Something neue.

I love it when Louisa comes to town. Not only because I get to spend tons of quality time with my best friend (living thousands of miles apart can be rough), but also because having her here reminds me to take full advantage of the wonders of the city.

When she was in town in September, we spent a day on the Upper East Side. We managed to do some shopping (thank you, Joe Fresh and J. Crew Collection), but before that could happen, we needed sustenance. Enter Café Sabarsky, one of the very best things within walking distance of my apartment.

Housed in the Neue Galerie - itself dedicated to German and Austrian art - Café Sabarsky is a recreation of the cafes of Austria, right down to the Thonet chairs, Hoffmann fixtures and sausage-rich menu. On this visit, we ordered a green salad to share, plus two different plates of sausage (my roasted bratwurst came with riesling sauerkraut and dijon potatoes; Louisa's was flavored with cheddar).

The food (and the coffee and hot chocolate we enjoyed afterward) was, as always, delicious. But, for me, Café Sabarsky is always about the experience as a whole. That gorgeous room, that wonderful atmosphere...that sparkly chandelier. I just love it there. I'd say it's something you could only find in New York, but that's obviously not true. But I'm sure glad it's here.

Late summer supper.

A few weeks ago, my friends Nick and Louisa were in town, which always means I'm in for a few good meals. Even though they've swapped the wilds of rural Ohio for the wonders of Austin, they're still aiming to get a serious New York food fix whenever they visit. Their first night here, we met our friends Liz and Carrie for dinner at Prune, Gabrielle Hamilton's perennial neighborhood favorite, best known for its insanely delicious (and popular) brunch. 

I ordered a Junipero Gibson (a gin martini garnished with housemade pickled onions) and nibbled on fried chickpeas while I waited for the others to arrive. (They were coming from pre-dinner drinks at Ten Bells; I was trekking in from having my hair done by the lovely Holly in SoHo.) The cocktail was perfectly cool and crisp, and kept me company all through dinner (and for a while afterward, to tell the truth).

 I started with a special kale salad, which went so fast and was so delicious that I forgot to snap its photo.The kale was shredded and dressed with crumbly cheese, garlic and lots and lots of olive oil. I've had many kale salads, but this one was something special. My main was the grilled steak with a tomato and onion salad. The steak was perfectly cooked to medium rare, and the rings of red onion were just crunchy and spicy enough to set off the sweat, meaty tomatoes. A bit of bleu cheese butter rounded things out, and reminded me of one of the things I love about Prune: the food is exuberant, but not overdone. They know that all you need is a touch of cheese in each bite, not an overwhelming heap of it on the plate.

In another nod to disappearing summer, we ordered a side of peas for the table. They arrived, beautifully green, perfectly cooked (English peas, snow peas and - my favorite - sugar snaps), spiked with horseradish and topped with honeycomb. The horseradish accentuated the peas' natural vegetal bite, while the honey upped their sweetness. Peas, amplified.

Finally, dessert. We went a bit over the top here, ordering three different ones to try. A rhubarb bourbon bread pudding, a summer pudding with whipped cream, and a pound cake with fruit syrup. All three were wonderful (and the blazing color of the summer pudding outshone the rest), but the bread pudding was my very favorite. The perfect end to a late summer feast. Next time, squash and brussels sprouts will replace tomatoes and peas, and nothing will be quite the same.

Now there's an excuse to go back if ever there was one, right?

Windswept wedding.

We've had some wild weather in the northeast as of late - tornado warnings every other week or so, which are, simply put, not normal for this part of the world. A couple of Saturdays ago, a tornado touched down in Queens, and I headed out of the city for a seaside wedding in my hometown, Old Greenwich, Connecticut.

Most of the (spectacular) rain fell before things got underway, but the evening remained damp and breezy throughout. The views were gorgeous and moody - plus, I had a sparkly clutch (my prized, vintage Whiting & Davis, which I bought on eBay for a song about 8 years ago) and a well attended to glass of bubbly to brighten things up.

Sadly, I didn't smooch anyone on the dock. But I sure hope someone did, because it was awfully pretty.

Montauk, part three: breakfast.

My friend Stacey is my Food Wife. She has impeccable taste, serious cred, and a remarkable ability to throw a ridiculous cocktail party at a moment's notice. She volunteered to make breakfast the morning we spent in Montauk, and that turned out to be a really, really good idea.

She made an incredible batch of slow-scrambled eggs with cheddar and chives. She cooked up some Black Forest bacon from the venerable Schaller & Weber. Best of all? She made some of the most delicious biscuits I have ever had. Light, fluffy, tender. Pretty much perfect.

That's why I food-married her.

Montauk, part two: Lunch time.

Our first order of business in Montauk? Two hours on the beach. Our second? Lobster rolls.

After spending some time sunning ourselves on the sand, we piled into our cars and headed west to Amagansett, home of The Lobster Roll, better known locally as Lunch. The paper placemats on our table listed endorsements from celebrities as varied as President Nixon, Barbra Streisand, and Christie Brinkley & Billy Joel (in case you thought this restaurant was new, it's clearly not).

