According to the latest edition of the Michelin guide, dining in New York got a little finer over the last year.
The city is now home to seven restaurants that earn the French dining guide’s three-star designation, its highest rating. Last year, the culinary guide said that five New York restaurants merited three stars.
Restaurateur Danny Meyer’s Eleven Madison Park, which has made dramatic changes to its menu under chef Daniel Humm, is arguably this year’s biggest winner, jumping from one to three stars in Michelin's view. The new guide, to be released Wednesday, also bestowed three stars on Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare, an 18-seat restaurant that is part of a Downtown Brooklyn grocery store. Chef’s Table was last year’s sleeper surprise when it earned two stars. Other restaurants in three-star territory include Daniel, Jean Georges, Le Bernardin and Masa.
Now in its seventh edition in New York, the guide’s anonymous inspectors review hundreds of restaurants. This year 62 city restaurants received stars, up from 57 last year. The guide is closely watched by chefs and food-world insiders. While chefs frequently grumble about the guide’s sometimes arbitrary designations, celebrations nearly always ensue when a restaurant receives a star.
Read the complete story here.
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Purist Chefs Ban Ketchup, Decaf and Toasted Bagels
At a pea-size Lower East Side bistro known for its fries, the admonition is spelled out on a chalkboard: No ketchup. At a popular gastropub in the West Village, customers cannot have the burger with any cheese other than Roquefort.
And at Murray’s Bagels in Greenwich Village and Chelsea, the morning crowd can order its bagels topped any number of ways but never — ever! — toasted. “It’s really annoying, because a toasted bagel is kind of fierce, right?” Jamie Divine, a product designer and frequent patron, said with a hint of an eye-roll.
New York has spawned a breed of hard-line restaurants and cafes that are saying no. No to pouring takeout espressos, or grinding more than a pound of coffee at a time. No to taming the intensity of a magma-spicy dish. And most of all, no to the 21st-century conviction that everything can be accessorized to the customer’s taste.
“People just assume that every restaurant should be for everyone — I could understand that if we were in a town with, like, 20 restaurants,” said David Chang, whose small empire of Momofuku restaurants is known for refusing to make substitutions or provide vegetarian options. “Instead of trying to make a menu that’s for everyone, let’s make a menu that works best for what we want to do.”
He added, “The customer is not always right.”
This coterie of food purists — or puritans, perhaps — is hardly limited to New York. The chef-owner of the Michelin-starred Chicago restaurant Graham Elliot does not serve decaffeinated coffee at his new sandwich shop and coffee bar, Grahamwich, because, Mr. Elliot said in an e-mail, “we decided to let our inner purists shine through and showcase coffee for what it is — a flavorful, caffeinated elixir.”
Clark Wolf, a restaurant consultant, recalled a San Francisco spot that would not supply salt or pepper because the chef supposedly seasoned every dish perfectly.
But New York has a hallowed history of persnickety cooks: Kenny Shopsin became something of a cult figure for the litany of rules — including no parties bigger than four, and no more than one order at each table of any particular dish — enforced for years at Shopsin’s diner in the West Village, now a small outpost at the Essex Street Market on the Lower East Side.
Arthur Schwartz, a food writer and historian, recalled a restaurant that the New Orleans chef Paul Prudhomme opened in Manhattan more than 20 years ago that also prohibited dining companions from ordering the same dish. “It didn’t last very long,” Mr. Schwartz said, “because in those days we all said: ‘Too many rules. New Yorkers are not going to do this.’ ”
Yet in a city filled with newcomers seeking a sense of belonging, rules can be part of the attraction. “One reason people go to a particular restaurant is they want to feel part of a particular community,” Mr. Schwartz said — even if that community is based on nothing more than a shared appreciation for carefully tended espresso that never touches a paper cup.
“You’re supposed to drink espresso fast,” said Caroline Bell, an owner of Cafe Grumpy, explaining that paper lets the heat dissipate too quickly.
When some customers at the three outposts in Brooklyn and Manhattan became, well, grumpy over the lack of takeout espresso, Ms. Bell instituted a policy meant to be taken more with a wink than with the snarl of the cafe’s logo: Patrons can get an espresso to go, if they pay $12 to drink it from a porcelain cup they can keep. “People actually do that,” she said. “There’s a guy that comes in every day to Chelsea with that cup and gets espresso.”
Some restaurateurs say they limit choices because it allows them to serve items consistently prepared the way they want.
“Cooks are creatures of habit,” Mr. Chang said. “To do this ‘Can I get this with no olives, can I get the salad chopped, sauce on the side’ — some of those special requests are ridiculous. My personal opinion is that a lot of people say they have a special allergy or they don’t like something so they can get better service.”
