Prune, New York City

Just a social media thought:

The one thing that we bloggers have to keep asking ourselves is, "Have I sold out?"

No, I'm not referring to devilicious lip-smacking milkshakes that brings the boys to the yard... but whether we have kept to our original intentions and not betrayed our conscience, by being unduly influenced by free lunches and advertisers.

Kenny Sia is still as good as ever.

Back to Prune.

Out of all the meals in a day, brunch is undeniably undoubtedly my favouritest meal of the day. Thus the brunch culture in New York is something I could worship and every fortnight, I would release turtledoves into a cloudless azure sky, amidst hypnotic Indian chanting (ala Richard Gere’s Visa ad).

Prune was a restaurant that almost everyone loved and loved to rave about. To express alternative views would be akin to denouncing world peace, Christmas and the unbearable adorableness of Labrador puppies.

Here is an indication of Prune’s popularity:

It’s not uncommon to wait up to an hour and half for a dinner table in New York; brunch, however, is different as the peak hours typically fall between 1-3pm, so if you were to arrive at 11am, you ought to be shown to a table almost at once.

Paulina and I reached Prune at 10.45am (they open at 10am) and we were told the wait for an hour and half long. My first thought was, “Aren’t New Yorkers suppose to be sleeping in?!”

However, the most mind-boggling thing was how we overstayed our welcome at Cafe Falai and totally forgot about heading back. You should have seen how the both of us ran back, dashing around roads, fearing not for our lives but for our table at Prune. Talk about priorities!



The restaurant was christened after Chef Gabrielle Hamilton's childhood nickname and it was one charming eatery, probably the size of Kimora Lee Simmon’s closet Louis Vuitton trunk.







Paulina ordered their eggs en cocotte, coddled eggs with savory chicken, served with buttered white toast and mixed lettuces vinaigrette. Though it was runny inside and perfect for toast-dipping, Paulina would have preferred something not-as-runny.



Robert decided to join us last minute and he had the spaghetti carbonara. Carbonara wasn’t something I would order because I tend to get giddy and nauseous within 3 mouthfuls but this wasn’t drenched in your usual heavy cream sauce.



We also had the Dutch style pancake, which was the Goliath of all pancakes, topped with pears silvers, served with real maple syrup and Canadian bacon. Well to be honest, I think we ordered this because we had waited for over an hour and we felt we deserved our giant pancake! Despite its thickness, it was cooked thoroughly and high on the fluff-meter.



I, for one had no idea what a Dutch Pancake was until Prune and even now, post-Prune and after finishing three quarters of the pancake, I still have no idea what made the pancake ‘Dutch’. I have to say after wiping out that pancake from its existence on Earth, I felt surprisingly (or scarily) satisfied. Not one bit of that ‘wait, let me rest’ feeling sank in.

Was that an indication of how light the pancake was despite its mass… or just an example of the wonderful elasticity of the human stomach?



How about a simple ham and cheese sandwich?

I ordered their (in)famous Monte Cristo, served with red currant jelly and fried eggs- without a doubt, Prune’s pierce de résistance.



Just imagine a handsome triple-decker French toast, stuffed with swiss cheese, turkey and ham, and deep-freakin-fried till the cheese succumbed to ooziness and toast received a crisp finish. Arh, don'r forget to dab a little jam for that perfunctory jab of sweetness.

Each time I look at these photos, I’m reminded of the explosion of flavours and textures rushing to stake a claim in my heart.



Back in Singapore, the attitude dished out by servers usually correlates to the length of waiting time but here in New York, I’ve found that to be quite the opposite. It’s amazing how friendly the servers at Prune were despite their obvious success, or wait, maybe it’s a double-looped cycle where their affability feedbacked into the success.

Here at Prune, there was no fancy doo-dah-dee and the food was something you could judge by its cover because it tasted as good as it looked.


Prune from Savory New York

Day time, the place is awashed in sunshine and Wish You Were Here!

Prune
54 East First Street
Phone 212 677 6221

Le Gamin, New York City

In New York, I didn't visit any of those atas-fartas can't-get-reservation-nanny-nanny-poo-poo restaurants.

