Restaurant Review: Arepas Cafe

After the rousing success that was Vesta's brunch, I prematurely crowned Astoria as the king of New York's diamond-in-the-rough restaurant scene.  Of course, this was most irregular, as I'm usually never premature...about anything.  Astoria is not bulletproof, of course, but it still represents an attractive culinary investment, particularly for those whose pockets are shallower than my taste in women.  Just kidding ladies, you're beautiful on the inside, too, from what I've heard.

Arepas Cafe falls squarely into the realm of "austerity measures."  Don't let the elegant website fool you; what you see is what you get.  That is to say, you're getting elevated street food served in a venue the size of a shoebox with enough character to make you say, "What was that cute little Venezuelan place we went to last month?"  Of course, you won't remember, and you won't care that you don't remember.  Instead, you'll probably wind up back there in a few years with an intense feeling of deja vu and a substantial amount of regret.

Before we start unabashedly bashing Arepas Cafe for no reason, let's first go over what an Arepa is (this is your cue to read the wiki).  Now that you're back, you might be saying to yourself, "Why is that General Tso so gosh darn mean?  I mean, the ceiling for this type of fare is pretty low."  Look here, cupcake, cry me a river.  Being a restaurant that serves primarily street food does not excuse the place from lack of experimentation.  Browse the menu of Arepas Cafe and you'll be stunned at the lack of creativity.  Again, the food wasn't bad, it was simply disappointing.  If you're up for an average meal at an average restaurant, then by all means spend your money, which apparently grows on trees, at Arepas Cafe.

Street food they might as well serve on the asphalt.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5 austerity measures

You Can't Be Serious

Because everyone needs a little jolt to get them through mundane Mondays, we bring you food jokes!  Read, laugh, pause, lather, rinse, repeat.

Q: What did one tired root vegetable say to the other?

A: I'm beet!

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Lettuce.

Lettuce who?

Lettuce in, and we'll tell you!

Signs you're drinking too much coffee:

- You got a speeding ticket...while parked.

- You grind your coffee beans in your mouth.

- You go to AA meetings for the free coffee.

- You run 20 miles on the treadmill before realizing it's not plugged in.

- Your eyes stay open when you sneeze.

Customer (after spilling soup in his lap): Waiter, there's a soup in my fly!

Customer: Bring me a hot dog.

Waiter: With pleasure.

Customer: No, with ketchup.

This guy walks into a bar with a duck on his head, and the bartender asks him, "What can I do for you?"

The duck responds, "Get this guy out of my ass!"

Okay, so maybe the last one wasn't food-related.  Shut up, no one cares you butthead.  Happy Monday! (These jokes were pulled from various sites using something called Google.)

You know what else is funny? YOUR FACE!

Verdict: hilarious

Restaurant Review: Waterzooi

It's pretty hard to make a bad Belgian bistro.  One of the primary reasons people come into these types of establishments is the unique beer selection, so by the time food arrives and people have thrown back a few brews with the alcohol content of moonshine, they're obviously going to be hungry for greasy, gourmet burgers and mountains of mussels doused in cream-based sauces.

But let's get one thing straight: it's exceedingly difficult to make a special Belgian bistro.  Beyond the beer and the food, there has to be a sense of soul.  You should feel as if you've been transported from whatever Yankee city you live in to the cultured streets of Belgium.  Also, it doesn't hurt if they spike your food with acid to keep you coming back.  In all seriousness, though, you want the pub to have character.  Your entrance should be countered with the pungent aroma of briny mussel juice and fresh-baked bread.  The wooden tables should be stained with beer, partially moistened by years and years of spilled aperitifs.  The people should be kind of snobby, but not as snobby as French people, so that your hate only festers and doesn't manifest as a punch to the nose.

Waterzooi, a Belgian bistro located in Garden City, NY (yes, Long Island), definitely delivers on the food, but unfortunately is a little lacking in the ambiance.  Of course, once your food arrives, you forget that you're seated on cushions that only Elvis could love.  The red velveteen fabric combined with the absurd paintings on the wall and the abnormally bright lighting screams "clowns!" more than it does "Belgian!"  Let's forgive these shortcomings for now, because 1) we are in the middle of nowhere (Long Island), and 2) Waterzooi makes up for it with its spectacular food.

