BLT Market

The proliferation of "chain" restaurants in New York can be unsettling. I don't mean Ruths Chris or the Olive Garden - disturbing in and of their own right - but the high-end type like the BLT empire.

What isn't a chain these days? Will Daniel Boulud endure criticism at Bar Boulud for starting up yet another place with the word "Boulud" in the title? Unlikely. Laurent Tourondel isn't alone in hocking his cookbook at the register or hopping on the latest bandwagon, market-driven fare. Back when BLT Fish opened, Tourondel got slammed for these tricks. But given the current environment, you have to wonder if he was just ahead of the curve on the in-your-face self-promotion that's everywhere now.

BLT Market's version of rustic - in the Ritz, no less - feels a little slick, like Marie Antoinette playing country house. As soon as you walk in the door into this attractive, pleasant array of rooms in vanilla colors, you see the telltale signs of a barnyard that's very haute indeed. But if you can suppress the urge to roll your eyes at the cutesy colanders on sale in the mini-mart at the register or the painstakingly-curated farm tools hung on the wall, Tourondel's latest venture has a lot to offer.

One night last week, after a quick drink at the Ritz hotel bar, which is fabulous by the way - witness the live piano music as played by a live piano player! - Marie Fromage and I settled in to our seats in BLT Market's bright and airy dining room, which is decorated with huge vegetable murals suspiciously like those at Gramercy Tavern, but pleasing nonetheless. The napkins are dishtowels, the water carafe an old glass milk bottle.

We were thrilled by the pigs-in-a-blanket amuse bouche. Crafted from seemingly homemade frankfurters and sauerkraut, encased in a crispy, light pastry, they were scrumptious. Had they been on the menu, I might have forsaken the whole rest of the dinner and ordered about 10 more of these. That must be why they're not on the menu.

Also served alongside was garlic bread, not the fussy crostini kind but the carb-o-rama kind laced with a buttery garlic parsley spread. More haute junk food - love it. The bread was more of the focus here than the spread, which was fine since it was freshly baked, crusty outside and squishy within.

Meanwhile, I couldn't stop sneaking glances at Cynthia Stevenson, who was seated next to us. You may know her from Men in Trees, but I'll never forget her performance as the bossy, know-it-all oldest sister in Happiness. You know, the one who ends up being married to a pedophile. Brilliant.

Ordering is a tough decision here, because the menu is divided into three parts, yet it seems foolhardy to attempt to eat all three courses and save room for dessert. We opted for the pastas. One thing that impressed me about BLT Market is that the concept isn't all hype; you can see it on the plate. The colors and tastes of all the different ingredients are very bright and fresh, thanks to the efforts of chef de cuisine David Malbequi. In the delicious pappardelle with a venison bolognese, kale, and pecorino, each of the elements retained its individual character, but the whole was very well-balanced, not to heavy or oily as some bologneses tend to be.

The poached Maine lobster gnocchi with fennel and lemon beurre blanc was sublime. I liked the classic combination of flavors here, elevated to a new level with such carefully sourced ingredients. Not too fussy, but not so simplistic that you would think, hey, I could make this at home. More like Jacques Pépin could make it at home and the rest of us could all die trying.

At this point we were unexpectedly served dessert menus, when we said out that we hadn't gotten our entrees yet. Our duo of servers was embarrassed by the error, which actually was no big deal. One waiter immediately asked what sort of wine we'd been drinking at the bar and ordered us up another round. While some might see this as an example of botched service, something to be expected in a place that's only been open a couple of months, I actually saw it as an example of good service. Anyone who's ever worked in a restaurant knows that mistakes are going to happen; bad service is when the server does not take responsibility for an error and instead blames the customer. More on that in a future review.

Marie Fromage's spiced orange-glazed maple leaf duck was so pale in color I actually mistook it for the other meat-of-the-moment, pork. It was an excellent cut, not at all gamey, and seared with Chinese spices that put an interesting spin on an otherwise Western dish with foie gras and bacon and collard greens as sides.

