Bar Americain

(New York, NY) When planning our springtime New York trip, Juliet suggests we finally make time for dinner at Bobby Flay’s Bar Americain, an American brasserie. Thanks to OpenTable, we are able to secure a table on a busy Saturday night, about a month in advance. As luck would have it, our hotel ends up being only blocks from the restaurant! We stroll leisurely along the streets until we come to our destination, where we hope to find adventure...


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He Fed:

I am in a good mood as we breeze through the turnstile into Bar Americain. Waiters bustle past us, carrying trays to and from the kitchen. We are greeted immediately, coats spirited away. Our table will be ready in about 20 minutes (we have arrived quite early). Would we care to have a drink at the bar? You bet.

It is standing room only at the bar—with vodka tonics to further pique appetite—but it affords us the opportunity to get the lay of the land. The restaurant is decorated warmly, with recurring patterns; it reminds me of smartly-appointed French-style eateries in San Fran or Paris. There are booths and tables tucked into corners, and seating is low-backed with only the hostess stand creating a division between the vast dining area. There are also upstairs tables, but we have no such luck, instead securing a four-top near the open-air kitchen.

We decide to start with a flatbread. “Do you have any food allergies?” asks our server, an affable, tall young man. It is an odd question, but we reply no. A very short time later, our grilled pizza with double-smoked bacon, caramelized onions, and toasted garlic arrives...but so does a plate of Crispy Oysters and a trio of seafood samplers, including Shrimp-Tomatillo, Crab-Coconut, and Lobster-Avocado. What the heck is going on here? Evidently, an acquaintance put in a good word for us, and that translated into some special treatment, including free apps!

The pizza is salty, smoky and crisp. As soon as I eat all the toppings off a slice, I leave the rest of the crust. The dough just doesn’t grab me, though everything on top is bold and delicious. It goes very nicely with my pint of Captain Lawrence Imperial IPA. Oysters are amazing, dusted in cornmeal and topped with barbecue creme fraiche. Not at all chewy, melt in your mouth. Lobster-avocado is buttery and rich, but I’m picking up just a little fishy taste that sets off my younger prejudices against seafood. However, the coconut crab is a creamy sweet treat that could easily be dessert. Most surprising is the shrimp cocktail. One dip of the crustacean into the tomatillo sauce and I want more. Again, bold flavors coat the perfectly succulent shrimp in a silky, spicy embrace. It makes me want to eat a lot more shrimp.

For my main course, I go for the “plate of the day”: a gigantic Philly-style strip steak covered in Provolone cheese sauce and caramelized onions. It is perfectly prepared medium rare, and the quality of meat is beyond measure. I am digging the demonstrative onions and big cheese flavors, for a little bit anyway. After I polish off a quarter of the steak, I slide the topping off so I can sample more of the meat, only taking bits of the onion and cheese when I’m tempted. Sadly, I can only finish half the steak. A manager enquires if everything is okay, and I assure him everything is off the chart. If only I had been born with a second stomach. Somehow, I manage to fill in the cracks with a Belgian IPA.

Dessert is out of the question. But, as so often happens with us, it seems a shame to at least not try something, right? We agree the Lemon Ricotta Crepes with Suzette sauce are probably the only thing we could finish. They are lemony and light, but even though they are also complimentary, we only get halfway through before putting down the forks. Feeling like royalty, we happily pay the bill and stumble back out into the New York night. The short walk back to our hotel will help with digestion but only a long night’s sleep will truly prep us for tomorrow’s adventures. Next time I head back to Bar Americain, I’m bringing a bigger appetite.

She Fed:

I've been a huge fan of Bobby Flay's for years and through my job I've been fortunate enough to meet him on occasion, working his stage at food and wine events. Chef Flay is always friendly and approachable and I'm looking forward to dinner. It doesn't hurt that my supervisor put in a good word with Chef Flay's people to let him know we're coming.

