I've posted about our experience at Le Bernardin - the real culinary highlight of the trip for me - but we spent the rest of the weekend trying to see exactly how much we could spend on food. Turns out, it's not difficult to spend a LOT. But, what the heck, right? It's a vacation.
One might think that after the seven course dinner at Le Bernardin, we would not want to eat for the next two days. Wrong. We woke up Saturday morning thinking of breakfast. After getting a slow start, we walked from our hotel in Tribeca to Spring Street in Soho. One of my potential breakfast/brunch spots, Balthazar, was our destination.
On a side note: I did lots (seriously, LOTS) of research on restaurants during the planning of this trip. I researched old New York Times reviews, Chowhound board postings, the Michelin ratings, Zagat reviews and ratings, and recommendations from friends. I had at least three options for each meal, depending where we were physically located in the city at any particular mealtime.
Anyway, we arrived at Balthazar at 10am and there was already a line. After waiting about 45 minutes, we were seated, crammed in between two other tables. We ordered a basket of fresh-baked pastries and breads to start, and I fell in love with their brioche. It was buttery and slightly sweet and melt-in-your-mouth wonderful. Sam had the toasted ham and gruyere sandwich, and I had the scrambled eggs in puff pastry with asparagus and wild mushrooms. We justified the calories by reminding ourselves that this counted as both breakfast AND lunch.
After seeing the Broadway show, Wicked, we walked over to Magnolia Bakery to splurge on a cupcake to tide us over until our 8pm dinner reservations. Unfortunately, it was raining, and we made the mistake of going to the one located near the Theater District instead of in the West Village. The line was around the corner, and everyone was getting soaked. The red velvet cupcake I ordered was very good, but probably not worth standing in a line for. It's hard to pass judgement on one cupcake, so I won't.
Saturday night we braved the NYC subway system and we headed from Tribeca to the Lincoln Center area and ate dinner at Bar Boulud with some good friends of ours who happened to be in New York the same weekend we were. According to the reviews I read, Bar Boulud is known for its charcuterie. Two of us decided we wanted to try the pate grand-mere (made with chicken liver and pork); Sam agreed to at least taste it. And, OH my goodness. It was great. We ate it on toast, topped with a bit of grainy mustard. I'm now a pate convert. And because we were eating at a French restaurant, I had the coq au vin - one of the classics. It also was simply delicious.
Because I know people (well, I know one person - a very important mixologist who also happens to be a dear friend from high school), we were able to skip the line at Little Branch and spend an hour or so having drinks in the dark, underground bar. The drinks were good. Very good. And the experience was very New York - or what I imagined an authentic New York experience to be.
Although we had every intention of searching out the most perfect New York bagel, we slept in on Sunday morning (courtesy of the Little Branch experience). We didn't make it out for breakfast, but did wake up and get moving in time to eat lunch. So, instead of bagels, we sought out pizza. Real New York pizza. We were directed by friends - and by the bellmen at our hotel - that we needed to eat at Lombardi's.
So, we did. It was pretty darn good pizza. And it should be - they've been doing it for over 100 years. As you can see from the picture, there were mushrooms and sausage on my half; Sam went with just sausage.
Sunday evening we ate at Scarpetta. I debated between Scarpetta and another Italian restaurant, ultimately choosing Scarpetta because of it's location in Chelsea. I had the creamy polenta with fricassee of mushrooms and Sam had the braised short ribs. We could have stopped there, because we were in heaven at that point. For a second course, we shared the tomato basil spaghetti (which lived up to it's reputation). For the last course, I had the duck breast - and I'm now a believer in duck. It was rich and moist and simply wonderful.
Except for the cooked carrots. I didn't like those. Yes, I tried them -- still hoping I'll change my mind one day -- but they were just as yucky as any cooked carrot I've ever tried in my life. Sam liked them.
And that was it. Our last meal in the city was a quick bagel near Central Park on Monday morning before our flight. We tried to eat everything in sight, but we didn't succeed. I still have a list of restaurants on my must-eat-at list. At least five or six trips worth of restaurants. I'm already trying to figure out when I can get Sam back up there. I believe the city has us both hooked.
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