vip in the city

089 pizza on Arthur Avenue

Last month, HH came across an article declaring Zero Otto Nove in the Bronx the “Best New U.S. Pizzeria.” Intriguing. He had missed out (or “lucked out,” depending on your perspective) on our last quest for the city’s best pizza — a 2+ hour “adventure” that brought us to Midwood, Brooklyn. So this afternoon, we set out for the Belmont section of the Bronx — “New York’s other, better, Little Italy” and an area well known for its quality fish, meats, cheeses, pastas and groceries.

The Bronx location and bus ride’s distance from the subway line keep this neighborhood somewhat insulated from the touristy masses that have all but obliterated the better known Little Italy in downtown Manhattan. Some cursory research will call up a long list of Belmont recommendations along and around main thoroughfare Arthur Avenue: The enclosed Arthur Avenue Retail Market, (which like the Essex Street Market, was created under Mayor Fiorello La Guardia in 1940 to reduce pushcart street-crowding); dueling fish purveyors Randazzo’s and Cosenza’s; Egidio’s or De Lillo’s for Italian pastries; the Calabria Pork Store; fourth generation-owned Biancardi Meats; Italian delicatessen Mike’s Deli; Casa Della Mozzarella, which is known for some of the best fresh-made mozzarella in New York…

The cloudless blue sky belied the swirl of snow that would be unleashed upon us not three hours later.

On Sunday afternoon, many of the shops were shuttered, or winding down business for the day. We made it to Borgatti’s Ravioli & Egg Noodles on 187th Street just before 1PM closing. This family-owned neighborhood fixture is renowned citywide for its fresh pasta; last year the shop scored “an astounding 29” — and the top spot — on Zagat’s list of pasta purveyors. There were some intriguing options: multi-colored, multi-shaped, fresh and dried… We each picked up a box of 100 fresh ravioli for $11.50 — ricotta-stuffed for me, meat and spinach-filled for the boys.

And then to sample this Neapolitan-style pizza we had read so much about. Zero Otto Nove is named for the area code in Salerno, Italy from which owner-chef, Robert Paciullo hails. (Paciullo is also owner-chef of area favorite restaurant Roberto’s, which was number two on Robert Sietsema’s 2004 list of “100 Best Italian Restaurants.”) The space is designed with a front bar and a long, narrow, arched passageway leading to a skylit, muraled, double height dining room, centered around a brick, wood-burning pizza oven.

Hard to imagine that this was once a McDonald’s. (I asked our hostess.)

The Antipasto Salernitano Caldo: Stuffed peppers, eggplant & zucchini scapece & cauliflower:

The Margherita pizza: San Marzano tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella & basil:

The Patate e Porcini pizza: Fresh mozzarella, sliced potatoes & porcini mushrooms:

Each of the pies was advertised as a personal pizza, but could (and did) feed two, though HH later admitted that could have polished off an entire pie without assistance. Knowing a bit about DK’s pizza-eating abilities, I suspect the same of him.

So our verdict: high quality toppings (I liked the earthiness of the porcini), crust a shade on the soft side, tomato sauce a bit bland…. good pizza, but no, not the best in New York. On the other hand, we didn’t wait two hours for it either — even factoring in round-trip travel time to the Bronx — which probably ranked the overall experience above you-know-where a.k.a., that $4 slice place in Brooklyn. (What’s next: $1.20 plain bagels?)

On our hostess’s recommendation, we stopped by afterwards at Palombo Pastry Shop Café. Though the cafe itself is a relatively new addition to the neighborhood (open since 2006), as we sat among the locals at a small table with our cappuccinos and small plates of Italian pastries, the overall feel was of the kind of Old World neighborhood spot rapidly disappearing from this increasingly gentrified, sanitized version of the city. I’m reminded of a trenchant observation by Adam Gopnik in a 2007 New Yorker commentary: “New York is safer and richer but less like itself, an old lover who has gone for a face-lift and come out looking like no one in particular. The wrinkles are gone, but so is the face.”

