Jack Cade

I'm not aware of a Yama on Bleecker, but I'm not sure. There are Yamas on Carmine St (off Bleecker), Houston (around Thompson) and I think another one somewhere in Chelsea or Gramercy. IMHO they're not "destination" restaurants, though they are very good neighborhood sushi places. (What I mean is, I think they're not as good as the hyperexpensive midtown/uptown places, and they're even a cut below the downtown sushi places in the area such as Blue Ribbon Sushi, Tomoe Sushi, and Taka, but they're also somewhat less expensive.) Huge pieces of fish, sort of in the Tomoe Sushi tradition. I'd be sure to get fatty tuna belly (toro), tuna, and yellowtail. They make a mean unagi/anago (cooked freshwater or saltwater eel) sushi. If you don't want a la carte, the sushi/sashimi combo is massive and good. I have not had any of the non-sushi/sashimi items. Be warned that the Houston St. location, at least, is extremely popular (like many downtown sushi spots), and to my knowledge does not take reservations, so there's a chance you will have to wait or even line up for a table.

I had lunch there (in the dining room) a couple of weeks ago. Burger came with fries (with obligatory mayo dip) that were excellent. Wilfrid's post perfectly captures the yummy db burger, which based on my reading of various reviews seems to creep up in price by about one dollar every few weeks (someone somewhere was scandalized by the "ษ burger" a couple of months ago, and when I went it was ห, on the lunch menu). I agree that the allegations of truffle and foie gras do not, um, "state a cause of action" on their own, but it's a #### fine burger. I also had a wild mushroom soup special that was the Platonic ideal of such a soup. Based on veg stock and paradigmatically wintry. Service was extremely attentive, professional, and charming. This whole capsule review really should read "Wilfrid, tommy: ditto." Me talk pithy one day.

Thanks, everyone, for the warm welcome and kind words! Steve Klc: I agree with your comments and thank you for the insights: I may have gotten carried away with the "theme" (tension between the comfort food concept and a more progressive impulse, just under the surface) at the risk of being overly critical . . . As for prices, I have not had a chance to re-check the menu, but the total bill, with tax and before tip, for the meal I described (two apps, two entrees, one Ů side dish, two glasses of wine and two beers) was about ๥. Fat Guy and Bux: (If anyone wants to use that as the title for a buddy-cop movie, let's talk option . . . ) Like Pan, I have only ever seen it spelled "resto." And though I've heard it used by Brits, I always thought it was a French slang thing. I did not really think of it as a restaurant business term, just as a snappy abbreviation. I guess I do have a tendency to lard my restaurant talk with industry terms (I see that I described a dish as "eighty-sixed" to mean that "the restaurant had run out of the dish"), more out of (I hope forgivable) pretentiousness and (in other contexts) a desire to cozy up to restaurant workers than out of any current or real life experience. In the late 80's/early 90's, I worked as a waiter in Massachusetts and then as a bartender in NYC (where "eighty-six" could mean either the exhaustion of the supply of something or the banning of a person from the place), but I have not done so since 1992. It has also been years since I traveled in Europe for pleasure. Sigh. Now I work in an office and am at my desk on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, stealing glances outside at the perfect white snow melting on the New York Public Library roof under a beautiful cloudless sky. As Rilke wrote to the young poet, "You must change your life." Double sigh. Less forgivable pretentiousness. Ahem. Another digression: Having learned so much from the old shaw-review/fat-guy site, I'd add this to the list of possible ways to upgrade one's experience of NYC restaurants: if you are able to do so naturally and comfortably, whether as a result of working in the business or as a result of going to restaurants a lot, I think it can help to use the jargon--judiciously--in talking to captains, waiters, hostesses, etc. E.g., "Any chance you could just squeeze us in for a two-top before the rush? We'll be a short turn, I promise." I speculate this is primarily because, in my own and others' observed experience, people who work or have worked in "the hospitality industry"--or are unusually familiar with eating out--tend to be generous, even over-generous, tippers. I know I am: I am well aware that working in a restaurant can be a very hard and sometimes thankless job. Or I may be wrong about this advice. My knowledge of the business (and the jargon) is far from encyclopedic: I can imagine being a harried waiter irritated by some suit (like me) trying to kiss ass in this way. Dunno. Maybe it comes down to tone of voice and the other obvious things ("niceness," humility, sympathy, etc.). Okay, forget what I said.

I *hate* the way West Coast/Southwest people rag on NY Mexican. Unfortunately they are right to do so. Right? I agree with the general consensus about Zarela and Rosa Mexicano. I haven't been in a couple of months, but the last time I checked, Gabriela's was incredible, as usual. I can't vouch for Mexican authenticity, given my limited knowledge and experience, but Gabriela's at least makes strong gestures in that direction: multiple mole sauces, good carnitas, attention to good, fresh ingredients. Their garlic roast chicken is superb, one of the best I've had, Mexican or no. Guacamole seems authentic to me, if authentic means very simple, almost . . . virtuous. And, the acid test: the salsa and chips rock. My "favorite" (most-frequented) Mexican restaurant is Mexican Radio, in Cleveland Place (to the uninitiated: the mysterious junction of Lafayette, Kenmare/Delancey, and Centre Streets that you will never ever find, BWAAAH hahahaha (evil laugh)). Turns into a raucous bar scene late nights and weekends, and permits smoking at the front tables, but the restaurant has expanded into multiple rooms. The salsa is excellent (very heavy on cilantro, a plus to me), the chips are excellent, and I like the quesadillas. Weirdly, I think I have had ropa vieja (a Cuban ragged-soupy-meat dish) there, and it was pretty good. Um, not authentically Mexican though. Mexican Radio has lots of different kinds of Patron and other fancy tequilas, if that's your kind of thing. This is my standard I-want-dinner-but-you-guys-want-drinks-and-Mexican-is-perfect-for-that place.

