From Hunger: A *fictional* Restaurant Review Column

[novella]

From Hunger: A Restaurant Review

A note on this column: Just because I'm not an old bag and I don't like certain disgusting types of smelly or slimey food does not mean I can't write a goddamn restaurant review, okay? I figure lots of people like me are out looking for food. Besides, I have a big family, and if I am "the reviewer" I get to taste everyone's. Unless it's gross. Write back to me here and let me know if I steered you right: FromHungerGirl@TBF.



Column One:
Alberto’s

There was no food in the house except American cheese and English muffins, so we piled into the bomber and drove over to Alberto’s. Though we didn’t have a reservation, they found us a table because it was a Wednesday and not too busy. They can be stuffy in that regard on a weekend, but dad is a heavy tipper, so they were like, “Here you go, sir.” There were a ton of familiar faces in there, so I was just praying that it would be a smooth night. We got a table where most of the people around us were not that familiar with our family, so that was good.

The waiter “presented” us with menus like they were Moses’s scroll and then scurried off to get the drinks, in our case a large gin, a couple vodkas, a few beers, and a bottle of 1982 Barolo that my sister spotted on the wine list. Okay. The drinks were “up to snuff”, so we got another round and ordered some starters, including a load of fried seafood and salami and stuff like that for the middle. My father got some raw clams, which we were dreading to watch, and naturally my sister snagged the truffle “yucky”, which is like a potato-pasta deal that costs an arm and leg. Whatever.

It was true about the clams and not a pretty sight. We got another round and some “vino” for the table. The apps were basically smooth, no problems, except for the clam incident.
When the mains came, we were pretty loose. Dad had this dish that involved a sidetable with a bucketload of seafood that you “download” into your plate, which was like the clam incident magnified about a hundred times, with all these shells and stuff flying and a whole toolbelt to eat it with. I’m just glad it didn’t come with corn on the cob.

Two people got the fettucine alfredo, no complaints there, though the smell can get to you. I have to say that the veal marsala was tasty, though I had trouble getting more than a few forkloads off my brother’s plate, even though I’m “the reviewer.” I myself got the lobster, which my sister was miffed about because she was going to get that, so she “special ordered” this crepe dish involving crabs and brandy that they set on fire just to show off. No doubt that time she was “the winner,” as some people like to say. We’re not big on vegetables, so they were basically decoration, but looked really good.

For dessert we had drinks, including sambuca and Frangelico and a large gin, except for my sister who also got the Tartufo, which is not even on the menu, like she’s Frank Sinatra, right? Dad was reasonably subdued, so the were no “uproars,” and all in all it was a smooth outing.

Total: $917.54, including a whopper tip, which is no bargain, but, as dad says, you’ve got to take care of those guys.

 

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From Hunger II. Snuggles

Column Two
Snug Harbor: Shack of Meat Pleasures

Okay, so my party and I were really hungry and called over to Snug for a table. They said they were full. When I said who we were, as my dad used to be acquainted with the owner like 30 years ago, they said, come on, right now, we can fit you in. So the six of us guzzled our drinks and headed down there.

Snug has a “wooden shack” look, to remind you of something on a dock. When you enter, it’s very dark, but somehow there is a lightbulb in your eyes. When you are talking it gleams up into your face off the tables because they prefer to have no table cloths, for “casual” reasons. So much for décor.

When you first sit down, you want a drink, but no. First, a busboy, who my sister knows better than she will admit, cleans the table with Windex and a rag, which really can affect your tastebuds for up to half an hour. Finally, a waitress brings menus, wiping them a little if they are dirty, and takes your “drink order.” In our case, a large gin, two large vodkas, couple beers, and a mixie such as a Cuervo marguerita on the rocks for my sister who never hesitates with top shelf. They come some time later and are pretty strong. No complaints there. We get another round and are loosening up nicely.

Finally, we order. Couple regular salads, a stuffed shrimp, mozzarella sticks, a crab cake for my sister, who unless it is weird likes to get the most expensive thing on the menu. We get another round to pass the time. Snug is looking pretty empty by then, cause they take their time, and there are no waitresses in sight. Then, when my dad is ready for the food, as there is still not a waitress, he hollers “Where’s the goddamn food?” That sure wakes things up back there, and soon we are happily esconced in our apps.

