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Many of you seem to have encyclopedic knowledge as well as idiosyncratic opinions about the numerous restaurants in this town (and elsewhere). Why not share with the rest of us? (Send your review to webmaster@centralparktc.org.) And you don't even have to be affiliated with our club to publish. Since we know that this website has a sizeable and fiercely loyal audience in New York City and all over the world, this is also a way of empowering consumers. Let your voice be heard! ON SITTING DOWN TO EAT GIORDANO’S ONCE AGAIN I. “I just want to say, they do things they don’t do on Broadway…” I cannot embrace Chicago. It just won’t happen, and I’m not sure why. It’s not for lack of a decent museum—I mean, I secretly think the Art Institute is better than the Met. Maybe my hatred of the Cubs? Perhaps. But I imagine part of the reason is a nearly eight-year torrid love affair with New York City. Despite my aversions to the second city, I believe Chicago pizza is better than the New York City product. Really, is there any doubt? New York City pizza is Koronet’s — it’s a slice, it’s greasy, and you eat it in a hurry. Sure, it can rise above the level of paper plates and oversized slice — see John’s on Bleecker, Lombardi’s, Grimaldi’s, V&T’s, Totonno’s — but none of the above reach the level of gourmet deep-dish pizza. For the best pizza in the world, one must visit Chicago. II. “But the wind blew me back via Chicago…” Recently I drove up to Chicago to see a musician from my hometown, Jeff Tweedy, play a solo show at the Vic Theater. Tweedy has gained a small amount of notoriety for the music he’s made as the front man for Wilco. Though Tweedy was born in Belleville and started in a band associated with Belleville, Chicago has somehow claimed Tweedy as theirs. How does this make me feel? Well, a famous Chicagoan, Saul Bellow, once described New York as “stirring, insupportable, agitated, ungovernable, demonic.” It seems to follow that Chicago is banal, intolerable, mundane, and insipid. And how is it that everybody that’s in such a rush to tell you they are from Chicago doesn’t live there anymore? Yet this town with all its mediocrity somehow produces the world’s best pizza. And before I made my trip up north to hear Tweedy, my second act after purchasing tickets was to locate the nearest Giordano’s, the crème de la crème of Chicago pizzerias. I went through a phase where I preferred Gino’s East over Giordano’s, but I now recognize Giordano’s as the pinnacle of pizza, with competition coming from Lou Malnati’s and Pizzeria Uno. III. “My kind of razzmatazz and it has all that jazz…” My preference is for the deep-dish sausage pizza. Quite frankly, I’ve never ordered anything but sausage pizza when at a Chicago pizzeria. If you try to order a pizza margherita, the pizza person would likely give you a look reminiscent of Chris Farley’s bewildered glare when he internally repeated, “Polish sausage, polish sausage, Bulls, Bulls, da Bears,” on the Bob Swerski Super Fans SNL sketch. As for the appetizers on the menu, there’s nothing special. My advice is to save room for pizza. One strategy is to order salad as a way to avoid eating too much pizza, but I suppose I typically eat too much pizza. In fact, when I was a freshman, my college cross country team had an eating contest, and my challenger made the mistake of allowing me to choose the local Pizzeria Uno as the site of our battle royal. Though to this day he claims he was sick from a previous meal in the John Jay dining hall (and my fellow Columbians may find some credence in that argument), he never stood a chance against me. IV. “There’s nothin’ in Chicago that a monkey woman can do…” There’s a famous blues written by Count Basie and Jimmy Rushing that opens with this line: “Goin’ to Chicago, sorry I can’t take you.” It now seems obvious to me that the woman surely was a fan of pizza. Why else would she want to go? If you have to visit Chicago, do visit Giordano's. And good luck avoiding the annoying Cubs fans.
NOTE: This is not the first time John Scherrer has raved about Chicago pizza on this site. See here for an earlier example. Portfolio Restaurant, 4 West 19th Street, New York, NY We were looking for the first available place while
shopping yesterday, but perhaps we should have looked a little harder.
Still, the menu at Portfolio looked fine: standard Italian food
at adequate prices. There are five restaurants like this within
three blocks of my old apartment in the East Village, but there's
nothing in the new neighborhood, and my companion hadn't had Italian
food for months. Only three other tables were occupied (not
unusual at many restaurants 7:00 on a Wednesday), but we still received
inattentive service; the waiter didn't even bring us bread until
after our appetizers had arrived. The appetizers themselves
were fine, though nothing special. Of course, producing an
adequate plate of mussels and fried calamari isn't much of a challenge.
Neither is making a decent plate of pasta, but Portfolio couldn't
quite manage it. One might try to describe my tortellini and
my friend's rigatoni as al dente, but really they were just
undercooked, and the chewiness of the pasta was well matched by
the general blandness of the two dishes. Portfolio may offer
dessert, but we didn't stay to find out.