After what feels like eons of lurking on other food and food BBS sites, I've decided to inaugurate the message posting phase of my life on this site. So . . . hi! Great site you've got here! Okay. Deep breath. . . . The critical consensus appears to be that, given the tragic events of the past fall, "comfort food" -- a genre? a style of cooking? -- is all the rage. We all know that comfort food has always been something that you could get in restaurants--some restaurants playing the angle more than others. And what does the term really mean, anyway? I have friends for whom a chicken teriyaki bento box with a piece of eel sushi is "comfort food," though I understand that most people think "traditional" American "homestyle" food -- mac and cheese, meatloaf, mashed potatoes etc. -- is comfort food. Which brings me to Deborah (43 Carmine St. btw. Bedford & Bleecker, 242-2606). Deborah Stanton, a classically trained chef who used to work at Woo Lae Oak, the Soho Korean place, opened this recently with a partner. I should say up front that service and decor are not really things I focus on in restaurants, unless they are in some way egregious or extraordinary, so I'll skim: The restaurant is small and cozy, warmly lit, and given to crimson velvet--"minimalistically elegant," I guess. The service is remarkably professional, attentive and accomodating, given the newness of the place--I get the sense that all the floor staff and the cooks know the chef and came with her from other places. The night I went, Deborah herself was cooking, in the traditional chef whites, in the tiny open kitchen in the middle of the railroad-style space. She is very nice. The restaurant overall appears to be part of a recolonization by small bistro-type places run by a chef with a "vision," such as Cafe Alyss, Camage, and especially Annisa, of the near-West-Village/NYU culinary wasteland. The food: This is a menu about comfort food, prepared with good ingredients and classical technique and "intellectual" updating. The night I went, my companion and I started with two appetizers. The first was a steak tartare with the de rigueur quail egg . . . but also muddled with a pungent mix of garlic, herbs, and black pepper. It was crunchy with non-beef savory things. It was delicious. The other appetizer was very high-quality giant prawns, each of which was contained in what I can only call a "basket" (a cage?) made from crisply fried shoelace-thin sweet potatoes. From the top of each basket, tendrils of sweet potato twisted upward crispily, wrapped around themselves into, like, a beggar's purse kind of deal. An anemone of fried goodness. I have never had anything like it. It was fantastic. By the time we had eaten all four prawns, I was full. The satiation may have colored my feeling about the main course. The fish in my fish and chips were perfectly turned out cod specimens in the requisite Brit-nostalgic crunchy-but-smooth batter--again a huge portion--though the fries were overthin, slightly greasy, and slightly overseasoned. (I had wanted the marinated pork chops, which I had heard were great, but they were already eighty-sixed for the night.) My friend's "mini-meatloaf"--"mini" b/c prepared in a mini-pan, and thus perfectly crusted all over, as opposed to mere slices from a larger loaf--was one of the best meatloaves I've had in the City. Perfectly seasoned (though I can imagine someone saying it was too salty or or heavy on the garlic--I also seem to recall that cumin was involved, which I like and others don't) and perfectly cooked (though I like meatloaf that's a little flaky and mushy--you won't be pleased if you like that firm raisin-bread texture in your meatloaf). It was accompanied by a potato gratinee cut in long, thick Idaho-size slices and made with what I think must have been sour cream or creme fraiche in much higher proportion to cheese than is usual--and it was quite good. Four large leeks, roughly cut at the stem end and slightly wilted with balsamic, were also good . . . and, um, comforting. Because I am always attracted to twee precious things on menus, I had to order the "pan-flashed" spinach side dish. It was slightly overcooked--certainly more "sauteed" than "flashed"--and relatively unimaginatively seasoned with garlic and a touch of crushed red pepper, then drizzled in balsamic vinegar. We did not have room for dessert, but I must say there wasn't much there--other than the creme brulee--that I would have wanted anyway. But then I'm not a big dessert guy. The wine list was short, and as you might expect, oriented toward the kind of simple robust wines that complement this kind of food. I recall no bottles over ฮ. We had a decent Syrah; my friend had a Sam Adams pint with the appetizers, a move I wholeheartedly endorse. In conclusion, I'd have to say that the meal exemplified the problem and the promise of the "comfort food" subdivision of the "New American" genre. Meat dishes and other fatty, savory dishes were indeed "comforting." But the very concept--predictable familiarity, homey-ness--works against the ambitions of a chef or customer who wants to do something more with these meals. You don't go looking for haute cuisine at these places, and they certainly meet a need in a neighborhood where I think virtually nobody cooks at home regularly (for the obvious reasons of mostly single living, rudimentary kitchens, affluence, and/or lack of inclination/skill). But I constantly got a sense that Deborah (the resto, the chef) yearned to really cut loose with some of the dishes, but felt constrained by the "comfort food" paradigm. I got the sense that, if the restaurant had opened at a slightly different historical moment, it would have gone in the more Tasting Room/Prune/71 Clinton direction. And the food would have been even better, by my lights. But, hey, I'm no mind reader. And the restaurant has delivery and take-out. And I'm pretty sure I will be back. Everybody needs some comfort sometimes. Or something like that. I can see now that I will be fired from my job if I keep this up. I promise less prolixity next time out. . . .