 Judge
Vardigan from New York Redux
Judge
Vardigan in New York, May 2003
My New
York City report of 2000 recalls the fresh-faced days of the
Füd
Court, when fame and renown and inevitable decline were but hastily
sketched daydreams
and nightmares. Now all three of them have been written, directed, and run
out their box office stays. We're now entering The Great Return. Don't call
it a
comeback. Well, okay, call it that if you want. No one's telling me to knock
you out.
And
so I returned to New York with a serious füd agenda, determined
to put the suckers in fear. Or at least do some good eating.
Katz's Delicatessen
205
E. Houston St.
Katz's
was the last of the big three New York delis on my list, as I'd visited
2nd Ave. and Carnegie
on previous trips. Atmosphere-wise, Katz's
is the most chaotic and touristy. There's a confusing two-line
system in which you order your food in one line, then eat it, and then
get
in the other long line to pay on the way out, assuming you've
hung on to
your ticket with the price scrawled on it. I prefer the climate
at 2nd Ave., where it felt like there were some regulars, where
I saw people
see people they knew and go over to shake their hands and ask how
the soup was that day.
But
there's charm in the bustle at Katz's too. Circular signs dangle from
the ceiling reading, "Send a salami
to your boy in the Army." There
are wood walls covered with famous people pictures. I sat under
Furio from the Sopranos, which is amusing only because days later
I saw
the real breathing version of him in a bar.
 But
why am I talking about all this when there is pastrami to talk about?
Goes
for $10.50 and comes with a plate of pickles. Look at it! This pastrami
is so succulent,
fatty, and thick that I couldn't finish the
second half. It just overwhelmed me. It's a different ballgame here,
this pastrami. At other places, even at 2nd Ave., the pastrami seems
kind of pressed, with fat ribbons looking more like what you see in
bacon. Not here. It's all right in your face in thick, greasy slabs.
It's not
overly spiced like a lot of pastrami. They drop a few nice "end
pieces" in there, coated in a peppery rub, but in general they
are content to shove the unadorned meat argument in your face, and
it's pretty
goddamn convincing.
After
Katz's I headed in a pastrami haze for the even Lower East Side, where
I looked around and around for a coffee
shop to read the Times
in. The Lower East Side streets alternate grimy joints with places
that belong in Soho. I couldn't find a grimy coffee shop so instead
wound
up at a Soho-y one at Ludlow and Rivington. $3.50 for a latte and
it was one of those places that doesn't sell regular coffee. There
were
a bunch of little pillows against the window that you were supposed
to sit on but I didn't find them very comfortable and had to keep
adjusting. Opposite the window seats were these chairs that looked
like pommel horses.
I don't know how you'd go about sitting on them, but I hoped a gymnast
would run in any moment and perform a nice vault off one. There were
some hipped out kids in there who didn't seem to have jobs unless
looking hip was their job. They had the air of hungover leisure about
them.
Any
attempt at hipness on my part ended when I opened up the sports page.
If I knew the name of the place I'd tell you not to go there.
 Empire
Diner
W. 22nd St. and 10th Ave.
The
price you pay for a landmark - $10.50 for a two-item omelet. But how
can you pass it up after seeing it in the
opening montage
of "Manhattan"?
I stumbled upon it while jogging along the Chelsea Pier. In honor
of Woody Allen I shot the picture in black and white. Although
duly warned
by my gracious hostess Jennifer, I was still enraged by the omelet
price and opted instead for the $6.50 BLT, which she correctly
identified as
the only reasonable item on the menu. It came with a side salad
of beets. I sat at the counter and read the Times. Not a bad little
diner sitting.
If you're in the area, stop in for a coffee at the counter and
think of how good Woody is.
Corner
Bistro
331 W. 4th St., corner of Jane and 8th Ave.
This
place is Magistrate Tavee material through and through: burger, fries,
Coke. That's pretty much
all they have, and the acclaimed Bistro
Burger is the most expensive thing on the menu at five bucks. Arty
was unfazed by the shocking line that ran straight through from the
entrance to the back. This is how you wait for your table, you stand
there in
line with eaters on one side and the bar on the other. I suppose
it's social that way, but we didn't talk to anyone. Makes for good
people
watching I guess, and famous people often eat there. I don't know
if they stand in the line though. The burger was top-notch, and the
fries
-- this is almost too sinful to utter -- the fries tasted faintly
of bacon. I don't know if they sprinkle bacon drippings in the fry
grease
or what, but that's what they tasted like, and it was revelatory.
