I had my first taste of the famous/infamous Sprinkles cupcake last year in their homeland of California when my boyfriend’s sister brought an anniversary cupcake cake to his parents’ party. My cupcake was yellow cake with chocolate frosting and a pink block letter of questionable edibility that seemed to be made of sugar but refused to melt in my mouth.
Hardcore New Yorkers will stand loyally behind their Magnolia Bakery cupcakes, but I prefer the much more elaborate/gluttonous cupcakes from Crumbs Bake Shop and really only go to Magnolia for the banana pudding, so I was completely open to trying Sprinkles. And it was fine. Not life-changing. Not make-me-move-to-California-immediately-ing. But fine.
Well, my friend Kim got a coupon to try four free Sprinkles cupcakes at the first NYC location in the Upper East Side, because she is the princess of New York City, and she invited me to try them with her, knowing that I’d insist on buying a couple more. The employees are very nice, and the store is veeeeery cute, with the trademark Sprinkles dots decorating the outside, bright colors everywhere, and enough low tables with corresponding ottomans that we didn’t feel any pressure to move for the couple of hours we sat there.
The cupcakes were still fine.
My only complaint about Crumbs is that I feel like they spend so much time working on the filling and toppings that they forget to care about the cake; it usually tastes a couple of days old. My complaint about Magnolia is that it’s too simple; I can and have made their cupcakes at home myself. Sprinkles hits a nice balance between quality cake and quality toppings. The cake was fresh and moist, and the frostings and accoutrements were all creative. In the end, though, I missed the way Crumbs fills the cake with a dollop of frosting, and I missed the sheer size of the Crumbs cupcake. Sprinkles is good for people who want to splurge without bursting their bellies, and that ain’t me.
There’s one reason I might choose Sprinkles over Crumbs in the future, though. The drinking chocolate:
It’s bittersweet Belgian chocolate with a vanilla bean marshmallow, so rich and dense you feel like you’re wearing a mouthguard of hot chocolate when you’re finished with it. The marshmallow was so thick that it lasted almost to the end of the cup, making each sip creamy and flavorful.
Flex Mussels gets pretty good reviews. It has four stars on Google, four stars on Yelp, four stars on Menupages. So when my boyfriend insisted that I eat a steaming pot of mollusk in exchange for getting to try some of Executive Pastry Chef Zac Young‘s famed creations, I thought I was probably safe.
We showed up at 7:55 for our 8 p.m. reservation and were asked to wait. Not a big deal. A couple came in after us and were seated immediately. Fine. Then another. And another. Even though we were standing right beside her, my boyfriend thought maybe he needed to mention to the hostess that we were still waiting to be seated. She said we were next. And then seated some more couples. I had read reviews that mentioned the aloofness/disorganization of the service, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but I also kind of felt like saying, “Um, you DO know that the Upper East Side is the middle of nowhere to me, right? I could be at any one of the Momofukus right now.”
Finally, after fifteen minutes, we were given a table, and the guy who seated us said, “I’m so sorry that happened.” And I asked, “What DID happen?” And he said there had been a problem in the kitchen and gave us a beer and a glass of wine to make up for it. I appreciated the gesture and will try not to automatically deduct two donuts from my rating from the start because of it.
I basically think salad is a waste of space, but I’ve been known to eat my words when I come across a truly delicious one. For some reason, I’m more likely to like a wedge salad than any other kind (especially the ones at Docks Oyster Bar and Dinosaur Bar-B-Que); maybe because they’re usually heaped with all sorts of nasty, fatty goodies? This one was clearly no different with its loads of crunchy bacon to contrast the freshness of the grapes and radish. I found that the sharp blue cheese dressing just really overpowered everything else on the plate, though.
My boyfriend got the 23rd mussel iteration on the menu, which changes daily. He had wanted multiple types of seameat in his pot, so that night’s special seemed like the perfect choice for him. Firstly, there were exactly two clams mixed in with his mussels. Secondly, his lobster was one giant chunk that was nearly impossible to eat with the spoon provided. He said it “wasn’t much of a to-do, flavor-wise”. And this was from the person who really loves and craves seafood.
