Lula's Sweet Apothecary

Peanut butter chip atop
vanilla with raspberry and brownie

I’ve discussed it here before, but there was a time where I shunned meat. And cheese.  And eggs.  Though my quasi-veganism lasted but two or three short months, I learned a good amount.  I learned that it is possible to eat a varied and healthful, even exciting, diet devoid of animal products.  I learned that I like being a contrarian, which is perhaps not my best quality.  I also learned, perhaps most importantly, that there is some really fucking good vegan ice cream out there.  Sure, there are a lot of vegan facsimiles of typically dairy and meat-laden goods.  Some of it is absolutely atrocious, its mere existence a disservice to vegans and vegetarians everywhere.  But some of it is completely delicious in its own right, vegan or otherwise. 

It’s no secret that I love ice cream.  I have at least a little bit of it, even if it’s just a spoonful or two, every day.  Vetting the ice cream situation was necessary before I took the plunge into my short-lived quasi-veganism (that's a lot of qualifiers right there...).   Throughout my testing, I ran into quite a few awful ‘frozen non-dairy desserts,’ but the good ones, man, they’re good.   Take, for instance, Lula’s Sweet Apothecary, an old-school soda fountain type place.  It feels like where Archie would’ve taken Betty (or Veronica) for a date if they lived in Portland in 2012 instead of Riverdale in the 1950s.   

Good vegan ice cream is not good “for vegan ice cream,” but just plain good, sans qualifiers.  The stuff at Lula’s is among the best ice cream I’ve had, vegan or otherwise.  The hard ice creams are made from soy, coconut or cashews.  The latter two are the best options, as the fattiness carries over in the best ways possible.  Add to that some intelligently thought out add-ins and spot-on flavors, and you’ve got something special. 

I walked away recently with a double scoop: peanut butter chocolate chip and vanilla with raspberry swirl and brownie, both recommended to me by the fella working the counter.  The peanut butter flavor was super rich, impeccably creamy and just plain delicious; the vanilla tasted much lighter and served almost as the J to my scoop of PB.  Though I could’ve used more brownie chunks, the raspberry rippled through the vanilla in aggressive swirls that served as a nice counterpoint to all of the heaviness in my cup.  The maple walnut, which I’ve had in earlier trips, is also a winner.

Lula’s is not one of those holier-than-thou vegan joints.  It’s not health food. What it is, most meaningfully, is amazing, in both the magical, incredibly rich things done without the crutches of eggs and dairy and in the quality of the product churned out.  Go there; just, go. 

Lula’s Sweet Apothecary
516 East 6th St (b/w Ave A and B)
(646) 481-5851

Nicoletta

I would typically never attempt to try a restaurant on its first night.  But the plywood up on the corner of 10th and 2nd had been tempting us for far too long not to make a go at it.  While we were quoted a two hour wait, the crowd outside the restaurant wasn't so bad, so we left our number and retreated to Rob's apartment to wait it out.  Thankfully, they're willing to take cell numbers; a few places I've visited lately have not had such a policy, which I just don't understand, particularly when the establishment doesn't have a bar area large enough to accommodate those waiting. We got the call that our table was ready just about an hour later, and nary five minutes later were seated at our table in the center of the restaurant.

The interior is spacious, with high ceilings, spare exposed brick walls and more space between tables than one would typically find in an East Village establishment.  As we were perusing the menu, Martha Stewart left the restaurant, looking exceptional for 70 years old, I should note, and Michael White raced out to bid her adieu.  White was clearly in and out of the kitchen all night, and stopped by each table in the place to say thanks and get reactions from the first-night crowd.

