{Eating, Travel}

Shop Talk: Bouchon Bakery

4.13.10
all photos by george billard

G did a bad thing. He went to Bouchon Bakery in the Time Warner Center and came home with all these goodies. I mean baddies! He claimed they were for our guests but a few crumbs fell into our mouths as well. Do you love Thomas Keller? (If you don’t know who I’m talking about, Rip Van Winkle, you can read his bio on the Bouchon Bakery website.) I had an incredible lunch at the French Laundry in the spring of 2001 and even went into the kitchen to have Thomas sign a copy of his recently published cookbook of the same name. It was immaculate in there and quiet as a tomb. But the food that came out was hardly demure. For such a serious chef, he loves his little food puns: oysters and pearls (tapioca); coffee and doughnuts (cappuccino semifreddo), etc. He opened Bouchon Bakery right outside Per Se—his magnum opus where I have dined in splendor overlooking Central Park—so that it could provide bread for the restaurant and also “add an additional layer of cafe life to the surrounding area.” So thoughtful. There, you can grab and go, perch on a stool, or get a real table at which to enjoy light fare, including soups and sandwiches, quiche, wonderful breads and all manner of sweets. I once had a huge coconut-dusted doughnut stuffed with passionfruit curd that nearly did me in. They even bake dog treats for New York’s most pampered canines. My personal favorite from the selection shown above happens to be the frisbee-sized Nutter Butter. It’s unwise to eat more than a quarter of this creamy, peanutty travesty at a time. I’ve even posted the bakery’s recipe for it should you be reckless enough to want to try this at home. Read the rest of this entry »

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{Home, Travel}

Shop Talk: Global Table

4.9.10
photo by george billard

I’m going to institute a new feature that, along with Round-Ups and Novel Ingredients, will become something you’ll see from time to time on my blog. Shop Talk will give me a chance to spotlight some of my favorite retail venues, both brick-&-mortar and virtual. Many of you may already know about Global Table, as it’s received plenty of coverage elsewhere. Still, I’d like to toss in my 2 cents. Owned and curated by Nathalie Smith, a former stylist at Elle Décor, this tiny shop on Sullivan Street in SoHo is stuffed to the gills with a well-edited selection of housewares at really accessible prices. Smith has a great eye for the beautiful and the functional—from delicate glass decanters and bamboo bowls to melamine trays and even lamps. Want to make a statement with a bunch of oversized ceramic vases in brilliant hues? Read the rest of this entry »

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{Eating, Travel}

Craft Services

3.25.10


I’ve never gotten into reality TV, never seen Top Chef, so I can only judge Tom Colicchio on the basis of his food which I think is pretty damn good. It was over a luxurious dinner at Craft in 2005 that G requested permission to officially court me. I still remember coyly nodding my head as I stuffed in a mouthful of roasted chanterelles. This was a man who knew the way to my heart. (Which one? you’re asking…) I’ve also been a loyal fan of Craftbar over the years, especially during the reign of Akhtar Nawab, when you could sip some delicious Campari cocktail at the bar while noshing on fried sage leaves stuffed with sausage. These days, in its new location on Broadway, Craftbar is still a fun spot—and a good deal—for lunch. During the abbreviated run of Craftsteak, I had one of the best steaks of my life, a flatiron. But I remember being rather appalled at the blasting air-conditioning (for all those sweaty, rib-eye-eating Wall Streeters) and the equally affronting price tag. Now this huge, wood-filled space has been reincarnated as Colicchio and Sons—a more modest but also more ambitious restaurant. As Sam Sifton of the Times said in his 3-star review last week, “A lot of testosterone has been drained off, and a combination of flowers and a Grateful Deadish soundtrack do much to counter the boom-era feel of the restaurant’s towering ceilings and soft leather seats.” I took a friend there for her birthday lunch yesterday but arrived early, so decided to perch at the bar while I waited. Of course this led to a cocktail (at noon!), a wonderful combination of thyme-infused vodka with lemon and ginger ale called the Hard Thyme, accompanied by a teensy bowl of chile-roasted nuts. When my friend arrived, I was pleasantly loose and ready for anything. Read the rest of this entry »

