On a trip to Paris several years ago, one of us struck an acquaintance with a Frenchman who said he knew just the place to go. We wound up eating hamburgers and drinking Cokes from paper cups in an "American diner," replete with lithographs of Marilyn Monroe and Humphrey Bogart on the wall -- Johnny Rockets, essentially, priced in francs. It wasn't that he thought the place had the best food in town; it was that he thought we'd be comfortable there. So when two Guest Diners -- seasoned Brooklynites who follow the dining beat and who have guided us through delectable meals in places like Momofuku Noodle Bar -- joined us on our mission, we followed the Frenchman's cue and swept them away to an approximation of what one might find in, say, Park Slope or Carroll Gardens.
And in that regard, Bistro 33 didn't disappoint. It's out of the way, on a stretch of 21st Street that's a bit of a walk from the subway and other stops on the Astoria scene, but this allows its sidewalk dining to be truly pleasant. (What the attraction is to dining outside on 30th Avenue, breathing in bus exhaust and being ogled by passersby, we're unsure.) Its airy space and mood, combined with its chic, compact design and pleasant service matched point for point the attraction of downtown eateries that are never too crowded and always a good experience.
The lure of chef Gary Anza, formerly of the highly regarded sushi restaurant Bond Street, didn't hurt either. Our neighborhood doesn't have a deficit of good sushi -- JJ's Fusion and Tokyo continually satisfy -- but neither does it have an enormous array of choices. Bistro 33 serves French-Asian fare, and the French Culinary Institute pedigree of its cooks promised to please.
So we drank our way through the well-selected beer and wine list, nibbled our way through pork shoulder, tuna tataki, crab cakes, and a variety of sushi, and came to the conclusion that Astoria may have found its best sushi -- but it is either still seeking a good French-whatever restaurant or just doesn't need one. Both the simpler rolls (we tried the tuna and yellowtail) and more imaginative offerings (most notably the fuzzy tuna roll, with mango, spicy tuna, and crunchy strips) were expertly done. Other Asian-themed offerings matched the sushi's quality: The pan-fried pork dumplings were lightly crisped and delicately flavored, with a thin garlic-citrus sauce ("garlic ponzu sauce," to be exact) that offset the moist pork without clashing.
Other items on the menu left us wondering why reviewers have been giving unanimously good reviews to Bistro 33. Not that they were...bad...but the pork shoulder was paltry in taste and overcooked, even making us wonder if someone in the kitchen had forgotten to drizzle a sauce of some sort over it. Other entrees prompted nothing but a faint "this is nice" from all diners.
Bistro 33 is a far cry from the diner in Paris: It's not bad food; it's low-key; it's taking a stab at the "new Astoria" demographic and not falling too far from the mark. But just as the Frenchman didn't show his guest what his city does best, we wonder why we fell prey to the idea that as unwitting members of the new Astoria demographic, this is what we want after all. We've found a handful of places in the neighborhood that feel like a culinary home, and none of them had brand-name chefs, triangular plates, or ponzu anywhere on the menu. (Nor were they spotted by Ugly Betty's locations team -- an episode of the sitcom was filmed there in July, and we're curious to know if it will be posed as a Manhattan eatery or if the writers are daring to show Betty's native Queens as a borough that has food other than sausage heroes.) Astoria has room for Bistro 33 alongside its older establishments, and we wish it well -- but we don't want it to have too much company.
Price: Not crazy, not cheap. Between $15 and $25 for entrees.
Will we go again? We have no intention of returning, but wouldn't outright refuse if others invited us there.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Our Life in Bacon (La Vita Mia, 28-01 24th Avenue)
Bacon makes everything better. We made bacon baklava last year in an effort (successful, we'll add) to prove this hypothesis, and we are now at work on an ice cream involving bacon (a fellow Astorian, Ice Cream Erik, has cornered the market on sausage ice cream). Given this, we're not sure why bacon pizza is not on more pizzeria menus. It's bacon! It's pizza! You can't go wrong!
La Vita Mia ("My Life"), a typical neighborhood place on 24th Avenue, has recognized the bacon hypothesis, offering a pizza topped with strips of bacon and believing in it enough to sell it by the slice. We can't say whether it's better than any other bacon pizza in the neighborhood, as this was our first foray into the territory, but it was tasty and seemed like second nature. Maybe we're tickled because this was our first (of dozens? hundreds?) of pizzerias on our mission; perhaps we'll be yawning over bacon pizza come June. But for now, the offerings! Chicken Cheddarella! Philly Cheese Steak! The Vita Mia Special, featuring no chicken, bacon, or basil! Choose you are crust!
