March Madness

Month of March:
1. Sandwiches
2. Quesadillas
3. Cereal
4. Beer
5. Wine
6. Indian Food
7. Mediterranean Food
8. Filipino Food
9. Pancakes
10. Pizza

For the month of March, the eating, along with the lack of steady writing job has sent me into a downward spiral of monotonous consumption. Restaurants have been sparse, limited to a few various ethnic assortments. Much love for the complexities of sandwiches along with the occasional beer.

La Poularde has been shunned for too long, after the realization of its lack of readership. Professional outlook is at a standstill; may adopt more casual tone for poularde. Keep yourself glued for updates. One may never know when they strike!

An Excerpt

A good blog should ideally be updated rather frequently. Some might say every day, others every week. However, then there are the lazy folk that decide that a mediocre post every month or so might get the job done. This rationalization is highly dependent, as I like to think, upon quality.

The posts should have some substance or maybe even a useful hint or two. Maybe the writer is knowledgeable, intelligent and slightly competent in his field of studies. Yet for the many bloggers out there that possess none of these qualities, it makes you wonder why such individuals still acquire attention.

Of course, I myself have no desire to research into this subject. Instead - as usual - I have set my priorities elsewhere, mainly in the consumption of food, ingestion of miscellaneous liquids (always all natural) and the continual, cyclical yet always (ok, sometimes) enjoyable purchase of said foods.

Lately, the eating hasn't been too swell. The winter days are cold, the money is low and the desire to cook hasn't been up there with the priorities of: One, drink beer, alcohol, wine and such. Two, spend as little time as possible out in the cold. And three, spend as little money as possible on groceries in order to garner enough money for priority number one. It may seem like a sad cycle, but it's what keeps the blood warm and the mind happy. Or as others would say, "lubricated."

Some meals of the past few weeks have been notable, others not so much. There's some good carrot cake that I enjoyed at Amy's Breads, Lamb Korma at Curry Mahal Indian and a tomato-less lamb gyro from a street vendor on Astor Place (he ran out, how gypped). Nothing too amazing and nothing too expensive. The food writing at WSN is now run rampant by novice female writers, on top of the rather amateur and peevish editor who precedes them. It's a good thing I ceased from writing for them anymore. I now feel like an old man who pokes fun, if not in a rather biased and cynical manner, towards those that follow in his footsteps. What a curmudgeon.

Zen Sushi on St. Marks wasn't too bad - but also wasn't too amazing. To coincide with the fresh sushi and fish theme, the patrons are appropriately packed in like a good bunch of fish. You might have to grab your own menus if the fisherman - who also serves as your waiter - doesn't come tend to your needs immediately. Yet the prices which are always 50 percent off, if you can get over such skeptical advertising, provide good value to the food. $6.50 pitchers of Kirin await you, as do sushi rolls that range from $3.50 to about $5.00. If you calculate that accordingly, that means you get full of sushi and catch a buzz all for a little under - or over, $10. Just be aware of the St. Marks throng of sightseers. And asians.

Other than that, nothing else is too exciting minus a day when I had three slices of pizza, from three different locations, for three different meals. Little to say, I felt like a deplorable bum who needs to find a better diet. If you're curious, Ray's pizza on St. Marks beat out Solo Pizza on Avenue B and Stromboli on 1st Avenue.

Dessert hunting has been rather unexciting, with Sugar Cafe on Allen St charging too much for a mushy chocolate mousse cake and Panya Bakery on E 9th St serving miniscule portions of their own chocolate mousse slice. The former coming to $4.34, the latter $4.25. Value down, satisfaction sub-par. If only the prices reflected such a nature.

However, a usual leader in the dessert pack remains Pinisi Bakery on E 4th Street, who continues to amaze and please with the always moist and always satiating $3.50 slice of Red Velvet cake. Tender, luscious and free from red-teeth staning ability, Andi Igusti truly has done us all a favor. Am I biased because I interviewed him once? Not at all. But he is a friendly guy.

In the end, the home cooking comes out the victor because for one, I am the cook behind the stove and thus have no one else to blame but myself for the falters and follies in the kitchen. But as is expected, the tally marks for such blunders are far and few. I mean, how many ways can you mess up a sandwich - or cereal for that matter.

