Pulino's is so New York

Pulino's Bar & Pizzeria (282 Bowery @ Houston)

Fresh from my divine dinner at Marea, I was hyped to continue with my award-themed dining choices.  One of the most highly buzzed recent openings, and most coveted reservations, is Pulino's Bar & Pizzeria, located diagonally from DBGB Kitchen & Bar on the corner of Houston and Bowery.  With Chef Nate Appleman at the helm (2009 James Beard recipient for Rising Star Chef), teamed up with Keith McNally (the same man who brought us Cafe Luxembourg, Odeon, Lucky Strike, Nell's, Pravda, Balthazar, Pastis, Schiller's, and Minetta Tavern), it's hardly a mystery that this "pizzeria" has rapidly gained such frenzied momentum.

With business hours ranging from 8:30 a.m. to 2:00 a.m., they offer 7 different menus (depending on the time of day), including a brunch of breakfast pizza with poached eggs as well as a burger menu available only after midnight.  Of course, we were ambitious and shot for the prime dinner rush to catch this new gem at its shiniest.  Although reservations are typically booked two weeks in advance, a friendly (if not altogether desperate) call to the corporate office scored my blog bunch a table for seven of us at dinner this past Monday.

Our band of eager eaters was seated near the front at a table made entirely of distressed blue police barricades, though none of us took heed to the warnings of "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS"... this bunch likes to share our food, and forks and knives flew across the table as we enjoyed a delicious array of much more than just pizza.

The dining room feels very much like a movie set, all facade, yet somehow very real, with a tangible current of energy... so much like, well, New York City.  I have read that the whitewashed brick was chosen because during construction, McNally so much loved the way the dust fell down the walls, he wanted to recreate the effect permanently.  The final result?  A cross between a glorious tiled, golden-lit  subway station, a French charcuterie, Italian pizzeria, and a library of hundreds of cordials and cognacs (don't get too excited... many of them are unavailable, including a bottle of Faretti biscotti liqueur one of my comrades keenly spotted).

Shortly after our initial cocktails were delivered, the door was swarming with SoHo fashionistas and Village hipsters unable to squeeze into the bustling bar, yet hoping for a walk-in seating.  The host staff practically doubled as (really hot) bouncers, more in charge of crowd control and guest-herding than actual greeting and seating.  With such electricity and decor, it seemed improbable that the food could possibly match in comparison.

The drinks certainly did not.

With the sole exception of the Raspicello Julep (a sort of raspberry mock mojito), the cocktails (entirely too many of which feature the mixologist's apparent obsession with grapefruit) ranged the gamut from teetering on marginal-at-best to severely disappointing, to altogether downright revolting, unanimously eliciting Looney Tunes reactions of shock and horror as they circulated our group before being left to die in a beverage graveyard in the middle of the table.  Please take my advice, and stick to the wine list... affordably priced, and exponentially more pleasing, as we discovered unfortunately far after our palates had already been raped.

After a few hearty swigs of water, and gulp or two of spirited grape juice, we were ready to try the food.  The alcohol had somewhat killed the buzz, ironically, but we hadn't come here for the drinks, after all.

Chef Appleman more than delivered.  In stark contrast to the liquid starters, every single plate was solid. This is the stuff that wins awards, builds lasting memories, and will draw in the crowds long after the initial hype subsides.  The platings aren't pretty.  In some cases, they were actually deliciously ugly and rustic.  But who wants a dainty li'l dish you're afraid to mess up?  At Pulino's absolutely everything we tried was devastatingly delicious and drew gasps and giggles of pleasure all across the board.

Wood-fire roasted asparagus with ramps and rhubarb on a bed of black pepper mascarpone

The Nduja was a Calabrian spreadable salami served with bruschetta toast

My favorite of the bruschette was a cast iron skillet of baked ricotta with oregano, fennel, orange agrumato (extra virgin olive oil pressed with oranges), and black pepper

The fazzoletti was a savory smoked ricotta crepe, blanketed with a ribbon of hearty lamb ragu and pecorino shavings

The ciccioli frolli was a table favorite... crispy pork belly with a perfect contrast of pear mostarda (an Italian condiment of candied pears and mustard syrup)

A cutting board of delicately sliced prosciutto with parmigiano reggiano and granny smith apples

The star of the evening and a must-order item is the semolina gnocchi, a cast iron skillet of lighter-than-air wood-flame-kissed pasta pillows floating on a bed of chicken and tomato sugo.