Momofuku who?

Ok I admit, I think give some thought to Momofuku but after Nobu (in Hong Kong), Chikalicious and Pinkberry, I was less than enthusiastic about "Fusian" (that's my 'Brangelina' version of Fusion and Asian). Of course I could be wrong about Momofuku and if you insist on proving me wrong, you could always buy me dinner... an air ticket (Singapore Airlines preferably, thanks)... and provide accommodation...

Haha

Paulina and the rest took me to one of their other favourite haunts Le Gamin, a neighbourhood French bistro on Hudson Street. After this trip, apart from sustaining an allergy towards Fusian, I developed a morbid crush on neighbourhood-ish French bistros. In fact, I bought the May issue of Bon Appetit after an alluring picture of steak and frite made it to its cover. And that one copy led to a year long subscription.

Back to Le Gamin.



The complimentary bread and butter was nothing fancy but nothing too shabby either. After tearing away the fluffy insides that begged to be caressed by fingers, instead of the unchewable crust, and a jab at the butter dice, I was more than ready for my main course.



Both Chervin and Robert had the Le Steack Au Poivre Vert et Son Gratin Dauphinois, a New York shell steak with green peppercorn sauce and potato gratin. It was "tender and succculent" and I've just committed The Boring Food Writer's faux pas. Haha.



Dawn had a Saumon grillé, Sauce à la moutarde, Riz Aux Legumes, grilled salmon with cous cous, grilled vegetables in mustard sauce. The next time I wax lyrical about how much I lovelovelove sashimi and dislikeDIE!dislike cooked salmon, you have every right to silence me with this dish. Then again, what I really liked about this dish was the couscous and grilled vegetables, so maybe I still dislike cooked salmon... I just wouldn't wish death upon it (since it's already dead, anyway!).



Apart from their crepes, roast chicken was supposedly another signature dish and so three of us, Paulina, Ed and myself ordered it. I spy a rotisserie near the entrance of the bistro... Yay!

Le Gamin's service was comme ci comme ça, reason being that they forgot 2 out of 3 of our chickens, which doesn't sound so bad until you realise only 4 out of 6 diners had their mains and all 3 sides were served, which truly creates an illusion of oddity because there were 2 distinctively empty table spots amidst the crowded table. Though the cafe was hardly crowded, noone came to ask if we were 'still waiting for something' or if we were 'doing alright'.

At least the chicken was great. Juicy, spice-speckled and smothered in brown sauce, it would have qualified as an object of beauty under 'Comfort and Familiar Food' category. Meaning that it was well done but not Momofuku-Supermodel material.



Oh well, I think the rest were accustomed to their not-very-attentive service and I was in a good holiday mood so none of us kicked up a fuss. It could also have to do with the freakkin' delicious roasted potatoes that kept me company in the chicken's absence.

After which we had crepes, one nutella and one lemon and sugar.

The bistro does everything from breakfast to dinner and back to brunch. The menu reads like a gathering of old friends who meet at the park to play chess, spotting French oldies but goodies from crepes to croque monsieur. The service pretty much nonchalant and disorganized, as if it was decidedly French too... Ha! I realized later the owner Robert Arbor has podcasts and a blog on the restaurant's website- looks like someone is quite a digital media aficionado.

Le Gamin
132 West Houston Street

Caffe Falai, New York City

With just about an hour to spare, Paulina took me to Cafe Falai, a cafe illuminated by white tiles, chandeliers and clear glass displays. If the off-white decor (still stunning, in my opinion) served any purpose, it was probably done to draw your attention to the showcase the amazing pastries, cakes and bread.

I sat in the seat facing the glass displays, which was pure torture because I was mentally dissecting each pastry and psychologically tasting them. However, the last thing I wanted to do was kill my appetite for Prune so it was just a really good cup of Illy's coffee for me.





Paulina told me their baked eggs were really good and I had to take her word (and the murmurs of satisfaction of other diners) for it. What amused me were the mini ceramic bowls that they used that reminded me of the stark white bowls used for faux shark's fin soup at Chinese banquet dinners.







