Before School at Jackson Hole

Thanks to those energetic little birds outside my window, I woke up at the crack of dawn last Friday. The sun was finally coming out after way too many days in hiding, so they were understandably excited. The feeling was contagious: I bolted out of bed and grabbed my new t-shirt. It has some dots, some frill and it seemed like the perfect day for its debut. But where?

My fiancé and I threw a proverbial dart at the Upper East Side map and decided to head to Madison Avenue in the 90’s for some breakfast. We considered the ever-enticing Yura on 92nd then opted instead for more of a sit-down egg and potato situation. We found that (and more) at the bustling Jackson Hole on 91st street. This place, established in 1972, has eight locations around Manhattan, Queens, and New Jersey. Of course, they are mostly known for their 7-ounce burgers, but the breakfast shift seemed pretty popular as well.

We ordered some coffee and drank in the morning ambiance. At 7:30 AM, this is a real neighborhood scene with people exchanging pleasantries (and some complaints about all that grey weather) from one table to another, others waving in recognition, and regular customers getting served without having to order. We saw one man with a serious case of bed-head taking his vitamins, as if he were in his own kitchen. Another man was devouring The New York Times with a buttered roll on the side.

On the walls at this Jackson Hole, there are a lot of classic tin signs – “bottomless cup of coffee, 5 cents” – and some western-themed art. A cowboy in a painting above my head played the harmonica.

Most striking, however, were all the parents stopping in with their kids on the way to school. We were surrounded by school uniforms. A pair of sisters from Sacred Heart ate scrambled eggs behind us with their mom, and, up front, a group of teenagers from Spence were meeting up for coffee and camaraderie before class. A group of boys in blues and khakis, from another local school we couldn’t identify, stopped to chat with them on their way out. One little girl had her pink guitar with her and her dad had his tie hooked protectively over his shoulder. Another father-daughter combination provided the best quote of the morning. She must have been about five years old, and perched on her knees, she said, loudly yet sweetly, “Did you return my money yet?” We didn’t hear Dad’s response but noticed that he did pick up the tab.

The menu is extensive and offers all the items you’d hope for from a New York breakfast: bialys with a smear of cream cheese, bagels with lox, eggs cooked to order, and shortstacks. On the griddle, we could hear and smell sausage, eggs and potatoes cooking. Hamburger buns were piled high waiting to be filled with those oversized patties later in the day. They have 32 different kinds of burgers here including the “Eastsider”, which features bacon and ham, cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried onions. The “Gombee Burger” has both American and mozzarella cheese. There are also veggie burgers and a whole array of chicken sandwiches with similar toppings.

But we were breaking the fast, so I opted for a broccoli and cheddar omelet. This was only mediocre. Surprisingly, based on all those decadent burger descriptions I’d been reading on the menu, it skewed a little too healthy – a few too many trees and not enough eggs and cheese. My fiancé reported that the waffle was superior and I had to agree. It was the perfect combination of soft and crisp with a good vanilla flavor. All that butter and syrup pooling nicely in the waffle grid made up for my extra-green omelet. We also liked the sausage, which had a good, spicy kick.

Before we knew it, our bill was on the table and the place had cleared out. It was 8:15, so I suppose the school kids were folded into their homeroom seats and their parents were strap-hanging on the train. Outside the windows, cabs whizzed around, buses lumbered along, but Jackson Hole was relatively quiet. In preparation for the next wave, waiters wiped tables, and cowboy above my head re-tuned his harmonica.

Off to the Races at Tony's DiNapoli

My fiancé and I are looking for a restaurant where we can have our rehearsal dinner. We are coming to what is perhaps a rather obvious realization that finding a place to seat a big group (maybe like 30 people) during primetime on a Friday night in Manhattan isn’t…so…easy. Not that we’ve put so much effort into this project yet, but our initial research revealed that, due to space limitations, 1.there aren’t a lot of rooms for private parties in this town, 2.most restaurants don’t want you to invade their whole space, and, if so, 3.they will charge an arm and a leg do so. After discussing this, we decided that it’s important to keep all limbs intact.