How best to preserve all those wonderful, character-filled wrinkles that make New York, New York?

Tags: Arthur Avenue, Bronx, pizza

Super Duper Fat Tuesday

Is it still only Tuesday? So far this week, there’s already been song and dance, thrilling victory and joyous celebration… and tonight, coinciding with Super Duper Tuesday and the traditional excess associated with Mardi Gras, our long-planned, pre-Chinese New Year feast at Chinatown’s Amazing 66.

A dozen friends, new and old, gathered in the restaurant’s lower level. Early in, it was established that we would place ourselves (willingly, happily) in SL’s capable ordering hands, and just eat whatever food was placed before us this evening. So began the parade of deliciousness — off and on the menu. A platter of batter-fried seafood, sauteed pea shoots, pan-fried noodles with seafood, braised E-Fu noodles with black mushroom (for longevity), and this, the first of two restaurant specialties that required advance ordering: Short Rib Beef in a Pumpkin. Yes: that’s short rib beef! In a pumpkin! Was ever there more a delightful combination of words spoken? The dish was brought out to the table in one glorious piece, with chunks of steaming, lightly curry-spiced meat exploding tantalizingly out the top of the hollowed out squash. Our glossy-tressed waiter, brandishing a large chef’s knife, made quick work of the soft, pumpkin flesh before our eyes.

Salad Walnut Prawns — a classic dish made up of the seemingly strange combination of deep-fried jumbo prawns, slathered in a sweet mayonnaise, and laid over a bed of dressed mixed fruits, broccoli and candied walnuts. Tasty, though.

And the second show-stopper of the evening: the House Special Crispy Chicken Stuffed with Sticky Rice. Essentially, a whole chicken, deboned and de-…fleshed(?), crammed with a combination of sausage-studded sticky rice, and then deep-fried and meticulously reassembled into the general shape a chicken, albeit a rather flat one. Head included, of course — to symbolize wholeness and togetherness.

There were more dishes, selected for their symbolic auspiciousness: another chicken, roasted, and topped with preserved vegetables. A whole steamed flounder; the Chinese word for “fish” is a homonym for “abundance”. And an oyster casserole, to bring in “good things” for the coming year.

We ate our fill — or perhaps just beyond — and finished with a round of orange wedges (for wealth) and bowls of red bean tong shui (sweet dessert soup). How a few of us still managed after all that to squeeze in a post-dinner trip to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory can best be attributed to a new year’s miracle.

Though when it comes to such temptations, I align myself with New York’s Insatiable Critic Gael Greene, who declares quite rightly: “I shall never trust anyone who doesn’t love ice cream.”

Tags: Amazing 66, Chinatown, Chinese New Year

Beekman birthday

On Beekman Street in the Financial District… not to be confused with Beekman Place, in Midtown — the latter of which is named for the site of the summer home of the prominent Beekman family, whose main estate was on the Street downtown.

It was CC’s birthday today; he and EH were hosting a gathering at their shared apartment to celebrate. (I feel like I’ve been attending a lot of these lately.) I spent most of the evening catching up with newly-minted real estate agent AC. It was difficult, at first, breaching the divide between the teachers and the non, but EH’s cognac and cream-soaked plaintains proved an effective social lubricant.

Afterwards, a core group of us set out to continue the evening’s revelries, making our way through the construction that was to be the grand — but now less grand — Fulton Street transit hub. Final destination: Momofuku Ssäm Bar, which may be my favorite late night dining spot in the city.

If only I were the least bit hungry. No matter, there was plenty of house sake and communal seating, a combination which made it all the easier for us to befriend the group of five at our table who had gathered at the restaurant for their own birthday celebration. Through them, we learned about “ghost riding the whip,” or “ghostin’” — an activity which involves a driver leaping out onto the road from behind the wheel of a moving vehicle (the “whip”), and dancing along beside it. (Um, yeah.)  Apparently the trend originates out of The Bay Area’s hyphy movement. Kids today!

Tags: Financial District, Momofuku