Thus, I shall leave with this excerpt that shows respect for the usual housewife and all her duties:

"Women, they peel potatoes, carrots, turnips, pears, cabbages and oranges. Women know how to peel anything that can be peeled. It's not hard to do. You learn when you're very young, from mother to daughter: "Come and help peel some potatoes for dinner, dear."... Women peel potatoes every day, noon and night; carrots and leeks too. They do it without complaining to themselves or to their husbands. Potatoes, they're a woman's problem... Women's domain is that of the table, food and the potato. It's a basic vegetable, the least expensive; it's the one about which you say little but that you peel and prepare in a thousand ways. How am I going to serve the potatoes tonight? That's what you call a domestic problem.

Supply. How much importance should we give supply...? "You do everything so well, honey. I love your potatoes," says the man. "Will you make me French fries tomorrow?" And the woman makes fries. The stakes are high, higher than the discussion itself: not to make him unhappy so that he'll still want me, as much as he wants my fries. And the next day, she peels again, vegetable after vegetable; she chops and slices them into small, patient, meticulous, and identical pieces. She does this so that everything is good and also pretty, well presented. Something that is well presented makes you hungry. Then you'll want to feed yourself, to food off of me. "I'm hungry for you," says the man. "You're pretty enough to eat. I want to munch on you - one day," says the man. "I'm hungry for the food you give me."

Nicole, "Les pommes de terre," Les Temps moderne.

Astor Place Street Cart
Astor Place @ Lafayette

Curry Mahal Indian
78 2nd Avenue @ E 4th St

Zen Sushi
31 St Marks Pl @ 2nd Avenue

Solo Pizza
27 Avenue B @ E 3rd St

Stromboli Pizza
83 St Marks Pl @ 1st Avenue

World Famous Ray's Pizza
2 St Marks Pl @ 3rd Avenue

Amy's Bread
250 Bleecker St @ Leroy St

Pinisi Bakery
128 E 4th St @ 1st Avenue

Panya Bakery
10 Stuyvesant St @ 3rd Avenue

Sugar Cafe
200 Allen St @ Houston St

Year O' Beer

To those that may care or even have noticed, I thank you ahead of time. For the past month my presence on La Poularde has been non-existent, leaving whatever readers and potential fan base out there alone and distraught. For that, my apologies.

However, let it be known that over the past month and a few days the poularde himself has been kept happy, well fed and well versed in the warm embrace of food, drink and miscellaneous alcoholic beverages. Thus, if I must admit my current downfall is an unyielding desire to taste test and sample all beers that come my way.

This leads me to introduce the first actual beverage-dedicated post in the short history of La Poularde. For the past two months or so, instead of stuffing my face I have been drowning the miseries and shame of not posting in pools upon pools of hops, malts and barley. In more simplistic terms, I have become a beer whore.

Instead of tickling your buttons and making you wait anymore, I will cease to explain my downfalls and relinquish the sprinkling of beer knowledge I have attained over the past few weeks. In time, or at least I tell myself that - there will be more, as this is only the tip of months upon months of beer consumption. As with any poularde, you must assume the worst when it comes to addictions and restraint in the world of culinary consumption.

Thus, here is the beginning of what has become my most recent hobby of enjoyment:

31 Jan 2008
Beer: Anchor Brewing Co., Winter Ale 2007
Location: 2nd Avenue @ E 9th St Bodega, E. Village NYC
Price: 10.99/6 pk
Grade: 7.0

Medium Body, pumpkin, spices and sweetness. Some molasses and honey, a good syrup to it. Medium-Heavy body, but not too much. Rather enjoyable, good winter ale. Forgot to take more extensive notes.

2 Feb 2008
Beer: Samuel Smith’s, Organic Ale
Location: Whole Foods, Bowery NYC
Price: 3.99/550mL
Grade: 6.5

Yeasty and bitter, yet only a medium body. Hoppy and fruity, mild bitterness and a lightly roasted taste. Some caramel, if you search for it. Could be heavier, a bit more complex.