We ordered drinks (mine was the Lobster Ale, which was pleasantly satisfying and a bit round in the mouth) and lobster rolls - plus some clams casino. (Thanks, Stacey!)

As you can probably guess from its given name, Lunch is known for its lobster rolls, and they were pretty good. Flavorful meat, tasty toasted buns, and a touch (perhaps too heavy a touch) of celery. I liked the mayonnaise to lobster ratio and the not-at-all mayonnaise-y coleslaw, but there was something missing here, some alchemy that I've found in other rolls that just didn't make itself known. Solid, though? For sure.

Montauk, part one: the beach.

A couple of weeks ago, my friends Matt and Marcia invited me and our friend Stacey to join them in Montauk for a couple of days. They'd rented a house for the week to celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary, and wanted to have friends out to join them in the revelry.

Obviously, I said yes.

Montauk is a tiny little village out on the eastern tip of Long Island's South Fork - in fact, it's so far east that it's the easternmost point in the state of New York. It's long been considered the chillest part of the Hamptons, thanks to its history as a surfing and artist-friendly enclave. (Rufus Wainwright married his longtime partner at their home there just yesterday.)

Town laws forbid chains of any kind, so all of the hotels are tiny and charming, and Starbucks is nowhere to be seen. Hipsters have invaded in recent years, but I have to say: they weren't too annoying.

Several hours of both days were devoted to serious beach time. The waves were strong (both Marcia and Matt took serious bangs when coming in from paddle boarding), and the sand was soft.

And though I didn't snag a photo, I can tell you that the stargazing was likewise amazing from the beach. Matt, Stacey and I trekked down there one night (powered by a not inconsiderable amount of wine and bourbon) and laid back on the sand. It's rare for a New Yorker to see more than a couple of stars at once; to see clouds and bands of them - and to understand why we call it the Milky Way - is a rare treat, and one to be savored.

And we ate a lot, too. More on that soon.

Ladies who lunch (at Babbo).

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Marcia and I met for a ladies' lunch at Babbo. It was a rainy Friday afternoon, and so a glass of red wine seemed very much in order. No doubt you agree. I have no idea what the wine was, as the bartender poured me something based on a string of somewhat silly adjectives (I know nothing about Italian wine), but, yum.

We shared two appetizers to start with, both crazy seasonal and yet perfectly Babbo-esque. Strong flavors marked by high acid and spice, and a mix of textures to delight the palate. First up, a market bean milanese. The duck egg was the crispy part, and it sat atop a pile of green and white beans - a mix of string and flat - tossed in a tangy vinaigrette. A smattering of cheese grounded the dish with a bit of dirty, earthy, aged flavor.

Second, some teeny fairy tale eggplant grilled and tossed with a corn dressing and served atop a piece of grilled bread. The sweet corn popped against the creamy, smoky eggplant and the crunchy bread. I could have eaten ten of these.

My main was guinea hen alla cacciatore. A very tradition preparation (ridiculous rich tomato-and-veg sauce, a slight amount of heat), save for the shaved green onions on top. The peppery bite was welcome against the rich, dark meat. It reminded me that it was still lunch, and I had miles to go before it was time to sleep.

As we went to leave the restaurant, we opened the door to a complete and total downpour. The hostess let us know that it would rain on and off all afternoon, and said she hoped we had umbrellas. We did, and it did, but I hardly noticed a thing. I was too busy dreaming of eggplant.

Pig and pool.

Way back when, back before we went to Maine, back before the Olympics, my friend Jeremy (and his friend Chris) threw himself a 30th birthday party. This wasn't just any birthday party, though - this one featured two whole roast pigs. And a pool. And rose in Solo cups.

I know.

Chris and Jeremy hired Redbones, a Somerville, Massachusetts-based barbecue joint, to come cook overnight so that the rest of us could enjoy pig come the morning. A pretty excellent idea paired with a pretty kickass execution. After all, who doesn't love barbecue? (Answer? Vegetarians. Luckily, there were some top-notch sides, too. I ate my weight in coleslaw and cornbread.)

And watermelon.

 The party was held at Chris' parents' place in Lewisboro, a teeny little hamlet just north of New Canaan. The house was lovely, and the lawn and garden were just stunning. Best of all? There was a pool! After lunch, I headed down that way to cool down...

And to enjoy some serious amounts of rose.

I was not alone.

And, for dessert, a final pig. This one was veggie-friendly, though.

Puffins!

One of the best things about our trip to Maine was that my friends Miles and Hall (who used to live in Manhattan but deserted me to run this incredible lodge) were there, too! They were on the tail end of their winter break (they live in New Zealand), and were spending their last few days in the States in Kennebunkport.

