The details at The Spotted Pig make the place -- grease markered menu on a giant mirror, brown butcher paper on the tables, jade brocade booths, potted flowers hedging weathered French doors, exhaust-free breeze from a lovely Greenwich St....
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Even on sunny afternoons, The Spotted Pig's downstairs dining area is often brimming with pubby enthusiasm; evenings, the vibe bubbles up to the second floor and spills onto the corner outside. A special occasion — such as a visit by guest chef Fergus Henderson, author of two books on the "nose to tail eating" exalted at his two St. John's restaurants, in London — can transform eager diners into an anxious scrum.
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10
A Great Burger and Chocolate Cake at The Spotted Pig
For a long while now, I’ve always wanted to go to The Spotted Pig but I never have because I keep forgetting to go there because it’s somewhere hidden in the crazy maze of West Village and the fact that I need someone else to eat with me since I don’t want to make multiple [...]
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The Spotted Pig. When I first heard of this New York City hotspot, I thought, the party gods must be crazy. To me the name summons up images of a farmhouse or what might be the name of an old inn during the eighteenth century, where travelers, tradesmen and revolutionaries might have stopped in for a steak and a stein. The fact that celebrities like Jake Gyllenhaal, Mario Batali, who is a part owner of the restaurant, and Gwyneth Paltrow are rumored to spend an evening here and there at a place by the name of The Spotted Pig confused me. The Spotted Pig and its aura remained a mystery to me for over three years. I was too intimidated...
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6
The Spotted Pig, a Stomach-Burning Break, and Too Much Gelato
Ed, Alaina, Adam, Raphael and I (aka the Serious Eats family of awesome people) were getting our first look at the Berkshire pork rillette while eating a congratulatory, "Hooray, you didn't eff up the redesign!" lunch at the Spotted Pig.
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I had the perfect warm weather lunch at the Spotted Pig today. A friend and I split the Cuban Sandwich and the Pork Tonnato. For dessert a bowl of Frog Hollow Farm Cherries in ice water. The Spotted Pig Cubano...
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The Spotted Pig Two colleagues of mine and I took our maiden "dining group" voyage to The Spotted Pig last night. The Spotted Pig is helmed by April Bloomfield who just last week was deemed Best New Chef by Food & Wine Magazine - despite her resume that includes a stint at The River Cafe in London - and financed by Mario Batali, a guy who knows a good thing when he sees it. We arrived by cab, passing Wallse and other fine dining establishments on the way, and stepped up to the restaurant at around 7:15pm, braced for a long wait time and a crowded bar scene. But that wasn't the case. I'm not sure if it was too early, or that Mondays are...
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It has taken me way too long to get into the Spotted Pig. I liked it the place the minute we entered the door. Great pub like atmosphere. Intimate, small and packed. Some of the grooviest wait staff I've seen.
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One of shocks to the Gotham culinary mind was the awarding of a Michelin star to New York's first - and perhaps only - "gastropub." Here was the cute little Spotted Pig in Babbo's rarified company (Chef Batali is reported to be a silent partner at the Pig, along with Ken Friedman and London Chef April Bloomfield). There was no doubt that the Pig was a convivial neighborly place, but could a saloon be anointed for its haute cuisine?
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We roamed. And roamed. And stopped! ...And continued roaming. Lather, rinse, repeat. At some point I remembered that I wanted to try Pearl Oyster Bar for their legendary lobster roll, despite that I never eat lobster out of being indifferent to the taste. But when you want something, you want something. Like giant crustaceans. They're hot.
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A couple days ago, Susana and I found out that one of our new good friends, Devy, would be leaving New York for some time back to the Bay Area. To send her off on her way, we decided to take her and Mike out for lunch at Michelin 1-star, The Spotted Pig.
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It’s no surprise that one of my favorite chefs, Mario Batali, helped open The Spotted Pig in the West Village. One look at the menu and a wanna-be foodie like me would immediately appreciate the tongue and the kidney, two items that are almost always expected in a restaurant that calls itself a “gastro-pub.” The chargrilled burger with Roquefort cheese and shoestring fries in garlic and rosemary are a must-tries. Order the meat medium rare and I can bet it will satisy the carnivore in you.
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5
Sheparded to Shopsin's, Mmmed at Magnolia, and Ignored and Imprisoned at The Spotted Pig
This post is a sensational post in three ways: (1) I will write about a secretive New York foodie sanctum, (2) I will praise a cupcake I formerly dismissed, and (3) I will remove from the shelf of my highest esteem a place that I fell in love with on my birthday.
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26 years ago at this very moment my mom was panting in a hospital bed as angelic music played and I made my way into the world, fork and knife in hand, lobster bib already in place. Stories are told of me at a young age: I was a glutton for food. Mom says that when the baby food jar was empty I'd start sniffling a little and then break out into a huge wail. She worried very much that I would be fat.
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It was 7:15 p.m. when I arrived at the Spotted Pig, and the crowd of people milling about the entrance was forbiddingly large. I'd heard about the legendary wait to get in, so I hoped I was early enough to put my name down for an 8 p.m. dinner. Fortunately, the wait ended up being exactly 45 minutes; when my friends arrived at 8, the best table opened up. The best table (in my opinion), is the cozy banquette next to the herb windowbox. The room is rather cramped and noisy, and many of the other seats are barstools or chairs squeezed into the space around a brick pillar.
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I've read them too: the raves about the West Village's new gastropub, The Spotted Pig. I was saddened by the closing of Le Zoo, the former occupant of 314 West 11th Street, but French bistro mourning aside, I couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea of Batali, Bastianich, Bloomfield and Bono linking arms in an epicurean endeavor. Besides, I don't care how many newspaper and magazine articles implore me to recognize Great Britain's new upscale culinary wave, I still snicker at the thought of "gourmet" Brit cuisine.
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With the recent opening of The Spotted Pig on a quiet corner of West 11th and Greenwich Streets in the West Village, New York welcomes the first gastropub to its restaurant landscape.But what is a gastropub exactly? I turned to London-based Jackie at The Daily Bread for an on-the-ground definition. A correspondent of hers, with connections to one of the original gastropubs to open in London, provided the obvious answer (“a pub that serves high quality food”), along with some additional details in an email message that she passed along to me.
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There is no way to say this without inciting a Running-of-the-Bulls style rampage over to the corner of West 11th and Greenwich Street, so I am just going to say what I have to say, and hope that you don’t all run at once. Promise? Okay. The Spotted Pig is flawless. From the moment you walk in, until the moment you leave, flawless. The service is great, the welcome is warm and genuine, the food rocks, and the place is comfortable, lively and hip in an understated and permanent way. It is the sort of local joint every ‘hood craves.
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