The polpettine pizza, cut in squares, was covered with sliced beef meatballs, tomato, mozzarella, grana (which contributed a nutty, earthy flavor), and polka-dotting of pickled chiles and basil.  The crust is paper thin and impressively crisp, even in the center.  An absolutely perfect pie.

The gamberi pizza showcased rock shrimp, speck (a juniper flavored, salt-cured ham), tomato, fennel, garlic, and oregano.

The coppa di gelato was a sundae with chocolate wafers, amarena cherries, and toasted pistachios.

The chocolate mousse semifreddo (semi-frozen custard) with crisped rice was the first dessert to disappear at our table.  Outrageously delicious.

The almond crostata with candied grapefruit, cream quenelle, and walnuts was good, but one of the only dishes left unfinished.

My favorite was the hazelnut and brown butter carrot cake, the perfect sweet, moist ending

The affogato was an espresso-gelato float, so simple yet exceptional 

Just one sip of the sgroppino instantly redeemed all of the lackluster cocktails with which we started the evening.  Can you say champagne flute of lemon sorbet, prosecco, vodka, and strawberry puree?  I will absolutely be attempting this one at home in the very near future.

A fun tip for the pranksters out there: both men and women's bathroom doors open into the same unisex washroom, beyond which lie the actual gender-specific restrooms.  While washing my hands, two chatty women entered.  When I gasped and hollered, "are you kidding?!?!" both ladies instantly scurried back out, and apologized, "we are SO sorry... we though this was the..." to which I simply laughed and exited through the women's door.

Thank you SO much to my incredible clan, always willing to try new places, order different things, and never complaining that I photograph your food, too.  Your encouragement and enthusiasm are inspirational gifts to me.  I am such a lucky boy to have you in my life.

Marea named best new restaurant in America

Marea (240 Central Park South)

The James Beard Awards have been called the Oscars of the food world, honoring the best and brightest of the food and beverage industry.  So when the 2010 Awards recently named Marea the best new restaurant in the country, you had best be believin' I was on the phone immediately trying to secure a reservation.

Best? In the whole country?  That's a tall order to fill, and I was more than ready to taste for myself.

For starters, it would be hard to find a more prestigious location.  Near the corner of Broadway and Central Park South, Marea overlooks Central Park and Columbus Circle.

Unfortunately, our own location within the restaurant wasn't nearly as impressive.  Besides the Egyptian onyx and rosewood bar a few steps from the entryway, nothing about the design is particularly remarkable.  Although I did appreciate the lack of "stuff" and a more pristine feel of a gallery where the food is the showpiece, far too many tables (such as ours) were directly touching service stations.  Yes, touching... as in, if my dinner companion had scratched his noggin' too zealously, his elbow would have been in the top drawer.  I know, I know... you're probably thinking exactly what I thought.  How on earth is it possible an establishment that has catered to such royalty as Kanye West might not immediately recognize the face of renowned blog, Amuse * Bouche?

Needless to say, even if I didn't get a chance to try every item on the menu, I have now memorized each relish fork, fish knife, and caviar spoon in rotation.  Something about sitting next to a drawer chest of all the flatware thousands of people have previously licked is a little more than off-putting, especially when dropping a couple Benjamins on a luxurious dinner.

That having been said, the meal itself was worthy of every accolade it has garnered.  The service was impeccable, and even if they had no idea who I was, we were treated splendidly, and had an experience neither of us will soon forget.

Let me offer two important suggestions: 1) become familiar with the menu before you arrive.  It's extremely overwhelming, and literally every dish offers appealing components.  We spent nothing shy of half an hour debating what we should order, and there were only two of us; 2) I highly recommend the prix fixe option.  At dinner, $89 includes four courses (any starter, any pasta, any meat or seafood entree, and any dessert).  The lunch option for $34 includes a starter and a main course.

With the guidance of our profoundly knowledgeable and down-to-earth server, we constructed what I will remember as one of my top five dining experiences anywhere.  Though the emphasis is on fresh seafood (Marea is the Italian word for tide), executive chef Michael White (of Alto and Convivio) has created a beautiful selection of homemade pastas and meats, as well.

An amuse-bouche of salmon lollipops with black currant and basil

The Ricci is a crostini of sea urchin and sea salt blanketed with a sheet of lardo (herb-cured salume)

Santa Barbara spot prawns with Meyer lemon and black lava salt (one of our three selections in the crudo tasting)

Long Island fluke with lemon thyme and a drizzle of ligurian olive oil

Pacific jack mackarel with eggplant caponata

One of our favorite dishes was the Astice.  Succulent pieces of Nova Scotia lobster atop a creamy burrata (made from buffalo mozzarella and cream), with egglpant al funghetto, heirloom tomatoes, and basil.  See that gorgeous "caviar" on the left?  It's actually rehydrated basil seeds (the shell husk becomes transparent, creating the caviar illusion).  It tasted even more delicious than it looks.

