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

West Village meets Austria.

I have a bit of a soft spot for Austrian food. I've never met a schnitzel I didn't at least enjoy, and I can't think of a better way to take my espresso than with a dollop of whipped cream (sweetened a bit and named schlag by those crazy Austrians) right on top.

And so it's a bit shocking, really, that I hadn't been to Wallsé until this past Saturday. In my defense, I have visited its uptown sister establishment (Café Sabarsky) many a time. After all, it is but a short walk from my home base, where Wallsé involves a bus ride and a subway trip. Turns out, though, that it's worth the trek. (As my friends Nicole, Amelia and Anna swore it would be - credit where it's due, kids.)

Caroline and I sat outside for most of our lunch; we had to dash inside before dessert to avoid a passing rain shower. Before that, though, we sat on Washington Street enjoying the people watching and generally feeling good about being New Yorkers. The West Village has a way of doing that to a person.

We kicked off with cocktails; I ordered the Ginger Highball, mostly for the rye, while Caroline went for the Blood Orange Cosmo. Both were tasty, if a bit sweeter than my usual fare. We were incredibly boring when it came to our food - we both ordered the exact same thing. Wiener schnitzel.

After all, what's not to love about a cutlet covered in delightful breading, perfectly fried and served with a potato-cucumber salad and lingonberry preserves? As it turns out, absolutely nothing. I mean, there's not a lot more to say. The breading was well-seasoned, which meant the whole thing felt good, as opposed to simply naughty. The salad was creamy but tangy, which meant it felt like real food as opposed to something a neglectful cook might throw together five minutes ahead of a potluck. And lingonberries are awesome. In short, this dish is a great blend of some of my favorite things: crunchy breading, warm food with cold, creamy food with crunchy, sweet food with salty.

Caroline insisted on trying the sachertorte, which was lovely, and far less dry than most of the sachertortes I've encountered have been. I, meanwhile, indulged in an einspanner, which is a fancy way of saying "double espresso topped with sweetened whipped cream." I know, right?

High lining it.

My friend Kim came to visit me last weekend, and I was determined to show her a proper New York time of it. And when Saturday dawned gloriously sunny and crisp, I decided that a walk along the High Line would be just the thing - even more so because I'd not yet made it there myself. Naughty, naughty New Yorker!

The High Line, in case you've not heard of it, is a newly-opened park on the west side of Manhattan. It opened in 2009 after years and years of negotiations, delays and debates. The High Line is so called because it's actually built above the city; it's a landscaped stretch of old elevated railroad tracks. The tracks run through what used to be the industrial center of the city, from Penn Station through the Meatpacking District, and have been landscaped in a way that pays tribute to their history. (As of today, the High Line is only finished up to 20th Street, but work on the last 14-block stretch is moving forward!)

The cement blocks that make up the paths recall railroad ties, and the wildflowers and reeds planted along the walkway seem to emerge from cracks in the sidewalk, much as they might in railroad beds left to seed.

One of the coolest things about the High Line is the way it allows for unique vantage points from which to view the city. It's not quite ground-level, nor is it a high-rise, and since it crosses the roadway fairly often, the path provides glimpses into nearby buildings and across vistas that just can't be seen from the ground.

In case you need another reason: see that overpass up there? Right under there, you can buy Butter Lane baked goods as well as popsicles and shaved ice from People's Pops. Yum.

A walking tour.

On the Wednesday of my staycation, I took a little walk through the West Village. I started out with lunch at Chelsea Thai (technically just north of said West Village), then made my way south and east. I encountered loads of goodies and pretty things along the way. Have a look!

First, while still at Chelsea Market, I took a peek into the mini Jacques Torres outlet across from Chelsea Thai. The chocolate chip cookies looked tempting, but I had another treat in mind.

Cherry blossoms were in full bloom along Hudson Street. Pretty, and so short-lived - the floral equivalent of spring in New York.

I passed Myers of Keswick, a charming little shop fully stocked with all kinds of goodies from the United Kingdom. The price of curing homesickness may be a bit steep, but ex-pat Brits in New York tend to flock here in any case in search of Lyle's Golden Syrup and authentic Cadbury chocolates.

I stopped into Chocolate Bar in desperate search of one of my own favorite treats: their milky-satly-pretzel bar. But, sadly, they were out! Cue my pout and change of direction to the east.

Typical West Village townhouses on Jane Street. I'd move here in a heartbeat. Anyone care to subsidize? Hmmmmm?

At the corner of West 4th and Bleecker, I stopped into the original outpost of Magnolia Bakery (they now have stores in Midtown and on the Upper West Side). While I'm not a huge fan of their cakes or cupcakes (too sweet, chewy instead of moist), I do love their little 75-cent chocolate chip cookies, though, so I bought one of them and kept on trucking. (But not before snapping a shot of their gorgeous mason jars full of sprinkles! I love this photo.)