5 Feb 2008
Beer: Brooklyn Brewery, Extra Brune
Location: Whole Foods, Bowery NYC
Price: 9.99/64 oz. Growler
Grade: 6.4

Very little hops and yeast, almost pale in taste – but not too bitter. Overly carbonated (could be due to first Growler of the day according to the brewman at Whole Foods – bought around 1pm). What a drunkard. Slight sweetness, alcohol flavor, a bit of raisins. Slightly spicy, yet syrupy. A light caramel taste. Tastes almost like an alcohol-infused banana bread. Sweetness near the end, molasses and brown sugar taste. Almost like a candy-ish beer, definitely on the sweet side.

8 Feb 2008
Beer: Medocino Brewing Co., Eye of the Hawk Select Ale
Location: Whole Foods, Bowery NYC
Price: 7.99/6 pk
Grade: 5.7

Wants to be complex, but falls short in the end. A drinkable beer, a tad more refined than your usual session beer, but lagging quite a bit behind the big brothers of top-notch beer. Some honey, some fig, some caramel. There’s a little sweetness in there along with some bitterness. But overall it doesn’t really offer anything too special. It’s a beer you can gulp with pride, seeing that it isn’t a Bud Light. An ok ale, but nothing worth going back for.


8 Feb 2008
Beer: Blue Point Brewing Co., Toasted Lager
Location: Whole Foods, Bowery NYC
Price: 7.99/6 pk
Grade: 5.5

Pours a lighter orange-toned amber, so-so head. Comforting toasted lager taste to it, like throwing on a sweater or something wooly. Honey, light herbs, and fruity hops. It’s good for what it is, almost like a playful beer. As with the Eye of the Hawk, one of those limbo beers better macros and upper-echelon. Medium body, crisp and grassy. Aftertaste is somewhat bleh; muddled and mushed. But for price, good for what it is. And who can help but support local breweries?

11 Feb 2008
Beer: Sixpoint Brewery, 8 Days O’ Wheat
Location: Whole Foods, Bowery NYC
Price: 6.99/64 oz. Growler
Grade: 7.2

Yeasty, soft bite, good follow through. Warm tingle, nice tartness with a subtle bitterness near the end. Traces of honey, papaya and even butter. Rather hoppy, but not too much. Creamy throughout, with a dry finish. Somc spices and some citrus, but nothing too crazy. A fine, drinkable beer. Goes down easy, a little more substantial than a session beer but not exactly at top-notch status. Not the usual wheat beer at all though. Much more like a less-hopped pale ale, quite mellow and blissful. Swell price too.

13 Feb 2008
Beer: Dogfish Head Craft Brewery, 90 Minute IPA
Location: H-E-B: Louetta, Houston, Tx
Price: 9.79/4 pk
Grade: 8.8

Rich amber color, quick hoppy taste to the touch. “Old Speckled Hen” on crack; bitter and spicy. Barley and malt overtones, really makes you jump a bit. Tingles on the tongue quickly for awhile, not too overbearing. Intense flavor, full body, bitters first, spicy after. A spunky beer. Traces of red pepper, lemon, other citrus. A bit of darkness to it, some roasted hues. To some, may be too harsh, but to a true beer drinker it should be a greatly appreciated IPA. Very enjoyable, very nice.

14 Feb 2008
Beer: Brouwerij Duvel Moortgat NV, Duvel Belgian Strong Pale Ale
Location: H-E-B: Louetta, Houston, Tx
Price: 8.99/650ml
Grade: 8.5

Strong acidity and bitterness at touch; tangy with a sting. Very frothy, light head – more porous than most. Rather bubbly, with a light golden yellow color. Intense tingle throughout entire gulp, almost blocks out the flavor. Light-Medium body, slight flavor of wheat but overall carbonation and oomph kick through. Tastes of lemon, green apple and floral scents that give it a good bite and punch. Very crisp. Fat 3” head the second pouring; 4” head the third pouring. Truly delicious, but could it be too punchy?

Stuff Yourself This Year: 2008

As you all can very well tell, the months of December and early January have frozen my ability to write. In fact, it has been little over a month since I have given myself a break from eating to come back to La Poularde. For that, my apologies.

But fear not, for I have been busy. The holiday season brought many wonderous meals, treats and culinary creations. Surrounded once again by a complete kitchen - stocked with ingredients, proper tools and utensils - I no longer had to cope with the square-centimeter starved kitchen I work with in Manhattan. That itself was most likely the best gift of all.

