A.J. Maxwell's Steakhouse

In midtown, near Rockefeller Plaza.

We went for lunch the other day. Eaten: the house special salad, a mix of string beans, bacon, sliced shrimp, vinaigrette, tomatoes and onions. Had sliced ribeye, cooked perfectly. Side order of hash browns, rich and crusty.

Key lime pie for dessert: moussy, light, not custardy. Chocolate mints afterwards.
It was raining.

The Best Saltines In Manhattan

I went to a doctor's office on 53rd and Lex, and on the 8th floor, which is radiology, there is a table full of saltines, graham crackers, and a gourmet coffee dispenser. The saltines are very fresh, and if you're in the area, you owe it to yourself to grab a packet. They're free.

I was there waiting for my mother, who is being helped through a surgical procedure.

Eating Out In Inwood: John's Fried Chicken

I just got back from a morning of wandering around Washington Heights and upward: first I had breakfast at Trie Cafe inside the Cloisters at Fort Tryon Park, then I left through the heather gardens and took the A up to 207th street, and decided to walk around Inwood.

My eating stop was at John's Fried Chicken, where I had a single fried breast. The serving lady didn't understand, and kept thinking I wanted the three-piece special. I felt like that scene in that Wayons movie: "just one rib." The piece arrived slightly mutated, containing an extra piece of something. It was way too large to just be a breast. And it came with two, small, fluffy mini-buns. And a little packet of salt.

I ate quickly and gave up halfway through. It was a little dry, and it tasted like it was coated in semi-sweet cornflakes. Another distressing note: one of the many odd combo specials featured a chicken breast, a "pot. ball", and a "meat pipe."

I have no idea what a Meat Pipe is, and I have no intention of finding out.

Excellent Brunch: La Palapa

My girlfriend and I just had an excellent brunch off of St. Marks. And even more incredibly, it was Mexican. I may have to revoke my citywide New York boycott of Mexican food.

La Palapa, located at the corner of St. Marks and 1st Avenue, had:

a) really good homemade chips, guacamole and salsa
b) homemade chili sauces
c) amazing Mexican french toast made with bollila slices and cinnamon syrup
d) really good heuvos rancheros with homemade queso fresco
e) addictive coffee brewed with authentic sugar, cinnamon and orange peel
f) really reasonable prices
g) none of the annoying hipster crowds that plagued Veselka

I'm moving to the Upper West in a month and a half, but I'll treasure this place.

Where Art Thou, Via Emilia?

Via Emilia, the great northern-Italian pasta joint, is gone from its location on 20th and Park. A sign claims a new location and a "new menu!" on east 21st street, but in fact the restaurant is nowhere to be found.

I'm not looking forward to the new decor and inevitable higher prices. This is the old NYC shell game. It just happened to Chinese Mirch in Curry Hill. Redecorate, and lose the ambiance and lower prices that made it a find in the first place.

New York City, sometimes I hate you.

A picture of me downing a beaker of 40-year-old Lagavulin scotch (Islay, Scotland)

More on this one soon. It was pipetted out of the oldest cask of Lagavulin in the world.
But don't I look oh-so-hip-hop?

Dearly Departed: Tre Pomodori

Good-bye, cheap pasta, and spaghetti with anchovies and sundried tomato: me and my girlfriend's favorite little trattoria just closed on 34th between 3rd and 2nd Aves. We thought we'd reward ourselves after a hard week of final exams for her and freelance hustling for me, only to arrive to a mysteriously closed storefront, with no identifying characteristics to indicate that it was anything previous to be being a shuttered-up wall.

Their 9.00 anchovy, sundried tomato, and garlic-and-oil spaghetti was a revelation. I'm not sure if their other remaining location (according to Zagat), at 2nd and 90-ish street, still exists. We may make a field trip.

Instead, we ate at Notaro's, on 35th and 2nd Ave. The tortellini and spaghetti carbonara were delicious, tremendous, and really much, much too rich. My acid reflux didn't thank me on that one. But they have a $24.95 prix fixe after 6:30 pm, which is absurd in Manhattan.

We'll just have to move on, and learn to make anchovy pasta ourselves.

