But that’s where the excitement ends, I’m afraid, because the fired chicken sammy that everyone raves about is not all that, nor is it a bucket of chicken, because it’s SO thin you can almost floss with it! Not an exaggeration, sadly. To quote one reviewer on Yelp, “they must use very skinny chickens.” Truer words were never spoken. Fortunately the flavor and heat are good, but let’s face it, you’re basically eating a breading sandwich.
On the other hand, the place is swarming with a morass of tourists all donning swimsuits, drinking themselves sloppy and smoking the weed, which is a very strange concept when you consider that the other prime attraction here is cliff jumping. Yes, you read this correctly. A lawyer’s nightmare come true, you’ve got a queue fifty intoxicated people deep all clamoring for the chance to hurl themselves off the side of a 45-foot ledge into the aquamarine waters below. And while it may seem like an obviously horrendous idea to have cliff diving and booze in such close proximity to one another, my guess is that it somehow works, because the liquid courage helps shmucks like me muster up the cohones to risk their lives and conquer their fears.
But the real question is, am I glad I did it? No. My ass hurt for weeks.
I’m not sure why this place does such good business in the summer, but in the fall and winter, I totally get it. It’s warm and cozy inside with fireplaces and old-world charm seeping out of every crack in the hardwood floor. You kinda just wanna kick off your shoes, throw on some slippers, smoke a pipe and read the paper.
But if pipes aren’t your thing, the vittles don’t disappoint. As for the menu, it’s pretty similar fare to Spotted Horse Tavern around the corner, but much better on the execution, regardless of what the Yelpers say.
I had the quinoa salad which I thought was very good. Fresh ingredients. Light and yet filling at the same time. I also enjoyed the salmon BLT, fancied up with tapenade, roasted tomatoes, lemon pepper mayo and a brioche bun. Pretty strong.
On the whole, I look forward to going back, especially to curl up in front of one of those fireplaces during the next bomb cyclone.
I wanted to like The Spread more than I did, but damn did they make it hard with misses so far off the mark it’d be like trying to bomb North Korea and hitting Australia. For example, the Rose Sangria, which was so disturbingly floral that you’d swear you were guzzling a bottle of perfume. Equally bad is the steak tartar, which lacks any semblance of basic seasoning, coming off more like ground beef.
And while there were some hits, even those don’t live up to the hype. Like the crab stuffed avocado, which sounds more impressive than it is, especially because it’s billed as the second coming and they only make 12 a day, so you almost feel obliged to order it if they’re any left. Well don’t. It’s just okay. In fact, the buratta was every bit as good and sans pressure.
Making matters worse still, the music is akin to something they probably play to torture prisoners in Guantanamo Bay and the service is slow and inattentive, rounding out The Spread as a very weak two in my ferocious opinion. Spread the word.
45 W 27th St. New York, NY 10001 • (212) 213-3066 • oscarwildenyc.com
Ungapatchka might just be the only word strong enough to describe this bar. For those of you not up on your Yiddish, it means ridiculously over-decorated. But as ostentatious as it is, they actually make it work somehow, pushing things so far past gaudy that it becomes cool again. Almost like flying to Chicago and over-shooting it so far that you go all the way around the world and wind up back in Chicago. That’s Oscar Wilde, a $4 million-dollar tribute meets renovation meets booze.
From giant bronze statues to peacock feather chandeliers to ornate tchotchkes (also Yiddish for little miscellaneous trinkets and keepsakes) on every inch of every wall and surface, this place doesn’t miss an inch, also boasting the longest bar in Manhattan, wrapping around 90% of the perimeter. Mahogany, you ask? Please. That’s so two million dollars ago. We’re talkin’ white Italian marble.
Now here’s the trick. You’d think that all of this pomp and circumstance is purposefully perpetrated to mask its inadequacies, but I am compelled to tell you that it also delivers on the drinks. I personally only had the Bee’s Knees which is vodka based with honey infusions and lemon bitters. It is damn good. Others around me also seemed happy as they ordered seconds and thirds of their respective cocktails. Granted they could also just be alcoholics.Whatever the reason, find one to come here. It’s a one of a kind joint, that’s for sure, taking very much to heart Oscar’s sage wisdom, “Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.”
90 Post Rd E. Westport, CT 06880 • 203) 557-9666 • rothbardct.com
Rothbart is not a bar. Nor is it a restaurant. It is an Eastern European godsend filled with beer that flows like happiness dipped in gold and dishes that will have you thinking you’re in Prague, not Westport.
The setting alone couldn’t be more perfect really, with it’s castle-esque, basement dining room off the corner of an alley (of the charming variety). Which proves to be a living testament to just how good this place is, because it’s plenty busy for a place that isn’t that easy to find. In fact, the only reason we went there was because the wait was ridic at Bar Taco. And I’m so glad it was!
Beyond having kickass tripel beer on tap and in bottle, the bartender Adam is the perfect blend of sarcasm and wry- yet Johnny on the spot with his service and the recos.
Of the starters, I think I’d give it to the cannibal toast by a nose. Essentially a deftly balanced beef tartar spread over toast and over and out. We horked it down so fast I’m lucky I still have all ten fingers.
After that, an extremely close second would be the mussels, cooked in a beer-based broth that rivals any white wine version I’ve ever had.
The pretzel is also a solid option, but not by comparison to its predecessors. And truth be told, if it’s pretzel you want, then save yourself for the bratwurst platter. It is everything right with this world all on one cutting board. A beautifully charred brat, bursting at the seams with flavor. A ramekin of tallegio, a pile of cornichon, a dollop of grain mustard and last but not least, a pretzel roll that is every bit as good as the solo act, only with this dish you can doll it up into a bratwurst sandwich worthy of the gods.