Read the entire story here.
And at Murray’s Bagels in Greenwich Village and Chelsea, the morning crowd can order its bagels topped any number of ways but never — ever! — toasted. “It’s really annoying, because a toasted bagel is kind of fierce, right?” Jamie Divine, a product designer and frequent patron, said with a hint of an eye-roll.
New York has spawned a breed of hard-line restaurants and cafes that are saying no. No to pouring takeout espressos, or grinding more than a pound of coffee at a time. No to taming the intensity of a magma-spicy dish. And most of all, no to the 21st-century conviction that everything can be accessorized to the customer’s taste.
“People just assume that every restaurant should be for everyone — I could understand that if we were in a town with, like, 20 restaurants,” said David Chang, whose small empire of Momofuku restaurants is known for refusing to make substitutions or provide vegetarian options. “Instead of trying to make a menu that’s for everyone, let’s make a menu that works best for what we want to do.”
He added, “The customer is not always right.”
This coterie of food purists — or puritans, perhaps — is hardly limited to New York. The chef-owner of the Michelin-starred Chicago restaurant Graham Elliot does not serve decaffeinated coffee at his new sandwich shop and coffee bar, Grahamwich, because, Mr. Elliot said in an e-mail, “we decided to let our inner purists shine through and showcase coffee for what it is — a flavorful, caffeinated elixir.”
Clark Wolf, a restaurant consultant, recalled a San Francisco spot that would not supply salt or pepper because the chef supposedly seasoned every dish perfectly.
But New York has a hallowed history of persnickety cooks: Kenny Shopsin became something of a cult figure for the litany of rules — including no parties bigger than four, and no more than one order at each table of any particular dish — enforced for years at Shopsin’s diner in the West Village, now a small outpost at the Essex Street Market on the Lower East Side.
Arthur Schwartz, a food writer and historian, recalled a restaurant that the New Orleans chef Paul Prudhomme opened in Manhattan more than 20 years ago that also prohibited dining companions from ordering the same dish. “It didn’t last very long,” Mr. Schwartz said, “because in those days we all said: ‘Too many rules. New Yorkers are not going to do this.’ ”
Yet in a city filled with newcomers seeking a sense of belonging, rules can be part of the attraction. “One reason people go to a particular restaurant is they want to feel part of a particular community,” Mr. Schwartz said — even if that community is based on nothing more than a shared appreciation for carefully tended espresso that never touches a paper cup.
“You’re supposed to drink espresso fast,” said Caroline Bell, an owner of Cafe Grumpy, explaining that paper lets the heat dissipate too quickly.
When some customers at the three outposts in Brooklyn and Manhattan became, well, grumpy over the lack of takeout espresso, Ms. Bell instituted a policy meant to be taken more with a wink than with the snarl of the cafe’s logo: Patrons can get an espresso to go, if they pay $12 to drink it from a porcelain cup they can keep. “People actually do that,” she said. “There’s a guy that comes in every day to Chelsea with that cup and gets espresso.”
Some restaurateurs say they limit choices because it allows them to serve items consistently prepared the way they want.
“Cooks are creatures of habit,” Mr. Chang said. “To do this ‘Can I get this with no olives, can I get the salad chopped, sauce on the side’ — some of those special requests are ridiculous. My personal opinion is that a lot of people say they have a special allergy or they don’t like something so they can get better service.”
Read the entire story here.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Calorie Postings Don’t Change Habits, Study Finds
By ANEMONA HARTOCOLLIS
A study of New York City’s pioneering law on posting calories in restaurant chains suggests that when it comes to deciding what to order, people’s stomachs are more powerful than their brains.
The study, by several professors at New York University and Yale, tracked customers at four fast-food chains — McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken — in poor neighborhoods of New York City where there are high rates of obesity.
It found that about half the customers noticed the calorie counts, which were prominently posted on menu boards. About 28 percent of those who noticed them said the information had influenced their ordering, and 9 out of 10 of those said they had made healthier choices as a result.
But when the researchers checked receipts afterward, they found that people had, in fact, ordered slightly more calories than the typical customer had before the labeling law went into effect, in July 2008.
The findings, to be published Tuesday in the online version of the journal Health Affairs come amid the spreading popularity of calorie-counting proposals as a way to improve public health across the country.
Read the rest of the story here.
A study of New York City’s pioneering law on posting calories in restaurant chains suggests that when it comes to deciding what to order, people’s stomachs are more powerful than their brains.
The study, by several professors at New York University and Yale, tracked customers at four fast-food chains — McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken — in poor neighborhoods of New York City where there are high rates of obesity.