A most wonderfully tender grilled octopus with rice salad, fava, and yellow tomatoes.

I cannot begin to explain how outrageously phenomenal this spaghetti was.  One of my favorite pasta dishes in the whole world, and so simple.  Crab, Santa Barbara sea urchin, and basil in a light tomato sauce, with buttery bread crumbs that offered the perfect contrasting texture.  I could honestly devour this every day of my life.

Fusilli with red-wine braised octopus and bone marrow.

Our server generously brought us a complimentary extra course of veal agnolotti with chantarelle mushrooms and sweetbreads (calf thymus and pancreas).  A perfect example of a flawlessly hearty dish from the land.

Enormous, buttery sea scallops (filet mignon of the sea!) with braised leeks, sweet fig, and a polenta croquette.

The most incredible sirloin ever to touch my lips.  A 50 day dry-aged Creekstone Farms, grass-fed organic sirloin perched on a bed of bone marrow panzanella (toasted bread salad).  It was easily 16 oz., and though not from the sea, one of my favorite dishes of the evening (of my life, actually...and I am not exaggerating).

Dessert was a moist pistachio cake with chocolate ganache, toasted pistachios, pistachio gelato, and a kumquat marmalade.

The sweet ending star, however, was the Affogato, a glass goblet "float" of zabaglione gelato with espresso and amaro.  A decadent coffee and dessert all in one.

The check was presented with a silver pedestal of house made chocolates.  The perfect ending to an incredible dinner.

Who cares if we had to sit in the silverware drawer?  The food is the stuff around which families plan vacations, and then regale the meal for years and years.  I'm lucky enough to live just a fifteen-minute subway ride away.  Though my wallet can't handle it on a regular basis, e-mail me if you want to join me sometime for the lunch prix fixe! 

Gari: Simply Delicious Authentic Sushi

Gari (370 Columbus Ave.)

My initial confrontation with sushi was actually in Japan almost fifteen years ago.  Although I now know there were several establishments in my Indiana home town that offered the seemingly exotic cuisine back then, I guess rice, seaweed, and raw fish weren't really in the Hawks Family culinary vocabulary, so I never knew...

I describe my first encounter with sushi in Japan as a confrontation, because that's exactly it was.  And a significantly disastrous one at that...

When I was chosen for the honor of representing the United States as a youth ambassador to Japan through the U.S. Senate, not only had I never tasted Japanese food (well, other than flying chunks of flaming chicken soaring over the hibachi at Benihana), but I knew absolutely nothing about Japanese culture.  So, when the Senate sent me to an intensive 4-day orientation in San Francisco prior to my flight to Tokyo, needless to say I was a bit overwhelmed.  Though I was fascinated by the art of flower arranging and origami, those facets of the culture (along with etiquette) took the back burner to attempting to learn the language.  As a result, when I finally landed halfway around the world, I could actually speak a fair amount of basic Japanese, but my extent of knowledge sadly ended there.

I spent the first few days in Japan in Tokyo, actually meeting with (then) Prime Minister Murayama, and observing sessions of the Diet (Japan's legislature), primarily in the Monbusho (Ministry of Education).  Because I was being whirled in and out of meetings and conferences, I only really ate sandwiches and conference food... but not what I considered an authentic taste of Japanese at its best.

After Tokyo, I was flown to a small mountain village between the cities of Osaka and Kobe, which I would call home for the next three months.  Directly from the airport, my host family took me to their favorite Italian restaurant.  Though I hadn't paid much attention to the difference between nigiri and maki, by now I had at least psyched myself up to finally try sushi.  After devouring a surprisingly delicious rendition of spaghetti carbonara (at least I was eating raw egg), we headed to their mountain home.  The dinner that night would remain with me forever.

Along with pot roast and potatoes (God bless them for trying so hospitably to make me feel at home), we enjoyed a large family-style helping of chirashi (pieces of fresh fish on a large bowl of rice) garnished with dandelions.  What made the meal so perplexing, however, was that we used chopsticks for both the beef and the tuna.

By the time I had figured out each family member's occupation, age, and favorite color (I dined that evening with the two sons and the mother), very few conversation topics remained that all parties could understand.  So while the four of us made our initial assessments of one another and contemplated how on earth these next few months would unfold, I lobbed my potato around my plate like a hockey puck with my chopsticks.  When I finally attempted to pinch it to bring it shakily to my mouth, I had apparently underestimated the strength of my chopstick muscles, for the little gravy-soaked spud went sputnik, launched from my hands, and went soaring into orbit... a course that landed it smack dab in the middle of their cream-colored leather couch nearly three feet away.

