinese Food. I have been trying forever to find the perfect Chinese food spot. One that's not trying to keep up with the healthy Jones' (I want some of that MSG, umami, and some greasiness, dammit), one that's not too far off the beaten path (no molecular gastronomy here, please), but one that is trying to insert a modicum of creativity into the food. I have been coming up empty. To the universe's credit, I haven't been making any backbreaking attempts either. It would certainly not fall into 'my life mission' category. But, whenever I crave Chinese food I am reminded of the whole issue.

Well, now I'm even more irritated about this since I found EXACTLY what I was looking for in a city where I do not reside and in the very state I am leaving permanently in a few short weeks.

Within a couple of hours of waking up on our first morning, we grabbed coffee, picked up my Dad and his girlfriend, Dale, checked out the Diebenkorn exhibit at the de Young Museum, and found ourselves standing face to face with the wonky, old-school, hole-in-the-wall-Chinese-eatery, pop-up turned restaurant-within-a-restaurant, hipster-hot Mission Chinese Food.

Inside it was still, it was dark and it was hot. If you want ice in your drink, too bad. No ice.

I skipped breakfast for this so I could order as many different items as possible. So we did. Beers for the boys, soda for Dale and a grüner for me. Then we went for it: Beijing Vinegar Peanuts with smoked garlic, anise, fennel seeds, rock sugar ($5), Fresh Rice Noodle with peanut sauce, tofu skin, pickled mustard greens ($8), Stir-Fried Pork Jowl and Radishes with fermented black bean, shiso, mint ($12), Grandma's Spicy Lamb Dumplings with peanuts, dill pickles, chili oil ($9), Squid Ink Noodles with cumin, fennel and chick peas, lamb dipping broth (I can't recall the price), and finally Braised Pea Leaves with pumpkin, pressed tofu, salted chili broth ($12).

All of the flavors were bright, fresh, creative and surprising – think dill, smoked garlic, fennel, pumpkin, all mixed in with the tofu, pork jowl, dumplings, and rice noodles. And somehow, amidst all of this intrigue we were completely sated in the Chinese-food-craving department. This vibrant and intelligent food still had enough of the classic flavors and textures, even the oil, and the unctuous quality we know and love (within reason) about traditional Chinese food. And, no joke, I will be making those vinegar peanuts at home very soon. I could eat those forevers.

I will happily remember that meal for a very, very long time. I'm pretty sure we all will.

Check one.

The second place I knew I had to visit on our short trip was Tartine Bakery. I don't eat a ton of pastries, nor do I crave them very often. However, I have been really exploring the world of baking of late and am extremely interested in everything that goes into the science of it. More importantly, I am a sucker for an incredible butter croissant – and it's almost shocking how few I come across.

And so, on our last morning in San Francisco, while Fred was brunching and bonding with his Aunt and cousins, and Dad and Dale were wrapping things up and checking out of their their hotel, I knew exactly what I would be doing. I knew I had to go at it alone, and really, I wanted to. My dad would never in 2759870 million years have tolerated that line for a pastry, or anything really. Actually, I'm guessing no one involved in this trip would have wanted to endure that line unless it was to pick up their winning Powerball check.

So I hopped into Fred's car (a stick shift), clocked my destination on my smartypants phone and headed out, lurching and jerking along the way (it had been quite a while since I had driven a stick – and this was possibly the worst city to test that time lapse). After spending twenty minutes finding parking, which was about two blocks away, I walked up to the bakery and settled in back of the infernal eternal line, halfway down the block – and yes, it was formidable. And, no, there were no available seats inside or out by the time I received my order: a ham and cheese croissant, a plain butter croissant, a loaf of their sourdough bread and a latte (totaled around $20). So I walked back to the area where the car was and plopped right down on the curb.

I don't know. To most people none of this may sound appealing in the least: driving strange car in strange city to wait in seemingly endless line to get 'breakfast' only to find there is nowhere to sit and then sit on the side of the road in mid-August to drink hot coffee and eat a pastry. All alone. Not even a book to read.

Well, I'm not certain exactly what it was. The journey, the anticipation, or even the little spot in the shade all by myself, but that croissant and that latte and that moment were... perfect. I mean, perfect. It was one of those – and I've talked about them before – Cosmic Muffin moments. Those Nowhere-I'd-Rather-Be moments.

