Tag Archives: New York
Fashion Week SS08: Michael Kors
If so many spring collections have been “Deauville,” Michael Kors’ could be called The Swimmer, after the 1968 film starring Burt Lancaster. Preppy fashions abounded, from women’s Lilly Pulitzer-esque pink and green prints to men’s Bermuda shorts in outrageous (by preppy standards) brushed gold khaki. It was a fun collection in the classic American style.
The show was immensely popular and packed to capacity, so much so that late arrivals were turned away. Below, the guests.
Katrina Szish and Brant, is it you?
The eminently quotable Simon Doonan
Meredith Melling Burke
Melania Trump strikes a pose.
stylist Esther Nash decked out in jewelry by Judith Ripka, a fashion week sponsor
Anna Wintour
Luire’s Takuya Sakamoto, whose hats get wilder every day
Julia Restoin-Roitfeld and Carine Roitfeld
This lady is winning my vote for style icon of NY Fashion Week, Spring Season ’08. Each day she sports her very own distinct look, one that involves tunics and lots of color. Truly chic.
Kim Hastreiter and Mickey Boardman
Hamish Bowles and pants
Fashion Week SS08: Temperley London
The Temperley show drew a glamorous crowd of pretty young things.
As for the show itself, gone were the lace and boho prints of yesteryear. The spring line, like Abaeté’s, drew inspiration from Deauville and Biarritz to arrive at a more streamlined style, this one based in the 20’s.
Patrick McDonald
Meredith Melling Burke
See the whole show on Style.com.
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Tagged fashion week, Meredith Melling Burke, New York, Patrick McDonald, street chic
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Fashion Week SS08: Proenza Schouler
It would have been a straight man’s dream, had there been more of them present: The doors to the Armory opened after the Proenza Schouler show last night, and hundreds of models and other beautiful women spilled out.
Gemma? No, Sasha Pivovarova, still in hair and makeup from the show. 
photogs at the ready
Suzy Menkes
Model of the moment Agyness Deyn poses for a photo
Carine Roitfeld gives an impromptu interview
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Tagged Carine Roitfeld, fashion week, New York, street chic, Suzy Menkes
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Fashion Week SS08: Yeohlee
Fashion week took a turn towards the avant garde at Yeohlee’s show at the W Union Square yesterday. Gowns in gossamer shimmering white fabric conjured up ice queens, while the more structured looks grounded the collection in wearable territory.
Bill Cunningham, Lynn Yaeger, Patrick McDonald, and others who appreciate fashion as an art form came to the show.
Check out the whole collection on New York Magazine.
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Tagged fashion week, Lynn Yaeger, New York, Patrick McDonald, street chic
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Fashion Week SS08: Badgley Mischka
This is a crowd that takes fashion seriously. Guests in the front row of the Badgley Mischka show, including Ivana Trump, assiduously took notes on every passing look, sometimes sneaking in a digital photo or two.
Few designers can cater equally to Hollywood starlets and New York ladies-who-lunch, but Badgley Mischka turn out both impeccably cut suits and Oscar-worthy gowns. Theirs was an extensive spring line with a some real show stoppers in the mix.
Beth Ostrosky caught in the headlights
Ivana Trump and beau Rossando Rubicondi, who passed the vintage Mercedes coupe on display and remarked in a thick Italian accent, “I love that car.”
Ken Downing of Neiman Marcus and friend
Jamee Gregory, right
Shimmer for spring. Check out the whole show on Style.com.
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Tagged Beth Ostrosky, fashion week, Jamee Gregory, Ken Downing, New York, street chic
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Fashion Week SS08: Abaeté
Laura Poretzky of Abaeté has endured some criticism for being a socialite designing for fellow socialites, but the Parsons-schooled designer attracted a variety of buyers, editors, fashionistas and fashionistos to yesterday’s show at Bryant Park.
This spring’s collection, full of slim cut dresses with colorful edging and flouncy fabric fleurs, toed the line between ladylike and playful. As for the beautifully sexy 40’s-style one-piece bathing suits that showed Poretzky’s Brazilian side – cheeky, indeed.
Below, the scene before the show.
