at the sign of The Pink Pig

There's Eating on Orchard Street, All Through the Evening

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 29, 2007]

And you thought Clinton had turned into a restaurant row.  It's become a tradition for bars down there to have signs in the window saying "No more bars".  Enough's enough - yeah, right.

(Regate: a newcomer on the block)

Let the Lobster Roll: Back to Ditch Plains

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 29, 2007]

There are food writers online who seem to get to every new opening the moment it opens, often earlier.  And then, improbably, they find every bite of every dish just scrumptious.

There are also online experts who batter down the doors, and rip the debutante a new poophole, before the first one's even been used.  I don't get it.

Sugiyama Rocks: Literally, For Once

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 22, 2007]

"Do you know Paul Rodgers?"  There she stood...in the street...smiling...  Yes, I know Paul Rodgers.  In fact, let me just flip my kobe on the coals, and I'll tell you how I went to school with Paul McCartney's keyboard player.

Not the typical interaction with a Japanese master-chef.

I Do Like Monday: or Privacy at Public

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 22, 2007]

Why isn't Brad Farmerie's name on every New York feeder's lips, either as a chef or a juggler?  With one hand, he feeds vibrant Australasian cuisine to hordes of modelly club-goers at Public; with the other, he slips smart titbits to a few discerning fine beaks in the back lounge known as The Monday Room.

(Baby sweetcorn and the remains of a duck/foie gras ballotine)

Mayor Von Tease: Bloomie's Unshabby Independence

[The Cunning Tower by Wilfrid: June 22, 2007]

Was it Dr Johnson, the famous scrofulous scribe and imbiber, who spoke of the "shabby independence" of the Grub Street freelancer?  This, surely, was at the front of Michael Rubens Bloomberg's mind as he decided to reject not one but both political parties - he was, after all, a Democrat rather longer than he was a Republican - and file papers with the Board of Elections to eradicate his G.O.P. affiliation.

Words on a June Evening: Poets, Plays and Piaf

Poetic City: Celebration on the Waterfront

To Nelson Rockefeller Park for this terribly dry but enjoyable poetry performance by the Hudson.  The setting is delicious, especially if one turns one's back on the steep curving cliff of new condominiums and contemplates the green black water.  Framed by jazz funk from one Taylor McFerrin, the purpose of which eluded me (hair or hat? I asked myself), some eminent published poets bellowed briefly at the Jersey City sunset.

I had wanted to hear Franz Wright, a terse lyricist, read, and his gruff and wry voice did not disappoint.

Birdies: The Word

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 15, 2007]

"The fried chicken has become like the signature dish."  Pharoah Masters arranged himself comfortably on the bench outside his First Avenue soul-in-the-wall.  "I don't know.  I make a good lemonade too."

He does, too. A minty one. Birdies also offers a full vegetarian "chicken" menu, home-made desserts, and a host of sides. But with a name like Birdies...

Boop boop dit-tem dat-tem what-tem Chu!: Wild Salmon!

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 15, 2007]

In his comic novel of 1900, Three Men on the Bummel, Jerome K. Jerome recounts a simple-minded but hilarious prank, in which a character enters a thoroughly well-stocked bootshop and asks the proprietor, with "the dignity of positive imbecility", whether "you have here boots for sale."

Thus was I tempted to ask our waiter, "Do you, by any chance, have salmon on the menu?"

Correct Dining #1: What A Martini Is

[Correct Dining by Wilfrid: June 15, 2007]

This is the first in a series of lessons designed to teach the precepts of correct dining.  I am sure my regular readers will be entirely familiar with these rules and principles, all of which might be regarded as a sub-division of the science of etiquette.  But there may be some cads and oiks following along, so we must take no chances.

Let's start with a drink.  It's called "a martini" or "a martini cocktail", and never has so much utter rubbish ever been written on single subject.

(Yes, note the color)

Tenth Street Snack-Out (Dieci/Kitchen @ Company): with a Sixth Street Detour (Grape & Grain)

[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 8, 2007]

The Irresistible Rise of the Small Plate

Everybody get used to it.  In this town, eating dinner is over.  Soon will be, unless you count the  prix fixe tasting trough of the latest celebrity chef in town.  A year ago I'd have said, dinner is over with the exception of a few elegant oases priced for millionaires.  Now Ducasse has been chased past the city limits and Ramsay handed a raspberry by the Times, I'm not so sure.  Even Robuchon is serving bar food - of a kind.