I tasted everything, reaching my fork delicately into the nestled plates of others. The crab cake, with its sparkling tartar sauce with jewels of pickles, was the most interesting, which made someone think that my sister was “the winner.” The salads were regular, nothing to write home about, served in those little wooden-looking bowls with a dollop of salad dressing. But a warning flag went up on the mozzarella sticks, which had already lost their ability to stretch by the time I ate one. The stuffed shrimp was unknowable in its ingredients, and I don’t want to say it tasted bad but it didn’t suit me.

Next we got our mains, though dad retained his salad for balance. Most of us got the meat, in one case a T-bone, and in two cases the strip, which were plain and juicy, with a meaty taste. Snug knows how to hang it, dad says, so it is just as good as Manhattan. I got the filet, which was on a broiler plate and would have been gross if it didn’t have all that butter. Parsley was laid on the side. There might have been a vegetable, but I doubt it. My sister got the lobster for obvious reasons. She also had lots of butter to wash it down with.

As for dessert, we never have dessert at Snug, and instead opted for a postprandial libation. The Grand Marnier was authentic and served in a clean snifter, which drives my father up the wall. His nose, which is on the large side, makes those snifters “a pain in the ass.” Two of the celebrants got Sambuca, another person got a beer to round it all off. My sister got a double Remy Martin VSOP for obvious reasons.

My dad called over the owner to say that everything was fine, except that the food took too goddamn long to come and he was drinking his fool head off. The guy is used to dad, fortunately, and was like, “Okay, okay.”

Total for dinner and drinks: $619.23, which is no bargain, but that meat is really as good as anywhere.

 

[bobbyburns]

I approve of your use of the word "postprandial".

 

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From Hunger III: Porkies, the Final Chapter

Review
Niederstein’s: Porkies, the Final Chapter

Usually we go to Niederstein’s after a funeral, cause it’s right next to about 18 cemetaries, but we decided to go there last Sunday even though nobody had died. We had my grandmother with us, and she feels comfortable in those types of joints. Obviously a lot of people in there are coming from the graves, so that lends a certain pallor. Actually, the restaurant is like a funeral home in many ways, with very quiet waiters, thick carpets, and really clean bathrooms.

There were 8 of us, and we got a big round table next to the dance floor, where a couple of old guys were pushing the wife around. It must be rough having to go backwards the whole time, but I guess those ladies are used to it. That was fun to watch, until my younger brother, who’s a bit of a dickhead, started flicking crushed ice under their feet and one of the old guys was about to come over. My dad goes, I’ll sit on you, and we took a look at the menus.

The main thing about Niederstein’s is they give you way too much food. Look around that place. Everyone there is huge.

My other brother always gets the pork trifecta, which is so much meat it can hardly fit on the plate. He’s a pig. I got a wiener schnitzel, because I know what I’m getting with that, but my sister got the jaeger schnitzel, which comes with an egg on top. She regretted that immediately. I knew she forgot about the egg, the way she was kind of trying to move it off the meat slab. That is such overkill anyway. Who would put an egg on meat? My dad got a huge amount of sausages and kraut, and I started wondering when he would regret that, which predictably happened when we were halfway home. He started putting his hand on his stomach going, “Mmmm huh.”

Everyone else got plateloads of meat and mashed potatoes and those little dishes of red cabbage. I didn’t really taste anyone else’s stuff because it’s German food, and you know what that’s going to taste like. Not a lot of guesswork there. Besides, I was full just looking at it.

The guys were drinking Weissbiers, except for dad who likes a Beefeater neat. I’m not a beer person, so I just had a coke because, frankly, with all that food, it would be dangerous to have a real drink.

Who could eat dessert after that? No one. Not even more drinks. We were like waddling to the car. Then, uh oh. My little sister spotted this enormous pyramid of afterdinner mints, the kind shaped like little pink and green pillows. Holy moly, she was practically climbing that thing, trying to shove them all in her mouth at once. She’s pretty young, so that was understandable, but then Grandma starts shoving handfuls into her purse, like no one’s going to notice. That thing was bulging. We had to wrestle her off the pile.