The bathing suit – and the whole show – on Style.com.
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Tagged fashion week, New York, street chic
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Kuku Canteen
In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that I have a relationship with the restaurant featured in this review: The folks at Wawa Canteen prepare delicious food, and I eat it. Several times a week.
When a tiny Korean restaurant in central Greenwich Village closed a couple years back, neighbors were dismayed, expecting the usual NYU-geared smoothie/creperie/coffee shop to open in its place. But what arrived was Korean Restaurant 2.0, with a sleek design comprised of wood counters flanked by modern chairs, tiled walls and floors, and displays of rice and Sapporo lining the back wall. It’s now owned by Philip Rodrigue, who used to own the Cooler in the MPD. (He brought his excellent music collection with him.) What a relief to have an actual restaurant in this spot, and an approachable one, too. The ergonomic layout allows for quick service, because, as Rodrigue puts it, “You ought to be able to eat some decent food for $10 and be in and out in a half hour.”
Eureka. It’s the concept of a diner applied to ethnic food, in this case, Korean cuisine, which is underrepresented in New York compared to the plethora of Chinese, Japanese, and pan-Asian spots. Though Rodrigue says he was going for “generic eating,” the results are anything but. Consulting chef Donna Lee put a California spin on Korean food with home-cooking style dishes like surprisingly light kimchi fried rice.
My first feeling upon biting into the kimchi fried rice with chicken was one of deep regret. Here I’d been eating at Wawa Canteen for nearly two years, and I’d never tried the best dish on the menu until now, in my quest to cover as many items as possible. The kimchi is so good – spicy, sweet, crunchy, tangy – and the sticky, fluffy rice has chili flecked throughout. Though this is traditional home cooking, the type you won’t find in Koreatown restaurant-style food, the presentation is elegant, with fine strips of nori on top. It’s exciting comfort food, and it can be habit-forming.
Kimchi is an insanely popular ingredient here: during the NYU school year, Wawa goes through four 15-gallon vats of it in a week. Like a new pickle, Wawa’s kimchi retains that vegetable crunch that enlivens so many of the dishes here. The soft, barely sweet dough of the kimchi pajun is interlaced with strips of this crispy goodness, all of which goes beautifully with the slightly vinegary soy sauce.
Of course, what kimchi also does is heat things up. Only the intrepid should opt for the kimchi stew, an incredibly spicy, sour concoction that blows away neighboring faux-Asian places whose food has too much sugar and not enough heat. 
A red slick of chili oil on the soft tofu stew tells you this is one seafood dish that shouldn’t be taken lightly. Thankfully, the white rice served alongside helps put out the flames.
If you can’t take the heat, never fear. Several dishes offer up healthy, vegetable-centric Korean food in a milder format. The best of the non-spicy bunch is the curry rice with chicken and vegetables. (Just ask for both chix and vegetables.) The rich sauce exudes a slow burn that complements the stewed potatoes, carrots, chicken, and beans. 
Also tasty are the pork dumplings, soft little dollops whose sweetness is nicely cut by a vinegary black sauce. Ramen hits somewhere in between hot and mild; a hint of spice turns up the noodles a notch, and the pork in the pork ramen is plump and juicy.
If you really want to go healthy, go for the soy ginger glazed chicken or the soy and ginger glazed chicken, definitely two of the lighter dishes on the menu. Both of these are barely dressed. The carb-avoidant could even eat just the protein and the very fresh sautéed bok choy and leave the rice behind. There are also plenty of vegetarian options on the menu.
Salads have true substance, like the cold buckwheat noodle salad topped with mixed greens and grilled soy-marinated steak, sliced razor-thin by a Korean purveyor. The dressings here – soy, citrus ginger, sesame – are delicious, and really make the ingredients pop.
But the ultimate Korean dish is a mixture of spicy and mild, hot and cool, animal and vegetable: bibimbop. Wawa’s is a bonanza of hot soy-marinated beef, cold steamed spinach, bok choy, jullienned carrots, broccoli, bean sprouts, and rice, with a spicy red barbecue sauce served alongside. All the four food groups are well represented, except one. This is my one complaint about Wawa, and the first question I ever asked there: What about the egg?
