vip in the city, page 68

After another late-ish night at work. I got a text message from SYB around 9:00PM, inviting me out to a post-Monopoly meal at Momofuku Noodle Bar with him, EH and KR. Sounded good to me.

By the time I wrapped up things at the office and hopped a car service downtown, it was over an hour later, and the trio outside the restaurant had shrunk to a duo. (EH abandoned the cause about ten minutes into the hour-plus wait and was long gone before I arrived.) No doubt the tiny noodle bar had experienced yet another bump in its already considerable popularity after New York Magazine ranked it #2 on their list of Best Cheap Eats in New York City. (#1 was Bay Ridge’s Tanoreen, which I investigated a week ago.)

We finally settled into our spots at the end of the long bar, and ordered the house specialties: the Berkshire pork steamed buns and the eponymous ramen. At least, SYB and I did; KR opted for the Pan-roasted sweet corn and Gulf shrimp with bacon, miso and onions (and seemed ultimately a little disappointed with her choice.)

The wonderful, steamed buns arrived warm and fragrant at our table: fluffy rice flour pancake sandwiches layered with their famed fatty pork, thin slices of cool cucumber and a dollop of sweet hoisin. It’s a preparation reminiscent of peking duck – another one of my favorites. I could eat these all day.

And then the ramen: giant bowls of noodles with slabs of melt-in-your-mouth Berkshire pork belly, shreds of tender, smokey shoulder, fresh fixins and a just gelled, slow-poached egg, topped with twin sheets of nori. For me, though, the broth is what sets this dish apart. According to New York Magazine, it derives its “super-porky flavor” from long-simmered chicken legs, roasted pork bones, ham hocks, and bacon.

Mmm, bacon…!

At $14 a bowl, though, these noodles are not what I would consider “cheap.” (Thanks, SYB!) But they are quite wonderful.

South Ferry is among the oldest ports in North America. It is named not for its geographic location, but for the landing of the erstwhile South Street Ferry which used to cross the eastern part of New York Harbor to transport passengers to Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. It was part of a fleet that included the Hamilton Ferry, the Wall Street Ferry, and the most famous Fulton Ferry, which ran between Manhattan and Brooklyn’s Fulton Streets during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Today, of course, it’s the entry point for the Staten Island Ferry. After racing through an early dinner at Thai Son with J in Chinatown, I met SYB, HYB and AB there, I hadn’t been on the Ferry in years, certainly not since the $201 million Whitehall Terminal opened in February 2005, about $50 million over budget. Construction began in late 2000 and was slated for completion in 2003, but financial and legal troubles (including subcontractor charges of bribery) may have contributed to the two-year opening delay. The space was designed by Schwartz Architects, the New York City firm that was unanimously selected for the project from an international design competition held in 1992. At about 19,000 square feet, the new terminal is approximately twice the size of the original, and features five new escalators and a 75-foot-tall, glass-enclosed entry hall with panoramic views of the downtown Manhattan skyline and waterfront. For the first time, the connection to the IRT South Ferry subway entrance is now directly inside the ferry terminal. The Whitehall/BMT subway entrance remains across the street, but eventually will connect once the renovations are complete.

The old Whitehall Terminal (built in 1907 and expanded in 1954) was gutted by fire in 1991.

At precisely 6:15PM, we hopped the “John F. Kennedy” Ferry to St. George, one of the two Kennedy Class boats still in operation. (We took the other, the Governor Herbert H. Lehman, on the return to Manhattan.) These four-engined boats were the first diesel-powered ferries to enter the fleet, in 1965. [That’s for you, HYB.] The boats have a capacity of 3,500 passengers and up to 40 vehicles – though due to security concerns, cars haven’t been permitted aboard since 2001. Since 2005, the Ferry has added three larger, more powerful Molinari Class boats to the fleet (pictured below in the St. George Terminal): the Guy V. Molinari, the Sen. John J. Marchi, and the Spirit of America (which originally was to be named “The September 11th.” Wise choice.)

The 25 minute, 5.2 mile ride is free. New York City has owned and operated the Ferry since 1905, charging at that time 5 cents for a ride aboard the coal burning steam ferries. The nickel fare remained in effect until 1975, when the charge became 25 cents for a round trip (collected in Manhattan). I recall paying that quarter until the next round of increases doubled the fare to 50 cents in 1990, before it was eliminated altogether in 1997 with Giuliani’s “One City, One Fare” program, which also rid the city of the two fare zones between NYC subways and buses.

