My boyfriend got a sudden urge for a tasting menu last week, so I posted to Chowhound seeking a menu without much seafood to suit me. Someone suggested Degustation, where we’ve been meaning to go anyway, and even though the restaurant has no website of its own to post a menu on, other people’s reviews seemed to suggest the place was right up my alley.

It’s basically located in an alley, so we almost missed it, and then when the friendly hostess came to greet us, it turned out we weren’t on their reservation list. I chalked it up to the unpleasant telephone exchange I’d had with the reservationist the day before in which I supposedly mispronounced the name of the place, but then the hostess asked, “Is the reservation for day-gus-TAY-shun or our sister restaurant, Jewel Bako?” After I finished mentally rejoicing that someone who actually works there pronounces it the same way I did, another employee came over and led us to our seats, even though it was clear we didn’t have a reservation. So A+ to the restaurant staff for clearing up the issue, and F- to reservationist for mucking up my self-esteem and my good name (kidding).

We loved the set-up of Degustation. The 16-seat wooden bar makes a half-rectangle around the kitchen so that you can see your food being prepared and the chef can watch you enjoying it. The diners were a mix of young couples like ourselves who were all ordering the 10-course tasting menu and older couples who had obviously been there before and were enjoying glass after glass of wine. The couple next to me seemed to order every single dish on the menu, and I only noticed because the old man kept punching me in the side with his elbow and cutting his meat with his arm all up in my business, and I was dying for them to leave. Of course I assumed he was mistreating me because he knew I was too poor to be eating there, but I tried to keep my paranoia in check.

Chef Wesley Genovart is there in the middle.

Our amuse-bouche was a croquet of corn and pork and a tortilla folded around a nearly-raw quail egg over shallot jam. The croquet was a little too mushy inside, but the shell was perfectly crisp, and corn can do no wrong in my book. I made the mistake of not eating the tortilla in one bite, so the egg leaked out all over my plate, but it gave me a better chance to mix it into the very complimentary shallot jam.

Our first course was a chilled almond soup with champagne grapes and raw almonds. The combination of grapes and almonds was even better than I expected, and as someone who doesn’t care for the texture of almonds, I loved being able to experience the flavor without finding nut bits in my teeth for hours afterward.

Our second course was broccoli rabe two ways with parmesan broth and pineapple foam. The fried rabe was probably the best preparation I’ve ever tasted, but it kept getting soft in the parmesan broth before I could get it into my mouth. The pineapple foam was delicious and inventive, but Kamran didn’t think it mixed well with the broth.

The third course was a heirloom tomato summer salad with basil, egg vinaigrette, and a hunk of pork. Tomatoes are the one food I absolutely can’t bear to eat, so I was extremely disappointed to see an entire course centered on them. When the server asked if I was allergic to anything, I should have just told her I can’t eat tomatoes and bypassed the whole thing, but I thought I could tough out anything they brought me. Kamran told me that his tasted sweet, so I tried a bite of each of the five kinds on my plate, but it took everything I had not to make disgusted faces. He tasted some of mine and agreed that they weren’t as good as his. Luckily, I love basil, and the pork was done really, really well, with an extra-crispy skin.

The fourth course was smoked sea trout with red onions and scallion cream cheese. I don’t generally like fish, but I can eat raw salmon, and this reminded me a lot of that. I didn’t notice the smoky flavor until Kamran pointed it out to me, but the onions were a great addition, as were these tiny green cubes of something incredibly spicy. We couldn’t name them, but we loved them.

The couple around the corner of the bar from us were one course ahead of us, so I knew ahead of time that sardines were coming. When it comes to fish–and especially the very last kind of fish I’d ever eat if given a choice–having more time to prepare myself for it isn’t the way to go. Knowing what was coming, I kept asking questions about it to Kamran, who could do nothing to assuage my extreme horror at the idea of having to eat fish skin. Let me just show you the picture so you’ll have an idea of how gross this plate looked.

I was even more horrified when ol’ Jabby Elbow next to me asked if he and his wife could have the sardines off the menu. “We just love sardines!” the woman said. The server told them the dish was only part of the 10-course tasting menu, so as much as I wanted to slide my plate over to them, I reveled in the fact that I had something they couldn’t have.

The first preparation was pickled with a sort of tartar sauce underneath. The taste of it didn’t bother me all that much, honestly, but I just couldn’t get past the slippery skin. Seeing the shiny silver was bad enough, but feeling it slide across my tongue was just awful. I had to give it to Kamran, who told me he’d buy me ice cream later just for trying it.

The second was fried with pickled onions, and it was the best of the three for me, simply because it didn’t look like fish.

