Where do you really eat, friends and readers always ask. There is a suspicion that I might have a small secret spot I keep for myself. But no. In my 45 years as a restaurant critic, I’ve never thought any spot too tiny, too special to share.
I love the pork taco, crispy shrimp with bits of garlic, grilled maitake mushroom with whipped goat cheese, the peas of spring: pea soup, pea guacamole and fiery pea empanadas. And the trio of popsicles, a clever finale.
I was mesmerized by the madness, the senior citizen makeout artists at the bar, the handsome transformation of the space and how I could make a meal to share of the chunky Lexington salad, the voluptuous blue fin toro.
New American Restaurant in New York, NY, United States
What got me first were the top-notch Parker House rolls and the super flavorish rotisserie chicken – a whole bird, aggressively seasoned, with roasted root vegetables, enough for two or three or four for just $38.
That firm, exquisitely vibrant fish, seized from its two-ton pond, dispatched discreetly out-of-sight, cooked quickly in a salty court bouillon, then banked with cabbage, fingerlings and brown butter tartar sauce is reason enough to fight for a table.
Recently my favorite rice noodles with barbecued duck tasted like whoever wok’d it didn’t have a clue. That can happen. As for dessert, I want fresh fruit, but I notice a lot of chocolate pudding and key lime pie going down.
If you’re serious about pleasure and what goes into your mouth, you’ve already been there. I go often. I get a kick out of surprising friends who automatically dismiss the notion of going to Macy’s for dinner.