We arrive a few minutes early to find the restaurant packed and standing room only at the bar. We decide to enjoy a Stoli orange and tonic while propped against a half wall overlooking the restaurant. We survey the expansive room and start making bets as to where we'll be seated. There's plenty of two tops, but they're tightly spaced (the norm for NYC; not so here in the Midwest.) Jeremy spots a four top opening up with a good view of the open kitchen and suggests that's where we'll be seated. "No way are they giving us a four top on a Saturday night," I say dismissively. As I drain my drink the hostess arrives to tell us our table is ready. Then she leads us to the four top. (Sorry honey!)

After our beverages arrive, I choose the Rioja offered by the glass, We are surprised and slightly overwhelmed with a generous gift from the kitchen. In addition to the grilled pizza we order as a starter, our server delivers the trio of shellfish tastings and an order of crispy oysters. It's way too much to start with, but we're curious to try it all. The pizza has a super thin crust, which I love, and is smothered in double-smoked bacon, caramelized onions, and a mild white cheese. It's rich and addictively delicious. The oysters have a light cornbread coating and a daub of barbeque creme fraiche. They're crunchy, earthy and slightly sweet from the BBQ sauce.

Just when I don't think it can get better, I dig into the seafood trio. I'm not a big fan of tomatillos, but find the shrimp cocktail with tomatillo salsa to be quite tasty. The sauce is clean and slightly spicy. I dunk my shrimp in it til the last bite. Crab salad with mango in creamy coconut milk is sumptuous and the sweet crab meat is really enhanced by the coconut milk. To finish, a salad of avocado and lobster meat...enough said. It's as luscious as it sounds. We could stop here, but our entrees arrive.

I promised myself I'd order fish for dinner, but when I ask our waiter for a recommendation he suggests the lamb and the pork. Since none of the fish offerings are really grabbing me, I decide to go with "the other white meat" and order the rack of pork with double apple butter and brussel sprouts. I have no idea why, but even after all the starters, I decide to order a side of the cauliflower goat cheese gratin.

The pork is a double chop and cooked perfectly. This must be the most tender pork chop I have ever eaten and I'm sad that I can only eat about a quarter of the monster. The apple butter and the raisin apple chutney alongside pair wonderfully with the moist pork. I do manage to eat all my sprouts, which have been roasted til caramelized and sweet. The cauliflower is creamy, lush and slightly tangy from the goat cheese. My friends call me an "edger" and true to form I pick at all the crispy, crunchy edges around the gratin dish.

A parting gift from the kitchen, crepes suzette arrives despite our protests for no dessert. The crepes are ethereal and filled with ricotta. The lemon sauce drizzled over them is both sharp and sweet. We are able to eat about half and then we have to push away from the table. We toddle back to the hotel bigger fans of Flay's than ever before.

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Maialino

(New York, NY) Not long ago, Zagat came out with a list of best restaurants in NYC. Among them, Maialino was listed as one of the up-and-coming hot spots. I hopped on OpenTable and was able to snag a lunch reservation about two months in advance. On a sunny Saturday, we abandoned our Central Park wanderings to catch a cab to Gramercy Park...



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He Fed:

When I jump out of the cab, I do so with a bit too much gusto, evidently, because I have a sudden headache. We are early for our reservation, so we stroll around the neighborhood, admiring the architecture and trying to regain equilibrium. (Sadly, my head pounds for most of the day.)

Finally we go in and are promptly seated all the way in the back at a small table which has been awkwardly situated next to a jutting wall so you can’t help but hit it with your elbow while seated. I ask our server if I might be able to simply turn it slightly so it won’t be so inconvenient. She looks at me as if I’d just asked her to serve Ronald Reagan’s brain ala mode with six bottle rockets sticking out of it. I explain again, whacking my arm against the wall to demonstrate. She is quite perplexed now, and must ask someone else if we are allowed to turn the table (seriously) 45 degrees. That person must in turn ask another person. Finally, I am given the go-ahead to turn the table. Despite my aching head and the irritating interplay with the staff, I am determined to have a good time.