Unfortunately, we didn't get to sample La Vita Mia's signature slice, the Grandma, with fresh mozzarella, garlic, and organic tomato sauce ("organic" is in red type on the menu), as they had already sold out. We're guessing that the name of this pizza is not some clever marketing ploy -- La Vita Mia, which is as utilitarian as pizzerias come, didn't seem especially cognizant of such things -- but is actually named for someone's grandmother, who probably suggested the recipe.
Left to choose from the more quotidian slices, we found that the pepperoni and plain Sicilian were passable, aided by the rack of condiments thoughtfully supplied at every table. The slices had clearly been sitting for a while, but apparently if you want fresh ones after 8:30 in Astoria, you better order a whole pie.
It's not "our life", we know, but we can't help but think that this is mistake, as is closing so early. (La Vita Mia closes at 10 during the week.) The pizzeria is missing out on serious drunk traffic from the beer garden down the street, which stops serving food early, leaving patrons with a belly full of beer and nothing greasy to sop it up with. (The winner in this scenario is the Neptune diner, which is open 24 hours and attracts a decent amount of stumblers from Bohemian Hall.) We're no businesspeople, but it seems it would be a winning proposition for all involved were they to extend their hours a bit.
The staff gives the impression that they wouldn't mind dealing with a rowdy, beery bunch, either: The main counterman dealt with our queries about the absent Grandma slice with matter-of-fact bemusement, spinning paper plates for the slices we ended up having with panache and offering chocolate wafers for a bag to the (curiously) large number of assorted co-workers coming through the door. At one point, they shared a laugh with a regular customer, who they claimed was "always stoned." (Admittedly, he was wearing sunglasses, it was dark outside, and he wasn't Corey Hart.)
Don't get us wrong: La Vita Mia isn't spectacular in any area, and the slices are only what you'd expect (save the bacon! always the bacon!). But it's a handy beer garden soak-up if you finish (or begin) your drinking early enough, and there's enough quirk to make us regard it with fondness.
Price: It's pizza.
Will we go again? Yes, but mostly because the next closest food option to the Beer Garden is Number One Chinese Restaurant.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
For the Love of Fish (Tokyo, 31-05 24th Avenue)
We once ate at a vegan place in the East Village that had the best veggie burger ever. The ingredients didn't seem to be unusual, nor was the presentation -- there was something else going on that we couldn't identify. We asked the waiter what made the veggie burger so good.
"Love," he said. "If a cook comes to work angry, we send the cook home. The energy goes into the food -- food made with love tastes like love." Then he asked us if we'd like to "come upstairs for the service," and when we realized we were in a Hare Krishna den, we rama-ramaed outta there. But the lesson stuck: In our own home, we take care to prepare food with love (or at least not anger), and when a restaurant appears to do the same, we notice.
Tokyo, with its red-sheathed paper lanterns quietly heralding its location on the other side of the tracks from the Beer Garden, made us take this sort of notice. Its interior is that of a surprisingly old-school sushi restaurant -- surprising because we sort of assumed that pretty much every sushi restaurant in Astoria came about with the turn-of-the-millennium influx of Japanese students residing here. The worn posters of the Japanese landscape, the faded laminated sheets offering photos of what the different types of sushi are, the exceedingly polite waitstaff -- such things point to a restaurant that simultaneously needed to educate as much as appeal in order to survive.
Tokyo might never approach the technical levels of sushi mastery demanded at Manhattan restaurants that treat sushi as a competitive sport. Even in Astoria, Tokyo might take a technical-points silver to JJ's or Bistro 33, the latter of which boasts a minor brand-name chef. But -- jai guru dev om, everybody -- you can taste the love at Tokyo.
Which is not to say that its offerings are subpar on a technical level: They're not. The standard sushi offerings are all prepared well, but the house specials, the best of which are on the placards at every table instead of on the menu, are where the restaurant really shines (try the Jimmy roll, trust us). Even the warm sushi rolls, never our favorite, go down easy. What makes the sushi special is not the it's-swimming-in-my-mouth standard that seems to be prized by sushi lovers. It's Tokyo's creativity, care, and gentility that sets the restaurant apart.
And, yes, the love. One of us was to meet a friend for dinner once, and confusion about what "my sushi place" versus "your sushi place" (then the dearly departed Shima on Broadway) ensued. Our friend ran from Broadway to 24th Avenue in the February chill to meet us, arriving drenched in cold-weather sweat. Wordlessly, the waiter brought over a warm, damp washcloth for him to wipe his brow. It was a small gesture, but one that leaves a lasting impression.
Price In line with sushi; special rolls about $8.
Would we go again? Happily. We've never thought of sushi as comfort food until now.