The latte was warm, rich, smooth and comforting. The croissant was flaky, crunchy, light and yet somehow strapping, with heft... and buttery, oh so buttery, like a delivery system of cultured French butter, buttery. After two bites in, it looked like there had been a flash snowfall of flaky crumbs around my toes on the sidewalk.

Nirvana, pure bliss; I was truly happy.

Check two.

And then I was ready. Ready to get back into the car and brave the drive to pick up the grow ups, then Fred, to head up for the bucolic segment of the trip: Inverness.


One year ago: Heirloom Melon & Tomato Gazpacho
Two years ago: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt
Three years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs
Four years ago: Nebulous Misadventures (AKA The Lost Weekend)

Cookie review-BART & JUDY'S "The Best Chocolate Chip Cookie In the World" ???

are these "THE BEST chocolate chip cookies...

 IN THE WORLD"?

well, i think Bart and Judy have opened a ferocious can of worms with a statement like that.

first let me tell you,  I LOVE THE PACKAGING !  that's what made me buy them, not that it claimed to be the best.  although i must say, curiosity riled the baker in me and i just had to try Bart & Judy's "THE BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE IN THE WORLD"

how very very clever those two are.

reeling the buyer in with packaging like that.  i wonder if Bart & Judy are friends with "Dr.Bronner", the soap guy with small print all over his products.  the box has all kinds of quotes, philosophies, information, instructions and warnings....AND it's made of 100% recycled paper with a mention on the side..."MADE IN THE USA: THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD".  the whole experience in kind of fun, very unlike any mass produced store bought cookie...for that reason i thought it was worth the purchase....

the cookies are secondary.

i felt like the kid that gets an expensive gift for x-mas, tosses the gift aside and plays with the box for hours.

as you can see from the photo above...these are tiny teenie cookies.  some smaller than a quarter.

some don't even contain ONE CHIP !

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

AND i bought the ones with walnuts and pecans.  i'll bet ya anyone with a nut allergy would have no big anaphylactic shock after eating the whole box...there might be one walnut and one pecan somewhere in the box, but i haven't found it yet.

on the back he makes a pretty obvious reference to "Famous Amos"...

i was around for the Famous Amos craze in the 70's.  were you?  Famous Amos was the first big hit phenomenon of the bakery world that i can remember.  when Famous Amos cookies arrived on the scene they were nothing like the prepackaged lame cookie that those little Kellogg's Keebler elves are hocking now a days...these were a pretty darn good cookie.  especially if you could get some hot out of the oven at the flagship store in Los Angeles.  it was a good cookie...small, BUT NOT THAT SMALL, crisp, homemade tasting and it had at least a few chocolate chips in each cookie.  nuts were a good size.  you could actually see them, but even he didn't claim to be the best in the world.

nutritional facts?...
it claims 6 cookies per serving equaling 30 grams for 83 calories.
now...i know many many people who would jump at the chance to have 6 chcocolate chip cookies for 83 calories.  but do you know how pathetic 30 grams is?
don't sneeze or you'll loose 1/2 your serving !

"ecstatic delirium"?...hasn't hit me yet...personal injury?...maybe a paper cut from playing with the box.

after you finally get the box open you see a gold bag reminiscent of Willy Wonka's golden ticket.  the bag comes with warning instructions to let the cookies "decant" for 10 minutes to enjoy their fullest flavor.

who do you know that will open a bag of cookies and wait for 10 minutes before trying one?  

of course i had to try one right away.  then i waited 10 minutes and tried another.  was there a huge difference?...NO.  same small, smaller than a quarter, cookie.  nice flavor, nice crunch, but yet another fun gimmick that sets these cookies apart from the norm.

oh...and i forgot about the "STOP! READ FIRST!...important instructions...it's another note about the "decanting".

 do i really need to be told twice HOW to eat a chocolate chip cookie?...maybe one so small that could get lost between a tooth?  it goes on...then there's another side that is "optional reading".

i will admit i went for the whole deal and entered my "exclusive serial number" on the web site.  i have no idea what that does except give my email address out there for more people to spam me....whatever...it's all in fun.

in conclusion...

don't get me wrong...i DO like the cookie (i like the box better).  this IS a "good" cookie, but it's just so very very small....and general consensus from friends and chefs?..."a good cookie, crunchy, homemade flavor, better than the elves",  but best in the world?...not so much.

on the back of the box, Bart states that this venture is not about the money (good thing).  he just wants to put a smile on your face and make the world a better place with his "great cookie"

well...that he did....he put a smile on my face.  definitely NOT from the best chocolate chip cookie in the world, but maybe just the shear enjoyment and conversational debates i had when sharing the box and tiny little nondescript cookies inside.

