Category: The Chef

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The Chef

The tragedy of a Knicks fan

I was born in 1970 in New York City which means two things.  First, that I am a Knickerbocker fan by default, no talk of Brooklyn Nets back then. Second, I didn’t know that I missed what were the glory days of New York City basketball.  The only game I ever picked up as a kid growing up in New York was basketball.  All you needed was a pair of kicks and some game, and you could play anywhere for free. Basketball cut across all boundaries.  That is the beauty of the sport.

I just recently finished Harvey Araton’s great recount of “Clyde, The Captain, Dollar Bill and the glory days of The New York Knicks” in “When The Garden Was Eden.”  Great treasured insight into an all-time great team.

Makes me even respect and like Phil Jackson.

I suffered through the 1980’s, despite a brief glimpse at a superstar Bernard King, who lit up the mecca of basketball with his prolific scoring.  But until New York won the lottery and years of promise with Patrick Ewing, the only excitement in town was in watching Chris Mullin’s Redmen and those classic battles against the despised Georgetown Hoyas.

Yes, the 80’s belonged to L.A. and Boston, and although I got great pleasure in rooting for Bird versus Magic, I longed for the Knicks to be relevant.  Thereafter reigned the Detroit Piston Bad Boys, until the arrival of the great Michael Jordan who everyone embraced.  We loved to watch Air Jordan drop 40 but lose by one to the home team.  Who knew the Knicks could never figure out how to beat his Airness despite our thuggery on defense (remember Oakley and Mason?).

Even when Michael went all baseball crazy and gave us a brief window of opportunity, the Knicks still fell short, whether it was three missed Charles Smith dunk attempts, Starks shooting 1 for 30 against Houston, or Ewing missing a finger roll vs. the Pacers.  The Knicks could not bring home a championship.  Losses to the state of Texas were devastating blows to Knicks fans, realizing that Olajuwon, Duncan, and Robinson were probably better than our beloved, beleaguered Ewing. There were other worthy villains, such as the Miami Heat, with visions of Coach Van Gundy clinging to the ankle of a swinging Alonzo mourning.  Some of those victories over Miami were sweet.  Thank you Allen Houston.  And who can forget Spike Lee vs. Reggie Miller.  Boy did I hate Reggie Miller and his omniscient choke sign.

And what was the front office doing to bring us a championship?  Well, first the Rangers figured it out.  I remember celebrating at a bar on the Upper West Side, not much of a hockey fan, wondering what it would feel like to enjoy a Knicks victory. Then came a littany of point guards, from Marc Jackson on down to the current situation.  Bad contract after bad pick in succession, from Rod Strickland to Stephon Marbury, to Greg Anthony, to Stevie Francis, all talented, misunderstood shooting guards with score first mentalities.  Drop digits and lose.  No Mo Cheeks or Derek Harper or hot dog Marc Jackson with his pre-Santonio Holmes Jet plane celebration.  Just bad point guard play and contract after bad point guard contract.

Here’s the thing about those 90’s teams.  They were fun to watch.  They tried hard.  They represented the city with hard work and a no nonsense approach to defense.

We loved those Knick teams because they shared the goals of the working class, trying to succeed in NYC.  Us against the world

And since then what have the Knicks become?  Not even Louis Orr or Darrell Armstrong and Ken “the animal” Bannister.  No Bob Thornton lunch pail.  No, the Knicks have become egomaniacal superstars trying to copycat and compete with the Miami Heat.  They are unwatchable.  Consequently I have stopped playing street ball, and adopted my girlfriend’s team, the Chicago Bulls.  Watch them play defense.  Watch them share the ball.  Check out Noah’s enthusiasm.  To bad Derrick Rose got hurt.  I would have loved to see them beat the Heat.

Before you slice me with a metrocard for even entertaining any team other than the Knicks, let me plead my case.

