Bagels and being judgmental: A New York thing

Not edible

This morning I decided to walk to work, heading north on Broadway, so that I could stop at Absolute Bagel for breakfast. Lo and behold, when I arrived at the office everything bagel with butter in hand, a bag of H&H bagels was waiting. And so, I take this opportunity to pass judgment.

Absolute wins. It isn't even close. Here is why:
1) Better bagels - H&H is like a big, soft, rounded hunk of bread. Good luck getting a warm one anymore - it seems like all the fresh bagels get shipped off to a number of restaurants, diners, and delis around the city. It it all reputation and no character. Absolute is a tighter, less airy bagel. More notable is that it has flavor. When I get a bagel with butter, the butter melts. Why? Bagels are being churned out constantly, so they are fresh and warm, and just plain awesome.
2) No sense of superiority - H&H does not shmear. They sell the bagel, they sell packages of cream cheese. The rest is up to you. Absolute will toast your bagel. They have the full spread of offerings. And they do not rip you off. A bagel with butter is $1.25 (roughly the cost of an H&H bagel). Cream cheese is $1.95.
3) On my way to the office - not really relevant to anyone else, but I thought a third point was needed.

The real question, however, is whether Absolute beats Bagel Oasis - my hometown favorite and consistently well-reviewed - for bagel supremacy. The bagels are very similar, but Absolute wins again. Bagel O has dropped off in the past decade or so, and the bagels are not quite as good if you don't get a fresh one. There are times when my jaw aches after a bad Bagel Oasis outing. At Absolute, I feel like I always get a fresh one, which may mean the two aren't being judged fairly. But this is New York, and who cares about fairness when it comes to bagels?

Absolute Bagels, 2788 Broadway (at 108th Street)

Making friends at work with little effort

Swedish chef agrees

I enjoy cooking and, as of late, baking. The fruits of my labor have been enjoyed by my co-workers on occasion - with the exception of my failed attempt at rye pretzels. Rugelach took hours came out a little lopsided. Cinnamon buns took even longer and required me waking up ridiculously early. Then Julia Moskin came to the rescue. Previously, I only bestowed demigod status on Mark Bittman and his minimalist column, but Ms. Moskin set me up for life. Her article in the Times last Wednesday, "Milk in a Can Goes Glam," focused on the use of sweetened condensed milk. One of the accompanying recipes was for Absurdly Easy Chocolate Fudge. How could I now try making something that is absurdly easy?

First, let me say this. There are 3-5 ingredients depending on whether you add the optional salt or walnuts. No flour, no eggs, no mess. I went out and picked up a pound of Callebaut semi-sweet chocolate, which is sold in large chucks at Fairway, and a can of condensed milk. With my recent surge in baking activity, there is no shortage of butter in my fridge. Since I have four varieties (table, rock, kosher, sea), I decided to add the minimal amount of salt as well. I set up a ghetto double boiler (medium pot inside large pot with some water), set a very low flame, threw all of the ingredients in and walked away. Once the chocolate and butter melted, and everything came together, the fudge went into a greased and parchment paper-lined dish to cool. The next morning I chopped it up, brought most of it to work and made nice with everyone.

The fudge has been universally loved. Nobody believes how easy it is, so I get way more credit than is deserved. Four ingredients! And I watched a basketball game while it was coming together. Bless the Times and their Wednesday Dining section.

Check out the recipe.

Homemade does not have a barcode

For years, I looked for an applesauce that could rival what I remembered as a child. My grandparents' neighbor in Coney Island, Minnie, would bring over a jar during the (Jewish) holidays. That, with my grandmother's latkes, was a great way to celebrate whatever it was we were celebrating. We (or at least I) wouldn't wait for the pancakes to cool; she would just hand them over in a paper towel - used to soak up some of the oil - I would spoon on a little applesauce and enjoy. This is not idealizing the memory; this is the memory.

The search for an adequate replacement began in college. There are a wide variety of permutations - chunky style, home style, homemade, big brands, small brands, store brands, organic, conventional, etc. At best, it was a mostly uniform applesauce with chunks thrown in as an afterthought. At worst it was... Mott's.