We start off by splitting a quartino (almost 2 glasses worth) of 2007 Red Angel on the Moonlight from northern Italy. It is light and playful Pinot Noir, seeming more French than Italian. It goes pretty well with the tangy, crunchy and fresh Insalata di Sedano (celery, fennel, hazelnuts and piave) and the Piatto di Formaggi (three cheeses which include gorgonzola, pecorino, and one other I can’t remember, with delicious sunflower honey).

For my main course, I decide to live it up by ordering the Malfatti al Maialino (sucking pig ragu and arugula). Thick noodles form a bed for pulled chunks of suckling pig dripping in gravy, while peppery arugula adds a nice green touch. Paired with another quartino of the 2007 Cialla Rossa—a much bolder, classic Italian red—the whole meal is lip-smacking good. Juliet reports her carbonara is a bit too stiff for her liking, but my sampling seems about right. The noodles are hefty, for sure.

Despite the initial aggravation with the table, the service warms up and the quality of the food shines through. At the end, we can’t resist a slice of the Torta Nonna (pine nut tart) or the Bomboloni con Creme (doughnuts with whipped cream inside), along with coffee (espresso for me and cream for her). All of it is tasty, but I am already feeling the strain of too much good food. Time to head back to the hotel for a nap and some Excedrin.

She Fed:

We arrive 30 minutes early, so we stroll around the neighborhood peeking through wrought iron gates surrounding Gramercy Park, one of only two private parks in Manhattan. After a light breakfast and a 60 minute walk through Central Park earlier, my stomach begins to rumble as we round the last corner. It's time for lunch!

Mailino is boisterous and busy when we enter. Even though we're still a few minutes early, our table is ready and the hostess is smiling as she escorts us to the back of the restaurant. Our waitress however seems none too thrilled to have us in her section. She is aloof and unfriendly, doesn't check on us after items are delivered and generally seems to wish she were elsewhere. We will not let her sullen mood ruin this beautiful sunny day and we focus on enjoying a leisurely lunch.

We opt to split the platter of three cheeses with sunflower honey and the insalata di sedano, a salad of fennel, celery, hazelnuts and piave cheese. The platter arrives with manchego, taleggio and gorgonzola, each of which goes wonderfully with the warm rosemary foccacia and the sunflower honey. The fennel and celery are very thinly sliced (not quite shaved) and lightly coated in lemony vinagrette. Crushed hazelnuts are mingled throughout and the entire salad is covered in grated piave, much like Parmigiano, but nuttier. Fresh veggies with hazelnuts is brilliant. My one complaint is the piave overpowers the dish. You never hear me complain about cheese, but there's just too much of it on the salad. I scrape half of the cheese off and concentrate on the fennel and celery.

We share a "quartino" of the 2007 Red Angel on the Moonlight, a lush red with our starters. Now before you get excited, please know a quartino is a quarter of a liter, roughly about a glass and a half of wine. (No wonder our server pulled a face and asked "Really? You want to share it?") We later choose the 2007 Cialla Rosso, a dry spicy red to share with our entrées.

I go for the fettucine carbonara with guanciale and egg yolk. The pork is slightly crispy, delightfully salty and clings to the pasta thanks to the sumptuous egg yolk and parmesan sauce. There is a great deal of fresh ground pepper in the sauce, but it's tasty.

We end with the pine nut tart and the doughnuts with cream-filled centers (recommended by friends) and coffees. Both desserts are a lovely end to an impressive lunch.

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Joe Allen

(New York, NY) For our first free night together in Manhattan, we accepted an invitation from MJ and her hubby Steve to join them at Birdland for some live jazz before heading out for dinner nearby. We had no idea where the evening would take us, but we were excited to find out...

