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The Odeon is the ultimate homage to the downtown old school. If you’ve lived in Manhattan over five years; you have been to this establishment many times over. The take-out is always perfect on say a Sunday night, ditto the brunch, and well just about anytime you can walk though the evening doors and sip a dirty martini and hit the Angus Hanger steak or New York Strip barsteak, well, that is a perfect New York night.
Last night, I read the New York Magazine’s revealing albeit entertaining profile. ”The Odeon introduced McNally’s vintage, salvage-based design sensibility and the then-novel combination of good food in a casual atmosphere. From the moment it opened, in 1980, the Odeon became the downtown nexus of post–Studio 54 early-eighties glamour. Janice Dickinson, the model, recalled a night when she strapped on a saddle and John Belushi rode her around the restaurant. It was at the Odeon that Jay McInerney would despoil his nose with Bolivian Marching Powder en route to writing Bright Lights, Big City.”
Take out was a great pleasure whilst in New York City. In my hood, I certainly had the creme of the crop. And, when I wanted something other than Lombardi’s (very rare); I would often hit up, Lil Frankies (brought to you by the folks at Frank restaurant) as a solid backup. It’s also a great place to sit down for dinner.
Damn, the handcrafted little meatballs pizza was choice (with tomatoe sauce, mozzarella and sage).
There is nothing quite like a big ole bowl of Max’s (51 Avenue B) homemade fettuccine with Max’s tomato sauce and a glass of red vines to make a grey day go away. What about the giant Max meatballs? Specials should never be missed. The fresh bread and tomatoe-olive oil spread. Man, do I miss Max. It’s a bowl of comfort. In the Spring, it’s great to sit outside in the back patio with a Peroni under clothing racks and tenement buildings.
The Shake Shack invasion of New York is throwing down take-out style in Nolita. Eek. Granted, Danny Meyers (a Midwesterner) endeavor cooks up a mean steak burger (much like what I grew up on in Kansas City at places such as Winsteads), still, it’s cropping up on holy ground. Old. Saint Patrick’s ground. Yes, I wish I concepted the idea, packaged and brought it to New York pearly gates. Still yet, the neighborhood already T-boned by long lines is about to further T- bone itself. The Villager reports Nolita nabes aren’t totally down with the idea:
“Residents of the historic Little Italy neighborhood of Nolita have reacted with a mixture of shock, dread and horror as news spread of the hamburger chain Shake Shack’s proposed location in the heart of the picturesque area,” read a press release from concerned neighbors, including the Little Italy Neighborhood Association and the Little Italy Restoration Association.
According to residents, the proposed outdoor seating area above the sidewalk-level eatery poses overcrowding and noise problems for the tenants living in an adjacent residential building, as well as for the 195-year-old St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral and cemetery directly across the street. Neighbors fear that without sufficient seating, the restaurant will force customers to flood the streets to scarf down their orders — disrupting the area’s quality of life and impinging on the historic church’s presence.”
As Bill Murray might conjure in Ghostbusters; “Nobody steps on a church in my town.” Bill, we need you. (a related piece on the No-Ness factor at the Nolitan.)
Lupa is one of those great joints for shaved meats and cheeses. I love it for lunch. It’s Batali at his most chill read: accessible. Beyond one meal when I over-dosed on carne, in this case cow’s brain. Otherwise, I’ve left with the most satisfying feeling. The pastas are al dente and perfectly seasoned. Sardines and tuna with cannellini beans. Rabbit sausage. Need I say more? The catch of the day, a whole roasted insanely fresh fish (bone in). If the Tomoe line is too long; please know you can always drop by for a glass of vines. The smell alone inside …I like to sit upfront at a communal table. Sneak in; sneak out. I’ve always had great meals with great friends at Lupa.
Baby Buddah was surprisingly orphaned a year and change ago when Mother Buddah morphed into a branch bank. Now the unthinkable (yet too common) has happened and thanks to the avarice of infamed Gottleib heirs another neighborhood institution has bit the West Village’s cobble stoned dust. If only the young guns held the preservationist honor of their uncle….Such neighborly staples as The Hog Pit and Buddah would remain as savory solutions to our greasy regional cravings. Our sidewalks are lined with giant Ripco billboards screaming, “PRIME RETAIL SPACE AVAILABLE” like etchings on cemetery tombstones. Bye Bye Baby Buddah. So long to your bizarre window topiary, your orange wedges, your General Tsao. We salute you.
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Abbie Kunath Park was bred on cheese steaks in center city Philly and spent her younger years on the shores of Lake Michigan. She landed in suburban NY just before the 80s hit. Post grad she hopped to the big city landing her first low rent apt on 6th Avenue just across from the famed 4th Street basketball courts and above Dallas Jones BBQ then onto spring and Thompson and her final low rent score on Mott street before marriage, pregnancy and current residence whereTortilla Flats serves as mess hall and childcare center to her two young children.
(image Abbie K Park)
Wednesday’s posts are turning into food related extravaganzas. I like it. A Saturday was always incomplete without someone eating Parisi Deli (209 Elizabeth Street). The amazing bread, thick and generous cuts of meats and cheeses. The main figure and family legacy, Joe tells jokes to the older Italian women while everyone laughs, the firemen come over in the morning and if you don’t arrive by 2 o’clock the bread is probably already gone.
Read an earlier post mentioning Parisi + Lunch spots here. And if you are still hungry, check out my Dinner scene.
If there is one thing I love; it’s a taco. But at the house of San Loco; it’s the Gauco Loco which keeps me missing that LES location. Great party and hangover food too. Since my departure from NYC, we have authenticated our own version of the Gauco which includes a taco shell with the fixings and wrapping a whole wheat flour tortilla loaded with Gauc around the hard shell. Absolutely insane!
Ahhh…the oyster. As I sit at my desk; these lovely gems are on my mind. Last Spring, I read the book The Big Oyster: History on the Half Shell which gives ample history about these tasty nugs. The history is deep as the sheer pleasure of the salty sea. The oyster is alive until it hits your mouth. I pucker as I think of the various types, my favorite of course being East Coast delights such as the Blue Point, Prince Edward and Malpeque. I’m more of a meaty oyster eater and while I’ll throw down an occaisonal Kumamoto, I appreciate the tenderness of larger shells. Regarding that East vs West Coast oyster rivalry; I would read a fun piece from Esquire here.
Healthy too! Oysters, especially ‘wild’, are excellent sources of several minerals, including zinc and selenium. Oh, vitamin D–which I seem to be lacking in copious amounts these days.
Per Eater NY (see: post) and off the cuff of Abbie’s earlier tip; it looks as if Baby Buddha will celebrate it’s last supper on 31 January. Tonight folks.
So long take out steamed dumplings.












