I can only afford to get one sheet to the wind at Pegu Club, but its as tasty a buzz as you'll get anywhere in town. The signature Pegu Club cocktail ($12) is a tart, breezy gin and citrus concoction, blushing pink and nattily dressed with a zester cross-hatched lime wedge. I loved the Jamaican Firefly ($12), a murky rum and ginger beer sipper finished with a sugary slice of candied ginger, but Doug thought it was too sweet. And I wish your $7 got you more than four deviled egg halves, boosted by smoked trout, curry mayo and the sweet crunch of almond chutney. Ward off your liquor-mixer hangover with the glasses of water that accompany every libation. Reservations are not accepted, but if you arrive with a party of ten, you could snag one of their two sexy round booths, swathed in chocolate velvet. The place is a tad too high-clarse for me to enjoy regularly, but I'm willing to pay premium once in a while for a bit of early evening Little Princess fantasy.
Pegu Club
77 W. Houston St. at W. Broadway
2nd floor
(212) 473-PEGU
December 2005 Archives
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Saw Brokeback Mountain last night. Can't recommend it highly enough. I'm still crying. WORSHIP Ang Lee (who also directed Eat Drink Man Woman, another movie I obviously adore). Heath Ledger is AMAZING. THIS MARSHMALLOW NEEDS A HUG.
Read the Annie Proulx short story from the New Yorker archives here.
Name: David Farley
Occupation: Travel writer
Borough: Manhattan
What did you eat today?
Breakfast: Two cups of coffee—I rarely eat anything till lunch.
Lunch: I took leftover Thanksgiving ingredients—yams, garlic mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey, cranberry sauce, and gravy—that I’d frozen and then combined it with jalapenos, salsa, and black beans for an awesome Thanksgiving burrito. My family thinks I’m insane when I do this at Thanksgiving.
Dinner: I made an amatriciana sauce that was actually from one of Mario Batali’s cookbooks. For me it’s much more agreeable to eat his food at home since I’ve always found his restaurants overrated.
What do you never eat?
There’s nothing I wouldn’t try at least once—I’d probably eat a dog’s balls if it were prepared in the French manner. Although after living in Rome, I still have a hard time stomaching sloppy old school Italian-American cuisine.
Complete this sentence: In my refrigerator, you can always find:
That spicy, red Vietnamese chili sauce that has a rooster on the plastic container. Jalapenos. Peanut sauce. Green salsa. Czech beer.
What is your favorite kitchen item?
My dog. I never have to clean my kitchen floor.
Where do you eat out most frequently?
Westville, Shake Shack, Ivo & Lulu, Tartine.
World ends tomorrow. What would you like for your last meal?
I’d eat about 20 burritos from Taco Bell. I never eat fast food, but if I knew I was going to die the following day the ethical and health reasons for avoiding a multi-national fast food chain would no longer matter. [Death by frijoles; totally disgusting, but I can respect that. --Ed.]
Read Farley's travel tales over at his place.
A special bonus for you: Italian blogger Pepe Rosso's readers respond with their own desired end-of-days meals.
"Sa cordula" preparata da mia mamma con le micche che fa un mio amico bevendo...il cannonau di Loi
VOGLIO MORIRE PIENO DI ROBA ITALIANISSIMA!!!!
I don't know what it means, but I want someone to whisper it into my ear. PURRRR.
I've also decided that I'd like to tack on 77 bottles of sparkling wines of various prices, grades, and regions to my last meal so I can ring in the end in style.
I don't believe in restaurant hoarding (obviously). It's hard enough to keep a restaurant afloat, what with lease increases, fickle taste, and trickly profit margins; it's got to be even harder when your most ardent patrons selfishly refuse to sing your praises aloud. So I worry about the fate of my new favorite lunch place.
About once a week, my co-workers and I brave the brutal West Side gales for lunch at RIB. With its stainless steel curves, sleek black pleather booths and usually unmanned bar stools at lunch, it looks like a loners' diner out of a Hopper painting. It is a total travesty that RIB is almost always empty at lunch, while that boring little Chick Inn up on Hudson is always bumping. Why do people accept and encourage mediocrity when quality and superior atmosphere can be found just two blocks west?