Eventually, I made my way over to Washington Square Park, where I lounged in the sun, read a book, and generally enjoyed the fact that I had nowhere to be at that particular moment in time. Now that, my friends, is luxury indeed.

A late dinner.

After Louisa's most excellent reading at the Lady Jane Salon, she and I and our friend Arie decided to walk a block west and get some dinner at Lupa. Now, normally I don't get to eat Italian food with Louisa, since it's Nick's least favorite cuisine. But she was sans Nick on this trip, so I decided the time was right for an introduction to my beloved Roman pastas.

We started with the verdure misto, a platter of seasonal vegetables, each prepared in a unique way. The night we went, the platter featured assorted olives, broccoli rabe with ricotta, marinated squash, beets with pistachio sauce, treviso and brussels sprouts with pecorino. I enjoyed the sprouts, but thought they had a bit too much cheese going on - it was hard to find the spicy bite of the sprouts under all of that. The beets, though, were the star of the show. The pistachio sauce was insanely delicious, and the light nuttiness played beautifully with the sweetness of the beets.

Next, we each ordered a plate of pasta. I went for the bucatini all'amatriciana, a long, hollow pasta with tomatoes, red onion and guanciale (cured pork jowl, similar to bacon). I make this a lot at home, since it can be thrown together with ingredients I always keep on hand (I use fresh tomatoes in the summer, canned in the winter.) - and, I have to say, I like my version better. This one was good and bacony, but the red onion was a bit too sweet to act as a foil to the tomatoes, and there wasn't enough red pepper going on. The pasta was perfect, though.

Louisa's dish, on the other hand, was stellar. She ordered the bavette cacio e pepe, a classic Roman dish. Bavette is a thin, flat pasta - a bit like fettucine, but made without egg. The pasta is tossed with copious amounts of cheese (cacio) and pepper (pepe) until it's both creamy and mildly spicy. This version was perfect - silky, smooth, creamy, but with a bit of a bite.

We drank a bottle of Italian white and stumbled out into the chilly spring evening. Fortified by pasta and beets, though, it didn't seem so cold anymore.

Lupa
170 Thompson Street (Between Houston & Bleecker)
212.982.5089

My two granddads.

A few Fridays ago, , I had dinner with two of my oldest friends. Lisa, Keith and I met in college doing what is probably the nerdiest thing I do: musical theatre. Oh yes, my friends. Singing, dancing, jazz hands.

Lisa lives in Englewood, just over the George Washington Bridge, so I see her fairly often. But Keith's been living in Philadelphia for a few years and is spending just a few weeks here in New York. Therefore, dinner was in order. We decided to meet up in the West Village at the new-ish Joseph Leonard, described by its owner as a "bar with food" and named for his two grandfathers.

The bar, a right angle set in the middle of the small room, is indeed the heart of the enterprise, where the two mixologists are a constant whirl or shaking and stirring. All that activity turns out some delicious drinks, including one of the best Manhattans I've ever had. Lisa's Saint-Germain and gin concoction was pretty good, too, though I'd have served it up instead of on the rocks. We had a good amount of time to savor our drinks; Joseph Leonard doesn't take reservations, so we spent our 20 minutes of waiting time sipping peacefully in a corner of the dining room.

We sat down at a table set with red checkered napkins, sturdy silverware and a mason jar full of cornichons. Keith, a lover of pickles, was very pleased at this last development. The menu skews toward haute barnyard, with lots of farmer's market veggies (carrots, brussels sprouts and turnips all made the list) on display. We ended up ordering a wide variety of dishes; I went for the friseé aux lardons salad, a steak tartare special and a side of brussels sprouts.

The frisée salad arrived topped with fresh tarragon - something I'd never seen before - and accompanied by a soft-fried egg perched atop a lightly toasted crouton. The egg was creamy and slipped softly down my throat. The salad itself was lovely, dressed in a red wine vinaigrette and taking a pleasantly herbal note from the tarragon. While it wasn't the best frisée aux lardons I've ever had, it was darn satisfying.

Lisa ordered the glazed carrots, which came out of the oven looking like something from a Thomas Keller cookbook - with good reason, it seems. The chef (James McDuffy) used to work for Keller at Bouchon Bakery. Perfectly turned and tossed with butter and chives, the carrots (and turnips) were sweet, tender and delicious.

My steak tartare - a special that really should go on the permanent menu - didn't photograph well, but it was absolutely delicious. The meat was finely chopped, mixed with a healthy amount of shallots, capers and mustard and topped with a poached egg. Though the disc of tartare was surrounded by more than enough toasts to go around, I ended up eating each of my bites with the prototypically American onion rings (thick and beer-battered specimens) that sat alongside.

