NYC Restaurant Reviews | donuts4dinner.com » 2011 » September
I love this article by food writer Josh Ozersky, which I read over at EaterNY, entitled “Attn: New York Times: How to Redeem Restaurant Criticism”:
Food writing can be tough, but it’s a breeze next to restaurant reviewing. How many ways are there to say something is delicious? And how many ways can you say a steak is tender or tough? Critics don’t want to strive over such tedious tasks; they’d rather speak to the spirit of the age, make funny asides about the crowd, and position themselves as social observers with a keen and far-seeing eye. That’s why over the past few years many have used their columns to pen wry, H.L. Mencken–esque drolleries that serve nobody but their own egos. Let’s make no mistake here: the restaurant review is a service feature. Its purpose is to tell people whether they should or should not go to a place to eat there. A broad aside about the room is fine, but food is the main product a restaurant sells; that’s what the critic should be focusing on. (Service matters too, but critics rarely get to really experience it the way civilians do.) In my opinion, having fought the urge so often myself, a restaurant critic should take no cheap shots, keep his opinion of hipsters and snobs strictly to himself and stick to talking about the food. He or she needs to order a lot of things and write about all of them. Period.
Of course it’s fun for me to call out obvious prostitutes in my review of a restaurant, and terrible service can ruin an otherwise okay dinner for me, but HELL YEAH, Josh Ozersky. I spend a lot of time describing dishes so you don’t just have to rely on my version of what’s delicious and not, and I have no idea why anyone would want to read a food critic who doesn’t.
photo by The Daily Dish
I know that Niko and Chubby don’t like super-sweet desserts, so when they say something’s too sweet, I figure it’s just about right for me. I know that Dishy doesn’t eat much salt, so when she says one of her recipes is plenty flavorful without it, I have daydreams of myself emptying a whole canister of Morton’s on the plate. You know that I don’t like tomatoes, so when I say I actually enjoyed them in a dish, you know you’d like them even more.
If we were just saying “this restaurant is good” or “this restaurant sucks” in a one-paragraph summary with one picture of the decor, you’d know that we had very little interest in the food itself. And this ain’t L.A., people; we actually go to NYC restaurants to eat. So quit sucking, sucky food critics.
The Tasting Menu at Corton – French/American (New) – Tribeca
Corton wasn’t on our restaurant radar for a long time. I knew it had two Michelin stars, and I’d never heard a bad thing about it, but it took my boyfriend seeing someone else’s review before we figured out that this is exactly our kind of place. “Wacked-out modernist cuisine”, he calls it. Like wd-50 and Momofuku Ko before it, Corton’s Chef Paul Liebrandt is making familiar foods unrecognizable and unrecognizable foods fantastic.
We opted for the nine-course, $155 tasting menu, with wine pairings. Wine pairing isn’t mentioned on the menu, but sommelier Shawn Paul introduced us to some really unusual bottles and knew when to give us more extensive information on a particular grape, so I’m glad we knew to ask. (So was the couple next to us, who immediately requested the pairings, too.)
amuse bouche: turmeric cracker, potato croquette
The amuses came at us fast. Before a menu was even presented to us, these crackers and croquettes arrived on a bed of wild rice; I barely had time to get my white balance in check before Dr. Boyfriend snatched his away. The color was indicative of that spicy turmeric flavor that puts me in the mind of curry, but it was the textures that I really remember. The cracker was thick and airy like a graham cracker, and the croquette was creamy with a liquid center. I probably should’ve stolen my boyfriend’s and made s’mores out of them.
amuse bouche: black sesame financier, mornay-filled potato cracker
Presented on an invisible layer of plastic wrap, these tiny treats appeared to be floating above their metal dish. I was pretty juiced about the one that looked like a Totino’s Pizza Roll, but it was actually a very, very crisp cracker filled with a buttery cheese sauce. I honestly can’t remember anything about the taste of the financier (nutty?), but I definitely remember its pound cake texture.
amuse bouche: black bean and corn custard
Maybe I had my hopes a little too high for an amuse combining one of my very favourite flavors on Earth, corn, with its favourite Southwestern companion, the black bean, in my favourite presentation, the egg cup. I loved the idea of it, but the corn jelly at the bottom of the egg was basically unflavored. The black bean was airy like a mousse and stained our teeth wildly, so we used our champagne like mouthwash. The really enjoyable part was the corn itself, which was slightly chewy and reminded me of the excellent freeze-dried corn in a soup at The Modern.
amuse bouche: tuna
Even back when I was a major fish-hater, I was eating tuna salad, because, you know, mayo makes everything palatable. Now when I think about myself eating fish out of a can–out of a can, people–it blows my mind that I could’ve been having this instead. Raw tuna is just so beefy. And this piece in particular was just so salty. The grilled lime added brightness, not to mention a little pink-salted ambiance.
