I have a lot of followers on Twitter. Okay, about 1100, but I’m not gloating. Okay, I am. I get a lot of recommendations, but one that comes across my page often is Artichoke Basille’s Pizza.

I usually get these recommendations at 4am, and they usually involve a lot of bad grammar and a lot of words from a really bad rap song by hipsters from Ohio. These tweets are kind of like a drunken text message that doesn’t lead to sex, which only means one thing: after sloshing out of a bar/club they head over and get a slice. When you’re drunk, even broken, herpes infested glass tastes good.  I’ve already taken drunken restaurant advice once and that only led me to that shit hole POOP   POP Burger. But, much like every other situation in my life, I never learn my lesson. So one night, I was slightly buzzed and looking for a good slice. I figured since I was in the area, I might as well see what the culinary hype beasts were talking about and made my way over to Artichoke. 

Artichoke is located on 17th Street and 10th Avenue. As you walk in you see a large bar (that I’m guessing only serves beer), a few seats and a to-go spot in the back. I had a hard time trying to figure out where the line started because some cunt muscle tourists were waiting to use the bathroom. I glanced over and saw a tempting margarita slice, and what I thought was a white slice, but dude bro behind the counter told me it was an artichoke slice. Ding ding! Give me one of those and a margarita, please.

The Margarita slice ($5): Now, this isn’t your average margarita slice. It was big and bulky. It seemed like the kind of slice you’d get in Waco, Texas. A heavy glob of tomato sauce and cheese spread onto a thick, doughy-looking crust. I was wondering if they had a forklift in the back to help me lift this slice into my mouth. It was crunchy and chewy; a good sign. The sauce was perfect; a little sweet, but right on.

The Artichoke slice ($5): A fresh, right out of the oven thick crust slice, which looks like it was topped with mozzarella and ricotta and a few burnt cheese marks. Now, I don’t know about you, but burnt cheese marks on a slice of pizza are a good sign in my book. A few bites in and I became a believer. This was nothing like I’ve ever tasted in my 30 years on this planet of eating New York City Pizza. Crunchy, chewy, salty, creamy supremacy lay in front of me on a paper plate. It was like like vaginal juices of a goddess dripped down from upon the heavens and had landed on my pizza.

 

New York City is full of culinary hype; from pop-up restaurants, to pizza in a cone, to kid food critics. I don’t know about you, but when I was in the 5th grade, most kids ate glue. I thought Artichoke would fall into this hype but they proved me wrong. I am now a devoted follower of Artichoke Basille’s Pizza. By the way, I’ve had an artichoke slice everyday for the past week.


Artichoke Pizza and Bar ( 3 locations )
114 10th Ave • New York, NY 
www.artichokepizza.com
212-792-9200

  

   I found my self in the Flat Iron district one day, hungry. I wanted a burger so of course, shake shack came to mind first. Upon arriving at Madison Square Park, though, I saw a line zigzagging through the park. No fucking way was I waiting on line for an hour with these fuck sticks. Shake Shack is good, but it’s not wait-on-line-with-a-bunch-of-fucktards-for-a-burger-and-fries good. As I walked away in disgust, I saw a big yellow truck with a cartoon steer on it. It was the Frites and Meats truck. They made burgers, they made fries and there was just one hipster waiting on line ahead of me. This is where I was eating.

The menu has a build-your-burger option, which I prefer because I like to control my meat, just like in real life. I decided to go with a Waguy burger topped with cheddar on a potato roll, and an order of fries and a coke. As I was going to order the dude bros on the truck asked me if I wanted to try their bottle rocket burger, at least that’s what I think they said. It was a special burger they made to promote the opening of a wine shop a few stores down. I said sure, but I fucked up. I like to try what’s on the menu so that later, whomever reads this review says ‘that dick head Dave at Devour said this burger is good, maybe I’ll try it, fuck it’.

Bottle rocket burger : Wagyu beef, marinated in red wine, garlic and rosemary. (Oh, you fancy huh...) Topped with cheddar, raw onion, tomato, pickle, mesclun greens, ketchup and mayo on a potato onion roll that’s baked by Balthazar. My first bite squirted juices further than a porn star in heat. As I chewed the taste of Red wine and garlic started to subtley appear. Now, I never had a burger marinated in wine and garlic, but who ever idea this was, I'd like to give you a hug. 

