All You Can (m)Eat

It’s less of a burger and more a study in meat, really. Once you add braised short rib and foie gras into the mixture, it’s difficult to call ground sirloin on a bun a hamburger, which typically conjures up images of the all-American, Joe Six Pack, rootin’ tootin’ good ol’ U.S. of A. meat sandwich.

It is certainly not that, but then again when has Daniel Boulud ever looked for anything that simple? His food has always been outstanding, from Daniel (which earned the coveted 4-star rating from the New York Times in January of this year), to DGBG, which just opened to quite impressive reviews, to his 8 other internationally acclaimed restaurants.

So, while it is not your typical hamburger, it is most definitely a wonderfully rich and delicious study in meat. Beginning with ground sirloin—a great choice because it is relatively lean but with enough marbled fat to make it juicy—the patty is then stuffed with braised short ribs and served with a dollop of foie gras in the middle. The texture of the sirloin perfectly contrasts with the stringy braised short ribs, and the two flavors—tender and savory ribs packed into a denser and juicier shell of ground sirloin—come together perfectly. The dollop of foie gras adds a bit of muted creaminess, which intensifies the flavor combination. Served on a parmesan bun, which doesn’t do much to rein in 5 inch tall inside, the burger is a modern meat marvel. It may be richer than the Astor’s, but it is definitely worth it. (At $32 you may be wondering why, but just go and eat it and you won’t be wondering anymore. Though I didn’t try it, there is an option to add either 10 or 20 grams of shaved black truffle. It significantly adds to the price, though, and the already expensive burger goes up to either $75 or $150, depending on the amount of truffles you add.)

The ambiance in db Bistro Moderne is also quite low key, but retains a quiet elegance that lets you know that you’re in a nice restaurant without overdoing it. They have dialed down their presumption and dialed up their attention to detail, which makes for a very pleasant and easy-going dining experience.

Even though it’s not an everyday burger, it is most definitely an extraordinary take on a classic American favorite, and one that every meat-lover should try immediately.

So, make really elaborate meat sandwiches with foie gras and braised short ribs (and black truffles if you feel so inclined), not war.

And now, to bed.

Babbo or Bust?

Maybe it was rigmarole of getting a reservation: our first available table is exactly one month from today, here’s your reservation code, sorry our day-manager made a mistake and you actually can’t have your original reservation, here’s another one, you wanted one before 11?, sorry we can only do 5:15. (Actually I was lucky and scored a Saturday at 8, but the first four steps were actually like that…)
But we finally got to Babbo at 8:10 on Saturday night not knowing what to expect but very excited about pork bellies and beef cheeks and goose livers, oh my, and were directed to a table in the back. I’d read and heard magnificent things about Babbo: the pasta is so original, no one has done anything quite like this with Italian food before, the prices are very reasonable, the service is impeccable. Some of those things were true, but the question of whether or not it would be worth a month’s wait was still very much up in the air.
The space was beautifully decorated—high ceilings, nicely spaced tables, and a beautiful second floor dining room with a large glass skylight in the middle of the room. More than just an impressive dining room, though, the service is involved in an intricate dance with one another and with their customers; within the first five minutes we had three people come to our table to take a wine order or make sure we were okay with out or bring us water. They have their timing down nicely, although it can be a bit overwhelming to be approached by four different people when you haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the menu yet. Before we’d gotten a chance to order our wine, we were brought an amuse bouche, “compliments of the chef.” It was a warm curried chickpea spread on top of toast, and it was fine. There was a hint of sweetness to the chickpeas, they were a bit firmer than usual, so complimented the crispy toast nicely. But the whole thing was a bit bland, and unimpressive. Not a great start, but we were both willing to put it aside because our waitress was very nice and seemed surprisingly down to earth, grounded in reality and aware that, as two 21-year-olds, we needed a different kind of service than the typical patron.
The appetizer we ordered—grilled octopus with spicy limoncello vinaigrette—was also quite tasty. It was cooked well, so it was tender and not chewy or tough as it can easily get, and the vinaigrette cut the somewhat creamy flavor of the octopus with a nice tang and touch of hotness. Then came the pasta course, which was by far the stand out portion of the meal. I had the beef cheek ravioli with crushed goose liver and black truffles, which was not only a fabulous blend of flavors but also so strikingly original that it begged the question of exactly how these ingredients were put together. Bridget had a squid ink spaghetti with rock shrimp, spicy salami calabrese and green chiles, which was also delicious. While I’ve never had rock shrimp before, it is easy to tell why it is a nicer compliment to a pasta dish like this one: the taste is much smoother and you don’t run the risk of having that chalky texture that can significantly bring down any dish, especially pasta. The pairing of the shrimp with the salami and green chiles was perfectly balanced, and left room for all the flavors to develop without overpowering each other.
So, all told, the actual food portion of the meal was great, and very reasonably priced. (For an appetizer, 2 main courses and a bottle of wine the total was only $100.) It was the whole production surrounding the experience that left a somewhat flat taste in my mouth. If this were still a neighborhood ristorante and enoteca as it touts itself, then I would wholeheartedly suggest a trip there. But it’s become so much more than that since it first opened in 1998 that I think it may have actually lost some of its luster. It is no longer a friendly Italian restaurant where you can taste really good food in a comfortable friendly, but a hyped up eatery that screams that you are sitting some place ultra chic and hip. So, while it is certainly worth the money, it may not actually be worth the wait.