He Fed:

Admittedly, I am a little tired after my long day in the sun, walking Central Park, hiking down to Les Halles for lunch, hiking back to the hotel, and waiting for Juliet to finish her shift. When she does arrive back to our room, we barely have time to say hello (it has been nearly 4 days since we’ve seen each other) before it’s time to get ready for our big night out. A quick check of Google Maps confirms we need to cab it to Birdland to meet our companions for the evening.

With only 15 minutes to spare, we arrive at a little jazz club and go right in. MJ and Steve are already seated at the table, where we could order food if we wanted. (I am still full from lunch.) Instead, I order a bottle of champagne. It is nothing special, a bit rough on the tongue, so I take my time sipping it. We make some brief introductions and then the lights dim.

Birdland is a normal jazz joint, but on early Friday nights it becomes something special. Tommy Igoe, drummer, directs The Birdland Big Band, which consists of famous musicians from the city and from around the globe. Some come from Broadway, warming up before their main gig. All of them come for their love of jazz. I am not what you’d call a jazz lover; I can take it or leave it, most of the time. But there is something to seeing these guys (and one gal) perform live that simply amazes. Tommy conducts, announces, and gently guides the other players in his set list. He is also a mad whirlwind on the drums, fascinating to watch. The crowd hoots and hollers in the all the right places. There are regulars here, and if I lived in New York, I’d be here every Friday night as well. They play everything from the standard classics to N’Awlins to Rio. And, of course, they close with Charlie Parker’s “Birdland”.

Still incredibly high from the performance, we rely on MJ and Steve for advice on what next. They recommend a bar just around the corner for a quick drink, then we can wander the local eateries. Sounds good to us. We follow them up two streets, happy to be out on a New York evening that is damn near warm, with many people out enjoying the night life. Before we know it, we’re descending a half stair down into a lower basement-type establishment that bears the name “Joe Allen”.

Immediately inside is a long bar nearly full, but two seats remain open. We snag them for the ladies and the adjacent stools become available very quickly, as other patrons depart to catch a show. Away from the noisy jazz club, we are able to carry on a conversation and get to know one another. I have an Anchor Steam, gabbing with Steve while the ladies catch up. Out of curiosity, we ask for the dinner menu. One glance is all it takes to convince us that we should be eating here.

Now that the Broadway-bound customers have gone, we have our pick of tables. I keep it steady with the Anchor Steam, not wanting to venture down any paths that might make it difficult to wake up tomorrow morning. For dinner, I’m thinking something less heavy and the Tabouleh salad with skewers of lamb sounds about right. I also order the mac & cheese, knowing Juliet will help out with that. She is also the reason I order the Roasted Marrow Bones with grilled bread. For a while now, she’s extolled the virtues of bone marrow and I’ll be damned if she gets all the fun.

My lamb is quite nice and juicy, with no gamey taste. There’s nothing special about it, but it hits the spot and is prepared perfectly. The mac & cheese is out of this world. Just the right amount of crispy crust and noodles swimming in deep, earthy cheese. Yum! Just for fun, I try Steve’s steak tartare. Previously I’ve shied away from eating raw beef because it just seems a little too extreme. Not so! It is phenomenally good, with Worcestershire sauce, onions, capers, raw egg, and other herbs and seasonings...a creamy, rich, and surprisingly spicy delight.

There’s a glitch with the bone marrow; our server forgets to put the order in. No matter. I decide to have it for dessert instead. What appears to be a leg bone from some animal (too big for cow...human?), split in two, arrives on a platter with scorched toast. Taking instruction from Juliet, I scoop out the gooey, gelatinous marrow and spread it on a piece of bread. The toast is too overdone, black on some parts, and the marrow tastes like...nothing. Honestly, it tastes like fat that isn’t particularly rich. It’s not even buttery. The scorched bits of bread overwhelm it until it becomes nothing more than sensation. I can take it or leave it.