Melon: almond ‘chaud-froid‘, razor clam, melon dashi
I had no idea what chaud-froid was and found this description when I Wikipediaed it: “a meat jelly that includes cream is called a chaud-froid.” Who can resist a good creamed meat jelly, right? Apparently–and excuse me if you already know this–the name means hot-cold in French and refers to meat that’s cooked but then chilled again and glazed with aspic, or meat stock gelatin. Mmmmouth-watering.
This was the most elegant presentation, from the gold leaf to the contrasting colors to the watermelon dashi our server poured into each bowl at the table, melting the clear jelly coating the bottoms. The jelly was acidic like the watermelon but wasn’t itself flavorful. The green orbs were beautiful but puzzling; were they baby watermelons? caper berries? cucumbers? They were crunchy and not sweet, and I would eat them on everything every day. With the chewy razor clams, the crisp vegetables, the gritty melon, and the smooth, rich foie gras, it was a delight for the texturally-inclined. This was one of those dishes where the sum total was much greater than the individual parts.
Our server used a spoon to tap a layer of dried chanterelle mushroom shavings over our plates.
Blowfish: ‘gnudi’, puffed grains, girolle (golden chanterelle) powder
When we saw this blowfish, my boyfriend I gave each other the “whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” look. “Aren’t these things poisonous? Am I really going to eat a fish with its tail still on? What about the bones?” Any trepidation we had was forgotten before we were done chewing the first bite. I love Indian food, and this fish was soaked through with tandori and curry flavors. There were about two bites of meat on the thing, but I ate enough bones to round it out, and those two bites were tasty enough to make the potential for a slow, lingering poison death worth it. The leaf underneath seemed to be soaked with citrus, probably lime, and was a bright accent to the spicy fish. The octopus was just too thin to really make an impression on me, but I loved the creamy gnudi with the chive blossom.
Green Market: vegetables, herbs, lettuces
I would never ever order something described as “vegetables, herbs, lettuces”, and yet this was one of my favourite dishes of the night. Hence the joy of the tasting menu. The beet was perfectly earthy, the fennel extra salty, the yuzu a pleasant citrusy surprise. There was a crispy, thin-as-can-be eggplant chip to provide some contrasting texture, along with a “crumble” underneath it all that tasted like spicy buttered breadcrumbs. Even the tomatoes were fresh and unoffensive to me, which is really saying something; I assume it was the wonderful herbs overpowering the acidity I don’t care for.
Grilled Potato ‘Tiramisu’: lemon, garlic
The way to my heart is through savory ice creams in the middle of a meal. Unfortunately, there was approximately a thimbleful of sweet potato ice cream hidden under all of this lemon foam. I just loved the cold of the ice cream, and the foam ruined it with its room-temperature-ness. The foam, admittedly, was very exciting to a lemon-lover like me, and I was also a fan of the tiny textured cubes of what I think were scallions at the bottom of the dish. There was also a smooth olive puree to add a little bitterness.
Turbot: green crab laquet, black garlic, hibiscus, black garlic jus
If someone could explain to me what a laquet is, I’d appreciate it. Bewilderment was the general feeling surrounding this entire dish, but I’m not complaining. The confusion centered on the following:
1) What the hell is anything on this plate? 2) Why am I not eating black garlic every day of my life?
3) Is that cous-cous inside my tomato?
Whew. “Wacked-out modernist cuisine” indeed. The turbot was a nicely firm, not-fishy fish. I approve. The black garlic puree was smoky, thick, and sticky; I’m having mind-drools just thinking about it, and I barely even like garlic. The “tomato”, definitely the weirdest part, was a gelatinous tomato-flavored skin encasing what reminded me of cous-cous. Most of this dish left me absolutely befuddled, though. I liked everything, but I would finish a little log of something with a Jell-o texture and just be like, “Welp, I guess that’s that.” I’m not sure why I see this as a positive thing, but I guess I like a challenge to my know-it-all-ness.
snapper, pickled quail egg
These were the side dishes to the turbot, although we’re not sure how they were supposed to be connected to it. The snapper was super fishy and served over a puffy rice cracker. The quail egg tasted neither pickled nor even eggy; it was more like a floral, herbed spherification, which was actually preferable to me.
