Chains of Love

Financial District Baoguette

Did I love it? For Financial District Vietnamese? Yes, it's a boon.

As far as banh mi chains go, I’m probably more of a Paris Sandwich kind of girl. But I’ll take what I can get.

When I spoke to the unstoppable Michael Huynh for this Metromix year-end trend piece, he was envisioning Baoguette as the new Subway. And sure enough the new still-rough-around-the-edges storefront in the Financial District is just a few spaces over from a Subway. Five-dollar foot-longs had better watch out.

In the nearly three years I've worked way downtown pho has been high on my list of edibles missing in the neighborhood. I think I would be more jazzed if we hadn't been barraged with so much Vietnamese food this year. It is still a novelty in the Financial District, though. My only other venture to a Baoguette, the one on St. Mark’s, involved the beef soup not banh mi and it wasn’t half bad. Now that it’s brutally cold, soup seems smarter than sandwiches. But it wasn’t to be. Pho is on the menu but isn’t being served yet. They did have some prepared summer rolls in the refrigerated case, but it’s hard to get excited over them when it’s 20 degrees out.

The brown awning with an air conditioner punched through bore the Baoguette name held in place by blue tape. The long-necked lighting wasn’t having a good time either. Inside, the dry erase board on the wall was still shiny and unsullied. Same with the chalkboards above the counter. Rows of goldenrod Café du Monde coffee cans and full bottles of green-tipped Sriracha were the only design elements to be seen.

My old hard rule about $5 lunches shifted to $6 somewhere in the recent past and even that gets broken at least weekly for a Pret a Manger salad. Even those pick-a-mix salads where short little guys toss it in a plastic container for you come in around $7. It doesn’t mean I make a habit out of it, though. But hey, I had a little Christmas gift cash burning a hole in my pocket. I could spring for the $7 for a catfish sandwich just this once.

The flavors were an untraditional mishmash (honey mustard and sweet pickles?) not dissimilar to certain swampy Thai curries. I only saw a few jalapeño slices and no obvious red pools of Sriracha, but mouthfuls were hot, a dirty spicy that was compounded by the catfish’s natural earthy taste and tempered slightly by the strands of pickled red onions and sweet cucumber relish. I liked it more than I thought I would.

The catfish sandwich is akin to Num Pang's (which I never blogged about, oddly) but in some ways is preferable to me because I like a drier sandwich and this one uses honey mustard while the Cambodian one bulges with mayonnaise. It’s hard to disassociate honey mustard from chicken fingers, but the condiment wasn’t that jarring. I only recommend not trying on candy apple red lip glosses at Sephora on the corner right before biting into one of these sandwiches.

Baoguette does serve better food than the than closer-to-my-office banh mi cart and both charge $6 for the traditional Saigon sub (though I notice it’s only $5 at the Christopher St. Baoguette/Pho Sure while the catfish is $7 at both). I’ll likely return to check in on the pho at some point but as long as it’s in the 20s outside I’ll probably just walk the one block to the cart instead of the seemingly long (lots of tourist-dodging--I’ve given up on politeness and now barge through everyone’s posing in front of the Stock Exchange photos) five blocks to Maiden Lane.

Clearly, I’m not the only one who likes appropriating The New York Times' banh mi cross section photo.

Baoguette * Maiden Lane, New York, NY

Shake Shack

Did I love it? Yes, I did and plan to tackle the outdoor location now that Fall weather is creeping up and I'm becoming zen about insufferable lines.

It’s one thing to say you’ve never eaten at Masa, many haven’t, but it’s quite another to admit you’ve never been to Shake Shack. I’m line-phobic, I’m sorry. And I still haven’t braved the Madison Square Park trauma. It just happened that I was unexpectedly dispatched to the Upper West Side on a Saturday afternoon.

Try Gus and Gabriel because it’s new? Kefi, which has always sounded vaguely interesting but is just too far? I’ve already tried the uptown Fatty Crab. It had to be Shake Shack.

Now that the weather has become balmy and manageable, that brief painful humid spurt already seems like the distant past. I wouldn’t say that 90-degree, sauna-like conditions are optimal for double cheeseburgers. But all went smoothly, even during prime time, we didn’t wait more than ten minutes for food and were able to snag a table inside.

My bun literally disintegrated from the hot air trapped in the waxed wrapper combined with the heat from my hands. The tall layered sandwich began to meld into one squished mass on the end where I was holding it. Which isn’t to say that the juicy, melted mess wasn’t tasty, I just had to devour the burger faster than normal because it was falling apart before my eyes. Seasonings and any subtleties of flavor were lost, no time for pondering patties.

And because that wasn’t enough molten gooeyness, we ordered cheese fries. Once you’ve crossed the line into excess, there’s no sense in retreating. As a fan of processed, bright orange, the thick, mild real cheese sauce was a shock. A good shock, not bland in the way macaroni and cheese can be (I think I’m a rare mac & cheese hater). Now I’m ruined for Nathan’s cheese fries.