The other starter I would giddily recommend is the deviled egg appetizer. Not quite as impressive as the ones over at The Whelk, but that’s a mighty high bar to be fair. These are topped with pickled pearl onions and trout roe and are hot damn delicious.
The only real miss for me is the chicken schnitzel. It’s really quite bland and lacking the accouterments to make it interesting. Essentially, it’s like ordering one gigantic chicken finger that covers your entire plate.
But getting back to the wowzers, be sure to get the salted apple pie as your closer. It is deceptively simple, yet magnificent in every metric imaginable.
This is not the place for the faint of heart, however. So if you’re on a diet and looking for a light bite, you really shouldn’t come here unless you’re willing to fall off the wagon. Hard.
1050 Post Rd E. Westport, CT 06880 • (203) 557-8501 • littlebarnct.com
I dig the roadhouse vibe of this place, but unlike the Patrick Swayze movie, this one dispenses with the bikers and the topless women and replaces them with a setting that’s civil enough to take the kids. Service is also kid-friendly and attentive. Making it a solid go-to for a family dinner with the young’uns.
I partook in the Shroom Burger, which I have to say was very good. Everything you would want, but nothing more than you might expect. Served with decent helping of sweet potato fries that’ll hit the spot.
The fish tacos were messy as all get out and lacking in the salsa/heat department, but the fish was perfectly cooked, so at least there’s that. Not the place I would go for Tex-Mex though when you’ve got Bar Taco just up the road.
For beer, I tried the Mama’s Yella Pils, a Czech inspired pilsner that could use a little more inspiration, because it ain’t no Urquell or Staropramen.
Hit and miss for certain, but I’m definitely a fan… in the right context.
Union Station • 50 Massachusetts Ave. Washington, DC 20002 • (202) 898-0051 • arkrestaurants.com
Located in a corner near the front of Union Station, Thunder Grill is the go-to bar before hopping on a train. And by “go-to” I don’t mean reliable, but rather your only option unless you want to go a few blocks away.
As for the drinks, the Bloody Mary is more like a contusion, but they do make up for it with a half-decent spicy margarita. Their Stella on tap is also solid, but it’s pretty hard to screw that one up.
In terms of food stuffs, the salmon burger is just okay, crab cakes taste like mush- turning that “b” upside down. In other words “crap” for those who are reading this before their morning coffee. In all fairness though, it is a restaurant in a train station so I have to give it a little slack I suppose. Granted Agren in New York is also in a train station, so perhaps I don’t.
For better food head to Shake Shack or Le Pain Quotedien, but keep in mind you’ll be sacrificing the hooch if you do.
42 W 35th St. New York, NY 10001 • (212) 564-5405 • brendansbar.com
Normally I would’ve never given this place a second glance, but apparently fate had other plans in store for me, as my intended destination, a somewhat hidden sushi joint across the street named Mew, sprung a leak due to a ruptured pipe. So, we quickly searched for an alternate route, and there, located in the Gregorian Hotel was this seemingly run-of-the-mill bar and grill. But run-of-the-mill it ain’t, because the moment you enter you realize you’re not in Kansas anymore. And by Kansas I mean Herald Square.
Behold, the diamond in the rough! Aladdin, eat your heart out. From it’s grand bar at the entrance to its vaulted ceilings, crown moldings, stained glass and elegant chandeliers, you feel like you’re in an embassy as opposed to an eatery. In fact, even the clientele up the vibe, with most of them donning suits for their power lunch attire.
In terms of the menu, I did the unthinkable and ordered a pasta. A spicy lemon penne topped with shrimp, broccoli rabe and a healthy dose of parmesan. Now normally at a bar & grill I would be like you and go with something safer, like a burger or fish and chips, but the setting somehow lulled me into thinking that perhaps this B&G was different than all the rest and so I crawled out on that limb with the best of intentions and sure enough, my bet paid off. Not that it was incredible by any stretch of the imagination, but it was shockingly good in light of expectations.
So take this review for what it is, a rather minute sampling. But I full well intend on returning, because there’s a shepherds pie with my name on it. So check back, because I will adjust the review should my first impression be too low or too high accordingly.
Just off the back corner of the lobby in the Rosewood Hotel you will find a bar that seems relatively standard as hotel bars go, with the slightest of nods toward the bygone era of the roaring twenties (hence the name). But should you be fortunate enough to look past your assumptions and take a seat in the lounge, you will find one of the most impressive and inventive cocktail lists since prohibition was lifted.
Exhibit A is The London Fog made with egg nog foam, Tito’s vodka, lemon and earl grey milk. It sports a foam that would turn most cappuccinos green with envy and the flavor is like a liquid slice of key lime pie. Tart, sweet and creamy in all the right places. If you love key lime, prepare to get wasted.
Exhibit B is The Master of Ceremonies. I mean the cocktail names alone at this place are badass. This one was made with bourbon, spice and bitters, but sadly neither cocktail is on their out-of-date menu online, so it was tough to remember every ingredient in both. Apologies. My forgetfulness aside, however, I would like to go on record saying that both cocktails were so good I don’t know which I liked more. Kinda apples and oranges key lime pie.
But the main takeaway is this: should you be staying here, walking by, shopping in the area or simply within a 50 miles radius, do yourself a solid and swing by for a nightcap.