And so I decided to try it on my own. This is part of an overall desire to have more homemade and less store-bought in my refrigerator. Last night I made a mess while making tomato sauce. If I haven't quite matched Minnie's applesauce, I at least think that I have come close.

It starts, obviously, with the apples. I go with 2 red delicious and one rather large granny smith. This produces just enough applesauce to fill a mason jar.  I peel the apples, but not completely - a little skin is part of the experience - and cut them into roughly one-inch cubes. Into a medium-sized pot they go with 1/3 sugar and one cup of water. Over a low-medium heat, I bring it all to a boil, lower the flame a little, cover it, and walk away for about 20 minutes. Here is what I believe to be the key - I mash the apples with the back of a large spoon and not a potato masher. I leaves bigger chunks and less of the mealy applesauce one finds in store-bought jars. I keep it going for another 5 minutes or so, jar it, cool it, and run out of it within a few days. And that is how I know it is the memory of Minnie's applesauce, and not idealizing the memory.

Chicken, you so crazy

Crazy, despondent chicken

Growing up, my family would often go to Pollo Loco on Roosevelt Avenue in Queens where the train tracks are elevated. My grandfather would try to pretend he spoke Spanish and the staff would go along, though with quizzical looks. It took some time to translate Jack Spanish to actual Spanish. He once attempted to order coffee by asking for a Columbiana, but ended up with an oddly-flavored soda. Soda not available here. Pollo Loco eventually adopted a new name that was neither crazy nor memorable.

Keeping with the crazy and chicken combination I went to Mad for Chicken, a Koreatown fried chicken restaurant. Based on the website, I expected Korean fast food that you order at the counter and receive in a paper bucket, on a tray, with a pile of napkins. Walking up to the restaurant only reinforced these expectations. Mad for Chicken is above a pizzeria. To get there, you have to go through the lobby of a small office building and walk up to the second floor. I kept looking for another door, thinking there could not possibly be the entrance, but it was. And sure enough, on the building directory was listed "Mad for Chicken - 2nd Floor."

As it turns out, Mad for Chicken is a legit restaurant with a bar, tables, waitstaff, dim lighting, odd music selection, and even silverware. I chose a seat at the bar, next to a middle-aged, Caucasian regular - Peter, I later learned - and two young Korean ladies who Peter was desperately (and awkwardly) hitting on. After awhile, Peter gave up and moved on. Although advised to order the wings - Mad for Wings on the menu - I went for the Mad for Combo. The medium Mad for Combo came with three drumsticks, eight wings, something pickled that looked like honeydew, and the ever so traditional carrot sticks, celery and bleu cheese dressing. There is also a large size that I assume would feed two people. The chicken can be made mild or spicy. When I asked how spicy it was, the response was "spicy," so I knew that I had to have it.

The platter of chicken came out with Saigon Grill-like speed. It was accompanied by a bucket for the bones, a pile of napkins and - inexplicably - a fork. This is a manual meal and I would not be utilizing utensils. The skin is crispy, but not overly battered. There is a faint taste of soy sauce, but the spices dominate. The chicken is incredibly moist. Next time, I will probably order the mild, because spicy is a little intense. My tongue eventually numbed to the experience, but not before a fair amount of pain and sweat. The medium sized platter was a great size and I did not regret passing on a starter of some sort.

And then came the birthday song. Someone in the restaurant was celebrating her birthday, and some odd Korean/techno version of Happy Birthday started blaring through the sound system. I took that as my cue to get the check and head home. But I will be back. Oh yes, I will be back.

Mad for Chicken, 314 Fifth Avenue, 2nd Floor (at 32nd Street)
Website

Compost.... mmmm appetizing

 

It's the only one for me

I am a fan of all things Momofuku, including every curse-laden comment from David Chang's mouth (and the Momofuku cookbook). It is beyond me that someone can constantly develop new and successful businesses, hear praise from critics and customers alike and then curse everyone out. But this is New York, and grumpiness should be expected in print as much as on public transportation. There was a precipitous climb - in price - from Noodle Bar, to Ssäm Bar to Ko, only to have it all come right back down with Milk Bar, a dessert-only offshoot conveniently connected to Ssäm Bar via a very narrow hallway. I remember going to dinner at Ssäm with my sisters and brother-in-law, then making our way to Milk Bar for the first time. This is notable because David Chang is way into pork and my brother-in-law is having none of it. Ever. Needless to say, dessert raised his opinion of the evening.

