Brooklyn wanderings: Grimaldi's, Almondine, and Brooklyn Flea

Look closely. See that woman down by the orange traffic cone, climbing down into a manhole in the middle of the intersection? A few minutes later, I was doing the same thing.

There's an explanation for why, but I'll get to that in a moment.

First, there was beef cheung fun from a cart at Hester and Elizabeth, which TL and I had that morning for breakfast in Chinatown. The woman topped the steamed rice noodles with soy sauce, sesame seeds, and a thin peanut sauce, which added necessary flavor since the meat portion was decidedly skimpy. This version was a quarter cheaper and pretty good, but in the end I'd rather have the prepared-to-order cheung fun from Corner 28.

After breakfast we went to Pell Street so that TL could get a haircut. And then we made our way from Chinatown to Atlantic Avenue and Court Street in Brooklyn, where we stood in the pouring rain for about half an hour…

…waiting to climb down into a manhole…

…and into a centuries-old abandoned tunnel running under the streets of Brooklyn. Built in 1844 and sealed less than a decade later, the whereabouts of the Atlantic Avenue tunnel remained a mystery until nineteen-year-old Bob Diamond finally located it in 1981 and worked to open it up again to visitors. Go here to reserve a spot on the tour and you can hear Diamond tell his tale yourself.

I was reluctant to leave the cool, dark tunnel for the humid sidewalks aboveground, but luckily by the time we finally surfaced, the rain had ended and the sun had come out. TL and I decided to walk along the promenade to catch the end of Brooklyn Flea. By the time we arrived, though, there were only a few vendors left in the market and only one was still selling any food. I picked up an almond croissant and a brioche to eat later.

But there was still the matter of lunch—after having only eaten cheung fun seven hours earlier, TL and I were famished. What to do?

I was thrilled when I saw that there was no line outside of Grimaldi's. We sat down and quickly asked for a pizza topped with sausage, ricotta, and extra basil. Our hunger is my only explanation for what compelled us to order a large for the two of us instead of a small…both of us tried to finish the entire pie, but midway through our third slices we knew it'd be impossible to go on. It had been a long time since I'd last had really good pizza, and I dearly wanted to. I'm not sure how Grimaldi's compares to all the other coal/wood oven pizzas being served around town—I haven't tried enough of them to know—but whatever the case, I found this pie totally satisfying.

Stuffed to the gills with pizza, TL and I headed back to Astoria. It wasn't until about 10pm that either of us felt hungry again. Luckily we had the leftover pizza and Brooklyn Flea pastries to sate our bellies. The croissant was quite good—just sweet enough, and the paste had a wonderful nutty flavor—but the brioche seemed a bit dry.

I had also picked up three macarons from Almondine, which had gotten a bit smashed on the journey home. At a dollar each, they were cheaper than most macarons but also quite a bit smaller. Happily, what they lacked in size was more than accounted for in flavor; both the lemon and passionfruit curds sandwiched between the almond paste cookies were bright and tart, tasting intensely of their respective fruit. The pistachio was less impressive but still tasty.

Between the pizza, the croissant, the brioche, the cheung fun, and the macarons, it was a totally satisfying eating day, but being able to go down a manhole into an abandoned tunnel was totally the icing on the cake. I should hang out like this more often.

"Panino's: A place to satisfy cravings"

Check out my review of Panino's Italian Restaurant in Fort Collins, CO, here.

And in other news, I am no longer writing about meals and events that took place months ago—I've officially caught up with my backlog of posts, wheeee! From now on (hopefully) this blog will be current. Um, until the semester begins, anyway….

Philadelphia, Day 1: Reading Terminal Market, DiNic's, Miller's Twist, Capogiero, Vietnam Palace

Once in Philadelphia, the first thing TL and I did after dropping off our things was to head to the Reading Terminal Market, conveniently located right next to our hotel. I'd eaten at the market a few times before, and had been wowed by the blueberry pancakes, scrapple, and apple dumplings at the Dutch Eating Place. We arrived too late to consider eating breakfast (plus, we'd already had Chinese buns), but the perfect lunch was just on the other end of the market: a roast pork sandwich from DiNic's.