Above, if you have not noticed already, rests a tradition of obscenity and reverence. Quite the contrasting juxtaposition I will fairly agree, but beautiful nonetheless. The tradition is not just the turkey, served on Christmas day, but that of the picture itself. The "turkey ass" is more than just a cavity begging to be stuffed silly. It is rather a home to all that is holy - a cavern that produces - what I like to call the bounty of holiday meals, stuffing.

Unlike the crumbly, parched excuses many families refer to as stuffing or dressing, my mother's possesses an unnatural modicum of crunchyness within its mushy mess. Bits of oyster gush with briny flavor as they mix with crisp bits of celery. The turkey's own juices and fat, drippings from within that have soaked their way into the dressing, add just the right amount of buttery gloss and coating to the earthily seasoned stuffing. Its almost as if the two are necessary to one another - the turkey needs the stuffing, the stuffing most definitely needs the turkey.

Without the stuffing the turkey would be alone, naked and horribly dried out. Juices would run freely into the pan it cooks in and collect into an oleaginous pool of pinguidity. A revolting sight indeed, one that might even spurn others away from your heartfelt meal. Whereas on the other hand, without the turkey our beloved stuffing would have no home. Instead it would find its way into a sad cooking pan or microwave bowl, mixed with broth, egg or maybe cheap wine if the cook is feeling adventurous. But in the end, it just wound't be the same.

What I offer with this rather silly relationship between a turkey and its stuffing is that some things are just meant to be together. Some ingredients need others to prosper, others can stand alone and be great. But like the turkey, some cavities are just meant to be filled. In this case, our own.

Suggestive? Never. All I mean to say is: eat well this year, stuff yourself silly with only the best - and in return you all shall be very happy eaters. Of fine, delicious food.

A Winter Hiatus

To all,

Please excuse this minor recess during the month of December, as I have found myself enveloped in an affectionate engagement with studies. I shall return, a changed man, slightly after the midpoint of this month. In the meantime, keep warm and eat well.

Best,

Brad

Fruitcake: The Food that Defies Time, Logic and Taste Buds

In a city where restaurants come and go – where good chefs fail as dismal ones prevail - its intriguing to compare this capricious flow to the traditions of Christmas. Quite the odd juxtaposition I’ll admit, but why is that we’re all so fickle towards restaurants while the existence of traditions like fruitcake prevail? Do we really have our priorities set straight?

The holiday season is filled with tradition and obligatory foods galore. Imagine Hanukkah without latkes - or Christmas Eve without Santa’s milk and cookies. What would the season be like without the imperative eggnog? Isn’t that what this season is all about, giving gifts and giving in to sweets, fats, extra pounds and presents?

Fruitcake for one, tops the list of them all. Just the other day, all I had to do was utter the word and I was blessed with quite the lovely response. “Ah, the piece of shit with green cherries and stuff, death in the form of a brick,” uttered my dear friend. Oh, such a wise and intellectual description.

In the newsroom, a fellow writer was quick to dismiss the attraction of fruitcake, “Fruitcake is horrible, has no culinary value and I’m pretty sure there are no such thing as green cherries in nature.” I got the message: people don’t dig green cherries.

Despite this present day disparagement, in the Middle Ages, society seemed to enjoy fruitcake in masochistic ways. 13th century Britain discovered the use of dried fruits, arriving from Portugal and the east Mediterranean. Rich fruitcakes were then made; inspiring traditional recipes like the Scottish Black Bun that incorporates raisins, currants and almonds baked into a spiced batter. These were then consumed, usually, on Hogmanay, the last day of the year.

By the 16th century, the presence of sugar found its way into fruitcake recipes as a result of an excess of preserved fruits. Cut by the loaf, then pounded and sieved, the sugar was used to intensify the color and flavor of plums, dates and cherries through a soaking process. As these recipes evolved, the process became even more arduous. Eggs were commonly beaten for half an hour, yeast had to be taken from fermenting beer and inconsistent wood-fired ovens were used to bake the cakes.