After a flash rainstorm earlier in the day put our plans in jeopardy, it ended up to be cool, clear night for minor league baseball. Tonight the Staten Island Yankees were playing the Hudson Valley Renegades at the Ballpark at St. George Station (now: Richmond County Bank Ballpark.) The stadium, located just steps from the ferry terminal, was designed by HOK Sport — the same architectural firm that designed Oriole Park at Camden Yards and Jacobs Field. The ballpark seats 6,886 for baseball, and offers stunning views of the lower Manhattan skyline and the river traffic just beyond the outfield wall.

The game itself wasn’t all that interesting, despite being interspersed with minor league baseball hokiness like toddler mattress races, water balloon tosses and “Chicken Dance” dance-offs. We left after the sixth inning, missing the Yankees’ sweep of the Renegades and the post-game fireworks.

Despite it being “Merengue Night,” there was precious little evidence of merengue… though the ushers were wearing sombreros from Chevy’s Fresh Mex.

Coincidentally, The Staten Island Yankees also defeated the Hudson Valley Renegades in their very first game at RCCB in late June 2001.

Another night at Trinity Place — this time for B’s send-off.

I wrote about this space two weeks ago, but did want to add a few notes about the building’s architect, Francis Hatch Kimball. Kimball was one of the most prolific architects of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In the early 1890’s, he pioneered a technique for constructing foundations with mechanically sunken concrete cylinders on which builders could erect full iron and steel frames — a design which Kimball later employed for the Trinity and U.S. Realty buildings, in which the bar now sits. Kimball’s technique served as a precursor to the method of bridge and building foundation construction still in use today. For these and other innovations, the New York Times dubbed Kimball “the father of the skyscraper” in their December 1919 obituary.

Trinity Place rests on the very spot where New York City’s first office building once stood. And if the legend is to be believed: atop the railroad tracks which were built to transport the bank vault to its location in the cellar of 115 Broadway.

Here, the repurposed elevator bank — now wine storage:

And I noticed for the first time this evening, an actual pile of shredded money encased in one of the rear dining room walls.

A good turnout for B, I thought, and I was pleased to meet the co-workers, particularly JF, about whom I’d heard so much this past year. I was put on the spot when he quizzed me about my favorite movies, and I didn’t have a ready answer. Since then, I’ve had time to ponder it, and although I am hesitant to make lists of this kind, I’ve come up with these ten as a starting point. In order of release:

Duck Soup, Casablanca, The Godfather (Part II — but of course, the original is also great), The Decalogue (if I had to pick one of the ten: One ), Say Anything, GoodFellas, The Wrong Trousers, The Shawshank Redemption, The English Patient and In the Mood for Love.

We also had a pretty amusing conversation about dating dealbreakers. I remember having a similar discussion with KD back in his single days. At the time, one of his was: “lacking a rudimentary sense of irony.” I offered “picky eater,” which JF found to be unnecessarily harsh. Is it really?

What can I say? I love the food. And I love New York — hence this blog. So “hating New York” would have to be another one.

[Edited to add: How could I forget The Princess Bride and The Matrix ? Oh, and I always watch When Harry Met Sally whenever I catch it on TV… which is not that infrequently — thanks TBS. Hmmm… I’m sure there are more that I’m omitting…]

I had tickets to a concert tonight, but on the way, I stopped in for the Friends of the High Line “Dinner, Drinks and Design Presentations” at Pier 63 Maritime. The pier is, in fact, a moored Lackawanna Railroad Barge; it was purchased in 1997 to be the permanent home for the historic lightship Frying Pan. Judging from the crowd assembled in the shadow of Chelsea Piers, the pier is the place to be these summer nights: lively chatter filled the air, intermingling with the smoke off the grill from the Tiki Hut Bar & Café. I wandered among the display panels and picked up some printed materials about the planned High Line promenade, but unfortunately, this night I had to leave before the design presentations.

The pier offers historic maritime tours on weekend afternoons in July and August; I may have to check into that for this Sunday, the season’s last.

We arrived at Irving Plaza well in time for the opening act by Skye (Edwards), former voice for trip-hop band Morcheeba (whom I’ve described as Portishead-lite.) “Skye” is an acronym of her given name: Shirley Klarisse Yonavive Edwards. Her first solo album, Mind How You Go, hit stores yesterday, August 22.