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{Eating}

Bucolic Dining

2.12.10


Bond Street is no longer the tucked-away, cobblestoned street of artists’ studios it once was. The arrival of Herzog & de Meuron’s overwrought luxury residences and a slew of expensive boutiques signaled a definitive transformation. But it still retains its charm, in no small part because of Il Buco. What began in 1994 as a little antiques shop is now this wonderful Italian restaurant where candelight bounces off rows of hanging copper pots, illuminating dark paintings and the smiles of sated guests. Rustic wooden tables and cozy banquettes make for leisurely dining. The place attracts a nice crowd of locals and regulars that creates a buzzy but not pretentious scene. The eclectic menu is Italian-inflected, with a nod to Spain’s tapas-style grazing. I have found the food to be uniformly delicious. And although it’s hard to make the meal the main focus when you’re surrounded by a gorgeous gaggle of old friends who rarely come together now—sharing stories and secrets and laughs at full volume—it’s also impossible not to stop and savor Il Buco’s inventive flavors. I always look forward to the bread—chewy, yeasty and crusty. Its peerless accompaniments of peppery Umbrian olive oil, Sicilian sea salt and balsamic vinegar from Modena are from Il Buco’s own brand and are available for sale in the restaurant and here.

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{Eating, Travel}

This Little Piggy

1.20.10

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After a long day of work meetings and running around the city (and, yes, a mani/pedi with the Chanel “Black Satin” nail polish I have been hoarding for 2 years), I returned to the Ace and decided to have a late lunch/early dinner at The Breslin to see if I could experience what the fuss is all about. A you may recall, I tried their burger and excellent thrice-cooked fries from room service. And I also had some airy pumpkin pancakes with melted chile butter at brunch the next day that I really can’t complain about. But much has been written about the alleged nose-to-tail eating at this joint, so I wanted to root around in the menu a bit more. As it turns out, I snarfled down quite a panoply of delights, so if you’re thinking of making the trek to 29th and Broadway, press on, gentle reader. Read the rest of this entry »

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{Eating, Travel}

Mo’ Momofuku

1.19.10
spicyricephoto by george billard (taken with his iphone)

You can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl…especially when she’s stuffing it back in with both hands! No better place than Momofuku Ssam Bar to remember what it’s like to eat somebody else’s cooking. We chowed down on David-Chang-deliciousness and it was yet another flawless dining experience, from cocktails to cookies. You know all about the place already, right? So I don’t have to tell you that you’ll eat hunched over at the bar on a hard stool, gazing at strange ’70s art featuring John McEnroe and rocking out to loud music. It’s all part of a funky, stripped-down dining experience that really wakes up your senses. So glad they’ve now got a full bar and mixed drinks on their extensive alcohol menu. I’ve written before about the truly wonderful “Penicillin;” even posted the recipe for you here. Smoky Scotch + ginger syrup + lemon juice = divinity. It outshined the Wild-Turkey-based “Gold Rush” I had last night, if you ask me. Here’s what we ate: Read the rest of this entry »

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{Eating, Travel}

Booty Call

1.9.10

fela1


Fela is astonishing! One of the most vibrant and uplifting theatrical experiences you will ever see. You should treat yourself to a night out. The show has migrated from off-Broadway to the Eugene O’Neill theatre on 49th Street. Some heavyweight producers have signed on (Jay-Z, Will and Jada Smith) and luminaries in our packed house included Spike Lee (yes, wearing a baseball cap) and Oprah BFF Gayle King (sporting a Michele Obama-esque waist-cincher). Written by Jim Lewis and directed and choreographed by the legendary Bill T. Jones, this music and dance extravaganza is about Fela Anikulap-Kuti, the Nigerian creator of Afrobeat, a unique synthesis of highlife jazz, James Brown and traditional African rhythms. We saw Sahr Ngaujah in the taxing lead role, but some nights Kevin Mambo takes over. Apparently he is just as good. As incredible as Sahr is, and as smokin’ as is the on-stage band, the show for me was all about the nine female dancers. They represent the 28 women who worked and toured with Fela, all of whom he married in one big ceremony.