Apparently Caffe Falai's bombolonis are quite the bomb too. Bomboloni? Why isn't that the cutest loveliest Bambi-large-wondering-eyes confectionary word you've heard? A grenade-size, sugar-coated Italian doughnut hole, stuffed with either raspberry jelly or custard... I guess this would resonate with those who always thought doughnut holes were a waste of precious ("my preciousss" - couldn't resist, sorry) space and should ideally be filled with something... or anything!



Caffe Falai
265 Lafayette Street (near Prince Street)
Phone 917-338-6207

Pinkberry, New York City

Pinkberry was seriously not a big deal. The chewy mochi balls were sufficiently agreeable but the sourish strawberry and mango bits, and weak green tea flavour were comme ci comme ça.



People talk about it as if they have been given the map to El Dorado. Perhaps I would have been a little more accepting without prior knowledge of the brouhaha. Seriously though, what’s the hype all about?

Noodle Pudding, New York City

I know taking the subway is “part of the whole New York experience” but I was resistant. It was taxi from JFK to Manhattan and back and during my entire stay, I celebrated the arrival of Spring by walking just about everywhere, my longest journey being from Soho all the way to FAO Schwartz on 58th Street.

Only 2 places called for the subway, one being Port Authority Terminal and the other all the way to Brooklyn, to a charming neighborhood restaurant called Noodle Pudding.

On a Saturday evening, the restaurant teemed with chatter and bustle. Unlike The EU, which seemed like a watering hole for yuppies and gatherings, Noodle Pudding’s more mature and less neurotic crowd came in groups of twos and fours. Thank goodness we had a reservation as the restaurant had to combine 2 tables for our group of 9.

As usual, some of us couldn’t make up our minds and adopted the common strategy of ordering different dishes so that we could pick on second and third choice.



We had the by-default fried calamari. I’ve never met a person who didn’t like calamari… Wouldn’t that be interesting? It would be like, “what planet are you from?”

The excellent fried squid had a crumbed batter and was served as soon as it was lifted off the deep fryer i.e. hot, crisp and positively irresistible.



We had a really charming waiter who warned us about having too much bread. Oh dear, could it be that even in semi-darkness, he could tell I had the words “bread nut” written all over my face and was just split seconds away from tearing apart the crusty ciabatta?

In any case, his advice fell on deaf ears. We were holding up quite well until the mussels in spicy tomato sauce arrived. The mussels had a knockout broth that begged to be soaked through the fluffy innards of the ciabatta; thereafter it became a ‘we will not rest till we’ve drained the sauce’ escapade.



If the starters were great, the entrees were outstanding. To my left, Han had the osso buco con cremolata that was osso yummy. It had achieved remarkable tenderness induced from hours of braising, thereby allowing the rich flavours to infiltrate the meaty fibres of the bone marrow.

Osso Buco

To my right, Ed ordered the tagliata sliced prime rib, which would have been any guy’s way of saying “Man will hunt. Man will protect territory. Man will eat meat”. In a place where this dish was created, the words “portion” and “diet” ceased to exist (wait, isn’t that heaven?). You know how sometimes you get a fantastic main that is accompanied by limp sides, almost as if the rest of the crew let down the one shining star? Well, not this time round for the spicy herb-riddled fried potatoes posed a worthy sidekick.


Tagliata sliced prime rib

I absolutely loved my grilled quail on a bed of pumpkin and quinoa. For 3 seconds, I just sat there in mute adoration. The ciabatta was beginning to settle in my stomach but the little birds were waiting to be consumed in unadulterated enjoyment. And I compiled.


Grilled quail

“Oh gaw-, I’m so full… maybe I’ll just finish the quail and leave the pumpkin quinoa…just one more bite… ooo dang, I actually finished the entire plate!”

Which by the way was quite embarrassing because Han barely made it through half her dish and there I was with an empty plate, save for some stray quinoa grains. It was a dimly lit restaurant so I don’t think anyone noticed my empty plate. I hope.

