My visits to New York City are usually hectic, overscheduled, and downright tiring. Between friends and family, the pressures of "researching" restaurants and visiting everyone's favorite museum, vacations to the Big Apple are hardly leisurely affairs. This time, though, I resolved to take it easy.

Fortunately, it's not hard to find good food as long as you schedule meetings for mealtime. Even a late-night rendezvous will uncover good eats.

Two places that I was delighted to try this past weekend, with the guidance of friends, are Gazala Place in Hell's Kitchen (or, as the real estate agents have been calling it since the new high-rises came in: Midtown West) and the infamous Bonchon Chicken in Koreatown.


GAZALA PLACE

Named for its Isreali chef-owner, Gazala Halabi, Gazala Place is a narrow, friendly restaurant that specializes in Druze cuisine. Followers of an ancient sect that branched off from the Muslim religion, the Druze played a little known yet very important role in the politics of Syria and Lebanon, and a small community continues to live as a distinct, designated ethnic group in Israel.

This New York outpost is barely wide enough to slip through walking sideways, and of course, its handful of tables are often full. Up front is a special curved griddle for making pita--a lovely bread that does not at all resemble the convenient sandwich pockets many of us conjure. Rather, the housemade pita is a thin, delicate expanse of crepe-like bread, an edible whole-wheat handkerchief that piles and folds and wraps around an endless array of Gazala's savory bites.

The food, billed as authentic Mediterranean, leans more toward the Middle East: amazingly tender kababs of lamb, chicken and beef cooked over a searing flame, expertly shaped kibbe, and flakey pastry pies filled with spinach or feta. Absolute must tries on the appetizer menu include the brilliantly red "Turkish salad" made from sun-dried red peppers, the luscious goat-cheese labanee spread, and the foule moudammas, a garlicky dip made from fava beans. All are properly, generously drizzled with fruity olive oil. Fortunately, there's no end of bread refills for scooping up the vibrant flavors.

While you're finishing your meal with date cake or honey-soaked kenafi accompanied with thick, strong Arabic coffee or a pot of the minty house tea, expect Gazala herself to stop by your table to chat. She might not tell you her secret recipe for that unforgettable red pepper spread, but her friendly smile will be the perfect cap to a unique lunch.

Gazala Place
709 9th Ave.
New York, NY 10036
(212) 245-0709
Map


BONCHON CHICKEN

In the past couple of decades, West 32nd Street between Broadway and Fifth Avenue has sprouted neon galore. This main strip of Koreantown, once the source of wigs and fashion accessories became known informally as Kimchi Alley and more officially as Korea Way. It's a business district only--look to Flushing for Korean residential enclaves--but this is still the street to come in Manhattan for mandoo dumplings, oxtail soup, soju bars, and both Pinkberry and Red Mango duking it out on the frozen yogurt front.

Koreatown has built up, literally, so second, third, fourth, and even rooftop businesses are the places to be. Getting to a table at hot spot, Bonchon Chicken, requires trekking a creaky, questionable walk-up that magically opens to a sleek lounge of distressed concrete and pulsating music. Young Koreans in date mode, sipping elegant cocktails, belie the real reason everyone comes to this hip lounge bar: the fried chicken.

Made to order, Bonchon's claim to fame is an unassuming plateful of crisp skin, juicy dark meat (pick wings or drumsticks), and a choice of garlic or spicy glaze. Sweet-tart daikon pickles and a cabbage salad offer some foil, but beer or soju is the popular complement.

There's an extensive menu of savory nibbles, and while everyone means to try the other stuff, a quick look around the room reveals the inevitable platter of chicken. For those who prefer to converse without shouting, ask for a table in one of the back rooms or settle for a seat at the bar. The lounge up front, though, is the main scene.

Bonchon Chicken
314 5th Ave., 2nd Floor
New York, NY 10018
(212) 221-2222
Map

The documentary film, Chez Schwartz, enjoyed a quiet if savory U.S. premier at the Berkeley Richmond Jewish Community Center earlier this week. It has yet to be picked up for wider distribution, but keep an eye out for it. Or, if you can't wait, order a DVD and see for yourself why this little "Charcuterie Hebraique" is the place to eat in Montréal.