I’ll have to ask about it again next week.
Wawa Canteen
289 Mercer Street, between Waverly Place and 8th Street
New York, New York
212-473-6162
* Open Mon – Fri. Check website for hours.
Posted in food, Greenwich Village, Korean, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged beef, lunch, New York, ramen, seafood
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Ladies’ Mile
True confession: fashion-o-philes secretly like it when the weather turns cold, dark, and stormy in August, as it did last week. Why? It gives everyone a chance to break out new fall clothes.
Colder temperatures afforded us a fall fashion preview on Ladies’ Mile, the stretch of lower Fifth Avenue known at the turn of the last century for its upscale boutiques, jewelers, and milliners. Now populated mostly with chain stores, it still draws a fashionable crowd.
Bebe is long on trenches, though their “sexy” version is brightly colored, while New Yorkers favor khaki, gray, and black.
Esprit displays corduroys, but more importantly, clothes in military colors.
No matter what happens in Iraq, it seems, no one is tiring of military fatigues.
Boho prints have been deemed out this season by fashion mags, but Anthropologie sticks to its guns. Fortunately for the brand, knits are in, and boho prints and scarves go well with wide-legged jeans
Though its former spare style of the mid-90’s made Banana Republic a mega force in fashion, mystifyingly, it seems to be betting on polka dots for fall. Meanwhile, pedestrians wear minimalist clothes that look like the old Banana Republic, inspired by Helmut Lang and Calvin Klein.
One stylish shopper took a whirl in polka dots.
Zara, on the money as usual, reinterprets its usual black pieces in a new slimmer silhouette.
H&M hedges its bets on both color and all-black, but the cuts are more last year than this.
Still, there is an exception for bubble dresses, which have been waved through to fall.
Intermix (a.k.a. Interbitch) and American Apparel see color as the transitional trend from summer to fall.
Benetton plays it safe with tweedy earth tones in updated cuts.
Trends seen on the street but not as much the stores: shiny jackets in high-tech fabrics
cropped blazers
high-water pants, crossing over from men to women
lots of anoraks
and gray
What Not to Wear?
Perhaps no issue is more of a hot button in offices these days than that of summer corporate attire. “I’m almost glad summer is nearly over,” writes Pamela Fiori in the editor’s letter of September’s Town and Country. “It’s not that I object to the sometimes sweltering heat… It’s what summer does to people’s style sense (and common sense) that troubles me… Is it too much to expect a certain decorum when it comes to office dress?” She goes on to rail against un-pedicured feet in flip flops, exposed belly buttons and lower back tattoos, “garish” prints, platform sandals, tent dresses, t-shirts, shorts, and even underwater watches.
Her mention of a male attorney’s “underwater watch” highlighted one factor behind the controversy: male-female communication difficulties. Isn’t a $3,500 Breitling watch an “underwater watch”? Similarly, a male banker friend defined “open-toed shoes” as synonymous with “sandals.” Louboutin would surely disagree.
To cut through the confusion, a brief survey was conducted to determine dress codes at corporate offices across the country.
A friend who works at a Manhattan hedge fund says that sandals are not allowed at her firm, but that management looks the other way if they are Manolos or Jimmy Choos. Class distinctions abound in the perception of what’s appropriate and what’s not: if it costs enough, the logic seems to be, it must be OK.
Ironically – or perhaps not, given the history of the Burqa – the more male-dominated the corporate culture, the less skin women are allowed to show. At Bear Stearns, sleeveless tops, open-toe shoes, flip flops, shorts, jeans, cargo pants, and t-shirts are banned, though nice sleeveless tops are tolerated. At Sullivan & Cromwell, in a lawyerly twist, there is no published dress code, but sleeveless tops and open-toe shoes are avoided by most. Pantyhose is welcomed.
Meanwhile, at the Conde Nast building, fellow workers would “totally look askance” at pantyhose, though Wolford tights would be heartily embraced. “You can pretty much wear anything” at Conde, where tank tops and even short shorts make an appearance at the office. And at Victoria’s Secret, a friend was showing so much cleavage that she could “be in Maxim right now” as a coworker “just sailed by in a very short skirt” that would impede her from even picking up a pencil.