Bagels in NY...NOT AFTER 11!

I'm recounting an old experience I had a few months ago here in New York City, and I'm still fuming.
I was heading to work, and the thought occurred to grab a bagel on the way. But I thought to myself: I'm late. I'll get to work first, and then catch a bagel later. So I went upstairs, got to my desk, and of course I became distracted by phone messages, email, and my own short attention span.

Soon enough, it was 11.

No problem. But it was definitely time for a bagel.
Well, you can guess what happened by the subject header. I went to the local deli/salad-tosser/sushi/overpriced hot-table racket, one of about 854,347 in Manhattan. I saw bagels. I made a beeline, and asked for one with cream cheese.
"Sorry, we're not serving breakfast anymore," was the response.
I was infuriated. I demanded that bagel. And they at last relented, but they wouldn't give me cream cheese.
"You have cream cheese?" I asked.
"Yes, but it's not breakfast," they answered.
I refused to buy the bagel, and went elsewhere. Which began an hour-long odyssey to five different places, all of which: a) had bagels but no cream cheese, b) cream cheese but no bagels, c) neither bagels nor cream cheese, or d) bagels AND cream cheese, both of which they refused to sell me.

I finally got cream cheese at one place, a bagel at the other, and went back to work soul-crushed.
There were no honest-to-goodness bagel places around, the type that actually (gosh!) serve bagels and cream cheese ALL DAY LONG. But this horror show in midtown taught me the bureaucracy of eating on this overpopulated isle. I feel no sympathy to these fly-by-night Paxes and Food Exchanges (what are we supposed to be exchanging, anyway?). May they all go out of business; if they were really desperate for money, they'd sell me that damn bagel and cream cheese.

I just returned from the land of Haggis and Scotch

After a jet-lagged weekend featuring three plane flights in one day followed by the NFL Draft, I'm back in NYC. I was completely out of touch in a world of little internet connection, much sheep, and the best whiskey in the world.

More to follow once pics are uploaded.

Best Fish in Aruba

If you're there, stop by the fisherman's shack near the Aruba Surf Club, out on the beach. Weekly lunch of awesome locally caught fish for 8 bucks, and Sunday BBQ grills of immense filets of whatever they got that morning (in our case, Wahoo). And one dollar local Balashi beer.

Here's my dad in front of the awesome painted walls.

This week: Hot Dogs at Shea, Charles' Chicken In Charge, and What the hell is "Philadelphia BBQ"?

It's nearing the end of the week, and as I prepare for a trip to Scotland, I reflect on some of the week's adventures.

But first, a flashback: to my 29th birthday on August 31, 2003. I went on a field trip with some friends to the famed Charles' Southern Style Kitchen, on 152nd and 8th Ave. (212-926-4313)
On a street that contains nearly nothing to look at, there are no less than what look like three Charles spinoffs, with similar awnings. Inside is a miniature dingy room with a hot table and some seats. What does it offer? Nothing but a $9.99 buffet of fried chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, green beans, corn bread, smothered pork chops, ribs, catfish, and iced tea. And the unlabeled table hot sauce was an awesome flavor-packed beauty...probably cayenne based, as it tasted similar to Frank's Red Hot.

Worth the trip up the 3 subway and over a few blocks? Absolutely. Or, ride the M10 bus up Eighth.

Yesterday I went out to Shea Stadium in Flushing, Queens, to see the Mets lose. I ate the footlong hot dog and the grilled sausage with onions and peppers, a rip-off at $6.25, but what can you do? The flavor is great. And for extra fun, I saw the strangest show I've ever seen in my life: a crazy man wearing a bright yellow t-shirt was kicked out of some seats he tried to sneak into in the Loge section. He must've dropped his hot dog along the way, because he comes back jokingly furious that he left his hot dog behind...he was convinced the security guard ate it. After harassing the guard, he looks behind the seats, dogged, leaving his lemonade on the side while he dug. He triumphantly recovers the half a hot dog, and then finds part of the ratty bun. He holds it up as a souvenir for all the slightly amused crowd to see...then he puts the dog in the bun and eats it.