"Oh crap!" I screamed, as I jabbed my chopsticks into my rice bowl and ran to clean up the mess I had goobered.  When I looked back to the table, Michiko, the mother, was running from the table sobbing, and the two boys just stared at me like I had murdered their puppy.

"Chopsticks upright in your food means death to the family," the eldest son, Toshiro, explained (he had been a foreign exchange student in Australia the year before, and spoke impeccable English, with a thick Aussie accent).  Kenji, the younger brother, broke into uncontrollable guffaws.

I fortunately did recover from my terrible first impression (along with several others I will save for a later post...)  Along with becoming quite skilled with a set of chopsticks, in those three months I learned a great deal about Japanese cuisine, and enjoyed fresh, exquisite sushi, the likes of which I have rarely enjoyed here in America, even in New York City.

Though it may be hard to believe, the Japanese didn't name their most popular rolls after American cities... No, a traditional Japanese menu doesn't feature Boston, Alaska, Philadelphia, or even California rolls.  Don't get me wrong... rare is the day I will turn away a roll with mayonnaise and shrimp or salmon and cream cheese.  But when I crave a rendition that truly reminds me of my experience in Japan, mango mozzarella chicken maki doesn't exactly hit the spot.

That's why I was particularly overjoyed a few weeks ago when I first discovered Gari, a surprisingly authentic sushi bar and Japanese restaurant on the Upper West Side.  Gari is the third restaurant opened by Masatoshi "Gari" Sugio in his efforts to create a more purist dining experience, focusing on the finest, freshest ingredients, prepared with just enough flavor that drowning the sushi in soy sauce would be rendered altogether unnecessary.  The result is my pick for some of the best, most authentic sushi available anywhere.  It's not a place for a "fusion" enthusiast, but if you want top-quality seafood, you can't beat Gari.

While there's nothing wrong with a gourmet salmon-blueberry maki with gold leafing on top, there's something to be said for a place that needs no gimmicks or crazy garnishes.  The fresh fish alone is simply fit for a king.  At Gari, the sushi chefs are genuine, culinary artists who carefully construct the finest ingredients with meticulous detail.  They even grind their own wasabi paste (something that is far more rare than the average sushi consumer realizes).  The following is a sample of some of the exceptional tastings we enjoyed that evening.

Though we opted out of the sake route, you can't go wrong with a cold Sapporo to start the meal.

The tuna avocado appetizer with a light wasabi-soy glaze ($12)

Torchon (foie gras poached in a towel) of monkfish liver with pickled ramp daikon puree ($11)

For the indecisive diner who simply wants to try a basic, generous assortment of seafood on a bed of seasoned rice, you can't go wrong with the Chirashi ($37)

An absolutely perfect kumamoto oyster (it takes 3 years to develop the deep shell that houses this buttery, delectably garnished morsel).

Chopped fatty tuna with pickled radish ($14), and fresh salmon with sauteed tomato & sweet onion ($5)

An impressively light and sweet piece of creamy, fresh uni (sea urchin) for $7.50

Tuna with creamy tofu puree ($5)

Tuna tartar with toasted pine nuts, capers, and nori crisps (seaweed tempura)

Fresh diver scallop

For a sweet ending, you simply have to try the mille crepe... dozens of paper thin pastry pancakes layered with a delicate custard.  Absolutely out-of-this-world deliciousness.

Mombar: The Ultimate Taste Test(e)

Mombar (25-22 Steinway)

5-11:00 p.m. daily except Mondays (718) 726-2356

As the vast majority of my blog posts are about some of the finest Italian food in the city, exquisite French meals, and gourmet twists on American favorites, I should be careful not to abuse the power when trusting friends agree to partake in a "blog excursion."  But when six comrades agree to join you for dinner, what's a guy supposed to do with such a gift?  Sample seven different pizza topping combinations?  Take a pasta tour to survey which sauce best befits which noodle?  Nawww... that's too easy.  This was a golden opportunity to sample a far more diverse variety of cuisine, and I knew just the place.

"It's Egyptian... It's just a few blocks from my apartment... Yes, I'm sure they offer small plates of hummus and whatnot..."

I didn't exactly lie.  I just didn't share the whole truth.  The actual reality is that even I, myself, didn't fully know the whole truth until we were told the off-the-menu chef's specials.