From the description of this, I maybe-foolishly pictured it being thick and creamy. New England Clam Chowder was one of the first seafoody dishes I had when my boyfriend was trying to get me acclimated to fish after eating a diet of only land-based foods during my twenty-five years in Ohio, and there was nothing not-delicious about it. I guess my broth was a little thicker than his, but at the end of the day, it was still broth.
The mussels were actually better than I expected. I didn’t like how chewy they were right out of the shell, but when I extracted them all using my tiny fork and left them to soak in the steaming broth a while longer, they fell apart in my mouth. I liked the firmer texture of the lobster and the familiar comforts of the bacon slivers and corn kernels, and as far as taste goes, I think I got the right combination for me.
It’s just that . . . mussels are weird! Some of them had sand in their bulging, black digestive systems still, which was unpleasant enough to begin with, but that got me thinking about the fact that I was eating the digestive system, and I developed this mind block that just wouldn’t let me enjoy my heaping portion of bivalves.
My boyfriend said, “Just slurp ‘em down. Don’t look at them too much.” But that’s kind of a problem for me. Half of the fun of eating is the looking! So while I usually say, “I thought this [any other kind of seafood] was going to be icky, but it was actually awesome!”, I won’t be saying that about mussels.
The reviews on these are either “way overrated” or “OMGbestfriesever!” They were fine, but they weren’t $6 fine, especially when Pommes Frites is serving better and more fries for $4.50 with interesting sauces to boot. The only reason I’m glad we ordered them is that it gave me something else to fill up on when the mussel flavor got monotonous.
Finally, dessert time! The warm, sugar-dusted donuts lived up to their hype. So soft they deflated under the slightest touch, their pure bleached carbiness was only intensified by the vanilla crème anglaise served on the side. The gooey, flavored sauces nestled inside each one were too delicious to exist in such small quantities.
We thought we’d saved the best for last. Before starting in on the donuts, we’d each scooped a little of the ribbon of caramel onto our forks and nearly died from the shock of how good it was. But . . . the whoopie pie was not delicious.
I almost feel bad saying it, because how could it not be good? I’m a total glutton. I make fun of frou-frou desserts that favor fruit over chocolate. But this was just overindulgence for the sake of it. It wasn’t thoughtful. It was complex but not sensical. It was just deep-fried cake with some mismatched accoutrements.
The cake was nice and warm, but that was part of the problem. See, where I’m from, this is a whoopie pie. My mom was known for her whoopie cake. Every year in Ohio, at the neighboring town’s pumpkin festival, I gorge on whoopie pies. I’m something of an expert when it comes to whoopie.
Whoopie pies are two pieces of cookie-shaped cake with a big schmear of icing between them. And since this was just one giant hunk of deep-friedness, the filling in the middle had melted into the cake. Oh, and by the way–the stuff in the middle? It was just cream cheese. Not cream cheese icing. So it was unpleasantly not-sweet.
On the other hand, the non-whoopie-pie portion of the dish was absolutely decadent in a good way. The caramel mousse was rich and thick and salty and nicely contrasted the less-sugary ice cream. The white chocolate piece was iridescent, which we hoped was thanks to the pastry chef’s famed “disco dust”. I would order the caramel and ice cream on their own again but couldn’t even begin to finish the whoopie pie the first time.
Flex Mussels was just disappointment after disappointment for me. I liked our actual server quite a bit, but between the wait for a table when we had reservations, the too-pungent blue cheese, the un-chowdery chowder, the two clams, and the throwaway ball of cake, it ranks with some of the least-impressive dining experiences I’ve had for $100. I’ll give one star for the mussels that were tender and not undigested-food-filled, one star for the donuts and amazing caramel, and a half star for the idea of the whoopie pie.
Having left both Bar Boulud and DBGB feeling like I was missing what all the fuss was about, I was hopeful but not convinced about Daniel and the third Michelin star it received this year.
To celebrate my boyfriend, Kamran, finishing law school(!), we ordered the 6-course tasting menu with wine pairings. We had hoped to try the 8-course menu, but it’s not available on the weekends due to the increased crowds, and in the end, there were more than enough surprises that we definitely didn’t need the extra courses.
amuse bouche:
The texture of this was as creamy as it looks.
We failed to catch what this was both when our server told us and another server told the table behind us, but it was hammy and smoky with balsamic mustard, I believe.