I went to Waterzooi one night after work with some co-workers, one of whom had highly recommended this restaurant.  The first thing I noticed was the beer selection, which was extensive but not overwhelming.  For grub, I got the Homard, a pot of mussels cooked in cream with bits of lobster sprinkled throughout.  Part of me thinks this isn't fair.  You'd have to have several extra chromosomes to mess this type of dish up; but then again, I had never had mussels in a broth this good before.  By the way, do NOT make the rookie mistake of ordering anything else off of the menu.  The mussels come in a pot the size of a large dog.  Even though I was hungry, I still had enough leftover mussels to feed my four baby mommas.

Oh, and just so you know, here's the Wikipedia link to Waterzooi.  It's not that interesting; I think the name's just fun to say.  Waterzoooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.  Ahem.

You could put this on a car bumper, and it would taste good.

Verdict: 4.2 out of 5 Waterzoooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis

Restaurant Review: Gaia Italian Cafe

So let's get one thing straight: I'm not a mean person.  Well, not that mean, anyway.  I'd like to think there's a minuscule amount of good in even the most depraved people, and that principle goes for food, too.  So when I say that Gaia Italian Cafe provided me with the worst meal of my life, rest assured that this is not false bravado or hyperbole.  I spit the truth, dawg.

Instead of my usual spiel, let's have story time.  Once upon a time, there was a devilishly handsome food blogger named General Tso (his friends called him GT for short).  GT had just moved to New York, and was on the prowl for good eats in the city, but he was overwhelmed by the numerous restaurant options, the women, the subway system, the different neighborhoods...oh, and the women.  Luckily, he used Al Gore's invention to find a highly rated Italian diner named Gaia Italian Cafe, although there were only 10 reviews on its Yelp page...all one-liners.  But still, a perfect rating on Yelp in the LES?  That %$&# cray.

So one gorgeous evening, GT and his parents decided to saunter on down to this CAFE and sample their wares.  Seeing as how this was a CAFE and not a formal dining establishment, GT decided to forego reservations, because, well, it was a CAFE.  When the happy family arrived, they noted that there was not a single customer in the place.  Odd, because when they began taking a seat in the barren restaurant, the owner rushed at them like a Spartan in 300, telling them that they were only seating reservations that night.  The family, confused at the circumstances before them, looked at each other haplessly and exited the restaurant.

Flash forward several months.  GT had finally made reservations at Gaia Italian Cafe for him and a lady friend.  The anticipation had been building for this night, where GT would finally get a taste of Gaia's famous panini.  Again, the restaurant was desolate, but the couple were seated according to the Geneva Convention rules of reservations.  The two noticed strange things starting to occur in the restaurant.  For instance, nobody else was in the freakin' place.  Also, Gaia kept turning away perfectly acceptable customers because they lacked reservations.  Ain't no one in here homegirl, whatchu doin'?

The worst was yet to come, however.  Namely, the food.  The two ordered several of the $5 paninis, a steal if you were getting something edible.  They were not.  The paninis were cold, the ingredients within were sparse and average, and the presentation was terrible.  Oh yeah, by the by, CAN A BROTHER GET SOME PLATES?!  The coup de grace was an odd concoction of some sort of mystery meat curry laid on top of homemade mozzarella.  It all sounded well and good, until they got the dish, which amounted to cold diarrhea on top of mozzarella sitting in a pool of its own whey.  This was as appetizing as a murder scene.

I cannot identify a single good thing about this dish.

Verdict: 1 out of 5 bouts of diarrhea

Food Freestyle

So since I didn't grace you guys with another restaurant review yesterday, I thought I'd reward everyone with a food freestyle.  Yes I'm gangsta.  No this isn't dorky.  Okay, fine, it's dorky.  By the way, my rap star alias is Peanut Butter.

Yo, Peanut Butter in the house, you smell me?
I got this on lock, other bloggers is mad jelly.
Takin' a bite out of the Big Apple, and then I spit it out.
Reviews so tight they stick to the roof of yo' mouth.