It found that about half the customers noticed the calorie counts, which were prominently posted on menu boards. About 28 percent of those who noticed them said the information had influenced their ordering, and 9 out of 10 of those said they had made healthier choices as a result.
But when the researchers checked receipts afterward, they found that people had, in fact, ordered slightly more calories than the typical customer had before the labeling law went into effect, in July 2008.
The findings, to be published Tuesday in the online version of the journal Health Affairs come amid the spreading popularity of calorie-counting proposals as a way to improve public health across the country.
Read the rest of the story here.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Bus Driver Delivers Free Home-cooked Meals
JACKSON HEIGHTS, New York (CNN) -- Every day, unemployed men gather under the elevated 7 train in Jackson Heights, Queens. Many of them are homeless. All of them are hungry.
At around 9:30 each night, relief comes in the form of Jorge Munoz's white pickup truck, filled with hot food, coffee and hot chocolate.
The men eagerly accept containers of chicken and rice from Munoz, devouring the food on the spot. Quiet gratitude radiates from the crowd.
For many, this is their only hot meal of the day; for some, it's the first food they've eaten since last night.
"I thank God for touching that man's heart," says Eduardo, one of the regulars.
Watching Munoz, 44, distribute meals and offer extra cups of coffee, it's clear he's passionate about bringing food to hungry people. For more than four years, Munoz and his family have been feeding those in need seven nights a week, 365 days a year. To date, he estimates he's served more than 70,000 meals.
Word of his mobile soup kitchen has spread, and people of all backgrounds and status now join the largely-Hispanic crowd surrounding his truck -- Egyptians, Chinese, Ethiopians, South Asians, white and black Americans and a British man who lost his job.
"I'll help anyone who needs to eat. Just line up," Munoz says.
And at a time when food banks are struggling to keep up with skyrocketing demand, he's never been needed more. But for Munoz, a school bus driver by day, this work is a labor of love.
"When I see these guys on the street," he says, "it's like seeing me, 20-something years ago when I came to this country."
Munoz was born in Colombia and his father died in an accident when he was young. When his mother found it difficult to support Munoz and his sister, she made her way to New York, finding work in Brooklyn as a nanny. At her urging, Munoz followed in her footsteps, coming to the United States in the 1980s.
"She said this was a better future for us," he says.
Munoz obtained legal residency in 1987 and later became a citizen, along with his mother and sister. He never stood on a street corner to find work, but as an immigrant, he identifies with many of the men he feeds.
Munoz began his unorthodox meal program -- now his nonprofit, An Angel in Queens -- in the summer of 2004. Friends told him about large amounts of food being thrown away at their jobs. At first, he collected leftovers from local businesses and handed out brown bag lunches to underprivileged men three nights a week. Within a few months, Munoz and his mother were preparing 20 home-cooked meals daily.
Numbers gradually increased over the years to 35 per night, then 60. In recent months, that number has jumped to as many as 140 meals a night.
Sustaining this endeavor consumes most of his life. To his mother's dismay, his family's Woodhaven home is bursting with goods related to this work. An oversize freezer takes up most of the dining room, and the porch is lined with canned food and paper products.
Daily operations now run like a well-oiled machine. Munoz gets up around 5:00 a.m. to drive his bus route, and he calls home on his breaks to see how the cooking is going. When he gets home around 5:30 p.m. -- often stopping to pick up food donations -- he helps pack up meals before heading out to "his corner" in Jackson Heights.
"He comes here without fail," says one of the men. "It could be cold, it could be really hot, but he's here." Watch Munoz in action in Queens, New York »
On Saturdays he takes the men breakfast, and on Sundays -- his "day off" -- he brings them ham-and-cheese sandwiches. It's a relentless schedule, but either Munoz or his sister does it every night of the year.
"If I don't go, I'm going to feel bad," he says. "I know they're going to be waiting for me."
With the economic downturn, donations have slowed as the crowds awaiting Munoz's arrival have grown. But he is determined to do all he can to meet their needs.
Munoz estimates that food and gas cost approximately $400 to 450 a week; he and his family are funding the operation through their savings and his weekly $700 paycheck.
Asked why he spends so much time to help people he doesn't know, he answers, "I have a stable job, my mom, my family, a house... everything I want, I have. And these guys [don't]. So I just think, 'OK, I have the food.' At least for today they're going to have a meal to eat."
Want to get involved? Check out An Angel in Queens and see how to help.
At around 9:30 each night, relief comes in the form of Jorge Munoz's white pickup truck, filled with hot food, coffee and hot chocolate.