Garry Beitel, a Montréal-based documentary filmmaker, recorded the day-to-day rhythms of Schwartz's Deli over the course of an entire year. He managed to whittle his footage down to a poetic study of its workers. As one season melts into another, Beitel teases out the stories of the diverse men — from the dishwasher in the back of the house to the waiters in the front, from the general manager down to the gentlemanly panhandlers. They each describe their unique role in the extended family anchored by this tiny, 75-year-old restaurant. Through their stories, we see how years slip into decades and how one long-lived business adapts to a changing world.

Unusual in a film about ethnic food, there's an "overcast" feel throughout the documentary. In the end we wonder what happens to individuals such as newly promoted Alex or sweet, ailing Ryan. (Anyone interested in degrees of separation and ground-breaking animation should watch this award-winning short about Ryan.) The power of Chez Schwartz lies in Beitel's understated directing, Marc Gadoury's intimate camera, André Boisvert's amazingly natural sound, Robert Marcel Lepage's music and — ultimately — the simple, direct oral history of the workers themselves.

At the head of the line, hungry pilgrims can catch glimpses of smoked meat, freshly sliced by hand and ready to go at the sandwich counter. Joao (Johnny) Gonçalves, meat cutter, prepares some without the usual bright yellow mustard.

I remember the first time I bit into smoked meat at Schwartz's. Everyone does. In the film, two women gasp in rapture while sharing their first sandwich right there at the counter, and another diner is struck speechless while remembering his own first taste as a teenager. It may seem strange, perhaps even laughable to the uninitiated. But like any religion, only the converted truly understand.

During my year of exile in Vermont, I drove across the border every month to eat in Montréal. While dinner restaurants varied — rilettes at l'Express with my own jar of cornichons or maybe noodles in Chinatown — I always started with an early lunch at Schwartz's.

The neighborhood surrounding the deli draws immigrants from around the world. Historically the heart of Montréal's Jewish community, the road on which the deli sits has also been the symbolic division between the city's east and west streets, its French and English languages.

After five years as the busboy, Alexandre "007" Lebel gets promoted to waiter. To help with the stress of a fast-paced deli, he composes poems on clean paper place mats during precious down time.

If you arrive at 3895 Boulevard St. Laurent anywhere near the middle of the day, you'll stand in line on the sidewalk with a couple of dozen other meat lovers, separated by mere glass from stacks and stacks of brisket still warm from the massive steamer. You'll be able to smell the smoky, salt-tinged meat and listen to the same order over and over again in two different languages: a "medium" with fries, cole slaw, fresh pickle and black cherry soda. Around 400 to 500 other diners a day will order a steak from Peter at the grill; it arrives accompanied by a slice of calf liver and two diminutive sausages. The grill is a relic of the past: open flame right in the dining room, arm's length from innocent diners.

Grill man Peter Christianis (left) has been searing steaks and calf livers at the same station for 40 years, while waiter Mike Nelli has been a member of the Chez Schwartz family going on 7 years now.

Upstairs in the marinating bins and inside the smoker in the back are where the magic happens. The very secret recipe results in über-meat that's juicy and tender, savory and smoky, fatty and flavorful. It's not quite pastrami (there's a dry rather than wet cure) and it's way beyond corned beef (behold that spice-flocked, smoke-lacquered exterior). So everyone just calls it for what it is: smoked meat.

Frank Silva, general manager, knows the business inside and out. He's hefted and sliced so many briskets during his twenty years at the deli that his arm is starting to give out.

Schwartz's sandwiches have no need to rise to Carnegie heights nor does the owner, Hy Diamond, feel pressure to expand the menu beyond one type of meat sandwich, a steak and a few sides. As Peter Levitt and Karen Adelman, co-owners of Saul's Deli in Berkeley know well, this is a rare and precious thing.

After the film's screening on Thursday night, the two moderated an enlightening discussion about the future of Jewish delicatessens in the U.S. How does a meat-centered restaurant survive in a health-conscious, politically aware, option-filled world? How does Saul's modest amount of Niman Ranch beef compete with super-stacked, industrially raised pastrami from tourist-driven, New York delis? And how does a younger generation begin transforming a cuisine frozen in time into a meaningful, relevant, profitable business?

It's not about the size: Saul's uses "clean meat" from Niman Ranch in its pastrami sandwiches.