Skye’s airy, beguiling vocals were an easy match for her chill mix of soul-inflected story-telling tunes — including one she penned about buying the dress she was wearing that night, while on tour with Morcheeba in New Orleans eight years ago. We were surrounded on all sides by couples pressed closely together and swaying dreamily to Skye’s music… but the most enthusiastic responses were reserved for Morcheeba’s “The Sea” (off 1998’s Big Calm album) and an acoustic cover of Gorillaz’ “Feel Good Inc.”

Up next: Matthew Herbert, the influential and critically acclaimed British instrumental electronic artist, remixer (most recently Radiohead and Jamie Lidell), producer and collaborator (for artists as varied as Björk, R.E.M., Perry Farrell, Serge Gainsbourg and Yoko Ono.) Herbert, a classically trained pianist, uses digital samples and original orchestral and “organic” (i.e., noises, not instruments) recordings to construct his albums. On this night, he riffed off of live created samples of an aluminum can crumpling, and the audience singing a middle-C in unison. Really cool! The orchestrations on his latest album Scale (released in May) include keyboard, strings, horns… drums recorded underwater and in a hot-air balloon, coffins closing from the inside, a dozen different types of cars, recorded phone messages, jet fighter planes and a parrot. You get the idea. Somehow these disparate sounds, overlaid with smooth R&B vocals, melded together to oddly danceable, almost poppy effect that defied easy categorization. For this tour, Herbert had live musicians accompanying him; each had at least one opportunity to show off his dazzling virtuosity: on vocals, guitar, keyboard, saxophone and trumpet.

Check out four of the tracks from Scale here.

Inspired by two recent meals (and the organic vegetables piled up in my kitchen), I made a late night trip to Fairway Market last night to pick up ingredients for a lamb-eggplant stew and a watermelon-feta salad. Luckily, the cheesemonger was still on duty, and pointed me to the store’s Greek feta behind the counter – fresher and far superior to the pre-packaged, pre-crumbled stuff in the refrigerated shelves, and a much better value at $6/pound.

A few quick runs of the knife at home, and within minutes, I was enjoying my own homemade version of Public’s salad (sans pumpkin seeds and artistic presentation): crisp, sweet, creamy, and filling without being at all heavy. Then it was on to the cooking: after browning the fresh lamb in some olive oil and butter, I tossed in a good portion of my CSA haul from last week: three varieties of eggplant, two varieties of peppers, onions and tomatoes. And then the spices — my best approximation of the Tanoreen blend: pepper, cinnamon, fresh nutmeg, cloves, allspice, coriander, cumin, dried ginger and lots of fresh garlic. No dried rosebuds in my pantry, though. The spicy smells permeated through my apartment well past midnight, but I ended up with a good-sized pot — enough for a few meals, at least.

Brought some of the stew into work the next day to share with SYB over lunch; he supplied the fresh bread from Parisi Bakery on Mott. Later, he returned there to pick up my favorite sandwich for our dinner picnic: paper-thin sliced capicola and sweet sopressata topped with fresh mozzarella and homemade roasted red peppers marinated in olive oil, oregano and thick chunks of garlic — all piled high on a prosciutto bread ring. Love.

After dropping off our CSA share after work (more eggplant and peppers!), we were off to enjoy one of the great NYC summer traditions: The Metropolitan Opera Parks Concerts. A cool and clear night for La Traviata, but wow, there were a lot of people on the Great Lawn. The Met officials later reported the police estimated attendance of 30,760 – which seems to me an impossibly specific number. That’s a full third fewer than five years ago (which is contrary to what I would have guessed) when 45,000 people showed up for the performance, but well off the 1990 nadir when, due to a combination of factors (rain date, early start), fewer than 500 were counted in attendance for the opening notes.

We were joined on our blanket by DX and later, EH. (EB arrived too late to try hunting for us in the dark.) From our spots, we could barely see a sliver of stage, and certainly couldn’t ascertain what was happening on it, but we were there primarily to listen, not to watch, so it worked out all right. This performance featured two South Koreans in the lead roles: tenor Wookyung Kim as Alfredo, and soprano Hei-Kyung Hong as Violetta. The pair will reprise their roles at the Met in January 2007.

All in all, a fine night. I should have brought the insect repellant, though: I counted no fewer than a dozen maddeningly itchy bites when I got home that evening. The number surely would have been higher had EH not graciously offered me her blanket as a shield during the performance’s second half.