The men eagerly accept containers of chicken and rice from Munoz, devouring the food on the spot. Quiet gratitude radiates from the crowd.
For many, this is their only hot meal of the day; for some, it's the first food they've eaten since last night.
"I thank God for touching that man's heart," says Eduardo, one of the regulars.
Watching Munoz, 44, distribute meals and offer extra cups of coffee, it's clear he's passionate about bringing food to hungry people. For more than four years, Munoz and his family have been feeding those in need seven nights a week, 365 days a year. To date, he estimates he's served more than 70,000 meals.
Word of his mobile soup kitchen has spread, and people of all backgrounds and status now join the largely-Hispanic crowd surrounding his truck -- Egyptians, Chinese, Ethiopians, South Asians, white and black Americans and a British man who lost his job.
"I'll help anyone who needs to eat. Just line up," Munoz says.
And at a time when food banks are struggling to keep up with skyrocketing demand, he's never been needed more. But for Munoz, a school bus driver by day, this work is a labor of love.
"When I see these guys on the street," he says, "it's like seeing me, 20-something years ago when I came to this country."
Munoz was born in Colombia and his father died in an accident when he was young. When his mother found it difficult to support Munoz and his sister, she made her way to New York, finding work in Brooklyn as a nanny. At her urging, Munoz followed in her footsteps, coming to the United States in the 1980s.
"She said this was a better future for us," he says.
Munoz obtained legal residency in 1987 and later became a citizen, along with his mother and sister. He never stood on a street corner to find work, but as an immigrant, he identifies with many of the men he feeds.
Munoz began his unorthodox meal program -- now his nonprofit, An Angel in Queens -- in the summer of 2004. Friends told him about large amounts of food being thrown away at their jobs. At first, he collected leftovers from local businesses and handed out brown bag lunches to underprivileged men three nights a week. Within a few months, Munoz and his mother were preparing 20 home-cooked meals daily.
Numbers gradually increased over the years to 35 per night, then 60. In recent months, that number has jumped to as many as 140 meals a night.
Sustaining this endeavor consumes most of his life. To his mother's dismay, his family's Woodhaven home is bursting with goods related to this work. An oversize freezer takes up most of the dining room, and the porch is lined with canned food and paper products.
Daily operations now run like a well-oiled machine. Munoz gets up around 5:00 a.m. to drive his bus route, and he calls home on his breaks to see how the cooking is going. When he gets home around 5:30 p.m. -- often stopping to pick up food donations -- he helps pack up meals before heading out to "his corner" in Jackson Heights.
"He comes here without fail," says one of the men. "It could be cold, it could be really hot, but he's here." Watch Munoz in action in Queens, New York »
On Saturdays he takes the men breakfast, and on Sundays -- his "day off" -- he brings them ham-and-cheese sandwiches. It's a relentless schedule, but either Munoz or his sister does it every night of the year.
"If I don't go, I'm going to feel bad," he says. "I know they're going to be waiting for me."
With the economic downturn, donations have slowed as the crowds awaiting Munoz's arrival have grown. But he is determined to do all he can to meet their needs.
Munoz estimates that food and gas cost approximately $400 to 450 a week; he and his family are funding the operation through their savings and his weekly $700 paycheck.
Asked why he spends so much time to help people he doesn't know, he answers, "I have a stable job, my mom, my family, a house... everything I want, I have. And these guys [don't]. So I just think, 'OK, I have the food.' At least for today they're going to have a meal to eat."
Want to get involved? Check out An Angel in Queens and see how to help.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
That Comes with a Side of Blarney
'Spitfire' Waitress Going Strong at 88
NEW YORK (AP) -- She's petite, white-haired and 88 years old. And if you ask Rosie the waitress what's in the meat loaf, she's likely to tell you, "It's made of old socks."
Order clams and she'll say, in her delightful Northern Ireland brogue, "I'd rather be shot than eat clams."
Rose Donaghey is a bit of a legend in the East Bronx, so well-liked and well-known that she can attract business to a new restaurant -- as she's doing these days at the Wicked Wolf.
The restaurant's manager, Kathy Gallagher, hired Donaghey 14 years ago at Charlie's Inn, a German-Irish hangout that was the traditional ending point for the local St. Patrick's Day parade.
"She was, what, 70-something then, and when she asked me about a job I thought she meant for her daughter -- or granddaughter," Gallagher said. "My mother-in-law said, `Just give her a chance."'
Charlie's closed last year, and Donaghey figured that was the end of her career.
"I felt lost," she said.
Then the Wicked Wolf hired Gallagher. Two months ago, she called Donaghey.