Squab: smoked anchovy crème, sour plum, coconut
These little birdie cylinders seemed to be wrapped in fat, but the fat wasn’t melty, and it wasn’t crisp, either. It was certainly much beefier than a chicken dish would’ve been, though, and I took a lot of joy in picking up that bone with my hands and chewing the unctuous meat off with gusto in a two-Michelin-starred restaurant. The disc of plum with the gelatinous top was both a nice flavor pairing and continued the gelatin texture theme. The log of coconut was an airy, savory foam.
On the side was a dish of consomme jelly with a center of brunoised fennel and crispy, crumbly top like the breadcrumbs in previous dishes. It was honestly more weird than delicious, but I really appreciate the work that goes into a consomme.
Caerphilly Gorwydd: tomato clafoutis, frozen black olive oil
Dr. Boyfriend and I had a nice Caerphilly at Per Se, so I was maybe a little disappointed to be served the same cheese here, but this turned out to be one of the best dishes of the night and certainly the one we still talk about most. The cheese was funky, the frozen olive oil intensely bitter. The gooseberry was sweet (is that husk edible? ’cause we ate it), and the tomato and basil combination made a marinara sauce in my mouth. But it was that tomato clafoutis that really sealed the deal. I’m under the impression that clafoudis should be sort of like a cheesecake in texture, but this was straight up cakey. It really mellowed the cheese and provided a texture contrast. The truly beautiful presentation wasn’t lost on us, either.
Fennel: blueberry tapioca, fromage blanc
Again, looking at this dish was almost more satisfying that actually eating it. The blueberry tapioca looked like individual black raspberry drupelets (I just learned that word!) but were chewy. It was surprising and delightful–my favourite part of the dish. The fennel was a major flavor player for my boyfriend, but I cared much less about the ice cream than anything else. The rice balls provided crunch, and the base of a shortbread-like cookie made it a heartier dessert. It was really a complete plate, from flavor to texture to leaving me completely satisfied even without chocolate.
chocolate, caramel, vanilla
But of course there was chocolate. And caramel. And some character written on the plate that we could only assume was Arabic for “you’ve overstayed your welcome”. This was a spongey chocolate cake, a chocolate disc that was really way too firm to be cut without ruining the rest of the dish, caramel that reminded me of the best ones from my childhood, and an intense vanilla flavor that we both loved. This was salty almost to the point of being savory, but there were plenty more sweets to follow.
mignardises
Our server came around with a tiered acrylic box full of truffles, chocolates, and French macarons. We have a history of feeling awkward and not wanting to appear gluttonous when the petit fours arrive, but this time I sucked it up and asked for one of everything. Well, I actually asked, “May I have one of everything? Is that too much?”, as if our server was actually going to say, “Hey, fatty, take it down a notch and just get two or three like a normal person.”
There was a caramel, a raspberry, and a mint chocolate, a Pimms and a Mai Tai macaron, a truffle . . . and some others. They were all wonderful, and I was glad I got one of each, because I could’ve eaten twice as many.
pate de fruits
I know pate de fruits are easy to make, but that doesn’t keep me from loving them unconditionally. They look so unassuming, but they always punch you in the face with flavor. These were grapefruit . . . and something else. Sorry, but I was really too fixated on the fact that the girl in the silver lamé dress at the neighboring table had left hers behind to commit the second flavor to memory.
I have to admit that I’m a little torn about this rating. On one hand, I have very, very little to complain about. There were a few dishes with components that were throwaways, but there were more dishes where every single ingredient seemed to matter. I really missed the pork and the beef, but there was a salad that I actually took joy in eating, and there was so much creativity all around that I probably didn’t even appreciate it all.
On the other hand, I didn’t quite feel the overwhelmed sensation I usually do at my five-donut restaurants. The desserts were absolutely spot-on as far as delivering me exactly the quality and quantity I needed, but I don’t remember many moments in the savory courses where my boyfriend had to quiet me because I was embarrassing him with all of my exclamations like he usually does. Maybe that’s a side effect of the creativity, though; if there’s not a pile of potatoes and butter, my vocal cords don’t emit the requisite yummy sounds.