Not so for the venison, which was a little tough and not cooked to medium rare as requested. To be honest, I didn't really notice the toughness until Marie Fromage pointed it out, because I was loving the sides of chestnut braised red cabbage and cranberry, plus the pistachios on the venison. It's a relief to encounter traditional flavors - even little celery leaves - when most chefs can't suppress the urge to throw a wrench in every dish. As for the toughness of the meat, coming from a family of hunters, I am used to roughing it when it comes to eating game and consider the dish a triumph if it's free of shot. Note to self: adjust expectations when dining in a restaurant. Maybe it would have been better to stick to the regular menu instead of an item from the "blackboard menu"?

Tragedy struck when the waiter informed us they were out of bananas Foster. It's so hard to find this old-school dessert that I always order it when it's on the menu. We settled for chocolate feuilletine, which was not particularly chocolatey, but the accompanying coffee ice cream was delicious - made so by the addition of pralines, ground so fine that you detect their taste but not the crunch of individual nuts.

The bill was somewhat painful, despite the free round of wine. The irony is that Greenmarket ingredients are almost always cheaper than what you'd find elsewhere, at least for home cooks, yet here the prices were at Dean & Deluca levels. The bargain conscious should steer clear of the Ritz-Carlton when roughing it with market fare.

Will an exact replica of BLT Market land at various cities across the U.S., including, as Marie Fromage said darkly, the Short Hills Mall? It's too soon to tell. But if you can summon up the suspension of disbelief necessary for dining out these days, BLT Market might just charm you into submission.


BLT Market
1430 Sixth Avenue, between 58th Street and Central Park South
New York, New York
212-521-6125

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Spring Shoes

Spring wares are beginning to trickle into stores now. Or maybe it's "resort." Anyway, thanks to global warming, these two fashion seasons have merged.

The clothes are all very well and good, but what's worth noting are the shoes for spring 2008. A candy-colored twist on bondage themes, they're absolutely delicious. Shoe fetishists - both women and the creepy subway stalker kind - will rejoice.

Here are some luscious styles on view at Interbitch - though these brands are available in many places. Stealth photos follow.

Giuseppe Zanotti $595
Giuseppe Zanotti $595
Stella McCartney
See by Chloe $695
See by Chloe $695

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Nolita on a Winter Sunday

Fashion and materialism are often considered interchangeable concepts. The look on the streets, however, indicates a sea change. Even in pricey Nolita, fashion is no longer reliant on expensive It bags, but a non-conformist hodgepodge of different looks, many of them recycled from years past.

80's style sneakers and a beat-up bomber jacket.
Accessorizing with headphones, and more 80's style sneakers.
Mick Jagger hair and Converse sneakers - also popular last year, and the year before - they're still good.
This girl's look really popped. A combination of the hair, the mini, the long scarf, and the motorcycle jacket.
A very individualistic style - outsized pageboy cap mixed with skinny jeans and battered cowboy boots, a trend of three years ago that still looks good when mixed in with the new.

Clashing reds and another pageboy cap, another trend with a long life span.
Striped black and white scarves were popular.
Though it was Louis Vuitton that put knit berets on the runways for fall 2007, no one designer owns the trend now. On the corner of Prince and Mott.
Colors that pop - a nice harbinger of spring.
(Faux?) fur coat mixed with sneakers.
Guys in toggle coats.
The fedora was most noticeable, but the mix of gray and ruddy brown is nice too.
Clothing takes on a sculptural aspect.
More sculptural clothing in an avant-garde look mixed with Doc Martens.
Colors that pop.
The urban Ralph Lauren look?

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Momofuku Ssäm Bar, Take Two

It was pouring. Pouring the horizontally slanting kind of rain, seemingly specific to urban areas, that renders umbrellas useless. Hands Honson and I stood in the glassed in vestibule of a nearby restaurant, arguing about where to eat.

"They don't have soup." He stared at the menu. "I thought you said they had soup."

Earlier, he had made one of the most frustrating requests a food writer can hear, the demand for "something light." What does this mean? Something light Thai? Something light Korean? Next someone will be asking me to recommend an entirely carb-free restaurant. I say: just order appropriately.

