Great Jones Cafe

[Stone]

Flying in from the West Coast, I arrived in this frozen pit of hell and high alert late on Saturday night. Wending my way through the welcoming womb that is John Fitzgerald Kennedy airport, I pondered mightily on where I might find my first meal. But since I would be meeting friends for a late night drink in the little village down on the Eastern shores of that tiny island off the coast of America, I knew Great Jones Cafe would be my destination.

I dropped my baggage at the hotel (if only it were that easy) and walked three blocks to the subway, realizing with every step that I had forgotten to zip the warm thermlo liner into my coat. Boo for me. I exited the subway at Union Square to enjoy a few extra blocks walk through the old homestead, realizing with every step that if God had wanted people to live in this climate he would have provided us all with an extra thick layer of blubber and, more importantly, made it attractive to the opposite sex. Where was Allah's burning fire of damnation when I needed it?

As I strolled down Lafayette, I doffed my non-extistant cap to that honorable French warrior who came to our assistance way back when, assuring the bond of comon defense between our two countries that would last until we twice saved their haute heinies and they realized that gratitude is not just a river in Egypt. Luckily the ire raised my blood temperature sufficiently to keep it from becoming a thick cold sludge as I trudged through this ungodly frigid zone.

But as I turned left on Great Jones I left behind my discomfort and saw the welcoming glow at the end of the block. Soft and warm, it was like an orange sunset low on the horizon after a long Autumn day. Orange memories of pumpkin pie, creamsicles, and ripe persimmons flooded back and quickened my step to meet my utimate destination -- blackened catfish, sauteed kale and the best damnded bloody mary from here to Pescadero.

The room was as I left it, with a bust of the King in the corner, as was the juke-box and the crowd of villagers that reminded me of course of those playful hobbits dancing about the Shire. Our village may lack the buccholia (sp? sounds like a horrible bacterial infection) of Middle Earth, but can anyone not raise a smile seeing those sprightly little ones chipper about gayily putting aside all thoughts of our troubled times?

"Blackend catfish and a bloody mary" i said to the gentleman behind the bar, whose long curly locks laid somberly about his face. "Kale."

The bloody was freshly made as always with a shake of celery salt, a squirt of worcestheehsreivishrieres shouce, hearty dash of tobasco, a healthy scoop of horshradish, blood bright tomotao juice and, yes, vodka. "Don't go far, sir, I'll have another."

The catfish arrived and it was wonderful. A long thick filet of fish, the complex spice mixture was strong enough to offer flavor and a bit of heat, yet not too overpowering to cover up the unique flavor of the catfish. Tapered, as most catfish filets will be, the thin end was a bit dry and crisp, but the meaty upper region was plump and moist and yummy. The kale was, as always, stupendous. Roughly chopped, it had a deep pine green color. Sautted with garlic and a bit of butter (perhaps some stock), they achieved a perfect balance with the bitterness of the green. The crisp bite of the leaves made it a perfect accompanyment to the fish.

Other terrific dishes include a rotating variety of gumbo, hearty jambalaya, ribs and crawfish in season. I once had a party in the place, renting it out for $2,000, which got me tons of food and lots of drink.

I'll leave with one question. Why don't we see more kale in the world?

Edited February 13, 2003 by Stone (log)

[Wilfrid]

I have peered inside this place but not ventured in; thus a useful report, and thank you.

[Stone]

Being useful is my special purpose.

[johnjohn]

I agree - one of the best bloody marys in NYC - spicy, just how I like them. The brunch on the weekends is awesome, but it's always packed.

johnjohn

Edited February 13, 2003 by johnjohn (log)

[tommy]

your beautiful prose has moved me. i must have one of these bloody mary's immediately.

[Liza]

Stone,

Your kale question is one for the Gods. Or at the very least, the Ombuds. I'm a big fan of green, leafy vegetables, often raising my Bic lighter in praise of their delivery at even the most haute boites.

Perhaps a new rallying cry is in order? Perhaps a pro-kale march?

EDITED to add:

Smug alcohol swilling bastards.

( )

Edited February 13, 2003 by Liza (log)

[Bux]

I have indeed had brunch invitations responded to with the mention of missing a chance to have a bloody mary at Great Jones Cafe. Said invitee reluctantly accepted the invitation on the condition that we supply the juice, vodka, worcestershire sauce, tabasco, lemons, etc. and that he be allowed to bring his own fresh horseradish. I've had a few beers there, but have yet to have the definitive bloody mary. The food has always been an acceptable accompaniment to the beer.

[Stone]

The food has always been an acceptable accompaniment to the beer.

Smug wine swilling, haute cuisine eating bastard.

[Elissa]

InRe Kale: While the BBQ at Blue Smoke has improved it may well be best avoided. However the greens at Blue Smoke are burning, esp w/ BS' BBQ spicedust, a glass of Rioja and cornbread. A relatively sturdy standard at the Standard, a jazz club where one can also eat and drink. Billecart may be the owners' fav because it costs $!%? but those pink bubbles taste just as well after brushing teeth.

Edited February 19, 2003 by lissome (log)