If I had any doubts as to whether Shake Shack qualified as a chain, they have been quelled. Seven new overseas branches are planned for Saudi Arabia and Dubai. Maybe they can make lamb burgers.

Shake Shack * 366 Columbus Ave., New York, NY

Yerba Buena Perry

Would Yerba Buena Perry be a mere offshoot or a bonafide chain? It’s all in the eye of the beholder and for my nefarious purposes: chain.

I’m very much not a party photographer if that isn’t painfully obvious. Besides, I don’t really get off on the blogger role during events and openings and the like—I just want to mingle and enjoy the food and drink without making the poor servers stop and hold their trays still. Not that that was even possible at the new Yerba Buena (which should open today) because the food was literally decimated before the plates made it more than a few feet out of the kitchen.

I did snag a pretty, layered pisco mojito (pisco, bitters, lime and yep, yerba buena) and moved onto wine from there (and then dark chocolatey stout at Spuyten Devil after that—not so smart for a Monday night).

Breaded fried avocado slices were a hit (El Almacen has also been doing these—anyone else?) though I finally encountered the unthinkable: something breaded and fried that completely grossed me out, which isn’t to say the dish was ill-conceived, I just happen to hate melon more than any food on the planet. Yes, they’ve coated and crisp-fried slices of watermelon. Other “Latino Fries” will include more sensible hearts of palm, yuca, plantains, jalapenos and cactus.

Cheesey manchego croquettes, arepas topped with pork and a spicy fish taco were also promising. Of course these were all nibbles. I look forward to trying something more substantial. Maybe the parrillada?

Yerba Buena Perry * 1 Perry St., New York, NY

Le Relais de Venise

Did I love it? Kind of. Despite my unfamiliarity with the chain, it exuded the soothing qualities I seek from this genre. I left feeling upbeat, not downtrodden.

Le Relais de Venise is responsible for cutting my lunk-headed attempt at banning sugar, starch and alcohol from my diet for the month of August three weeks short. I am weak in the face of golden skinny fries and inexpensive red wine. $20 bottles of drinkable Bordeaux? I caved.

Locations already exist in London, Barcelona and Paris, where the restaurant originated. I can’t put my finger on why…well, maybe the maid outfits the all-female servers wear combined with a blind Francophila (I’ll never forget the story about Japanese tourists in France being so traumatized by rude treatment they had to go into therapy) but I can see Japanese loving this place. And from what I understand the no reservations policy creates line-ups in other cities. No such thing on an early Friday evening in Midtown. This could be the result of the office-heavy location, lack of awareness or possibly because New Yorkers don’t like their steak soft and sauced.

And you will be ordering steak since that’s the only entrée on the menu. The $24 prix fixe includes a salad with a mustardy tarragon dressing and walnuts and steak frites in two portions. This quirk is intended to keep the food warm; plates are kept at side stations atop little flames. It could also induce panic to Americans accustomed to big fat slabs of meat rather than a fan of rosy protein that could fit into the palm of your hand.

I do prefer minerally beef with fatty rims and charred exterior, pale pink inside, but I can appreciate non-aged sirloin as well. I’d take this over Outback Steakhouse, you know, just for chain comparison. Oddly, medium-rare is not a choice. Degrees of doneness start at bleu, go up to rare then jump to medium (let's not talk about well). We took a chance on the medium, banking that it would be on the rare side. It was.

The sauce is butter rich, herby and possibly flavored with liver. That sounds a little odd but there was an unmistakable offal funk in the background. I actually preferred the sauce with the fries, which were perfect in their golden yet still pliable form.

Service is swift. Despite only a handful of the tables being occupied in the spacious corner restaurant, courses came quickly. Our seconds were brought before we had polished off our firsts. My barely eaten fries were topped off and made equal to James’s pile that had a deeper dent. Advice to fried potato gluttons: the more fries you initially eat, the more will be replaced.

The dessert list was surprisingly long. We opted for cheese since I was still operating under the delusion that I was detoxing (though I’ve gone soft on alcohol, bread and potatoes I do restrict my sugar) and fat is preferable to me than sweets. Comte, brie and a blue of some sort were a nice finish. For only a few bucks more you can get a glass of port with your cheese but we still had wine to carry us through.

I don’t have a good feeling about this location and the concept seemed to confuse many who walked up to the window menu with only one meal listed. But it’s definitely worth at least one try even if you’re not in the immediate neighborhood.

Le Relais de Venise * 590 Lexington Ave., New York, NY

Fatty Crab Uptown

Did I love it? More than I like to admit. Of course, it's a very un-chainy chain. I wouldn't call it un-calculated, though.

I don't know if the relatively new uptown Fatty Crab needs a new entry here, as the food is pretty much the same as at the original location. The main differences being that the UWS branch is larger and is on Open Table (an important distinction to me since I had a $20 rewards check burning a hole in my pocket and now thanks to the recession I feel less like a rube using a coupon).