Anyone who hangs around chefs knows that, generally, they survive on the razor's edge of profit margins and see the cloud behind every silver lining. Peter and Karen were refreshingly honest about the challenges of running the deli, from the need to cater to the economics of not smoking your own meat to the impossibility of guaranteeing a kosher establishment. (People want milk with their coffee, after all, and don't even think about getting rid of the Reuben!)

They named their own favorite delis: Langer's in LA, Katz's in NYC, and Manny's in Chicago all made the short list. Most intriguing, though, were hints of a possible "Jewish bistro" in their future. The two hope to reinterpret and reinvent the vernacular of Jewish food with dishes from around the world using local, seasonal, organic ingredients.

For the time being, I'll continue enjoying my favorites at Saul's. From personal experience, I can vouch for the chopped liver (on both rye and matzo with plenty of mustard), the chicken soup and the pastrami sandwich. I also enjoyed more than my fair share of half-sour pickles and, of course, a bottle of Cel-Ray to wash everything down.

SAUL'S RESTAURANT & DELICATESSEN
1475 Shattuck Ave
Berkeley, CA 94709
(510) 848-3354

Disclaimer: this is not an "Official Restaurant Review," it is merely a mention of a place to eat I loved when I was in Portland last. Clyde Common is the name. Ace Hotel is its location. I ate there once for each lunch and dinner a few days apart. And I would go there tomorrow if it were not an eleven hour drive away.

I have a favorite restaurant in NYC. It doesn't seem possible to single one place out on a flat, tiny island teeming with enough restaurants to fit on a small continent. But I do. And I send anyone there who asks me for NYC eating recommendations. My favorite place to eat in my old home town is Prune, a slip of an eatery on first street crammed tight with tables and exceptionally happy waiters. Gabrielle Hamilton is one of the most down-to-earth chefs I have the pleasure of knowing. Her food is not exceptionally innovative. She doesn't wow with new spices or chemical induced textures. There's little on the menu you've never heard of or eaten before, albeit in some other form.

Cauliflower soup.

But Prune's food is brilliant. It's simultaneously inspired and soulful, flavorful and simple, honest and satisfying. There are traditional pairings, and seasonal ideas. But somehow, when Gabrielle puts these proteins and vegs together, something like earthy faerie dust gets thrown in, a dash of whimsy, a pinch of what-the-hell and voila, a Vogue-ing, lip syncing, twink of a beautiful creature is born. Always delicious, often exclamatorily so.

But why on earth am I waxing poetic about Prune when I began by talking about a new restaurant in Portland, Oregon?

Ace, A Friendly Hotel.

Because the food at Clyde Common is also inspired, whimsical, down-to-earth, laid back, seasonal, exceptionally delicious at times, and it could turn into my favorite restaurant in Portland if I'm not careful. I don't think the chef behind its menu is as brilliant as Gabrielle, but at least he's reaching, standing on the diving board' edge, toes dangling. Most of the cooks in the kitchen understand how to cook, and many know finesse and flourish are important parts of making a dish day after night after day still taste good. I'm as big a fan of consistency as the next diner, but eating in a plated-food factory is not my idea of a great meal.

When I go out to eat I want to be tempted, turned-on, pushed, inspired, and given too many options to choose from. I want to see items that sound intriguing but not too wacky, ones I never would have thought to do myself. Appetizers like, "asparagus with caul fat wrapped egg," "beef tongue, seared scallop, beets and tomato jam," "chicken-fried chicken liver, cucumber salad and citrus mayonaise," "fennel sausage, octopus, fried potatoes and ink."

Words. On a page looking torn from a child's 1950's blue-lined notebook. Typewriter written letters, in all their skewed arty loveliness.

For design is our first visual. Our first amuse bouche. The way she styles her hair, and the strands which refuse to be bound, falling lightly at her collarbone. The way he suavely matches green pinstripes with a shiny blue tie. The way the light in the room greets you, soft from a few dozen candles, and a menu with the restaurant's name in red rubber stamp ink and today's date in black, upper left hand column, in a hurried angle. You're going to get a special meal no one else will get. Unique. Just like you.

Chicken-Fried Chicken Livers.

But there's always the moment. The dish that makes the rest of the menu fall away, West Side Story style. You take a bite and you wish you didn't have to share.

chicken-fried chicken liver, cucumber salad and citrus mayonaise 9.

