vip in the city, page 8

It had been some time since I’d paid a visit to Hells Kitchen’s Tulcingo del Valle, so when my dinner with MB was rescheduled, the evening seemed to present a fine opportunity for introducing another friend to this cheap, authentic Mexican restaurant, sprung from the bodega next door.

SYB and I made our way west to this somewhat desolate stretch of Tenth Avenue – along the way running into DM and her son en route to catch In the Heights — to find the restaurant closed. ¡Qué lástima! There were, however, a few tables set up inside the deli, so although it felt a touch strange to be dining within arm’s reach of the cold cases of queso fresco, chorizo and tortillas, we were willing to make the adjustment.

Tehuitzingo Deli Grocery, located a block north between 47th and 48th Streets, has what I understand to be a similar set-up: a no-frills lunch counter tucked in the back of a bodega, behind which a staff of Mexican women serve up some of the most raved about tacos in Manhattan.

The tacos at Tulcingo del Valle are pretty good, too; SYB ordered up this meaty trio:

And though the “extremely delicious” Pipian de Pollo was offered as a special tonight, I decided to keep things lighter with a bowl of the Chilate de Pollo (described on the menu as “Spicy Chicken Broth”). But at the last moment, concerned that $4.75 “broth” alone wouldn’t prove a substantial enough dinner, I added on the Lengua Torta – the beef tongue sandwich — Poblano style, i.e., with Oaxaca cheese, chipotle pepper, fried beans, avocado and papalo.

I should not have been concerned. The Chilate arrived in an enormous white bowl brimming with bone-in, skin-on chicken pieces, stalks of vegetables, and hearty chunks of potato, carrot and corn on the cob, accompanied by a basket of warm, foil-wrapped tortillas. I barely made it halfway through. Flavorful, if not actually all that spicy. And unlike the usually fine torta, it was just as good the following day.

With warm weather just around the corner, we found ourselves back in Bay Ridge for brunch.

LC suggested Saint Germain, a très French bistro on Third Avenue, which had received some good word of mouth from the locals. The location has been home to a series of French bistros, beginning in 1999 with Le ZaZou, to Provence en Boite (which relocated to Smith Street in Carroll Gardens) before hitting upon its current incarnation. The cozy restaurant is a popular brunch spot — no wonder: the prix fixe is an excellent value, offering choice of entrée, coffee or tea, plus orange juice or Lorina sparkling pink lemonade, and a fancy dessert, all for $16.95. Our party of four waited about twenty minutes for a table, which gave us plenty of time to consider the myriad pastry options in the glass display case up front, and to ponder what exactly goes into Saint Germain’s specialty “Brigitte Bardot” cocktail. (Answer: lemon vodka, triple sec, and that sparkling pink lemonade. What, no St-Germain?)

For better or worse, our experience felt truly Parisian: beyond leisurely, the service ranged from benignly neglectful to maddeningly slow. After making our selections from the brunch menu (the usual egg dishes, croque monsieur, crêpes, French toast, croissanwiches), we waited another twenty minutes for someone to take our order. The entrées, when they came, were quite good, though I would have enjoyed my Smoked Salmon Eggs Benedict more with the cup of coffee I ordered… which did not come despite two requests. (Each time we asked for our drinks, the waitress would cheerily respond, “Sure!” and continue merrily along, unfazed.)

When at last we got our coffees and teas with dessert (pictured below, my apple pastry and HH’s chocolate mousse dome), they came poured into too-hot-to-handle glass tumblers. No explanation or apology given, but we deduced that the kitchen must have run out of their usual white cups, though I noticed about half a dozen used ones sitting on yet-to-be-cleared tables around us.

On the bright side, the slow service gave us plenty of time to catch up. Back on the sunny streets after our two hour brunch, we noticed an inordinate amount of bright green gear on the livelier than usual crowds spilling out of the Irish pubs. When we passed a group of kilted bagpipers, we knew something was up.

It seems we’d just missed the Bay Ridge St. Patrick’s Day Parade, a procession which began at St. Patrick’s R.C. Church (not Cathedral) and proceeded along (Brooklyn’s) Fifth Avenue to Our Lady of Perpetual Help Basilica. Beleaguered Kings County DA Charles “Joe” Hynes served as Grand Marshal for the post-St. Patrick’s Day tradition, which began in 1994.

Next up: Bay Ridge’s 17th of May Norwegian Day Parade, which will be held this year on Sunday, May 18.