This is why the Jeremy Lin debacle is so sad.  The final straw.  For a small window of games last year, the Knicks were fun to watch again, relevant even.  I was excited, proud to be a part of a movement: winning.  An unsung hero gets dropped on our laps from the basketball heavens, ready to resurrect the Knick fan base, forcing cable companies to settle their differences, and what does the Knick management do?  They fumble the ball.  They cause the worst turnover of their career.  They almost did the same many years ago.  Willis Reed was signed by pure luck.

So what do we have left?  A “superstar” who hogs the ball and has won how many playoff series in nine years?  How does he inspire everyone else on the team to play harder?  By saying great leadership opinions like that is a ridiculous contract?  What is ridiculous is Carmelo’s playoff track record.  I am not saying Lin is better than Melo.  But Lin made us believe. He made players better.  He carried a team without either superstar.  Instead of being jealous, Melo could take a page out of how Lin inspired a city, take fewer shots, play defense and rise in the fourth quarter when we need him.

The other superstar?  Stoudemire, seriously, how long before another twisted back on the dunk line or smashing his other fist through plate glass.  What a leader.  He couldn’t win in Phoenix with the best point guard at that time, and so what is that head case gonna accomplish now?  The Knicks cannot win with either of them.

Jeremy Lin can’t go left.  He is turnover prone.  He is not worth that contract.  All these things are probably true.  But for a while there he brought us true enjoyment.  He shot over Dirk, scored more than Kobe, and was the toast of the town.  He has NY swagger, he trash talked, wasn’t afraid to take the big shot, and uplifted the play of his teammates.  The Knicks were playing defense again.  Shumpert and J.R. Smith, even Melo got low.  Novak and Landry became more confident, Chandler played lights out defense.  Then Lin got hurt, and they weren’t the same team, bowing out in the playoffs again.

Against the Heat perhaps Lin should have played, but no one knows the state of his knees better than him. Besides, he needed to look out for himself.  He knew that Knicks management would play around with his contract, suck him bone dry for Linsanity, raise ticket prices, and compensate him at a minimum.  And that’s exactly what happened.  They could have come in with a strong offer.  Instead they played games, and now Lin is gone, and people want to make him out to be greedy.  Dolan was outsmarted and now who will watch what’s left of this team?  I for one will not.  They are not a fun team to watch.  They haven’t been for a long time, and with an owner who so obviously doesn’t care about the fan base either…

I am sure I will peak in at our two resident superstars from time to time, and will continue to root for them against hated rivals, but until the Knicks are fun to watch again, I’ll keep the channel on UCONN women’s basketball, or the Bulls, or bury my head in Jets football and March madness.

Glory days pass you by, or in my case passed me by.  All I’ve got is MSG re-broadcasts and “When The Garden Was Eden” to cheer on the old, fun Knicks.  For right now, the mecca of basketball is dead.

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Drinking The Chef Travel Wine

Gramona

Cava can be very good.  As good as Champagne?  That is always the question that sneaks into the conversation.

Over at Corkbuzz Studio, Laura Maniec has launched a Champagne Campaign offering all Champagnes at half price after 10 pm nightly.  There are many other reasons to visit Corkbuzz, from the selective wine list to the knowledgeable service to the wine-friendly food.    I cannot often get my hands on Champagne at those great prices, and so turn to cava for my bubbly fix.

So many parts of Spain have made great leaps in terms of viniculture and producing great wines, but it has been my experience that in the production of cava, there has been a disconnect.  The U.S. marketplace is wrought with bulk cava that has not traveled well, tasting musky as if stored in the corner of a cobwebbed closet under summery conditions.  The cheap, bulk product that is so available at every corner wine shop is not indicative of the actual quality that can be produced when in the hands of serious winemakers.  Seventy percent of the cavas produced in the D.O. are released after nine months.

Just check any wine list at any restaurants in Barcelona, any you will find several cavas of quality, aged, and of vintage.  Many cuvees are without dosage, making for bone dry wines of distinction showcasing the xarel-lo characteristics.

Last week Ana Lidon, from Gramona winery in Penedes, presented on a vertical of Gramona cava ranging as far back as 1997 to the latest release of 2006. The tasting was hosted by Enrique Ibanez of IPO Wines, leaders in Spanish wine importing.   The results were extraordinary.