At that point in time, it was wise to wave the white flag and call for ‘time out’, but faced with the dessert menu, none of us could say “enough, no thanks”, and so we shared a few Italian favourites.



Out of all the desserts we order (panna cotta, mandarin orange sherbet, tiramisu, flourless chocolate cake with hazelnut gelato and lemon goat cheese cake), the chocolate cake and cheesecake stood out for different reasons.

The decadent flourless chocolate cake and rich hazelnut gelato, for obvious reasons, met with unrestrained popularity; the lemon goat cheese cake, that’s another story all together. Goat cheese is my fear factor food but I threw caution to the wind, hoping that the lemon and cream cheese would reduce the pung. The first bite was “ok”… second bite “who left the gym sock…” and I realized I shouldn’t risk the third bite lest I throw up.


Flourless chocolate cake with hazelnut gelato



After dinner, the rest started making plans for Sunday morning. Save for a handful who planned to sleep in, a few had plans for soccer and run. Me, I wondered how I was going to tackle brunch with Paulina the next day.

Noodle Pudding
38 Henry Street, Brooklyn
Phone 718-625-3737

Joe's Pizza & Joe Jr, New York City

The Famous… The Best… The Original…

So many pizzerias claim to be the bestest of the best, El Supremo of all pizzas in the world so I guess “You saw us in Spiderman” is a rather novel way of standing out.

Sorry I was pretty much distracted by Peter -sigh- Parker but just to recap: it’s Spiderman 2, the scene where Peter gets fired for delivering the pizza late.

Rings a bell?

No? Go watch it again- not that you really need another reason to do so right?





It was my first pizza so I decided to go simple- just pepperoni and mozzarella cheese, no fancy-snazzy toppings. While I haven’t tried enough to confirm it’s the Slice To Rule Them All, it was pretty amazing. A thin crust magically held up the ingredients and trapped the subtle smokiness delivered from an aged oven.

It’s no wonder a spellbinding web had been cast over many...



... and 10 minutes laster, the place was packed. Phew.

In no relation whatsoever, I got a slice of New York cheesecake from Joe's Jr, a neighborhood diner.

When I first fell through the rabbit-hole of cakes and pastries, cheesecakes were my first loves in Wonderland. Sometimes it’s so heavy I consider it part of a meal, instead of teatime nibble. Although I have since moved onto fancier pastries, it is one of those cakes that I can always count on to supplement breakfast, lunch and even dinner.

Cheesecakes also happen to one of the most versatile cakes. Just ask The Cheesecake Factory. There, the cheesecake is a stalwart. From Kahlua to Godiva, peanut butter to cookie dough, just about every ingredient knows it has its 15 minutes of fame but the cheesecake will outlast everyone despite playing a supporting role.



Traditionally the New York cheesecake is very much back to basics, the UNIQLO of the cheesecake world. Though I didn’t get a “more famous” cheesecake, Joes Jr’s cheesecake was an in-house celebrity and it bore a stunning shade of ombre that spelt `EAT ME!' It was extremely dense but mild-tasting- just the way I like it.

Famous Joe's Pizza
7 Carmine Street (at Bleecker Street)
Phone 212-255-3946

Joe Jr. Restaurant
482 6th Ave 12th Street

Balthazar Bakery & Birdbath Bakery, New York City

Come Saturday morning, it was the day for those with day jobs to sleep in. I was awake by eight am and not one to linger in bed, I got up, left a note for the guys and popped out in search of breakfast.



Reading too much of Robyn from The Girl Who Ate Everything made me fantasize about bakeries and patisseries within my grasp.

Magnolia Bakery, Billy's Bakery, City Bakery, Milk & Cookies Bakery, Sugar Sweet Sunshine, Sarabeth's Bakery, Payard Patisserie & Bistro, Buttercup Bake Shop...

Around my neighbourhood (oh how I love the sound of that!), bakeries dotted the streets as if they had received a mandatory order to infiltrate every estate with freshly baked breads, cupcakes, cookies and pastries. Despite so, I didn't invade the bakeries in the manner of a martyr and neither did I have cupcakes. Nope not a single one. Haha, now you look like I've just told you I had baby kittens for lunch.

