Socarrat Paella Bar

What began as a simple request from my dad ended up as a city wide hunt for the quintessential Spanish dish: paella. A few weeks ago, my dad called and said, verbatim, “I want you to find a really good paella spot in the city. I will pay for you to try it out, and if you like it, we’ll go the next time I come in.” With that one beautiful phrase, “I will pay”, I was hooked. For me, the single most exciting thing about living in New York City is the cultural diversity, with special attention paid to food. Even if there aren’t proportionally a lot of, say, Malaysians versus Chinese, you can still find at least a few restaurants that have superlative Malaysian food. Point being, you can find anything in New York. I figured a very well known dish from a western European country would have me fighting over which restaurants to choose so that I could try it- but this was not the case. It turns out, my research (internet & Spanish people) told me, that Manhattan is a veritable paella desert. There are only a couple of good places to get it, and they are owned by the same dude. Enter Socarrat.

Jesus “Lolo” Manso, proprietor of La Nacional Tapas Bar (the other paella/tapas joint worth going to), opened this small restaurant about a year ago. To call it a restaurant is a bit of a misnomer; it’s really a one-horse show with bar-style seating. This, for dishes like paella, is the best way to experience it. This fabulous dish requires heart, authenticity, and informality and the ambiance of Socarrat captures that well. You feel like you’re a guest at a dinner party in a beautiful Spanish home- the lighting is dimmed, there is exposed brick, white wooden cabinets and beautiful paintings on the walls. The restaurant is named for an element of paella, the socarrat, which the restaurant itself describes as, “the delectable, sensuous crust that forms on the bottom of the paella pan when the liquid is rendered and the rice reaches its peak of succulence.” Indeed.

Because the paella takes about 30 minutes to cook, we were urged to order a few tapas to start, and we did so, along with a few glasses of sangria. Their sangria is delicious; too often I have had the misfortune of having sangria that is quite literally red wine with a couple of apple slices thrown in at the last second. This sangria was light, fragrant, and not too fruity with a hint of brandy. Looking back, I realize it was probably the brandy that hooked me, but that’s another problem for another AA meeting. For our tapas, we ordered the chorizo and one of the specials for the day: the suckling pig. The tapas were appropriately sized and incredibly delicious. The chorizo had a good amount of spice and the suckling pig was cooked to perfection in a delicious reduction. I managed to get a picture of the chorizo but only realized I had forgotten to take one of the pig as I was munching on the last bit of the crunchy, caramelized, incredibly delicious porcine treasure that is the skin. Needless to say, the tapas were great.

The paella we ordered was called Paella Socorrat, which I assume to be the house paella. It is a layer of yellow rice with shrimp, fish, beef, chicken, mussels and cockle clams. It arrived on the table still simmering in a well-worn black pan and we were instructed to wait about 3 minutes for it to settle, which was ABSOLUTELY UNBEARABLE. I estimate that after about minute 1 we decided to dig in and it was just sublime. The rice was perfectly moist and all the flavors, especially for being so different, melded delightfully. The freshness of the ingredients stood out and I had a hard time picking out my favorite one, although I think it might have been the cockles. Paella is not small, and there were only two of us, but we managed to completely devour the pan. As we got to the bottom, our waiter helped us scrape up the socarrat, which was the most flavorful, sinful part of the entire meal. My partner, who has had paella at La Nacional and who has a love for Spanish food, remarked that this was, in actuality, the best paella in the city. Still a little hungry, we tried the Spanish cheesecake, which was like a deep-fried cheesecake with a hint of lemon, and it was excellent.

We had a lovely waiter, too, who was gracious, helpful and a pleasure to talk to. I did discover, however, that he didn’t like sangria nor did he eat meat, which I found a little odd considering he worked in a Spanish restaurant. I considered this a conflict of interest, and then realized that it was a genius career move: if I worked there, you would probably have to roll me out on a stretcher, daily. I'm sure I would even turn into a literal pig at some point. Our waiter (Andy? Might have made that up) is free from this burden and thus most likely enjoys a great working experience at Socarrat. Touche.