A friend at an LA venture capital fund writes: “I have not seen pantyhose on anyone in the state of California.” The CAA ladies across the street wear “fewer open-toed shoes” than at her casual office, “but much more extravagant heels than what you’d find in NY.” Presumably because they don’t have to walk too far in them.
And the award for the office with the most casual dress goes to Wieden & Kennedy in Portland. Shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops are OK. The only restriction at this advertising firm is that “when you wear sneakers, they have to be Nike.”
All of the photos below were taken in the World Financial Center, where women streamed out of the Merrill Lynch and Amex buildings for lunch. Appropriate? Who knows. But this is what women in corporate America are wearing.
Gemma
On the day the markets imploded last week, dinner was planned with two people from the financial industry. Watching the Dow trip up and plummet down, it was hard not to wonder what would become of New York chic – would fall’s bags all be burlap? – and gastronomy. Going to the latest, hottest place for dinner seems so cool in an up market, but in a down one, it can feel like fiddling while Rome burns.
So it came as somewhat of a surprise to discover that Gemma, the latest, hottest place by Sean MacPherson and Eric Goode of Hotel Gansevoort fame, is actually down-to-earth. The prices were shocking – and not in a Kobe/Gilt kind of way. Pizzas: $12-16! Pastas: $15-16! What a relief to eat cheap after a day of losing billions. Cocktails were somewhat pricier at $10-12 a pop, but the bartender was kind enough to mix another traditional Italian cocktail when the first variety was not a hit – after carding me, that is. (Eri tu, CB3?) Try the Maldini for the perfect bittersweet 2007 summer libation.
Yet the Taavo Somer’s bewitching decor did not match the menu, because it looked as if no expense had been spared on the surroundings, which have been under construction for eons. The hearth-shaped arches and antiqued mirrors – not to mention the Italian theme – brought to mind obvious comparisons to Morandi, but while that design came off to this reviewer and others as fakery, Gemma’s has an amount of hand-crafted detail that seems veramente Italian. Above the wrought-iron chandeliers, dozens of white pillar candles twinkle in the dimness of the rafters, and wrought-iron gates open into an intimate side room lined with an entire wall of shelved wine. Even the ornate detailing of the scrolly logo seems more a genuine tribute to turn-of-the-last-century Italian culture than an imitation of it.
If there’s one thing Gemma lacks in giddy anticipation it is the fanfare that preceded Morandi’s mating of Jody Williams with Keith McNally’s market. This may turn out to be a blessing for Gemma, however, as diners arrive expecting solid fare by Chris D’Amico, known for his brick oven pizzas at La Bottega, and not mind-blowing culinary wizardry. When Gemma’s food turns out to be good, it’s a pleasant surprise.
As at Mercat, the server took one look at High Maintenance and me – both blond and not fat – and wrongly assumed we were anti-carb or otherwise finicky. “That’s a lot of crostini,” he warned, when we and Hands Honson placed three orders.
“Don’t worry, we’ll eat it,” High Maintenance deadpanned.
The tomato and basil crostini were made with too-tart grape tomatoes, an odd choice in the midst of the green market bonanza going on now. (At least one market is up.) But the crostini themselves were nicely garlicky and crisp. Olive tapenade crostini with Coach Farm goat cheese could have been longer on tapenade and shorter on goat cheese.
There’s not a lot of choice on the one-page menu, so there are not a lot of ways for the kitchen to go wrong. Offerings are fairly standard, like the arugula salad with shaved Parmesan with a light, mustardy dressing. In keeping with the fashion of the times, Gemma has a fancy meat slicer. Paper-thin bresaola was extremely good and served simply, fanned out on a wooden board with grapes.
Since we already heard from the Strong Buzz review that the oven-roasted branzino was nice, we did not feel obligated to go in that direction and stuck to the comfort of pizzas and pastas. Again the quality of Gemma’s cured meats shone through in the rigatoni with prosciutto, cream and peas, served on pretty china. The earthy perfume of the prosciutto permeated the whole dish, as if the rigatoni had been sauteed briefly in the pork fat before the cream and peas were added. It lacked a certain amount of coherence, but this dish was still a buy.