Back at DK’s home, after reruns of “Mythbusters” and the “Hawaii” episode of the Travel Channel’s 1,000 Places To See Before You Die, we amused ourselves with a spontaneous digital cable version of “Name That Tune.” The years may pass, but some songs are just seared in our memories.

Elsewhere in BK… Flickr preview: Greenpoint weekend (April 12-13, 2008)

Visits to the American Museum of Natural History always bring back memories of my elementary school field trips, and the anticipation I’d feel — still feel — upon entering the Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda with its towering Barosaurus, the world’s tallest freestanding mount of a dinosaur.

Herd of African elephants inside the Akeley Hall of African Mammals, and the start of our walk through the museum’s 28 meticulously detailed dioramas:

The refurbished Milstein Hall of Ocean Life:

Below, the 94-foot blue whale, under which I remember gathering with my young classmates for lunches of whale-shaped nuggets and french fries. Chicken, not fish, nuggets — though I suppose the latter wouldn’t necessarily make more sense… since as any fifth grader can tell you: whales are mammals.

These days, the area beneath the iconic life-size fiberglass model is fitted with benches for screening films. And on some nights, lucky 8-12 years olds set up sleeping bags on the floor here, as part of the AMNH’s sleepover program, which was reinstated last year after a two-decade hiatus in response to the renewed interest generated by the otherwise unredeemable 2006 film, A Night at the Museum.

The adjacent Hall of Biodiversity, which opened in 1998, features my favorite diorama in the museum: the walk-through Dzanga-Sangha Rainforest. We spent a few minutes there, but with time running short — we even had to skip the popular Saurischian dinosaur hall — there was time for just a peek inside the Planetarium.

Every longtime couple seems to have a sweet story of how they met, though most of the time the reality, like life, is slightly imperfect. At AP and SH’s home later that night for a cocktail fundraiser to benefit the Sunnyside CSA — yes, Sunnyside again! — I was reminded once more of the importance of having people in our lives who have known us through the years. In addition to providing considerable comforts and joys, they serve as a collective memory bank… and keep us honest in front of others and with ourselves.

Happy Earth Day!

Since January, the New-York Historical Society has been hosting “Let Them Eat Cake Fridays” with free admission on Friday evenings from 6-8PM. On select Fridays there have been musical performances with chocolates and French pastries available for purchase from Upper West Side purveyors like Godiva Chocolatier, Grandaisy and Magnolia bakeries.

The events are organized around the Society’s French Founding Father exhibit: “Lafayette’s Return to Washington’s America” on view through August 10, 2008 to mark the 250th birthday of Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier (better known as the Marquis de Lafayette). The exhibit focuses on Lafayette’s 13-month journey through all 24 states that then formed the United States, which began in 1824 at Castle Clinton in The Battery. (Similar commemorations were scheduled in France.)

Tonight’s cakes and hot chocolate were from Soutine on West 70th Street, one of my favorite bakeries in the neighborhood. (And while we’re on the subject, Levain Bakery on West 74th Street makes a mean cookie.) In addition to the sweets was a program in the Auditorium featuring internationally acclaimed soprano Juliana Janes-Yaffé, who performed songs by French and American (New York) composers. Yaffé, who is on the faculty of Mannes College at The New School for Music, sang a program of Charles Ives, Elliott Carter, Gabriel Fauré, Francis Poulenc, Lee Hoiby and Richard Hundley (who was in attendance this evening). Tony Bellomy, pianist for Brooklyn’s Encompass New Opera Theatre, accompanied the singer and performed a solo of Claude Debussy’s lovely “Rêverie.”

Upstairs, the New-York Historical Society reading room:

After the musical program, there was little time to explore the other exhibits, though I did catch one final glimpse of “Here Is New York: Remembering 9/11,” which closed on April 13. The exhibit drew from “here is new york,” a tribute to the victims of 9/11 by professional and amateur photographers, which became an international exhibition and inspired a BBC documentary. The New-York Historical Society’s exhibit consisted of 1500 inkjet-printed photos — I recognized my home and office blocks in several — mounted simply with binder clips on wires strung throughout two stark white galleries. The photos, without credits, titles or dates, were culled from 790 contributors and formed an overwhelming mosaic of the shock, horror and daze of that dark time.

The crowd waiting inside the foyer at Adrienne’s did not bode well for a speedy lunch, so we ended up at Ulysses, just a few doors down — another in the Poulakakos family-owned Financial District empire. (See also: Bayard’s, the three Financier Pâtisseries, Harry’s Bar, and the 24-hour Gold Street.) This pub on Stone Street is a packed to the rafters with suits during happy hour — and increasingly on weekends — but at lunchtime, the scene is decidedly more laid back.