F&B güdt
food
269
W. 23rd St., near 8th Ave.
My grand hostess
Jennifer brought me here, informing me beforehand that it was "the
worst." She was
talking about ambience mainly, and about how hard and shamelessly
they try to lure you in with promises
of "great european street food." (everything lowercase,
of course.)
The interior was
indeed terrifying, bright and blue, various shades of blue. Then I
almost fell down when I saw this sign:
Oh
man! The umlauted "u"! And in this
place, this place that can barely claim to be serving füd at all.
Here is one of the things they offer: "healthy dog: smoked tofu
hot dog, hummus, grated carrot and black olives"
I…
That's
just not güdt!
We ordered
a couple of the veggie dogs (not that one) and sprinted out as fast
as possible. In fairness, the bite
I had of one
was not bad.
But there was something offensive about their smell, and
their very presence in the apartment, so I got out of there. When
I returned a while later
I didn't smell them anymore, and I didn't see the bag or
anything.
I asked, "What happened to those fake hot dogs?"
"
I had to get rid of them," said Jennifer.
" Wow."
" I literally had to remove them from the apartment."
" I understand."
And so they were banished and capital letters and proper hot dogs were
restored in our lives.
 Gray's
Papaya
402 6th Ave., at 8th St.
After
seeing Gray's featured on PBS's "The
Hot Dog Show" alongside
its uptown counterpart Papaya King, I wanted to visit them both and
do a comparison. This seemed even more important after the fake hot dog
trauma. Unfortunately I only made it to Gray's, but I'm lucky I even
made it there, as I just bumped into it one day wandering around the
Village. $2.45 gets you a dog and a cup of papaya juice. The dogs are
on the slim side but they're all quality, with that real snap when
you
bite in. I enjoyed the juice, which comes out of a big whirling machine
and has a froth that reminded me a bit of the sacred Orange Julius.
L'Annam Vietnamese Cuisine
121 University Place, at 13th St.
It's
hard to beat some of the great San Francisco Vietnamese place's we've
Courted over the years, but
L'Annam gave it a shot. I had the
large beef pho, a steal at $5.25. While it was no New
Loi's, it was pretty damn good. I dined there with Adam Wolf
Bassine and Jennifer Hope Stein, pictured here with me at the bar afterwards.
KumGangSan
Korean Restaurant
49 W. 32nd St., at Broadway
 To close
my trip in grand eating style, I dined gluttonously at KumGangSan with
Adam the Wolf and Magistrate Tavee.
Turns out I had been
here once before but under much more awkward conditions, and we had
ordered poorly.
Not this time.
It's
a wild, overrun place with multiple floors and a piano player perched
on a fake rock outcropping. The food is
over
the top too.
Just look here
at the wild array of side dishes you get with just about
any entrée.
I don't know what some of them were, but I tried nearly all
of them and most were good. One you'll recognize for sure
is the kimchi,
and they'll
bring you more if you're only comfortable eating that.
 We
had a multitude of things, but I'd like to focus on the table grill.
You
can see why. Yeah, that's
lobster in there!
We splurged
on the Seafood Combination ($26.95), which has lobster, squid, octopus,
giant shrimp, scallops,
and red
clams. For good measure
we added
the Bul Go Ki, thinly sliced marinated rib eye steak,
represented in the right half of the photo. There are also vegetables
to thrown on.
You can feel free to grill the stuff on your own, but
the
waitress or waiter will also tend to it and check up
and tell you when
it seems done.
We ate until we burst and everything was incredible.
Grilling at the table lends the whole meal a level of excitement
and comraderie.
We also
had some kind of pancake thing that Arty loves, and look
now, here's ole Arty eating one.
Don't
look so glum, Arty, I'll be back next spring!
Judge Vardigan
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