Embraced by European farmers in the 1700s, it became a symbol of good luck. Baked at the end of the nut harvest, fruitcakes were saved for consumption until the next year, in hopes that the new picking would be just as successful. However, just as they became harvest happy with the hoes, fruitcake was outlawed throughout Continental Europe. Seen as a sign of decadence, the “sinfully rich plum cakes” didn’t re-emerge until the mid 1800s, when the Victorian Era declared them a necessity at teatime.

Over in America, the sugar soaked plague didn’t pop up until the late 1800s. Down in Corsicana, Texas, the Collin Street Bakery opened up in 1896, thanks to German immigrant Gus Weidmann. From there, a tradition was built when guests asked to send the cakes back to Europe as Christmas gifts. Just a decade later, fellow fruitcake fanatic Savino Tos opened Claxton Bakery in Claxton, Georgia. Thus, the saccharine spate had begun, infiltrating its way across the country.

However, sometime between then and now, the fruit cake allure was lost. Amidst the glacé fruit, high fructose corn syrup, preservatives, Yellow 5 and artificial flavors, it’s bewildering to think men like Johnny Carson would deem fruit cake the “worst gift to give,” and that “there’s only one in the world that people pass on to each other.” Author Robert E. Bear, in his short essay, “The Ignoble Fruitcake,” notes how “it has long fooled people with the illusion of being palatable,” and eaten only by “vamfruitcakers.”

Sadly, there seems little hope for fruitcake. The battle to defend its lack of nutritional value, freakishly long shelf life and pariah status within the culinary community is a fruitless one. Unlike its lighter and more edible Italian cousin panettone, or the far less cloying and humble stollen, originally from Germany, fruitcake has merely become fodder for Christmas jokes.

Yet in light of all the criticism, some brave souls have stood up for its survival. The Fruitcake Lady, best known for her segments on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno and as the aunt of Truman Capote, brought attention to the subject in a rather peculiar way. First appearing on the show to advertise her cookbook, Fruitcake: Memories of Truman Capote and Sook, the subject took on an almost novelty appeal. Though she didn’t exactly revitalize a national embracement, fruitcake found its way back into the American eye.

Maybe mankind just can’t get enough of it. If they can’t eat it, they might as well beat it - for all its worth and functionality. It’s been known to work as a wonderful doorstop, a hostile threat during gift giving and substitute for bricklayers. Junie B. Jones, a fictional character by author Barbara Park, uses the “brownish and sickish” thing as a booster seat. In the story, daddy even notes, “If you ever get sick of it, you just put a bow on it. And you give it to someone you hate for Christmas.”

These snide if not jeering remarks, are they waggish little quips? Maybe a closeted denial of allure? It seems that no matter how much we hate it, we love it. Unlike the erratic hype and trends of New York’s restaurant culture, fruitcake remains a stronghold of tradition. Not because its the flavor du jour, but because it’s the exact opposite of that. It’s a staple of history, an inspiration for celebration and the reason our country actually hosts an annual Great Fruitcake Toss.

If we forgot about it, we’d have nothing to poke fun at. Like a dying species in need of safekeeping, the fruitcake is our Dodo bird of the culinary world. It’s rather useless, kind of ugly but oh so amusing. Without fruitcake in our lives, what else would you send to your worst relatives?

Dare to Keep the Tradition Alive?

Collin Street Bakery

DeLuxe Fruit Cake, $21.85

www.collinstreet.com

Claxton Bakery

2lb Claxton Fruit Cake, $17.45

www.claxtonfruitcake.com

13th Annual Great Fruitcake Toss

January 5, 2008 – Manitou Springs, Colorado

www.manitousprings.org

Birdbath/City Bakery: Maury Rubin

In an ideal society, for every pastry I ate, the world would be a better place. Bakers would be world leaders, scones and muffins would cure pandemics and the term “global warming” would refer to the waft of freshly baked cookies permeating through the air.

Though the world has yet to reach this idyllic state of eternal bliss, at least help is on the way. Thanks to Maury Rubin and his trio of “green” bakeries, you can tell all your friends eating a croissant helps save the environment.

You might recognize his first establishment, City Bakery. For almost 17 years, his tarts, cookies, muffins and croissants have filled our bellies with bliss. Every February, his arsenal of hot chocolate concoctions can make even the most loyal Swiss Miss fan a reformed believer of Rubin.

