Location: University and High Street (Palo Alto)
OK the time has come to write about the best restaurant in the universe. I choose to write in haiku-like form. No I will not count syllables:
Waiters give me a discount
I know you know I come here everyday
Tools misuse you as a nightclub
Jay's Roll, number 12
Connie still can't decide what to eat
Extra ginger
Elderly Chinese/Japanese waiter
Why do we always get you, when we want the waiter who will offer us Sake bombs?
Teriyake sauce on the side
Nom Nom Nom
Even though your prices have gone up
One day I will eat for free
Perfect place for munchies
Should we get dessert at that Thai place?
Please decide on a ginger color
Inappropriately breaking chopsticks
I must trick someone into taking my own and getting new ones
Convenient parking location
I still don't understand the greeting
I receive every time I patron your dining establishment
Nihao.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Spice: Hella Well-Lit
Location: University Place and 10th St.
I first wound up at Spice in May of 2003, when I was visiting my brother for his graduation. The restaurant was qualified as "Asian fusion" which made me feel very hip and sophisticated eating there. Obviously, anytime I describe it to anyone, I describe it with that word, although I have now realized that it's as exalted as I had once thought.
Anyway, this place was beyond hip. The interior had a curtain of plastic circles, and the chairs are kind of space-age (?) and everything is white, but not intimidatingly so, as in I feel no compulsion so suddenly speak in an English accent when I am there, or pretend I know everything about the independent music scene and the hopelessly ironic musicians that comprise it. (Both are completely impossible for me: my English accent has been described as just a string of monotonous words strung together--perhaps an attempt at communicating the dry British sense of humor. My knowledge of the indie music scene is only superseded by my ability to do a British accent)
I spent a majority of the first semester of freshman year attempting to persuade my roommates to eat there with me. Somehow, the walk to Spice (less than a block) was insurmountable. Finally, one glorious day, we went. Of course, I had the host jitters: the nervousness you feel when you are responsible for someone's enjoyment of the meal because you've already hyped it up so much that if they don't like it then you are some somehow to blame. Fortunately, it worked out. To the point where we decided to grant it our patronage when we were selecting the place where we would spend our money jar money at the end of the year. (they are eternally grateful)
But really, the reason we chose to eat there was because of their lunch special. Their lunch special is really great, and somehow, even when it is completely packed, I have never had to wait for a table. The service is really quick. Beware of the black noodle--it is lethally spicy. But the Drunk Man noodle is really good. So is the Pad Thai. And the lunch special includes an appetizer for 7.50. No right to complain, right? All the cool NYU students are eating there...
I first wound up at Spice in May of 2003, when I was visiting my brother for his graduation. The restaurant was qualified as "Asian fusion" which made me feel very hip and sophisticated eating there. Obviously, anytime I describe it to anyone, I describe it with that word, although I have now realized that it's as exalted as I had once thought.
Anyway, this place was beyond hip. The interior had a curtain of plastic circles, and the chairs are kind of space-age (?) and everything is white, but not intimidatingly so, as in I feel no compulsion so suddenly speak in an English accent when I am there, or pretend I know everything about the independent music scene and the hopelessly ironic musicians that comprise it. (Both are completely impossible for me: my English accent has been described as just a string of monotonous words strung together--perhaps an attempt at communicating the dry British sense of humor. My knowledge of the indie music scene is only superseded by my ability to do a British accent)
I spent a majority of the first semester of freshman year attempting to persuade my roommates to eat there with me. Somehow, the walk to Spice (less than a block) was insurmountable. Finally, one glorious day, we went. Of course, I had the host jitters: the nervousness you feel when you are responsible for someone's enjoyment of the meal because you've already hyped it up so much that if they don't like it then you are some somehow to blame. Fortunately, it worked out. To the point where we decided to grant it our patronage when we were selecting the place where we would spend our money jar money at the end of the year. (they are eternally grateful)
But really, the reason we chose to eat there was because of their lunch special. Their lunch special is really great, and somehow, even when it is completely packed, I have never had to wait for a table. The service is really quick. Beware of the black noodle--it is lethally spicy. But the Drunk Man noodle is really good. So is the Pad Thai. And the lunch special includes an appetizer for 7.50. No right to complain, right? All the cool NYU students are eating there...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
La Laterna: Romantic as Fuck
Location: Washington Square South and MacDougal.