The winery dates back to 1881, becoming officially named Gramona in 1921.  Gramona ages cava a minimum of 18 months, and an average of four years.  The Gran Reserva Imperial and Lustros III were poured, blends of xarel-lo and macabeo, two of the principal grapes that comprise a basic cava.  I have had much experience in tasting and buying these wines for Pata Negra, but had not tasted them vertically.

The wines had a true champagne quality, exhibiting toasty aromas, bright acidity, and great structure.

Much of what Ana Lidon presented had to do with the winery’s efforts to be agro-biodynamic, a self-sufficient ecosystem that generates its own energy, creating an optimum environment with low carbon footprint whose goal is to create the best cava possible.

Then came the showstoppers, the Gran Reserva Celler Batlle, from 1997 to 2002, some of which have been aged nine years on the lees!  Featuring the great acidity and structure of the xarel-lo grape, these long aged wines undergo autolysis which produces cava of great quality, elegant, exuberant, focused wines of subtle texture and a celebratory spirit.  The ’98 vintage in particular was drinking exceptionally, and my favorite was the bright, racy 2002, lip-smacking, layered and creamy.

While there are other cavas I enjoy, Raventos, Avinyo, Recaredo (to name a few), Gramona is leading the way in crafting long aged, artisanal sparkling wine, that dare I say, is as good as champagne.  Slip in a bottle of Gramona Gran Reserva Celler Batlle 1998 with some French bubbly and see how it stacks up for yourself.

 

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Drinking Eating Experiences Food The Chef Travel Wine

Europe in the very lovely month of May

May is a great month for travel to Europe.  There is a slipstream just before high season when the weather is peak to enjoy sunshine cooled by soft breezes..

It has been over twenty years since I have visited Italy, mainly because I tend to take annual trips to Spain, dabble in France, and vacation in Mexico or El Caribe.  I was handsomely rewarded this time around.

As with any great culinary city, my attack plan was simple.  Plan meals around the sights.  Research great wine bars (business interest), and long evenings al fresco (a fiori).  Eat local wine, salume and cheese.  Hit the sweets circuit.  Espresso down.

Rome provided an ideal venue for my game plan.  Roma is Eurocosmo, a neologism I like to use referring to a city with style, sophistication and tradition in food and wine, a culture who lives to eat.  Roma is built for long walks peppered by golden cups of espresso, lazy late afternoon lunches climaxing in the joy of artisanal gelato.

My own personal view on sightseeing is simple.  Be around structures and museums accidentally, enter if I must, but plan all the eating and drinking around the environs of said must see attraction.

On my last trip, the Vatican left a lasting impression, so before the weekend crowds made a visit unbearable, the Vatican was the first target.  As it turns out it is difficult to find any good eats around this tourist mecca, but I found great respite at a ham and wine bar called Passagui, where I sampled some great Pata Negra.  The resto features a tiled encased ham slicing room/station, featuring many legs which curiously held on to its own curly tails, and the signature black hooves, of course.  Despite the euro vs. the dollar, wine prices are about a third less than in New York.  For example, Falanghinas were listed between 16 and 22 euros per bottle, and Valtellina Superior from 28 to 35 euros.

Thank goodness for a solitary rec from my good friend Pete, an honorary Roman, at Giarrosto Toscano, where my gal and I lunched correctly. Toscano, a place popular among locals doing nothing special, but offering correct pastas and aged beef.  Cacio y pepe, bucatini alla amatricana followed by a nice t-bone.  All a fiori of course.  Nice waitstaff.  We returned for dinner later on in the trip and were treated as regulars.

A short walk from the Pyramide (truly an uninteresting structure), there is a gold mine of a diner called Volpetti where the business model is split in two.  Alimentari extraordinaire on the corner, adjacent to mom and pop prepared foods with inexpensive wine resto.  Sample it all, from the antipasto to the meatballs to the pizze.  Nourishment for the Roman soul.

