wd-50

Hey folks, Jon here. I'm not one for genres. Be it music or food, our ever-changing and rapidly globalizing world is shattering the walls that used to help us comprehend what something "is". When someone tells me a band is Electronic Afro Funk, or a certain restaurant is Post Asian Fusion, I begin to wonder if these labels have any use. At the same time, saying something is Japanese food, or rock music, doesn't really help either. For all their trouble, genres allow us to experience something within certain bounds. They provide a certain set of expectations for our sensory perception. Yet, one particular genre sets out to destroy these expectations by playing off of them, and ultimately shattering them. I'm talking about what has come to be known as "molecular gastronomy". Its a mouth full. Molecular gastronomy incorporates scientific techniques into the culinary arena, and by doing so it reveals some of the mystery behind the process of cooking food. This opens a door where a chef can obliterate traditional culinary norms, while allowing for far more artistic expression. In New York, Wyle DuFresne is the mad-scientist in chief in the world of molecular gastronomy, and his Lower East Side resturaunt, wd-50, is his delicious laboratory.

In a way, wd-50 is much like Willy Wonka's factory, except your golden ticket better be your AMEX, because its not cheap. Like everyone's favorite reclusive candy mogul, DuFresne takes typical fare, like eggs benedict or pastrami on rye, and transforms it into something completely different, yet at the same time totally familiar. While this is all good fun, and really interesting, it was just a little too cheeky for me at times. When you spend the kind of money that wd-50 will cost you, you want something that, in the end, tastes great, rather than makes you chuckle at how ironic it is.

To start we ordered his famous eggs benedict. Eggs benedict is perhaps one of the most universally available dishes. It can be found at nearly every brunch spot in America, and every chef who has a right to that title knows how to make it. This sort of fodder is prime for Dufresne - stuff we know, stuff we have a certain set of expectations for. This dish was definitely a great example of where molecular gastronomy works. Dufresne takes the hollandaise sauce and deep fries it, so that you have a crispy square, that once bitten into explodes in your mouth. It's almost like a gourmet "gusher", those irresistible gummies from my youth. The dish is also deconstructed, a theme that runs throughout the entire genre. Egg here, bacon there, sauce over there. Sometimes, like here for example, this works well, because it allows for the diner to appreciate individual tastes in what is generally a grouped item. Other times it's just cheesy. There's no reason to have a piece of ground beef on one side of the plate, a piece of cheese on the other, and a crouton artistically laid in the middle. Just give me a fucking cheeseburger, and cut the shit.

The other appetizer was also great. In the spirit of its Lower East Side location, Dufresne plays off of one of my personal faves, the power and the glory that is the Katz's Deli corned beef on rye. (See Below for an unapologetically raving review) Instead of corned beef, DuFresne offers up Corned Duck on a Rye Crisp with Horseradish Cream and Purple Mustard. You can't lose with cured meat folks, it's really that simple. The duck adds a certain depth of flavor that you don't get with standard corned beef. You can't invoke the spirit of the sandwich without mustard, and the purple mustard and horseradish give it a real nice kick. Still, I'm going with Katz's any day.

Unfortunately, I think at that point my meal hit a peak. The entrees were certainly good, they just seemed to fall a little short of my expectations, which were ironically to shatter my expectations. I ordered Wagyu skirt steak with long bean, tamarind, and peanut butter pasta. Sure, the steak was perfectly cooked and was a fabulous cut. I understand that peanut butter and steak are an established flavor combination that works (satay). But at this point, I began to ask myself, do I really want to be eating peanut butter noodles? At a certain point, a line is crossed between a dish that is whimsical and a dish that is unnecessary and a forced transformation into something it is not. My dinner guest ordered the scallops with pine noodle udon and chinese broccoli. What I enjoyed about this dish was that it wasn't too complex, or overly cerebral. Just perfectly seared scallops in a unique and refreshing broth. Enjoyable, but not outstanding.

For dessert, I indulged in the hazelnut tart with coconut chocolate and chicory. This is one of those dishes with Dufresne's trademark foams. While the tart was certainly decadent and delicious, the foam really didn't do it for me. Foam is just a peculiar texture, and not one I'm super enthusiastic about eating, regardless of the flavor.

