Restaurants

Evidently, my friends double heart West 10th Street, particularly between 5th and 6th, because I’ve dined there twice in the past two weeks. And, yeah, I get it. The tree lined street could charm a crackhead. The brownstones decorated with pine roping and Christmas lights exude enchanment of another era, a different New York. And if that wasn’t enough, a stroll headed West will conclude with two remarkable restaurants: Piadina (Italian) to your right and Alta (Tapas) to your left.  Piadina, named after a thin Italian bread, has a loyal following that transcends the Village. Unprovoked, my friend Julie described it as “…the best Italian in New York for a great price.” Descend the unassuming ivy-covered staircase and you’re greeted by a quiant, dimly lit, savory smelling eatery. The brick walls and wooden chairs give an Old Worldy Italian vibe, while the artwork and quirky white kitchen tools hanging from ceiling (see below) nonchalantly serve as reminders that you actually are still in New York.

The waitstaff is excellent. (The poor guy patiently took our picture like ten times.) I’m notorious for having others order for me (um, no pressure) and was pleasantly satisfied with my waiter’s choices: steamed clams and gorgonzola polenta. The somewhat spicy calamari pasta draws a following and had three fans at our table of seven. We all loved the side of spinach and devoured it in oh so Popeyesque fashion, along with pea and prociutto pasta and plates of tomato and mozerella.

When I finally took a break from my group’s incessant remeber when-ing and adoring praise of Robert Pattinson Edward Cullen, I realized that like us, other patrons were engrossed in their own reminiscent convos. Because Paidina is best enjoyed with people you know: good friends, old friends, family and neighbors. While it produces tasteful meals that leave you lifted from wine and lingering for coffee and Tiramisu, more importantly, Piadina creates new memories for times to come.

So this year, and by this year I mean next year because I’m writing this on December 30th, let us resolve to be thankful for the people we have to go to Piadina with. (It was a lousy nod to the New Year, but a nod nonetheless.) Happy 2009 Food Lovers.

Piadina  57 West 10th, between 5th and 6th; 212-460-8017  cash only 

“International comfort food” is the way they describe the cusine at Delicatessen, the fairly new Soho eatery brought to you by the same man – Mark Thomas Amadei – that gave Manhattan (and then South Beach) Cafeteria. There are Cafeteria lovers and Cafeteria haters, so when juding Delicatessen, please do so with an open mind.

The open space exudes style – complete with natural wood panals and white formica tables. The glass garage door style walls didn’t emit even the slightest draft even though I was there on the coldest night of the year. Be sure to check out the downstairs lounge. Green leather banquets, a glass ceiling and an anything-but-ordinary mural by super hottie artist Juan Jose Heredia. And for the most part, the crowd emulates the chic motif — models and hipsters, seeking solace from the woes of being beautiful, lazily pick at their comfort food of choice. Leighton Meister was spotted lunching there as was Whitney Port. Like most Nolita/Soho spots, and despite the clubby nuances, it’s the kind of place where you may find yourself eating your casual Sunday night meal next to Mike Meyers or Julia Stiles. Whatev.

Onto the food! I actually frequent Delicatessen, so I can tell you about basically everything on the menu. (I’ll spare you though.) My favorites are: Cobb Salad, Chicken in a Bucket (fried chicken deliciousness), Halibut Tacos, and Yellowfin Tuna. The Mac n Cheese rivals others in the hood, but it gave me a post-meal belly ache twice, so… The burger comes on a wooden cutting board thingy and yummy but kind of small – fine for pint sized me, but likely inadequate to satiate my dad or brother. From what I can recall, every cocktail tickled my taste buds. And lest I forget about the menu’s superstar: The Ovaltine pudding parfait!

The best part: The Hostesses. They are sweet and smiley and make any eye-rolling, hesistation, intimdation, “if I’m ‘too cool’ for Beatrice you betcha I won’t be caught dead at Delicatessen” tude vanish instantaneously. Because Delicatessen actually isn’t the trendy, only-in-New York-kids kind of place that Cafeteria once was. Delicatessen is sweeter. It comforts me.

And on that note, I’d say they’ve served their purpose.

