1/2 I’m about to embark on a woeful tale, so anyone with an aversion to unpleasantness (you know that I have a fascination with barfing, but I fully realize that not everyone shares my interest) should skip ahead to my...
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We were walking south on 5th Avenue and Craig was on the phone with his mom. It was 7:28 and he and his mom were guessing where I was leading him. "I think that might be it," said Craig, responding...
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In the last two weeks I have had omakase at Masa and Morimoto, mutton at Keen’s, everything at Degustation, dinner in the kitchen at GRatL and the dining rooms at Boqueria, Varietal and Klee, and the classic with cheddar at BLT burger, stopped into Cru for dessert and dessert wine, had delivery from Surya and Pio Maya, roasted a chateaubriand, broiled a sirloin, made truffle creamed chestnuts, and attended a Lynches Bagges wine dinner at Eleven Madison Park hosted by The Wine Workshop. I don’t say this to brag, I say it to illustrate that when I said to Wife “what would you like to do for your birthday?” I feel I was offering a wide variety of options, which would make her choice most telling. Given all the things we could have done, Wife’s inclination was for the humble little restaurant down the steps in the middle of Washington Place.
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Monday night was the final stop of my culinary mini-tour with my Mom, who was visiting from Detroit. I chose Blue Hill, an iconic New York restaurant that you simply wouldn’t find anywhere else. As we were chatting, it occurred to me that Fleur de Sel— which we visited on Sunday night—is clearly the better restaurant, but you could find it anywhere; Blue Hill could only be in New York.
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We've been wanting to dine at Blue Hill for quite some time, perhaps ever since reading chef Dan Barber's great op-ed, Food Without Fear, in the New York Times a couple of years ago.
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You know how Jeremy Piven always kicks butt? Whether he's saying "bitches, man" in Say Anything, or showing up as the Versace salesman in Rush Hour 2, I am just happy when Piven is part of a film. He's not necessarily my favorite actor. In fact, I often forget about him even though he probably would be a better sidekick than most the people cast in most of the movies I watch. Of course, then there is Ari in Entourage. As Ari, Piven is doing a thing so perfect he joins the ranks of people like Nicholson as the Joker or Hillary Swank as Brandon Teena (those rare moments when the right actor gets the right role and there is a certain perfection).
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I love Jules, I really do! I look forward to her weekly pokes at the overheated writing style of Frank Bruni, the Restaurant Critic We All Love to Hate. But this week he actually voiced (albeit more floridly than I ever would) a TRUTH in his three-star review of my favorite restaurant in NYC, Blue Hill:
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Guys, Let's Put on a Meal New York City Entry #108 Blue Hill at Stone Barns/Blue Hill
The first serious meal that I ate in New York this year was at Blue Hill. So to provide symmetry my friend and I decided to return, but now to Blue Hill at Stone Barns. We dutifully made a commitment and assured the reservationist that nothing could prevent us from showing up at the appointed time. And so we fought our way through Grand Central. Upon alighting in Tarrytown with plenty of time in the gray, thick, heated air, we hailed a cab to be told that a storm had blown through and traffic was slow. Yet, our cabbie was a roadmaster and we arrived at Stone Barns at precisely 5:30, just as promised.
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We had theater tickets last night but Jessica's thrilling basketball game kept us from making the curtain. They won with 2 seconds left on the shot clock. It was a nail biter. So, we bagged the theater and had dinner in the neighborhood.
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A friend and I dined at Blue Hill on a Saturday night in November. I had the Foie Gras and the Stone Barns Pastured Chicken. The foie was competently executed (if nothing special). You expect ultra-tender chicken from Blue Hill—and you get it—but the dish was spoiled by an overpowering tomato sauce. My friend had the mushroom salad and the lamb. Oddly enough, she too felt that her entrée was spoiled by a sauce that had too much tomato in it.
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To welcome autumn, Nabi and I had dinner at Bluehill in the West Village last night. It’s probably the first restaurant in the city that attempts to be an answer to Chez Panisse with all their locally grown produce offered on the menu. Everything we ate reminded me of that day in Berkeley but in a more intimate outdoor summer night setting.
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Ten years ago a dining companion and I shared a memorable evening at Simpson’s on the Strand, that quintessential British restaurant in the heart of London’s West End. I rank the evening:
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Blue Hill has a reputation for being a Bay Area-like restaurant - fresh ingredients from NY’s Hudon Valley cooked with simple & delicate preparations. After a trip of not-up-to-par eating, I was counting on Blue Hill to save the trip. My notes are very fuzzy (notice a theme on this trip?) - so i will do my best to interpret them.
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LINK: http://www.blogsoop.com/nyc_rid_2386.html
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