Gnocchi were less inspired, still a little doughy and raw in the middle, perhaps because they were left round and not flattened with a fork before cooking. Turns out that age-old Italian practice is not just for visual aesthetics but for taste. But Hands Honson praised the savory meat “gravy.”
Best of all was the simple margherita pizza, lightly charred on the bottom, topped with tangy tomato sauce interspersed with generous dollops of creamy mozzarella, and garnished with fresh basil leaves. In these new-fangled times, it’s nice to come across a place that just takes an old standard and does it well.
Of course we had to try the nutella calzone. This mammoth piece of pastry, plumped up with an obscene amount of nutella inside (that could have been more thoroughly warmed through), was just as decadent as advertised. But it also steered the restaurant more towards an over-the-top take that is more Italian-American than veramente Italian.
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How to get in? Last week (pre-Styles article), the waits were down to 45 minutes or less from the hour and a half of two weeks before. There are no reservations taken. Best to get there after 10ish, when the industry crowd gathers, or before 8 o’clock, while the young Wall Street analysts are still chained to their desks.
That’s one trend that may be around for a while.
Gemma
The Bowery Hotel
355 Bowery at East 3rd Street
212-505-9100
[Full “borrowed” menu here below. (Thanks, Hands.) N.B. that prices have already gone up since Menu Pages published a version…]
Posted in food, Italian, New York restaurants, Noho, restaurants
Tagged Gemma, Keith McNally, Morandi, New York, pizza
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Hill Country
Fette Sau is a hard act to follow.
This became apparent as soon as we walked into Hill Country. Where was the smell of barbecue? In Williamsburg, the scent of roasting meat bewitches you a block away, here there was barely a whiff of it, even when the counter staff opened the cantilevered storage units that contain piles of brisket, beef ribs, and fatty pork.
Manhattan might mean “island of many hills,” but this ain’t the boonies anymore. If Texas-inspired Hill Country exuded that barbecue scent, the neighbors would be hoppin’ mad. (It’s tough not to lapse into Texas talk as soon as you get here, what with the honky tonk music on the stereo.) On the other hand, Hill Country is conveniently located just blocks away from several subway lines, and this, as my fellow diner the Cheese Guy pointed out, is its biggest advantage. The cavernous hall, lined on one side with piles of firewood, chock full of wooden tables, and punctuated by BBQ and beer stations, easily fills with Manhattan diners, many of them guys in ties. This doesn’t even include the equally cavernous downstairs space, which has several long tables for large parties and live music several nights a week. But dang if it ain’t hard to hear in Hill Country: the acoustics are terrible.
We queued up for ‘cue, which is sold by the pound. In a Katz’s-like system, you get a ticket at the outset and get your own food. This is true to Texas style, so if you prefer table service, chances are you’d be better off in a fancy-pants New York place.
The biggest difference between Hill Country and Fette Sau is the smoker, or lack of a huge, hardworking one like Fette Sau’s Southern Queen. Hill Country’s brisket is juicier than Fette Sau’s, probably because it’s been cooked for a shorter time. But as any barbecue aficionado can tell you, this means it loses something in the flavor department. The 
rub on the outside is good, but it doesn’t penetrate far into the beef. The same goes for nicely peppery rub on the pork ribs. And if you ever wonder whether the current Berkshire pork obsession is just spin, contrast and compare the two meats and you’ll taste the difference. Because of the shorter cooking time, Hill Country’s non-Berkshire pork ribs were still pink inside and chewy, not falling off the bone.
The beer can game hen proved to be a worthwhile experiment. Deep fried with an open beer can inside, it tasted nicely herbal and moist, with crispy skin. It had flavors I didn’t realize hen or canned beer could have. How they managed to wedge a whole can o’ beer in this lil’ critter I’ll never know.
Unlike Fette Sau, Hill Country is not hostile to vegetarians. There are a heap of sides, many of them meat free. Sharp, slightly oily Longhorn cheddar decked the pasta in the excellent mac-n-cheese, and the corn pudding is perfectly salty-sweet. Black eyed pea salad was ho-hum, and chipotle deviled eggs sounded much more exciting than they were, but they’re a nice apertif to the barbecue if you get hungry waiting in line.