But Hands was having none of it. There was no soup. There was a wait of 15 minutes for a seat. (A mere 15 minutes!) What about sushi? The day after a four day Christmas weekend? You've got to be kidding me. Never mind that this menu listed a wide selection of raw fish. For some reason, to Hands, that didn't count as "sushi."

A guy who was leaving picked up on the argument. "Get the hanger steak."

"Listen," I said to Hands. "This place just got named the best new restaurant in 2007 in today's Times. If we don't eat here tonight, right away, we're never going to be able to eat here again."

Hands relented, crankily. Crank, crank, crank, until the first course at Momofuku Ssäm Bar landed. And then, my very own Christmas miracle: as soon as the food touched his lips, he shut up. There was absolutely nothing left to complain about.

Momofuku Ssäm Bar was one of the first restaurants reviewed on this site, back when they were just a burrito joint. Like many others around the city, I was willing to follow those steamed pork buns around the city with religious zeal. On this night, the place was full and buzzing, the food was excellent, and the music was hopping. It was enough to make even a cynic burned out from the holidays suddenly love New York.

The pork buns are still here, though they are joined by a host of new options. We started with the cured hamachi with edamame, horseradish, and pea leaves. Even on the day after Christmas, Momofuku's fish was silky, with a clean, pure taste that wasn't overwhelmed by the relatively mild horseradish spread. All the flavors sparkled, even something as tiny as a pea leaf.

The "bread & butter" was Hands' spartan choice of an appetizer, though what arrived on the table was decadent.

"I think this is the best bread and butter I've ever had in my life."

Hands agreed. The mini (sourdough?) baguette arrived piping hot - perhaps even freshly baked if Momofuku parbakes their bread. Savory goat's butter was rich and tangy, and the sea salt butter contained a superior sea salt like the "Flower of the Ocean" brand that's harvested from northwestern France.

Shockingly, the steamed pork buns have gotten even better with time. I didn't think this was possible. Momofuku's pork belly, now widely imitated, is still the torch bearer for this cut of meat - nowhere else have I encountered it prepared so perfectly. And the hoisin sauce must still be made with crack because of the sudden bliss it induces. Or at least star anise - there's a complicated dance of spices going on in the mix.

Throwing caution to the wind, I ordered raw diver sea scallops from Maine. The chef working behind the bar sliced them thin, then garnished the scallops with tiny, crackly bits of deep fried seaweed sprinkled atop like maritime lardons. Bordering them was an inventive side of pickled cherries, which could open up a new chapter in the salty-sweet trend - sweet and sour.

As advised, we got the hanger steak ssäm, which was basically bulgogi taken up several notches in deliciousness. The choice of hanger steak for this dish seemed perfectly in keeping with Momofuku's style - nothing too fancy, just keeping it real. But when all of the parts are expertly chosen and prepared, the whole adds up to something amazing.

We didn't order the crispy pig's head torchon that has gotten so much press, but for the record, here's what it is. They take a pig's head and braise it with vegetables and herbs, scoop up the pig head guts that float to the surface, make them into a sausage, cook it and slice it. Yummers. I chalked that one up to "next time."

Though David Chang has gotten the lion's share of praise from the press, the culinary invention at Momofuku seems to be very much a group effort. An unnamed pastry chef contributed a fantastic "peanut butter and jelly" dessert that was layers of homemade grape jelly, a gourmet nutter-butter like crispy wafer, and saltine ice cream. And as one person quipped when I naively asked if Chang was in the kitchen now, "He's not f-ing cooking!"

Hilarious, but true. In our celebrity-chef-worshiping culture, you've gotta remember the little guys. They might grow up to be the next David Chang.


Momofuku Ssäm Bar
207 Second Avenue
at 13th Street
212-254-3500

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dell'anima

Another restaurant on the must-hit list this winter is dell'anima. The brainchild of chef Gabriel Thompson, formerly of Del Posto and Le Bernardin, and manager Joe Campanale, once the sommelier at Babbo, dell'anima is one of the most promising new restaurants in NYC.