Back to the Future

Prohibition Era Vibe Meets Post Modern Cuisine at Belmont Food Shop

I was back in my old stomping grounds last week. Spring in Richmond is breathtaking. Dogwoods, daffodils, azaleas, and zillions of tiny inchworms falling from the sky onto everything. Falling onto everything. That was a new one for me. I thought they were sort of cute and endearing and the whole thing seemed very biblical, or like the end of Magnolia, but with inchworms not frogs. Then I Googled 'inchworm' and changed my tune. Take a macro look at one of those bad boys and then see how cute one is inching its way up your sleeve. But still, Fred was way girlier about it than I was.

On our first night in town, my dad booked reservations (for three, of course) at the Belmont Food Shop. From my research in the world of social media, and hungrily reading everything food and drink related coming out of Richmond Magazine and Style Weekly, and whatever else I could get my eyeballs on months in advance, this was the restaurant I was most anticipating. Plus it is smack dab in my old neighborhood, literally one block from Dad's house. And since our flight had just arrived a few hours prior, it seemed perfect to be able to walk to and from dinner on a beautiful, warm evening.

Well, first off, this place is precious. Richmond has and always has had the market cornered on charming, intimate bistro environments, but this one takes the cake. A ye olde, prohibition-era looking cake that houses a mere five tables. And a sweet little bar with a handful of seats. At the sweet little bar a sweet little mixologizing is going on – with house made sodas. Just opened this past September; owner-chef Mike Yavorsky has created an enchanting atmosphere.

A few non-palate related things I like a lot about Belmont Food Shop:

They have three seatings each night – five o'clock, seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Simple. Makes sense. Everyone can own their table for two solid hours. And whomever deals with the reservations has a pretty straightforward system to work with.

The seasonal chalkboard menu's pricing is structured very intelligently – appetizers are $8, entrees are $20 and desserts are $6 (there are a few exceptions here and there (like foie gras(!))). And there is also the crowning glory of an option: the prix fixe. $36 will get you all three-courses plus a glass of wine, or one of those house-made sodas, or a beer. This pricing structure forces the diner to select what they really want to eat, not based on the dollar amount. 

As we sipped our bubbles/martini/artisanal cocktail, an amuse bouche, of sorts, appeared: a trio of gougéres. My dad will not put a bite of food into his mouth during martini o'clock. He will not do it. So Fred and I ate ours and his. They were a lovely touch, a beautiful, ephemeral texture, but a skoch under seasoned and/or under cheesed.

They boast a confident selection of Virginia wines that I was very curious to try. Dad wanted a Pinot Noir. The bartender let us taste the Virginia malbec which Dad quite liked, so we ordered a bottle. That's when he realized he thought he was tasting the Pinot Noir. I felt like we pulled the old smell the apple bite the onion trick from science class. And hopefully it opened up my dad's eyes a little about his wine options.

We started with the Crab and Avocado with Orange Gelée and Black Pepper, the Duck Confit with Orange and Fennel and the Foie Gras with Sally Lunn and Rhubarb Chutney. When our server arrived with our starters I was slightly surprised by the plating. And the plates. I was expecting modest, confident, simple, almost rustic looking food, but was presented with the whole small food, big plate thing. With lots of smears, droplets, and tweezer-placed elements. I was expecting far less composed dishes. I guess I'm just a little bit over that food aesthetic.

Coming from California, which now has the foie gras ban, I was elated to look down at that plate of foie. I found it so, so very, very clever that he made it Southern with the Sally Lunn roll, and I also appreciated the play on the varying levels of pedestrian and fancy pants by having them on the plate together. My dad was so pleased with the crab and avocado that Fred and I barely got our tastes in. It was bright, cool, colorful and refreshing. The confit came at us in salad form, and admittedly, we pretty much cherry picked the rich, succulent shreds of duck meat out and left the greens behind. And the dollops. There were dollops artfully dolloped across the plate reminiscent of a Man Ray photograph. Chestnut, perhaps?