Since opening five years ago on Bloomsday — that’s June 16 to those for whom James Joyce’s masterpiece is but a faint or nonexistent memory — Ulysses has stayed open nightly until 4AM, and served a Sunday brunch buffet, making it a beacon of activity in a neighborhood which still tends to empty after the closing bell. (Those late nights may be numbered throughout our increasingly sanitized city, though, as 2AM closings become the new norm.)

The bar boasts a 130 foot long wraparound bar — the longest in the city — and a slicked up Irish pub vibe, with blue glass, dark, gleaming wood and plenty of cozy nooks; as spring approaches, Ulysses takes over a section of the historic cobblestone street with outdoor tables that increase in demand with the temperatures.

The menu is a solidly pleasing assortment of carving station and raw bar offerings, Irish (bangers & mash, cottage pie) and Greek (gyro, Aegean salad) specialties, and other pub fare. Monday is Lobster Night: a 1-1/4 lb. lobster, sweet corn and potatoes for under $20, while it lasts. Guinness on tap, too, of course… along with about 50 other brews.

We do love the Irish… pubs.

I spent most of this afternoon downtown, running all sorts of retro-sounding errands: the knife sharpener, the cobbler, the tailor, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker…

Okay, maybe not that last one.

Could you see me as a 1950s housewife? No, me neither. But I did just pick up this cool new Oven Mit Apron from DWR. In black with orange stitching.

This afternoon, the Broome-facing windows of Papabubble were hung tantalizingly with sugar-sculpted cages encasing candy critters. How I’ve loved visiting this Barcelona-born sweets boutique since it opened in NoLIta last Fall.

Fiona and Jelly were in the midst of rolling out a fresh batch of sweet-smelling passion fruit when we strolled in. Check out this video from Cool Hunting for a behind-the-scenes look at their candy-making process.

On the white marble counter sat a sample jar of pale purple and orange striped nibs, which Fiona informed us were chocolate-filled lavender and bergamot candies. Although the combination sounded suspiciously like something I might pick up at Fresh, I decided to try them out. Different, certainly… and in fact, deliciously addictive. (Oh, dear.) These candies represent a couple of the shop’s newer flavors and are sold in bags with a mix of both aromatic varieties, or separately without the chocolate centers. Papabubble founder Tommy Tang would be proud.

Earlier this year, former Brooklyn Record editor Kara Zuaro (I Like Food, Food Tastes Good) recommended these elaborate “Edible Rings for Commitmentphobes,” which are sealed and displayed in a glass case near the front register:

We left the candy store, having picked up a bag of tasty treats… but disappointingly, nothing else. Buck up, my friend: there is only glory.

Disheartening message at DiSalvio Playground:

Pre-theater pizza at Lombardi’s on Spring Street with its unmissable mural of a pie-wielding “Mona Lisa,” whom manuscript experts at the University of Heidelberg have definitively identified as Florentine Lisa del Giocondo, putting all other theories to rest. (La Gioconda, inspiring artists everywhere.)

The “Pizza” episode of the History Channel’s “American Eats” series — set your TiVos for the next airing: Tuesday, April 29, 2008 — tells the story of Gennaro Lombardi, the “founding father of American pizza,” and his contribution to New York City pizza: locally grown tomatoes (instead of San Marzano), cow mozzarella (instead of water buffalo), and pies fired in coal ovens. To some extent, all the old school city pizzerias can be traced to Lombardi’s pioneering shop at 53½ Spring Street.

That first pizzeria was established in 1905, though in 1994, Lombardi’s grandson re-opened it at its current location at 32 Spring. For the pizzeria’s centennial on November 10, 2005, Lombardi’s sold whole pizza pies for 5 cents apiece.

We paid somewhat more for our pepperoni and mushroom pie, but it was still worth it.

At the Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural & Educational Center‘s Milagro Theater on Suffolk for the premiere of playwright Carla Ching’s TBA. The 1898 building is a former public school (P.S. 160), but since the mid-1990s, has served as a multicultural center for contemporary arts and art-related community services. CSV has four theaters and exhibition spaces; 53 visual artists have studios in the building.

Enhancing the LES hipster vibe was a dimly lit bar/gallery through a beaded doorway on the ground floor with vibrantly colored paintings of female nudes and cans of PBR, which we were invited to bring inside the theater.