Within the past two years, he’s expanded his kingdom to include a pair of earth-friendly bakeries, both respectively named Birdbath. The East Village location, discreetly opened in January 2006, after a considerable amount of consumer speculation – has since prospered significantly. At the newer West Village location, you’ll find a broader range of food and drink. There’s even seating for customers. Ideally, for those that have traveled by foot, bike or the eco-friendly rickshaw. (The East Village location delivers baked goods to the West Village spot via rickshaw).

Incorporating toxic-free, chemical-free materials throughout the bakeries, his goal was to utilize materials that require less energy to manufacture. Biodegradable cups. Recycled paper towels. Compact fluorescent light bulbs. Even a countertop constructed out of recycled paper. And of course, most give off very few to zero volatile organic compounds. Dare he have it any other way?

“I’ve felt strongly about the environment since the third grade” he told me, “after a presentation to my class about pollution in the Chesapeake Bay.” He quipped, “That was approximately 40 years ago.”

Yet his two Birdbath locations aren’t the only green-minded bakeries. “City Bakery has always been a green small business. Quietly and without promotion” he said. “We’ve composted our own food waste for close to 10 years and recycled at our own expense.” “Everyday at 3pm, we dim the lights in the store to save energy.” Currently, he’s been promoting the usage of ceramic mugs for customers who drink inside the bakery. And in the future, he even hopes to create a novel program to ban bottled water.

In the past, Rubin wasn’t necessarily set on baking. His former stint as a producer and director at ABC Sports took up the better half of his career. It wasn’t until his days in Paris that he learned to bake. There he learned the ways of kneading, braiding, mixing and constructing classic French pastries. He refers to his baking style as “purely, classically and stubbornly French, innovated a great deal – in aesthetics.” When I asked him if there have been any outside influences since then, he said, “very little – there’s a lifetime to work within the French canon.”

The ingredients used at his bakeries pull from all over the nation, but also straight from the Union Square Greenmarket – a few blocks away from main hub City Bakery. “Quality trumps everything. No matter what,” he explained. “Never once have organic and local ingredients not been in the best interest of quality and flavor.” Such principle is why he goes so far to get his flour from Pennsylvania and North Carolina, settling only for the best.

But don’t get the man wrong; he doesn’t play around with whom he deals with. Within the next 2 to 3 years, the Rubin kingdom plans to limit who they from buy based on tangible, sustainable eco-friendly guidelines. “We have begun to share our concerns for the environment with our vendors, and encouraged them to be mindful of being green.”

And how does the baker get to work? “I’ve walked to work everyday for seventeen years.” “With the occasional taxi thrown in here and there for rainy days.”

Though the most burning question I had for him was whether or not his beloved hot chocolate might pop up in the two Birdbaths. All I got was a qualified “maybe”. So I inquired about the best chocolate chip cookie he’s ever had. “It’s not my own, but that’s all I can say,” he replied.

Instead of trying to prod him some more, I settled on that. I must say he’s quite good at conserving energy, or at least his own little secrets.

Jap Us or Tapas, Kasadela

I will admit, the notion that Japanese cooking transcends sushi and sake bombing may cause quite the outburst. Even the plausible, emotionally charged refute. If your past Friday and Saturday night dinners have consisted of California Rolls and Sake-Sapporo combos, you might even take it personally.

Beyond the customary miso soup and edamame, there is custardy, sesame gomo tofu waiting to be sampled. And to neglect the sweet and smoky charred shishito peppers would be the ultimate crime. Even the roasted nori - dark, briny seaweed that so often envelope your endearing rolls of nigiri zushi, are well worth the risk.

At Kasadela, Yujen Pan does more than shine a light on Japan’s izakaya cuisine – he sets the stage. Opposite of what Masa, Megu and Jewel Bako are doing – offering seraphic meals fit for Japanese deities – Pan brings the playing field back down to realistic means. Back to a world where no dish costs more than ten dollars.

Izakaya cuisine is essentially pub grub food in a more refined form. Traditional spots usually contain large, illustrated menus with a multitude of small, colorful dishes covering every square inch. The idea of the dishes is to, most discernibly, complement your mutually increasing beverage tab.