Next up came Tuckahoe Veal with Bok Choy and White Beans. This was like a giant veal steak, and it had been thoughtfully braised for some generous amount of time. My dad was very impressed and said, more than once, that he had never had veal prepared in that style before. Fred's order of Seared Scallops with Peas, Mushrooms and Parsnips was simply beautiful. The colors were so saturated and lustrous it hardly looked real. This was an inspired dish with bold flavors and topped with beautifully, carmelizey-browned-to-a-crisp-on-the-outside, scallops. Me, I ordered the Chicken with Mushrooms, Greens & Fingerlings. I almost always order the chicken when dining out. It's my litmus test. Some folks think it's the throwaway dish. I think it can be the star. And my reasoning is, if the chef pays as much attention to the chicken as the more, shall we say, elevated dishes, then you'll end up eating some of the best chicken you've ever had. My chicken tastedgood. The skin was crisp and seasoned well. It was white meat, which is not my favorite, and was a little overcooked. I found myself taking each bite and dredging it through the pan sauce to bring some moisture back into the meat.

The service was attentive and kind, the food came out at a nice, leisurely pace, allowing us to really enjoy and savor those two hours during which the little table by the window was ours, all ours.

Chef Yavorsky clearly has a way with food. It's obvious he is putting forth a great deal of effort and thought into what he is serving. The space is beautiful, the cocktails are solid, the pricing is smart, the food is nice and I dig the wine list. I personally look forward to walking in again, bellying up to the bar, sampling the wines by the glass and having a couple of small plates.

One year ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Orzo Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, Spinach & Mint

Piedra Azul Tequila + Blood Orange Margarita

One major perk of writing a food blog is being contacted by lovely people who represent lovely products, like tequila.  Piedra Azul Blanco Tequila, to be specific.  It's named after turquoise (la Piedra Azul), which I love, and made from 100% Blue Agave Weber...        

I had planned to cook up a few things with this tequila, but time got away from me (my baby has officially, stopped, sleeping) so instead I started drinking straight from the bottle.  In the name of research!!  I love tequila and typically drink it  straight up and ice cold (with some fresh limes).  What's important to me is a smooth finish - which this had for a reasonably priced alcohol.  But, I figured not everyone enjoys tequila straight, so I also made a delicious Blood Orange Margarita using Madhava Agave Nectar for sweetness, another product I love.  

Hey everyone, I love products hint hint!!

I hope you enjoy your weekends and if you celebrate Cinco de Mayo, pick up a bottle of Piedra Azul and don't forget to party responsibly.  I am a commercial. 

Blood Orange Margarita
(Serves 2)
Printable Recipe

1/2 cup blood orange soda or freshly squeezed blood orange juice
1/2 cup Piedra Azul Blanco tequila
2 T freshly squeezed lime juice
2 T Madhava agave nectar
Limes or blood oranges for garnish

In a pitcher, stir together blood orange soda or juice, tequila, lime juice and agave nectar.  Serve over ice in salt-rimmed glasses (optional).  Garnish with lime or orange.

Out of the Past(ure)

Lately I have been homesick. Really homesick. In no small part for calm and simplicity.  Many things recently have been so Sisyphean here in my City of Angels. Or so it seems.  Everything is so big and heavy and more difficult than necessary.  People appear to be filled with drama or anger, or both, and take it out on the other drivers (or pedestrians) on the road, the Census taker on the other end of the phone line, or their server in a restaurant. I can hardly say I blame them. It’s a vicious cycle that I have fallen prey to as a result of my own recent circumstances: the nightmare of my unpredictable and mean-spirited next door neighbor, my evil, evil landlord (EVIL. GRR.), Beso’s doctor who won’t call me back, running into one someone I’d rather never lay eyes on again during lunch at Cheebo, money, driving, gas prices, traffic, crowds. A little jaunt from Point A to Point B, more often than not, seems a fairly substantial undertaking.  Not to worry; buck up I will.

So very recently I went back home for a visit. Fred came with me. I was overwhelmingly excited to see my dad, Paz, Spencer and everyone. I was mostly looking forward to chilling out, slowing down. To walk places. To munch a ginormous sandwich from Coppola's Deli on the James River. To lounge on my back deck. And to eat. Okay, and to drink some wine.