We decided to split a single roast pork sandwich in order to make room for other goodies, which they nicely gave to us in two separate baskets. I asked for the pork to come topped with sharp provolone and greens, which is the only way to eat such a sandwich. The juicy, garlicky broccoli rabe mingles with the funky provolone and the savory roast pork, becoming a whole that is so much more than the sum of its parts. We were offered little tubs of horseradish and banana peppers to go with the sandwich too, and while the horseradish didn't do much for me, the pickled banana peppers added a welcome bright note of acidity.

We scarfed down our sandwich halves and then moved on to the rest of the market. I had my heart set on a fresh soft pretzel, and we stopped at the first place we saw selling them. Miller's Twist is one of a handful of Pennsylvania Dutch vendors in the market, which are only open Wednesday through Saturday.

I have no idea how the pretzels at Miller's Twist compare to others, but I can assure you that ours was damn good—soft, chewy, salty, and slightly crisp on the outside. We watched a woman dipping our pretzel into a pot of melted butter before serving it to us, which might also account for how delicious it was. Why can't the pretzels sold from hot dog stands in New York City taste like this?


After feeding ourselves at the market, TL and I set off to explore various tourist hotspots like the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the Magic Gardens, and South Street.

Along the way we stopped at Capogiero for gelato. I chose to pair pistachio gelato and cilantro-lime sorbetti, and while I absolutely loved the latter, the former was too rich and I got sick of it. I should have stuck solely with the sorbetti—it was tart and refreshing, with a fresh herbal note from the cilantro. TL had a kiwi sorbetti that was equally wonderful.

Our long afternoon traipsing around Philly, combined with how early we'd had to wake up that morning to catch the bus, meant that by late afternoon we were both ready for a nap. Subsequently, by the time we managed to rouse ourselves, it was almost nine o'clock and we still hadn't eaten dinner. Since Chinatown was only a few blocks away, we decided to head to Vietnam Palace for our meal.

We started with an appetizer of stuffed grape leaves, which was quite different from its Mediterranean cousins. Instead of being stuffed with minted rice or lentils, the leaves were filled with marinated beef and grilled. I wasn't sure how to properly eat this dish, but I ended up using the lettuce leaves as a wrapper for stuffed grape leaves, noodles, and herbs, rolling them up summer roll style. Things got messy when I tried dipping the roll into nuoc mam, but it was a tasty way to eat them.

I got a little ambitious with my order of the Vermicelli Deluxe, which came with grilled pork, grilled shrimp, and fried spring rolls. I was already pretty full from the stuffed grape leaves, and the bowl that appeared in front of me was downright gigantic. Each element had been prepared well though, so I was happy to give finishing my meal a shot. Not that I succeeded, but a girl can try.

We didn't do much after dinner—lazed around in our hotel room, mostly—but that was fine with me. Call me old or boring, but chilling out for an evening felt like the perfect way to spend our night.

Philadelphia:
Day 1: Reading Terminal Market, DiNic's, Miller's Twist, Capogiero, Vietnam Palace
Day 2: Ocean Harbor, Thai Chef & Noodle Fusion

Via Emilia redux

When DL suggested going to Via Emilia I was happy to say yes. I'd enjoyed the meal I'd had there last time, and since the place is tasty, inexpensive, and close to her office, meeting up there for lunch was an easy decision.

As before, they started us off with a basket of sliced focaccia and a dish of fruity olive oil for dipping.

As a starter we went for one of the day's specials, mozzarella in carroza. I have a feeling this is one of those recipes that has a lot of variations, but the basic concept seems to involve slipping mozzarella cheese between two slices of bread, and then dipping the whole thing in batter and pan-frying it until the bread crisps and the cheese gets gooey. Like the love child of french toast and grilled cheese, maybe. Via Emila's version added thin slices of proscuitto to the mix, as well as a weird green puree on the side that tasted vaguely of spinach. I don't know what that puree was supposed to accomplish, but it neither added or detracted from the dish.