By opening up a dessert place, desserts virtually vanished from the Ssäm Bar menu, save for two unappealing choices, and moved next door / down the hall. However, Milk Bar is not all dessert; just 99% dessert.On the far-right side of the menu board posted behind the Milk Bar counter is one noteworthy non-dessert-ie (or is it non-dessert-ish) item - the pork buns. They are awesome. And this post is not actually about them, great as they are.

The names are interesting, and the flavor combinations intriguing. Frozen yogurts are homemade and come in some fairly nontraditional flavors, milk shakes are made with flavored milk. Cereal milk figures into both. Thanks to the cookbook, I know that the cereal milk is a mix of corn flakes, sugar and milk, which is eventually passed through a sieve to leave only the cereal-flavored milk. How apropos a name.

Perhaps the most interesting - and best - item is the compost cookie. Straight from the menu, it is a mix of pretzels, potato chips, coffee, oats, butterscotch, and chocolate chips. "Potato chips and pretzels in a cookie?" you say. I do. Saltiness and sweetness rock. Try one. Try three actually. If you don't like the first one, I will gladly buy the other two. 

Momofuku Milk Bar, 207 Second Avenue (at 13th Street)

Website

Where, oh where, can my dumplings be

 Not actual dumplings

Sometimes I get so excited at the prospect of a new opening that I have to be standing at the doors when that day comes. It rarely happens with movies, and I am usually disappointed by the result anyway. This happens a little more often with food. I was the first customer when Nicky's opened in Brookyn (a half hour later than scheduled). My twenty dollar bill was on the wall until someone broke in after closing one night and stole it.

Not necessarily first-customer-in-line excited, I eagerly awaited the opening of Eton in Cobble Hill a couple of years ago. I noticed the unopened shop while traveling to Fairway one weekend. The single name on a plain UPS-brown awning got my attention. A little bit of Google helped. Eton Chan was a chef at Asiate and struck off on his own to open this small dumpling and Hawaiian shave ice joint. I was there to pick up dinner on the opening night.

The wait for dumplings is long during the slow hours, excruciating around prime lunch and dinner times. This is because the dumplings are cooked to order... on a pair of hotplates, first fried in some sesame oil and then steamed. There is always some sort of activity occurring in the background. Dough is being rolled out, dumplings stuffed and sealed, ice being shaved and doused with a variety of syrups and toppings.

None of the varieties are bad, but the pork and beef dumplings far exceed the other two regulars. Chicken dumplings tastes like...chicken, but good chicken. The filling in vegetable dumplings can come spilling out, as is apt to happen with vegetable dumplings all over this great land that we call New York. Specials show up sporadically. For awhile they were making noodle soups, but that seems to have disappeared. The homemade chili dumpling sauce, kept off the counter, is much better than the soy sauce and huggable, squeezable Sriracha sauce left in plain view.

Shave ice gives way to bubble tea in the colder months, and is much missed. My favorite combination is to add a flavored syrup or two with condensed milk on top. Marshmallow Fluff has been tempting, but I have not tried it yet. For awhile, Eton set up a dessert-only shop on Sackett and Smith. Now that is the only shop. The original store on Henry Street closed down. The new space is somehow smaller. This means that the counter space and few tables are completely gone, rendering Eton takeout only (at least during the colder months). Though shave ice is not yet in season, there were a few alcoholic suggestions posted - to turn that kiddie piña colada into a grown up piña colada.

Did I mention that they are $3.75 for an order of five? Go with a friend, split three orders (2 meat and pork, 1 chicken) and get a small shave ice each. Perfect.

Eton, 359 Sackett Street (at Smith Street)

Asked and Answered: Herbivore edition

Couldn't find a picture of a hippie eating leaves

Question: Vegetarian (but acceptable to a meat eater) on the West Side
Answer: Ozu

The situation: a first date where she is a vegetarian and he is not. He has used geography (i.e. not living on the West Side, where they are due to meet) as an excuse to abdicate responsibility to choosing a restaurant. This task was conveniently passed right on down the line - to me.