Near the Trevi Fountain, a small trattoria named Piccolo Arancino offers classic roman fare.  The menu is vast and comprehensive.  The ravioli arancino is a specialty.  Then head over to the Pantheon to San Crispino for some artisanal gelato, a cut above the rest.

At Campo de Fiori you can get lost in all the noise and hullaballoo created by the raging youthful crowds, but a block therein lies a well established wine bar called L’Angolo Divino.  Skip the food, which is mediocre.  But do sit in the wee hours for a great selection of Ar.Pe.Pe and fabulous boutique wines from great producers.

A walk through the Greenwich Village of Rome, Traversere, is charming and leads to the Jewish quarter, a line up of Roman Jewish food where the stalwart Giggetto stands out from the rest.  Order the artichokes, zucchini flowers, and on to the roasted lamb.  A real treat down the road at one of the entrances to the quarter is a wine bar named Beppe, where the owner makes many of the cheeses.  Choose wine from the shelves and have a 20 euro tray of marvelous cheese.  Order salume if you have the room.  Real mortadella here folks. A nice ’04 Produttori di Barbaresco nebbiolo was drinking well and a steal at 35 euros.

Coming back to Traversere, a fine meal could be had in a romantic setting at Trattoria Teo’s, or a more expensive formal meal at L’Asincotto with the only drawback being indoor seating only.

A trip to the Pantheon can be treacherous for food, but a nice trattoria, Il Bacaro,  on a tiny side street, pretty and draped by flowery trees of held its own with a nice antipasto selection and solid pastas.

A quick jaunt to Napoli, the armpit of Italy, but worth it just for the best pizza in the world at Da Michele for a whopping five euros.  We also spent a few nights in Sorrento and Capri, where the food was nothing to write home about.  The seafood was incredibly overpriced compared to let’s say, Spain.

The highlight of the trip was getting a tip from a nice bartender at Ris Café, where a decent martini can be crafted.  We were directed to a true speakeasy, The Jerry Thomas Speakeasy on a piccolo street called Vicolo Cellini 30, complete with password and no sign.  Enter and find a civilized adult setting that could be in Williamsburg.  No stumping the bartenders here.  Professional and correct.  What an absolute treat to watch Romans discovering cocktails and its ingredients with wonder and enthusiasm.  I dare say a movement is on the way.

Next stop Jerez de la Frontera, Spain, for a look at the state of sherry and perhaps some of the best jamon in the world.

 

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Cooking Drinking Eating Experiences Food The Chef Travel Wine

Chicago Redux

When an opportunity comes my way to travel to a city known for its food, almost any excuse will do.  When it is a town on my top five list, no arm twisting required. Living in New York City tends to narrow my view of dining.  More and more restaurants that open seem driven by the same formula: a downtown location, a sexy crowd, and food that serves the needs of those who treat food as dressing, while also appeasing to the so called discerning foodies.

Aside from high end restos, cheap ethnic dining is best, offering real value for your food, packed with real flavor.  If this were a BYO town such as Philly or Chicago, we would have something here.  But how would the restaurants pay the rent.  One can get easily caught up in the notion that New York is the center of the universe in dining, and neglect other foodtowns, USA.  New Orleans disproves this theory.  San Francisco, Charleston, and (fill in the blank)head the list.

This weekend Chicago was the venue, and year after year, I leave with a great impression of a food culture that is thriving and genuine.

After arriving on Thursday afternoon and checking into the Affinia Hotel, I was treated to a surprise, an authentic Chick-Fil-A.  We don’t have it in New York, and I haven’t tried it.  But chicken would have to wait, as I had a date with Carriage Bakery, a small shop run by scientific dudes, dedicated to making pot pies and pasties, British style, with all the trimmings, peas, chips and malt vinegar, mashed potatoes and gravy.  Country ditties on the screen reminded me of Deliverance, but the only revelation was just how great these pies were, filled with steak, chicken, stew meat, or the special of the day, cheese and potato.  Washed down with a hibiscus soda, I couldn’t help but think that in NYC, another meatball or bao bun shop opened up instead.  A necessary cup of coffee from neighboring upstart Bridgeport was proper and enjoyable.  Auspicious beginning.