Gallagher says Donaghey's success is built on "her personality and her charm -- she's a little bit of a spitfire. ... She can take orders, come out and serve people, and then talk to them and keep them entertained. I know they're coming in to see her."
Attorney James Newman comes in only when Donaghey is working -- Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.
"Any time you joke with her, she jokes back," he said this week. "She always tries to order for you. You ask for a burger well done and she says, `I'll have it cremated."'
Donaghey can't rush around any more, and other waitresses enter her orders into the computer. She brought a Budweiser instead of a Bud Light to one table, but turned it into a joke: "I'd blame the bartender," she whispered.
Rose McElroy, born in 1920 in County Tyrone, married James Donaghey in 1947. They came to America in 1949.
Her sister had a bar in Queens. "I arrived on a Friday and she put me to work on the Saturday," Donaghey said.
"My first customer was a lady who came in off the beach with all these kids and said, `I'm so tired. I need a screwdriver,"' Donaghey said. "Well, I didn't know what a screwdriver was except for the tool you'd use, so I went in the back and asked the boss for a screwdriver. `It's a drink,' he told me."
Things went better after that. She had four children and part-time jobs: a Fifth Avenue tea house; a Jewish deli in the Bronx.
Donaghey was retired when her husband died in 1994. The funeral lunch was held at Charlie's Inn, and Donaghey apparently thought the place could use her help.
Donaghey says she doesn't have to work. There's Social Security, and her three surviving children would help out if needed. She won't say what she gets paid, but Gallagher thinks she knows where the extra income goes: into the church basket. Donaghey takes in a Mass every day, in person or on TV.
"The world might have changed but I never change," she said.
Asked what it takes to be a great waitress, Donaghey said, "Be pleasant, and let them take their pick of tables." Later she thought of something else.
"I guess it's the blarney," she said.
NEW YORK (AP) -- She's petite, white-haired and 88 years old. And if you ask Rosie the waitress what's in the meat loaf, she's likely to tell you, "It's made of old socks."
Order clams and she'll say, in her delightful Northern Ireland brogue, "I'd rather be shot than eat clams."
Rose Donaghey is a bit of a legend in the East Bronx, so well-liked and well-known that she can attract business to a new restaurant -- as she's doing these days at the Wicked Wolf.
The restaurant's manager, Kathy Gallagher, hired Donaghey 14 years ago at Charlie's Inn, a German-Irish hangout that was the traditional ending point for the local St. Patrick's Day parade.
"She was, what, 70-something then, and when she asked me about a job I thought she meant for her daughter -- or granddaughter," Gallagher said. "My mother-in-law said, `Just give her a chance."'
Charlie's closed last year, and Donaghey figured that was the end of her career.
"I felt lost," she said.
Then the Wicked Wolf hired Gallagher. Two months ago, she called Donaghey.
Gallagher says Donaghey's success is built on "her personality and her charm -- she's a little bit of a spitfire. ... She can take orders, come out and serve people, and then talk to them and keep them entertained. I know they're coming in to see her."
Attorney James Newman comes in only when Donaghey is working -- Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.
"Any time you joke with her, she jokes back," he said this week. "She always tries to order for you. You ask for a burger well done and she says, `I'll have it cremated."'
Donaghey can't rush around any more, and other waitresses enter her orders into the computer. She brought a Budweiser instead of a Bud Light to one table, but turned it into a joke: "I'd blame the bartender," she whispered.
Rose McElroy, born in 1920 in County Tyrone, married James Donaghey in 1947. They came to America in 1949.
Her sister had a bar in Queens. "I arrived on a Friday and she put me to work on the Saturday," Donaghey said.
"My first customer was a lady who came in off the beach with all these kids and said, `I'm so tired. I need a screwdriver,"' Donaghey said. "Well, I didn't know what a screwdriver was except for the tool you'd use, so I went in the back and asked the boss for a screwdriver. `It's a drink,' he told me."
Things went better after that. She had four children and part-time jobs: a Fifth Avenue tea house; a Jewish deli in the Bronx.
Donaghey was retired when her husband died in 1994. The funeral lunch was held at Charlie's Inn, and Donaghey apparently thought the place could use her help.
Donaghey says she doesn't have to work. There's Social Security, and her three surviving children would help out if needed. She won't say what she gets paid, but Gallagher thinks she knows where the extra income goes: into the church basket. Donaghey takes in a Mass every day, in person or on TV.
"The world might have changed but I never change," she said.
Asked what it takes to be a great waitress, Donaghey said, "Be pleasant, and let them take their pick of tables." Later she thought of something else.
"I guess it's the blarney," she said.
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