Kamran rightly suggested that this would’ve been better warm, but I have a hard time complaining about bread that literally drips butter as you tear it apart.
I know it’s hard to see, but there’s a little tower in the background of this photo. That’s a duck rillette. If you don’t know anything about rillettes–and I didn’t until Kamran told me–they’re made by salting meat, cooking it slowly in fat, shredding it, and forming it into a paste with the fat. I thought it was much more flavorful (salty!) than the mosaic itself, and I liked the non-gelatinous texture more, too.
J.J. Prüm, Riesling Kabinett Graacher Himmelreich, Mosel, Germany 2008: I always order Riesling, and I can’t imagine wanting anything other than this one now that I’ve had it. Having only been drinking wine for a short time, I’m still awful at picking out specific flavors, but this wine just screams, “GRAPEFRUIT!” Yum-my.
Even as someone who’s only now beginning to appreciate seafood, I’ve been thinking nonstop about this dish. I loved the crunchy hearts of palm capping the ends of the crab roll, and the slices of fennel on top had such the perfect pungent bite to compliment the fresh oceany flavor of the crab.
This was the big surprise dish of the night for me. Since mackerel is a very fishy fish, my boyfriend told me I should save the piece floating on carrot for last in case the simple poached version was too much for me to handle. And it’s true that the flavor came through forcefully and unhampered by the accoutrements of the other preparations, but I actually missed it when it was masked. The preparation with the caviar was very fresh and lemony, while the carrot preparation was sweet and had whole salt crystals on top.
Domaine Bailly Reverdy, Sancerre Chavignol, Loire 2009
This dish had everything both in terms of texture and flavor–the grittiness of the pasta, the bitterness of the rabe, the smooth broth, the segments of the shrimp, and my favourite part, the spicy saltiness of the chewy chorizo. To us, it tasted like the filling you find in Totino’s Pizza Rolls, and I definitely don’t mean that in a bad way. (The Totino’s slogan is, “Kids have a lot of favorite things, but Totino’s will always be their favorite favorite.” I’m no kid, and they’re still my favourite favourite.)
What makes for an elevated eating experience is simple ingredients made extraordinary, I think, and the coco beans here did that for me. I made an audible “mmm” sound that Kamran had to shush upon my first bite, because they tasted so bacony it was like being home with my mom’s baked beans. The scallop was perfectly cooked, and the broccoli tempura was such a guilty pleasure.
Domaine Drouhin Meursault, Burgundy 2007
Kamran and I agreed that in a blind taste test, neither of us would’ve guessed this was fish. It tasted just like a steak. A steak with ketchup and mustard, to be exact.
Our server explained what Vadouvan is to us, and I wanted to be a little offended, but then I figured that I’d rather him treat me like I know nothing than miss something important because he expects me to know everything. This dish was another bit of clever trickery, because the chicken jus poured over the Vadouvan spice made the fish taste just like chicken. I loved the crustiness of the potatoes and thought the dish could’ve done with more of that and less of the limp spinach.
Copain Tous Ensemble Pinot Noir, Anderson Valley 2008
I can never have enough of the slightly sweet Meyer lemon, so it was disappointing to me that the citrus flavor was barely noticeable, though that was partly due to the way the lamb was especially flavorful.
This reminded us of the beef cheek we had at The Modern, which was our favourite dish of the night there. We didn’t really get to try the little potato bite you see to the right there, because in my effort to cut it in half, I flung it across the room.
Bosquet des Papes, Chateauneuf du Pape Cuvée Grenache, Rhone 2001
sweet, sweet Epoisses
We wanted to add a cheese course to the tasting menu, so our server sent over the fromagier and sommelier to work out a pairing for us. We asked for five cheeses ranging from soft to hard, and he happened to choose Epoisses for us, which is my favourite cheese. He also chose one that was supposed to taste like potato but reminded us of the shell of a peanut. The sommelier said his immediate feeling was a 1983 Madeira boal but that a Riesling would also be nice, but since I always order Riesling, I convinced my boyfriend to get the boal. What I didn’t realize was that it was FIFTY-FIVE DOLLARS PER GLASS, so I half-wonder if the sommelier was just pushing the most ridiculously-priced wine on us. Or maybe the most expensive wine is expensive for a reason, because I loved its spicy fruitiness and its hints of maple syrup.