As the title indicates, this restaurant is extremely romantic. Sadly, I have never dined there in romantic circumstances. Twice I went there with friends, once with my roommate and her dad, and most memorably, once with Connie. That time was probably the only one that qualified as semi-romantic. Connie and I had spent the day engaging in various date activities: I took her shopping, we watched the sunset, discussed our long term plans, and then went out for a dinner.
As is appropriate for such a locale, the lighting is sparse. And by sparse, I mean, practically nonexistent. Consequently, the decor is difficult to comment on. Probably nice, if you have night-vision. Prerequisite for romantic mood. Another nice addition to said mood is the garden in the back of the restaurant. Sadly, although they promised Connie and me a table there, they didn't deliver. Still, Connie and I feasted. We had a a proscioutto plate and four cheese lasagna, and probably something involving cheese, since we're fiends for cheese. Then we split the bill since we figured this meal would be a splurge. Honestly, we figured that for all of the weekened's activities. Some not worth it at all (future post will detail the disaster that is a certain sushi restaurant in Brooklyn) But at least this was a splurge that was well-worth the justification.
As the title indicates, this restaurant is extremely romantic. Sadly, I have never dined there in romantic circumstances. Twice I went there with friends, once with my roommate and her dad, and most memorably, once with Connie. That time was probably the only one that qualified as semi-romantic. Connie and I had spent the day engaging in various date activities: I took her shopping, we watched the sunset, discussed our long term plans, and then went out for a dinner.
As is appropriate for such a locale, the lighting is sparse. And by sparse, I mean, practically nonexistent. Consequently, the decor is difficult to comment on. Probably nice, if you have night-vision. Prerequisite for romantic mood. Another nice addition to said mood is the garden in the back of the restaurant. Sadly, although they promised Connie and me a table there, they didn't deliver. Still, Connie and I feasted. We had a a proscioutto plate and four cheese lasagna, and probably something involving cheese, since we're fiends for cheese. Then we split the bill since we figured this meal would be a splurge. Honestly, we figured that for all of the weekened's activities. Some not worth it at all (future post will detail the disaster that is a certain sushi restaurant in Brooklyn) But at least this was a splurge that was well-worth the justification.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Piccolo: A second post that comes so quickly only because I'm still so enthusiastic about having a blog
Location: 19th St and 3rd Ave.
So my roommates and I are disgustingly cute sometimes. Like we celebrate every month since we moved in and met each other. For our 13 monthiversary (ha! aren't we clever), we went to this restaurant a couple of blocks from where we live (have you figured it out yet? a. where we live and b. that we're lazy) called Piccolo.
In the sunshine- and resolve-filled days of the beginning of the semester, we walked to class and consequently walked by this restaurant everyday. With its outdoor patio and constantly dim to completely dark interior, we figured this would be the ideal location to commemorate the beginning of the year.
We walked in and it was very intimate in a look! we've discovered a hole in the wall that maybe is a hidden gem no one knows about. Highlights of the interior included several vintage-looking posters that detailed various varieties of various things. Vague enough? One of my roommates was seated in front of a poster of mushrooms that were all very phallic. Hilarity ensued. Needless to say, we documented the incident. (Side note: I forgot to mention that we are all idiot savants that are actually 12 and in college.)
But we did not go in there simply to sit around (as I once did with my friends: we walked into a Jennifer Convertibles and just sat on one of the display couches for an hour.) We came there to eat. Suffice it to say it was a disappointment. All I remember from my meal was that I had the most inedible chicken ever. I had a secret hope that my roommate that isn't vegetarian would like the chicken so perhaps the food could be salvaged, but no such luck. I didn't even finish what was on my plate, which is very uncharacteristic for both Connie and me: it is a well-known fact to all our friends that our plates will always be cleared. I know, we have very healthy eating habits. I think it all stems from my grandma for whom gastronomic satisfaction is unfathomable. When I tell her I'm not hungry, she offers me fruit. When I reiterate my satiation, she tells me that fruit isn't food, apparently belonging to some mysterious category of items that look like food, and taste like food but aren't. I dont know.
Conclusion: We all left feeling sick. Avoid, unless you are a glutton for punishment.
So my roommates and I are disgustingly cute sometimes. Like we celebrate every month since we moved in and met each other. For our 13 monthiversary (ha! aren't we clever), we went to this restaurant a couple of blocks from where we live (have you figured it out yet? a. where we live and b. that we're lazy) called Piccolo.