"Love," he said. "If a cook comes to work angry, we send the cook home. The energy goes into the food -- food made with love tastes like love." Then he asked us if we'd like to "come upstairs for the service," and when we realized we were in a Hare Krishna den, we rama-ramaed outta there. But the lesson stuck: In our own home, we take care to prepare food with love (or at least not anger), and when a restaurant appears to do the same, we notice.
Tokyo, with its red-sheathed paper lanterns quietly heralding its location on the other side of the tracks from the Beer Garden, made us take this sort of notice. Its interior is that of a surprisingly old-school sushi restaurant -- surprising because we sort of assumed that pretty much every sushi restaurant in Astoria came about with the turn-of-the-millennium influx of Japanese students residing here. The worn posters of the Japanese landscape, the faded laminated sheets offering photos of what the different types of sushi are, the exceedingly polite waitstaff -- such things point to a restaurant that simultaneously needed to educate as much as appeal in order to survive.
Tokyo might never approach the technical levels of sushi mastery demanded at Manhattan restaurants that treat sushi as a competitive sport. Even in Astoria, Tokyo might take a technical-points silver to JJ's or Bistro 33, the latter of which boasts a minor brand-name chef. But -- jai guru dev om, everybody -- you can taste the love at Tokyo.
Which is not to say that its offerings are subpar on a technical level: They're not. The standard sushi offerings are all prepared well, but the house specials, the best of which are on the placards at every table instead of on the menu, are where the restaurant really shines (try the Jimmy roll, trust us). Even the warm sushi rolls, never our favorite, go down easy. What makes the sushi special is not the it's-swimming-in-my-mouth standard that seems to be prized by sushi lovers. It's Tokyo's creativity, care, and gentility that sets the restaurant apart.
And, yes, the love. One of us was to meet a friend for dinner once, and confusion about what "my sushi place" versus "your sushi place" (then the dearly departed Shima on Broadway) ensued. Our friend ran from Broadway to 24th Avenue in the February chill to meet us, arriving drenched in cold-weather sweat. Wordlessly, the waiter brought over a warm, damp washcloth for him to wipe his brow. It was a small gesture, but one that leaves a lasting impression.
Price In line with sushi; special rolls about $8.
Would we go again? Happily. We've never thought of sushi as comfort food until now.
Under Ditmars (Frankie's Pizza; 22-56 31st Street)
The location of this pizzeria is not the most opportune. It's right between the stairwells coming down from the Ditmars Boulevard station platform, so if you're getting off at that stop, it's never on your way, despite being right there. And something in the mind rebels at the notion of eating right there, where the elevated tracks assure the sun can't shine, where so many trains are idling, where so many transients congregate.
That being said, once you are inside Frankie's, you enter a different time -- the early 1960s perhaps. You are back in that era when tables equipped with bright orange bucket-style seats instead of benches -- that dining-room innovation specific to the fast-food-restaurant revolution that post-war suburbia engendered -- seemed somehow of the future rather than simply inconvenient. Frankie's is very much of that period and hasn't been substantially remodeled since, though in the past year, they did expand their counter into a L-shape that now extends toward the front entrance. This was not warranted by their having more goods to display; perhaps it's meant to make the space more inviting. If that's so, they might also consider taking the "Absolutely no outside food and drink" sign down. Not only does the bluster seem petty and off-putting, they don't even try to enforce it. We came in for a couple slices after a run carrying a few water bottles we bought at the deli, and no one at Frankie's said a word about it.
As for the pizza, we can say with confidence that we prefer it to Pizza Palace, which is up the street, and Alba's, which is nearby. But it bears no comparison with the neighborhood's finest.
Price: Average for a pizzeria.
Will we go again? Probably, but not from any special desire to return.
That being said, once you are inside Frankie's, you enter a different time -- the early 1960s perhaps. You are back in that era when tables equipped with bright orange bucket-style seats instead of benches -- that dining-room innovation specific to the fast-food-restaurant revolution that post-war suburbia engendered -- seemed somehow of the future rather than simply inconvenient. Frankie's is very much of that period and hasn't been substantially remodeled since, though in the past year, they did expand their counter into a L-shape that now extends toward the front entrance. This was not warranted by their having more goods to display; perhaps it's meant to make the space more inviting. If that's so, they might also consider taking the "Absolutely no outside food and drink" sign down. Not only does the bluster seem petty and off-putting, they don't even try to enforce it. We came in for a couple slices after a run carrying a few water bottles we bought at the deli, and no one at Frankie's said a word about it.
As for the pizza, we can say with confidence that we prefer it to Pizza Palace, which is up the street, and Alba's, which is nearby. But it bears no comparison with the neighborhood's finest.
Price: Average for a pizzeria.