During my last meal at Via Emilia I'd eyed my friend's tagliatelle al ragu with envy, and I seized the opportunity to order it for myself this time. I have a feeling I've found my go-to dish at this restaurant—the tender ribbons of fresh pasta were coated in a rich, beefy sauce that made each bite pure pleasure. DL ordered the farfalle al salmon I had liked, but after the tagliatelle al ragu I wasn't even interested in taking a bite.

I think I crave that fresh pasta even now…I might have to start looking into how to make my own.

Cozzola's: A decent pizza, but no New York slice

About half the time when I'm craving something, I'm craving a good New York slice. What's weird is that I almost never end up satisfying that craving. It's in part due to my own pickiness—if pizza's gonna enter my mouth, it better be good. So I always hold off and figure I'll eat pizza whenever I'm back in NYC, but whenever I am back in NYC there's always so much else to eat I never get around to it. Sadness.

KS, on the other hand, has eaten pizza nearly every day since she started working at Cozzola's, a pizza restaurant in Fort Collins. The day before her first shift, she invited a few friends to have dinner there with her family, and so we were all able to try several different pies.

The interesting thing about Cozzola's is that the pizzas are nearly fully customizable, with several options for size, choice of crust, choice of sauce, as well as choice of toppings. Crusts can be one of the two specialty crusts on the menu (whole wheat poppy seed or herb) or traditional; sauces can be sweet basil, fresh garlic, pesto, or spinach ricotta; toppings range from veg to meat to fruit.

With that many decisions to make, sometimes it's easier to stick to established combinations, so we ordered the Barbecue Chicken Classic: tomatoes, chicken, applewood smoked bacon, and onions buried in mozzarella and cheddar cheese and sprinkled with fresh cilantro. It was pretty good, especially because we asked for this one to come on the whole wheat poppy seed crust. The soft, braided crust was substantial and doughy, and went beautifully with a dab of clover honey.

Honey, you say? Yep, folks in Colorado dip their pizza crusts in honey. Sounds strange, but it's actually rather brilliant; the crusts become almost dessert-like with that touch of gentle sweetness.

We also got an all-veggie pizza—fresh garlic tomato sauce on a traditional crust, topped with mushrooms and peppers…

…as well as a basic pie of mozzarella and marinara, also on traditional crust. On the menu, the traditional crust is said to be "thin and chewy 'New York Style,'" but it's way too puffy and doughy, I think, to accurately bear that description.

All three pies were pretty good, and I definitely liked the cozy, local vibe of the place. But I'm still holding out for true New York-style pizza….

Half and half at Canino's

At Canino's, the awesomeness of the second-floor outdoor back patio, which provided a decent glimpse of sunset, was knocked down by its unadorned decor and unlovely view of the parking lot; the awesomeness of the cheese tortellini's five dollar price tag (a recession special, I believe) was knocked down by the fact that it tasted like a TV dinner from the frozen aisle. As for the sauces, offered "half and half" on my pasta so that I could try both, the Alfredo was too thick and too salty, too rich a pairing for the pasta by far, and the marinara no better than jarred. I guess in this case, instead of half and half, I would have preferred things to just be all-around good. Ah well, at least the company was excellent…

Olive Garden, over a decade later

The last time I remember going to an Olive Garden was in high school. Back then the place was the sh*t, particularly because of their unlimited salad and breadsticks. When school let out we'd head over to the Times Square location, excited about going for a meal in a real restaurant. Free, unlimited salad and breadsticks paired with a bottomless pasta promotion: Olive Garden offered the finest bang for the buck my friends and I could imagine.

Over ten years later, in the Fort Collins location of the chain, nothing about Olive Garden has changed much. The salad and breadsticks are still free and unlimited, and they taste just as I remember—a tasty vinaigrette over bagged greens and croutons, and hot, squishy, salty buttered bread reminiscent of soft hot dog buns.

SD and I opted to split a full order of the Seafood Portofino, an assortment of shellfish and seafood with mushrooms in a garlic-butter wine sauce over linguine, so what you see in the bowl above, and in the top picture, is only half of the full entree. (I appreciated that they gave us each portion in a nicely presented separate bowl.) While it tasted pretty good, the pasta was so rich we found that sharing one entree was a great idea—the amount we received was huge. NH, who went for a full entree of Chicken Alfredo, ended up full only midway through his plate.