On our first night I trumped Dad’s call to go to Acacia (his fave). I had been there. I wanted to try Pasture. I had been hearing good things. It was new. It just opened last November under chef Jason Alley, who we know from his RVA standby, Comfort, along a stretch of Grace Street that has likely waited far too long for a little attention.

Upon entering, the space sort of took me aback a bit. It didn’t feel like Richmond. Instead of small, intimate, cozy and warm, it was big and airy and shiny and modern. It was very designed. Actually, I felt like I could have been in LA.

We had a drink at the large, wood bar (full bar) while we waited for our table. Dad and Fred had cocktails and Dale and I wined. After only about ten minutes we were seated.

And here’s what happened next…

Pimento cheese, crackers ($4). I am, admittedly, a huge pimiento cheese fan (note; I prefer the use of the optional I after the M and before the E (pimiento)). I love my mom’s recipe. The Duke’s mayonnaise and the zested sweet onion are key in creating the perfect texture. The slightest dash of Worcestershire is vital for that little somethin’ somethin’ that ignites your palate. Alley’s pimiento cheese was really nice, and more importantly, it was true. He served it topped with chopped fresh chives and alongside Ritz crackers. I applaud his confident choice of using Ritz rather than giving into the compulsion many have to bells-and-whistle it up with arm candy like crostini.

Deviled eggs, house cured rockfish roe ($5). Up there with the pimiento cheese love is my, perhaps, even greater affinity for deviled eggs. I make a mean one, myself. Again, I usually push to keep it simple. But Alley’s deviled eggs surprised and impressed me immensely. They were fresh and bright and rich without being cloying. They were simple and comfortable but different and exciting. That rockfish roe was a beautiful accompaniment to both the eyes and the palate. This dish was the New South. Classic dish, local ingredients, with a flare. In the right place. Taking the local rockfish and using the roe, the caviar if you will, was just perfect.

Marinated beets, chopped salad, avocado ranch ($9). This was a pleasant and ample salad. It was not, however, what I know to be a chopped salad. The greens were a little uninspired, calling it a day with just the romaine - but the beets were delicious, beautifully mandolined and served under the greenery which added an interesting visual effect.

Brussels sprouts, butternut squash, preserved lemon, pecan ($6). My father, who taught me so very much about food, the man who always insisted I, at least, try everything, the man who will eat anything, will not eat a Brussels sprout. He LOVED this dish. Jason Alley, that is one amazing feat. I will leave it at that.

Braised pork belly, ginger gravy, braised celery, celery leaf salad ($11). To be brutally honest, I’m a little burned out on the token pork belly dish every chef feels the need to pepper into their menus at present. Remember the sun-dried tomato tsunami from the 1980s? That being said, it is something I still enjoy putting in my mouth. I found this incarnation to be too busy. I agree that often pork belly, like foie gras, pairs well with a sticky sweetness, but the ginger gravy was too gelatinous and the sweetness sort of overwhelmed the meat. I really loved the peanuts in there, though.

Fingerling potatoes, apples, shallots ($5) add duck fat ($1). We added the duck fat. In fact, we ordered this one because we saw the words duck and fat next to one another. I would have liked to see these taters with a little bit of crispety-ness and a hair's breath more salt.

Carolina Gold rice, mushroom gravy ($7). I’m not certain that I have ever experienced Carolina Gold rice before, so I won’t pretend as though I have. I will say that, as a result of my ‘first time’ I will not be likely to order it if I spy it on a menu again. This was tremendously watered down long-grain rice topped with also watered down, flavorless mushroom gravy. None of us at the table had more than a taste.

Fried Barcat oysters, spicy tartar sauce ($10). This dish, these oysters, was fabulous. Some of the best I’ve had. Anywhere. The breading (Anson Mills?) was crisp and light and allowed the fresh, tart, impossibly juicy, and beautifully briny oyster to shine right on through. The tartar sauce was tart, citrusy and acted as an apt accomplice to those brilliant oysters. Kudos.

Olde Salt clams, cabbage, bacon, butter, lemon ($12). This was everyone’s favorite dish of the evening. Though a little more thought could have gone into the plating – one piece of un-toasted bread tossed on top, and the cabbage haphazardly strewn about over the clams – the flavors and textures were astonishing and delectable. 