But not being a mental multitasker, I feel compelled to post these photos and impressions so I can shift my thinking to from Malaysian food to spice-averse Madrid where I'll be in less than 24 hours.

I enjoy the food at Fatty Crab, always more than I expect that I will. No, it's not wholly traditional but the flavors are strong, funky and not tamed for Americans. My only quibbles are that the service is dudely, they overexplain everything (I do realize that Malaysian food isn't as familiar as Thai or Vietnamese to most New Yorkers and from my observations diners do ask lots of questions) and upsell on top of it, the pacing is random; things come out willy nilly and there can be ten-minute gaps between dishes. And, well, I would feel better if $3-$5 were shaved off the prices across the board (quality ingredients and labor intensive prep, acknowledged). Sounds like a lot of caveats, but I really like the food.

We went cross-cultural with small plates. First up the sliders: spicy, juicy, slightly fishy little meat blobs dressed with thick pickles and aioli. These were cute and packed a lot of punch into a small toasted package.

Because I am a weirdo who doesn't like hot dogs, I was wary of the Fatty Dog, but as soon as I realized it contained a house-made sausage and not a boiled wiener I was more excited. The pork sausage contains belachan, pickled garlic and XO sauce, not wiener-y at all. Combined with pickled chiles, garlic, radish, cilantro and cucumbers and spread out on a potato roll, it's more of an open-faced sandwich than finger food.

Thick and chewy hokkien noodles were so hefty they bent my wooden chopsticks. The dark sauce is sweet from kecap manis and tarted up with a bit of black vinegar. Small strips of beef, shrimp and little clams are the main ingredients, though I was impressed with the traditional addition of tiny crispy lard cubes. In Malaysia some health-minded hawkers have been moving away from using extra pork fat, and it would be a shame to omit that much needed touch here.

Kang kong, a.k.a. water spinach was appropriately shrimp pastey and chile hot. There's a lot more here than one would think. We were actually going to do without a vegetable side but our server made it sound like we'd suffer miserably if we didn't order a $9 bowl of greens.

We were totally full by the time the short rib rendang came out; I could only eat a small chunk. Both the meat and rice are saturated with coconut milk, so it was a bit rich as the final plate of food. Thankfully, the braised dish keeps well and improves with age. Combined with leftover kang kong, it was enough for a full dinner the following night. And I just happened to have some toasted coconut lying around from a Thai pomelo salad I'd made (with grapefruit from the huge unwelcome sack I've been trying use) earlier in the week to spruce the rendang up.

After cobbling together two dinners from our food on top of using the $20 voucher, I felt less reluctant to order a $12 Fatty Sour. It was a well-made cocktail, less sour and more herbal than a typical whisky sour, my drink of choice. The inclusion of Pedro Ximenez Sherry and real maraschino cherries rather than a slice of citrus, was welcome.

Fatty Crab Uptown * 2170 Broadway, New York, NY

Olive Garden

The Never Ending Pasta Bow(e)l should really have an extra E because there were some never ending bathroom trips the following day (it was probably my jungle curry lunch, but I don’t want to say anything bad about Chao Thai). Who knew? Even more disturbing is that this was my fourth visit to the Chelsea Olive Garden and I don’t even like (Italian-American) pasta. But all you can eat for $8.95 demanded investigation.

They’re very sneaky with this promotion; despite being advertised on TV continuously, there’s no signage, menu inserts or little cardboard foldovers on any of the tables. It’s all very hush hush and I’m not assertive so I started getting a little nervous. Thankfully, a dining companion who tipped me off in the first place had no qualms about piping up for cheap pasta.

Phew, paying Manhattan chain restaurant prices for mushy alfredo would be harsh (I’m still steaming how once I inexplicably spent close to $50 on a cheeseburger and two margaritas at a Times Square T.G.I. Friday’s. It’s the price you pay for suburban simulacra). I had no idea how the whole thing worked, it’s much more customizable than I’d anticipated. I figured you’d get spaghetti and a couple sauce options, but there were approximately six choices for each.

I have to admit that my linguine with smoked mozzarella and breadcrumbs was satisfying in a creamy starchy way. And I would’ve been fine with the one bowl—pasta is one of the few foodstuffs that never spurs a desire for seconds—but it’s never ending so you have to play along.

 

Penne with five cheese marina came next, and amusingly, in a bowl half the size as the first. Would the third come in a teacup, we wondered aloud. “People don’t finish their second,” we were bluntly told. I wasn’t complaining because entrée number two had no flavor, like I imagine hospital food would taste. Under-salting is one of my many cooking crimes, I never touch a shaker in restaurants, but this blob was crying out for sodium. Maybe they do it on purpose to quell appetites. Like many a diner before me, I didn’t finish my second bowl.

The upside of such a bargain (don’t forget the salad and breadsticks) is that you’ll have plenty of money left over to get sloshed on inexpensive Shiraz. (9/20/07)