In the sunshine- and resolve-filled days of the beginning of the semester, we walked to class and consequently walked by this restaurant everyday. With its outdoor patio and constantly dim to completely dark interior, we figured this would be the ideal location to commemorate the beginning of the year.
We walked in and it was very intimate in a look! we've discovered a hole in the wall that maybe is a hidden gem no one knows about. Highlights of the interior included several vintage-looking posters that detailed various varieties of various things. Vague enough? One of my roommates was seated in front of a poster of mushrooms that were all very phallic. Hilarity ensued. Needless to say, we documented the incident. (Side note: I forgot to mention that we are all idiot savants that are actually 12 and in college.)
But we did not go in there simply to sit around (as I once did with my friends: we walked into a Jennifer Convertibles and just sat on one of the display couches for an hour.) We came there to eat. Suffice it to say it was a disappointment. All I remember from my meal was that I had the most inedible chicken ever. I had a secret hope that my roommate that isn't vegetarian would like the chicken so perhaps the food could be salvaged, but no such luck. I didn't even finish what was on my plate, which is very uncharacteristic for both Connie and me: it is a well-known fact to all our friends that our plates will always be cleared. I know, we have very healthy eating habits. I think it all stems from my grandma for whom gastronomic satisfaction is unfathomable. When I tell her I'm not hungry, she offers me fruit. When I reiterate my satiation, she tells me that fruit isn't food, apparently belonging to some mysterious category of items that look like food, and taste like food but aren't. I dont know.
Conclusion: We all left feeling sick. Avoid, unless you are a glutton for punishment.
Inaugural Post: Sea King
Location: 23rd St. between 2nd and 3rd Ave, NYC
To be honest, this place is not actually called Sea King, but it is at the same location as the restaurant I'm actually trying to review. Let's call it Sushi King.
I spent most of my freshman year, and a portion of my sophomore year in pursuit of a replacement for Miyake-- a restaurant that I, at one point, frequented on a bi-weekly basis, minimum. (Some people I know--Connie--were known to go there more than once a day.) Despite the fact that all the waiters clearly recognized us, and could predict our orders, we never managed to get a discount there. Moral: There are no free lunches.
Anyway, Sushi King is my new Miyake. One fine day, our beginning-of-the-year-it's a fresh start resolve finally flagged. We had no food to eat, and no desire to lug bags of food for 12 blocks. We caved and went out to eat, and landed at, you guessed it, Sushi King. (Conveniently, it's a 3 minute walk from where I live. FFFL) It's small, but the lunch special is great: 2 rolls, a soup and a salad for 6.50. The vegetable rolls are definitely preferable to the fish, but for the price you're paying, I really didn't have the right to complain.
Bonus feature! When you call them to order pick-up, they write it down and call you by name the next time you order (guess how often we get groceries now?). Some would call this creepy and Big Brother-ish (envision a small Japanese lady following you around taking notes on what you're doing ). I call it great customer service. Tomato, tomahto.
Double Bonus! They played Cash Cab last time I was there.
To be honest, this place is not actually called Sea King, but it is at the same location as the restaurant I'm actually trying to review. Let's call it Sushi King.
I spent most of my freshman year, and a portion of my sophomore year in pursuit of a replacement for Miyake-- a restaurant that I, at one point, frequented on a bi-weekly basis, minimum. (Some people I know--Connie--were known to go there more than once a day.) Despite the fact that all the waiters clearly recognized us, and could predict our orders, we never managed to get a discount there. Moral: There are no free lunches.
Anyway, Sushi King is my new Miyake. One fine day, our beginning-of-the-year-it's a fresh start resolve finally flagged. We had no food to eat, and no desire to lug bags of food for 12 blocks. We caved and went out to eat, and landed at, you guessed it, Sushi King. (Conveniently, it's a 3 minute walk from where I live. FFFL) It's small, but the lunch special is great: 2 rolls, a soup and a salad for 6.50. The vegetable rolls are definitely preferable to the fish, but for the price you're paying, I really didn't have the right to complain.
Bonus feature! When you call them to order pick-up, they write it down and call you by name the next time you order (guess how often we get groceries now?). Some would call this creepy and Big Brother-ish (envision a small Japanese lady following you around taking notes on what you're doing ). I call it great customer service. Tomato, tomahto.
Double Bonus! They played Cash Cab last time I was there.
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