Stoned Crow: the best burger? In the Village, at least

Last night, I believe I found my favorite burger in the city, with exception of the Minetta Black Label burger. But because the Minetta burger is more a luxury than a staple, this delightful morsel takes the cake for the best burger I've had in awhile.

Burgers rank high among my favorite foods and I'm generally very particular about them. The city/world is undergoing somewhat of a burger renaissance right now- sort of like whats going on with pizza. I guess it’s this little “recession” thing we’re all so enamored with- suddenly everyone is trying to take a high-brow approach to the comfortable and low-brow. As with anything new and revolutionary, it comes with several points of contention, especially from me:

1.Burgers are so fancy now! While this is definitely a good thing and can make being a burger eater much more interesting and fun, I’ve paid for far too many $15 burgers that don’t hold a candle to the cheaper, better options many places have to offer. So, although the Black Label burger is out of this world- I’ll stick to Shake Shack, Corner Bistro or something at a similar price point.

2.Enormous patties. I realize it's trendy and in line with the American psyche that burgers should be gargantuan, but I have found that small patties are optimal. They are easier to eat and they retain flavor better than the standard 1/2 pounder. There are exceptions, of course, but I've had way too many big burgers that aren't cooked properly, too big to eat and are generally flavorless. Its also a kill-joy when they only put one measely bit of cheese on top, not remotely covering the burger and making me rearrange the cheese myself to maximize the cheese-to-meat ratio (I told you I like burgers). Plus, it's one of the most satisfying guilty pleasures to order 2 separate burgers or a double instead of just eating one giant hunk of meat.

3. No, veggie/turkey/chicken/barf burgers are not an acceptable substitute. “Sorry Jackie! We don’t have beef, but we have these awesome black bean burgers OMG you’re going to lov-…” …no, no, I won’t love them. I promise.

4. Hockey pucks. Well done is not an acceptable way to eat beef- be it burgers, steaks or otherwise. You’re not going to die if your meat’s a little red.

At the Stoned Crow (Washington Place & 6th Ave), I have found an exceptional burger. It meets (I originally wrote 'meats'...nice) all the criteria for burgers except for the size of the patty. I noted earlier that there are exceptions to the small patty rule, and this 1/2 pound burger is definitely one of them. It was cooked perfectly (medium-rare, as requested) and had abundant flavor. They even put 2 slices of cheese on it to make sure that the patty was adequately covered. The guy behind the griddle, formerly of the Corner Bistro, definitely knows how to cook a burger.

The atmosphere is great- divey, covered in movie posters and different artist's renditions of movie stars and musicians. There was a juke box, controlled by the clientele, who, it turned out, had an evolved and excellent taste in music. The happy hour is cheap, the burgers plentiful and the ambiance relaxing- I'll definitely be returning to the this bar, even if just for drinks.

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.

Keste

My favorite pizza in the city is not even New York style pizza- it’s Neapolitan. Keste, which means “this is it” in the Neapolitan dialect, is on Bleecker near Morton St, between 6th and 7th avenues. It’s a thin, railroad type place with informal seating and an overly pleasant, Italian waitstaff. The owner, who is almost always there making the pizzas, heads the American chapter of the Associazone Pizzaiuoli Napoletana, which CERTIFIES PIZZA MAKERS in the Neapolitan style. I’ve become somewhat of a regular, you could say (got my first comped tiramisu there about 2 weeks ago- YES), and this was long before New York magazine and Time Out NY ranked it as the current #1 pizza in New York.

Since then, the waiting time has grown exponentially but thankfully, the pizza has gotten only better. The place has gotten some flack, to which I only say that people just don’t get it. They’re looking for NY-style, or New Haven-style, or Chicago-style or “Greek guy’s crappy House of Pizza in New England” and this so isn’t that. Neapolitan pizza shouldn’t have a crunchy crust; it should have a generous slathering of olive oil that makes the dough a little soggy. It’s meant to be eaten with a fork and knife- not by hand. Those two factors alone seem to be throwing New Yorkers off, and I say good riddance. If you don’t get it, you shouldn’t be there, and the native Italians that populate the place would agree, too. They have a loyal following of friends, mostly Italian ex-pats, and while waiting outside with the manager someone will invariably stop by every 10 minutes or so just to say, “hi”.

By far, my favorite pizza there is the burrata pizza, which is on their list of specials only during certain times of certain weeks. Burrata is to mozzarella as kobe beef is to steak, as foie gras is to chicken liver. It is a ball of fresh mozzarella stuffed with heavy cream and more “rags” of mozzarella. Originally from the Bari region (near the “heel”), burrata is beginning to make its culinary splash over here in the States. It comes off much lighter than you would expect but still maintains an air of decadence. I dream of this pizza when I’m not eating it- anticipating that one night of the week when I know they’re getting a fresh shipment so I can swoop in and take an entire pizza to the face. A pizza so over-the-top and delicious I wax poetic on it as if I were talking about a sail in the Caribbean, climbing Angkor Wat, walking into air conditioning after melting in the subway or even steak. Yes, steak. Keste’s burrata pizza is the Pat LaFreida’s New York Strip of pizzas. “Keste”, indeed: this is it.

Gottino Brunch

As Julia child once noted, rose goes with anything, which is incredibly freeing for both an avid eater and a wine enthusiast. A few Saturdays ago, I found myself at Gottino in the West Village at the suggestion of my friend, Becky. We sauntered out to the back garden sometime in the mid-afternoon and immediately ordered a bottle of rose from the Montepulciano region of Italy (Montepulciano d’Abruzzo wine is named for the grape found in that area).

Having been freed from the chains of constricting wine choices, we dove into the menu and ordered a few small plates. I had their scrambled egg special which consisted of scrambled eggs (duh) with fava beans on a few pieces of toast. The eggs were perfectly cooked; just runny enough but also light and rich with flavor. There was a generous helping of olive oil in the dish, which only brought out the flavor and texture even more. Becky ordered (at my behest) the nutella and ricotta crostini, which turned out to be absolutely incredible with a wonderful balance of sweet and savory. We followed up with our own creation: a crepe with ricotta and nutella (the ricotta was seriously that good) and a prosciutto and fontina Panini, which was only “OK”, especially after having followed the crostini, crepes and scrambled eggs. The wine was absolutely delicious and fairly priced, as was the food, and we had a really enjoyable late brunch.

It should be noted that the back garden is an awesome place to spend a hot afternoon. It’s fully shaded by trees and part of the landscaping includes wine corks (doubly intriguing to us alcoholics). In New York City, its a rare treat to be able to enjoy food, wine, good company and the weaving of a spider web by a grotesquely large spider only inches away from you somewhere other than your overpriced, small, summer bug infested apartment.

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.