Louisa and I met them in Boothbay, where, surrounded by children smeared in sunscreen and a host of surprisingly avid birdwatchers, we boarded a puffin-watching cruise. Turns out we'd come at just the right time; puffins can be hard to find, but they mate and nest during the first few weeks of July - we'd inadvertently chosen the absolute best week to see as many puffins as we could wish for.

The cruise out to Eastern Egg Rock, a bird sanctuary just outside of Boothbay Harbor, was gorgeous. Lighthouses, craggy, rocky islands (Iconic Maine, hello!) - and harbor porpoise and seals, too! We had delightfully calm seas and a strong, bright sun - not to mention a strong breeze. (Puffin watching is a sweater-mandatory activity, folks.)

And then, there were puffins. So many puffins! Puffins are pretty little (no more than ten inches tall when fully grown), so it was hard to get a good shot of them. The ones here are taking off after spending some time bobbing around in the water. When puffins fly, their wings work so hard that they almost look like they're windmilling them around.

Also, baby puffins? Are called pufflings. I KNOW.

The thing in the front? A buoy. The little white and black dude beyond it? A puffin! A ridiculously cute, adorable, totally worth the time and money puffin.

To the lighthouse.

Thanks to its famously ragged and craggy coastline, Maine is home to a whole bunch of lighthouses. From the dock outside our house, we could see three lighthouses - one visible to the naked eye during the day, and the other two apparent only via their nighttime beacons.

The closest light to the house was Owl's Head Light, which Nick, Louisa and I visited on our last day in St. George. The lighthouse itself was lovely, but the view down from its base was even better. Picture-perfect Maine, right down to the wildflowers and steep drops.

(Word on the street, by the way, is that the burgers at the Owl's Head General Store, a few minutes' drive from the lighthouse, are the best in the state. I hope to judge for myself soon.)

In the beginning.

A first day in Maine requires a lobster roll and copious amounts of seaside time (preferably spent lolling about).
This trip did not disappoint.
On day one, we lounged on our Rackliff Island dock, enjoyed a superlative lobster roll at Waterman's Beach Lobster (whose James Beard Award was well-deserved), and generally enjoyed ourselves.
I mean...right?

Headed north.

This weekend, a whole troupe of us (we're theater people, mostly, so we're a troupe, and not a troop) are headed up the east coast to the wonderful state of Maine. The occasion? My little brother's 30th birthday. The destination? St. George, a teeny little town not far from Thomaston and Rockland.

There will be blueberries.

There will be lobster.

What else is can't-miss, readers? What amazing mid-coast recommendations do you have for us? A heap of my fellow travelers will be golfing most days, but many of us will be on the lookout for delightful local color. (Especially of the ice cream-related variety.)

Do tell!

Photo of the Maine coast courtesy of Flickr.

Astorian idyll.

Last week, my friend Stacey asked me if I wanted to join her for a shrimp boil. Obviously, I said yes. Turns out we were headed for Sunday Night Dinner, a supper club created by the incredible Tamara Reynolds. The story? You pay $45 and promise to bring a bottle of wine; Tamara cooks an amazing meal for you and 19 of your closest/soon-to-be-closest friends. It is, in a word, awesome.

 

The menu for Friday's gathering was decidedly Southern. Stacey and I - and a good 50% of the rest of the guests, I'd say - started off by cracking one of the two bottles of rosé we'd brought with us from Manhattan. A few minutes later, these open-faced beauties appeared. Smeared with anchovy butter and topped with radish and watercress, they were rich, spicy and perfect with the wine.

Then came the tomato pie. I don't know what was in this (one theory we bounced around involved mascarpone, mayonnaise and a little egg for bonding it all together), but I do know that it was delicious. Tangy (hence the mayonnaise), creamy, dotted with little grape tomatoes that put me in mind of the exploding food trend we saw on our trip to Chicago in 2009 - surprising (close that mouth) and delighted-giggle-inducing.

 

Next up, the soup course, a perfectly seasonal (and delicious) radish gazpacho. I loved this, especially because it was just a little bit uneven, texture-wise. The varying bits and bobs kept my tongue interested the whole time, and the bite of the radishes added a welcome bit of heat to the proceedings.

 

A giant, lemony green salad followed, served alongside a platter of perfectly cooked asparagus. I had to stop myself from eating every last spear.

Finally, the main course arrived. Judiciously seasoned with Old Bay and accompanied by mild pork sausage and plump peas, the shrimp were freaking awesome. And there's something to be said for eating at a table full of strangers and still being cool with getting down and dirty with shell-on shrimp. This crowd got really into it. (Had a great conversation about Prometheus, too, and nobody asked about anyone else's career for a good two hours. Amazing, right?)

Dessert, the only course served post-sunset, was Jersey strawberries with whipped cream. They were tiny, sweet and lovely - a last gasp of late spring before the more full-bodied, richly flavored stone fruits start popping up in the markets.

The table. Idyllic, yes?

There was nothing about the night I didn't love, right down to this string of outdoor lights. Everything about it was wonderful - even the mosquito bites felt just right.