Best of all, though, were the brussels sprouts. The leaves were separated from the cores, roasted till they were black around the edges, and tossed with copious amounts of butter. Topped off with a squeeze of Sriracha and a healthy pinch of salt, they were like green leaves of crack. None of the three of us could get enough.

(It's also worth noting that the service at Joseph Leonard was fantastic - attentive and friendly, enthusiastic (I love when I can tell that the staff adore the food at a restaurant.), and just plain sweet. The staff did a fair job of corralling an increasingly obnoxious crowd, and were happy to help me extract our coats from underneath an outerwear mountain.)

Finally, dessert. Keith and Lisa were partial to the chocolate pot de creme with cherries, I fell for the caramel pudding topped with whipped cream and cookie crumbs. Yes, cookie crumbs. Oh. My. Gah. This was just too delicious. The pudding was creamy and rich and had a mellow kind of sweetness that I found really satisfying. The cookie crumbs took the whole thing over the top into full-on retro nostalgia land, a place I'm enjoying these days.

Joseph Leonard
170 Waverly Place (At Christopher Street)
646.429.8383

Family time.

On Friday night, I met up with my brother, Jeremy, at Joe, and we made our way downtown to Pearl Oyster Bar. We arrived at 5:30, a half hour before opening, and there were already about 10 people on line waiting to get in.

When the doors opened at 6:00, we hopped into two seats at the bar and ordered - oysters and a lobster roll for me, clam chowder and a lobster roll for Jer. Few people appreciate food the way my brother does, and he seems to have a special place in his heart for seafood - so it was really fun for me to share his first Pearl experience with him.

The oysters were fantastic - clean and fresh tasting, with just a hint of briny sea. The mignonette sauce was fantastic - bracing and full of tangy shallots - but the cocktail sauce could use a bit more zing. It was warm on Friday night, but the air conditioning was going full-blast, so the weather inside was just right for a bowl of soup.The clam chowder was rich and creamy, filled with bacon and chunks of potato.

And, unsurprisingly, the lobster rolls were amazing, though a tad overdressed with mayo that night.

Jeremy had to head over to the theatre, so we had to forgo dessert, but we agreed that next time we'd try the hot fudge sundae and the strawberry rhubarb pie. Yes, we're definitely related. Like you couldn't tell just by looking at us...

Sooooooo worth it.

Yesterday started off gloomy, with spitting, noncommittal rain and low, gray clouds. Suitably depressed, I spent the morning catching up on emails, checking in with my tweeps, and charging up my laptop. I trudged out the door at about noon and took the (oddly crowded with children) bus across town, and then the C train down to the West Village.

My destination? Pearl Oyster Bar, the legendary (and legendarily tiny - at least before its recent expansion into space next door) seafood restaurant on Cornelia Street. I'd been hearing tell of Pearl's obscenely delicious lobster roll for years now, but the accompanying descriptions of ridiculously long lines pretty much killed my curiosity.

I figured, though, that a weekday afternoon was probably a pretty good time to avoid the crowds and decided to give it a shot. I was right! When I walked into the restaurant, it was about half-full, and since I was alone, the bartender invited me to sit at any of the open bar stools. I hopped up to a spot right in the middle, pulled out my book, and ordered a glass of Pinot Blanc and a lobster roll.

The lobster roll arrived about five minutes later, accompanied by piping hot shoestring fries. Huge chunks of lobster tossed with mayonnaise, salt, pepper and lemon juice graced a freshly-toasted (and buttered) brioche hot dog bun. Topped with a shower of chives, it was pretty much one of the best things I've ever tasted. I can't explain it - I think it must be either something in the lobsters' cooking liquid or some kind of alchemy, but this salad was just...insane.

I doused the fries with malt vinegar and dug in. I thought the ridiculous deliciousness would wear off as I made my way through the roll, but I was wrong - the very last bite was just as good as the very first. Possibly more so, since it involved the buttered bun.

Now, I'm a New Englander. I have my loyalties, and I am of course of the mind that seafood - particularly lobster and, say, fried clams - are best enjoyed as close to the ocean as possible, preferably at a picnic table within spraying distance of the waves. However. I am not exaggerating when I say this was, without a doubt, the best lobster roll of my life.

I finished the meal off with two mugs of coffee and a few more pages of my book, reluctant to leave the calming rythms of the semi-open kitchen and gentle hum of conversation at the bar. Eventually, though, I packed up my things and headed back out into the gray New York afternoon - which, I have to admit, seemed a whole lot brighter.

Pearl Oyster Bar
18 Cornelia Street
Between Bleecker and West 4th
212-621-8211 (No Reservations)