Perry St. / Minetta Tavern

I went to Perry St. for restaurant week, had their house-made mozzarella and tomatoes, peekytoe crab salad, (their take on) fried chicken and molten chocolate cake. The cake was standard- I mean, I’ve never met a molten chocolate cake I didn’t like (same thing with presents) but the rest of the meal was quite outstanding. The chicken was incredibly creative- there were elements of thai chili and lemongrass in the crispy skin and the meat itself was extremely moist. There was a great lemon butter sauce on the side, as well as a side of corn kernels which were sweet and surprisingly satisfying for just being….corn. The appetizers were great as well- the mozz was superb and the crab salad was an amalgam of crab, sweet peas, mango, and something crunchy. All ingredients were fresh and beautifully displayed. In my opinion, it was a steal at $35.

And finally, I went to Minetta Tavern, which is conveniently located directly around the corner from me on Macdougal between Bleecker & West 3rd. It was a pure, unadulterated, ravenous, animalistic experience. There were no DeNiro or Madonna sightings- but I was too enraptured and high off of the excellent food I was eating to notice, even if they had been there. The service was impeccable. The bartenders were cute (omg) and their libations: flowing. Like wine! I had two of their signature cocktails: one a curious mix of a dark & stormy and hard cider (if you went to college with me- you will understand how fantastic this is to me) and the other a ginger cocktail. For an appetizer, I had their roasted bone marrow which comes in the form of two enormous bones cut in half, roasted, and a side of a shallot and pork confit. Holy shit! The waiter accurately described it as “the richest, beefiest butter you’ve ever had”. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I had never had bone marrow before, but I am a convert. Should you ever see it on a menu, ORDER IT.

After that, my entrée arrived. The most fantastic New York strip I’ve ever eaten. An aged, enormous, perfectly charred slice of heaven, cooked medium-rare, not garnished in the least. It tasted so fantastic I literally moaning throughout the entire meal to the point where the waiter looked over at me and laughed. As a side, I had the potatoes Anna, which is an au gratin kind of dish that was equally superb. For dessert, I had the chocolate soufflé which tops the list of any and all I’ve ever had (the list is long). As an aperitif, at the suggestion of my dear father, I had absinthe which truly put me over the edge, to the point where Milan and I (who came to Minetta as well) walked to BROOKLYN from the village. We brown bagged it with a Delerium Tremens on the way, had a Beer Lao and a lychee martini upon arrival in Williamsburg, and took the L back. We were literally giddy and giggling the entire 2 hour walk; that’s how fantastic this food was.

The cocktails:

Gin Blossom miller's gin, st. germain elderflower liqueur, aperol, fresh grapefruit

Stormy Cider goslings black seal rum, fresh apple cider, chinese five spice infusion, fresh lemon

Frank Bruni’s description of the beef at Minetta:

But were you prepared for a côte de boeuf like Minetta’s, a sublime hunk of glorious meat that you dream about hours later, pine for the next day and extol in a manner so rapturous and nonstop that friends begin to worry less about your cholesterol than about your sanity?

No, Frank. I was not prepared.

Taverna Kyclades

The subject of Greek lore on Long Island for much of my formative years, Astoria loomed in the distance like a giant, lamb juice oozing, tzaziki-laden gyro I had yet to devour. I always knew Astoria was there, and had wanted to go, but it just never happened. Until now!

For those of you who don’t know, Astoria is located below the Triborough bridge, by Long Island City, in the borough of my birth. It’s home to the largest Greek population outside of Greece and has been touted as the go-to for the best and most authentic Greek cuisine this side of the Atlantic. My dear friend Kristin has been shacking up in this Queens neighborhood for the past month, waiting until she can move into her new East Village apartment (hollaaaa). At the first mention of Astoria, Kristin and I immediately had the same thought: Greek night. Obviously.