My father just headed for the car, like he wasn’t even with us. Wow. I don’t think the manager over there is going to forget my family for a while.

Total for dinner: $546.38, mostly because my grandmother and my brother have big-assed appetites and dad left a major inconvenience-compensation tip. He says whoever gets our table deserves a medal.

 

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From Hunger IV: Is that a hand?

From Hunger IV
Chinese Mystery Date

So a lot of my so-called fans have been saying that my tastes are not adventurous enough for this gig and they could do a lot better because I don’t concentrate on the food. You want adventurous? You got it. Here goes nothing.

The other day I don’t know what got into us, but my sister and I were down in Chinatown trying to pick up some M80s and other explosive stuff for my brother, which is a long story, and after chasing down some woman with literally a sack of firepower over her shoulder, we were done. I don’t know why, but we decided, hey let’s get some Chinese food. For one thing, I was starved and for another the whole neighborhood smelled like a Fryolater.

We looked around quite a bit, and really there is no difference from one place to another, except whether the walls are green or yellow, so we went in some place that I forget the name of. The address too. It’s like a zoo down there. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say it was about a five minute walk from the Bowery and definitely not Mott Street.

Anyway, we go in this place and they have no drinks, not even beer. Oh great. But I’m like, let’s be adventurous. The waiter took our order then went to watch some Chinese TV in the back for a while. I was about ready to bite his ass off by the time he even moved again.

Well, I don’t know what the heck we ordered, but when my sister’s bowl of stuff came, there was this tiny, real purple hand right on the top. It was amazing. There were other parts of small bodies in there, too, but nothing really measured up to that mini hand, which she waved at me for quite while. It was quite amusing and really made the whole trip worthwhile.

Mine involved a sauce and some vegetables. I stuck to the vegetable side of the menu, which though safer in some ways was not as adventurous.

After that we went to grab a drink. So, there you go.

Total for dinner: $15.65, which she paid, but I then had to get the drinks, which were north of $40 by the time we got a cab.

The Girl From Hunger

 

[novella]

From Hunger V: Buckets on the Bay

From Hunger V
Butterfingers: Disgusting, Obviously

So I had this date, right? I wasn’t that keen on going, to say the least, being that it was with Jimmy Big Family and I just couldn’t say no. It would have been too mean. He is totally harmless and pathetic and brought me a bunch of daisies. My family was cracking up in the next room. So I went. But it wasn’t like I wanted to go to a romantic restaurant or anything either.

Still, a little Italian wouldn’t have hurt. But he picks this place called Butterfingers. Isn’t that disgusting? Whoever came up with that name shouldn’t have a restaurant.

Well, JBF was trying to be all boyfriendy, but let’s face it, we were on the same beach for 20 years and I never even said Hi, so I don’t know what he was expecting. He has at least 11 brothers and sisters, maybe 12 (it was hard to get a headcount) and they all wore the same sagging yellowish-gray bathing suits every year. You can’t go out with someone after seeing that. I guess he was hoping I forgot.

But anyway, we got a good table, with a view of the bay, and he was like, get whatever you want, in this special low honeypie voice, like I was picking a friggin diamond ring out. Whatever. I got the calamari and a Caesar salad. He got clams (oh no, I’m thinking) and lobster (double oh no).

Now I know why they call it Butterfingers. It was like watching a mudslide. You just sit there looking, but you have to let it happen. So that didn’t go too well. Luckily we had a big table, so I didn’t get splashed.

As for drinks, I knew I had to maintain a fine balance between drinking enough to chill out, but not being too friendly and letting him get over. So I opted for a Manhattan, followed by a bunch of Sauvignon Blancs, which soon put me in the mood to leave. Turns out he’s a Bud man. Nuff said. Not my type.

We skipped dessert, as I said I had to get home to feed the dog.

Total for dinner: Jim B.F. wouldn’t let me see the bill, even though he knows I’m a “reviewer,” but I’m guessing he dropped a C-note.