You moan audibly. You say, "[expletive deleted] yeah!" And then you consider ordering one for dessert. If Clyde Common pleases you in no other way but the way you feel when this exquisitely delicious combination of inspiration, technique, texture and flavor reach your mouth and then your taste buds, so be it. Leave happy.

Or go on to order the "fishboard" of the day, a generous side dish of "roast cauliflower," "seared chicken thighs/pork shank, refried peanuts, frisee salad and pork jus," or "risotto: fennel, finicchiona, walnuts and grano padano."

French Fried Potatoes with Harissa and Creme Fraiche.

Clyde Common is not for the vegetarian in you. It's for the adventurous, slightly silly, open- minded diner. People are pretty but casual. If you sit near the kitchen be prepared for a conversation with the person plating your salads and desserts. Cooks are white-jacketless, heavily tattooed and young enough to look like college drop-outs. Think Zuni Cafe meets Blue Plate.

Unfortunately the desserts are too sweet, boring and sloppily plated. Someone had a good idea but not the skill or follow-through to make it taste good enough to order again. Dessert as afterthought: not my favorite way to end a blush producing meal.

Believe me when I tell you to walk a few blocks into the Pearl District and go to Blue Hour for dessert. Or drive 15 minutes across one of Portland's beautiful bridges to SE for desserts at ClarkLewis. Or plan ahead and stop into Sahagun for sumptuous chocolates... Any of these three options will satisfy any sweet, seasonal craving you might have.

Clyde Common, Domestic & Foreign Cooking
SW 10th and Stark in the Ace Hotel
503.228.3333
Monday - Thursday open 5 until late
Friday - Saturday open 5 until later
Open Sundays starting June 17th
{More photographs here.}

In New York in early May, I found myself on a Thursday evening with cancelled plans. Thank goodness for Dorie Greenspan. She immediately invited me to her sit-down interview with Patricia Wells that evening at the Alliance Francaise. Patricia was in town promoting her new book, Vegetable Harvest. Dorie and Patricia are such good friends that you did feel like you were in their living room having a chat by the fireplace. Many of Patricia's former students were there, nodding knowingly as she talked about the markets of Paris and Provence.

Q: What are your favorite market in Paris?
A: "Boulevard Raspail market. It is the only all-organic farmers market in Paris. Create relationships, forge friendships with the farmers, learn about where they come from, how they grow their produce, ask about their children. This is what makes the markets so special."

Q: Do you have any advice for people who shop at Safeway (or other huge supermarket) and don't have a farmers market across the street?
A: Speaking to her New York audience, she recommended going the few extra blocks or subway stops to get to a market or a store that carries the freshest product, organic if possible. The quality and flavor and contribution to sustainability makes it worth it.

Q: What are your favorite recipes in the book?
A: "Zucchini carpaccio with pistachio oil (pg 214), asparagus braised with fresh rosemary and bay leaves (pg 160), potato salad with spring onions, capers and mint (pg 227), chick pea and basil puree (pg 16), artichoke and white bean dip (pg 19)." Patricia serves these all the time at home and are always a hit with her guests. I can't imagine anything she cooks not being a hit, bit I digress...

Q: What advice would you give to new culinary students fresh out of cooking school?
A: "Pick ten recipes and perfect them. Have a range of recipes, from appetizers, main course and desserts and cook them over and over until you can make them from memory."

Q: What was it like working with Joel Robuchon?
A: Patricia beamed. "It was the most amazing experience and I still hear his voice when I'm cooking or at the market." He always said "It's easy to be the best, go out and do the best you can do every day." Other pearls of wisdom he shared include "There is no such thing as perfection but strive for it every day" and "A chef's job is to make a mushroom taste like a mushroom."

Q: Who are the most influential people in your career?
A: "Joel Robuchon and Julia Child."

Q: Are you working on a new book?
A: Patricia's next book is all about salads as a meal, not everything with lettuce, but dishes with many elements on the plate and focused more on healthy eating. In Patricia's last two books, she took the pictures herself from the markets of Paris and Provence.

Q: Are you ever going to update The Food Lovers Guide to Paris?
A: Patricia wrote this in 1984. It was a different era in publishing, in information, in access. Now people just Google the information they want, they don't need to buy a book to plan a trip or find good bakeries or restaurants.

