Frank Prisinazo (Frank, Lil’ Frankies) pretty much has a monopoly over the Italian game in the East Village. Supper, his slightly more upscale Italian institution, has been mobbed since the day it opened. They don’t take reservations, but they do have a nice wine bar next door to hang at while you wait. For a cash only operation (both the restaurant and wine bar), the wine list is steep. It’s surprising that there aren’t more two- digit options. The food menu however, is packed with well executed, moderately priced Italian favorites in addition to the always changing specials (the reason we keep coming back). The seats outside on the sidewalk are nice, but we prefer this dimly lit spaghetti haunt on a freezing cold night the when oven in the middle of the room is keeping everyone warm.
Braeburn opened about a year ago, and a deluge of glowing write ups quickly followed. Curious and admittedly behind the ball on this one, we recently decided to make our first visit. The menu is all farm-to-market. Or is it farm-to-table? Or is it market-to-table? I’m not sure what the current terminology is, but the food all comes from local farms. Now, let us be clear and state that we love the local food movement. We love farms, we love farmers, we love farmer’s markets, and we love hearing that the chef killed our pork chop with his own bare hands merely hours ago. But we also love it when all that local stuff adds up to a phenomenal meal. Unfortunately in Braeburn’s case, it didn’t. The location is amazing, the room is comfortable and beautiful, and all the aesthetic details have been meticulously tended to. Unfortunately the food just isn’t going to blow your mind. Don’t get us wrong, nothing we ate was bad by any means … but nothing was great either. One of our friends at the table who works in the food industry put it perfectly: the stage is set for an amazing chef to come in and knock this place out of the park. In the meantime, throw on your TOMS and remind yourself when you eat there that you are doing a solid for some local farmers.
Permanent Brunch puts itself in a tough spot. When you only serve brunch, and it’s your namesake, we expect the best damn brunch we’ve ever eaten. On paper, everything sounds amazing. An artisanal bacon bar? Baked eggs with short rib ragu? Duck fat fingerling potatoes? Reading the menu had us slobbering like golden retrievers. Unfortunately, the food didn’t live up to expectations. Permanent Brunch shows flashes of greatness here and there, but overall, everything was small, a little flavorless, and unspectacular. It’s kind of like if you picked up a hot chick at a bar, only to take her home and discover she’s flabby, wearing a padded bra, and that her front teeth are temporary. Ladies, don’t be all overly sensitive and get offended. To put this in your perspective, it’s kind of like if you meet a hot guy at a dark bar, only to go home with him and realize he’s got a huge beer gut, hasn’t showered in weeks, and still lives in his parent’s basement. That’s the kind of let down Permanent Brunch is.
The whole situation is frustrating because Permanent Brunch is actually a great spot. The seating is a bit cramped, but the service is friendly and attentive. The subway themed photos lining the walls along side shelves filled with mason jars of grains, beans, and seeds make for a fresh, funky room with lots of personality. Most impressive is the music, a carefully selected mix of classic rock that the customer can help program. Access their wifi network on your iPhone or iPod Touch and log into their music library to request a song. We’re impressed. Too bad the food just isn’t up to snuff.
In a city where Chipotle dominates the cheap Mexican game, finding a quality and quick taco isn’t easy. I’m pretty sure there are pockets of greatness in the outer-boroughs, but as far as Manhattan is concerned, the pickings are pretty slim. Enter Pinche Taqueria, an Infatuation mainstay in Nolita (and now in NoHo as well) that comes in handy when you want to stuff your face on the cheap. At $2.50 per taco ($3.50 for fish), you can mix and match plus grab a corona for under $10. Order at the counter and eat in their small storefront or the sidewalk benches in front. Better yet, order them to the comfort of your own home and experience one of the fastest delivery operations around. Just don’t order delivery online as encouraged on their website. You may never see your food.
Finding quality sports bars in NYC isn’t easy, especially when you don’t run in the backwards/upside down visor wearing crowd that thinks Brother Jimmy’s is the greatest place on earth. We love our sports here at Immaculate Infatuation and hold the sports bar to the same high standards we expect from our favorite sports teams. We realize that food is not the top of the pecking order, but some solid pub grub isn’t asking too much.
Expectations are as follows: We expect flat screens, everywhere, all in HD. We expect ample seating and enough personal space in the bar area to breathe. We expect game audio during big games, not “Living on a Prayer” on full blast. We expect a just say yes attitude as opposed to just say no (Ever been to Croxley Ales? You now understand). In addition to these obvious parameters, a fun crowd (even if that crowd includes a couple Philly or Boston fans, good for shit talking), a nice selection of beers on tap and most importantly, memorable food is what we’re looking for. Hot bartenders/waitresses always a plus.
The Blue Seats thrives off their obsessive attention to detail. Cushy booths that you need to reserve ahead of time house five personal screens, perfect for following all your fantasy players on Sundays. The bar area doesn’t get overly packed and big screens consume every available inch of wall space. Their private back room and skybox make for excellent large group hangs in case any given Sunday just so happens to be a special one worth splurging for. What keeps me coming back aside from the fact that the Jets seem to fare pretty well every time I go? Magic Hat #9 on tap (thankfully, not that rare in NYC anymore) and their sesame glazed wings which are ridiculous.
Feature: Infatuation TV: P.O.S.