Thankfully, almost on a dare, Steve orders escargot for dessert. (He does it because he knows I’ve never tried them, and had debated ordering them.) A little platter filled with pools of green, swampy potholes comes out of the kitch not long after. Again, I must take someone else’s direction. Stick a tiny fork into one of the potholes and fish out a lump of snail, dripping in white wine, butter, garlic and mixed green herbs so that it looks like something out of Swamp Thing, then shove it in your mouth. I am expecting a spongy eraser but the escargot is tender and chews quite nicely. The rich and heady green admixture in which it has marinated is delicious. Look at me! I want to shout. I’m eating snails!

Sadly, the meal is done and I am sinking fast. The lack of sleep from early flight and energetic travails around the city have caught up with me. We thank MJ and Steve for their generous hospitality, then catch a cab back to the hotel where visions of raw meat, cloven bones, and shell-less slugs dance in my head while I succumb to slumber.

She Fed:

After two long days on my feet working an event, I am anticipating a fabulous fun-filled weekend in Manhattan with Jeremy. And what a way to kick if off! Tonight we are meeting new friends MJ and Steve for jazz and dinner afterward. We are to meet at Birdland, a well-known jazz club promptly at 5 pm. Every Friday night Birdland features "The Birdland Big Band" formed by several musicians that play in Broadway shows. With time to kill in between travelling to the city and their respective curtain calls, these musicians have figured a way to warm up and make a few bucks at the same time. So the band plays a couple sets at Birdland and then heads out individually to their various Broadway gigs for the night. The plan is for us to enjoy the Birdland Big Band show and then hit a nearby eatery after all the Broadway shows have started, in order to avoid the crowds. Brilliant!

As luck would have it, I am running behind and by the time I get to the hotel and freshen up, we are a few minutes late. Traffic doesn't help (my feet were screaming for a cab instead of a long walk) and we arrive to Birdland closer to 5:30 pm. No worries, as MJ and Steve have secured a great table. We sit down and Jeremy orders a bottle of champagne to celebrate the night. It occurs to me at this point that I was so focused on getting to the hotel and changing that I didn't give him much of a greeting after being gone for three days. Hopefully the squeeze I give his knee under the table lets him know I appreciate the gesture of bubbly.

The lights are dimmed and we are immersed in jazz for over an hour, probably closer to 90 minutes. Now in all honesty, Jeremy and I don't know that much about jazz and have had minimal exposure to it here in Grand Rapids. Some of the pieces are recognizable, but more of them are new to me. I enjoy the music a great deal and find myself drawn to the musicians and appreciative of the effort they're putting into this. I never realized how intensely physical it is to play an instrument, and marvel at their talent and dedication. Before we know it, the band's sets are over and they're heading out to their "real" jobs now. We finish our drinks and begin talking about where we might have dinner.

MJ and Steve had suggested Joe Allen the night before, but tonight also offer up a steakhouse and a seafood place. Both Jeremy and I like the sound of Joe Allen, a local neighborhood place that MJ and Steven frequent. It's just a few blocks away and we talk as we stroll up the block, enjoying the warm night air. It's an incredible night for a walk.

There's just a teeny wait for a table, so we sit at the bar for a round and cool our heels. MJ and I share a half-bottle of the Cuvee St. Anne and the boys order beers. The atmosphere at Joe Allen's is casual and friendly. MJ tells the story of their friend that introduced them to the place years ago and described Joe Allen's as his "living room away from home". I don't know if it's fatigue from three long days away from home, all the champagne or the ambiance, but I do feel very relaxed and right at home.

As I drain my glass, our table is ready and we sit at a cozy four top and peruse the menu. Steve orders a bottle of the Sonoma Zinfandel to share with MJ and I, while Jeremy opts to stick with beer for the night. I'm debating between the Thai veggie dish, the pasta with eggplant and sausage or the steak. When Jeremy quizzes our waiter about what's good, he steers us away from the Thai dish so I go for the steak frittes.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Jeremy decides to start with an order of the roasted bone marrow and MJ orders the endive and watercress salad as a starter. She offers to share some salad which is quite yummy. The greens are bitter and crunchy and contrast with the creamy tartness of the roquefort blobs scattered throughout. The zinfandel pairs really nicely with the salad as well.