I found Del Posto to be a little too mega-Artie's (degli Sopranos). In this smaller setting, Thompson seems to be in his element. In fact, he is one of the star attractions. Working in an entirely open kitchen towards the back of the restaurant, the handsome young chef in an FDNY baseball cap drew a peanut gallery of attractive female admirers. Hate to break it to you ladies, but Gabe the Babe has a girlfriend, alas.

Beyond the open kitchen, the restaurant design is deceptively simple. Walls and ceiling are sculpted from plaster set with corrugated metal, creating an arched, ridged effect that would feel industrial were it not painted a vanilla white, with brass sconces shaped like tree branches. But most ingenious of all is the (expensive) ventilation system, which sucks all the heat and odors out of the kitchen so diners are not bothered. (Except for High Maintenance, who asked that I mention the draft.)

It was a nice backdrop for the job of waiting for a table. And wait we did. Only the foolhardy, or the very determined, should arrive here at 8pm on a popular night hoping to be a walk-in as we did, or you may set yourself up for Babbo levels of frustration. Better to make a reservation. The issue was that no one would leave. In an hour and a half's time, only one or two tables in the 50-seat restaurant relinquished their spot. The rest lingered happily on an on.

"It's the wine!" I said to High Maintenance and Knucklehead, who patiently waited with me. Every diner was lingering over a glass of wine from an excellent list by Joe Campanale. We especially liked the 2003 Gutturnio Il Poggiarello, the 1995 Nebbiolo Riserva Superiore Malvira, and the 2000 Brunello di Montalcino Talenti.

Finally, someone didn't show up for their reservation. We were overjoyed, as if we'd just gotten standby seats on a Christmas Eve out of La Guardia. Ravenous, we sat down and immediately ordered the bruschetta. The chickpea spread contained not the usual lemon but preserved lemon, and the pesto was made with parsley, not basil. These introduced what would be the most exciting development in dell'anima's fare - Thompson injects North African and Middle Eastern ingredients into Italian cuisine.

Considering how geographically close Africa and Italy are, the only surprising thing should be that it took so long for cross-pollination to hit. But the flavors themselves are surprising and fresh. Sultana mostarda was essentially preserved grapes tinged with mustard - a sweet and lightly spicy mix that echoed the preserved lemon. "Lily confit" bruschetta is so named because all the alliums in the mix - shallot, onion, and garlic - are bulbs from the lily family. Here they're roasted to the point of mellowness. It may sound strange to come away from a restaurant like this and recommend the bruschetta above all else. It's like saying "Get the bread." But definitely get the bread.

Service was attentive and smart. The manager didn't blink an eye when an inspector installed himself on a stool in his Department of Health uniform during the dinner rush. How kind of the health department to choose 8pm on a Tuesday to visit (with a seemingly positive outcome). And our waitress didn't miss a beat when Knucklehead asked her what her favorite Radiohead album was.

"Amnesiac."

"Whoa," he said. "You're dark."

We concentrated again on the food. Arugula salad was wonderfully peppery here - from the greens themselves, not the dressing.

Pastas are not dell'anima's strong suit. While we loved the gently oniony pizzoccheri with brussels sprouts and fontina, above right, the bolognese sauce on the tagliatelle was indeed too dry, as Bruni warned in the Times write-up. Note to chefs: If Frank Bruni tells you your sauce is too dry, chances are your sauce is too dry.

Risotto was somewhat bewildering - a piecey, jambalaya-like mix of rice and dry sausage. The spicy sausage overpowered the dish, which I wish had been creamier, like this risotto.

African elements resurfaced in the intensely flavorful, slowly braised wild boar, which was served over polenta with the texture of couscous. I did not get to try Knucklehead's chicken al diavolo, but reports from afar have it that it's quite good, and certainly the chef has a deft hand with spices.

At this point, we hit a wall. It was 11:30. The restaurant was still packed. (They're open til 2am.) When High Maintenance and I reached the door, the noise level had reached a deafening caliber. Some of the people who had been there at 8pm were still there and still drinking Joe Campanale's wine.

She said: "It's a Tuesday night, and everyone's loaded!"

It's hard not to get carried away at a restaurant that comes to you from the soul.



dell'anima
38 Eighth Avenue at Jane Street
New York, New York
212-366-6633

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