Drinking it in.

The last couple of weekends, I've taken advantage of the near-perfect early autumn weather to enjoy a few laps around the Central Park Reservoir followed by a stroll down to Joe for a post-workout caffeine hit.

These outings have only added to the love I've been feeling for the Upper East as of late.

We're something of the red-headed stepchild up here, what with our reputation for stuffiness and terrible restaurants, but things have been improving like mad. Plus, we have most of the good museums.

 It's okay; your Metrocard will work up here, I promise. Come visit!

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?

Recently.

I've been trying to enjoy the last of summer's bounty these days. The evenings are falling earlier and earlier, but I managed to sneak in a meandering twilight stroll around my neighborhood last week. The Guggenheim looked gorgeous all lit up by the setting sun to the west.

 

The tomatoes have been ridiculously good. I made a little sauce with the San Marzanos and ate the heirloom ones with avocado and red onion.

A couple of Saturdays ago, I stopped into Joe for a pick-me-up cappuccino and a delicious hour of reading. I've been plowing through books on my Kindle this summer; I just finished The Dog Stars and started a Louise Penny mystery.

I spied this cookbook when I popped into Barnes & Noble to pick up a gift for a friend. I'd never heard of Leon (a restaurant in London), but I think I might need this book sooner rather than later. Anything with a cover like this one has to be full of deliciousness. 

A little bit of France on Third Avenue.

 

The food blogosphere has been abuzz of late about the opening of a New York outpost of Maison Kayser on the Upper East Side. Founded by French baker and pastry chef Eric Kayser, the bakery and patisserie has shops all over the world, and is now taking the Big Apple by storm. Obviously, I had to stop by as soon as possible to see what all the fuss was about.

The goods (I sampled a few different kinds of brioche, a bit of raisin bread, and a bite of baguette) were uniformly delicious. The plié au chocolat I ended up spiriting away to Central Park was delightful - its custardy innards cut through with dark chocolate, its pastry hardy but flaky.

That said.

I tried to grab lunch in the café, and it was a nightmare. Since it was their first weekend open, and since the Upper East Side tends to descend upon any decent restaurant like a horde of hungry teenagers, I knew it would be crazy. I was ready for crazy.

But I wasn't ready to be ignored while the host chatted with the people on either side of me, or to be brushed off when I asked if I could put my name on the list to be seated. (Given the whole being ignored thing, I wasn't going to trust someone about my place in line unless it was written down.) While the storefront crew were incredibly helpful and pleasant (especially given that I saw several customers cut the line and generally act like jerks), I am still pretty peeved about my experience with the cafe staff.

I'll likely give them one more go, on a weekday this time, but that's about it. Hopefully it will be a different host, and the Real Houswives rejects around me won't be as exciting for him.

What I spied a-marketing.

Spotted at the St. Stephen's Greenmarket on East 82nd Street last Saturday. Amazing colors, right?

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.

Lately.

Just a quick roundup of things I've eaten and sipped lately. First up, superlative green papaya salad from Wondee Siam II in Hell's Kitchen. This place has some delicious Thai and is a stone's throw from Ars Nova (my brother's theater), so we spend a serious amount of time here. (Also worth trying? Any of the curries.)

Speaking of curries, they come with a pyramidal side of fluffy white rice. As a rice lover, I hardly need any inducement to eat mine, but come on. That's too fun.

Shake Shack does day-of-the-week flavors, which change up once a month. August's Friday flavor is blueberry coffee cake: soft blueberry custard with coffee cake mixed in. It's pretty freaking good, and is delightfully redolent of cinnamon (my favorite compliment to the juicy blueberries of summer).

 

A gin gimlet at Ouest on the Upper West Side. These guys sling the most reliably delicious cocktails north of 59th Street, and I love spending an evening sipping and nibbling - the kitchen sends out regular batches of toasty warm gougeres.

Finally, a pickle sampler from the new restaurant Jacob's Pickles. The biscuits are good; the pickles are awesome. From left to right, we've got dill spears, carrots, spicy beets and dilly green beans. More pickles than even this obsessive could finish.

July 22, 5:19 PM, 66th Street and Broadway.

I think the mosaics at the 66th Street subway station may very well be my favorite subterranean art in the city. They take their inspiration from the world of opera, in tribute to the Metropolitan Opera House, which sits just one story up from the platform.

Getting outdoorsy.