Still, you should probably make beef cheek ravioli with crushed goose livers, not war.
And now, to bed.

The Great Chile Fiesta of '09

The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens aren’t nice to walk around in when it’s raining, but the Chile Pepper Fiesta was happening rain or shine, so I didn’t really have any choice in the matter. It’s been six years since the last time I was at the gardens, and I’ve never been to a Chile Pepper Fiesta (or any other event surrounding the chile pepper, for that matter), so I had no idea what to expect. What I didn’t expect was Rogue Brewery Chipotle Ale, or Kumquat Cookery’s chocolate-chili cupcakes or chocolate-chili brownies from Mari’s New York. But I was very pleasantly surprised by all three.

The first stop I made was the Rogue Brewery table, which had the longest line of any. Unfortunately I got there too late to try the chocolate stout, but figuring that it was only 2 o’clock and I didn’t need an entire meal in liquid form, I decided to just get the Chipotle Ale. At first it tasted more or less like the Dead Guy Ale, made by the same brewer. It had a full-bodied, sweet flavor, but with a crisp taste that took away some of the heaviness. The real kick, though, came at the end, when the smokiness of the chipotle hit the back of the tongue, and gave it a spicy, almost cinnamon flavor. I was sold: usually I could take or leave an ale, preferring something a bit lighter in color and flavor, but the extra smoky kick at the end set this apart from other ales, and the hoppy sweetness complimented it perfectly.

Feeling quite contented as I strolled around on the wet grass, craning my neck to fit under my friend Ansley’s umbrella, we set off to see what other interesting flavors this chili pepper extravaganza held in store. Directly across from the Rogue Brewery tent was a mini-cupcake table where representatives of the Kumquat Cookery were sampling their chocolate-chili concoctions. As I am a bit of a sample maniac—I will try almost anything as long as it’s cut into small pieces and free—I was drawn to their table like a moth to a flame. (Actually the metaphor is quite apt: had I eaten enough of these delicious cupcakes I could have died just like the poor moth in the fire…) In any event I’m glad I was drawn to it, because the cupcakes were very unique: they were surprisingly fluffy and the tanginess of the chili brought out the savory flavor in the chocolate, which doesn’t happen often e. What brought it all together, though, was the chocolate icing, which was creamy without being heavy and added a layer of sweetness without overpowering the balance of savory chocolate and tangy chili.

At this point it was raining somewhat torrentially, but far be it from Ansley and I to be deterred by a little bit of rain, so we headed over to the next chocolate stand, which happened to be Mari’s Chocolate. Apparently Mari specializes in brownies, and, after tasting her brownies I’m thinking that we need more brownie-ologists in the world. Only someone who has spent a long time thinking about how to make them could have put heat so effectively into such a small square of brownie. About one-inch by one-inch by one-inch, the little cubes were the perfect amount of fudge to cake ratio: dense without being too heavy, moist without being too greasy and chocolaty enough without being too fudgy. Their only downfall was their price; $5 for two small cubes of brownie is too much, even if they are “artisanal brownies” sold at Barney’s and Bergdorf Goodman’s. I tried the “heat” and “caramel sea salt” versions, which were both delicious. Both accompaniments, ancho and chipotle peppers (for the heat ones) and sea salt (for the caramel-sea salt ones), gave distinctly different flavors to the chocolate, which made for an interesting comparison between then two.

As we slid away from Mari’s table, wrapped in a cloud of beer and chocolate and pepper induced calmness, we decided that it was raining a bit too hard, and we were a bit too full, to take any more advantage of the Great Chile Pepper Fiesta of ’09. We walked happily back through the rain to the subway, and rode back uptown, the blunted smokiness of chipotle and ancho and cayenne still lingering on the back of our tongues.

So, make chili-chocolate brownies or cupcakes or beer, not war.

And now, to bed.