Q: Do you ever eat take out?
A: Never, but when I travel my husband, Walter orders pizza & Ben and Jerry's ice cream delivered to our apartment in Paris."

Q: Have you discovered any new products that have captured you attention?
A: "Olive oil from Castelas."

Castelas is a relatively new olive oil from Provence with a very grassy flavor that hints of artichokes, almonds and a pepperyness and the fabulous Provencal countryside. Produced in the foothills of Les Alpilles, this oil is early hand harvested, immediately custom cold pressed and variety blended, it is unfiltered so a golden hue. It won the Medaille d'Or in 2003. It is not for the faint of heart as 500 ml (17 oz) will set you back anywhere form $35 to $45. This is the best price I could find.

Catherine and Jean-Benoit Hugues, of the Vieux Telegraph family and proprietors of Castelas, spent 15 years in Arizona heat working in the hi-tech industry before following their hearts back to their native Provence. We are glad they did!

-------------------------------

That evening, Patricia served chickpea and basil puree on toasts. It's a simple as it gets but delicious.

Chickpea and Basil Puree
Tartinade de Pois Chiches au Basilic

2 cups canned chick peas, drained and rinsed (reserve liquid)
4 garlic cloves, peeled, minced, green germ removed
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
4 cups loosely packed basil leaves
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1. In a food processor, place the garlic, salt, and basil and process to a paste. With the machine running, slowly pour in the oil. Taste and season (salt and pepper) as needed.

2. Add the chickpeas and puree until smooth, adding some of the reserved chickpea liquid if necessary.

Bon appetit!

Patricia in the center in red and Dorie on the far right

When you work in the restaurant business everyone you know, everyone you know's friends, in-laws and children, and everyone you've not met yet, comes to you for restaurant recommendations.

Needless to say I am extremely grateful that Chowhound also exists. For it gets quite tiresome to be absolutely everyone's go to for breakfast, lunch, brunch and dinner suggestions. Especially when you consider I grew up in New York City, have lived in London and Napa Valley and the Bay Area is my permanent home.

All this being said, when I plan a trip to my old home, I very much look forward to what I will eat when I'm there. Will I visit the places where I know the chefs and pastry chefs? Will I haunt my old workplaces? Will I eat all my favorite foods? Will I shop and cook in my host's kitchen? Will I eat at brand name places so that I have something to talk about when I get back or will I just eat in the places no one but real New Yorkers go? Will I eat solely for memory or will I want to try all the new things I've read about since I was there last?

The truth is that I eat foods in my old home that I can't find in my new one. I'm fiercely loyal to old haunts, places whose menus I can trust no matter what the current trend and flash-in-the-pan hip happening thang is. I bring my money to the people I love and have the most respect for. Chefs and pastry chefs whose work is something that inspires me, fills me with hope that one day my California home town will embrace these innovations.

My upcoming trip to New York will look different from ones I've taken in more recent years. Because I met and be-friended some spectacularly talented people at the Pastry Chef Conference in May, I will spend some time eating and working with some of these folks. I'll go to Daniel just for dessert and then with their pastry chef, Dominique Ansel, we will eat at Devi, pastry chef Surbhi Sahnhi's post.

In the sweet theme, I'll make it into Chikalicious at least once. And if I have time, Pichet Ong's new place, P'ong. And then there's always a detour to Il Laboratorio del Gelato on Orchard Street in the heart of the real Lower East Side. Maybe I'll get a kasha K'nish at Yonah Schimmels beforehand so I can convince myself I've eaten dinner.

It's not a trip to New York without one surprising dinner at the diminutive Prune on First Street. Whether chef/owner Gabrielle Hamilton is there or not, I like to bring her a California gift. This week I'll be stocking up on jars of jam from newcomer Rachel Saunders so that I can present unique gifts to the people I love. Prune is my favorite restaurant in NYC.

But for the food I grew up with, there will be frequent visits to Veselka for pierogi, cabbage soup and a chat with my father and stepmother over blintzes. I always have to have one steamed lobster dinner at Pearl Oyster Bar on the tiny slanted street of Cornelia. When you grow up with steamers dipped in drawn butter and tasting of the chewy clammy sea, no nouveau California preparation of clams will satisfy.