Donde Augusto; Isla Negra Restaurant; Donde La Elke; De Cangrejo A Conejo; El Toro Restoran; Matsuri, Santiago, Chile These reviews are accompanied by photos. As such, they have been given their own page.
Hereford Grill, Avenida El Bosque Norte 0355, Barrio El Golf, Santiago, Chile On the April 21st, 2003, the Monday after Easter Sunday, the 107th edition of the Boston Marathon. As much as I wanted to cover (either in person or via internet) my more than 20 teammates in this race, I was unfortunately otherwise engaged. Where in the world was I? While my teammates were finishing a race in 70 degrees weather, I was on the way to catch an airplane to Santiago de Chile, all the way down near the bottom of the world. Sixteen hours later, as dawn showed its rosy fingers over the Andean cordilleras, I landed in Santiago. In the early morning, it was a majestic view to see the Andes rise over the ground-level fog bank in the hue of a pink clouded sky. Ah, but I was here not to watch sunrise as I set about for the main event --- lunch. Since I have never been in this town before, the choice of the restaurant was made by a local connoisseur. The name of the restaurant is a very British-sounding Hereford Grill. In fact, British-sounding names abound here, with soccer teams such as the Wanderers and O'Higgins. Here is the very brief description of the Hereford Grill in Travel Latin America: "In the heart of the new business district of El Bosque Norte, this establishment specializes in meat a la parrilla typical of the southern-cone countries, but in a town-and-country atmosphere more reminiscent of southern England or northeastern United States. Popular with businessmen and politicians." Or, if you prefer Spanish: "En el corazón del nuevo distrito de negocios de El Bosque Norte, este establecimiento se especializa en carnes a la parrilla, típicas de los países del Cono Sur, pero en una ciudad y país más parecidos al sur de Gran Bretaña o el nordeste de Estados Unidos. Es popular entre los empresarios y políticos." For the appetizers, the waiting staff moved a whole cart of exotic samples for viewing. Declining exotica such as octopus, I opted for the Chilean sea bass. This was somewhat unusual, since the fish was drowned in lemon and vinegar, supposedly to ward off any bacteria. It left a rather sour taste but it improved the appetite. For the main course, the Maitre D' first suggested conejo. This would have been a bit cruel and unusual, to celebrate the Easter Bunny last week and then have it served now on a plate. So I got the house classic, filet de bife, as this restaurant has a reputation as a carnes y parrilladas grill. Even though I opted for the smallest serving (note: the menu listed different gram sizes (350 grams, 450 grams, etc)), the steak was still the size of a brick served on a sizzling grill. Generally speaking, the impressive thing about Latin American parrilladas will never be about the cooking. Rather it will always be about the cut of the meat. Indeed, this was formidable as I cleared the plate, together with the sautéed mushrooms. No room left for desserts, though. Lunch went on for more than two hours. When we got out of the restaurant, it was almost time for me to head back out to the airport to catch the plane back to New York. Sixteen hours later, I was back in the office early on Wednesday morning. I would like to impress you with the total cost for this lunch (and I did even pick up the restaurant tab), but I cannot publish that number since the CFO of my corporation is a member of the Central Park Track Club (and its former Treasurer). But I can assure you that the jet-set globe-trotting life is neither interesting nor glamorous. Of course, that was easy for me to say ...
Lucky Fresh Tortillas Grill, 188-21 Union Turnpike, Flushing, NY Sunday night returning from a long day out in the "Island", we decided to make a quick stop to pick up a late dinner. My wife and I were in the mood for some Mexican food, and on the way home we noticed a take out Tex Mex restaurant on Union Turnpike, in Flushing, Queens. PERFECT! To our surprise this Mexican joint was run by no other than Chinese people. Not one Latin American person inside except my wife! Still, why not place an order, especially since it was the only place open on a Sunday night in our area. The inside looked no different than a typical Chinese take-out. There was a front counter with a stack of menu's and a cup full of pencils. The menu layout was no different, except for the food type. There was only the traditional Mexican food on the menu except some good 'ol Wonton and Hot & Sour Soup. What would a Mexican take out be without a little Chinese flavor? Anyway, the menu was quite appealing for a hungry Italian-American and an Argentina-born Guatemalan! As for the order, I had the Grilled Chicken Tostada Salad and my wife had a Chicken Burrito. We got home, set the table and dug right in to our Mexican/Chinese feast. IT WAS AWESOME! In all honesty, this food was better than some other Mexican restaurants I've been to before (see the review of Uncle Moe's). Can it be that Chinese people cook better Latin food than the Latinos? I don't know if I would go that far, however the food was fantastic. I highly recommend this place! (Note: there was a hidden touch of some Chinese flavor in the fried tostada. MSG? I prefer not to know.)
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