I'm hittin' up restaurants no matter if they classy or a dive.
I'm doing big things, other cats smaller than the portions at Press195.
Combination of humor and food, readers think is mad thrillin'.
Only combo these other bloggers seen is a pretzel with cheese fillin'.

Whether it's at Supper or lunch, you can be sure I'm gon' munch.
Or maybe I'll skip two meals, then go to Vesta and eat brunch.
Shout out to Queens, BK, BX, Staten Isle, LI, and of course the city.
I hope I don't eat too much and get diabetes :(.

Gangsta is as gangsta eats.

Verdict: gangsta

Restaurant Review: Vesta

Brunch may be the best meal ever created.  Literally, anything goes!  You want a gourmet Belgian waffle for brunch?  Sure.  Does your friend want a pizza for brunch?  Knock yourself out.  Does the hobo that followed you into the restaurant want cleaning solvent for brunch?  We can do that, but first call the police.

What's more is that brunch is specifically designed to be later in the day just so you can sleep off your hangover and then eat/drink off your hangover.  Not that I would ever drink to the point of getting hungover, of course.  But, the best part of brunch is that there are drinks created solely for the purpose of being imbibed during the day, so you don't look like a lush in front of your friends when you pound mimosas at noon.  You're just being classy...excessively classy.

This brings us to Vesta, a cozy "trattoria and wine bar" tucked neatly into one of the crannies of Astoria.  Vesta's ostensible expertise is brunch, although the dinner menu appears to be equally if not more impressive.  I had been hankering for some brunch food and decided that I had to find out if the hype behind Astoria's food scene was true.  It didn't hurt that the names of the menu items at Vesta were playful, like "A Warm Bankie" and "Hangover Pizza."  How could you possibly go wrong with either of those?

After being seated, we got the two items mentioned above.  The former is creamy polenta served with asparagus, mushrooms, fried eggs, and topped with truffle oil.  While this may seem gratuitously heavy, you have to remember that you did nine body shots of tequila off of a complete stranger last night, so this is medicine for the soul.  The Hangover Pizza, with its thin crunchy crust, is not as substantial, but it's topped with things that will also soak up those acetaldehydes, like potatoes, pancetta, sausage, and fried eggs.  Both were winners in my book, and the food was just enough for three (not hungover) people.  

Once I got home, I researched the name "Vesta" and found that the restaurant was named after the virgin Roman goddess of hearth, home, and family.  So that's cool, I guess.

You may have forgotten last night, but you won't forget this.

Verdict: 4.4 out of 5 hobos requesting cleaning solvents for brunch

Restaurant Review: Supper

"Supper."  The word conjures up images of Little House on the Prairie griddle cakes being shallow-fried in a cast iron pot with the approximate weight of a large child.  That is not, however, what you get at this trendy Italian joint situated in Alphabet City; instead, you get neo-classical dishes cooked to perfection, with bold flavors permeating the menu.  That's not to say that some of the waitresses don't resemble Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Just kidding!

One of the true joys about this restaurant was that it wasn't even my first choice on that fateful day.  My parents had just come to visit (read: spoil) me, and I wanted to take them to Gaia Italian Cafe, a diner about which I will blog (read: destroy with napalm) in a future post.  Fortunately for us, Gaia would not accept us due to our skin color (more jokes), and I had to quickly Yelp an alternative.  Supper was close and had gotten good ratings, so off we went, the flavor of sour grapes still fresh in our mouths.

At Supper, we stayed on the straight and narrow for the most part, choosing black kale panzanella as an appy and roasted chicken for dinner.  But then, I spotted something wild and crazy, and it wasn't a kid from Nickelodeon (I'm definitely dating myself with that joke).  What I had found was their daily risotto named Amarone, which the waitress explained was dry red wine risotto.  Did we dare to dream the dream of  Bacchus?  We dared.  While the panzanella and roasted chicken were well-prepared, they paled in comparison to the Amarone.  The decidedly unappetizing purple color could not offset the perfect balance of red wine tanginess and traditional risotto creaminess.  This dish alone elevated Supper from "just another well-run joint" to "if you don't go here you probably hate babies, unicorns, and happiness" status.

Looks like mud; tastes like love.

Verdict: 4 out of 5 babies riding unicorns