Last Monday, I was lucky enough to pay a visit to Terroir's (an East Village wine bar) new outpost on the High Line. Their little patch of awesome sits over 15th Street, right where the park passes under the upper floors of Chelsea Market, and consists of a teeny shipping container (from whence food and drink are served) and rows of comfy picnic tables (where said food and drink are consumed).

You're outside, so wine (like this delightful French rose) comes in little plastic tumblers. There's also beer, but no cocktails - for gin or whiskey, you're going to have to head elsewhere. (Given how awesome the vino is, though, you shouldn't bother. Terroir is known for its perfectly curated lists.)

The plates are small and packed with flavor. On the (vehement) recommendation of our waiter, I tried the fried lamb sausage, which packed whole sage leaves between meat and thin, crisp crust. The sausage itself was juicy and robustly flavored - possibly even a little too salty, until I squeezed the lemon over the whole thing, which made everything right again. Smartypants restaurants with their functional garnishes.

My second dish was the farro salad, which I seriously enjoyed. It was super satisfying in the way that only something delicious and healthy can be. It was perfectly tender, dotted with shaved white onion and chopped sugar snap peas, and dressed with mint, olive oil, salt, and pepper. This is one I'll be working on recreating awfully soon, hopefully with accompanying sunset.

Terroir At The Porch
The High Line
10th Avenue at 15th Street

In the neighborhood.

I did not move to the Upper East Side because it was cool. I did it because it was cheap, convenient, and, well, that's it. I've never regretted it, but I do wish I lived in a neighborhood where grabbing a tasty bite to eat in a cool atmosphere with good drinks was easier to do. For years, that was a pretty tall order. It's still not the easiest thing, but it is getting better. And the folks behind ABV are a big part of that.

I've been a few times, but only once when it was light enough out to get some decent snaps for you guys to enjoy. I paid a Friday evening visit with my friend Cristin, and we both ordered a flight of rosé. (The French one on the far right was definitely the best.) Then, we enjoyed a couple of snacks - first up, the fish tacos with kimchee. I really liked these, except for one thing: the guacamole was really strongly flavored with cilantro. For some of you, that would seal the deal. For me, it meant an early stop to the proceedings. I hate it when menus don't specify that things have cilantro. Grrrr.

Next up, the fried pickles. These are fancy fried pickles, with a light, tempura-ish batter coating seriously juicy half-sours in large chunks, all served with a miso mayonnaise. The enormous serving is enormously cheap (five bucks), and well worth your time. They go swimmingly with wine, too.

ABV is a wine bar, and, accordingly, they have a great selection of sweet and fortified wines to keep the drinking going once the savories have been dispensed with. My selection this time? The 10-year-old Nierporent tawny. Delicious on its own; even better with sticky toffee pudding. (Just saying.)

One quick note: my very favorite thing that ABV serves is their meatloaf sandwich, which comes with fries and is served on a toasted bagel and topped with a fried egg. It is, in a word, delightful. So don't not order it just because I've only eaten it when it's been dark out, is what I'm saying.

ABV
1504 Lexington Avenue
Between 97th and 98th Streets
212.722.8959

Getting some culture.

Last week, I had the glorious luxury of a day off. I spent the morning doing responsible things, like going to the gym and the grocery store, but my afternoon was devoted to pure New York-ness. After a homemade lunch (tomato and avocado salad), I hoofed over to Fifth Avenue for a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I spent a good deal of time wandering around the new - and incredible - galleries devoted to Islamic art, then made my way through Impossible Conversations, the Costume Institute's exhibit devoted to Elsa Schiaparelli and Miuccia Prada. (Verdict? Really awesome, but nothing will ever beat last year's McQueen tribute.)

Eventually, I made my way up to the rooftop, which is one of my very favorite spots in the city. Because the museum sits just inside Central Park, it doesn't matter that you're only a few stories up - in fact it helps, because you end up feeling like you're perched right on the tops of the trees. The views are incredible to the west, north and south. That right there is Cleopatra's Needle, which sits just behind the museum. (Remember the last visit I paid to it? The weather was a bit different on Friday.)

Every summer, the museum hosts an outdoor exhibit on the roof. Like 2010's bamboo forest, you can climb this one, called Cloud City. (Nerd alert: my first thought was of Star Wars.) Created by artist Tomás Saraceno, the sculpture is a group of geometric pods, mirrored on some sides, open on others. Climbing through it must be pretty awesome, if a little disorienting. Sadly, I didn't get to find out on this visit, since I had to take off to run some errands. Before I left, though...