(Most dishes are served with a choice of rice or couscous)

The place is Mombar, a unique Egyptian restaurant in the heart of Astoria's Little Egypt stretch of Steinway, run by chef/owner Mustafa El Sayed, (his brother, Ali, runs the Kabab Cafe a few doors down).  The whimsical storefront and dining room took 7 years to decorate, and feature a kaleidoscope of mosaics, mugs, children's-crayon-drawings, pillows, and tapestries, creating the playful ambiance of a technicolor cantina.

The array of menu offerings is equally whimsical, though each individual dish is fairly straightforward.  This is not the place to come for fusion, or an Americanized rendition of Egyptian cuisine hidden beneath sauces or cheese.  This is the stuff of serious Egyptian culinary excellence, and won't taste like anything comparable to the unfamiliar palate.

On a visit to try the El Sayed's cuisine, Anthony Bourdain expressed his envy of those fortunate enough to live nearby.  There's nothing quite like this anywhere else, that's for certain.  But for the adventurous diner, it's well worth a trip to Astoria for the experience.

And it is an experience.  Moustafa himself prepares each and every plate to order, so expect to make an evening of it.  Dishes won't coming flying out of the kitchen, but if you're willing to fill the space between courses with conversation and ponderings on the food and the atmosphere, you're in for something unique.  Appetizers range from $7 to $8, and entrees are $12 to $25.  A tasting menu is available for $30 per person.  Because the levels of bravery varied greatly within our group, we opted to build our own tasting, with the extremely friendly and playful guidance of our server.

I'll cut right to the talk of the evening (and several days following, as well).  Sometimes referred to as mountain oysters, cowboy caviar, or swinging beef, our server simply referred to them as lamb testicles.  We all shared a good laugh when asked how many we'd like to order.  The table agreed that a solitary ball was cruel, so we went for the full set.  Boiled, then peeled and sauteed in a lemon-garlic cream sauce, these li'l nuggets tasted something like an extremely tender herbed chicken sausage meatball.  Most of us agreed that had we not know the true identity until afterwards (like Chevy Chase in the hilarious scene from Funny Farm where he attempts to break the record for consuming lamb fries), we probably would have eaten more.

Though my roommate stuck to nibbling pita and holding his groin the entire time we sampled this delicacy, the fact of the matter is that testicles are considered a real treat, even an aphrodisiac in various corners of the world.  I would be remiss not to share this revealing video clip found on the website for the annual World Testicle Cooking Championship (I highly recommend viewing the entire clip...it's brief).

Besides lamb testicles, my more adventurous dining companions tried several other unique dishes.  The unfortunately named offals were anything but awful, and priced at only $10 a plate.  Again, be sure to inquire if you are interested in these off-menu delicacies.

Our server stirring a quail egg into the clay pot of lamb cheek, which tasted extremely similar to a hearty bolognese sauce, served with toasted pita points.

Far more tender than the fried cow brain sandwich offered at The New Bethel Ordinary in my hometown in Indiana, this lamb's brain was especially delicate, and not entirely unlike a lemony fried pork tenderloin.

Though a bit unnerving to actually see the opening to the aorta, or a protruding ventricle, one of my favorite dishes of the evening was the extremely buttery and tender calf heart.

On the less adventurous end of the spectrum, we enjoyed a mix sampler designed for the tastes of our entire table.  It consisted of hommous, babaganouj, and a smokey fava bean puree with coriander and onions.

The da-jaj bel-zitoon was a clay pot of savory chicken tajeen with stewed olives and vegetables.

The roast rack of lamb, braised in butter and spices and blanketed in wilted greens, literally fell off the bone.

One of the only somewhat disappointing dishes was the duck glazed in Egyptian molasses.  Beyond the caramelized skin, the duck lacked much flavor, and teetered on the rather dry end of the spectrum.

One of the most unanimously loved dishes at the table was a salmon filet topped with mediterranean vegetables, baked in a delicate phyllo envelope that trapped in the flavors and fragrant spices.

Of course we had to try the dish after which the restaurant was named, the Mombar.  Hand-stuffed sausage with rice, beef, lamb, herbs and spices, all sauteed with garlic, chickpeas, and tomatoes.

Much better than the duck, the Sem-Man was a set of two roasted quail, topped with fried quail eggs.

For dessert, we enjoyed the cinnamon-dusted, honey-soaked shredded wheat with dates and nuts.

This says a lot, coming from a neighborhood saturated with Greek cafes, but the baklava was one of the best slices I've ever tasted.  The perfect balance of pastry and just the right amount  of honey, enough to make it a delicious ending without too much sweetness.