Will we go again? Probably, but not from any special desire to return.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Family Style (Zenon Taverna; 34-10 31st Avenue)
The menu at Zenon, a homey Cypriot place waitstaffed by the owners' daughters with homespun folk-artish frescos on the walls, is loaded with tapas-style appetizers, so we held off eating here until we could coax some Guest Diners into joining us for mezedes. Each person pays $19, and then waves of small dishes are brought out. There are three combo options: the Cyprus meal, the fish meal, and surprisingly enough, the vegetarian meal. Zenon is probably the only taverna in Astoria that's thinking about that demographic, though they haven't entirely figured it out -- the vegetarian meal includes fish.
We ordered some wine (all the selections are Greek; we had retsina) and deliberated over our options. Thankfully, our waitress cooperatively permitted us to go with a combination of the Cyprus and vegetarian meals. Then the food came out in waves. First they came with the cold appetizers -- mostly dips for the grilled pita: tzatziki, scordalia, tahini. There was also beet salad, a seafood salad, potato salad, and a Cyprus salad (basically a Greek salad with feta and olives). All of these were solid if unremarkable; what was notable was the sheer quantity and variety of food on the table. There wasn't room for it all, and the meal quickly became a delicate dance of plate passing and polite requests.
With all that food out, it was easy to forget that a second wave was coming. These were the hot dishes: calamari, grilled halloumi, two kinds of meatballs (keftedes and sheftalia), some sausages, and quail. This was all delicious stuff, but we did not pace ourselves well and were mostly too full to really enjoy it. We started to feel a little sheepish about how much we would probably leave behind, though we felt comfortable enough at our table to tarry until we finished most of it.
Our multiple but infrequent visits to Zenon always find us saying that we should order more casual meals from them -- drop in for a gyro or souvlaki. Somehow, though, we never do. The meats are all prepared well enough for us to trust that a gyro would be worthwhile, but there's something about the rustic, cozy atmosphere atmosphere that makes us feel like we're doing the whole idea of Zenon wrong by stopping by for a to-go bag. The wooden beams hold a sort of energy that Aliada, the nearest Cypriot competitor, might mimic now but won't be able to achieve for another twenty years or so. They invite you to linger, eat more food than you maybe want, drink more retsina out of a ceramic pitcher. They invite you to stay.
Price: Entrees $13-$20; mezedes, $19 per person.
Will we go again? We say we should go more often but will probably only follow through on special occasions.
We ordered some wine (all the selections are Greek; we had retsina) and deliberated over our options. Thankfully, our waitress cooperatively permitted us to go with a combination of the Cyprus and vegetarian meals. Then the food came out in waves. First they came with the cold appetizers -- mostly dips for the grilled pita: tzatziki, scordalia, tahini. There was also beet salad, a seafood salad, potato salad, and a Cyprus salad (basically a Greek salad with feta and olives). All of these were solid if unremarkable; what was notable was the sheer quantity and variety of food on the table. There wasn't room for it all, and the meal quickly became a delicate dance of plate passing and polite requests.
With all that food out, it was easy to forget that a second wave was coming. These were the hot dishes: calamari, grilled halloumi, two kinds of meatballs (keftedes and sheftalia), some sausages, and quail. This was all delicious stuff, but we did not pace ourselves well and were mostly too full to really enjoy it. We started to feel a little sheepish about how much we would probably leave behind, though we felt comfortable enough at our table to tarry until we finished most of it.
Our multiple but infrequent visits to Zenon always find us saying that we should order more casual meals from them -- drop in for a gyro or souvlaki. Somehow, though, we never do. The meats are all prepared well enough for us to trust that a gyro would be worthwhile, but there's something about the rustic, cozy atmosphere atmosphere that makes us feel like we're doing the whole idea of Zenon wrong by stopping by for a to-go bag. The wooden beams hold a sort of energy that Aliada, the nearest Cypriot competitor, might mimic now but won't be able to achieve for another twenty years or so. They invite you to linger, eat more food than you maybe want, drink more retsina out of a ceramic pitcher. They invite you to stay.
Price: Entrees $13-$20; mezedes, $19 per person.
Will we go again? We say we should go more often but will probably only follow through on special occasions.
Old-School (Omonia Café; 32-20 Broadway)
We had time to kill before a movie, so we decided to do something we had been putting off and pay our obligatory visit to Omonia for the purposes of this blog. Perhaps the most quintessential of the dessert-and-coffee Euro cafes in the neighborhood, Omonia is actually pretty staid relative to the scene on 30th Avenue. The requisite ambient techno isn't blasting, and the neon backlighting is kept to a minimum. On the night we went, Tropical Storm Hanna was threatening outside and the humidity outside was extreme, so the window wall beside our table on Omonia's outer perimeter was sweating and the view to the street streaked and foggy. The curtailed visibility was probably hurting business -- the main point of the cafes is protracted people watching -- but it made the atmosphere less intimidating for us.