That evening I headed over to the Purple Pig, which was hopping at 6 pm.  I always forget that in the Midwest, people prefer to dine early.  With no reservation and a party for six, we were grabbed a two hour wait.  The reservation system was handled on a piece of paper and not well managed.  They were overwhelmed.  We were crammed at the bar.  I checking in several times and witnessed several spaces we could have been squeezed into, but I was told that people were running late. I watched as a family of six with four kids arrived late and took the space.  A huge pet peeve of mine, no kids at wine bars during peak times.  They drink soda!  After some nice cocktails and cidre from Normandie, we ordered a bottle of lambrusco.  After 15 minutes, it was clear that our order was forgotten. Note to self, dine after nine in Chicago.

When the time had elapsed, the hostess offered us a table out in the Chicago cold.  I expressed my displeasure, and stated the obvious.  That If I had been informed after waiting for two hours standing at the bar, that I was to be offered seating outside, I would have left accordingly.  All was forgiven when we finally were seated and comped the Lambrusco.  We ordered off the vast menu.  Some dishes were quite memorable.   The charcuterie plate was bright anchored by a creamy testa. Pork rillettes were rich and devoured.  Almonds fried in pork fat was eye opening.  Iberico lardo on toast points will be stolen and put on my menu at home.  The star dish was a balance fried, sliced pig’s ears salad with pickled peppers and fried kale, a real stunner.  The quail and roasted marrow bones were tasty albeit small in portion size, the mussels and octopus less successful.  The wine list was well put together offering many reasonable choices.  We had a bottle of Movia sauvignon blanc, LDH Tondonia Blanco 2001, and a Cerasuolo di Vittoria, all at great prices.  The cheese course was tame, and I wished for more aggressive offerings.  Time spent in total: 5 hours.

The following day we took in the Field museum and the Genghis Khan exhibit, whose DNA is responsible for 16 million Mongolians, The Red Queen supreme.  We paid a visit to the Bongo Room for their famous brunch, and comparing it to certain NY bruncheries, it held up its own, with intellgentsia coffee and great bacon and pork sausage.  I will have to return for the pancakes, which looked fabulous.

Squeezed in a Chik-Fil-A which was not bad, but nothing to write home about.  Moderately moist chicken, sorry bun, interesting, albeit sweet sauces.

A quick pit stop for oysters and cocktails in the C-Room (the hotel resto), and all was fine, but one could not detect Chef Marcus Samuelson’s stamp on anything.  It certainly was no Red Rooster.  A trip to the United Center was only overshadowed in anticipation of an evening at Publican, my favorite gastro pub anywhere.

Great seats by the kitchen, artisanal craft beers and pork rinds, heaven’s gate now open and the true games begin.  Hamachi crudo, pickled corn, onions, and pickles, boudin blanc, and more pork rinds, ethereal cheese and vinegar spiced, the perfect bar food.  The beer list is so well selected, you almost can’t bring yourself to order wine, but slightly sweet gruner and halb-trocken Riesling cut right into the fat of the steak tartare, brilliantly prepared.  The service is impeccable, and I truly lament that they don’t open a branch in NYC.  To follow up, lovely cocktails were had at Maude’s, a sleeper in my book.  Their house smashes took me out.

The next day I had my mind set on a burger, and we were advised to experience Kuma’s Corner for some heavy metal and all the fixings. There was a three-hour wait, so we ordered take-out, which was prompt, seven burgers and fries, mac n cheese in half an hour.  It was a little chilly for a picnic, but that was the only viable venue option.  Aside from the novelty nomenclature, I found the burgers to be good, enormous, and the toppings to be slightly more interesting than the burgers themselves.  No comparison to Pat La Frieda’s black label or The Burger Joint here.

Quick digestion was necessary, as some hard to procure seats at Schwa for 8:30 were waiting, a meal I have been looking forward to all month.