Too many vegetarian restaurants ignore the fact that not everyone who eats there is necessarily a vegetarian all the time. Tofu does not stand in for meat. Neither does portobello mushroom. Better to ignore meat completely rather than trying to substitute for it. Which is not to say that both tofu and portobello do not have a place - just not as the featured ingredient.
Ozu describes itself as "kosher natural food" meaning not entirely vegetarian. There are a few salmon choices on the menu, perhaps satisfying my co-worker's date. Perhaps not. Also on the menu, a handful of noodle dishes, some tempura, and a slew of appetizers. The appetizers are like Japanese tapas and can make for an enjoyable meal. Namely, soba noodles (cold, with sesame peanut sauce), lotus root with carrots in a sesame dressing, and burdock with soy ginger sauce. I used to think burdock was a fish and was confused when, the first time I ordered it, something that looked like pygmy baby carrots was delivered to the table. I tried sending it back, but was politely corrected. My naiveté corrected, my self-esteem damaged, my dinner enjoyable nonetheless.


Ozu, 566 Amsterdam Avenue
Website

H to the Izzo

They love you Jigga - they love you Jigga!

First, I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas was playing when my alarm clock went off this morning. The alarm clock will be set to another station as of tomorrow morning. But that is beside the point.

Then, on the way to work my iPod - in pseudo-random mode - chose to play Roc Boys (And the Winner Is), marking Jay Z's resurgence following Kingdom Come and my resurgence from the 1 train.

A higher power was speaking to me. How so? Not many songs (particularly in the rap genre) feature the Hebrew terms "Mazel Tov" and "L'Chaim." Is this a sign that I should become a better Jew? Possibly, but I will ignore that sign and instead pass judgment.
The Black Eyed Peas have come out with a song that will most likely infiltrate Bar Mitzvahs, sweet sixteens and weddings for years to come in a way that few songs have. I remember House of Pain at every Bar and Bat Mitzvah in the early 90s. But this song goes beyond that. There is "We are Family" and "Celebration" potential here. Here is the problem: the song sucks.
Jay Z is not family friendly. Somehow I cannot picture "it's a celebration bitches" going over well at a religious celebration. Nevermind the fact that this song is all about dealing drugs. That would escape the older relatives completely. Anything recorded after 1950 is noise to my grandmother. But words like "bitches" would stand out. That much I know. Such vulgarity.

Regardless, I applaud the use of Hebrew vocabulary in pop music. Not since the early days of the Hora has anything Jew been cool.

Winner:
Financially - Black Eyed Peas
Artistically - Jay Z

Asked and Answered: What else ya got?

Question: Sushi
Answer: Not around here

Knowing what to order in a restaurant in one thing. Knowing what you can order is something altogether different. Today's culinary question, posed by a colleague in from Wales, was whether there is any good sushi near the office. The office being in Morningside Heights, just down the block from Barnard and a church, the answer is an emphatic "no." The good sushi around here barely registers as mediocre elsewhere in the city and would totally damage my cred. I turned to an old favorite - Sushi of Gari.
The restaurant is small and the decor would fit in with almost any sushi joint opened in the past 15-20 years Sushi of Gari opened on the Upper East Side in 1997 and has not changed at all in the past 13 years. Two outposts have sprouted up in the past five years, one of which is simply named Gari and is on the West Side. Gari (without "Sushi of") is more focused on kitchen and less on sushi. This is important to note because the Sushi of Gari menu is does not represent the entirety of their offerings.
I was introduced to Sushi of Gari by my older sister and brother-in-law (though I think they were engaged at the time, but I digress). It is entirely possible that I was too young to truly appreciate the intricacies of this sushi. It was beyond my culinary comprehension at the time. The listing of rolls and sashimi pieces resembles almost any other sushi restaurant. Of course quality counts, and the fish here is excellent.
But, Sushi of Gari goes beyond the menu and, by posing the appropriate questions, you can elicit an entirely different menu from the waiter. Flash a little knowledge and the waitstaff is all too willing to share the special pieces. I have never eaten there without ordering the "tuna salad" piece, not to be confused with the tuna salad appetizer that is also not on the menu. The appetizer was discovered when my younger sister went for the first time and accidentally ordered that instead of the piece. The tuna salad piece is a nice sized slice of sashimi, on a sliver of lettuce with a little dressing and the tiniest bit of fried scallion on top. I get two every time, and refuse to share with someone who did not heed my advice and order one for herself. Also excellent is the red snapper with fried lotus root and pine nuts (pictured above). There are other variations on both the tuna (say, with creamy miso) and snapper (jalapeno, olé). Basically, if you are going to get sashimi, find out what they can do with it, then order that instead.