Omonia's menu is surprisingly extensive -- you could actually eat dinner there if you were so inclined -- but the core lies with its coffee drinks and its pages-long list of desserts. When asked for a recommendation, our waitress, an artificially friendly Eastern European who attempted to upsell us to a bottle of wine, demurred and told us to go up to the counter and inspect them ourselves. This wasn't much help; it's the kind of display in which everything looks practically shellacked in its slightly sterile perfection. In the end we ordered the caramel cake and a piece of baklava along with two booze-enhanced coffees, each topped with a pile of whipped cream. We were somewhat embarrassed by our perplexity at the mountain of cream; we had a hard time figuring out how to even drink them without making a huge mess. (The carousers at Athens Café make it look so easy!)
The desserts were okay but not good enough to make us forget about how self-conscious the place made us feel. They're thoroughly European in their approach, with mathematical precision in the layered desserts, pristine clarity on the glazed desserts, and mounds of cream (are Europeans less prone to lactose intolerance than Americans?). This means that whatever you get will be good, but nothing will be great unless you want a by-the-book approach to whatever you order -- reliably sweet, expertly done, uninspired. As the Alpha Astoria ladies wrote of the phyllo-encased custard, the taste isn't worth the calories. (Plus, the baklava was soggy, but we're willing to blame Hanna for that, as it seems unthinkable that the original Greek cafe would have anything but crisp phyllo on the national dessert.) In the unlikely event we ever return to Omonia, we'll like get our goods to go.
Price: Consistent with other cafes, which is to say, overpriced. Two desserts and two spiked coffees set us back $29.
Will we go again? If eager non-New-York friends with outdated guidebooks visited Astoria and insisted on going to get a "taste of the boroughs," sure. Otherwise, we'll pass.
Omonia's menu is surprisingly extensive -- you could actually eat dinner there if you were so inclined -- but the core lies with its coffee drinks and its pages-long list of desserts. When asked for a recommendation, our waitress, an artificially friendly Eastern European who attempted to upsell us to a bottle of wine, demurred and told us to go up to the counter and inspect them ourselves. This wasn't much help; it's the kind of display in which everything looks practically shellacked in its slightly sterile perfection. In the end we ordered the caramel cake and a piece of baklava along with two booze-enhanced coffees, each topped with a pile of whipped cream. We were somewhat embarrassed by our perplexity at the mountain of cream; we had a hard time figuring out how to even drink them without making a huge mess. (The carousers at Athens Café make it look so easy!)
The desserts were okay but not good enough to make us forget about how self-conscious the place made us feel. They're thoroughly European in their approach, with mathematical precision in the layered desserts, pristine clarity on the glazed desserts, and mounds of cream (are Europeans less prone to lactose intolerance than Americans?). This means that whatever you get will be good, but nothing will be great unless you want a by-the-book approach to whatever you order -- reliably sweet, expertly done, uninspired. As the Alpha Astoria ladies wrote of the phyllo-encased custard, the taste isn't worth the calories. (Plus, the baklava was soggy, but we're willing to blame Hanna for that, as it seems unthinkable that the original Greek cafe would have anything but crisp phyllo on the national dessert.) In the unlikely event we ever return to Omonia, we'll like get our goods to go.
Price: Consistent with other cafes, which is to say, overpriced. Two desserts and two spiked coffees set us back $29.
Will we go again? If eager non-New-York friends with outdated guidebooks visited Astoria and insisted on going to get a "taste of the boroughs," sure. Otherwise, we'll pass.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Wanna Be Eatin' Somethin' (Locale, 33-02 34th Avenue)
We approached Locale with a hint of trepidation. Astoria seems maxed out on Mediterranean restaurants -- both the old-school tuxedoed waiter kind and the supposedly chic places with blaring music and insider attitude -- and we wondered what this new cafe-restaurant tucked away on a quiet corner of 34th Avenue would add to the mix.
What we found wasn't earth-shattering: Locale won't necessarily go on the list of Astoria must-trys. But its atmosphere and menu collide to create what Cafe Bar strives, and fails, to be: a restaurant offering Astoria's Mediterranean heritage to its influx of younger, non-European residents, without alienating the Euro crowds that populate the more established cafes on 30th Avenue.