Outside Schwa looks like a shuttered storefront, shades down and abandoned looking.  The cab offered to keep the meter running.  We walked in without an escape plan, and to our delight, they were open, alive and kicking.

We were well armed for the BYO nine-course affair.  Larmandier Bernier Terre de Vertus Blanc de Blancs, Domaine Servin Les Preuses Grand Cru Chablis 2008, and Mastrobernardino Radici Taurasi 1999 Riserva purchased fom Binny’s, apparently the only game in town.   There was no Chamber’s Street in sight, and I will have to look into the wine selection availability more in depth in the future.

Enter a non-descript rectangular room anchored in the rear by an open kitchen as seen through a square porthole, with smoke and fire wafting through the ceiling, as modern hip hp blares and thumps thorough the Polk speakers.  At first it seem disjointed, all that rap, and the recessed down attitude.  But after we were seated, you just have to surrender, which was upon observance the only option exercised by the rest of the patrons.

One menu, nine courses, and service by the chefs who finish a dish and bring it out to the table.  Silver-plated ceiling above, back graffiti sprayed walls surrounded by silver blinged lighting fixtures: Odyssey 2000 meets Harlem meets El Bulli on American soil.

One could say it’s all about the food, but the music is there, thumping, causing you to rock back and forth or bow your dome in rhythm, a rap opera setting.

Menu

Amuse:  Chocolate cherry bomb Manhattan, Flower tonic

Cassoulet : deconstructed w pig ears

Baked Potato deconstructed into a soup

Raviolo Truffle Egg

Tortelloni Crab Apple Celery broth

Roe, Passion fruit, violet

Fruit Loops

Salmon Sous Vide

Cocoa Crusted Halibut in apricot and curry

Squab w/ Bourbon flavors, Dr. Pepper

Rice Crispies

 

The cooking is inventive, refreshing, and ballsy.  The flavors are balanced, bright with acidity, and artistic on the plate.  This is no apology cooking from Chef Carlson and crew.  You can tell they are doing it “my way” and if you are open for the experience it all makes sense in the end, expert technique and an approach to food that is playful, whimsical, thought provoking, and delicious, a feeling I had not had since dining at El Bulli.

In New York, Romera tried its hand, and failed, panned by critics and misunderstood by New York’s “educated” and “sophisticated” diners.  I wonder what reception Schwa would receive in NYC.  It is a shame that this type of cooking does not exist in my home town, save for Chef Wylie.

Followed up the great performance with some jazz from Joanna Connor at Kingston Mines, swizzling Goose Island until close.

Couldn’t leave Chicago without a deep dish pizza, but logistics steered me local for some rather good Hawaiian and meat stuffed pies, nothing that will replace the Napoletana craze back home.  Next time I want to try Smoque BBQ.

I leave Chicago with much respect, a little bit of envy, great satisfaction, basking into the arms of my diversely ethnic melting pot of comfort food, celebrity chef type and people watching venues that stand in for restaurants nowadays in NYC, anxiously waiting for the food to be the star.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cooking Drinking Eating Experiences Food The Chef Travel Wine

Escape from New York?

I like to think that my ideal living arrangement/lifestyle would be eight months in New York City, three months in Europe, and one month in the Caribbean.  I measure my success by the approximation to that goal.  So far this year, I have been late to travel, and only managed to squeeze in a week in Cancun to satisfy the “beach” element to my program.

It almost felt unnecessary to leave NYC, given the spate of warm weather, but a beach is still a beach.  I was warned about late January weather in Mexico, but found this to be a true bonus.  It rained the Friday I got in, and was cloudy the day I departed.  In between, however, sunny to partly cloudy skies, a fabulous constant breeze and mild temperatures.  The kind that allows for tanning without scalding, sleeping and reading on lounge chairs without sweating, encouraging for late night starry walks without the company of mosquitoes.

The other piece of advice I received was to stay in Playa del Carmen, a newer, less touristy, hipper part of Cancun, but because of the deal I sought out, Cancun it was.

