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Waffles with butter and syrup....check. Buttery warm biscuits....check. Blood Mary......check. Fried Chicken.....CHECK.
This past Sunday, I hitched up to Harlem with my friend Tim to soul food it up. Sylvia's, another New York institution, is the Sunday hot spot for church goers, tourists, and general lovers of greasy, but delicious soul food. I was informed that Bill Clinton almost always pays Sylvia's a visit when comes to New York.
From 116th and Broadway Tim and I took a cab to Malcolm X Boulevard and 126th. We walked the single block to the restaurant that was lit up with flashing lights as if it were a Vegas night club. We were greeted, seated in the main dining room, and then served by a super sweet waitress named Lorraine. The decor is nothing fancy--comfort and simplicity rule this landmark.
Tim had the mimosa (made with Andre!) and I had the spicy bloody mary. Fresh biscuits were immediately brought to our table. The choices on the menu were basic breakfasts: eggs, breakfast meats, biscuits, waffles, BUT the most intriguing part of the menu was indeed the Waffle-Fried Chicken morning combo.
I can honestly say, even though I've had those mornings where all I want is greasy food to absorb the polluting of my liver from the night before, I have never eaten fried chicken before noon. And let me say, I highly recommend it. I will also say, that if you feel guilty eating fried food that has very little nutritional value, exercise before you go to Sylvia's. You'll feel better.
The waffles were your typical fluffy, uninteresting sweet breakfast dish. I'm a huge syrup snob and the syrup was sub-par. Super sweet, no hint of nutty maple flavor. Bummer.
The fried chicken (I got the white meat) was unbelievable. Perfectly spiced, not too greasy, and easy to get off the bone, I was in love. Tim, trying to be polite, kept wiping his hands clean after every bite. I felt no guilt. Dive right in. Get dirty.
Sylvia's is not cheap, but it is totally worth the experience. Next time I plan on trying more of their savory dishes--barbeque, sweet potato, mac n' cheese. We left right as the Sunday post-church rush began so, if you plan to visit Sylvia's on a Sunday, come before noon.
This past weekend while recovering from a jam-packed week in DC at the Global Business Coalition for HIV/AIDS, TB, and Malaria (depressing, I know), I decided to venture into my neighborhood in search of a delicious afternoon sweet treat. May I just say though, the Upper West Side is extremely lacking in small, locally owned (NON-STARBUCKS), comfy couch coffee shops. Most of the establishments that serve coffee are restaurants with servers, hard-backed wood chairs, and no wireless. My trip to DC and my brief tryst at Tryst Coffee House in Adams Morgan was a much needed breath of fresh comfortable coffee aroma.
So, I walked up Broadway. Instead of finding a coffee shop, I found almost ten different bakeries with very little seating room. I also happened upon a block-long semi-yard sale. The entirety of 107th st. between Broadway and Amsterdam was blocked off and filled with friendly vendors selling jewelry, old books, and furniture.
Walking through the main gates of Columbia University, I was, as usual, taken aback by the grandeur of the main campus. The library is so epic with its tall Corinthian columns and the names of the great thinkers etched into the stone. I felt more regal just walking through going to Amsterdam Ave.
On Amsterdam Ave. just after 112th st. there is a lovely little shop called the Hungarian Pastry Shop. The classic red awning and outdoor seating was really inviting and very old-school. I went inside to find a very European-esque setting. Ornate sconces. Dimly lit seating area. Simple, yet elegant collection of black and white portraits and still life on the walls. Many men in skinny jeans and horn-rimmed glasses reading literature. I even spotted some guy in the corner immersed in Dostoevsky.
I got sucked into the baked goods display case like a moth drawn to a very bright light. My eyes can get very big and, let me tell you, they could have very easily swallowed half the things in that case. After some internal debate I decided upon a hazelnut and white chocolate petit foule. At least that's what the waitress called it. For a grand total of three bucks, I got a delicious fake cupcake pastry that has satisfied my sweet craving for the next week.
The petit foule consists of three main layers. The bottom layer is a crumbly hazelnut cake. On top of that is a vanilla/white cake layer, topped by a white chocolate ganache. Powdered dark chocolate and crushed hazelnuts are the garnish. This delicious, palm-sized treat is slightly frozen so it has a cooling and sweetening effect. It was served on a warm plate so the chocolate started to melt a little. It was too good.
If I'm ever in the mood for something notoriously sweet again, I will definitely come here. And, if I want to shamelessly check out and people watch young pretentious literature students, I know exactly where to go. The Hungarian Pastry Shop.
Several weeks ago, I traveled downtown with my friend Ryan to Korea Town for an art gallery show. As most of you probably know, New York has recently received the weather from Seattle--we get rain every single day. So, I exited the subway at 28th and Broadway and stood on the corner, waiting for Ryan, in the drizzly, awful rain.
After we met up, we went into the only open building on the block. While I was waiting on the corner, I seemed to notice a lot of fancy, fashionable young people entering this building. Running across the street in 5 inch heels, skin tight jeans, and covering their hair with magazines or their jackets, I got the feeling that I would be surrounded by this crowd in the near future.
The elevator up to the gallery was packed. When I say packed, I mean that I couldn't move my little toe. On the wall was a sign saying, "Dude, Don't Cock Block Me." Classy. And indeed, it did get quite a rise out of the bros in the elevator with us.
Once we entered the packed gallery, we were pushed around rudely by lots of young New Yorkers dressed to the nines chatting loudly on their blackberrys. We stood on a line to pick up our tickets and once we finally got through the door, I noticed something. I was surrounded by Jews. Everywhere. The majority of the men were wearing kippot (for all of you who aren't familiar with Jewish accessories, a kippah [plural= kippot] is a heading covering that Jews wear to be humble in front of God). In Manhattan, at a fancy gallery, there were tons and tons of men dressed in expensive suits and making statements about their religious practice with kippot. Where the hell was I?
I looked in the program and of course, to my surprise, this specific art show highlighting young Jewish New York artists is giving all of the proceeds from its auction to at-risk youth in Israel. Ok. The kippot make sense.
Overall, the art was creative--a smattering of mixed media, photography, oil on canvas. But, what was even better was the glorious presence of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes. Magnolia Bakery, a New York institution, has three locations around the city--the upper west side, the west village, and at Rockefeller center. This magnificent little cupcakes, the catering specialty of the bakery, are multicolored, multi-layered, and just so damn pretty to look at!
I tried the mini red velvet cupcake with the cream cheese frosting. Amazing. Even though they had been sitting hour for what might have been hours, they were moist, fresh, and absolutely delicious. One Magnolia is never enough, I ate a second one. A dark chocolate cake and chocolate ganache frosting. Also amazing. These people get it right.
Surrounded by my people (Jews--of all shapes and sizes), art, my friend, and cupcakes, I had a pretty good night. It was definitely one hell of a motivation to get my butt over to Magnolia bakery, just one mile from my apartment.