Normally I wouldn’t review a place this early on, but I had an opportunity to go and a camera, so please consider this an early report. Over the course of the evening, however, it became apparent that a lot of thought has already gone into Hill Country. By “thought,” I mean “focus group input.” Like the latest designer fragrance, nothing in the formula offends, but nothing sticks out at you, either. The faux-fluorescent lighting and kitschy props nailed to the walls reminded me of TGI Fridays or Chili’s, though thankfully none of the servers are wearing “flare.” Hill Country has only been open for a matter of weeks, but their in-house barbecue sauce is already for sale at the gift counter by the door, though it’s a pretty average sauce. Setting up a gift counter before you have a devoted following seems like creating your own celebrity fan club before you’re even famous.
Nevertheless, since this is the kind of free-range place where no one kicks you out, we meandered downstairs to listen to live blues. The luckiest moment of the night came when one of the sous chefs literally tossed Chef Mary and me a bourbon pecan pie at the bar. It was hands down the most delicious pecan pie we’ve ever eaten (sorry, Mom), loaded with fresh nuts and laced with bourbon and molasses.
The bourbon pecan pie, the sugared bar nuts, the bands, the friendly counter staff, the space for huge parties, and the location are all good reasons to return to Hill Country – and the Kruez sausage is supposed to be a tasty Texas specialty as well, though we didn’t get a chance to try it. But if I have a hankering for pork ribs again, I’ll be danged if I’m not on the first train out to Williamsburg.
Hill Country
30 West 26th Street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues
New York, New York
212-255-4544
Posted in American, Chelsea, food, New York restaurants, restaurants, Southern
Tagged BBQ, beef, beer, Fette Sau, New York
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Blue Crab Mondays at the Hideaway
If you can’t find a favorite hometown food in New York City, do you a) return home as often as possible to eat it, b) learn to cook, or c) open a restaurant and start serving that hometown food to all New Yorkers?
Fortunately for New York, hungry entrepreneurs have been answering “C” for centuries now. In the case of Justin Palmer of the Hideaway, first came the bar and restaurant, then came the bluefin crabs. Unable to find a place dedicated to serving hardshell crabs from Maryland or his native Virginia, he contacted his longtime crab supplier and started flying bushels of bluefins up every weekend. Now the Hideaway, a bar and restaurant started by four friends who wanted their own “clubhouse” in Tribeca, has become a mecca for transplanted crab lovers from up and down the Eastern seaboard.
If you don’t know from crabs, you may think a restaurant like City Crab is enough. It’s not. A real crab shack doesn’t have newfangled things like sushi on the menu, nor should it dabble in crabs from here, there, and everywhere. As for places that specialize in Cajun food, do what you will with crawfish, but the words “crab” and “boil” should never appear next to each other. In a real crab shack, the tables are covered in paper, the paper’s covered in steamed bluefin crabs, the crabs are covered in Old Bay, and the diners are covered in crab. It’s seafood gluttony at its finest.
Do not be afraid if you don’t know how to tackle this crustacean. The Hideaway makes it easy, providing instructions for how to eat a crab on their menu, and chances are the diners at the next table would be more than happy to help out with tips. I would say you burn nearly as many calories opening them as you do consuming them, but we were served at least 15 crabs on our order of a dozen. The generosity didn’t stop there: the crabs were caked in Old Bay and steamed just right, even though the chef was working with a more difficult pot-on-the-stove system rather than the steamers dedicated to crabs that you see further south.
We also tried the shrimp and the fries, but both of these paled next to the succulent crabs. Non-seafood fans can opt for the hefty burger, which has been a draw at the Hideaway even before the crabs came.
Though Blue Crab Mondays have brought the Hideaway into the limelight, the place still retains its clubhouse feel. Led Zeppelin plays on the stereo, major league baseball plays on the TV, and the walls are decked with slick photographs of a young Mick Jagger, Jimi Hendrix, and Carolina basketball stars. (Several of the owners attended Duke.) When all the crabs were gone and the waitress had swept up the shell debris from under the tables, the chef, staff, and owners got together and did a shot behind the bar. Now this is the kind of place anybody could call home.