Hold the Spanish Inquisition yeah?



On the flight home, I caught Disney's Lady and the Tramp and there was a scene where Tramp, in search of breakfast, rejected the thought of having pastries for breakfast because it was "too starchy". Ha, can you imagine this now all-too-familiar line spoken in an animation produced in 1955? The Disney writers were really ahead of their times. (Sidenote: They don't make cartoons like that anymore. Sad)



I walked to Grandaisy Bakery but was disappointed by the chills and peopleless facade. Gutted, I made my way to Balthazar. I was expecting the usual brigade of baked goods so imagine my surprise when a boisterous Paris brasserie greeted me instead. I had walked into the restaurant, instead of the bakery! I wasn't quite ready for the breakfast mob but there's no turning back...and I was looking for a place to sit at anyway.

"Table for one... can I seat at the bar?" I squeaked.







After admiring the array of starch-glorified goodies, I settled for a coffee and their famed sticky bun. A caramel-glazed croissant that found both chopped pecans and myself drawn to it. Balthazar's sticky bun completely dispelled the stereotype that sticky buns had to be doughy cinnamon buns- the kind that I like as well. The guys at the bar were incredibly friendly, volunteering to slice my sticky bun- I'm guessing they don't get much attention in the morning and was happy to be of any kind of service, yup even the sticky bun slicing kind.

Call me suicidal but the next time I head back, alone or not, I'm going to have the Le Painier.



Paulina grabbed a cheese scone from the savoury section after our brunch at Prune the next day. A biscuity, crumbly departure from the sweet kind.

Balthazar from Savory New York

Both New York and Boston had a rather thriving green culture- err, compared to Singapore at least. From fashion to furniture, there were retailers channeling the whole 'green is the new black' theme. However if you have no time to save the world, you can always visit Birdbath Bakery, a Neighbourhood Green Bakery.

Birdbath's countertops and shelves were made with 100% paper and they "built a bakery with walls made of wheat"- seriously if one fine day, I somehow find myself in New York and I'm struck with poverty of the eat-anything-kind (because I spent all my money on EAMES furniture), I would probably chew through their walls and abscond with a bounty of baked booty.








Birdbath Bakery, your Neighbourhood Green Bakery


Balthazar Bakery & Restaurant
80 Spring Street
Phone 212-965-1414

Birdbath Bakery
145 7th Avenue (West Village)
Phone 646-722-6565

Atlas Cafe, New York City

The only drawback of living downtown is after a gorgeous meal at a in-my-backyard restaurant, the trip home is fraught with edible distractions and temptations.

After dinner at The E.U., we walked past Atlas Café, a mouse hole café on Second Avenue. I would have totally missed this café and continued to walk past it if not for Paulina, who used to visit during her days at NYU.

We got a couple of yogurt cups- peanut butter and Oreo, and blueberry. The blueberry was nice (oh generic word!) and naturally the peanut butter and Oreo 'wow'. You know what’s funny, I could endorse peanut butter but I don’t like Oreo cookies. Ok before sounding extraterrestrial, it’s not that I detest Oreos, it’s just I prefer the Oreo cookie biscuit to the cream. So instead of eating the cookie whole, I would remove the cream like how I scrape off the frostng on a cupcake... right... I’m so not endearing myself to the human population.

But wait, that’s not the 'funny' bit! The baffling part is I love cookies and cream ice cream. It’s like I don’t eat the cream between the cookie but get a a real kick out of the double whammy cream in cookies and cream (take one) and ice cream (take two).



What I like about Atlas is you get to choose your toppings and they blend it into the ice cream or yogurt for you. One day after feeling sort of cheated by Chikalicious, I got a cup of tofu ice cream and vegan oreo. It tasted… healthy since tofu ice cream has a rather 'cleansed' aftertaste.

At the end of the day, Chika-atas desserts do nothing for me as I like my no nonsense desserts. All it takes is just a scoop (or make that two) solid good quality ice cream to make me satiated.