Suppli

We started with a liter of the house wine, a light red, the name of which escapes me but which I guzzled nonetheless.  The menu is divided into four sections: snack-sized Assagini e Sfizi, Antipasti, Insalate and Le Pizze.  The three of us had been waiting long enough for the damned place to open, so we figured we'd go big.  We started with two orders of the suppli, the tiny fried risotto balls (which was one order too many; we'd been told by the waitress that there were four small rice balls per order, but it turned out to be five, which would have been plenty).  As far as fried things go, they were pretty delicious.  The coating was paper thin and perfectly greaseless, harboring a scalding hot filling of risotto, molten mozzarella and itty bitty pieces of sausage.  They sat in some sort of deliciousness that merited a dunk and a re-dunk (and later a super classy swipe of a pizza crust).

calamari

We also ordered the calamari, which was stuffed with summer squash, soppresata, bread crumbs and oregonata.  Though I've found baked calamari preparations hit or miss in terms of doneness, here it was incredibly tender, not even chewy in the least.  Though the pork could have played a bigger role, it didn't stop my greasy little mitts from reaching in for more well past my point of satiety.

carrozza, or, fried, breaded cheese puck

Rounding out our appetizers was the carrozza, which was described to us as mozarella encased in bread - you know...because we didn't have enough mozzarella and bread in our order already.  The dish we were ultimately presented did not quite fit the mental image I'd conjured up, but it was indisputably tasty.  I'm going to go out on a limb and say that breaded, deep fried high-quality mozzarella is satisfying at a base level to all but the lactose averse.  Indeed, this was better than breaded cheese need be; the shell was crisp and didn't lend unnecessary greasiness to the rest of the plate, which was bright and acidic with basil, olives, peppers and anchovies.

But we were just getting started.  Our gluttonous asses still had pizza on the way.  Our waitress told us that, as the pies were 12", she recommended one per two people.  Being the disgusting humans we are, we decided that three was the perfect amount for the three of us.  What can I say, it was hard to make a decision since all the pies sounded awesome, so we each chose one, plenty aware that we'd be feasting on leftovers.

The pies are somewhere between a thin crust New York pizza and the thicker, DiGiorno-thickness pies ubiquitous in much of the country.  I'd read that White was going for a midwestern bar pie, but these sported a far thicker crust.

The tables are equipped with these rather ingenius metal rods that pop out of the marble and to which the wait staff attaches a metal disc to hold the pizzas.  They achieve the dual purposes of 1) not compromising table space and 2) looking awesome.

side effect of the pizza stands: shadows,
this photo of the tartufata fell victim to the LoFi effect;
may it rest in peace

The first of our pies was the Tartufata: mozzarella, mushroom cream, roasted wild mushrooms and procsiutto cotto.  A pleasant funk from the mushrooms dominated this pie, but I far be it from me to bitch about it.  There was truffle in the mix, too, and the prosciutto cut through the earthiness of it all with its salty heft.

carbonara

We also had the carbonara, with cream, pancetta, pecorino romano, scallions, black pepper, crowned with a runny-yolked egg.  This one was Robbie's favorite (though he may have been biased since he ordered it).  All of the elements worked well together, and it was at once rich, salty, meaty, and bright.  Another winner.

fumé

My favorite (again, I may be biased, but it was the majority favorite as well) was the fume, which was not met with a great amount of fanfare when I announced it as my choice.  What can I say, though, I am a sucker for smokey, salty flavors, and the fume delivered.  The smoked scarmaza cheese was the star of the show here, playing well with the mozzarella, it flavored the pie with a hint of smoke without smothering, as smokey flavors so often can, and it paired quite well with the speck.  The radicchio cut through the richness with its bitter edge, while the thyme gave it all a bit of pop.  The flavors were a bit unexpected, but a total home run.