Our entrees arrive and Jeremy has ordered a side of macaroni and cheese for the table to share. I must have missed it on the menu which is unusual given my "mac 'n cheese radar" ability. My strip steak is cooked perfectly to medium rare and has a good hearty flavor. I'm not a big fan of the red wine reduction on the side and skip it. The fries are some of the best I've had and find myself daubing them, not in the red wine reduction, but in the steak drippings. Amazing? Absolutely.

The macaroni and cheese is outstanding and I'm so glad Jeremy ordered it. It's baked in a little gratin dish and boasts a crispy, crackle-y bread crumb topping. I eat entirely too much of it considering I also devour half my steak and nearly all my fries. I also enjoy a bite of Steve beef tartare which is not at all what I expect. It's salty with brine from the capers and pungent with raw onions...really quite lovely spread on a piece of toasty bread.

Midway through dinner we realize the marrow bones never arrived. Our waiter offers to cancel them, but Jeremy wants to try marrow for the first time. Steven and Jeremy decide to have escargot and marrow for dessert! Somewhere during all this dining debauchery, a second bottle of zin arrives. The boys share the escargot and I dive in to the marrow bones. This marrow is more like beef fat than any marrow I've had before; it's clear and quite greasy. Pretty good schmeared on the accompanying grilled bread, but not the best I've had. I've hit the wall both with wine and food. Time for a cab to the hotel and a good night's slumber.

Joe Allen's is a wonderful treat and something we never would have discovered without MJ and Steven's recommendation. This is a perfect beginning to our weekend in the Big Apple.

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Les Halles

(New York, NY) There is something magical about New York City. It might have to do with the mythological landscape, the incredible bustle of activity, or how lucky we get with the weather every time we visit. This trip is no exception. I shed my coat and enjoy near-70 degree sunshine in Central Park before hoofing it two miles for my solo lunch appointment (Juliet is tied up with business) at Les Halles. I am anxious to find out if Anthony Bourdain’s French brasserie stands up to scrutiny, or succumbs to cliché...


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He Fed:
From the outside, Les Halles represents that pitch-perfect brasserie you’d find on almost any street in Paris. Many people in dark glasses are clogging the patio tables, enjoying the sun under sheltering umbrellas. I doubt I’ll be able to score one of these seats, but that’s okay. I’m a bit sweaty after my two mile jaunt.

A smiling hostess greets me just inside, where all is dark wood and cool comfort. She leads me all the way in the back to a small table, where I squeeze into a booth seat. I do find it curious that I’ve been given a place tucked away, but don’t dwell on it. (As I experience later, this seems to be a theme for nearly all of our OpenTable reservations. Are restaurants segregating us, or is it my rampant paranoia?) In fact, it’s nice to be somewhat secluded and I get better shots of the restaurant.

My server arrives to ask if I’d like anything to drink. Heck yes! I need water after the long walk and some sparkling rosé to stir the palate. He brings me a pink wine and I take a sip. No bubbles? Maybe I ordered the wrong thing or he didn’t hear me correctly. A young lady who looks like the assistant manager sees my look of consternation. “Are you ready to order?” After I query which is better–the grilled calamari or the braised octopus–I ask if I’ve been given the sparkling rosé. Nope. She takes it away, and moments later my waiter is back with the real thing, all apologies. No harm done.

In no time at all, the braised octopus (her recommendation) comes out of the kitchen. I had expected some unique preparation or different cuts of tentacles, but these seem to be simple unbreaded calamari in a dark sauce. The sauce is amazing, with tomato, black olives, onion, and wine. The octopuses are a bit overcooked, however. I chew (and chew and chew) them half-heartedly before sopping up the sauce with the delicious French bread slices.