The Fries : Belgian style fries served in a red and white cone. The fries were perfectly seasoned with little hints of salt. Although the fries tasted like they had a batter on them, I guess to make them crispier but not to the point where they felt like you were chewing on wet sandpaper.

Finally, after months of looking for a good burger, Frites and Meats finally satisfied my craving. Now that I think of it, I would like to thank all the dick heads who waited on line for Shake Shack that day. If it wasn’t for them, I would have never discovered Frites and Meats, my go-to spot for a great burger. 

Frites 'N' Meats

http://www.fritesnmeats.com

   My friends and I went out to support a friend DJ’ing at Bar Basque. I don’t know what the fuck was going on that night but I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of Jersey Shore, and not any of the episodes when they’re in Italy. This had to be the ugliest group of motherfuckers I’ve ever seen. It looked like the henchman line up from a Dick Tracey movie. My friend hadn't gone on yet and the DJ at the moment seemed to be playing music from a 16 year old iTunes play list, I felt had to medicate my momentary depression with vodka, lots of it. As the night went on the perfect storm was brewing. The mixture of vodka on the rocks and ugly girls with high self-esteem was making me hungry. I needed something to soak up this alcohol and that something was food from NY Noodletown in Chinatown.

Located on the corner of Bayard and Bowery, a big white sign glows against roasted meat hanging in the window. I’ve been to NY Noodletown once, after a late-night booty call, and luckily we only waited 10 minutes. This time we got a table right away but, as the night went on, the place filled up quickly. By the time we left, there was a line out the door.My friends and I decided to share a few small plates. A shrimp roll, an order of roasted duck lo mein, some roast pork and two soups with roast pork. Not only do I like to pork, but I like to eat it as well.

The Shrimp Roll: shrimp rolled into a batter and deep fried. Eh, nothing special.

The Duck Lo Mein: I suggested to my friend that we get the chow fun but he told me he was going to leave me on the Manhattan Bridge in my high top dunks if we didn’t get the duck lo mein. Roasted duck, served on what looked like Jewish egg noodles my mom used to put in her chicken soup. The duck was a little fatty but perfectly roasted. I can tell you one thing, I would not lose any sleep over this dish.

The Roast Pork: Sliced into long shreds and glazed like a donut. Bite after bite, the succulent pieces of pork made me wish I was born Asian. The flavors of soy, ginger, garlic and sesame had me eating until the point of where you would have to get a tow truck to bring me home.

The Soup: Chinatown style soup served in a huge white and blue bowl with a soup spoon and chopped sticks. A salty, sweet and meaty broth, served with shrimp dumplings that were so tender, had me whispering sweet nothings in it's ears. Long noodles that seemed to be the same as the ones in the lo mein, and topped with roast pork. I never order soup, simply because it’s not a meal, even if Jerry Seinfeld says it is. But I’d probably give up a steak dinner for this soup. Probably.

New York City is known for two things: being the city that never sleeps and being the culinary Mecca of food. With tons of late-night choice eats, NY Noodletown is the place to be, whether you need something to eat after an alcohol infused night or maybe some energy after a late-night booty call. Either way, head to NY Noodletown on the re-up.


Great N.Y. Noodletown

28 Bowery New York, NY 10013-5102
(212) 349-0923

Something weird was going on at the San Gennaro feast this year. Along with mom and pop vendors slinging sausage and pepper sandwiches, fried Oreo's, and annoying carneys trying to milk you out of every dollar you have by getting you to throw a ball into a basket; the heavy hitters of the New York City restaurant scene had opened their own stands. Restaurants such as Torrisi, The Breslin, L'Artusi's. Here are some of my favorite new school and old school feast dishes.

Braciole Sliders From Rubirosa

BBQ Asian ribs from Torrisi 

 

Chinese Nacho's from Torrisi

I wouldn't be able to respect myself if I came to the San Gennaro feast and not get some old school dishes. 

                                                  

 

Fried Calamari and shrimp Combo from Umberto's

Sausage and peppers sandwich from Lucy's

The End.