Being sensible creatures, we split our dessert, too. The Chocolate Ciottoli Cake ("dark chocolate cobblestone cake chunks layered with chocolate mousse and a soft brownie topped with hazelnuts") was too heavy and too sweet, and tasted like the frozen and thawed cake it was. But I hadn't expected any different, and maybe that's the key to eating in restaurants like these—embrace these chains for their consistency, average level of tastiness, and huge portions; don't wish you were at Otto or Max. You'll end up okay.

A sauce from bits and pieces, odds and ends

Because I don't have a car, when a friend is kind enough to drive me to the supermarket I tend to stock up. And since friends who offer to take me grocery shopping appear far more often than I think they do, the result is that my cabinets, refrigerator, and freezer are often bursting with food. It's a perpetual effort to whittle down my supplies before the items start getting old.

So I feel great satisfaction when I can make a dish that uses up several languishing ingredients at once. Into this particular batch of pasta sauce went:

a pound of diced andouille, which had been in the freezer for two months;
a can of diced tomatoes, which had been in the pantry for three months;
half a can of tomato paste, frozen for one month;
the last of a container of finely diced celery, which hadn't made it into celery bread;
an aging head of garlic;
a large bundle of kale;
three softened plum tomatoes;
and the final Jonagold apple.

This last, when grated, melted invisibly into the sauce while lending a bit of sweetness; I might use that trick again. As for the rest, since most of this recipe was about using up random ingredients, chances of me creating this exact sauce again are slim. I'll just have to enjoy it while it's around.

Romano's Macaroni Grill: Wherefore art thou, Carmela?

Romano's Macaroni Grill, like many other chain restaurants, has a particular shtick. In this case it's the bottle of house wine that's brought and left on the table, inviting the diner to pour glasses at will and to pay on an honor system at the end. There's also the giant plastic bottle of olive oil next to the salt and pepper shakers, and the server who pours that oil into a dish and writes her name in crayon on the paper tablecloth upon arrival.

Soon after ordering, "Tuscan bread" arrives to the table, a hot, fat, fluffy loaf with a slick of salt, oil, and dried herbs on the outside and the texture of a commercial hot dog bun inside. The diner and her companions are encouraged to tear off pieces of this bread and to dip them into the aforementioned dish of olive oil, which the server has also seasoned with pepper and salt.

While the diners are chewing on the second loaf, the entrees arrive. Above is "Carmela's Chicken Rigatoni": chicken, mushrooms, and caramelized onions in a Marsala wine sauce over rigatoni pasta. It is about what one might expect from a chain restaurant: everything done correctly and adequately, but without soul.

Despite knowing that chain restaurants are more for consistency than heart, this diner desperately wanted to taste something personal in the pasta she was eating…to see, somehow, that Carmela is a real person cooking behind the stove. But in a place like Macaroni Grill, that wish is nothing but silly.

Portfolio: Hot pizza on a cold day

I'd passed Portfolio a thousand times, but it wasn't until I made a lunch date with MW there at the suggestion of TL that I finally stepped inside.

Unfortunately, without a cover over the entrance to shield the interior of the one-room restaurant from the frigid wind blowing in from outside, I could barely concentrate on anything at first but getting warm. MW and I both opted for to go for pizza, she with a sausage version and I with the "Pizza de Parma," which came topped with sauce, mozzarella, parma ham, and arugula. It was fine, but I think I would have preferred for the arugula to be just slightly more integrated with the rest of the pizza—slightly wilted, maybe, or intermingled with the ham. This was a margherita pie with cold toppings added on later, and while that may be a particular style, I just wanted something piping hot through and through. Should have thought of that before ordering, I guess.

Pasta rendezvous at Max

The Feisty Foodie and I have "known" each other for a while now—years, even—but not in real life. Despite having an alarming number of friends in common (thank you, Facebook), Yvo and I never met in person until several weeks ago, when we finally got around to having dinner. Having read one another's personal blogs before either of us had even started food blogs, it was interesting to talk to someone new while feeling like I already knew the person.