Admittedly, my genuine knowledge of Greek food was limited to gyros and souvlaki and baklava. All completely delicious foods in their own right, but clearly I was missing something. I had heard that “real” Greek food was healthy, flavorful, fresh and intoxicating. I enjoy a good souvlaki from time to time (to time to time…), but rarely is it a life-changing experience, nor is it healthy. Enter seafood. And fresh ingredients. And cigarettes, ouzo, and fried cheese. These are a few of my favorite things?!

As some of you may recall, I am new to the seafood game. Although I will never, ever eat lettuce, these days I can be seen slamming clams and scallops with the best of them, and I do. The highly recommended restaurant we went to was called Taverna Kyclades, on Ditmars Avenue. We arrived around 9:30 on a Monday night and there was still at least a 30 minute wait. After heading to a nearby bar, returning, and being seated at a prime corner table on the outside patio, we were perusing the menu and making our selections.

Kristin and I split a bottle of Greek white wine that had a hint of pine resin in it. It was bitter and strange- I literally had flashbacks to my younger years when I would eat pine needles off the Christmas tree (whatever)- but paired extremely well with the seafood we ended up ordering. The four of us settled on a greek salad, grilled octopus and saganaki (fried cheese) for appetizers. Not being a salad eater, I merked some of the feta off of the giant blocks they served and got down on some fresh bread and olive oil. The saganaki was divine; not too heavy, only lightly fried, oozing with olive oil. It went extremely well with the other standout appetizer: the octopus. Being half guini myself, I am no stranger to calamari but I have never had octopus that was a) not calamari and b) not fried. I expected it to be rubbery and awkward, instead it was tender beyond words, juicy and had an incredibly fresh flavor, brought out by the olive oil. Formerly scared of tentacles, I found myself going back for seconds, thirds and fourths. Great success.

For our entrees, we decided on a chicken kebab (I insisted on some meat at the table) and the “Kyclades special”: a seafood platter with pan-fried clams stuffed with crab meat, lobster tail, crab-stuffed jumbo shrimp, scallops, and a filet of sole. As side dishes, we ordered swiss chard, lemon potatoes and rice. It was an incredible amount of food for four girls that just OD’d a little on appetizers, but we tackled it in full force. I had a little of everything and a lot of scallops. The seafood was fresh and cooked exactly as it should have been; everything was moist, tender and seasoned perfectly with olive oil, sea salt and lemon. The beauty of Greek seafood, I’ve realized, is in the ingredients. There is no need for heavy marinades or elaborate seasoning because as long as the food is fresh and in optimal condition, you need little to bring out its outstanding flavor. Knowing this, and knowing how to properly apply seemingly rudimentary garnishes such as olive oil and sea salt, is the trick to mastering this kind of cooking. The result is delicious food where simplicity is king.

Dessert was galaktoboureko, a pastry made of custard and filo dough. Even though I had turned into a stuffed pig by that point, I couldn’t resist digging in as I will eat anything wrapped in filo, so I did. It was not memorable, but a nice, sweet ending to the meal. I decided that the most fabulous digestif of all time, Ouzo, was in order, and ordered a few shots of it. Ouzo is not much different from sambuca, absinthe or any other anisette but it packs the same punch and sits beautifully after a full meal. I was full, drunk and essentially: in heaven. Greek heaven. Visions of Zeus and white columns and scantily clad Spartan soldiers danced through my head. We left, taking note that the clientele was mostly Greek speaking, and trekked back to 30th ave so this little one could make the long march back to the Village. Astoria is an incredible juxtaposition of what it means to be Greek-American- in that these people are fully American, with their brick row houses, tacky metal railings and tiled walkways; yet also fully Greek. Men lounged in the sidewalk cafes, each with their own pack of cigarettes sipping on three-tiered coffes, speaking the native tongue and dipping pitas. One could easily be forgiven for thinking you were indeed in Europe, but a look beneath the surface reveals a much more complex identity. Astoria, I think I love you and all of your fish. And that middle-aged Greek hottie sitting at the table next to me….Good God.


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