Tag Archives: NYC

Manhattan High-Rise.

As a continued part of my quest to sample as many new outdoor-drinking establishments as possible between now and August, I stopped in to the Lot at 30th Street, the Tom Colicchio-helmed beer-garden-cum-food-truck-mecca under the High Line, with two friends a few weeks ago.

The High Line, for members of our readership based elsewhere, is an elevated park, formerly train tracks, that runs up the west side of Manhattan; the Lot is located under the northern-most end and, I’d imagine, the post-stroll reward for many a visitor. Not us, however. We opted for beer, then a walk. Priorities, people.

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The Not-So-Great Outdoors.

Nothing says summer in New York like a plethora of new outdoor-drinking establishments. It was hard to decide which to try first, but when I saw this Serious Eats slideshow, promising crunchy, juicy Thai fried chicken and Eastern European sausages of various persuasions, I moved BeerParc to the top of the list.

Though the companion article to the slideshow billed the space as an “outdoor extension” of FoodParc (the food court on the ground floor of Midtown’s Eventi Hotel), I was completely unprepared to find myself drinking beer in what amounted to a mid-block passageway. This did not bode well.

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Sandwich Spotlight: No. 7 Sub.

The Subject: Zucchini Parm, from Ace Hotel sandwich shop No. 7 Sub.

I mentioned the sandwich-oriented offspring of Brooklyn’s No. 7 restaurant in a Friday Five roundup awhile back, and I’m pleased to report that it only took me an additional four months to stop by. (This is progress, folks.) As I waited on line—short but out the door at peak lunch time—I unhesitatingly settled on the fried clams with pickled strawberries, a combination too bizarre to pass up. And yet…blame the presence of a favorite cheese, or the usage of potato chips as condiment, or even the thought of bright-green fresh summer vegetables, but as I neared the cash register, I found myself inexorably drawn toward the zucchini parm.

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Public Service Announcement 2.0.

Never fear, New York brethren: You too can achieve tater-tot nirvana.

The Redhead’s version—possibly the best I’ve ever had—has a hint of onion that makes them reminiscent of a latke; the sauce is a subtly spicy remoulade. And, if you happen to be patronizing one of the East Village’s myriad watering holes and realize, at midnight, that you forgot to eat dinner, this is the bite for you.

(They’re great sans alcohol, too.)

The Redhead
349 E. 13th Street
New York, NY

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Sandwich Spotlight: Caracas Arepa Bar.

Welcome to our new feature, in which we highlight and break down humble sandwiches from various eateries in our respective cities.

The Subject: La Sureña, from Venezuelan favorite Caracas Arepa Bar.

This tiny East Village storefront opened in 2003, and, thanks to a winning combination of low prices and solid food, it’s been full-to-overflowing with hungry hordes pretty much ever since. A second branch popped up in Brooklyn a few years ago, and when I found myself in the neighborhood on a recent sunny afternoon, I decided to take advantage of the patio for an al fresco lunch.

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Friday Five: Danji Dishes.

When Jill and I declared this Korean Week at IF, that was in part because I’d just heard about the Taste of Korea NYC truck‘s month of free eats. Each week has a different theme, and this week, those kind folks were giving away sliders created by the chef at Danji, a restaurant, as you may recall, I’ve been dying to try. I would’ve jumped on the opportunity in a heartbeat, but travel complications, work obligations, and line-length apprehension—New Yorkers love not paying for things, so the queues for this kind of event can be out of control—got in the way.

But we’d promised, dear readers, a week of Korean coverage, and what else is a dedicated blogger to do but suck it up and eat some food? I roped in a friend for an impromptu dinner at Danji proper, and, as an added bonus, got to cross a restaurant off my list in the process. Today’s Friday Five comes with a special bonus entry; below the jump, six tasty plates await.

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Connected Korean.

Way back in the dark ages, before cell phones with built-in GPS, Jill and I trekked all over San Francisco in search of that city’s famed Mexican fare. Our destination was the Mission District, our route circuitous, but the pay-off was worth it: For an afternoon spent navigating an unfamiliar public transit system and wandering foreign streets, we got great burritos and wound up on a beach, brown-paper-bagging beer and watching the sunset. Not half bad.

Our establishment of choice was a stationary one, but imagine the trouble the geographically challenged (read: us) would’ve had tracking down mobile vendors in the days before Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare allowed them to broadcast their locations to the masses. These days, it should go without saying that social media is an integral part of most savvy restaurateurs’ publicity efforts, but it’s arguably even more important for the food trucks and pop-up spots that are running rampant all over town.

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Just Say “Desayuno.”

There’s slow food, and fast food, and somewhere in between, there’s that sweet spot where the two overlap. Given New York’s fascination with food trucks, there’s a proliferation of good, quick eats on any given corner, but a civilized, industrial interior and clean, fresh ingredients separate newish taco joint Fonda Nolita from the scrum.

Enter through the heavy steel doors and head straight for the counter on the right. Don’t be distracted by the surf-shack-style open kitchen at the back, or by the red VW microbus on the left—there’s plenty of time for that later. (The shovels and rakes and implements of destruction are, sadly, missing in action, but the bus’s pop-top menu will be more than enough to grab your attention.) First things first, though: Decide how many tacos you want to eat and pay accordingly. You will receive one poker chip for each “piece” of food you care to sample, at which point you have my permission to go nuts.

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Thigh Spy.

On a rainy, gloomy afternoon very similar to this one, I pulled up my hood and headed to the East Village in search of sustenance. My destination was Northern Spy—the day called for something hearty and comforting, and I’d heard great things about that restaurant’s chicken and egg sandwich.

Despite my misgivings about the cut of poultry utilized, it sounded like the perfect antidote to my entirely self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder.

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Brunch Bout.

This is a tale of two disparate midday meals.

In one corner: Southern comfort. In the other: Swedish sophistication.

Both were consumed with out-of-town guests. Both featured well-made food at reasonable price points. Which cuisine—to borrow a phrase—would reign supreme?

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