But to be honest, the grilled piece actually tasted the best. I love the taste of blackened anything, so it really helped me enjoy the fish. As much as I could ever hope to enjoy a sardine, I mean. (My friend the bachelor girl tells me that she actually likes sardines, though, so it’s not just old people.)

I was very much bored of fish at this point, and the next dish only made it worse. It was a skin-on dorade with matsutake mushrooms and dashi broth. The fish seemed to be cooked well and all, but the dish was just plain boring. It looked bland, and it tasted bland.

I was really looking forward to the seventh course simply because I’ve always wanted to eat something out of a hollow egg. We’d seen a carton of eggshells with their tops cut off sitting on a high shelf above the chef and were excited about the possibility of being served something in them, and what we got was more interesting than I had expected.

It was a duck egg custard with maple syrup, brioche, and bacon. The custard was a little thin, but the sweetness of the maple syrup with it was really nice, as was the crunchiness of the brioche. The dish itself was just good, but the presentation of the egg in a bowl of salt was great.

The eighth course was the first one that really left me impressed. It was chicken confit on toasted bread with a smear of curry and a salad of watercress, celery, and huckleberries. Neither of us had ever had huckleberries, so that was exciting in itself, but the chicken confit was exactly what I’d needed all night. It was comfort food, but the curry and the confit preparation added an exciting twist.

I was just watching something the other day where a chef complained about how sweetbreads are always fried and how he’d like to see them grilled just once, but it turns out there’s a reason they’re always fried. Grilled sweetbreads are like a glob of gelatin with a bit of organ flavor.

If that doesn’t convince you, let me give you a nice close-up.

Now, I had sweetbreads at wd~50 and was blown away by how surprisingly pleasant they were, but this would’ve been a much better dish had it just been the summer corn, the tomatillo salsa, and the delfino, a wonderful herb that we’d never even heard of. But it wasn’t.

Thank god the dessert was amazing. I was extremely disappointed when I heard the server tell another patron that their dessert menu consisted of exactly one item, a caramelized torija. I didn’t know what a torija was, but I knew it wouldn’t interest me. It turns out, though, that you only need one dessert when it’s this good.

It was a hunk of bread, torched until golden on the outside and left doughy on the inside, served with three kinds of berries. It was DELICIOUS. And I’m not the sort of person who thinks chocolateless, ice-creamless desserts are delicious. It was definitely the highlight of the meal, Kamran and I both agreed. One of the servers asked us how we liked it, and when we made gurgling sounds of appreciation, she told us that a couple in the night before had ordered one round of the dessert, then another, then another. And when he requested thirds, the man said, “Make mine a double.” That’s how good it is.

We consider Degustation an experience that we’re glad we had, but it just doesn’t compare to our dinner at craft or wd~50. We think part of the problem might have been that everyone hyped it so much to us that our expectations were too high. We also think that the overabundance of seafood was a problem, and I’m sure that had I asked, they would’ve prepared something else for me. (Or just given me four of those wonderful desserts.)

The tasting menu is a value, though, undoubtedly. For $75 each, we got 10 courses of good food with a couple of great moments in a unique atmosphere. I wouldn’t necessarily go back myself, but I’d certainly recommend it to others as a one-time experience. Plus, it gave me the chance to write my first half-negative review, which is pretty exciting.

I ate sardines prepared three ways tonight.

Please don’t let this change the way you feel about me. Even if it changes the way I feel about myself.

Ways in which I have been embarrassed by reservationists when calling restaurants:

Daniel

Reservationist: Thank you for calling dan-YELL.
Me: dan-YELL? That’s hilarious; I’ve been pronouncing it in my head as DAN-yule all this time.
Reservationist: [clears throat]

Degustation

Reservationist: Good afternoon. How may I help you?
Me: Do you have any reservations for two for tomorrow evening available?
Reservationist: At which restaurant?
Me: Day-gus-TAY-shun.
Reservationist: All I have is a 6 p.m. tomorrow.
Me: I’ll take it. [gives name and telephone number]
Reservationist: You’re confirmed for tomorrow night at 6 for two people at day-gus-TAH-see-OWN
Me: . . . thanks.

GOD. And it’s not like I don’t know that Daniel is French and Degustation is Spanish. I shouldn’t be allowed out in public.

Meat fiend that I’m becoming, I find myself perusing steakhouse menus sometimes when I’ve been eating too much chicken and can feel my bloodthirst diminishing. My favorite recent find is the Angelo and Maxie’s menu, which divides their selections into Meat and Not Meat:

This is how all things in life should be classified.

For our final Restaurant Week meal, my boyfriend and I were torn between:

A) Tocqueville, which had a decent menu but looked especially formal, and

B) City Crab, which we’ve been meaning to go to anyway but which only listed their entree as any of the chef’s daily specials. And that’s scary to a non-seafood-lover.

