Artisanal Fromagerie & Bistro: A Cheesy Affair

Upon first glance, Artisanal Fromagerie & Bistro appears the victim of an identity crisis. On one hand, the restaurant looks, feels and eats like your typical bistro. The restaurant's interior is decidedly bistro-esque, complete with a long wooden bar and checkered-tiled floor, but ironically, its most famously known for fondue, a classic Swiss and not French creation. But while lesser restaurants would surely suffer from this apparent duality, Artisanal has thrived. The main reason for its success can be traced to its owner, king of all things cheese, Terrance Brennan, who in addition to Artisanal, owns the two-Michelin starred restaurant, Picholine.

Having to entertain my family and their friends for the weekend, I was charged with selecting a restaurant with wide array of dishes surely to please all. It was under these circumstances, as well as my family's love for cheese, that I settled on Artisanal, "settling" being the operative word.

The Breslin is All Grown Up

There are many dangers inherent in "reviewing" a restaurant after a single meal (I apologize, but I still cannot bring myself to call anything I write a true "review" without the added sarcasm of the overused finger flexion). I think it's fair to say that I would never pass judgment on a restaurant after a single visit, unless I had a wildly fantastic or horrible experience (the bad ones are always more fun to write about). Yet it's the restaurant that falls in the middle of my own personal curve that makes for difficult writing, especially when I've only eaten there once.

So with that said, I'm not sure what to say about The Breslin, the relatively new restaurant from Ken Freidman and April Bloomfield of the Spotted Pig (and the late John Dory, which may rise again). At this point, The Breslin is beyond the infancy and preschool days of the initial hype, and has passed the proficiency tests of the major critics. All that's left is to either keep turning out meals at a high-level or move on to the next stage in it's restaurant life. In keeping with the metaphor, it's probably a bit like getting your college degree, but having no clue what to do with the rest of your life (I assume zero stars or a quick closing means you got caught blowing coke in your dorm room and get thrown out of school). Where do you go from here?

A good friend from law school, and one of the few people from my class who actually got (and retained) her biglaw job (mainly because she's brilliant), was in the city from Atlanta and wanted a good meal (we were law school cooking buddies). She will hereinafter be called "Future Partner" or "FP." I initially threw out a few suggestions, but we decided to wing it, settling on The Breslin over a round of Maker's Marks at her hotel bar.

Chaating it up at Bhojan Vegetarian

I've always despised the large helping of self-righteousness that sometimes goes along with vegetarianism and its ilk. Yet in the past year I have been making an effort to eat less meat, certainly not out of qualms about eating animals, but out of a growing sense that I should be more conscious about what I'm eating and how it got to my plate. In doing so, I've been eating a lot of Indian food, which is one of the few (if only) cuisines that does not leave me missing meat.

Lately I've been craving chaat and other Indian snacks, which are often vegetarian.  The urge was especially strong after recently reading about a delicious looking Indian grilled cheese sandwich from Mumbai Express in a post by Joe DiStefano on World's Fare. Unfortunately, Mumbai Express is way the hell out near Great Neck, and it would take a group of people (and perhaps a car) for the proper motivation to make the arduous trek.

Then I read about Bhojan, a Gujarati Kosher vegetarian restaurant serving chaat (and the vaunted cheese sandwiches) that just opened in Curry Hill. It is also run by the owners of Chola and Tadka, two of my favorite places in my neighborhood for Indian. I instantly planned a lunch for the next day, and wanting to try a variety of dishes (certainly not out of any sense of "friendship"), I rounded up my roommate (henceforth known as "The Quaker") and the DAsian to make the 10 minute non-trek to 28th and Lexington.

Quick Bite: Lunch at No. 7 Sub Shop

In the past six months the Ace Hotel on 29th and Broadway has become the epicenter of the hipster foodie scene in Manhattan with the opening of The Breslin (and the rumored return of the John Dory), the first New York outpost of Stumptown Coffee, and now No. 7 Sub Shop. One of the first things I was taught in law school was the importance of defining one's terms, but with "hipster" and "foodie" the labels are fraught with so much peril and negative connotations that I will just throw up my hands and say "fuck it!" Having said that, there's definitely a vibe around the Ace Hotel which causes most people to immediately scream "hipster!" (never in my life have I overheard so many conversations using the term "social media" in one sitting).

No. 7 Sub Shop itself is located on Broadway, around the corner from the main entrance to the hotel. Walking in, the tall ceilings and dark wood-paneled walls dominate the room, making the cooks working feverishly behind the long counter look tiny in comparison. The expediter wore a Rushmore Academy Beekeeping Club t-shirt as he casually called out order numbers to the packed, steaming hot room. The menu is almost impossible to read in the dimness of the shop. Each sandwich (all are $9) is described on an individually framed poster, and the glare off the frames means anyone debating their order is forced to lean forward and squint to read each sandwich description.

All Hail Souper Soup

I grew up on my grandma's matzoh ball soup. An enduring memory of my childhood is watching football on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of winter with a giant bowl of matzoh ball soup on my lap.

When I moved to the city, one of the first things I sought out was matzoh ball soup that could rival my grandma's. It certainly wasn't to be found at Katz's-- their matzoh balls were way too dense-- basically sinking to the bottom of the bowl. At Sarge's Delicatessen on 3rd Avenue, I found a "souper soup" that recreates these memories where other matzoh ball soups had failed. For $6.95 you get a gigantic container of soup with noodles, a fluffy matzoh ball, and a fist-sized meat kreplach that tastes strongly of onions. The broth is rich and round, but I like to add a little togarashi for some heat and smokiness. Just the smell takes me back to numerous Sundays spent slurping soup, eating cold cuts and smelts, while watching the Bengals get blown out.

The souper soup is a meal in itself, but when I'm really feeling like a fat-ass I'll get a triple-decker pastrami and turkey rueben, or even the fabled Deli Wellington, made from pastrami and corn beef scraps.

Sarge's Deli, 548 Third Ave. (36th-37th Sts.)
212-679-0442