Banana flan, peanut brittle, slated caramel ($7). I was reluctant because of the banana factor (and that I’m not much of a dessert person), but Fred made me taste it. And I’m glad he did. This was an absolute standout. Airy, delicate and rich. Subtly sweet with a crunchety brittle and salty caramel. Faultless.

“Rice grits” pudding, roasted pineapple, passion fruit, vanilla bean ($7). For those who know me, it’s obvious that this is not a dish I would order or even really want too close to me. But, that being said, those who tried it, loved it. In fact, this is one of Susan Winiecki’s, editor of Richmond Magazine, favorite desserts around town.

There were a lot of hits and only a few misses. I enjoyed my evening at Pasture. We all did. But what stuck with me was that it felt as though it could have been anywhere, in any city. It’s a destination restaurant but not necessarily an occasion restaurant. It's certainly worth a visit to this 'just getting turned around' neighborhood, because likely you won't just meander on in while walking, riding your bike or really even cruising around to or from something else. For example, I asked my dad if he liked Pasture and he said definitely. I asked him if he would frequent the place and he said he doubted it.

I stumbled across this quote of Jason Alley’s: “I want people to feel like they are getting out of town when they come here.”

Maybe that’s what Richmonders want and need. To feel like they’re getting out of town.

But coming from someone who has lived in big, ole, crazy, sprawly LA for the past ten years I think Richmond has fantastic food, incredible restaurants and amazing people cooking the food in their kitchens. And for the most part they are on the smaller side, welcoming and without pretense. But I get it - I dig Pasture and I can see why Richmond digs it, too. The thing here is I’m homesick, I want to be back home and when I’m there it’s hard to even imagine wanting to get out of town.

*For those curious about my title choice, click here.

Two years ago: Lima Beans in Cream & Butter

Another Walk on the Wild Side...

I have a bit of a wild side. I guess I always have. I think I get it from my dad. There have been times it’s been more prominent and times when it’s been more dormant. Admittedly, this side is in a welcomed dormant stage, and has been for a while now. This current stage was preceded by a particularly wild, wild streak. I can attribute that period, in large, to The Coach and Horses. I can attribute the current, dormant, period, in large, to the closing of The Coach and Horses almost two years ago.

The Coach, as we regulars called it, was an LA landmark. It had been around since 1931 (!!). Alfred Hitchcock and Richard Burton (not together) frequented the place. Quentin Tarantino and Tim Roth (together) scrawled scenes for Reservoir Dogs on the bar napkins there. James Gandolfini sent me a glass of wine across the bar once... 

It was a sad day when it closed. Sort of.

I drive down the stretch of Sunset where The Coach was almost daily (hence the main reason I was such a regular), and I have watched with anticipatory curiousity as the cold-molasses-running-uphill progress was made on the exterior of the building. It was like, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, a little something, a little more – wait – it looks open! It’s true, Fred and I were driving to my house after dinner about a week and a half ago, I saw lights and people and made us pull over. Turns out they were having their friends and family night and were not open to the public. But we were given a brief tour. I was excited. It looked beautiful. They told us they were to have a week-long soft opening beginning that Sunday.

So I called Maggie and we made a date (Maggie was with me a great deal during the last wild streak at The Coach).

And so, last Monday night Maggie and I called a cab (yes, we knew) and headed back to The Coach and Horses, newly dubbed The Pikey, headed up by bar owners and restaurateurs Jared Meisler and Sean MacPherson (Il Covo, Roger Room, Swingers, Good Luck Bar, El Carmen, Jones, Bar Lubitsch). Broken up into three spaces, each with their own vibe, The Pikey features a dining room (where the Curry Palace was), a dimly lit pub room with bar stool and tall-back booth seating (The Coach), and a smaller Maharaja room with another bar to be open most nights and available for private events (used to be storage as best I can recall).

Restaurant side.

I explained the set-up to Maggie and we decided to make a whole evening out of it: have dinner on the restaurant side and then amble on over to the Coach bar side and have drinks. Upon exiting the cab we immediately spotted one of the old Coach regulars standing right outside the door. We were somewhat bemused, but not sure why. We exchanged pleasantries and went in to have dinner.