The largely Italian menu features well-selected glimpses of personality beyond red sauce: chicken with fontina and figs, pasta with red beet mascarpone. Its standard dishes please -- we've tried a variety of salads at Locale, and the gnocchi, a dish often overcooked and made gummy even in supposedly schooled hands, was toothsome without being chewy or mushy. Vegetarian options abound on the pasta panini menu (and the salad menu too, if you're content with goat cheese, which Locale heavily relies on to bulk up the salads). We stuck with a (slightly overpriced) bottle of wine, but the cocktail list is primed to please -- pineapple mojitos and martinis abound. (We'll forgive Locale the unfortunately named "Panty Dropper.")
More than the food, though, Locale is the rare place that allows one to feel like you're out on the town without being thrust into a crowded joint with thumping music and attitude. Sure, the large-scaled images of nudes in the fetal position are a bit much, but they're not really in-your-face, and the rest of the glass-and-wrought-iron decor is low-key and classic enough to make up for it. Best of all, we could hear both our conversation and the music, which on our recent Friday night visit included the greatest hits of Michael Jackson.
Locale's website claims the restaurant reflects "the neighborhood's modern yet multicultural chic aspect, which has become a signature of present-day Astoria." We wish more places had a clear-cut mission statement, perhaps printed on their business cards -- not so much so we can evaluate them based on the description, but on how close the proprietors come to achieving their goal. In this case, it's a match.
Price: Entrees in the mid-teens.
Will we go again? Seems to suit our mood when we want to go out for a low-key night on the town.
What we found wasn't earth-shattering: Locale won't necessarily go on the list of Astoria must-trys. But its atmosphere and menu collide to create what Cafe Bar strives, and fails, to be: a restaurant offering Astoria's Mediterranean heritage to its influx of younger, non-European residents, without alienating the Euro crowds that populate the more established cafes on 30th Avenue.
The largely Italian menu features well-selected glimpses of personality beyond red sauce: chicken with fontina and figs, pasta with red beet mascarpone. Its standard dishes please -- we've tried a variety of salads at Locale, and the gnocchi, a dish often overcooked and made gummy even in supposedly schooled hands, was toothsome without being chewy or mushy. Vegetarian options abound on the pasta panini menu (and the salad menu too, if you're content with goat cheese, which Locale heavily relies on to bulk up the salads). We stuck with a (slightly overpriced) bottle of wine, but the cocktail list is primed to please -- pineapple mojitos and martinis abound. (We'll forgive Locale the unfortunately named "Panty Dropper.")
More than the food, though, Locale is the rare place that allows one to feel like you're out on the town without being thrust into a crowded joint with thumping music and attitude. Sure, the large-scaled images of nudes in the fetal position are a bit much, but they're not really in-your-face, and the rest of the glass-and-wrought-iron decor is low-key and classic enough to make up for it. Best of all, we could hear both our conversation and the music, which on our recent Friday night visit included the greatest hits of Michael Jackson.
Locale's website claims the restaurant reflects "the neighborhood's modern yet multicultural chic aspect, which has become a signature of present-day Astoria." We wish more places had a clear-cut mission statement, perhaps printed on their business cards -- not so much so we can evaluate them based on the description, but on how close the proprietors come to achieving their goal. In this case, it's a match.
Price: Entrees in the mid-teens.
Will we go again? Seems to suit our mood when we want to go out for a low-key night on the town.
Right Next Door to Vibe! (Gaudio's, 40-13 30th Avenue)
Though it occupies a newly rehabbed building on 30th Avenue that includes among its storefronts the now failed Paparazzi Café (soon to be Cafe Boite, not "Mama Salsa" as originally reported) and Vibe, a dubious Eurolounge of recent vintage, Gaudio's Pizza is something of a neighborhood institution, celebrating its 50th year in Astoria. The frequency with which we see empty Gaudio's boxes out on the sidewalk on recycling-pickup day is a testament to the pizzeria's popularity (though that may be an illusion furthered by the other nearby places using generic boxes without their names printed on them). The inside is newly remodeled, like the building, but still the restaurant feels deeply rooted. Queens accents were thick in the voices we overheard. There was an old Italian waitress -- perhaps the proprietor's wife -- wearing a tuxedo shirt and black vest and serving the tables toward the back, while the booths up front appeared to be reserved for people who wanted somewhere to eat their slices without any fuss. There was also a counter with stools beside the traditional pizza counter, but we couldn't imagine sitting there -- you'd likely feel too much in the way.
We got slices, about which there is little to say. They passed muster. Pizza toppings were available on every table, a touch of generosity we always appreciate. Having to put parmesan and/or garlic on a piece of pizza while under the watchful eye of the counter man or an impatient fellow customer seems an arrangement designed to discourage you from fixing your slice the way you like.
Regulars filtered in the entire time we were there; one joked with the counterman about coming in yet again. In all, it had a cozy timelessness that no amount of change outside in Astoria could disturb.
Price: $2 a slice.
Will we go again? Why not?