The Hideaway
185 Duane Street, between Hudson and Greenwich Streets
New York, New York
212-334-5775
How To Eat a Crab:
1) Make sure you have the necessary accoutrements: a mallet, paper towels, and beer.
2) Remove the claws and legs.
3) Pull off the pointy underside piece, the “apron.”
4) Slide your thumb in the opening between the crab body and top shell. 
Pull off the shell.
5) Tear off the spongy “lungs,” scoop out the “mustard” (the gunk in the cavity), and discard all.
6) Crack the crab body in half with your hands.
7) Pry away any of the overlying thin shell and dig into the body to extract the crab meat, then fan each half apart to get at the inner cavities.
8) Use the mallet on the claws only, tapping hard enough on 
the upper part of the claw to break it but not so hard as to pulverize the meat underneath.
9) Save the fiddly legs for the end of the crab feast and deal with them only if you are still hungry.
Posted in American, food, New York restaurants, restaurants, Tribeca
Tagged beer, New York, seafood, seafood restaurants
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The Upper West Side
The Upper West Side dresses more like the rest of the country than any other neighborhood in Manhattan.
I don’t know what else to say about that.
There was some fashion to be found, however, and most of it was a practical, comfortable spin on summer trends.
head scarves
sun hats
summer shirts in a windowpane check
very Charles Addams
little white dress worn as a layer
Birkenstock thong sandals
citron yellow and navy
sun hats
summer shirts in a windowpane check
very Charles Addams
little white dress worn as a layer
Birkenstock thong sandals
citron yellow and navy
eyeglasses with clear frames
white linen shirt and sandals
An iconic Upper West Side look, the zany lady
This style was immortalized by Ruth Gordon in Rosemary’s Baby and was still in evidence here until the late ’90s. But as the chain stores and young Rosemarys have moved in, the quirky, original look has disappeared. Where are the zany ladies of yesteryear?
Roberta Freymann
So I walked up to the counter at Calypso in East Hampton the other day and put a cotton sundress and a pair of earrings on the counter. The saleswoman rang them up. My total was six hundred something dollars. I can’t remember exactly. I lost track after the “six hundred” part.
What cost so much? Not the gold earrings, which were $100, but the cotton dress, which was over five hundred dollars. And no, the label didn’t say “Chloe.”
If you ever get the feeling that “beach chic” may be a synonym for “rip off,” head a little further north on Newton Lane in East Hampton or further uptown in NYC to Roberta Freymann. Uptown girls have loved this boutique for years. Here they also source cotton and silk sundresses, wraps, kurtas, and caftans from all over the world, but the prices are much gentler.
Though I am a fan of Calypso’s ingeniously designed silk wrap dresses, I wasn’t willing to plunk down over $500 for a dress I was planning on wearing over a bikini. Instead I found this dress in an eye-catching African print from Roberta Freymann at their sale in New York. The bad news is the sale’s over; the good news is that they have all new merchandise coming in now – and the prices are still gentle.
khanga dress, $135 (sale $67.50)
kurta, $50 (sale $25)
another little beach cover-up, $35 on sale
Roberta Freymann
153 East 70th Street, between Lexington and Third Avenues
New York, New York
212-585-3767
1019 Lexington Avenue at 73rd Street
New York, New York
212-772-7200
66 Newtown Lane
East Hampton, New York
631-329-5828
Da Silvano
“That’s him,” High Maintenance whispered.
I turned around as subtly as possible to see an older gentleman in a lime green top and matching lime green glasses enter the restaurant at about 9pm.
Silvano had arrived.
It wasn’t the only celebrity sighting of the night – Rihanna later emerged from the depths of the restaurant to be pounced on by paparazzi waiting outside with video cameras – but it was the most exciting. It would have been hard to recognize Silvano from his svelter illustrated portrait on the Da Silvano balsamic vinegar or the Da Silvano water. Yet this was the man who has been able to lure celebrities here consistently for years now (for details, see his site and photo album), even though Da Silvano is, well…not known for the food.
