5 Ninth is certainly one of the restaurant in the Meat Packing area that will last. Zak Pelaccio, who has a few restaurants including Fatty Crab (a must try) is the guy behind 5 Ninth. Not only is the food...
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5 ninth restaurant opened two years ago in a quaint mid - 19th century townhouse in the cobblestoned meatpacking district with its’ name being its’ address. the meatpacking area ,even with all the current restaurants and clubs there is really quite desolate and empty both day and night, except for the tragically hip crowd that descends in droves by cab and car to partake of the scene. the chef at 5 ninth zak pelaccio is also responsible for its sister restaurant fatty crab which is just a couple blocks over. while fatty crab is a casual crowd pleaser and is always packed, 5 ninth doesn’t seem to have the same level of popularity , either it’s the food or the space, or both.
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When one hears the phrase "Meatpacking District," images of tranquil gardens are probably the last thing to spring to mind. So imagine my surprise upon stepping into the rustic oasis that is 5 Ninth Tuesday afternoon.
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When Donald Trump wants a delicious Vietnamese sandwich, where does he go? This was the question I put to a receptionist at The Trump Organization. Five minutes on hold, and her answer was inconclusive. The Donald’s lunch minions rotate, so only he was capable of solving this riddle. And unfortunately, he was in meetings all day.
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My friend and I had dinner at 5 Ninth last Friday evening. The restaurant was running a bit late, and our 9:00pm reservation was honored at more like 9:20.
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The Meatpacking District was uncharacteristically deserted on a chilly Monday night. As I sat down at 5 Ninth's rustic bar to wait for a friend, the bartender remarked that we'd have no problem finding a table. Indeed, for the first 30 minutes of our meal, we had the intimate, votive-lit restaurant all to ourselves. Then, the room slowly filled with regulars and excited initiates. (Next to us was a couple so enthralled with the menu that they ordered enough appetizers for 4 people.)
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When preparing to leave chef Zac Pelaccio's 5 Ninth (on the edge of the Meatpacking District), a diner is given a postcard image of the neighborhood from a century back. An elevated train line is being raised in a district that had seen better days. This is still another quarter of laboring New York. The el has been and gone, and the district thrives mixing townhouses and industrial spaces: Dancehall Gotham. Such a vision of history is shared to evoke nostalgia for a world that customers can barely imagine, while they consume skate marinated in lemongrass and monkfish braised with Sichuan bean paste. The wacky strain between the authentic and the postmodern is palpable, as in so many gentrifying corners of Manhattan.
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Frank Bruni’s one-star review of 5 Ninth did not leave me with any eagerness to visit. That all changes when you receive an invitation, and your host is paying the bill. That’s what happened one night last December.
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Some people count Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Theresa among their heroes, but for me, it could only be John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich. He was the first to have the masterstroke vision of putting meat between two pieces of bread, and ever since then, the world has never recovered. And while some may argue that the light bulb or the telephone have been bigger advances, I say, I'd rather eat a hoagie in the dark not talking to anyone than calling friends with the lights on and being hungry. So to celebrate the two hundred forty-three years since the Earl's innovation, Vince and I set off on our third gastronomic survey, the Sandwich World Tour.
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Like a tech stock riding high in the late 90’s market bubble, this neighborhood (NYC's Meatpacking District) just feels like it’s about to crash into bridge, tunnel, and tourist cheesy-ness. In the middle of the mayhem, on a should be quaint cobblestone intersection, sits 5 Ninth. It opened in May, and there has been a decent amount of buzz since. The reviews thus far (Frank Bruni, Adam Platt) have come in positive, but seem to me a bit tentative. The chef Zak Pelaccio gathered a considerable cult following at the now defunct Chickenbone Café in Williamsburg, and is now stepping it up in the big leagues of Manhattan dining.
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The black town cars are three deep on Ninth Avenue. The velvet ropes are up outside of Spice Market. Smokers litter the sidewalk outside Pastis. Pencil-thin women in mini-skirts (more a gesture of clothing than any sort of true apparel) are piling into Vento. Welcome to the new Meatpacking, a Bermuda Triangle of sorts, where hipsters disappear into hot spots faster than you can say Blood Orange Mojito.
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