Through April 5, theater company Second Generation celebrated its eleventh anniversary of supporting Asian American dramatic literature with ELEVEN, a month-long festival of 11 plays: one full-length production, four developmental staged-readings, and an evening of six one-acts. The centerpiece was Ching’s drama, starring Lloyd Suh, Second Generation’s artistic director and a playwright in his own right. (Both he and Ching are members of the Ma-Yi Writers’ Lab.) Suh appeared as a last-minute replacement for Ken Leung, who was called back to the set of Lost, where he has a recurring role as Miles Straume.

From TBA‘s press notes:

When Silas Park’s girlfriend leaves him, he becomes a shut-in, pumping out blistering autobiographical writings in his little East Village apartment. Just as Silas finds himself unexpectedly on the verge of literary stardom as the next Asian American wunderkind, his brother Finn shows up on his doorstep, accusing Silas of stealing his life. A play in two acts, in the crevice between fact and fiction.

An intriguing exploration of how impression and memory can form their own reality. Excellent work all around.

Oh, and we sat in front of Dr. Chen from ABC’s “Eli Stone,” whose real name is James Saito.

Tonight: Shotgun Stories, the critically–admired debut feature by writer-director Jeff Nichols. The film is a take on a classic feud story, pitting two sets of half brothers against each other over the languid backdrop of rural Arkansas. Years of resentments erupt following a confrontation at their father’s funeral, setting off an escalating series of vengeful acts that can leave no winner. (Nichols is said to have been inspired by the current political climate.)

Michael Shannon stars as Son Hayes, who along with younger brothers Boy (Douglas Ligon) and Kid (Barlow Jacobs), shares the hard memories of being abandoned as children by a violent drunk of a dad, who reforms and remarries, eventually becoming a loving father to four more sons. The older Hayes boys are formed of a certain Southern stereotype, which until the eye-opening trip last summer, I would have assumed to be some a kind of gross exaggeration: one lives in a pup tent pitched in his brother’s yard; the other, literally, in a van down by the river. The intensity of the young men’s bitterness burns deep, sharpened by their lives of constant struggle, all sparingly presented with minimal dialogue and improbably beautiful landscapes. (Credit to Adam Stone for the cinematography.)

A laid-back Shannon was tonight’s guest, fresh off a Public Theater rehearsal for Stephen Adly Guirgis’ The Little Flower of East Orange, in which he plays Ellyn Burstyn’s junkie son; The Times called Shannon’s performance “undeniably commanding, if at times exhausting.”

That seems to be a recurring theme throughout the little of Shannon’s oeuvre I’ve seen; I still recall his creepy, but memorable turn as a devout ex-marine in Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center.

The part of the seminar I most enjoy is hearing the backstory of how these independent films get made. In this case: Arkansas-native Nichols, while a student at the North Carolina School of the Arts, had watched some scenes Shannon filmed with his professor Gary Hawkins at the Sundance Labs. Nichols was so taken with the brooding actor that he wrote an entire screenplay with Shannon in mind, eventually contacting him through Hawkins about starring in his film. And in a turn of events sure to frustrate aspiring screenwriters everywhere, Shannon read Nichols’s script, was likewise impressed with the student’s work, and agreed. Just like that.

The way Shannon described it this evening, the entire shoot was a labor of love. Nichols’s whole family was involved in aspects of the film’s production: his parents and assorted family friends hosted much of the cast and crew in their homes, his mother was put on craft services duty, cooking dinner for 30 every night. Nichols’s brother wrote the film’s music while his father was a driver on set and an all-important funder. (David Gordon Green, director of All the Real Girls, the 2003 romance starring Zooey Deschanel, has official producing credit.)

Shannon was an engaging, if not particularly chatty, presence… slightly less scary in person than on screen. He did more than once say he wished that Nichols could have been at Town Hall tonight himself to explain the film better. Nichols, however, was unavailable, due to attending his own wedding the day before. Good excuse.

We lost Lenge late last year, but gained Amber, so the net number of Japanese restaurants on this strip of Columbus Avenue remains the same. And now, of course, we have Magnolia Bakery.

Yes, folks love these cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling. (And vice versa.) In a city full of cupcakes, though, I do feel that Magnolia’s have been hyped disproportionately to their quality. (Everyone’s got an opinion on where else to find the best.) Still, when the line isn’t an hour long, a hit of bomb frosting may be just the thing.

Especially when it’s got a cute sugar Easter bunny sitting atop. Awww!

Flickr preview: play ball! Photos from Game 2 of the Mets’ home opening series against the Phillies (April 9, 2008)