The crust on the pies was great, too, and was a great base for the assertive, high-quality ingredients placed atop them.  The pizza arrived to the table a deep golden brown, crusts glistening with a generous coat of oil.  The crusts themselves crackled and gave way to a pillowy soft interior breadier than a typical New York slice, but no less awesome because of it.  The pies were much thinner in the center, but never approached the drippy-wet interior of a Neopolitan slice.  Purists may scoff at these pies, as they can't quite be pigeonholed in a distinct category.  I typically like nothing thicker than a New York thin crust, but I can't argue with what Michael White is doing at Nicoletta.  Midwestern-New York-Neopolitan-Bar-Whatever the Fuck You Want to Call It style, this is some delicious pizza.

photo courtesy Kathy YL Chan via Serious Eats

Edited to add: WHOA! I cannot believe I forgot to talk about dessert.  Yes, we somehow also managed to cram some dessert down our greedy little gullets. The dessert menu at Nicoletta focuses around the fior de latte soft serve, which you can get in a float (root beer or fanta) or in a cup with two toppings (or more at an extra charge; we chose whipped cream and chili peanut toffee sauce).  The soft serve was a bit icy on our visit, but had the bright, unmistakable flavor of fresh cream.  And who gives a shit about a little iciness when there's peanut chili toffee involved?  Nobody, that's who.  This sauce kicked so much ass that we requested some extra on the side.  The waitress probably had to tell us that there would be an extra charge (50 cents, big whoop) for it, lest we get all pissy, but this stuff was like crack, and our order was already so over the top that no up-charge was going to stand in our way at that point.  In any event, if you go to Nicoletta (and you should), you owe it to yourself to finish your meal with peanut chili toffee topped fior di latte soft serve.  And a root beer float, because damn right we got one of those too, and it was awesome.

Nicoletta
160 2nd Avenue (at 10th St.)
(212) 432-1600

Dirt Candy

Dirt Candy has been on The List for ages, pretty much since it opened in 2008(9?), in fact. I've been clamoring to get a taste of Amanda Cohen's purportedly revolutionary treatment of vegetables (or, as she calls them, "dirt candy"). Reservations are not easy to come by in the 20 seat space, and typically require booking a month in advance. That's why, when Mackenna and I were looking for a dinner spot a mere two days out, I jumped at the 9:30 pm Friday reservation as quickly as I could.


And the subterranean garden-apartment space is, indeed, teeny. There are 12-14 seats at tables against the banquette and another six lined against the opposite wall, with just enough room between them for the servers to pass through.

The menu is likewise small, offering up but a mere 4-5 choices for each course. This theoretically should make the task of ordering far simpler for an indecisive diner like me. But without the crutch of "I feel like fish tonight," and with a list of entrees that all sounded delicious and different, I faced some difficulties. Nothing a little chat with our server couldn't fix.


Though I sound like a broken record, I apologize for the poor picture quality.  The light was very, very low.  Also, I am a terrible photographer.

Jalapeno Hush Puppies with Maple Butter

We started with the jalapeno hush puppies, which arrived piping hot with a side of softened maple butter. The hush puppies were a pinnacle of the form, the crispy exterior giving way to a steamy, fluffy corn interior.   The jalapeno provided a lingering heat, and once in a while, a real punch of spice. The maple butter was, as you'd imagine, delicious; entirely unnecessary for the exterior bites and not unwelcome for the fluffy innards. The house bread also served as a canvas for the maple butter, though I preferred dipping the focaccia-like batons into the olive oil, which had been strewn with herbs.

House bread with Herbed Olive Oil

I've had and loved the portobello mousse before, and would have ordered it to enjoy the full restaurant treatment, but my dear friend is an avowed mushroom hater (something I will never understand). It was between the red pepper soup and the carrot buns, then. Seeing as soup might be tough to share, we went with the buns.

Steamed Carrot Buns with Cucumber and Carrot Salad

I love me a good Chinese steamed bun, cha siu bao in particular, that spongy, airy dough encasing rich, sticky-sweet Chinese roast pork.  The sweetness Cohen coaxed from the carrots paid homage to cha siu, but was impressive in its own right, bright with hoisin and a carrot reduction.  The treatment of the roots within was inspired, as the carrots feigned meatiness.  The buns were dyed various shades of orange from the juice of the different carrots used, which didn't affect the taste, but sure was adorable.  