D’Oliveira, Boal, Madeira 1983: (What a cool bottle, right?)
Though I still liked it, this was my least-favourite of the desserts. The gingerbread was a little too funky in flavor for the light pears, and the soft texture of the fresh pear didn’t stand up to the firm gingerbread like the crisp pear chips did.
Chateau Pajzos 5 Puttonyos Asz, Tokaji 2000
If only every chocolate cake was this chocolate cake. 1) GOLD. 2) Crunchy exterior. 3) Liquid center.
Rivesaltes Domaine de Rancy Ambré, Roussillon 1996
Our server had asked if we were celebrating a special occasion, and as cool as it seems to be all, “Nah, this is every Saturday for us,” I couldn’t resist mentioning Kamran’s law school achievement. He was embarrassed, but it was worth it for horchata ice cream.
Like unwrapping a papoosed newborn, being presented with these fresh madeleines in their linen bunting made my little heart swell. They weren’t even the best madeleines I’ve had, but they were so buttery, warm, and soft, with that slight crunch to the exterior you expect and adore.
I wasn’t even able to snap a photo of our golden plate of mignardises (bite-sized desserts) before one of the managers came to the table and offered to give us a tour of the kitchen, along with a chocolate tasting. After hours of eating and drinking, Kamran and I didn’t think we could handle another bite, so I attempted to respectfully decline the offer. I’ve never understood people who brag about kitchen tours or make a point to meet chefs; it’s not that I don’t admire chefs and the way they run their kitchens, but I’m no home cook who wants to ask about techniques. I’m just there to enjoy the food and know I can’t offer anything more than a “nice work!”.
But the manager talked us into it, and I’ll admit that it was interesting to see how many cooks were in the kitchen, how bright and clean everything was, the different stations for each of the courses, the chef’s table in a private room above the kitchen, and how Chef Jean Francois Bruel was able to expedite everything while shaking hands and taking photos with us.
We were just so full of wine, though, that we couldn’t even muster a single question for him. Literally, I shook his hand without telling him my name, complimenting a dish, anything. It feels like a wasted opportunity in retrospect, but it’s not like my saying “that beef was real tasty” was going to change either of our lives.
The manager sat us down at a table in the bar area with a couple of glasses of cognac and this plate of flavored chocolates, which were all much too small to pack that much flavor. The basil was my favourite, but it’s also my favourite herb, so I’m entirely biased.
A server came by with these and said, “I heard you didn’t get to finish yours.” We had just been talking about what fools we were to not just stuff our other madeleines in our cheeks as we were being dragged to the kitchen, so it was one of those above-and-beyond moments that make you want to recommend the place to other people. The fact that the plate of petit fours included a mango-flavoured French macaron like the one at The Wright that originally made me fall in love with macarons made it too perfect.
This was as close to perfect a meal as Kamran and I have had in NYC. From the little stool beside me for my handbag to the outstanding food to the truly exceptional service, Daniel was worth every one of those three Michelin stars and more. The classic preparations and stunning decor made for such an over-the-top, romantic spot.
Kamran agrees with the perfection of the experience but has a slightly different opinion about it being the restaurant he’d most recommend to quote-unquote foodies. Daniel and Momofuku Ko were approximately the same price, but they’re as different as the cuisines they serve. If Daniel is the archetype for modern haute cuisine, then Ko is its punk rock cousin. Where Daniel makes all of the rules, Ko breaks them and serves shaved frozen foie gras on top.
Ko, I guess, is where you go when you’ve tired of all those expense account luncheons you’ve been invited to and just want to be served some beer in your wine pairing, and Daniel is where you go when you still have room to be impressed by candlelight and peekytoe. Either way, I’m now officially able to pronounce the name correctly, and that’s worth the price alone.
As a lover of intense flavor experiences and creamy desserts, meringue cookies are about the least interesting treat in the entire world for me. They look nice and all, but their taste is always too weak, and biting into them is like biting into a hunk of diabetes-inducing chalk.
But after being served a mango macaron at The Wright for my birthday, I keep finding myself unexpectedly craving those little French cookies. They have the tiniest layer of crunch on their outsides, easily broken just by holding them, but then their centers are somehow super-moist, almost like raw cookie dough. And their flavors are always wildly dense, like heavily-concentrated versions of things found in nature.