So I remembered Tony’s Di Napoli on 2nd at 83rd. They opened in 1959 and now have a second location in Times Square. I’ve walked by the Upper East Side location at least a billion times, and in fact my fiancé and I strolled past it on our first date. A few years before that, I shared dinner with two friends, outside at one of the many sidewalk tables. This was memorable, of course due to the excellent company, but also because it was tasty and the portions were gigantic. I knew, from the signage, that they can accommodate big groups but I’d never been inside. So we decided to give the place a look.

Inside, it’s bustling and bi-leveled. We were seated at a table to the right of the restaurant, a few steps down into what felt like a sunken living room. Checkered cloths dress the tables and a chalkboard on one end of the space lists their many traditional Southern Neopolitan dishes. We gazed around, attempting to digest this fun, lively atmosphere.

Turns out the owner is a racing fan, so racecar art is in abundance. Photos of famous drivers cover the walls, a small replica of a red Formula One car dangles from the ceiling, and, in a mural-sized painting at the back of the space, a racecar skillfully speeds alongside the Mediterranean.

It was a Thursday night and the place was packed with large and small groups alike. A table of 12 behind my right shoulder was celebrating a graduation and another family of eight was gathered around a circular table at my left. I was glad to see this, because often in New York, it feels like an imposition to have a large group, like you should apologize if you’re asking for a table of six. Even if a restaurant can accommodate you, you should expect to be sitting on each other’s laps and lower your expectations of the service.

But at Tony’s, there seemed to be quite a few servers speeding efficient laps around the tables. One made a pit stop at ours to deliver a basket of bread with hot pepper oil. I made a silent vow, after taking this picture, that I would have only one piece (after all, The Informer must be thorough), but this bread was so fresh with perfectly crisp crust and a smattering of slightly toasted sesame seeds that I…well, had trouble putting on the so-called brakes.

Our server, Irini, soon pulled up for pleasant introductions. We asked her which salad the women next to us were enjoying. Tony’s Salad: a simple combination of arugula, plum tomatoes, red onions and basil with balsamic vinaigrette. We copied these fellow patrons and did not regret it.

Tony’s selection of pasta, veal, chicken and seafood dishes is truly vast. They mostly specialize in those mounded family-style platters that serve two or three people. This is a good situation for our larger purpose, but that night we were pleased to discover that they have recently implemented a menu of individual portions.

I chose the Rigatoni with Vodka Sauce and Mushrooms and my fiancé opted for the old-standby: Spaghetti and Meatballs. After we ordered this, however, we did experience some regret. This is because the women next to us were served a chicken dish still sizzling in the pan it was cooked in. This looked and smelled amazing. Part of the fragrance was “stemming” from an oversized branch of rosemary resting across the top.

I briefly interrupted their meal to find out that this was the Chicken Saltimbocca, that night’s special, with prosciutto, spinach, melted cheese, and what seemed to be an extremely savory sauce. They confirmed that it was indeed delicious. I asked my fiancé if it would be rude to reach over and try it for myself. He recommended against it. Likewise, I did not help myself any of their sangria, even though they had a whole pitcher of it. In fact, lots of people around the room were drinking sangria. No matter, I was quite content with my glass of Cactus Creek Red Zinfandel.

Our food arrived and it was excellent; I’m pretty sure the women next to us were glancing over with jealousy in between their animated chitchat. The vodka sauce had the perfect balance of tomatoes and cream. I appreciated the sprig of basil sprouting out of the top like a little tree. My fiancé’s bowl of spaghetti was picture-perfect. When I asked him to describe the meatballs in one word, he answered without missing a beat, “zesty.” I don’t eat red meat these days, but in the process of sampling his pasta, we inadvertently reenacted the iconic scene from The Lady and the Tramp, the one where they end up tasting the same string of spaghetti resulting in a kiss…that’s amore! Okay, I’m kidding, but I have a feeling that this scene was filmed out back.

Again, in the name of being thorough, we ordered the brownie sundae. A mint leaf stood like a flag on top of a whip cream mountain. Their consistent use of fresh herbs as ingredients and garnishes impressed me. An extremely rich and gooey brownie way underneath made the arduous excavation project well worth it.