It will be important for me to get sticky with coco helado on a street corner if it's hot, and of course I'll be noshing on my old stand by in Coney Island, ridged french fries at Nathan's and a cone of pastel green pistachio soft serve with colored sprinkles on Neptune Avenue!

For a post Coney Island Mermaid Day Parade de-tox I might head over to my favorite macrobiotic restaurant Angelica's. I have to get my fix of their kooky "cornbread," carrot spread and one small Dragon Bowl. And if I make it to Harlem I'll be going directly to M&G's for fried chicken. And if I want to roll out of my bed the next day to stand in line, I might head to Danal for brunch.

Saving the best for last, I am over-the-top excited that this will be the first time I'm going to Gerry Hayden and Claudia Fleming's restaurant The North Fork Table & Inn on Long Island. I used to work for Claudia Fleming at Gramercy Tavern in the Flatiron District. This will be my first time seeing her since I threw a party at Citizen Cake for her incredible book The Last Course, a must have for anyone who loves to bake seasonal desserts. The day I made the reservation to eat and stay at the Inn I could not sleep.

So, you can see, I will be eating well in my old hometown. Like most people, I tend to eat the familiar when I'm home. I have plans with friends and family, old lovers and new, bloggers, chefs and pastry chefs. I have adventures planned and I will be taking my feet to places they'll go without direction.

If you're looking for NYC restaurant recommendations, I still give them. But only if you're willing to try what a real New Yorker eats...

I've just returned home from a week in Boca Raton, Florida, where I was visiting family. My mother's side, the New York Jews. Besides making the rounds with my aunt, meeting my cousin's 1 1/2 year old twins and visiting my 86 year old grandmother in her new little apartment at an assisted living facility, it was important to eat a few times at Way Beyond Bagels.

It was there that I had my first authentic bagel and lox outside of New York City.

Not to mention Black & White Cookies, super almond-extracty Rainbow Cake, a pure, uncut version of smoked whitefish salad, the full line of Dr. Brown sodas, including the intriguing celery pop, and a delightfully familiar, and maybe a little grating, noise of thick lower New York accents.

Like any comfort food, when we re-experience it again, it is cause for a celebration and of memories. And like all memories, their arrival is bittersweet. Memories arrive because something's been lost. Or we've moved to a place where our tribe does not band together and make what we grew up with.

Luckily I moved mere blocks from Saul's when I came to live in the East Bay a year ago. It's here I can find chopped liver almost as good as what I remember. When I want to conjure my late grandfather, Samuel Gordon, I buy a few chubs and eat them alone. Shiny and wrinkly gold, the chub arrives wrapped in white paper, with all its parts except for the guts. Smoked whole, they're slick with a distinctly fatty fishy smoky taste and scent. I've never taken part in cold herring from a jar but my legs go weak for smoked fish and I was once graced by homemade gefilte fish.

But bagels? It is my ultimate opinion that there are no real bagels in the Bay Area. I have tried and retried them all. I've been cajoled by hopeful and starry eyed non-Jews as well as other deperate New York Jews. Nope, they do not exist here. Just because bread is round does not mean it's a bagel. When a bagel is a bagel, every gram of your being knows it. It's taste and texture, the smell of your grandmother's kitchen. It's whipped butter, freshly sliced red onions, and too much cream cheese.

So, nu? I just don't eat them here. I reason to my born-again-Californian self that bagels need to be eaten in their own climate. They need to be in season, and although Northern California is home to many an agricultural delicacy, bagels just do not thrive in this soil. Bagels must be eaten where there is a predominance of kvetching weather, schvitzing heat, and other New York Yids.

And Way Beyond Bagels cures this homesick itch. Even though it's in Florida.

I have a whole carry on bag full of 2 dozen said bread product to prove it. Now it's just a matter of sharing them with those who understand the gravity of such luggage...

If you're looking to cure your Eastern European and/or New York Jewish deli food cravings, I give you this small list of places to start:

California Street Deli
Moishe's Pippic
Saul's Deli & Restaurant
Old Krakow

Or if you want to read more about what those who long for Jewish deli food do in the Bay Area, check out this article in The Berkeley Monthly written by John Harris, a man who has even gone so far as to make a movie about the lost Deli. I'm excited to say I'll be privy to a screening of the movie this Thursday!