Immaculate Infatuation

Insert joke at the expense of Murray Hill…here. It’s so easy to tee up on a restaurant in this neighborhood that we almost feel bad doing it. That is until we see people all over the internet calling Cask Bar + Kitchen an “oasis” in the Murray Hill food desert. Allow us to set the record straight. There are all of three places you should be eating in this vicinity: Penelope, 2nd Avenue Deli, and Lamazou. A meal at Cask is hardly any different that what you’ll find at Vertigo, Tonic East, or any of the other area bars that serve food for the sole purpose of sobering up the idiots. Philly cheese steak spring rolls should pretty much tell the story.

If however, you are just in the ‘hood looking for a drink, Cask will do just fine. They have a good selection of beers, and are probably the only bar within three blocks that doesn’t have a weekly Jagermeister promotion. The downstairs Cellar Bar is also a great option for a birthday or a private party…we would just recommend setting up a dinner somewhere else first.

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Amidst a near hurricane a few weeks back, we needed a restaurant in a pinch – something within walking distance from a 30th birthday venue in the West Village. We wound up at Home Restaurant, which turned out to be an unfortunate move. You can’t make the right call all the time, and while we don’t necessarily enjoy trashing a place, we don’t want you making the same mistake we did. This was bland, unimpressive, and expensive eating and what’s worse – it’s a “critics’ pick” in NY Mag. We still can’t figure what these “critics” are basing their “picks” on (also see Accademia Di Vino). Luckily, you’ve got us for that now.

We really wanted to like this place. The vibe reminded us of a West Village version of Infatuation favorite Tree – a cozy neighborhood bistro complete with a little garden in the back. We really did like the space, and it’s unfortunate that the food and service incited wrath inside of us. Things actually started off strong. A plate of chocolate chip cookies greets you upon entry, and you know how we feel about our cookies. But, it was all downhill from there. The service is slow and apathetic for no reason, and the food was just downright bad. Now we understand why their main claim to fame is homemade ketchup. With so many good restaurants in that area, we’re surprised that Home has managed to stay open for ten years. I guess that’s what that “critic’s pick” buys you.

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As you may have noticed in our original review, we liked the food at Irving Mill, and it was a great place to grab some grub and a beer in a chilled out country home atmosphere. But when Chef Ryan Skeen left for Allen & Delancey (where he was recently fired via email after a Twitter outburst), Irving Mill decided to start throwing a nightly college rager like the ‘rents went out of town on prom night: red ropes, a doorman, long lines, bud light with lime, pink popped collars, and “I Gotta Feeling” on repeat.

The Monday burger special is still very popular, and the kitchen seems to still be turning out reasonable food – but management has decided that the best way to keep the doors open is to set up bottle service and pay some punk kid to “DJ” from his MacBook three nights a week. This is great news for every “Junior Executive” at JP Morgan with a $500 credit limit on his Discover card, but for the rest of us, it’s essentially the worst thing to happen to the neighborhood since the Wu Tang Clan played a reunion show at Irving Plaza.

So, what was once an Infatuation approved restaurant now has a listing on Club Planet and is a late night destination for every $40,000 millionaire in the Tri-State area. We’re going to steer clear no matter the time of day. Then again, if you’re looking for New York City’s hottest foam party, check their website for details. We’re betting they do a brisk business with the T.G.I. Friday’s crowd once it opens down the street. That is, if it can survive. Our money says this place is closed down and boarded up by March 1st.

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Maybe it’s all the high end boutiques and really cool people, but this neighborhood seems to be home to a lot of really nice things that, when you get down to it, actually suck. There are really nice little shops that only sell $400 button down shirts, beautiful streets that often smell like you’re taking a ride in a pee filled subway elevator, and a few pleasant looking restaurants that happen to be a big bummer. In that category, go ahead and file Brinkley’s, Travertine, and now Jo’s.

Jo’s is an aesthetically pleasing little establishment. It’s got the exposed brick, antique mirrors, chalkboards for specials – everything on the build-a-bistro checklist. The service is usually pretty good, in the sense that everyone is congenial, but it’s lacking that professional touch. The food is, at best, inconsistent, and we’ve had a few particularly bad experiences. A recent Sunday evening visit was a special kind of disaster. We dined at a normal dinner hour (7:00pm), but we must have caught the kitchen staff in the middle of a Boggle tournament or something. No food made it our way for nearly thirty minutes, (not even bread), and the table sat idle for inordinately long periods of time between courses. Once the entrees finally arrived, the two of us that ordered the special, a gumbo that tasted like burnt flour mixed with glue, sent it back, and were then served some kind of butternut squash soup that also sucked. Yikes. At the end of the day, a few decent dinner menu options and a serviceable brunch save Jo’s from a “Wasting Your Time and Money” tag, but really, this place is best saved for a cocktail or two.

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We’re not fooled, DBGB. It’s pretty apparent what’s going on here. Someone, maybe even Daniel Boulud himself, rolled into Spitzer’s Corner a few months back and thought, “This is a great idea. How can I screw it up?”

If that doesn’t quite paint the picture in your mind, allow me to elaborate. Imagine Restoration Hardware served food, and someone was handing out flyers all over the Upper East Side promoting this hot new furniture store/restaurant downtown where you can bring your second wife after she gets sick of Per Se. Lots of midlife crises on display in this buzzy new Bowery restaurant.

DBGB is definitely an attempt at the gastro pub model – a few burgers on the menu, twenty-some-odd beers on tap, and some fancy things with duck egg thrown in so you don’t forget who’s running the place. The beers are all micro-brews from around the world – again, very “gastro pub”, but few are good, and even fewer are reasonably priced. The menu is way too big, and the food was a huge letdown. So much so, that we didn’t manage to finish a single dish we ordered … not even the desserts they comped us as penance for the entrees showing up just minutes after the appetizers. There must have been twelve waiters assigned to our table, and I’m not sure there was one moment of peace without some asshole wiping down the table, re-folding a napkin, or erroneously delivering a third order of fries. What’s that? There is a great beer I have to try that tastes like coffee? Get out of my face, I am trying to eat a tiny crab cake.

I’ll walk you through it in the food rundown, but the only way I can explain all the rave reviews for DBGB is that by the time you actually sit, you’ve likely had five pints of beer with the equivalent alcohol percentage of jungle juice. After that, sure, the fourteen dollar asparagus and duck egg appetizer probably seems edible.

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