The menu of classic British fare (served in all rooms until 2am) offers the culinary creations of Ralph Johnson, former Executive Chef of The Spotted Pig who twice earned the restaurant Michelin stars. We each began with a glass of Lambrusco, Lini, Emilia-Romagna, NV, ($10/36) and the Welsh Rarebit ($5), though confidently ordered (by me), I humbly admit to knowing nothing about the dish. It was good. It was melty, cheesy, mustardy bread. What’s not to like? (And I had nothing with which to compare.)

Then we moved on to a bottle of Entre deux Mers, Tetre de Launay, Bordeaux, 2010 ($10/36). We both kind of wanted red but their list of whites was infinitely more appealing. With this we ordered the Papardelle with Braised Oxtail ($15) and Mary’s Vinegar Chicken with Thrice Cooked Chips ($18). We then noticed two other old Coach regulars in the dining room (not together). 

Brass tacks: the papardelle was nice. The ragu was a little sweet, which Maggie appreciated. The pasta was fresh and very nicely done, which I really appreciated. But we both agreed that it should really be an entrée rather than a small plate. The chicken, which I was the most excited about, was stellar. It was moist as can be with an expertly crisped skin (it reminded Maggie of eating the marshmallow, with its perfectly crispety crispeties at a campfire) and its flavor was deftly enhanced by the vinegar. The thrice baked chips were amazing as well, crispy, salty, potato-y goodness. Maggie loved that the chips on the bottom were swimming in the rich juice from the chicken. We had fully intended to order the fish and chips, but we were absolutely stuffed. We actually even took a chunk of the chicken home – which they returned to us, ready to go in foil, artfully shaped like a swan!

We both felt that nicer wine glasses would be preferred. The catering world’s wide stem tulip glasses don’t work in an environment next to $14 artisinal cocktails. And while they get big ups for having lambrusco by the glass, someone should mention to them that it need not be served in champagne flutes.

We then changed-up our evening by moving over to The Coach side, where we immediately were greeted by about half a dozen old faces, occupying their half dozen old bar stools, PBRs in hand, in a room that looked shockingly the same as it used to (they did a really great job). Again, we were bemused. Until we realized we were there too, right? At least I didn’t have to drink the same "red wine" I drank back at The Coach. We continued with our glasses of Entre deux Mers. I think Maggie had a scotch at some point. But by then we had traveled down the rabbit hole - again.

No, I wasn't up until four in the morning doing that or that. Yes, it's true, perhaps I've been the last man standing more than most ladies would admit, but I do have unending energy. And an amazing constitution for wine drinkage. But, though Fred asked, we did not, in fact, close the bar down. I'm pretty sure we took the second cab home that we called and made it there by one thirty in the morning. Take that!

Coach side - with Regulars.

The next morning, as we attempted to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, we reminded ourselves of the relief of this appreciated dormant period. We cursed The Coach.

The next night Maggie returned and had the burger. She wanted the fish and chips but it was not available for some reason. And a glass of the Entre deux Mers. I love that girl.

The night after that I dragged Fred in.  We ordered a bottle of the Entre deux Mers, the Crispy Pig’s Ear Salad with Young Kale & Mustard ($14), the chicken (again) and I finally got to try the Fish & Chips with Tartar Sauce ($15).

Oh, and Fred made it a point to order THE COACH AND HORSES: Shot of Ancient Age Bourbon and PBR “Tall Boy” Can ($8). 

*Picture at top of post.

Brass tacks: The salad was missing some component to bring the delicate greens and the crude texture of the pig ear together. The chicken was, again, awesome. The fish and chips, the main reason for this visit, was merely fine and not tremendously memorable. The chips were not of the thrice baked variety, but rather more in the wedge-cut arena. These fries were fine but pale in comparison to the thrice baked ones with the chicken. The fish, which, admittedly, I doused with malt vinegar and lemon upon its arrival was not confident in its identity of a good ole’ greasy London street style, or bougied American gastro pub style. But lest we forget: this is all still the soft opening, where, in my humble opinion, all is fair.

The portal between the two main rooms.

Which reminds me, The Pikey opened for reals yesterday. I, for one, dig it. I will return and, I imagine, eventually sample everything on the menu (which is not that huge (which is nice)). I imagine I will stop in for a glass of wine on my way home every once in a while. I imagine, every so often, I may have one of those nights there. But I no longer fear The Coach will carry me back to a wild phase. You see, it would appear that it’s grown up now. 

And so am I…

One year ago: Meyer Lemon Relish

Two years ago: Ludobites 4.0