Then my one true love comes calling: Croque Madame. Ever since I had a slice of Juliet’s sandwich in Las Vegas, I’ve wanted my own. Ham and melted Gruyere between grilled pieces of bread, over which a sunny-side-up fried egg has been carefully perched, so that when you slice down the middle, the yolk runs into the center, coating everything in silky smooth golden richness. After the first bite, the octopus is forgotten. Salty, ephemeral ham mixes with slightly crispy cheese and butter-soaked bread. I am transported back to France and nearly giggling with delight like a love-stricken schoolgirl. The pommes frites are likewise amazing: evenly cut, crispy exterior, creamy potato interior, perfection.

There is some confusion over a glass of Côtes du Rhône I order with another server, who checked up on me when my waiter was otherwise engaged...but then he comes back to ask if I’d like anything else to drink while I’m still waiting for the wine. I get the distinct feeling that (a) he’s new, (b) he’s avoiding me, (c) there’s not much communication between staff. The confusion intensifies when another gentleman, who I take to be the manager, asks if I’d like dessert. No way, I think. I’ve got a big dinner tonight and more meals over the weekend. No way I’m ordering dessert. “What do you have?” I hear myself asking. Must be the wine talking.

Not long after this revolt of my splintered psyche, dessert arrives in the form of a traditional apple tart with vanilla ice cream on top. This is something Juliet would order, ordinarily. Maybe she’ll be jealous when she hears about it. It is warm and comforting...much in the way that Les Halles must be to some folks who yearn for straightforward Parisian fare. There’s nothing fancy going on here and despite some server incongruities, I’d love to try Bourdain’s old haunt for dinner (or breakfast!) sometime when I’m next in Manhattan.

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The Green Well

(Grand Rapids, MI) Although we've been to The Green Well a few times since it opened a couple years back, we thought it was due a proper review. Time and place finally clicked when our good friends T and Merry had a Sunday free. We caught a movie, then headed to "East" for what we hoped would be a spectacular early dinner...


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He Fed:
It's funny going to popular restaurants very early. If you're past lunch, but not quite to regular dinner hour, it's a kind of no-man's land...when servers are going off shift, and bleary-eyed new ones fill their shoes...when only one in 10 tables are filled with other patrons...when the bartender watches basketball with other barflies. Has that ever happened to you? It seems like a universal given: eat at off-peak hours, get lesser service.

Not so at The Green Well. A hostess promptly greets and seats us, followed by our server who shuttles over menus and printouts for the specials of the day. I start off with a Short's Pineapple Pilsner while we peruse the offerings and talk about the movie. After some leisurely discussion, we opt to try the Breads & Spreads, along with Vegetable Pot Stickers, to start. The hearty, grain-laden slices of bread from Tribeca Oven arrive with dips of bean, brocolli cheese, and quinoa, all of which are creamy and delicious (not to mention vegetarian friendly). However, the pot stickers are out of this world. Spicy with crisp carrot shreds, soft and pliable, not at all like the usual snappy, pan-seared dumplings you get at Chinese restaurants, but still deeply satisfying.

I'm torn between a couple different dishes. Should I maintain the vegetarian theme? The bacon-wrapped meatloaf sandwich sounds amazing, though. The Veggie Hash, with smoky spatzle, creeps up on my to-do list. I am also strangely craving fish, and the Southern Clam Bake calls my name. Could I be that brave? In the end, I veer toward the Barbequed Braised Pork at the last minute. Snap decision. Or, as it turns out, Fate.

After our apps, I'm not terribly hungry but I can eat. The pork comes in a monstrous bowl, however. That's a lot of food! It is very pretty, too, with the brown pork drizzled with red barbeque sauce, topped with braised greens, all swimming in a virtual lake of polenta. It's almost too beautiful to disrupt but everyone else is digging into their dinners, so I take a forkful.

Wow.

The spicy sauce and meat mixes with the sharp tang of the greens, and all of it is soothed by the creamy, cheesy polenta with sweet corn sprinkled in to lighten the mood. There is another surprise, though. Zing! Chunks of andouille sausage punch up the dish with spicy, juicy, greasy goodness. My mouth is on fire, but craving more. The chunks of pork are done perfectly, each large chunk surrendering to my fork, flaking away to reveal succulent flesh. My head is spinning. This is beyond good.