I took note of the fact that the service was speedy, yet not at all rushed. Afterwards, we talked to Elizabeth, the event coordinator, about big parties. They have three different packages at three reasonable price points per person. Bar packages are extra and of course there’s tax and gratuity to add in, but this would still come out to be about 50 percent less than anywhere else we’ve checked out so far. She showed us their private room, which was also bustling and, remarkably, can accommodate 80 people. Our party of 30ish would only take up part of it, so there would likely be other parties going on in there at the same time. I like that this huge, open space has some windows to the street, so you don’t feel like you’re holed up in the back.

We don’t know yet if Tony’s will be the location of our rehearsal dinner, but it’s on the short list and we had a good night there. The food is extremely fresh and I feel confident in the service: though it’s a big engine, it seems to run quite smoothly. Whether you’ve got two, or ten (or 80) in your party, it’s a fun place to try. Just make sure you’re hungry and you fasten your seatbelt. Vroom vroom...

Gimme some Gourmet Garage

On Saturday night, we invited some friends over for a little wine and cheese gathering. Please imagine me saying (well, typing) the words “wine and cheese” in a snooty tone with a slightly British accent. In fact, I know very little about those two items, beyond knowing that I like them very much.

We stopped by one of my favorite Upper East Side gourmet grocers, Agata and Valentina to pick up some fromage and crackers. On the sidewalk outside, I was surprised to see that community volunteers and members of a local supermarket union were handing out flyers titled, “Ignoring Workers and Customers.” This called for customers to speak out to management about improving work conditions here. This was disconcerting: I love this place and its old-world, European charm. It’s packed to the gills with delectables. I didn’t like to learn that they might be mistreating their employees yet I really wanted to serve that cheese they have with the truffles…

Enter Fiancéman, my superhero. When he came in a few minutes after me, I already had the cheese in my basket and also some of those excellent, extra long, Margaret’s Artisan Flatbreads speckled with rosemary. “We shouldn’t buy here if this is true,” he said, holding the flyer out to me.

I looked at him. “But…” That’s really all I could say. After all, he was right. It did seem sad that the store was absolutely buzzing with customers despite the mini protest outside. So I put my items back and we took our business elsewhere, to Gourmet Garage, at 96th and Madison. I’ve been to the location on 64th a few times but this was my first visit to this one. In the early 80’s this company started as a wholesale food distributor. In the 90’s they opened their doors directly to the customers, and now there are five locations in Manhattan.

This store is also stacked high with similar gourmand goodness. I appreciate their “shop like a chef” tagline: if they handed out tall white chef hats at the door, I’d certainly wear one. (And while we’re at it, can I get a white jacket with my name on the pocket?) Anyway, this is the kind of place that makes you want to throw a dart at a cookbook and try an exotic new recipe, or maybe just brainstorm some groundbreaking culinations (that’s my new word for culinary creations) on the spot. If we ever get around to filming that comical Food Network pilot we’ve been joking about, I now think this will be our sponsor, our supplier, our headquarters for all things delicious.

The produce section is perfectly organized and gleaming, like a huge, healthy salad just waiting to be chopped. Just beyond, there are rows of unique olive oils, salsas and pasta sauces. Like most supermarkets in the city, the space is kind of tight, and it feels a bit like a maze, but one that you’re happy to get lost inside.

Of course this weekend, we were all about cheese. In the “Garage Fromage” section, there were piles and aisles of it, most of it unfamiliar to me, an excellent indication of its legitimacy.

And crackers! Mountains of different varieties, including those crowd-pleasing rosemary ones referenced above. Certain guests have come to expect (practically demand) these when visiting my abode. If you think of the cracker as the car that drives the cheese then these are definitely stretch limos. I highly recommend.

After a few minutes of cross-eyed indecision, we chose the old standby, French Brie (70% cream), a good Gouda from Holland (cloaked stylishly in red wax) and a French Port Salute which we’d never tried before.

On the way out, we picked up an intriguing kalamata olive dip. We almost got some mangos then remembered that they are far too complicated to cut and neither of us have yet earned our PhD in this subject. Instead, we bought some blackberries from a produce vendor on the street. All of this paired well with the California red zinfandel and the sauvignon blanc we’d purchased downtown earlier in the day.

One of the best parts was setting these out with our new dry-erase porcelain cheese markers, stylish compliments of the soon-to-be in-laws. Can you say fancy? And please pronounce that fawwncy with a few w’s. Cheers!