fela


Their performances are centered around their incredibly regal attitudes and their amazing booties, constantly rotating and shaking to the beat. The colorful and sexy costumes (designed by Marina Draghici, who is also responsible for the fine set), and the extraordinary makeup, are like the vivid plumage on rare birds. Their bodies range from Amazonian to tiny, from sinewy to well-muscled; they are all strong and supple and gorgeous.


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{Eating, Travel}

Hotel Living

1.8.10
indiahotelphoto by george billard

Still at the Ace Hotel in New York City. Bastion of all things vintage-fabulous, steampunk and industrial chic. I like the use of typography throughout the hotel. I brought my camera but forgot the cable to download images to my computer. (Duh. I swear I will get the hang of this soon.) So instead I am posting this picture of me taken two years ago, at a truly fabulous hotel outside Udaipur, called Devi Garh. It’s an ancient Indian palace and one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. (More on that soon, when I post about the incredible Kashmiri curry I ate there and now know how to make.) I suppose it’s a sad fact of colonialism, but the Indians really know what good service is. Here at the Ace, not so much. Our do-not-disturb sign—a magnet that says “Not Now” and can be stuck to the metal door—somehow vanished during the night. The room service burgers delivered from The Breslin’s kitchen (beef not lamb): Eh. The thrice-cooked fries, however, were divine. And I give them credit for sending up little jars of ketchup, dijon mustard and mayonnaise. And for the crisp lacinato kale and radicchio mixed into their green salad. For dessert? The homemade ice cream on offer was vanilla only, and no chocolate sauce available, so we passed. An in-room viewing of The September Issue wrapped up the evening, and we were really quite happy. Grace Coddington, with her witchy mane of flaming red frizz (gorgeous) versus the bizarrely stiff and bug-like Anna Wintour—no contest, really. Given her upbringing, and the real-world accomplishments of her talented siblings, Anna, poor dear, is clearly burdened with the shame of working in fashion. It’s too bad, because when you see the magic that Grace creates, the sheer transporting fantasy of a beautiful girl in an other-worldly dress, you see that fashion’s escapism is not without merit.

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{Eating, Travel}

Ace Cadet

1.7.10
snowteaphoto by george billard

At this very moment, my location is the polar opposite of the one in this photo where I’m sipping tea on a break from snowshoeing. Right now, I am having a delicious mocha that was meticulously crafted for me by one of the hot, pork-pie-hat-and-mustachio-sporting coffee-barkeeps at the Stumptown in the Ace Hotel on 29th and Broadway. The Ace is among the new hotels favored by the tragically hip (along with the downtown Standard and the Jane). It also houses The Breslin, a gastropub of sorts from the Spotted Pig crew (onion soup with bone marrow, various stews and concoctions from both ends of the pig). Upstairs on the 6th floor, our spacious room looks across 29th Street almost into the window of a loft I lived in during the summer of 1986. It has a turntable we actually know how to use (and some pretty lame records), and a great leather couch strewn with a black sheepskin. Pretty homey. The lobby is riddled with thirtysomethings in knitted caps hunched over their Kindles and Macs, and bellying up to the bar to order the requisite bourbon cocktails. I bought a bottle of Bookers for the room because, frankly, well, never mind… I’m leaning up against the gleaming brass counter in Stumptown, swaddled in my Rick Owens wrap sweater, sipping my mocha, hunched over my own Mac. Hey, maybe I do belong. Read the rest of this entry »

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