Not all of it is bad, but Da Silvano is a lesson in levels of access and being in-the-know, in keeping with the celebrity theme. One of the best dishes wasn’t even on the menu. When High Maintenance ordered a caprese salad, I asked the waiter why this popular choice wasn’t listed with the rest of the salads.
“Everyone knows we have it,” the waiter said, in his signature blasé manner. Oh, of course. “Everyone.”
At least the caprese was good. The firm exterior of the freshly made mozzarella yielded to a soft, slightly salty inside. I couldn’t determine the provenance of the tomatoes due to Italian-American translation difficulties. (How do you say “heirloom” in Italian?) But the waiter agreed that the tomatoes were “speciale” (my word).
Oddly, the tomato bruschetta consisted of untoasted bread that was difficult to manage, though both bread and tomatoes were good separately. Not so for the panzanella – bread salad with tomatoes – which was quite disappointing if you’ve ever had the real thing. (It’s easy to make, too: For a recipe check out Rogers & Gray’s Italian Country Cookbook.)
“This is good, isn’t it?” High Maintenance said.
“No,” I countered.
“But it’s good, isn’t it?” she repeated.
“Needs more garlic or onion.”
It also seemed to contain a lot of white wine vinegar, an odd choice that made the panzanella taste more British than Italian. Broccoli rabe sauteed with pan-roasted garlic was spot on, but the sausage that topped it off was dried out.
But forget about the food. We were here to dine outdoors (the summer theme of Gastro Chic), people watch, and drink wine. As for the reds, there were not a lot of offerings under $100, which annoyed me given Otto’s ability – and, OK, Morandi‘s – to find excellent Italian reds at inexpensive prices. The Le Cupole was a good wine at $95, the Sondraia a great one – bigger, more complex, and slightly more tannic – for $120.
In the entree category, the pastas fared well. The rigatoni focaccia was the best of the bunch, with its cream and tomato sauce of double smoked bacon perfumed with sage. All this dish needed was more of the excellent sauce. Sage also played a big part in the success of the ravioli bella Firenze, spinach and ricotta filled ravioli sauteed in butter and sage.
We took the train off the tracks a bit when High Maintenance’s fiancé Boob and I decided to split the roasted fillet of veal, exorbitantly priced at $95. Veal is already very delicate, but this roast was downright bland, and the gravy didn’t add much flavor at all. For tips on how to make veal gravy, the chef at Da Silvano should check out Marinella across the way on Carmine Street. If I had to do it again, I would order the grilled shell steak.
Good or bad, Da Silvano is truly Italian. A large part of the menu is given over to daily seasonal specials. A number of the diners here were speaking Italian, as was the staff. But the thing that really tipped me off to the true Italian-ness of Da Silvano – other than the photo of Silvano driving a sports car outside Modena – was a note on the bottom
of the menu, in all-caps: NO CHEESE SERVED ON SEAFOOD AT ANY TIME.
This food-induced rage about what’s correct is something you rarely see outside of Italy, the country where I was told “Cappucino doppo pranza non esiste, non esiste!” which loosely translates as: Not only is it incorrect to have a milk-based coffee drink at any time but breakfast, but cappuccino after lunch doesn’t even exist, it doesn’t exist!
Even though it is celebrity-driven, Da Silvano is approachable. Now that the maitre d’ she knew has departed for Morandi, High Maintenance and I had no special in at the restaurant, but she managed to make a reservation just like a regular person, and we were still given a nice table outside despite our non-celeb status.
“The food is really good, though, don’t you think?” she said as we were leaving.
“I don’t think people are here for the food,” I said.
“But the food is good,” she insisted.
“Well…”
With that we walked out of the patio to the spot where Rihanna’s black SUV had just sped off into the night.
Da Silvano
260 Sixth Avenue, between Houston and Bleecker Streets
New York, New York
212-982-2343
Note that the menu illustration is by Marisa Marchetto, Silvano’s wife, Cancer Vixen, and talented New Yorker cartoonist (“Beauty is life’s Easy Pass.”) Look closely and you can see her in one of the photos.
Posted in food, Greenwich Village, Italian, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged New York, seafood
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