The Girl From Hunger

 

[novella]

From Hunger VI: Brussels: Put Your Tush on a Plush Cush

From Hunger VI:
Brussels: Thrones and Old Bones

There’s this door in the East 50s that looks like the entrance to a monastery. It’s huge and wooden and has bars on the teeny window near the top. There’s no sign, but my dad had been there a few times before, so he knew it was the right joint. Inside, it was totally soundproof, like a crypt, if crypts had carpets and chandeliers.

This very Lurch-type guy dragged his wooden ass over, greeted us like it was the gates of Hell, and took my coat, which he hid somewhere. His flunky, who was a bit lighter on his feet and probably named Igor, led us into the dining chamber. There was a bunch of flowers in the middle as big as a Chevy Nova with a tree growing through the roof. Everyone looked at the door when we came in.

First thing I noticed was I was the only female wearing pants. All the ladies had these little white knees showing under little silk skirts and tiny pink suits, with little pointed shoes sticking out and piled-up blonde hair. The other thing was that everyone was about 100 years old, and the dudes were wearing monocles and cravats and stuff. Real cadavers.

The waiter pulled my chair out for me, which was lucky because I tried and it wouldn’t budge. It was a giant wooden throne with orange velvet cushions and arms shaped like tiger paws. Then the waiter spread my napkin on my lap for me. I couldn’t get my mind off that I should’ve worn a dress. And my shoes were worn down at the heels. They looked like I’d walked over the Alps in them.

This nice old couple, Mortimer and Vanessa, who love my dad for various reasons were treating for dinner. I think they feel sorry for my dad. They call him Franklin, which always throws me for a loop ‘cause everyone else calls him Beaky.

The room was so plush I almost fell asleep just looking at it. I had a Brandy Alexander, which Vanessa ordered for me. It was sort of like eggnog on steroids and packed a wallup. She also told me to get the Vichysoisse, so I did. She knows what she’s doing. That thing came in a basin of crushed ice and was sort of like melted potato ice cream of the finest kind.

Sitting there in a sweater, with my hair all over the place was pretty sucky.. I felt like sliding under the table, but old Vanessa was perfectly charming, going on about swimming and stuff. We talked about dieting and I told her I only eat Wheatena unless I go to a restaurant, and she acted like that was the best advice she ever got. But she weighs about 50 pounds, so it’s not like she needs it.

After the soup, I had sole meuniere, which had no fishy taste at all. It’s weird that fish is the one thing you don’t want to taste like what it is. I wanted to taste what my dad had, for the review and stuff. It was venison with a dark shiny sauce. But the boardinghouse reach across the table probably would’ve caused a stir, so I kept my fork to myself. I didn’t even mention to Morty and Vanessa that I was a “reviewer.” It wouldn’t be their thing. People like that don’t want to see their name in the paper, unless it’s there for a social reason.

My dad was really hitting the old Beefeater, which was okay with Morty. They were snorting it up over there. But then dad heard Nature’s Call and stood up so fast that WHAM! his throne fell backwards onto the floor. Even he was surprised. He jumped a bit and hollered at the Lurch, “Where’s the head?” which made Morty laugh out loud. We were the most boisterous thing that place ever saw, I’m sure. When dad left for the men’s room, Morty goes to me, “We love your father,” like he wanted to adopt him.

Anyway, I even had dessert--profiteroles. They were perfect. And coffee. Which was also perfect. So I highly recommend Brussels, if you can find it.

Total for dinner: I can’t even guess this one, because my menu had no prices. I would say two arms and a leg, at least. And wear a skirt, definitely.

 

[novella]

From Hunger VII
The Wharf: Doggin' It

Okay, enough of my personal. This is a real review.

The Wharf has something for everyone: hotdogs, bottled beer, boats. Plus, you can smoke out on the deck, which I don’t, so I’m not recommending that, just saying.

It’s hard to find, but when you do, it’s worth it. Park in a place where no one can crash into your car easily. When you go in, go into the back directly onto the dock, not through the bar. There’s no point going in there, unless you have business to attend to. Usually you can sit anywhere, unless it’s a weekend and there are loads of other people. In that case you will have to lurk a bit and muscle in on a party about to leave, which is not the best experience.