So naturally I Googled “best macarons NYC”, because I am a master searcher who doesn’t type out entire questions like, “Where do I find the best macarons in NYC?” like everyone who finds my blog via Google. (I still love you, though.) The first viable result came from some snob from Serious Eats who wrote:
After Paris, the city whose macarons I’m most familiar with is New York City. Unfortunately, after eating NYC’s macarons I think I’d rather wait until my next vacation to Paris than eat another one here. I don’t mean to imply that they’re all horrible—obviously someone likes them or else these shops wouldn’t keep churning them out—but I’ve found most of them to be disappointing.
I kind of want to punch the woman in the crotch. Calling a macaron disappointing is like calling a flavor of ice cream disappointing. Or pizza. Or corndogs. Yes, some corndogs are better than others. And when you’ve had a corndog dipped in pumpkin sauce, I can see how other corndogs wouldn’t live up to it. But you’re still getting to eat an effing corndog, so shut it.
Sorry. I’m just jealous that I’ve never eaten a macaron in Paris.
The writer recommended La Maison du Chocolat for the best of the apparently-unsatisfactory NYC macarons, and incredibly, my boyfriend works right above one. I begged and pleaded and called him things like “darling” and “cuppycake”, but he doesn’t think women should be sitting around eating bonbons on a Tuesday night, so I was left to my own devices.
Luckily, a co-worker informed me that Financier, home of the famed Bûche de Noël, carries them. So I stopped after work and bought a package of 8, all in different flavors.
YOU GUYS. Maybe it’s good that I’ve never been to Paris to compare these to the real things, but glurgglurgglurgglurg. They were so good.
93 Pearl Street New York, NY 10004 (map)
1211 6th Ave New York, 10036 (map)
983 1st Avenue New York, NY 10022 (map)
I was secretly concerned about going to The Wright inside the Guggenheim Museum for my birthday this weekend. The menu looked classically delicious, and photos of the decor made it seem like a hip 1970s spaceship (it won the 2010 James Beard Foundation Award for Outstanding Restaurant Design), but the reviews were a little too so-so, and we’d been totally unimpressed by a similar museum restaurant a few weeks earlier. But, you know, I’m always happy to find out for myself how a restaurant rates.
Dr. Boyfriend and I decided to do the chef’s tasting with wine pairings, and right away The Wright scored points with me when our server asked if there was anything in particular on the menu that we wanted to make sure was in our tasting. Then she poured us each a glass of champagne, gave us a selection of breads with salted butter, and let us feast:
As soon as our server put this down in front of me, I said, “Dessert!” Even now when I imagine these ingredients, I don’t think they should go together, and I certainly don’t think they should go together in an amuse bouche, but this was perfectly balanced. The gelatin and foam layers were sweet and smooth, while the middle layer of shrimp was more savory and segmented. The cucumber was the high note for me and was just the right addition to the dish, as it straddles the line between sweet and savory.
If you know anything about me, you understand how funny it is that I was served this on my birthday. The only two things in the world I absolutely don’t eat are tomatoes and olives, and the thing I’m only just now learning to eat in my quest toward becoming an adult is seafood. So to see them all on one plate was horrifying/hilarious. And yet.
I was surprised at how tender and not-chewy the octopus was, but Kamran said, “That’s how it is when they do it right.” The acid from the lemon made all of the flavors so bright, but it also “cooked” the tomatoes so that they tasted more like a nice sauce than a fruity raw tomato. The earthy potato neutralized the bite of the olives so that they became a subtle background saltiness. Not a single component of the dish stuck out more than any other, and somehow, that made me actually enjoy eating them all.
I’ve had scallops twice before, but this was the first time I understood why everyone’s always making them on every cooking show known to man. This intensely-seared scallop was salty, a little bit crispy on top and bottom, and so tender it was almost falling apart in the middle. I think I might actually be developing a thing for that specific scallop flavor that’s oceany without being fishy.
The sweet shrimp was equally as pleasing in its red chili sauce, the artichoke puree was so flavorful the drab color didn’t seem to fit it, and the coolness of the zucchini really contrasted with the sourness of the goat cheese. I probably don’t know enough about cooking to understand any fluidity between all of the items on the plate, but I get real joy from being presented with an array of flavors like this and making them work how I want them to.