To stimulate your palate, black edamame – a steamed and darkened version of the regular chartreuse-colored variety, offers a potently more pleasurable, salty savor. Whereas a triplet of crispy tori kawa – skewered, accordion-like chicken skins – make ordinary pork rinds seem like the last kid picked in dodgeball.

Though I must confess, I would’ve cared for a tad bit more. The whole bar snack theme at times is cute, but at other times makes you wonder why the dishes have to be so small. I might even go on to say I built an impulsive addiction to the special of charred pork cheek, smothered in sweet, vinegary scallions. Yet after savoring the last drop of its fragrant miso-based sauce, I felt so used and forsaken.

There’s a personal connection between each of his dishes. It could just be the concept that the servings are meant to be shared – like tapas, but only tastier. Each sauce and condiment is balanced and congruent, full of flavor and life. Each plate, served as soon as they’re prepared, complement those that precede them.

Yet the ika sugata yaki, a grilled whole squid, was a bit rubbery and waxy. The light soy sauce, too weak to make up for the muted taste, yearned for the aid of a minced ginger garnish.

A special of lightly grilled duck, served cold, was sleek and fatty. The ruby ribbons laced with smoky strips of fat worked well with a sour kimchee cabbage accompaniment. Though the duck’s richness was a tad shallow.

The space inside is as compact as the dishes. Situated on the entrance side rises a petite bar and extensive collection of sake; opposite through a door, is a small dining room consisting of no more than 20 seats.

You won’t find any elaborate pan-global combinations or rude service here. It’s far too relaxed and friendly to worry about the high stress standards of big name restaurants. With its soothing brick walls and warm glow of tea lights, the tranquil place is meant to unwind in.

After a long day of classes or when that desire for tiny, Japanese snacks crosses your mind, where better to rest than your local izakaya. By the time dinner’s complete, you might even be slightly rejuvenated - energetic enough to move on to the next step of the night, jäger bombing.


Kasadela
647 E 11th St @ Avenue C

$7.50 Pork Cheek
$8.75 Ika Sugata Yaki
$8.75 Cold Duck
$3.75 Edamame
$4.75 Tori Kawa

Shacktoberfest

I won't lie: I have an affinity for Shake Shack. It's like the sibling I never had, the salt to my pepper, the chocolate to my vanilla. In more rational terms, Shack Shack has never before let me down. That was until orphan sibling Shacktoberfest came around.

My trip to Shacktoberfest was in good spirits. A tantalizing, Bavarian-inspired menu had graced the Danny Meyer godsend for a short span on earth. I read about tales of Usinger's plump sausages, custard concretes that taste of Black Forest Cake and Sachertorte - even a sturdy selection of special Oktoberfest beers to polish off the meal.

They have lederhosen screen-printed t-shirts. And cute little clay bier steins with 'Shacktoberfest' logos. Buy one of those and you even get a free filling of brew.

How could anything so darling disappoint?

It could've been the crusty, cardboard tasting buns. Possibly the lack of bursting tang expected from the cranberry-horseradish relish. The gloppy aftertaste of the Black Forest concrete.

The concrete was agreeable, a step away from satisfying. It swirled and melted like a smooth, silky pudding. Crumbles of an Oreo-like crust were sprinkled throughout like little Augustus Gloops in a pool of milk chocolate. I could practically taste the curdles of heavy milk fats present in the oversized dollop of fluffy whipped cream.

Yet this lingering, spicy coat of heavy chocolate taste stayed around after each slurp. It was more of an annoyance and distraction than a comforting, goodnight tuck. Lost were my memorable taste bud pleasures of cherry peels and baby blueberries that complemented the custard so wonderfully. Instead I felt guilty and gluttonous, stuck with the shame of ordering a dessert as a drink.

Seeing I might as well delve into the 10-day specials, which include German, Cajun and Italian sausages - I took a chance with the Stuttgarter Knockwurst topped with the recommended cranberry-horseradish relish. 66% failure.

The poppy seed roll was comparable to that of a dog toy. The relish was so dull I could barely taste the cranberry. Yet what saved the day was the gushing, tightly packed Knockwurst that could've been served by itself. Even with its pigheadedly thick and resilient lining, the struggle itself made it that much better - a true knockout, if you will.

