vip in the city

On the B61

We rounded out our day with some museum-sponsored art at the P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center, where my MoMA dual membership came in handy. Out front, the museum’s annual architectural installation, designed by the winner of the annual P.S.1 and MoMA-organized Young Architects Program, was being constructed for this summer’s Warm Up series to run ten Saturdays — June 30 through September 1, 2007.

B was sad to miss out on the photography exhibition by Vik Muniz which closed May 7, though the sign outside still promoted it. But since we were there, we explored the other exhibits on view inside the converted brick and stone public school building. Much of the original structure was left intact, making it easy to envision the space’s early function as the first school in Long Island City; it was shuttered in 1960 due to low attendance, a victim of an improved railroad and subway system that detracted from the area’s appeal as a residential district.

Afterwards, we hopped the air-conditioned B61, not to its Red Hook terminus, but to Williamsburg for lunch at Sea Thai. The city was emptied of many locals this Memorial Day weekend, so we managed to avoid the usually painful waits for tasty, reasonably-priced Thai in this sleek, hipster haven.

Our post-meal trip to the waterfront was thwarted by graphic-printed barriers erected around a huge construction site, soon to be the 892-unit Williamsburg Edge — “Sexy on the Outside + Beautiful on the Inside,” “The Hippest Dress Code + The Coolest Zip Code.”

And finally: once more unto the breach, dear friends. Our trio wound down the day at Spike Hill, a cozy tavern from which we could watch the parade of scornful “hipper-than-thou rockers” on Bedford. It didn’t sting nearly as much as my shoulders did that night.

In the pink

Shanghai Café opened in 2003, in the wake of the late 1990s New York City soup dumpling craze.

The outwardly unassuming restaurant is located on Mott Street, on the north (formerly: Little Italy) side of Canal Street. The interior design is trendier than most, or at least what passes for “trendy” in Chinatown, i.e., circa-1985 peach and mauve walls, roomy wooden booths, metal mesh chairs, black t-shirt clad waitstaff, and swirls of pick and blue lights projected onto the ceiling overhead. The left wall of the restaurant where we were seated this afternoon was lined with translucent plastic panels, behind which glowed hot pink neon bulbs that cast a sci-fi-y tinge over our entire table. See?

Designers tout the soft, warm glow of pink lighting as the most flattering to human skin tones, but at this intensity, not so much. I was amused to read that Lancashire, England police flood high crime areas with pink lights as a teenage crime deterrent; it seems that when turned bright, the hue highlights their acne, which many young offenders want to avoid at all costs.

The Village Voice‘s food critic has praised Shanghai Cafe for its exceptional soup dumplings, which were indeed delightful (and blemish-free), and a great improvement over the ones we ordered at New Yeah Shanghai Deluxe three weeks ago; for starters, they arrived hot, and on the traditional bed of napa cabbage, not on paper as NYSD’s did. The dumplings themselves had a rich, flavorful soupy pork filling; the doughy skins, however, were slightly thicker, and therefore less delicately tender, than the ones at New Green Bo. Small quibbles, though: I was satisfied. I’ll be back for the crab version next time.

Dining — and drinking — downtown

The 9th annual Dine Around Downtown event, hosted by the Alliance for Downtown New York, is a celebration of lower Manhattan’s food and beverage. As in years past, the festival was held at Chase Manhattan Plaza, with live entertainment and food tents drawing lunchtime crowds in excess of 20,000. Food samples from over 50 downtown restaurants (including Harry and Peter Poulakakos‘ newest financial district venture, Gold St.) were available for purchase at $3-$6 apiece.

On this beautiful afternoon, the plaza was more crowded than I’d ever seen it. As the happy sounds of jazz floated in the air, CS, SYB and I wandered among the snaking lines, trying to narrow down our selections from among the vast variety of food before us.

I sampled Brasserie Les Halles‘ Mini Hamburger Rossini with Foie Gras Terrine, seared and juicy, and topped with a surprisingly generous slab of foie gras. (I know, I know… so un-PC.) Realistically, I probably won’t splurge on chef Daniel Boulud’s famed DB Burger any time soon, so this was a reasonable substitute. The DB Bistro Moderne version is comprised of 9 ounces of “ground sirloin with a filling of boned short ribs braised in red wine, foie gras, black truffle and a mirepoix of root vegetables” and accompanied by a silver cup of pommes soufflées. (Well yeah, for $32 fries had better come with that.)

Assorted pastries from another Poulakakos holding, Financier Patisserie:

SYB picked up a quartet of Harry’s Café and Steak‘s Mini Kobe Beef Hot Dogs with Poppy Seed Sauerkraut to share. (Yes, Poulakakos grub yet again! They’re everywhere!) Only beef from black-haired Wagyu cattle, which are raised in Japan’s Hyogo Prefecture can carry the appellation “Kobe.” Wagyu beef from identical cattle raised elsewhere is technically not “Kobe” – just as sparkling wine made anywhere outside the Champagne wine-growing region of France may not be legally labeled “champagne.”

The cattle themselves are famously pampered and raised (at great expense) on a diet of organic grains, Japanese beer, and sometimes sake mash, all of which results in an intensely marbled flesh. Kobe beef is prized for its full, rich flavor, supreme tenderness and almost buttery mouth feel. The term “foie gras of beef” is employed a lot, which, given the extraordinarily high fat-to-lean ratio of the meat, is probably an apt analogy. I don’t know… maybe our palates could use some refining — and this probably isn’t the best way to show off Kobe beef’s luxurious qualities — but these tasted like regular hot dogs to us. Above average hot dogs, certainly, but regular just the same.

These Kobe beef dogs are cropping up all around the city. Last month, the meatpacking district’s Old Homestead Steakhouse rechristened its sidewalk seating area as Prime Burger Café with a $15 foot-long(!) Kobe beef hot dog – and New York’s Insatiable Critic Gael Greene’s new favorite burger — on the menu.

Later that night, SC had scored us invitations to West Chelsea’s Home for Maxim’s Trump Super Premium (Ultra Fantastic) Vodka launch party. Yup: buildings, resorts, casinos, a menswear collection, on to bottled water… and now it seems that The Donald has moved on to the hard stuff – at least in name, as Trump himself is known as a strict teetotaler. Is there anything this man won’t put his name on? (Actually, no.)

In the pimped out, mirrored, chandeliered den of banquettes, we sipped the evening’s specialty libations which included the “Trump & Tonic” and the “Trumptini” (Trump Vodka martini, garnished with a blue cheese-stuffed olive — not shredded money or prenups, as we had hoped), as a promotional video clip was looped on a projection screen behind us, touting the Trumptastic brand. “Success. Distilled.” Seriously.

Eventually, the man with the Hair arrived, making the obligatory rounds and looking oddly out of place among the Maxim crowd. The pounding, thumping 80’s/pop/dance/hip hop beats made group conversation all but impossible – and resulted in a persistent ear ringing that lasted hours after the evening ended — but CS and I still managed to share one special moment on the dance floor:

You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar
When I met you
I picked you out, I shook you up, and turned you around
Turned you into someone new