...I snapped this photo of the gorgeous apartment buildings on Central Park West. I once heard that one of the reasons Fifth Avenue apartments are more expensive (on average) than their crosstown siblings is because their view is so much better than the reverse. I don't know if it's true, but I'd believe it.

In the neighborhood.

When I moved to the Upper East Side, it wasn't because the neighborhood was a happening hot spot. I needed a place in a hurry, and a friend's cousin was subletting her super-cheap studio. It seemed like kismet, and I moved in a week after I first visited the place. Seven years and two apartments later, I'm still here - mostly because it's a ridiculously easy commute (to work, to the East Village, you name it) and pretty cheap, in Manhattan terms. But, of late, it's turning into a halfway exciting place for food and drink, too.

Spigolo has been a big part of the neighborhood's self-improvement plan. It opened a few years back, and has been serving delicious Italian food to standing room only crowds ever since. Every time I visit, I realize I don't go often enough.

On my most recent trip, I started with a house cocktail, the Bulleit Burlesque. A mixture of rye, cherry and ginger (I honestly can't remember the exact ingredients), it was a spicy take on a Manhattan - so of course I loved it.

For my starter, I ordered Spigolo's take on the Caesar, a half head of romaine topped with anchovy dressing, Parmesan and piping hot, lightly fried rock shrimp. I loved the flavors in this, but it was a bit overdressed. I ended up pushing about half the sauce to the side - but nothing could ruin the contrast of the plump, toasty shrimp with the crisp, cold lettuce.

On my insistence, Kyle and I split an order of the Romano potatoes. From what I can tell, these bad boys are boiled, then smashed, coated with a bit of cheese and salt, and crisped on the grill. They are, in a word, ridiculous.

I was lucky enough to visit early in the evening, before the restaurant sold out of their house-made chicken and broccoli rabe sausage, which was split, grilled and served on top of a cold farro salad. The sausage - unlike so much chicken sausage - was moist, flavorful and a perfect texture. And the salad was a little creamy and peppered with roasted tomatoes and cold cucumber. So, as you can imagine: I loved it.

Dessert at Spigolo is particularly good - the co-owner is also the pastry chef, and she does a fantastic job. My favorite of the two we sampled last week was the sticky toffee bread pudding. I'd even go so far as to say that the sticky toffee sauce was as good as my own, and I loved the whipped cream/mascarpone combination that topped things off. (So much so that I might copy it.)

Over the next few weeks, I'll be offering up a few more reasons why the Upper East Side isn't seeming like such a bad place to be these days. Stay tuned! In the meantime, get your butts to Spigolo before they take that bread pudding off the menu.

Spigolo
1561 Second Avenue
Between 81st and 82nd Streets
212.744.1100

Something new.

 

 Last Friday, Anica and I paid a visit to a  tiny new cocktail bar down at 9th and Avenue C, called The Wayland. I'd first passed it a couple of weeks ago, and made a mental note to visit as soon as possible. Anica is as obsessed with a good cocktail as I am, so I knew she'd be the perfect partner in crime.

We arrived close to opening (7 PM), and the petite space was already filling up. By the time we left for dinner, around 9, it was packed with people. And for good reason. The vibe is incredibly chill, and the cocktails are delicious.

 

For my first drink, I tried the Bermuda Black, a concoction made with white & black rum and fresh ginger & lime juice,  topped off with a smidge of dark beer. It was sweet, yes, but also sour, tangy and rich. Definitely a summertime sipping drink, a sort of dark and stormy for those of us who like a little more citrus in the mix.

To finish up, I ordered a Manhattan, which came garnished with an orange peel. It was perfectly balanced - not two sweet, not too spicy - always a good sign of a quality bartender. After all, fancy custom cocktails are one thing, but proving you can tackle the classics? A must.

The Wayland
700 East 9th Street
(Corner of Avenue C)
212.777.7022

Lately.

A few drinks I've been enjoying recently. No particular order, but there is a theme: delicious, delightful booze. (Yum.)

Lemonade shandy, courtesy of Nick. Louisa's patio, Austin.


Applejack sidecar, courtesy of me. My living room, Manhattan.


Tawny port. The Vanderbilt, Brooklyn.


A Plantation cocktail (grapefruit, gin and basil). Frank's, Austin.