It also may have something to do with the fact that the space doesn’t feel as luxurious as your Crafts and your Asiates. Nor as cool as your wd-50s and your Momofuku Kos. It’s somewhere in the middle, with an interesting flower-textured wall and an overall cave-like feel but a patch on the seat next to you and no maître d’ to greet you at the door so that you’re left feeling totally awkward as you just stop a random server to help you find your table. It’s perfect for the diner who feels intimidated by the plushness of Daniel but doesn’t want to sit at a counter and listen to indie rock while he eats, either.
I don’t mean to say anything negative, though. I think most of the food is great, the rest of it exceptional, and all of it wildly imaginative.
New York, NY 10013 (map)
How Interesterfying
I mean, nobody likes boring ingredients, but I didn’t know that my tortilla company was specifically interesterfying my soybean oil:
Freaky.
The Tasting Menu at Hearth – Italian/American (New) – East Village
It’s funny how you can ride by a restaurant on the bus every day and not notice it until its chef is a contestant on a reality TV show. Or sad, maybe. But that was the case with Hearth, which I must have seen at least 365 times but didn’t actually see until Chef Marco Canora performed spectacularly on the Food Network’s Next Iron Chef. Another of the Tom-Colicchio-trained, it’s no surprise that his food seems honest and that his ingredients speak for themselves.
Hearth is casual without being unimpressive. The waitstaff is in t-shirts and visible tattoos, but the exposed brick, polished wood, and candlelight match the mid-priced menu. We tried the seven-course tasting menu, which is full of the fresh, bright ingredients of the season and is one of the more-affordable tastings in town at $76 per person.
amuse bouche: chilled pea soup shot
Cool and starchy, with a floating topper of slightly-hardened yogurt and pea skin to add some texture. The natural sweetness of the pea, one of my favourite flavors in nature, contrasted the sourness of the yogurt.
Summer Tomato Salad: Sicilian tuna, shelling beans, celery
It’s all of my favourite ingredients in one bowl! And then a whole lot of tomato, my least-favourite ingredient ever. But I’m an adult, and I ate the skin and an eighth of an inch off of every single one of those tomatoes before making Dr. Boyfriend switch bowls with me. Aside from the tomatoes, which even I will admit were perfectly ripe, this was summer in a bowl and made me sad for the mushy, mealy produce that’s going to be showing up in stores in the coming winter months. It was simple, fresh, acidic from the sherry dressing, hearty thanks to the beans, and crunchy from the celery. Of course I’m more preferential toward land animals, but the use of the tuna felt like a very deliberate choice to keep the salad light.
grilled octopus
This items isn’t on the menu, which doesn’t surprise me, since the repetition of the beans in consecutive courses didn’t seem well thought out. Careless or not, I really loved this dish, and I say this as someone who would’ve been absolutely freaked to find edible suction cups on my plate a year ago. I always think that octopus is going to be rubbery and hard, and I always find it tender and just the right amount of chewy. It doesn’t hurt that this is grilled; I’m a sucker for charred flavor, and the grilled taste permeated the very manageable chunks of meat. The radicchio added a pleasant bitterness, and the oregano made everything a little more familiar for a landlubber like me.
Canestri alla Norma: canestrini, tomato, eggplant, ricotta salata
Eating good pasta always reminds me that I want to eat more good pasta. The pappardelle at Babbo completely changed my expectations, and although this wasn’t life-altering, it was very nice. The little baskets of pasta were the perfect chewiness, and the ricotta added just the right amount of dry, crumbly texture. The basil-laden tomato sauce was still chunky and bright, so I could’ve really used some heavy meat in place of the eggplant to add a smokiness or some richer flavors. It felt a little too simple to me for a restaurant dish, not one you’d use to impress on your tasting menu.