We got slices, about which there is little to say. They passed muster. Pizza toppings were available on every table, a touch of generosity we always appreciate. Having to put parmesan and/or garlic on a piece of pizza while under the watchful eye of the counter man or an impatient fellow customer seems an arrangement designed to discourage you from fixing your slice the way you like.
Regulars filtered in the entire time we were there; one joked with the counterman about coming in yet again. In all, it had a cozy timelessness that no amount of change outside in Astoria could disturb.
Price: $2 a slice.
Will we go again? Why not?
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Dry-Erase Dining (Akti, 34-19 30th Avenue)
Astoria has many Greek seafood restaurants, and it can be hard to keep them straight. We're a bit overwhelmed by them, actually, and have been dragging our heels on trying them. How do you pick one when there are so many? Before we ate at Akti, which opened in March, we knew it as the one with a waterfall sculpture -- a thin plate of illuminated glass with water coursing through it -- positioned prominently in the front. At night, when the restaurant is closed, there is something melancholy about the waterfall; turned off, with the unlit water puddled at the bottom, the sculpture becomes just a window without a wall, a porthole onto nothingness.
Inside Akti there were more aesthetic touches -- some nautically themed objects decorated the walls, like captain's wheel and what looked like a stunted oar, as well as a stucco rectangle with a neon glow hanging up behind the bar. The architectural detail, too, demands comment. The roof is paneled with bamboo stalks and the pilasters look as if they are barnacled with small white stones. The sum effect of all these niceties is hard to articulate; the atmosphere seems vaguely elegant and distinctive though you might be embarrassed to admit you felt that way.
The most peculiar thing about Akti is its procedure for ordering. Each table receives one menu (what is it with Greek restaurants and menus? Elias Corner won't even deign to give you one) and then each diner marks what they want directly on it with a dry-erase marker. Inevitably, this leads to some discussion of sharing items and requires coming to an explicit consensus. It makes the negotiations of any meal much more definitive, which may or may not be a benefit, depending on how effective you are at getting to yes. Sipping wine and munching down grilled pita slices, we managed to to come to terms with each other.
Our waiter thoughtfully gave us advice about how much to order -- one entree and a few appetizers for both of us -- and we took his advice and got grilled swordfish, a beet salad, and a delicious grilled haloumi appetizer (a mellow cheese grilled and placed on a tomato slice and pita). Everything tasted good. The beets were earthy and the fish was fishy, etc., but nothing struck as absolutely outstanding. What was better than ordinary was the attentive and unpretentious service, which was far more down to earth than the decor would lead you to expect. Everyone seemed at ease with what they were doing. A man who seemed to be the owner came by our table several times with encouraging comments, and it never felt uncomfortable or intrusive. When we were finished, the bartender brought out slices of watermelon for dessert.
When we were through at Akti, we left wondering why we are so resistant to try such places. The experience was effortlessly pleasant, enough to make you forget the elaborate effort that went into the design. The next time we pass the sad waterfall, it will probably seem less a symbol of Akti's trying to hard and more like the corny indulgence of friend whose vainly searching for a dignified way to express his effusiveness.
Price: If you order as you should -- appetizers, shared entree, wine -- it's about $100 per couple. That's on par with the other Greek restaurants nearby, and worth it.
Will we go again? We would if there weren't so many others of its type that we need to try.
Inside Akti there were more aesthetic touches -- some nautically themed objects decorated the walls, like captain's wheel and what looked like a stunted oar, as well as a stucco rectangle with a neon glow hanging up behind the bar. The architectural detail, too, demands comment. The roof is paneled with bamboo stalks and the pilasters look as if they are barnacled with small white stones. The sum effect of all these niceties is hard to articulate; the atmosphere seems vaguely elegant and distinctive though you might be embarrassed to admit you felt that way.
The most peculiar thing about Akti is its procedure for ordering. Each table receives one menu (what is it with Greek restaurants and menus? Elias Corner won't even deign to give you one) and then each diner marks what they want directly on it with a dry-erase marker. Inevitably, this leads to some discussion of sharing items and requires coming to an explicit consensus. It makes the negotiations of any meal much more definitive, which may or may not be a benefit, depending on how effective you are at getting to yes. Sipping wine and munching down grilled pita slices, we managed to to come to terms with each other.
Our waiter thoughtfully gave us advice about how much to order -- one entree and a few appetizers for both of us -- and we took his advice and got grilled swordfish, a beet salad, and a delicious grilled haloumi appetizer (a mellow cheese grilled and placed on a tomato slice and pita). Everything tasted good. The beets were earthy and the fish was fishy, etc., but nothing struck as absolutely outstanding. What was better than ordinary was the attentive and unpretentious service, which was far more down to earth than the decor would lead you to expect. Everyone seemed at ease with what they were doing. A man who seemed to be the owner came by our table several times with encouraging comments, and it never felt uncomfortable or intrusive. When we were finished, the bartender brought out slices of watermelon for dessert.
