When I started "researching" for Gotham Grub, I made a rule that table service would mean no photographs. While I may be depriving readers of good visuals, I am preserving my own dining experience and that of those around me. Now, I don't extend the rule to dining at spots with more casual service (the food porn of which often appears on Twitter), or to some places out of town (when a tourist, be such tourist). Thankfully, on my first trip to Gotham West Market this afternoon, I was able to play by my rules, but still capture these.
That's right. Ivan Ramen Slurp Shop, from Long Island native Ivan Orkin, a member of my tribe who somehow managed to create one of the top ramen shops in Tokyo and so graciously bring his talents back to Gotham in the wonderful modern food concept of Gotham West Market on Eleventh Avenue. The Market deserves a post of its own, so right now, we're just talking ramen.
My column for West Side Rag last week caused quite a stir. Comments ran the gamut from support for my position on our neighborhood's problem, to distaste for my "first world problems."
Eh, I can't win 'em all.
The controversy caught the attention of the New York Post, which took the time to speak with me - as well as others - about this Seinfeldian "delivery dead zone" predicament. While opinions may be mixed, I again am just thrilled to have another platform to share my words. And maybe, I helped us move one step closer towards decent (fat) noodles!
Check it out here. And thanks for your continuing support!
The more I graze on veggies, the less I gorge on carbs. This hearty party in a bowl may be a free-for-all, but it's simple, so I threw it together last night alongside lamb chops and couscous. I wouldn't call the ingredients particularly "seasonal," but the warmer months make me crave crisp, refreshing flavors. So perhaps it is a summer salad. A summer Mediterranean salad. Like I'm dining, in white linen, in Santorini. I like the way that feels.
There's no real method to the madness, because you should use any amount of these ingredients that you enjoy. Prepare it "to taste" by tasting often. Here's what I did.
I am PSYCHED that my favorite neighborhood blog, West Side Rag, published a column I wrote, entitled, "I Live in the Upper West Side's 'Delivery Dead Zone.'" Finally, my weekly lament about having meager delivery options receives a proper forum!
I can only hope that neighborhood restaurants will receive my humor as a call to action and start expanding their delivery areas. We are hungry. We are tired. We need noodles.
The time read 7:35 p.m. We were ten minutes early for our reservation at Bustan, a newly minted, Israeli-inspired restaurant on the Upper West Side. I don’t often lock into midweek dinner reservations, but given the infrequency of noteworthy openings on an uninspired Amsterdam Avenue, I wanted to be proactive.
Others caught onto the evident buzz, as the front doorway clogged up with patrons swarming the hostess’ desk right inside. I sent my husband to noodle through the chaos and check in.
“The hostess said it’ll be a few minutes, but there are tables finishing up. We should have a drink at the bar,” he suggested. I obliged.
The space itself felt eclectic and fresh; a colorful, luxe departure from hummus joints past. At the very least, these seemed like feelings a diner would have upon sitting inside of the restaurant, at a table, amidst said eclecticism and freshness. As for us, we never made it past the bar.
I give up. Five times I've prepared this dish, and five times it's been too damn spicy. On each of these attempts, I used less and less of the no-longer secret ingredient: chipotle peppers in adobo sauce. The kind in the can. I've tried simmering it longer, squeezing in more lime juice, adding chicken stock, and dousing it with sour cream - a forbidden condiment in my psuedo-healthy life. And it's a damn shame, because this tangy shrimp dish, paired with rice and beans, deserves to be shared via a post like this.
But until I manage the heat just right, I'll keep forcing it upon my husband, who will keep complaining that his face is burning off.
In response to this PSA, please advise if you think you have the antidote for said peppers. You will be showered with public thanks in a future post.
Soak your meat. Using a marinade like the Asian-style version I’ve created here, even if only for a few minutes, can elevate simple hanger steak. We enjoy this one so much that I reserve a little on the side for drizzling and dunking.