So we chose Tocqueville in the end and think it may be the best Restaurant Week dinner we’ve had. It’s hidden down 15th Street near Union Square, and although I’m sure it cuts down on their business, the restaurant’s quiet location only adds to the feeling of being special–maybe even elite–that you experience upon entering. The hostess leads you back a short hallway to the dining room, which is the size of your studio apartment but with much higher ceilings and much posher furniture. Soft French music complements your intimate conversation as you recline on a pillow at a plush corner table.

And the service! Our waiter was not only attentive but well-dressed and equipped with a brilliant accent. The manager came to talk to us twice, first to ask us how we found out about the restaurant and to explain the greenmarket menu, which is decided upon daily based on what’s available at the Union Square farmer’s market. The second time he came around, it was to ask us if we’d visited a nearby restaurant; it seemed like a friendly conversation about Portuguese food, but we figured the two restaurants must be related somehow. (Later, we found that the former Tocqueville chef is now there.)

The best part, though, was that we were brought not one but two dishes on the house. The first was a cool watermelon soup with giant lumps of crab, meant to be sipped directly from the tiny bowl as an amuse bouche,

and the second was an array of amazingly flavorful sorbets that arrived when our ordered desserts were taking too long.

From left: dark chocolate, kiwi (the best!), melon, lime-coconut, and pineapple.

Here’s the Restaurant Week menu:

I don’t like tomatoes, and Kamran warned me that I probably wouldn’t care for chicken livers (WRONG!), so I went with the asparagus vichyssoise, and it was both lovely and refreshing. I’d heard the word vichyssoise before but had no idea what it was, so when the waiter plopped a bowl of asparagus parts down in front of me, I thought that was the deal. But then he poured a super-creamy soup around the parts, and it only got better.

Kamran’s chickweed salad was even better, though, because the salad wasn’t the focus at all. The toasted bread and chicken livers were crunchy and sweet, and even as a tomato-hater, I loved the garnish and vinaigrette.

I was slow to give up the steak, but gnocchi is one of my favorite foods, and I knew I’d regret not ordering it. I know it’s supposed to be light and fluffy, but I have no idea why anyone would want a non-dense dinner. It was the perfect density for me, so do with that what you will. I could take or leave the arugula, but the cheese and the butter sauce were mouth-watering.

Kamran thought his steak was perfectly cooked and loved the tomato hyssop marmalade around it. I thought it was horribly rare, of course, but even I’ll admit to not hating the marmalade.

After the assorted sorbets, we were already so in love with Tocqueville’s desserts that what we actually ordered didn’t much matter, but we happened to enjoy them, too. My torte was the darkest, richest chocolate

and Kamran’s souffle was creamy and light with berries at the peak of their ripeness.

Even if the food had been terrible, the service and atmosphere were so nice that I would go back in a second for another quiet, romantic meal. Their Restaurant Week menu is available until August 28th, and they have a year-round lunch prix fixe, so there’s plenty of opportunity for you to try it out, too.

My boyfriend has been visiting his family in California all week, and I was thinking this morning about how much I missed him. But then I found this photo:

It may be pronounced OO-glee, but this grapefruit/orange/tangerine hybrid from Jamaica is about as pretty as Kamran’s face right there. We didn’t buy the fruit that night in Whole Foods, and honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t leave him there with it.

(xoxo, Kam.)

No, I don’t care much for baseball. But I do care for baseball games.

And this is why:

I was a vegetarian from midway through high school through college for two reasons:

1) my entire family is made up of farmers, and I knew it’d really start ruffling some feathers when I announced I wasn’t eating the Thanksgiving turkey, and

2) I found this really sweet graphic of Ronald McDonald holding a sign that said “meat is murder”, and I wanted to use it on my proto-blog, which was a Geocities(!) website.

I decided to eat chicken later one Father’s Day to make my dad happy, and lo and behold, it made me happy instead. And so I’ve been eating meat ever since. For the longest time, anything but fowl still weirded me out, but now I’m full-on pork and beef all the time. Chicken dishes almost seem childish to me nowadays, especially after watching something like this:

That’s the burger challenge from this first season of “Top Chef Masters”. And boy, does it make me want a grilled slab o’ cow.

My boyfriend, Kamran, and I base most of our Restaurant Week dining decisions on the inventiveness of the menu, which is why we chose Primehouse New York over Smith & Wollensky or Delmonico’s on the 31st. Passion fruit and gazpacho? Yes, please.