As soon as we saw the menu, I said, “I want that cloud,” and I got it. What was funny was that before this was presented, our server poured our wine and said, “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but the next dish is very earthy.” And I was of course like, “TRUFFLES!” But it was freakin’ mushrooms. “Way to build up to nothing, lady,” I thought.
But actually, I really loved the puree with the lobster. Kamran called it “heavy-handed” and thought the amount of puree made it a borderline soup, but I’ll never mind having an abundance of sauce. The arugula foam was everything I like about arugula and none of the bitterness, so I didn’t think the actual greens were necessary, but maybe that’s the veggie-hatin’ kid in me coming out.
As for the lobster, I was totally scared at first by the way the claw meat looks like a claw, but dude, claw meat is way more delicious than tail meat. I understand that’s not how I’m supposed to feel, though. What gives?
It was at this point that our first glass of champagne hit Kamran hard in the chest and gave him heartburn somethin’ awful. Apparently this happens to him with champagne all of the time, and the fact that I didn’t know it clearly means we’re not drinking nearly enough champagne together.
I said, “Ask our server if they have any antacid in the back,” and he did, and she said, “That would be a smart thing for a restaurant to have, huh?” and then disappeared for a while. We figured she was just pretending like she’d forgotten he’d asked, but a couple of minutes later, she emerged from the kitchen to tell him someone was running to get him some.
And then she presented us with an antacid course! We were so impressed by the restaurant going so far above and beyond for us so I could enjoy my birthday dinner. I’m tearing up a little now just thinking of it.
This is the course I told our server I specifically wanted, and boooooooooy, was it the must-have dish of the night. The layer of skin on top was so caramelized-crunchy, the pork was so cooked-for-hours that it fell apart under my fork, and the quince was such a nice twist on the classic applesauce. It was like a sweet pig pie. Sweet. Pig. Pie.
Our palate cleanser was good enough to be dessert course all its own thanks to the Greek yogurt. I’ve been eating Greek yogurt for dessert just about every night for the past many weeks, so it was neat to see what someone with actual cooking skills could do with it. This was like the sour frozen yogurt that got super-popular a couple of years back thanks to Pinkberry (and my favourite, 16 Handles), except more natural-tasting.
Ellie and I were just talking last week about how great concord-grape-flavored anything is, and then bam!, I get this dessert that used the grapes so well without automatically pairing them with peanut butter. The chocolate mousse was so decadent, and the chocolate glaze on top was in some sort of perma-melt state that left it shiny and gooey. There were tiny chunks of walnut brittle in the mousse to give it contrasting textures, and the bar of caramel might have been better than the ones the little old lady next door made for us every year for Halloween in Ohio. I just love the way a candied nut falls apart in your mouth.
I described this ice cream to Kamran as “why I say I love vanilla ice cream”. It was immensely vanilla-y and defied anyone who might use vanilla to mean boring. The pastry was architecturally tough and didn’t crumble under my spoon as I stole chunks of it off of Kamran’s plate, and the pears practically melted in my mouth.
I guess I’m not known for my subtlety, but I was still surprised to have this plate brought to me and remember that I mentioned it was my birthday in my reservation. Oops. But also yes! I loved that the kitchen put this together for me, and to finish the night by scooping up my own name in chocolate with a mango macaron was incredible.
The Wright is just right for people who consider themselves foodies, but I also think it’s a great fit for anyone who wants to get into fine dining but is intimidated by the formal decor and freaky ingredients. The bright, colorful room feels casual, and the service is friendly to match. The ingredients used by the chef are all high-end but not ostentatious, so there’s nothing to make new foodies squeamish, and the inventive combinations and expert preparations elevate each individual component beyond its humble beginnings.
The only complaint we had was that there was no wine with the dessert course, and that’s the wine we most look forward to. Still, this is the most affordable tasting we’ve had at $68, and I’ll assume most of the extra $42 for the wine pairings went into that champagne.
5 donuts: transcendent experiences
4 donuts: extremely awesome meals
3 donuts: good-ass eats
2 donuts: food I could have made
1 donuts: dinners not fit for the dogs