Get a table near the edge, so you can look down into the water and get the full effect. Also, try to get a table that is not in the district of the mean waitress with the short curly hair, though this can be tricky, as she is quite greedy and territorial. My sister unfortunately socializes there quite a bit, so she usually knows which way the wind is blowing and can snag a decent table. Stay outside, though, even if you have to wait for a table. If you go inside, you will see the bar scene, and that will detract from your appetite, definitely.

Either the meanie or the skelly bleached blonde one will give you a menu and bring out some beers, usually Heinies or Buds. Go for these. Do not, I repeat, do not bother with the mixed drinks or wine, as they will be in plastic cups and highly disappointing. Also, don’t bother with the menu too much. My advice is, start with a dog. Even two. They cook them so there’s just a little bit of burnt edge on them and the rolls are toasted. I don’t go for kraut, as it soggens the whole bubinga, but you sure can. Mustard that thing right up. One of the best meals you will have.

The fries will be a disappointment, but if you are really hungry, go ahead and get some. If you don’t eat them, someone across the table will. Another thing you could try is the “Shrimp in a Basket”, which is usually pretty alright, but you can get three dogs for the price of that, so be warned.

There’s not much else, just a view of Manhattan and some assholes on boats trying to crash into things. Don’t rush, just enjoy it. As for atmosphere, if you are not crazy about Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Charlie Daniels Band you can ask them to turn it down. But if it’s the curly haired waitress, good luck.

I can’t really say where The Wharf is, because I don’t want it to get ruined by a bunch of strangers going there, but if you find it, you certainly will enjoy it.

Total for three regular people and a kid: Between $20 and $40, depending on whether you go for the shrimp.

The Girl From Hunger

 

[novella]

From Hunger VIII: Volare: The Family Sauce

From Hunger VIII
Volare: The Family Sauce

My sister had an art opening, and we had to go (she’s a painter, believe it or not), so we got all decked out and piled in the bomber and headed down to the Village. First we were going to grab some dinner at Volare, this Italian place that's been there forever.

The weather was a godawful blizzard, and dad had to park about a mile away, which caused a lot of agony. Getting out of the car I put my new shoe, a blue patent leather Geoffrey Beene, right into this deep pile of dirty snow at the curb, which did not portend for a pleasant evening. My whole leg was wet, and then I had to walk like three blocks on ice with a wet leg while my brothers skidded around and grabbed people's elbows.

Volare is down a couple steps from the sidewalk and pitch black inside, which is fine with me. I hate lights when I’m eating. They detract from the food. In this case, they have candles and dimness, that's it.

You know Volare is Italian from the get-go. The waiters are off the boat, and the whole joint is dark red and smells like garlic. They’d set up this huge rectangular table in the middle for us, because the booths were filled with romantic couples, and there were seven of us, and not exactly a romantic group.

Immediately we got drinks, which Volare likes to serve in this huge stemware. That really gets up my dad’s nose, literally, so he got his changed to a tumbler. Mostly it was Martinis, V&Ts, that type of thing, except for my sister who is 12. She got a Michelob. Dad just looked the other way. Like I said, it’s pitch dark in there.

We went straight to the mains on account of we were already running late because nobody could find their clean clothes at home. By the time we got out the door, dad had to put his foot down, and despite the fact that he went about 60 down Second Avenue, getting all the lights, we were still going to be late.

So I got a veal marsala, my dad got a sole florentine, and my two brother got huge bowls of pasta, one with meatballs, the other without. My sister with the Mich somehow ordered a 16 oz. porter steak and a lobster tail that could’ve fed an extensive family and a dog. She didn’t know what she was doing down there. Fine. My other sisters got the chicken, out of fear. If one gets it, the other does too.

We kept going with the drinks until the food came, which took quite a while. Finally, my dad said, get some wine for the table, so we switched to that. Some time later, the table filled up with the food, which we all just looked at for a while, wondering when we could say we were done. Dad ate quite a bit of everything, as he is a long belly with wide-ranging appetites. He was like, pass it down, waving his hands like St. Joseph with the little animals. Come to me, all you extra food. I was glad to oblige, as the marsala sauce was hardening up a little. He really had his eye on that porter steak down on the far end, though. Pass it down.

We were pretty lubricated, but decided to indulge in some afterdinner drinks anyway, as it was friggin cold out and we had to walk three blocks, long blocks, not short ones. Dad settled into some anecdotes about work until we were really really late and had to hightail it.