The Canal Room, where this evening’s event was held, is located in the 1898 building once known as The Rawitzer Building. More recently, the space housed live music venue Shine, but I hadn’t been inside since owner Marcus Linial reopened it as the Canal Room in late 2003 after a 3-month, million-dollar gut renovation.

This night, the Room played host to the Uncorked & Unplugged  concert: “an evening of new wines and new sounds.” Our tickets got us tastings from Moon Mountain Vineyard, Dynamite Vineyards and Solaris Winery, and spots in the audience for the two acoustic sets.

After a couple shots of mediocre wine, we kicked back with bottles of Stella to await the tunes. First up, singer-songwriter MoZella – in Google: “Did you mean: mozilla?” – a Detroit-based singer-songwriter with a sweetly soulful voice, and sound and lyrics suited for WB (soon to be CW) teen drama soundtracks. And indeed, I learned later that two of her songs – “Light Years Away” and “You Wanted It” – have been featured on One Tree Hill. She’s also provided the vocals for a Mercedes-Benz commercial.

Judging from tonight’s performance, MoZella has already started developing a hardcore fan base. Lots of flashing cameras, and at least one really intense (and borderline creepy) fan, up front and center, arms outstretched and swaying widely to the music.

“You wanted it, you wanted it, don’t lie to me / Don’t act like I wanted it more. / You wanted it, you wanted it, don’t cry to me. / It’s time that we settled the score.”

MoZella was followed by Sierra Swan, a singer-songwriter of an edgier variety. She took the stage — except for the red hair, almost unrecognizable from her promotional photo — and launched into a series of growling, angry-sounding and very very loud songs, supported by what appeared to be an excessive number of back-up musicians. Ears ringing, M and I had to leave before her set was through.

I will say this for Swan, though: she has good taste in music. In an interview last month, she named The Cure‘s Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me (aka KM3 ) one of her top five “great albums.”

Mom and Dad’s 34th wedding anniversary! Traditionally, this would call for an “Opal” anniversary gift. Though upon review, this list compiled by librarians at the Chicago Public Library’s Information Center offers a pretty strange collection of presents: “Improved real estate” seems oddly specific for the 42nd anniversary; “Groceries,” pretty mundane for the 44th. But if you reach the milestone two years beyond that, the 46th earns an “Original poetry tribute.” By the 49th anniversary, the gifts can be “Luxuries, any kind.”

To celebrate this year, J, the Entertainer and I decided to take Mom and Dad for a lunchtime cruise aboard the New York Health & Racquet Club Yacht. After an initial morning rush, the family convened at the Skyport Marina on East 23rd with plenty of time to spare before the noon sailing aboard the newly renovated 75-foot vessel.

Once we embarked, C set us up at a table inside the air conditioned dining cabin, which became our base for the three-hour tour. (Insert Gilligan’s Island joke here.) As we hit the water, the summer sun grew strong overhead, but the East and Hudson rivers provided a refreshing breeze as we cruised at a decent clip. Lunch was a simple affair of grilled chicken wraps, quiches, fresh-cut fruit salad, bagels and lox, tortellini salad, grilled vegetables, muffins, yogurt and granola. But the views…!

The route was determined by the captain that afternoon: we sailed down the East Side, wrapping around the Southern tip of Manhattan, and several miles up the West Side to Trump Place. On the return, we took a slight detour to pay a brief visit to Lady Liberty.

Strawberry cake from our namesake Yeh’s. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad… and many more!

Due to a change in the publication schedule, I was granted another reprieve from the Saturday duties. At this rate, I feel I’ve been in the office as many Saturdays this summer as I’ve been out.

The day before, DK had issued an invitation for the old crew to visit his new home in Bay Ridge. So after the morning trip out to Queens, I returned to Manhattan to run a quick errand before girding myself for the ride out to 77th Street. As it happened, DK and his bride were in the city running errands of their own, and offered me a ride back into Brooklyn in the Silver Bullet. Sweet!

After a stop at the Red Hook Home Depot, I got a grand tour of Chez C-K: from the Brazilian cherry floors to the George Kovacs lighting fixtures to the triple-coated, artist-paintbrushed walls — the impressive end results of their months-long renovation efforts. And it warmed my heart to see the newlyweds look so genuinely happy in their new setting. HH arrived soon afterwards, and the four of us set out for dinner at nearby Lebanese restaurant Tanoreen.