This is one of the best dishes I've ever had.

There, I said it. What began as a fluke (Fate!) turns out to be the best choice I've made in a while. I beg everyone else to try some; I can't keep a good thing like this to myself, can I? (Even now, as I write this, my mouth is watering at the memory.) T seems to enjoy the Brazilian Black Bean Stew (with an egg on top!), and Merry really likes her Pork Tenderloin (with sweet potato fries!). Sadly, I don't have any room for a bite of Juliet's bacon-wrapped meatloaf sandwich.

In the final analysis, The Green Well delivers and delivers well. I've had slightly "off" service in past, and food that didn't seem fully conceived, but all of that is behind me now. As long as it is on the menu, I will have a very tough time ordering anything other than the Barbequed Braised Pork. Highly recommended.

She Fed:
We arrive at The Green Well before 5 pm and are clearly "early birds" for dinner. We're seated promptly, smack in the middle of the restaruant so we have a great view of the whole place.

We start with two apps for the table: the potstickers and the trio of spreads and breads. The potstickers are a bit skimpy on the filling and the sauce is extremely sweet, but the veggies – thin strips of multicolored bell peppers, carrots and bok choy, are delicious and still crunchy. If the sauce wasn't so sweet, I'd like a stir-fry of those veggies over rice as a main course. Really yummy.

The breads and spreads platter is piled with herbed cracker/lavash, toasted white bread, and a grilled brown multigrain. The multigrain is hands-down the best bread I've ever, ever had. It's so good I am compelled to ask our waiter where it's sourced from and he responds "Tribeca Bread Co." (I have a trip to Manhattan this week and begin calculating how many loaves I can fit in my suitcase.) The three spreads on the platter each have their own unique flavor profile. The black bean dip is light and tasty, not at all like so many heavy, overly-filling bean dips. The goat cheese broccoli spread is a lovely bright green and tastes fresh and creamy. But it has long slippery slices of cooked onions in it which makes it difficult to scoop up. The cheesy quinoa dip is ,cheesy but with a bit of texture, as if the quinoa has been blended well. I feel virtuous, digging in knowing all those great nutrients in quinoa are within.

For my main, I order today's special: the meatloaf sandwich. It's a dreary Sunday afternoon and winter just won't freakin' die – seems like a meatloaf sandwich kinda day to me! I order a cup of tomato basil soup as well. We're still picking (okay, I'm doing most of the picking) at the bread when our entrees arrive.

The meatloaf is on lightly toasted ciabatta bread with a tangy tomato sauce and a mild cheese, maybe provolone. There are slices of tasty bacon, once securely wrapped around the entire meatloaf but now freed from captivity after the loaf was sliced up, sticking out from the bread all akimbo. It's messy to eat, what with the moist meatloaf, the tomato sauce, loosey goosey bacon and bread with a boatload of holes in it. But I am not easily scared away and devour the entire sandwich. Actually I put down the second half after a few bites and declare, "I'm full. I should stop eating this." And a few minutes later I pick it back up and finish it. There are some "housemade chips" served with the sandwich. I assumed they'd be potato chips and am surprised to discover they are closer to pita chips. The chips are still warm (from the oven or fryer) and well-seasoned.

The tomato bisque soup is quite good. Nice and warm and exactly what you want on a drizzly day. And it's even better with the house chips crumbled on top.

Our server is prompt and efficient, but not overly friendly. He's not rude; just doing his job and doing it well, but not here to make friends. I respect that, though I tend to like servers we can interact with a bit more. The decor is slightly eclectic and the acoustics are pretty good, but as the restaurant fills it becomes more and more difficult to hear.

Everyone at the table agrees their food was extremely good and we are much too full for dessert, though they all sound tempting. Green Well is definitely worth a repeat visit.

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