We're crazy about the 12 hour brisket sandwich, a good three inch pile of the most buttery cross-grain slices of beef, with caramelized onions and a smidge of horseradish mayo on a lightly toasted brioche-like bun ($11.50). If you need something a tiny bit lighter, try the piled-high pulled pork sandwich, mixed with sweet-tart Carolina mustard sauce and celery seed-dotted shreds of coleslaw on the same toasted, airy bun ($10.50). Need to pack on a little flesh for hibernation season? Go with the hefty, cooked to order burger with Hoop cheddar and marinated tomatoes, and spoon a little homemade chow chow relish on top ($10.50). Every sandwich comes with a pile of mesclun and cherry tomatoes tossed with the cool, zingy refrigerator pickles -- slices of deseeded cucumber and onion freshly marinated in sweetened white vinegar. You'll be fighting with your tablemates over the most genius item on the menu -- an enormous bowl of super-crisp, hot barbecue fries, tossed in that salty-sweet rust-colored seasoning that usually coats BarBQ flavored chips, served with a little cup of creamy buttermilk dip ($6.95). Add a mason jar of their homemade lemonade or Southern-style sweet tea and you've got a getaway that redeems even the dreariest workday.
So please, people, don't sentence me to a lifetime of neutral chicken breast sandwiches and flatlining greens over at that other place. Help keep RIB in business. Tip the hottie waiters well. And don't be afraid to tell your friends.
RIB
357 West St. between Clarkson and Leroy
(212) 336-9330
1 9 to Houston St.
Of the three* bottles of sparkling wine our dinner party shared chez nous Saturday night, the Prosecco Sorelle Bronca was the hands-down table favorite. Light and crisp, fleeting fruit, with a fine but not tiny bead, it's the kind of sparkler you can drink all night long. And at $12.99/bottle, you can afford to drink it all night long. I'll be stocking some for New Year's. Buy it at Astor Wines & Spirits. Read more about its provenance here.
In the fabulous Alcoholica Esoterica** (which is worth the money for the champagne chapter alone), Ian Lendler recommends keeping your opened bottle of champagne bubbly throughout the evening by dropping a metal spoon handle into the neck of the bottle.
I must disagree with him, though, when it comes to serving temp. He suggests 45 degrees Farenheit (and says that most fridges are 37 degrees) for best taste and bubble. Call me gauche, but I don't think there's anything more delicious than a glass of tickly, glacier-cold bubbly. I super-chilled the bottles in a big bucket of ice (also great because there wasn't any room in the fridge anyway).
Incidentally, Lendler also recommends not leaving your champagne in the refrigerator for more than a few days because vibrations from the motor will de-fizz your champs. (Who knew?)
*First runner-up was a Santa Margherita Prosecco di Valdobbiadene (Brut), $16.99 - light and mineral-y. Second runner-up (and most expensive) was Leclerc Briant Cuvee Extra Champagne (Brut), $27.99 - golden and fruity.
**Disclaimer: Yes, I got this book from work. But I'm not just shilling, it really is a fabulous book. Great gift for your boozer friends.
Name: David Byrne
Occupation: Artist/composer?
Borough: Manhattan
What did you eat today?
For breakfast: Pad Thai noodles and pumpkin pie and iced coffee.
What do you never eat?
Pig feet
Complete this sentence: In my refrigerator, you can always find:
Grapefruit, white wine, cheese, leftovers, tortillas, ice cream, frozen pizza, hummus.
What is your favorite kitchen item?
Microwave
Where do you eat out most frequently?
In my neighborhood (Hell’s Kitchen)
World ends tomorrow. What would you like for your last meal?
Fresh fish, grilled w/ lemon and olive oil, spinach, brussels sprouts, white wine.
Read David Byrne's journal here.
If you can't stand the heat, get off 32nd St. DoSirak's soondubu jjigae (soft tofu stew) was exactly like the jazz piano trio rendition of Radiohead's "Paranoid Android" they were piping through the dining room -- soft-pedaled pap stripped of the original's fire and virility, rendering it completely benign and boring. The kimchi pajeon was similarly flabby and lukewarm. And no hot corn tea! This is impotent, pandering Korean food in desperate need of some culinary Viagra.
DoSirak
30 E. 13th St.
between Fifth Ave. and University Pl.
212-366-9299
N Q R W 4 5 6 L to Union Square