Bay Ridge’s Tanoreen was named the best cheap eats in the city by New York Magazine. No secret to hardcore foodies, who have a way of scoping out these far-flung gems: the place has received scads of glowing reviews since its opening in 1999. I’d never eaten there myself, though, and Saturday’s visit afforded the perfect opportunity.

Modest storefront, and a basic setting. But within…

The bustling restaurant’s air was warm and thick with the aroma of the famed “Tanoreen spices”: allspice, cinnamon, coriander, cumin, nutmeg, ginger, dried rosebuds… The exact components and proportions remain a secret closely held by chef-owner Rawia Bishara, who has the propietary mix roasted, ground and shipped to Brooklyn from her hometown of Nazareth. We snagged the last available table for four, near the front window, through which we could watch the queue of hungry diners form.

So much of the menu looked tempting, but we finally decided upon three appetizers and three entrees, two of which were special off-the-menu recommendations by our enthusastic server (who, given the huge publicity jump this place received a few weeks ago, is no doubt accustomed to directing Tanoreen newbies.)

Times reviewer Eric Asimov pronounced, “There may be no better hummus in town than Tanoreen’s smooth and airy version, just touched with lemon juice and garlic, perfect with the crisp house-made zatar bread.” SK mentioned investigating this claim last week, and finding their hummus a little runny, but ours was thick (but not overly so) and brightly flavored, and well accompanied by the crisp breads, thickly brushed with zesty, herby paste.

By the time the rest of the appetizers started rolling in, we were ravenous. The “Eggplant Napoleon”: perfectly crisped slices of eggplant layered with tangy babaghanoush and topped with an impeccably fresh tomato and basil salad. Also, the “Sambosek” (not pictured): deep-fried dough crescents stuffed with ground lamb and those “Tanoreen spices,” served with a thick, bright-green cilantro-basil dipping sauce.

We devoured the meze and awaited our entrees, which soon arrived all at once: the “Kafta” (ground spiced lamb, topped with tahini sauce), the wonderful, tender spicy beef and the moist, garlicky, herb-coated salmon. All came with a heavy sprinkling of fresh parsley and were served with what the server called “Egyptian rice”: a spiced, textured rice mixture interspersed with thin brown noodles. So good!

Washed everything down with a tall pilsner glass of iced mint tea. I must admit that when the generous platters first hit the table, I didn’t think it would be possible for our foursome to finish all of the food, but finish we did. Strolling along Third Avenue afterwards, our satisfaction was such that we couldn’t even manage room for dessert from the nearby Häagen-Dazs.

Best cheap eats in all of New York City? I don’t know. But certainly worth the trip.

I had planned to visit the South Street Seaport Museum for the “Monarchs of the Sea: Celebrating the Ocean Liner Era” exhibit, but didn’t manage to leave the office until late. When I arrived at the seaport, I saw that the buskers were out in full force. At the museum entrance, I came upon two familiar scantily-clad forms performing amazing acrobatic feats for a crowd of appreciative onlookers. Hey, it’s the Aussie English Gents from the Absinthe show!

I’d wandered in towards the end of their routine, so the pinstripe jackets and breakaway pants were already in crumpled heaps on the ground. Their feats seemed even more impressive for being performed in broad daylight, on unforgivingly hard, uneven cobblestone, with only a towel as cushion. Ouch.

Farther in, the usual silver-painted human “statues” and a juggler. I would have stuck around for his dangerous-looking finale (juggling an assortment of sharp and flaming objects while balancing on a rolling board), but just then the music was starting up on the Seaport Music stage on Pier 17.

Opening act Brooklyn-based Tralala performed, fresh off their Scandinavian tour. The band is comprised of four rocker grrrrls, backed by three rocker boys on guitar, drums and bass, playing an energetic mix of punk-inflected pop. After a half-hour set of respectably catchy, danceable tunes, they cleared the stage for the main event: The New York Dolls.

The Dolls formed in New York City in 1971. Their seminal self-titled album was released in 1973 and went on to influence a generation of bands, including, KISS, Blondie, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, AC/DC, Mötley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses. In 2003, the editors of Rolling Stone magazine named it the 213th greatest album ever made. The Dolls followed-up with the prophetically titled Too Much Too Soon in 1974, and broke up the following year. In a recent profile, New York Magazine called the Dolls “more a legend than a band.”