There are two main problems with staying in Cancun.  One is that most of the hotels are all inclusive, which for a person looking to sample local cuisine, is a death trap.  Eating the same hotel food day after day is boring, often inedible, and not adventurous.  I chose a hotel with no all-inclusive, Le Meridien.  There are two buses that travel directly to the center of Cancun (R-1, R-2) which are inexpensive and run frequently.

After reading countless reviews on Trip Advisor and spending some time at the Barnes and Nobles travel library, I jotted a few places to try and decided to wing it.  Instead of being my usual obsessive self about the food, I decided to not to sweat it.

After establishing that the food at the hotel was inedible, the strip of the Zona Hotelera revealed various pitfalls as well, but I got a little lucky.  A small cafe at the back of a touring/rental company served a basic menu of eggs, tacos and sandwiches with drinks  with a view of the laguna.  Fred’s House, seafood restaurant, sister of the more expensive Harry’s Grill, did a great job with ceviche and grilled fish.  The chocolate (named for the shell color) clams were pristine, and oysters on the grill meaty and good.  The chef prepared the local hogfish with a 7 chili rub and various habanero sauces.  I struggled through a bottle of sauvignon blanc fom Mexico, but more on that later.

At Captain’s Cove, also on the strip, there is a Sunday buffet with omelettes and tacos to order.  They served cochinito pibil and rajas, but the stars of the meal were the hominy and pork crackling soups, deep, earthy, and hangover relieving Yucatan specialities.

A big blank was drawn at an attempt for sushi at Katsu ya, which prepared barely edible rolls, and were out of sushi grade tuna and hamachi.  I know what you’re thinking, but I just had an obviously non brilliant thought that fresh fish equaled good sashimi.  Not.

The saving grace to all of these establishments were their proximity on the laguna.  There is something to be said for dining at tables waterside, feeling the breeze, listening to the waves, and watching the sun or starry skies.

Then there was the afternoon of trying to find bars with working satellites to watch sports, (more Knicks games televised here than in NYC) which was responsible for drinking at Maragaritaville (ugh, during a kids party), and Champions outlet bar (double ugh).  Some satellites worked, others didn’t.  You can’t follow your sports team in Mexico unless its Chivas.

But, among those bad experiences good decisions were made too.  A romantic relaxed evening at Habichuelos complete with garden and tableside Caesar’s salad preparation made for a memorable meal of soft shelled crab, ceviche, mole, whole snapper and banana chocolate crepes. Behind the Parque de las Palapas, there is a plaza with street vendors selling tortas to tacos  of all varieties.  Mexico at its best.

On the bustling Avenida Tulum, a great show can be caught at La Parilla, a Tex Mex stalwart with giant drinks, flaming food, and a theatrical circus waiter who balances everything on his bald head.   Mariachis swing from table to table while the waiter climbs a ladder to perform a pyrotechnic Mexican coffee.  Pictures secured by camera phones and safety disregarded when it sure looked to me like everything was going to come crashing down on the patrons.

Very nice Oaxacan cuisine at Calenda, in case you missed out on your chapulinas (grasshopper) fix.  Moles, and stuffed peppers round out the menu.  And don’t forget the mescal.

More mescal and proper tequilas can be had at the Plaza de los Toros, in the bars surrounding the bullfighting ring.  There’s a style for every one, just make sure it is your style.

After the thirtieth margarita, my palate leans back towards wine.  I found that virtually every wine list had the same list of wines on the menu, only changing the price according to the type of restaurant.  The choices were awful, and overpriced as if I were in Venice.  I tried to taste some local wines, but could not stomach the alcohol content, and the oak.  Apparently, there are just two importers in the area, and they dictate the wines to be sold.  Oh well, back to mescal.

I found my appetite to be somewhat diminished and tame.  Perhaps the limited options did not inspire, or maybe the sun provided enough nourishment, but after seven days of eating in Cancun, I couldn’t wait for my 9:00 pm res at Mas La Grillade in the West Village.

Postscript:  Mas La Grillade was great, smoked romaine salad!  Thanks to Shiraz and Galen for a memorable evening and welcome back to my home town.