I don’t care for seafood and absolutely can’t eat tomatoes, so even though a salad is the least-appealing appetizer in the world to me, it was my only choice, and it turned out to be one I didn’t regret. The lettuce was lettuce, but the goat cheese with the bacon was perfect for the glutton in me, and figs are one of my favourite fruits. There was a upper-thick slice of bacon on either side of the plate, and while one was perfectly crisp, the other was chewy and fatty. While I’m usually much more of the burnt bacon type, I welcomed the diversity.

Kamran ordered the passion fruit gazpacho, of course. It arrived with the mound of crab and basil (or tarragon–we weren’t sure) looking rather lonely in the center of the large bowl, but then the waiter poured the soup around it for a delightful presentation. I don’t know that I’ve ever had gazpacho in my life, so I’m not sure how it’s supposed to taste, but this tasted exactly like salsa. A really, really good salsa. The kind you always want in Mexican joints but never actually get.

Kamran and I like to get different entrées and sample each other’s, so when I decided on the filet (obviously), he went for the hanger, thinking he’d appreciate the larger size. But no. The moment he saw the look on my face as I tasted my first bite, he knew he’d made a mistake.

I know the steak looks a little crusty and the vegetables a little drab in this photo, but the dish was very much the opposite of both these adjectives. Kamran’s hanger was a little bit embarrassing next to my filet, and although he tried to tell himself that it was just delicious in a different way, it wasn’t. It was decent and nothing more, and Kamran didn’t even want all of the extra portion size in the end. Sorry, hanger.

We didn’t even discuss getting a side, but as soon as our waitress walked away, I casually mentioned macaroni and cheese, and so it was. It was very homemade-tasting and had a nice crunchy topping. It was pretty standard, but standard mac and cheese is still pretty special.

My bittersweet chocolate tart was rich and fudgey, although the cake crust dumbed it down. No complaints, though. I ate every last bite of it and mopped up the chocolate drizzle on the plate with the sliver of chocolate stuck in my ice cream, too.

Kamran prefers a lighter dessert, so he was happy with his strawberry shortcake. The crunchy coconut slivers provided a nice texture, and there was no chance of the coconut sorbet with fresh strawberries being bad. I finished Kamran’s dessert for him, too, if you must know.

For the remainder of Restaurant Week, Primehouse appears to be lunch only, but we went at night and were surprised at how many couples weren’t trying the Restaurant Week menu. All around us were tables with raw bar towers, and one in particular caught Kamran’s eye, because he swore Tom Colicchio was sitting at it. I wasn’t convinced, so we called it a truce by deciding that it was his younger brother, Rod Colicchio. (Who doesn’t really exist, of course.) But watching to see how the supposed Rod Colicchio was enjoying his food became the focal point of the dinner nonetheless.

I really thought my filet at Primehouse was as good as any I’ve had in the city, although I hesitate to say that, knowing that the restaurant is part of the B.R. Guest restaurant conglomerate. However, a waiter near us flaunted the fact, telling his table that their size allows them access to the best ingredients. And they’re serious about what they serve, going so far as to have their own Kentucky bull (named Prime) that provides all of the beef they serve in the dining room. So maybe I shouldn’t be embarrassed to have liked it so much.

The only thing the older steakhouses have on Primehouse in my mind is the environment. While I appreciate a more trendy setting for a date, I also like how the sparse, serious décor of a steakhouse like Peter Luger lends itself to more of a focus on the food. Primehouse was full of soft chairs, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and an inexplicable slick 80s feel. It was lovely, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t my grandpa’s steakhouse. Which may be just what you’re looking for.

At dinner on Thursday night, my dear boyfriend got incredibly sick. Now, I was fairly suspicious that it was just his attempt at keeping me from making any plans with friends for the weekend out of guilt and empathy so we could hole up in his apartment together, but I expressed a workable amount of pity, anyway.

He came home from work on Friday night with a soup container and a bag that he said was full of crackers, so I accepted that his sickness meant I was going to have to forage for my own dinner and went about my business. We made smalltalk about our days, and then he said, “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the food?” I hadn’t been before, but I jumped up and went over to his desk to find that the soup container had the Magnolia Bakery logo imprinted on its top.

It was banana pudding! And the bag of crackers was actually something called a Whoopi Cookie! See, Kamran and I have been around the block when it comes to Magnolia cupcakes, so we’ve been branching out to other treats each time we go there. We’ve been caking it up lately, but the Whoopi Cookie was something I hadn’t seen yet.

It’s two brown sugar cookies with what the menu says is a “dollop” of maple cream cheese icing between ($1.75). A Magnolia Bakery dollop is evidently the size of a small child, because this stuff was hanging off the sides of the cookie to begin with, and more oozed out with every bite. The cookies were soft and chewy, but the icing was the real selling point, and I wasn’t embarrassed to lick it off the paper wrapper when we finished.