Yes, these carrot buns were delicious, but I could not keep my fork out of that little pile of awesome to the left.  This, my friends, was a crispy white carrot, cucumber, ginger and sesame salad, topped with carrot halvah.  Oh, never had carrot halvah, have you?  I'm really sorry about that, because this was one of the more creative, no-holds-barred delicious things i have tasted in recent memory.  (No, but really, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner, the carrot buns are apparently no longer on the menu.)  A definitely ate more than my fair share of the salad even though we were to be going halfsies (sorry Mack).  

Chard Gnocchi

Then there were the mains.  Mackenna went with the chard: chard gnocchi, grilled chard, garlic granola, drunken fig jam.  The gnocchi were light, if a bit on the soft side.  The grilled chard crunchy, buttery, delicious. There was a  thin layer of goat cheese sauce coating the bottom of the plate, which lent a lovely tang to the whole thing and perked it all up.   The fig jam felt awkwardly out of place, its flavor strong and overwhelming, and not really meshing with the other elements of the dish. As it appeared as a small pile crowning the gnocchi, it was easily cast aside (and eventually eaten separately, since it was quite good in its own right).  

Cucumber, Coconut Poached Tofu

I oscillated between the cucumber: coconut poached tofu, shiso galangal sauce, salsify and hearts of palm and the corn: stone ground grits, corn cream, pickled shiitakes, huitlacoche, tempura poached egg.  Though the corn was the thing that called out to me immediately - I mean, tempura poached egg, for fuck's sake; top that with pickled mushrooms and huitlacoche and I was sure I'd be there.  But in the end, I went for the cucumber, since it seemed lighter and brighter than the corn, and I was getting some corn (and heaviness) via the fritters.  I can't say I regret my choice, either.  The tofu seemed to have been seared prior to poaching, as it had a lovely golden crust on its topside.  The sauce was verdant, alive with the vague citrus notes of shiso, and kept the whole dish interesting.  The crunchy fried things, also, awesome. What can I say? I love crunchy fried things.


The food at dirt candy is a wonder to behold.  These are not dishes that placed on a menu as a thoughtless consolation to vegetarians, but a celebration of vegetables in their own right.  These are not meant to replace meat, or to substitute for it, but to draw your attention to the merits of vegetables as their best, most interesting versions of themselves.  


Dirt Candy
430 E 9th St (b/w 1st and Ave. A)
(212) 228-7732

The Horchata Chronicles: 3rd Ave Taco Truck

I'm not sure exactly when my love for horchata began, but I'd surmise that it was right around the time I first heard of it.  "Horchata" wasn't really a word that was thrown around my household as a kid, and I fear that it was well into my 20s before I had a taste.  That's a lot of wasted horchata time, if you ask me.  Time to make up for it. But how, how can I ever begin to make up for all those lost tastes and the unknown enjoyment? With a horchata series of posts, of course. I'm hoping to use this series as a way to motivate me to taste every horchata that crosses my path - sweet or spicy, virgin or spiked.  Especially spiked.  Recommendations welcome and encouraged!

I passed by the taco truck on 3rd ave and 14th street (I believe it may be called Patty's, but do not quote me) every day for a solid two weeks before I finally stopped and treated myself to some horchata.  Not sure why I chose that particular day, since it was borderline freezing out and holding the icy cup caused my hands to do that thing they do when all my blood decides to travel elsewhere in my body.  Also, not sure it was worth it.  

This horchata was a far cry from the horchata I love at Tacombi.  Though there was a good deal of ice, the $3 serving was more than ample, particularly once I tasted it and was attacked by its saccharinity.  It was very one-note - any semblance of spice was lambasted by aggressive sweetness; it tasted more of pure white sugar than anything else.  The drink was also quite thin; the faintly creamy milkiness I was searching for was nowhere to be found, while the cinnamon notes were barely discernible.  They can't all be winners, I suppose.