The San Gennaro Feast 
Mulberry Street, New York NY
September 15, through Sunday, September 25, 2011

 

I’m iffy when it comes to Italian food. Growing up in south Brooklyn, I got accustom to my local Italian joints and for me to leave out of my realm is difficult. A friend of mine would constantly bother harass me about going to this place Ferdinando's Focacceria located in downtown Brooklyn. But he's a shithead and I never listen to him.  One day he suggested we should go to a place called Jakes. A B.B.Q joint that is conventionally located right around the corner from Ferdinando's . Upon arrival to Jake's we noticed a sign saying "closed for vacation". Clever. He's lucky I didn't punch him in the dick. So after much obscene name calling, we walked over to Ferdinando's

Located on Union Street, most people will recognize the entrance of Ferdinando’s from the bar scene in the movie The Departed. But instead of Irish gangsters, the room was filled with secondary yuppies. You know, the type who are too cheap to live in Manhattan and say “fuck it, Brooklyn is cool.” The room is 100% old school: dimly lit, wooden tables and chairs, exposed brick walls and a sign out front spelling “Ferdinando’s Restaurant” in gold lettering. We opted to sit outside because it was a beautiful summer evening and I was trying to soak up as much of the summer as I could.

As I scanned the menu, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary - a few pasta dishes, some cold and hot appetizers. My friends and I decided to order the rice ball special, fried calamari and a pasta dish called Pappardelle alla Boscaiola. 

As our entrees came out, some bread came out with a plate which olive oil was poured into. Which was a good sign, if they brought it to the table first.

The Calamari : The Calamari was decent, definitely not out of the bag type. Tender pieces of lightly dusted, lightly fried calamari, served with a homemade sauce that would put any Italian grandmother to shame. 

The Rice Ball Special : A huge rice ball stuffed with ground beef and peas, served with the house special red sauce, and topped with mozzarella and fresh ricotta cheese. I was actually disappointed with this dish. The rice ball was cold and had a stale taste to it. What’s worse is the mozzarella wasn’t fresh. Come on! Fresh mozzarella comes with the place! 

Pappardelle alla Boscaiola : The menu described this dish as hand-cut pasta, fried with eggplant, sun-dried tomatoes and mushrooms. Yeah, the pasta was hand-cut; about 10 years ago. It was cooked well, though, and the dish had a homey taste, as if your mother made it. Well, not my mother; she’s a terrible cook. Thank g-d for my father. If it wasn’t for his cooking skills, I’d be the type of asshole who makes eggs in the microwave. 

My mouth was full of the savory so I opted for something sweet. As soon as our extremely vulgar waitress returned I asked what kind of desserts they had, and before she could finish, I said canoli.

The Canoli : I was told it was a house made canoli. I'm pretty sure it was made in someone else's house. A heavy sweet cream stuffed in a hard canoli. The cream was cool, dense and sweet, perfection. The canoli shell was soggier than a new york city cab drivers ass in august. Fail.

 The bill came to $100 for 3 people, including the tip. Would I return Ferdinando’s? Probably not. If you’re looking for nostalgic places to eat in Brooklyn, and don’t expect anything more, check-out Ferdinando’s.  

Ferdinando's Focacceria

151 Union Street Brooklyn, NY

(718) 855-1545

There are three things I look forward to in life: sleep, sex and Meatopia. As you read in my last posting, Meatopia is a BBQ event and was held recently at Brooklyn Bridge Park. Put together by Josh Ozersky, it featured 48 Chefs from around the country.

It was hot as balls outside that day, but I was down for what was trending on twitter as a “meatwave”. After sampling about 15-20 tasting dishes, below are my top three.

The Meatball Shop: Spicy Lamb Sloppy Joe. After busting their balls about a new competitor, The Meatball Factory, I got to chow down on what was the best sloppy joe I’ve had in years. Chopped up lamb, in a tangy and sweet tomato sauce, served on a fresh baked bun.

The Breslin: Mule foot hog served pulled-pork style and topped with a smoky, yet sweet, BBQ sauce on a potato bun. Some fresh coleslaw on the side was perfect enough to cool me off. While eating, I realized I can replace this sandwich with sex.

Osteria Morini: Spit roasted Hampshire porchetta with sage, rosemary and lemon, and served on a small baked roll. The man is a genius with pasta and has extended his talent to sandwiches.

48 Chefs churning out quality high-end food for 5 hours seems like a tease. But at the end of the event, I really couldn’t eat another bite. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t eat the next day either. I don’t know if the depression had set in because I realized I’d have to wait another 365 days for Meatopia, or because I had gained enough weight the day before to be considered the first pregnant male in existence. Either way, Meatopia, you have my heart.