How good is Sushi of Gari? My older sister now has three children. Her first dinner after giving birth (while still in the hospital) - Sushi of Gari . Every time.

Sushi of Gari, 402 E. 78th Street (at First Avenue)
Website

Asked and Answered: Swimming upstream

Today's question: Fish in the West Village
Answer: No.

As a lawyer (by training if not in practice), I have learned that when you do not like the question, change the question. Normally, I would ask a number of questions. Fish is very broad. There is New England style (read: lobster rolls), continental, heavily sauced Asian fare, and so on. Instead I answered with the Red Cat, which is in Chelsea. Why? Because I had just been thinking about that restaurant. Specifically, I was thinking of their salmon. I do not use words like "best" and "perfect" with food or movies because tastes vary, including my own. But this is by far the best salmon I have ever had. It is perfectly cooked, nicely presented and well accompanied by currently trendy brussels sprouts and something mashed, though I forget exactly what. There must be a three second window of time where salmon can be cooked this well and the Red Cat cooks have found it. The fish even looks perfect. Not that dyed farm-raised deep pink or the wild-caught and broiled pale pink. It just looks normal, which lately seems to be exceptional.

Also worth ordering is the skate wing, which I just learned is a vulnerable species and thus at least a little morally objectionable. Besides, Jean George serves a better skate.

The Red Cat, 227 Tenth Avenue (at 23rd Street)
Website

Look to the cookie, Elaine... Look to the cookie

I have never been a fan of the black and white cookie.
Buying one in a bakery, the cookie was brittle and dry, and had a distinct and unnatural lemon flavor. The icing looked (and tasted) like dried glue in two shades. Definitely not my pastry of choice, yet I felt obligated as a New Yorker and a Jew to give it another try time after time.
In high school, my friends and I would find ourselves at a nearby bodega at 2am, buying snacks and attempting to buy beer. Never one for potato chips, I went straight for the junkiest of junk food - yodels, ring dings, ice cream sandwiches, and Joey's black & white. I actually preferred a Joey's to the bakery black & white. Sure, the cookie-to-icing ratio was completely off. The cookie was greasy, no doubt owing to partially hydrogenated oil. But the icing separated easily from the cookie, and man can live on icing alone.

Such was the disappointing state of the black & white. For years, I searched in vain. Then I found the Donut Pub. On 14th Street, just west of 7th Avenue (203 W. 14th Street to be exact), the neon sign beckons (the staff and patrons do not). The cookie-to-icing ratio is perfect. The cookie is moist, dense, flavorful (read - not lemon-flavored), almost like sheet cake. The icing is not brittle yet not pliant and actually tastes like chocolate and vanilla as opposed to the aforementioned dried glue. If you happen to arrive just as a batch is coming out of the kitchen, buy two and sit down before eating. The cookie and icing are warm. The icing has not fully set and resembles a thin layer of cupcake frosting. You will understand why Jerry Seinfeld really thought that a cookie could promote racial harmony. Look to the cookie. Also available for the supremacist in your life is the all-white cookie.

Donut Pub, 203 W. 14th Street (between 7th and 8th avenues)

First post

This first post is dedicated to Avery Maron, who first suggested that I start a blog telling him what to do.
Avery suggested I call it "Gospel of Neil." A co-worker suggested I call it "Don't Ask, Just Go." They both won - the URL is one name, the title is the other. This way, there is a good chance that nobody will be happy.