Roasted Scotish Salmon: freekeh, string beans, pickled garlic scape, trout roe, mint
Not to bring up another food I’m squeamish about, but up until very recently, I didn’t like cucumbers; they’re one of those half-sweet, half-savory foods, like tomatoes, that my tastebuds didn’t respond well to. But in this dish, the cucumbers were the best part! Their brightness matched the briny flavor and the freshness of the roe. This was my first time having freekeh after seeing it in an episode of “Chopped“, and I wasn’t disappointed; it added such a chewy texture and such a familiarity. The salmon made the freekeh less heavy, and the freekeh made the salmon heartier. The scapes in the freekeh reminded me of scallions, and we liked what we believe were pea shoots on top, but I unfortunately missed the mint.
Roasted Hampshire Pork Chop: Swiss Chard Gnudi, House-Smoked Bacon, Spring Onion
I’ve had a lot of crispy-skinned pork in my life, and the most interesting thing about this pork was that it wasn’t crispy-skinned. Instead, the “skin” tasted like it had been caramelized, and its sweetness was a nice compliment to the cooked onion. The pork was extra-salty, and the housemade bacon was extra-firm–both pluses in my book. The gnudi of Swiss chard was . . . well, it was too healthy for my taste. I did like it, and I did think that the chard was a nice accompaniment to the pork, but I want my gnudi to be cheesy and bad for me!
tomato ice cream
This was easily the most interesting course of the night, and I’m ashamed to say that, as a hardcore tomato-hater. It’s not my fault, though. The tomatoes were sunk into a syrup so sweet and herbaceous it was like eating a Bloody Mary ice cream float. The saving grace was that there was the perfect amount of syrup in the bowl for me to take in multiple spoonfuls after each bite to mask any raw tomato flavor. With the yogurt sorbet providing a sourness, the dish became the perfect bridge between the savory and sweet courses.
Brown-Butter Financier: blackberries, lemon verbena ice cream
I was a little preoccupied with my raspberry liqueur from the Finger Lakes and the fact that the people next to us were getting extra courses that I was dying to see, but the standout in this dessert was the chewy, sugar-dusted top of the financier. I loved how the lemon verbena ice cream was like lemon for grown-ups: bright and herby and not at all sour.
Hearth is serving solid rustic Italian-inspired food. The weirdest part about my visit is that the dishes I thought would be exceptional were really just fine–the pork, the pasta–while the dishes I thought I’d have to quietly shove into my napkin–the octopus, the tomato and ice cream–turned out to be my favourites. Although I think the individual dishes may be too simple for their price tags, the tasting menu was a great value, and I would certainly return for it.
New York, NY 10009 (map)
DBGB – French/American – East Village
When my friend Kim saw a four-person dinner at DBGB pop up on GiltCity for $150, the first thing she thought was, “SUNDAE!!” And the second thing she thought was, “Can I eat four sundaes by myself?” And the third thing she thought was, “Guess I have to invite Katie.”
I’d had a very so-so experience the first time around at DBGB, but my subsequent tasting menu at Chef Boulud’s flagship restaurant, Daniel, was so outstanding it changed the way I rate all other restaurants; naturally, I was interested in a second try at DBGB. So Dr. Boyfriend and I met Kim and her friend Kelly on Friday night to share what we’d read wouldn’t be enough food but turned out to be so much we couldn’t finish it all. Nor did we want to, in the case of the final course, but more on that later.
petit plateau de fruits de mer
Shrimp, mussels, clams, oysters, snails, tuna tartare and a whole crab claw. All things I was completely terrified by a mere couple of years ago. And it’s not that I exactly salivate over any of them now, like my boyfriend does, but I was perfectly willing to try everything on this platter. Luckily, the fact that there were only two of some of the items meant that I only had to try a few.
The mussels were perfectly cleaned, which is a major issue for me, because eww, please don’t try to feed me sand and stomach leftovers if I’m already going out on a limb by eating seafood at all. The fact that they were covered in a cool, creamy sauce with herbs didn’t hurt anything, either. The tuna tartare was well-appointed with fresh herbs, and the crab claw looked so fresh I didn’t even bother dressing it with lemon. Wait, no, that was because the server took the lemon away before I could dress the crab. Anyway.
I tried one of the larger and one of the smaller oysters, but Dr. Boyfriend and Kim handled the apparently veeeery-oceany-tasting clams and the giant snails, a process which began with excited faces,
quickly switched to determined faces when the snails refused to let go of their shells,
and ended with whatever you call this face once they actually tasted the things:
I’m still not entirely swearing off trying snails drenched in butter sometime in my life, but I’m a little less sure after this.