When we were through at Akti, we left wondering why we are so resistant to try such places. The experience was effortlessly pleasant, enough to make you forget the elaborate effort that went into the design. The next time we pass the sad waterfall, it will probably seem less a symbol of Akti's trying to hard and more like the corny indulgence of friend whose vainly searching for a dignified way to express his effusiveness.
Price: If you order as you should -- appetizers, shared entree, wine -- it's about $100 per couple. That's on par with the other Greek restaurants nearby, and worth it.
Will we go again? We would if there weren't so many others of its type that we need to try.
Monday, July 14, 2008
The Mystery of Merguez (Little Morocco; 24-39 Steinway Street)
We hadn't taken much notice of this takeout counter at the north end of the hookah-smoking district of Astoria until recently, probably because it has no indoor seating and therefore doesn't meet our ground rules. But come summer, they set up ad hoc outdoor seating (plastic tables and chairs), put in place a maître' d/waiter (a genial teenage boy with a questionable grasp of English), and re-create themselves as a sit-down restaurant.
Further piquing our interest in Little Morocco was its sign proclaiming that the New York Times had declared that the place has the best merguez sandwich in the city. It didn't matter that neither of us knew what merguez was. We had to try it. So on a Saturday night we braved the shisha smoke and made a visit. We enjoyed a pot of Moroccan mint tea, calmly deflected the stares of the gaggle of men sitting with us at the café out on the 25th Avenue sidewalk, and we waited in the cool summer evening to have the mystery of merguez solved for us.
We ordered the merguez platter, which came with salad and rice (rather than couscous, which might make more sense), and the sandwich, which was basically the platter, minus the rice, served on a soft Italian roll. It turns out that merguez is a kind of long, skinny sausage, not all that unlike the cevapi served at the Balkan places, but spiced somewhat differently and with a more granular mouth feel. Instead of ajvar to dress it, there is harissa, an unbelievably delicious hot sauce. According to the Times article, both the merguez and the harissa are made fresh on the premises by the chef-owner, who was born in Casablanca and emigrated to America in 1985.
The merguez was nothing special until we got the harissa involved, which the teenager brought over almost as an afterthought. As far as we're concerned, the merguez is merely a pretense for the harissa, which would enliven any dish, though it does complement the sausage well. The platter wasn't worth the extra expense, and we probably would have gotten more out of the sandwich if it didn't come with the salad rolled into it, so you could opt to have the sandwich without, say, the salad dressing or cucumbers. But it was still satisfying and worth having again, and it left us wondering: Why don’t the halal-chicken stands around the neighborhood add merguez (and harissa!) to their repertoire?
Price: Under $10. Cheap.
Will we go again? Probably for takeout. But worth sitting down outside for the tea.
Further piquing our interest in Little Morocco was its sign proclaiming that the New York Times had declared that the place has the best merguez sandwich in the city. It didn't matter that neither of us knew what merguez was. We had to try it. So on a Saturday night we braved the shisha smoke and made a visit. We enjoyed a pot of Moroccan mint tea, calmly deflected the stares of the gaggle of men sitting with us at the café out on the 25th Avenue sidewalk, and we waited in the cool summer evening to have the mystery of merguez solved for us.
We ordered the merguez platter, which came with salad and rice (rather than couscous, which might make more sense), and the sandwich, which was basically the platter, minus the rice, served on a soft Italian roll. It turns out that merguez is a kind of long, skinny sausage, not all that unlike the cevapi served at the Balkan places, but spiced somewhat differently and with a more granular mouth feel. Instead of ajvar to dress it, there is harissa, an unbelievably delicious hot sauce. According to the Times article, both the merguez and the harissa are made fresh on the premises by the chef-owner, who was born in Casablanca and emigrated to America in 1985.
The merguez was nothing special until we got the harissa involved, which the teenager brought over almost as an afterthought. As far as we're concerned, the merguez is merely a pretense for the harissa, which would enliven any dish, though it does complement the sausage well. The platter wasn't worth the extra expense, and we probably would have gotten more out of the sandwich if it didn't come with the salad rolled into it, so you could opt to have the sandwich without, say, the salad dressing or cucumbers. But it was still satisfying and worth having again, and it left us wondering: Why don’t the halal-chicken stands around the neighborhood add merguez (and harissa!) to their repertoire?
Price: Under $10. Cheap.
Will we go again? Probably for takeout. But worth sitting down outside for the tea.
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