By the time we rolled into the gallery, whoa, I was just in the mood for abstract art, as I could tell were my compatriots, which my sister didn’t seem to appreciate. We had a grand time explaining the imagery and so forth to the unknown viewers, until "the artist" started getting feisty and was going to throw something at someone. Artists are very sensitive types.

All in all, it was a swell, cultural evening.

Total for dinner: $1,048.65, which rolled off dad like water off a cat. He was definitely in a good mood.

 

[novella]

From Hunger IX: Yo Mama

From Hunger IX:
Yama: Pitfalls of the Flesh Platter

Hmmm. Don’t know if I should tell about this one. It involves a bit of embarrassment. But, after all, it is my job to help others head off food-related trouble, so I guess it’s my duty to share.

My friend called me up and said, let’s go out. I was like, sure. So we met over at Pete’s Tavern and had a drink, then she wanted to get a bite to eat. She’s always wanting to eat between drinks. She says there’s a cool place she wants to try just a couple blocks down Irving., so I go, okay.

So we walked down there to this tiny place with brightish lights and small tables and get settled into a corner. This is Yama, like “your mama,” in Japanese. It was sort of like a doctor’s waiting room, but with soy sauce and no magazines.

Anyway, my friend was all keen about it, so I said, hey why don’t you go on ahead and order for both of us. All in all, she did a pretty good job. Whatever mistakes were made I will put on my own shoulders.

First, we got some warm handwashing towels on a little tray, which are brilliant. Every restaurant should have those. I do believe in clean hands and it just made me feel great. Next we got some hot sakes. Get those. They are like a brain bath, just totally relaxing and hot and seep right around your actual brain as soon as you drink some. They definitely get you ready for the rest of the meal.

Pretty soon they brought us some salad, which was a little better than normal. This was just a filler, I’m guessing, because we didn’t really order it, but it was nice and small and not watery. One thing I won’t touch is wet lettuce.

So, by now I’m getting sucked into a false sense of security, and we’re blabbing away about whatever. Another sake later, the big-time thing comes: a platter of sushi and sashimi with decorations and things on it, like butterflies made of carrots and little buckets made of cucumber and all kinds of novelties. I wonder if Japanese kids are told not to play with their food, cause it must be mighty tempting when they stick all those little gadgets on there.

Now, if you don’t know what sushi and sashimi are, it’s uncooked fish of all sorts, mostly in bite size pieces. It looks very pretty, different colors and arranged just so. But looks aren’t everything, and to tell you the truth, I was never tempted to actually eat some until that particular night, on account of the textural possibilities. It just got into my imagination the wrong way, like biting into whale blubber. But that hot sake worked like magic to get me in the mood, so I was game.

Well, to cut straight to the part where I made my first mistake, here’s a piece of advice: the bright green blob is NOT a piece of fish. Do not eat that in one bite. That’s an important point that you will not regret knowing. It is a hot thing called wasabi. So after I did that, we had to get another lump, which the waitress was a little confused about, looking around for where it went, under the table and whatnot, as if I would hide it. Plus I had to ask for a bucketload of personal drinking water, which gave a big hint where the blob went.

Then, let’s just cut to the next embarrassment: the bright pink shreddy bits are NOT flesh, even though they look a lot like flesh. They are pickled ginger, which is sort of like sliced, candied wood. Tasty, but it’s not going to put Mallomars out of business. But don’t eat that glob all at once either. When you have to ask for more, the waitress will be very suspicious. I definitely had more than my fair share of condiments.

The rest of the platter went down like silk. So once you get over those learning humps, you’ll be fine. I tasted everything, except the little bright orange guy who looked like he’d already been somewhere. He was sending out a warning signal, but my friend gobbled him right up.

I would definitely go back, but it would be nice if they gave you a platter map, like you get in a box of chocolates, that points out which ones are rubbery or slippery or way better than you think they’re going to be. I mean, that eel should have a little gold star next to it, saying this is not gross at all, try it.

Total for dinner: $85.70, which I popped for, no complaints.

The Girl From Hunger

 

[bobbyburns]

the noodles in the pot are boilin', I tell ya.