As a true cheese-a-phob (that’s right people, aside from cheese on pizza and the occasional mild cheese sauce, I avoid the stuff like the plague), you can imagine my reaction to the suggestion of eating anywhere related to Artisanal, the Mecca of all things cheese. However, after some arm twisting, I found myself walking into its grand, high ceilinged, chandeliered sister restaurant, Bar Artisanal. Imagine my surprise to find that while it stays true to its namesake with an extensive selection of cheeses, Bar Artisanal offers an expansive variety of non-cheese options as well. So much so, that it took me multiple visits to taste enough of the non-fromage items to write a well rounded review. Both the food and the service can be hit or miss, but the good outweigh the bad at this small plates French bistro. I look forward to my next visit.
Amidst an incredibly fast moving New York City restaurant scene, Le Colonial feels old. It’s a well established Midtown East mainstay, but just the fact that you’re on this site right now has us betting that you don’t know much about it. This is the kind of place that people find out about from their 2004 hard copy of Zagat, not the internet. I’ve never seen the actual Zagat entry (didn’t want to spend the $14 for Yelp on paper), but I can pretty much guess how it goes. “Delicious food” in a “colonial French/Vietnamese setting” with “friendly service” and “a hip and sexy upstairs lounge”. Sexy upstairs lounge you say? Tell the babysitter we’re going to be home late.
So why did we end up spending valuable time and hard earned money evaluating a place nobody is talking about? An expert. A friend of ours who was born in Saigon and raised in Cali had heard great things and been aching to stack it up against mom’s cooking. We jumped at the opportunity to bear witness to proper judgement, and came away with the following conclusion: Le Colonial is legit. Yes it’s expensive, and yes it feels a little stuffy. But the food is delicious, (mostly) authentic, and the service is great. So now that you’ve heard about it here, go eat at Le Colonial and help it get some cool back. We’re sure they would appreciate it.
I usually have a keen sense for the exact moment when something is going to take a turn for the worse. Just like any time a big name rapper appears in the opening credits to a blockbuster action film, sometimes you just know things are about to suck. I found myself confronted with exactly such a moment when I made my recent trip to Fatty Crab in the West Village. I rolled in with a party of six, and was initially told my table would be ready in ten minutes. Twenty passed, and then came the “wait, Common is in this?” moment. The host explained that the table of two he was expecting to leave just ordered an extra vegetable and some beers. At this point, I had to be at a show in forty minutes and had no choice but to wait it out or head to the Highline hungry. I chose the former, and waited for my table, now convinced that my rushed dinner would be a huge disappointment. Luckily, I was wrong. Once we finally sat, our waitress hit the ground hustling and made sure we not only got out of there in time, but also had a killer meal. Fatty Crab is not for everyone. The food is Malaysian, and the flavors aggressive. However, if that sounds like your style, you are in serious business. The chili crab is fantastic, and the watermelon pickle and crispy pork salad belongs in the pork dish hall of fame. I did happen to be with a friend who travels to the region often, and he made it clear that while Fatty Crab is good, there are other authentic joints in Manhattan that do excellent Malaysian food for a fraction of the price … sounds like we’ve got some research to do.
We have reviewed plenty of restaurants on the Lower East side for this site, but Bacaro is really low and really east – in a part of town that’s too dirty even for most of the cool kids (which means it’s cool). Though the food at Bacaro is pretty good, it’s the kind of place you come to for the atmosphere. There is a small upstairs bar with tables, but under no circumstances should you pass up an opportunity to eat in the downstairs basement, or what I like to call the “Dungeon of Romance”. Exposed brick, crystal chandeliers, one large white candle on each table … if you can actually manage to get a date to come to this part of Manhattan, at least know you’re probably going to close the deal. The menu is technically small plate Italian, but the plates aren’t really all that small. About four dishes for a table of two is a good approach. Anything with a vegetable is a solid choice, but the pastas are hit and miss. It’s also worth noting that Bacaro doesn’t take reservations, which can make it a risky destination for an early in the game date. If the wait is long, you can hang at the upstairs bar and have a drink, but it’s small. Then again, you can always go take a walk. Nothing says love like watching a guy in Chinatown skin a chicken.
Respect. We’ve got a lot of it for Old Town, a straight forward burgers, beer, and whisky kind of place. Over a century of Big Apple history lies within these walls, saturated into their prohibition-era marble bar and stained all over their vintage urinals and toilets. Old Town’s no frills formula has been working for generations. It’s all about the company you keep and beer you drink. It worked back when my grandfather used to come here for a game of checkers. It worked when my father used to come here with his law school buddies, and it works now when I want to grab a low key burger and beer with friends. Old Town is a true throwback. One of the few old-New York bar/restaurants that still exists in its original form from the 1800′s, unfazed by NYC’s always changing trends and fads.
Old Town sports a full menu of salads and sandwiches, all of which I’m sure are relatively tasty in their own right. I wouldn’t know though, because I come here for one reason and one reason only: burgers. Stick with what they do best and you’ll be just fine.
