pistachio doughnut for breakfast, anyone? ;) My parents and sister went back to Hawaii a few days ago, but we were lucky enough to dine at a dozen or so restaurants, all which will be blogged...eventually, haha. We stayed in for breakfast the other day, mom scrambled eggs, I made tea. And dad? Well he dash off to Balthazar Bakery away to pick up a baguette. He cannot live without his baguettes. It is ridiculous. Back home, his go-to spot is Saint Germain, but here in the city, he prefers Balthalzar. So he went and he came back with big bags. He went with the intention of baguettes but came back with much more. Now you know where I get...
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So that morning before we left Manhattan, we opted for one last stomach hurrah. Having slept at 4 and getting up at an ungodly 7, we embarked to Chinatown for some early dim sum; you see, we try to be efficient and stuff as much food as possible into our brief time in the city. However, we came to discover that Chinatown itself did not officially wake up until 10:30.
Being that it was freezing
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There's really nothing quite as exciting to Blognut as a happenstance Donut-encounter. It's like finding a $50 bill in the parking lot of Target, only better, because the reward is a Donut. And I know what you're thinking. This Blognut's an idiot. Because finding an unexpected $50 is more desirable than stumbling across a Donut, because imagine how many Donuts you could buy with 50 bucks. Well it's not the same. It's the accidental face-to-face interaction with the Donut that makes the experience so magical, so let's leave money out of it.
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Whilst I was reading Garlic and Sapphires, it's author, Ruth Reichl, surreptitiously as her disguises were want to make her do, pinned Balthazar somewhere on my cerebral map. So when the time came to pay my first ever visit to New York, I could hardly ignore the presence of the restaurant that Gawker suggests is over. Over-hyped, over-mentioned in the New York Times and over-exposed. Determined to make up my mind for myself rather than fall prey to the critiques of others, I called Balthazar sufficiently far in advance to secure a table for myself, my mother and the bona-fide Frenchman who could share his perspective too.
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19
Fooding tour: Rice to Riches, Il Laboratorio del Gelato, Bouley Market, and Once Upon a Tart
As of right now (May 16th, 10:38 AM), my website isn't working. I'm writing this entry in gmail (thank god for autosave) figuring that my site will come back to life soon. Or else...
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First matter of discussion: my arm? It's too squishy. It's not just that it feels like Jell-O, but I think that some Kraft scientists messed with my arm while I was sleeping and turned it into Jell-O. I have a subcutaneous Jell-O layer. Kraft now owns my arm.
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The answer should have been no. Or, more forcefully, NO ROBYN JUST RUN, RUNNN FAR AWAY FROM THE FOOD, OR BABY BUNNIES WILL SOMEHOW SUFFER AT THE HANDS OF YOUR GLUTTONY, EVEN THOUGH THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. I'm not hungry in the morning and eating when I'm not hungry just ruins any possible hunger that may come later in the day when my stomach is 1) in a churning mood and 2) I'm less comatose. (Actually, I wake up in the morning pretty easily. I just happen to walk around in a zombie-like state.)
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When Fatemeh of Gastronomie e-mailed me on Monday night and informed me that she was taking the red eye in for business and wanted to take me to lunch the next day at Pastis, how could I say no? Well, I did say no: not to the lunch, but to Pastis. I had a class at 1 pm that I couldn't miss and there'd be no way I could get from the meatpacking district to NYU unless we started lunch at 11. Fatemeh was accommodating: she offered to meet somewhere closer to NYU. I suggested Balthazar because it's owned by the same people as Pastis and we could meet for breakfast with plenty of time for me to get to my class. She gave the virtual nod and we planned to meet there at 10:30, Tuesday morning.
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What makes New York the only truly global city in the United States is its ability to contain the best of the world's culture on its streets and avenues. Many cities - Chicago, San Francisco, Philadelphia, Miami, once-and-perhaps-again New Orleans have worthy restaurants, but only New York has the range of restaurants that if they are not quite truly transplants, at least can pass for authentic if one is a gentle critic.
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Balthazar...3 years of having lived in France draw me to this "brasserie" as often as my stingy pocket can afford, and as often as I can find a seat. Keith McNally may have some fancier fare in NY but this is the most surefire way to feel like you've just stepped off the Rue Montmartre and into a nouveau monde. If you're in the mood for a quiet romantic dinner, I suggest going elsewhere. You will walk in and be swept through a maze of tables and busboys and waiters and when you get to your seat, realize you're practically in the lap of the couple sitting next to you. By the end of dinner you're certain to know where they're from and what they're doing that evening. But don't let this shy you away. The food and service are well worth the pains of little to no real estate. From the moment you sit down to the moment you say goodnight someone will be refilling your bread basket, refilling your water glass or pouring you wine.
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Across the street from the MOMA store in SOHO (see post below) is Balthazar, one of New York's top restaurants---certainly one of its best bistros. I've been there before with my family and I accused it of being an emperor "with no clothes." Maybe I got a little ahead of myself...
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Balthazar stands triumphant over the crash-and-burn cycle to which many hip spots helplessly concede. The place is as packed as ever. Sure it’s not celebrities filling the tightly spaced tables, but mere mortals (read: mix of tourists and locals) lining up reservations. When it opened in 1997, Balthazar was the hottest ticket in town. A-listers lined the street with limos while paparazzi snapped away - the cuisine was really secondary. After a bit of a learning curve, the bumps were ironed out and Ruth Reichl donned it two stars. More recently, Amanda Hesser reaffirmed the rating asserting that food has remained consistent over the seven year review interval. This considerable accomplishment is mainly attributed to Riad Nasr and Lee Hanson, the co-chefs who have been there from the beginning.
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If you don’t know what all the hype surrounding Balthazar is about, you most certainly should. Keith McNally’s super fabulous, NYC replica of a Parisian brasserie, Balthazar, is one of those rare spots that actually deserves the buzz. From the crowds of hotties at the bar, to the stunning folks that squeeze into the restaurant’s tiny tables (you’ll be seated as close to a stranger as is possible without becoming intimate), Balthazar is a dazzling, dizzying, wonderfully chaotic destination that sports a perfect menu of delicious brasserie standards like frisee au lardoons, pan bagnat, steak frites, and a glistening raw bar built for royalty, not to mention the fresh baked bread from the Balthazar bakery next door. Be sure to pick up a bag of croissants, a couple of baguettes, and a dozen tarts on your way out for breakfast or lunch (or a midnight snack). Balthazar is fun, and loud, and in its own electric way, flawless.
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