Iceberg & Blue: tomato, walnut, bacon bits, herbs
Very classic, and an excellent palate-cleanser. The iceberg wedge is one of the only salads I actually enjoy, because:
a) it has bacon, b) it has cheese, and
c) iceberg lettuce is basically water.
I like to think of it as a vehicle for moving fatty things to my mouth.
Beaujolaise: pork, mushrooms, onion, bacon, and red wine link, lentils du puy
I think we all agreed that though this was a rich, hearty sausage, the lentils were really the star. Which is good, since we ordered lentils, glazed carrots (undercooked for my taste and not nearly sugary enough), and ham and crayfish gumbo (flavorful but too thin) as our sides without anyone telling us we were already getting lentils.
Allemande: veal bratwurst, beer-braised sauerkraut
This one was too sweet for me. When I see beer-braised, I want the lingering stench of Guinness on my breath for days; I think this might have been soaked in O’Doul’s.
Coreanne: Korean-style pork sausage, cucumber-bok choy pickle, spicy kim chee coulis, shrimp chips
This was the most complete of the sausage plates in that there was a lot going on but that the theme was so evident. I loved the homogenous texture of the sausage, more like bologna than ground meat, and the crunchy pickle that was such a divergence from the cooked-until-mushy accompaniments on the other plates.
Espagnole: fresh chorizo sausage with piperade, basil oil
Easily my favourite, just because it had the most flavor. I was in need of some spice, and I might have liked the peppers more than the sausage itself because of that.
Boudin Basque: spicy blood and pigs head sausage, scallion mashed potatoes
I’ve always been scared of but interested in blood sausage, and after having tried it, I can’t believe I ever even considered it exotic. The texture was crumbly and dry, the taste earthy and rich. It was like eating fake meat, or textured vegetable protein, which I did for four years as a vegetarian. I wouldn’t say I liked or disliked it; it was boring enough that I was just sort of neutral about it. And that’s the last thing I ever thought I’d say about sausage made of blood.
Caramel-Pear: ginger marshmallow, roasted pears, shortbread cookie, brandy caramel sauce, whipped cream
Cherry-Chocolate: vanilla marshmallow, brownies, chocolate fudge, kriek-braised cherries, whipped cream
Blueberry-Mint: candied brioche, olive oil cake, blueberry compote, toasted almonds, whipped cream
We were there for the sundaes, and once again, they were so good they’d make me come back to DBGB again despite the otherwise just-okay food. I went for the blueberry-mint after my first wonderful mint-chocolate experience and again found the mint flavor so fresh and herbaceous. Dr. Boyfriend and Kim said it was like eating ice cream salad, but I loved the savoriness of the mint coupled with the olive oil cake. The candied brioche added crunch and sugar to the very natural-tasting berries.
I would’ve been equally happy with either of the other sundaes, though. Kim and my boyfriend both got the caramel-pear, which had the most flavorful marshmallows and pears that tasted like they’d just come out of a pie, while I almost got drunk on Kelly’s beer-soaked cherries. These were adult sundaes.
Grand Marnier soufflé, creme anglaise
I had another soufflé this bad once. The server asked us how we were enjoying it, and I said we weren’t, and he brought us another dessert. This time, the server was basically absent for all of our meal, so we just left it sitting.
I was the first to poke my spoon into it to make a hole for the creme anglaise, and I described the bite as “exactly on the edge of egginess”. Well, of course, the farther we got down into the soufflé, the eggier it became, so once everyone had a bite, the rest was inedible. It was the very opposite of the Grand Marnier soufflé we had at The Mark by Jean-Georges. Egg when you want cake is disconcerting.
As with my last visit, this was a mixed bag. The sausages–which are of course supposed to be the focus of the restaurant–are good, but none of them had me mmming in disbelief like so many of the dishes at Daniel did, and for $13 to $15 per sausage, I should’ve been. The place is borderline hip (what we could hear of the soundtrack was all indie rock), but the noise level is obtrusive, and the service suffers because the servers can’t interact with diners. Not that they’d want to, apparently: our server seemed like the classic NYC wannabe-actor who’s annoyed by customers, and the waiter at the door who looked like a greeter was actually just waiting for us to move so he could leave. Luckily, the sundaes were incredible at $9, and I can see myself popping in just for dessert some night if I’m in the Bowery.
New York, NY 10003 (map)