Around the compounds, there's a new addition of flat-screen Sanyos that play bizarre little videos on loop. Dogs dressed in suits, Shack Shake uniforms and garden workers - for some unknown reason - are the subject matter of these mind-numbing films. Could be an omen for the dogs' buns?

In a way, my trip was a complete letdown. Possibly it was just meant to be - as an insight on Shack Shack's Achilles heel. Or it could've been an off day; the cashier didn't even know if they had Knockwurst. Whoever gets the blame; I'm sure it can be resolved. As long as they keep the Shack Burger and originals, all should be well.

Just don't let the October-orphan sibling get between us.

Shake Shack

Shacktoberfest through October 14

Madison Ave @ 23rd St,

SE Corner of Madison Sq Park

11am-11pm

$6.75 Black Forest Concrete

$4.75 Stuttgarter Knockwurst

$.75 Cranberry-Horseradish relish

Andi Igusti, Pinisi Bakery

Since September 2006, the inhabitants of East Village have been blessed by a gift from the Far East.

No, it’s not the Indian version of Dumbo, black market opium or Chinese firecrackers. Rather, it involves a much more edible and enjoyable import.

Inside you’ll find golden delicacies - intricate works of art handcrafted with the utmost attention to detail. They glisten. They sparkle. They beg to be taken.

What I speak of is not illegal contraband, but instead of the pies, pastries, cookies and cakes of Andi Igusti’s Pinisi Bakery.

Originally from Bali, Indonesia, he spent 20 years cooking around the world before settling in New York. He pulls influences from French, Italian and most prominently American baking styles.

Pinisi, a reference to an old style of Indonesian fishing ships, plays as an ode to his homeland.

His approach is simple and earnest, “I wanted to create a bakery of bold, basic tastes,” he states.

“You have Payard doing upscale French, Veniero’s covering Italian and Magnolia appealing to teenagers,” he said. “I wanted to do something traditional, nothing too fancy.”

Palmiers, rugelach, turnovers, muffins, scones and croissants are just the tip of his repertoire.

On the glass pane window outside, it proudly claims “All Baking Done on Premises” – a creed he thoroughly stands by.

“I bake it all by myself, it’s easier that way” he cheeringly says.

If that’s what works best, please do continue.

The croissants he bakes are perplexingly flaky and buttery on the outside, yet tangy and doughy on the inside. Enfolded by a delicate crunch, the yeasty interior offers a pleasant chew.

Sweet as honey and leaden as a brick, the raspberry Rugelach was like that of a Fig Newton upgraded thoroughly. Incorporating raisins, almonds and what tasted like bits of fig almost, it left a tingling on my tongue after each bite.

Yet Igusti’s personal favorite, as is the customers’, remains the Red Velvet Cake. Available both in slice and cupcake form; it truly is unlike any other. In a case where Magnolia might opt for more sugar, Pinisi instead aims for a true, bold flavor. Paired with a rich cream cheese icing, the two combine for a wonderful balance.

For $3.50 though, it seems supply and demand have made a noticeable influence.

Nonetheless, the rest of his sweets – rainbow cookies, cannolis, blueberry crumb cake along with a hot and spicy chocolate dome reflect his broad range of talent. Filled with a dense, mousse-like interior, the dome is an original creation of Igusti.

In terms of cakes and pie - pecan pie, carrot cake and a berry-topped cheesecake are just a tidbit of the flavors he cycles through.

The crème brulee, is less of a thick custard and more of a sweet, vanilla pudding. Topped with a fanned strawberry and fragile sugar crust, the rich, eggy syrup inside was rather delightful.

What was most noticeable though, is the dedicated neighborhood presence within Pinisi. Loyal patrons from just around the corner or down the street offered positive remarks and praise for the year-old establishment.

Even an old woman by the name of Maria felt compelled to bring me aside and extol Igusti’s baked goods.

Their treats may not have yet reached world-famous status, but there’s always the potential. After being around for one year, I’d say this quaint little place has done quite well without the support of a Carrie Bradshaw cameo. I suppose we’ll all just have to wait and see - whether or not one of those double-decker tour buses, eventually sails on over.

Pinisi Bakery
128 E 4th St @ 1st Avenue
212 614 9079

Hours
7am – 11pm, 7 days a week