“Frankly, when I was single, I’d get dates with this dish,” chef Scott Conant once told me about his signature $24 spaghetti. (Read the full article, “Tomato King Scott Conant Resurrects Roman Regime,” in the Observer here.) Conant’s flagship restaurant Scarpetta turns five this week. During our chat, Conant also dished up what Grub Street later described as the “most detailed look yet into the mechanics of Conant’s signature spaghetti.” Herewith, the skinny on Conant’s special sauce, in the chef’s own words: Continue reading “Scarpetta, Home of Scott Conant’s $24 Lady-Killer Spaghetti, Turns Five”
For bar food, it didn’t suck. Lounge 47, my favorite place in the neighborhood for a plate of wasabi deviled eggs and a lip-biting good bloody Mary, among other savory things, shuttered its doors with a raucous goodbye party on Jan. 15. Among the many toasts that bleary-eyed evening, the entire room raised its collective middle finger in the direction of the lounge’s next-door neighbor, whose longstanding and litigious spat with management over noise and other alleged nuisances ultimately resulted in the court-ordered closure of the joint’s best asset, its airy backyard garden. With revenue down and rent rising, the lounge’s owners decided to call it quits. Some scattered staffers still work in the neighborhood, though the storefront remains empty. Continue reading “R.I.P. Lounge 47 (2004 – 2013) : A Casualty of the War on Noise”
With the future of iconic Central Park restaurant Tavern on the Green very much in doubt, the missus and I head over for one last meal in the famous Crystal Room. It’s the same spot where the wife was seated nearly 17 years earlier, a doe-eyed teenager from Ohio, dining with her grandparents, on her first trip to New York. The place remained very much the way she remembered it, overwhelmingly ornate and still bustling with wide-eyed youngsters and their wiser elders from out of town. It just looked older. Much older. “It reminds me of Mrs. Havisham in Great Expectations, the grande dame who’s seen better days,” my perceptive spouse said, noting the fraying pink tablecloth covering our sloppily bussed table, which was strewn with stray bread crumbs and specs of black pepper. “It seems a little worn around the edges.”
Read my full story at NYO.
“How do restaurants survive in this economy? Who knows? I don’t. And nor does anyone who says they do. Ultimately, I think one does what one’s always done. In my case, it’s stabbing people in the back and sleeping with my friends’ wives.”–Restaurateur Keith McNally
Read my full Q&A with the eccentric Balthazar boss here: “Do Not Send Back This Man’s Soup” (NYO)
On the eve of shutting down his self-described “intellectual dive bar,” Passerby, bartender and author Toby Cecchini reflected on the location’s unique character: “I got a call from a bartender on a Tuesday night, which is a relatively quiet night, and he’s like, ‘Dude, you’ve got to come down here.’ There was water just pouring out of the hallway. Someone had categorically smashed to pieces both toilets in both bathrooms with a ball-peen hammer or something. … I think about this when I see that Audrey Sanders has, like, carved wooden sinks at Pegu Club and whatnot. In my bar, someone would take a chain saw to them in, like, 13 seconds.” Read my full interview with Toby Cecchini, wherein the former Odeon suds-slinger clarifies his claim to the title of “Cosmopolitan” creator. [NYO] Continue reading “Provincialism Dooms Cosmopolitan Inventor”