Delicatessen  54 Prince St @ Lafayette; 212-226-0211; open until midnight

One blistery winter evening I thought rather than primping for a date and rushing all over town, I would stay in my Nolita hood and explore some places I hadn’t been in a while. Cafe Habana, La Esquina, Mexican Radio, Papatzul (are you sensing a theme here?) are places I frequent, so I had my friend meet me at Bread, a tiny Italianesque spot on the southside of Spring Street.

Despite the metal tables and chairs, the dim candle lighting and narrow space is Euro coziness. “I was actually here three years ago, and if things haven’t changed, then the waitstaff might be lackadaisical,” I cautioned. And…drumroll, please…I was right! Duh. However, everything was delicious – the Balthazar bread paninis, perfectly seasoned bruschetta, crispy, flavorful wild mushroom polenta and pesto linguine. I left my camera at home, so I lack pics to prove. Just trust me. I actually read that someone complained about the sandwiches or paninis or whatever they’re calling themselves these days being too small for $8. Too small? It’s $8! Um, maybe you should dust off your Foreman and stay home.

Note: Although there are fresh salads and some meat and cheese plates, carborexics lacking willpower may want to steer clear.

Maybe because I was mentally prepared or because I was busy chit chatting, but the snail-style service didn’t bother me so much. Bread is the kind of place that if you enter with a European state-of-mind, you’ll be fine. And spa-spa-speaking of fine, there are a variety of scrumptious looking opposite sexies wandering in and out of there. Slightly hipster, but pleasantly handsome/beautiful. It could’ve been the lighting, but as far as I could tell there wasn’t a sad looking soul to speak of.

And that’s the real reason why at Bread, I feel right at home.

Bread
20 Spring Street, between Mott and Elizabeth; 212-334-1015; Open daily 10:30-midnight

I heard the cocktails at Rouge Tomate, the new S.P.E. certified restaurant on East 60th were amazing. Where locally grown ingrediants are squeezed, pureed and doused in alcohol and a “healthy” cocktail is born. So when I visited on a random Wednesday I expected something more, um…exciting.

The gigantic space marveled me. Natural elements — wood, rainforest scene light panels, unisex bathrooms. Wow. I was greeted by not 1, not 2, not even 3 but 4 staff waiting at the top of the open staircase. The bi-level, 200 person restaurant also has a private dining room, a “cranberry pool”, which looked like someone dumped bulk cranberries from Cosco in a concrete mote.

The staff seemed somewhat stiff as did just about every patron in there. What it lacked in environment though, it made up for in delicious drinks. I had the Pear Crisp (yum!) and an apple something-or-another that was made with whiskey.  If I liked whiskey, I may have loved it. They provided popcorn to snack on. Rowdy football fans at a too-familiar Brooklyn bar snack on similar tasting popcorn every Sunday, so… The scallops were eh. I couldn’t decide whether they were so supposed to be hot or cold. The Spanish Mackerel and Sweet Onion Flatbread was delicious enough to entice me to stay, and I would’ve been seated and eaten a full meal had  the atmosphere not been so soporific I nodded off mid-sentence, nearly spilling my martini on the spotless cream leather.

It was painfully quiet, made worse by the fact that the tables were impossibly far away from one another. I read a review that called Rouge Tomate “sexy.” Unless you have soup cans and a string to whisper sweet nothings into your date’s ear from across the expansive tables, there will be nothing sexy about this cold, sterile restaurant. Downstairs seating is somewhat more intimate, but it’s still like trying to fall in love in a hospital hallway. Even on Grey’s Anatomy they go into the elevator.

Note: A regularly dressed, dare I say peasant-esque, female was either intensely reading or studying at the bar. Shhhhhhhhh.

The spacious lounge/café may, however, be the perfect place for Upper East Siders to rest their weary feet and shopping bags and have a drink after a long day of sale-scouring – being right across from Barney’s and all. A Pear Crisp would taste delicious with my next-to-nothing Jimmy Choos. Plus, you’ll feel less guilty paying for a pricey cocktail knowing that you’ve been saved by ubiquitous sales this holiday season. In the end, I hopped in a cab and headed downtown to dine. But should you seek solace after retail therapy, then by all means, knock your bamboo socks off

Rouge Tomate
10 East 60th St, between Madison and Fifth 
Open daily until 11 p.m. 646-237-8977