I suggested Max because I was still in the mood for warm, comforting grub, and I remembered really enjoying the food at this Italian restaurant. The last time I had come was for a birthday dinner a few years ago, and while the long wait, indifferent service, and cramped tables were annoying, it had been worth it for the fresh pasta dishes, which were delicious and affordable. I was curious to see if the place had changed or remained the same since.

It was still cramped, but there was no wait (it was Monday night, on the early side of dinner service). As we crammed ourselves into a tiny table space in the back and perused the menu, I was excited when Yvo mentioned eyeing the liver toasts as an appetizer, since most people I eat with turn their noses up on the stuff. They came out hot, though, which made the liver spread seem kind of…dank. I ate them, but I wasn't that enthused.

Despite its unappetizing appearance in this photo, the spaghetti alla chitarra was good, a rich, salty lamb ragu over fresh pasta. The soft, chewy strands began to clump together as it cooled down, though, and by the end it was more like I was pulling off bits of spaghetti to wrap around my fork. I probably should have tossed it thoroughly with the sauce before I began eating.

I do feel like I would have liked it even more if I could have seen more clearly what I was eating. Not just for the sake of photography (which as you can see, was shite) but because for me the appearance and presentation of food is part of the enjoyment. The place was romantic, yes, but come on. Our meal practically required flashlights.

Yvo had started smiling as the server went through the dessert list, and after he left she explained why. Panna cotta and tiramisu were her two favorite desserts, she said, and now they were both on the menu! So of course we ordered both.

I liked the tiramisu; it was dense and full of cake/lady fingers, which for me was a good thing, although I believe Yvo felt otherwise. The panna cotta struck me as being too milky and sticky, though I'm not really sure what a proper panna cotta is supposed to be like. The portions were large, but they also each cost around eight bucks, which makes it just okay, I guess.

My experience this time has made me cool my affections a little bit toward the place, but not because Max has gone down in quality. Actually, it seems just the same, but now I realize that it's an Italian place on the decent end of a lot of other, similar Italian places. It is cozy and romantic, though, so it's a good choice if you're looking for a date spot.

Neighborhood pasta at Via Emilia

(Jeez, I shirk on posting for a few weeks and now I'm about thirty posts behind. So much for blogging on time. Ready yourselves for a barrage of catch-up posts, people.)

Since I had to drop by my old office to drop off a freelance project, I seized the opportunity to also have lunch with some beloved ex-coworkers. DL suggested Via Emilia, which was a good and surprisingly well-priced choice for Italian food, offering both dried and fresh pasta dishes along with panini and salads. For my meal I went with the farfalle al salmone ($10), which was bowtie pasta with asparagus and smoked salmon in a cream sauce. I found it a little bit too rich, but it was tasty and the amount they give you isn't overwhelming, so I was able to finish it without much difficulty. I took a bite of DL's tagliolini saporiti—fresh tagliolini with sundried tomatoes, spinach, pine nuts, olive oil, and garlic—and thought it was quite good, and MW's tagliatelle al ragu looked delicious. While probably not a destination restaurant, Via Emilia is a good option for inexpensive Italian if you're in the area, and it definitely proved to be a nice spot for catching up on the latest office news.

Grom nom nom

One of my only regrets about the week I spent in Italy during my junior year in college is not consuming enough gelato. While I made my way around Florence, Venice, and Rome, I passed stand after stand displaying the pale, creamy whorls of Italian ice cream, but probably only bought a cupful once. Whether it was because I was a broke student or because I just wasn't that interested, I don't remember. All I know is that now, good gelato is hard to find.

Enter Grom. AT and I came out of a class on Portugese cheeses at Murray's Cheese happily full of wine, bread, nuts, dried fruit, and the controlled spoilage of milk, but still craving something sweet. Less than a block away, Grom had its doors wide open. We chose two flavors to split; Cassata siciliana, a ricotta-based gelato speckled with candied citron, was quite delightful, but it was the nutty, buttery, never-tasted-pistachio-like-this-pistachio that won my heart. Without the characteristic neon glow and artificial almond flavor of most pistachio ice creams, Grom's version tasted like the essence of the bright green nut amplified, with a smooth, rich, earthy flavor. I can never eat regular pistachio ice cream again.