Unfortunately, someone walking by had kicked over his lemonade.

What did he do? He slopped the small puddle of befouled lemonade along the dirty concrete walkway in the Loge section using his hand, dribbled it off the ledge to the next set of seats, caught the runoff in his cup...held up the cup...and my God, he drank it down.

He said, "this is for my friends who died." And then he said he was going to be on the field with the Cat in the Hat later on.

As far as geek shows go, that was worth the price of admission. I was horrified.

Finally...what the hell is a "Philadelphia BBQ" chicken? As far as I can tell, they're the overpriced, shrunken rotisserie birds-in-bags that Gristedes manages to sell for 7 bucks a pop. Gristedes, you should be ashamed. I can't wait until Trader Joe's rises up and buries you in the Hudson River.

Easter Eggs (and Sausage)

This morning, I ate at my Mom and Dad's favorite perennial breakfast place in Suffolk County, Long Island: JT's Corner Cafe in Nesconset. Justin, the Mets fan/owner/chef-at-large, is a family friend and an experimenter par excellence. I just can't drag my folks away from this place, so I've resigned myself to eating there every morning I visit. It's like our kitchen away from home.

Today I had a South Beach-friendly Eggs Benedict: poached eggs on top of spinach, on top of sausage patties. Covered in some Hollandaise, of course. Some expertly-browned potatoes arrived on the side, tempting me to the Carb Side, but I avoided the taunt of the tubers.

Unfortunately, as a special Easter treat, JT brought out personally-made banana fritters with ice cream. I felt it would be rude not to eat a bite.

And so, another attempt at being good has been nuked beyond all recognition.
When you're in eastern Long Island, you've gotta give this place a try. It gets crowded. But say hi to Justin and Krista, and say Scott Stein says hi.

204 Smithtown Blvd Ste 7, Nesconset, NY
Tel: (631) 265-5267

The Dive Bar's Irish Breakfasts... and, Breakfast Nooks: An Idea

The other day (Friday morning), my good friend David and I ventured over to The Dive Bar near 95th and Amsterdam for what he called "a pretty extensive breakfast list."

When we arrived at the funky, dingy bar at 11:00 am, I felt like an alcoholic returning to the evil fold. The smell of old beer still felt like it hung near the angular fishtank near the window. Paint-peeling decorations like ship-front mermaids dotted the bar's dark counter.

I order the $9.99 Irish Breakfast, which boasted "Irish bacon, sausages, beans, black and white pudding, toast and eggs." First of all, Irish breakfasts don't involve beans...that's for the English. And they usually have soda bread and half a grilled tomato. (I spent three summers in Northern Ireland and Cork, in case you're curious.) Still, I love rashers, so I bit.

The meal arrived, alas, with regular bacon overly crisp, and rye-esque bread. But the sausages seemed authentic, and indeed, black and white pudding was in great supply—in fact, six or so thick slices studded the plate.

Too much food, and it made me burp the rest of the day, but I was impressed.

For nothing, here's an idea we came up with over breakfast: why isn't there a breakfast place that specializes in regional world morning food? Congee, rashers, pastachi, herring, and whatever Indian culture enjoys at dawn. We concluded that we think most people prefer breakfast to be recognizable and comforting, as opposed to exotic. Is this true? I'd be first in line for breakfast exotica.

The Wandering Chew Starts Today

Welcome, first reader: what you've got right here is a blog about eats: namely, finding the great hidden chow lurking in the cities and random byways of the earth. More specifically, New York City, where I make my home (currently in Murray Hill). But I've also lived in San Diego, Los Angeles and Long Island, and will be going other places, too...so expect lots of NYC reports, and a small handful of micro-excursions and jaunts. Coming up very soon: a week in Scotland, and a week in Los Angeles for the Electronic Entertainment Expo.

My favorite food: sushi. Specifically, yellowtail. Hamachi. The crunchy belly, if available.
My favorite cheap eats in NY: Mama's Food Shop.
Sometimes I will be reporting on the obvious; sometimes I will be reporting on the scary and unknown. But I will always be wandering. A wandering Jew, who can't help eating.

Hope you enjoy!