Despite their brief recording career, the Dolls maintained an avid cult following, which included among their diehard ranks a certain Steven Patrick Morrissey. In 2004, Morrissey, former president of the official U.K. New York Dolls fan club and sometime Dolls cover artist, made the request that reunited the three surviving band members for the Meltdown Festival he was curating at the Royal Festival Hall in London: singer David Johanson, guitarist Sylvain Sylvain and bassist Arthur “Killer” Kane (who succumbed to cancer a month after the festival.) The one-off date ignited such a resurgence of interest in the band that it spawned a full-fledged tour, and ultimately a third studio album, over three decades after their last: One Day It Will Please Us To Remember Even This.

It was almost 8 before the Dolls took the stage, and by then the pier was packed with concert-goers (no doubt fortified by the prominent mentions in both Gawker and Gothamist.) As the sun set, I could only manage a couple of blurry shots, but the experience was worth far more than the photographic evidence. They played several tunes off the new album, interspersed with classics like “Pills” which had the crowd going wild, and a nice cover of Janis Joplin’s “Piece Of My Heart.” There were also tributes to fallen band members – no shortage there: Morrissey once referred to the Dolls as “the unluckiest band in the whole world” – as in Johnny Thunders’ “You Can’t Put Your Arms Round A Memory.”

Near the end of the concert, I headed back up to Botanica to meet SYB, AB and her boyfriend LB. The three of them had been imbibing there pretty much since work let out, so I felt a bit like a latecomer to the party. We set out for late-ish night bites at Café Habana, but after being discouraged by the line forming out the door, ended up at French-Moroccan Café Gitane, a cozily chic, if slightly Eutotrashy, alternative. The slices of pita provided with the hummus I ordered were nicely warmed, and I did like the fact that my iced mint tea came accompanied with a simple syrup dispenser. Such a nice touch that is too often overlooked.

And each time I tell myself that I, well, I think I’ve had enough,
But I’m gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.

I want you to come on, come on, come on, come on and take it,
Take another little piece of my heart now, baby. (Break a…)
Break another little bit of my heart now, darling, yeah. (Have a…)
Hey! Have another little piece of my heart now, baby, yeah.
You know you got it if it makes you feel good.
Oh yes indeed.

M invited me to dinner at Public to share in her monthly Wine Mailbox Program selection — a 2004 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc. I have enjoyed some fine CdP in the past, but this was my first experience in the whites. M at first thought that the wine tasted of chilled water — and it was, in fact, very light — but once it breathed (and warmed up) a bit, the flavors opened up in a lovely way.

The whole evening was lovely. M regaled me with tales of her recent trip to Baja over our four hour dinner.

Public Restaurant inhabits the NoLIta space formerly occupied by a muffin factory. The redesign concept was overseen entirely by hot, interior design and architecture firm AvroKO, earning them an unprecedented sweep of the Outstanding Design and Outstanding Graphic categories at the James Beard Awards in 2004. The restaurant uses salvaged pieces from municipal buildings of the 1930s to the 1950s: bronze post-office boxes, oak and rippled glass restroom doors with mail slots, vintage library-card catalogues, and wooden clipboarded menus made from standard-issue government forms.

Cured wild boar with garrotxa cheese and australian salt — had this appetizer the last two times I was at the restaurant for dinner… and will probably continue to order it as long as head chef/owner Brad Farmerie (and brother of AvroKO architect, Adam Farmerie) keeps offering it. M and I also split a wonderfully fresh and simple watermelon salad: pristine sticks of crisp bright-red fruit, meticulously stacked, accented with cubes of creamy feta and spiked with jalapenos and sprinkles of crunchy pumpkin seeds.

Grilled Kangaroo on a coriander falafel with lemon tahini sauce and green pepper relish — compliments of the chef. Never had kangaroo before — grilled or otherwise. It doesn’t taste like chicken… more like a rare steak. I was expecting a tougher, gamier meat, but it was mild, juicy and very tender.

Grilled tandoori prawns with ginger braised Napa cabbage, Asian pear and Punjabi cashew sauce. (M had the grilled lamb tenderloin and merguez sausage with ancho spiced chickpeas and a radish queso fresco salad.)

And for dessert, we shared the sinfully rich chocolate fudge cake with salted peanut brittle and Guinness ice cream, and new menu item cherry-vanilla creme brulée, and glasses of muscat dessert wine.

With thanks to M for a wonderful meal.