All in all, wd-50, Dufresne, molecular gastronomy, the whole deal just was a little too tongue in cheek for me. I think this restaurant is best suited for his six million course tasting menu, only it'll cost you your first born. Largely, that's because this fare is perhaps best suited to small plates, which is why I was more thrilled with the appetizers. It's almost like, "Oh, wow, look at that" or "Geez, how did he do that!", but not necessarily something you want a whole meal of. Still, if your feeling adventurous and are tired of food being just something to eat, wd-50 brings a spectacle to dining that everyone should witness at least once. Until next time, stay hungry out there folks.

Report Card:

Food: A-

Service: A-

Atmosphere: B

Price: C

Overall: B

Raj Mahal

Hey folks, Jon here. I had no intention on writing this blog post. You see, its not every meal that makes its way to this site. I have neither the time, money, or culinary prowess for such an undertaking. Tonight, I ate at Raj Mahal, with no intention of blogging the details afterwards. However, I feel obliged to you, my good readers, to tell you a little about my dinner. No restaurant has ever given me such mixed signals, so intensely liking and disliking a place at the same time. 

We arrive at Raj Mahal, located on East 6th Street in the heart of what is affectionately known as "Curry Row". Since I moved to the East Village, I have been itching to try one of these places, and so I did. Through a cursory glance at various internet publications ("menupages.com", "yelp.com", and the like) I decided upon Raj Mahal. Unfortunately, I don't have photos for you. Sorry, I'll try and be as descriptive as I can. Really, it wasn't the food that was so remarkable about this place, it was everything else. 

Okay lets start with the positives. If you've ever walked through this part of the East Village, you know the scene. Over-anxious Indian men crowd the sidewalks, yelling and grabbing at anyone that crosses their path. I've even seen some of them get into fights, out do-ing each other by offering prices, specials, sexual favors... they really want your business. While its certainly true there is something charming about that experience, it often falls upon deaf ears and cold stares. This is New York City after all. So, to approach with the intent to enter, made me feel like I was doing something good. They were the Babu Bhatt to my Jerry Seinfeld. 

Inside I was immediately overjoyed at the sight of two Indian men playing a sitar and a drum. Personally, I love this sort of thing. It could be my love for all things George Harrison, my fascination with Eastern philosophy,  or both. I often tune into the classical Indian or Iranian stations on Itunes and tune out. Suffice to say, that was awesome, and I may go back, just to ask if I can jam out with those dudes. 

But perhaps the thing that I loved and hated the most was that it was truly a wormhole into Mumbai. Everything about this place was 100% authentically Indian. On one hand, thats great. I often remark that I love New York City because of this very phenomenon. Nowhere else in the world shares that ability to instantly produce such a multitude of authentic global cuisines. Most of the food we ordered had a very homemade feel to it. It was almost like eating in somebody's kitchen on any weekday night in India. The Chicken Sobzi was a well flavored stew, which was perfect over the buttery rice and some fresh nan. The Chicken Tandoori was good, nothing out of this world, but not terrible. Its burnt orange hue and unique spiciness really demonstrate the classic technique of its traditional clay pot namesake. Most of all, the place wasn't every other post-modern, neo-architectural trendy spot. New York is littered with far too many of those places, replacing quaintness with pseudo style. On the other hand....

I knew something was wrong about three minutes into my meal. My friend alerted me to a sight I wish I hadn't seen. Scurrying its way across the wall behind us was a rather large cockroach. Thats just not something you wanna see while your eating. Suddenly all the charm of this place turned into trepidation. Was I eating something I shouldn't be? Were there more behind me? I was uneasy to say the least. For my friend it was simply too much. He never regained his appetite, and I'm pretty sure he'll never eat at Raj Mahal again. The only thing that comforted me was to pretend like I was in Mumbai, and realizing that far worse natural unpleasantries could be between me and my chicken than one small bug. My only option was to put it out of my mind, and stop being a whiny Manhattanite. But come on, cockroaches? Really? Clean your shit up Raj Mahal, no excuses for that sort of thing in the NYC restaurant biz. The place is rather dingy too, and dimly lit to boot. That's not always a bad thing. It is when there's insects about. Further, the table settings look as if they hadn't been changed since 1975, with glasses and plates that went out of fashion long ago. I can't decide if I like that, or if it goes to its general skeeviness. 

Another thing that was a little unsettling was my stomach. Minutes after leaving I began to feel a little queasy, which was only exacerbated by the realization that my illness could have been directly related to Raj Mahal. On reflection, there was something a little odd about the bone structure of my chicken. I've eaten my fair share of chickens in my day, but I'd never seen one that looked quite like this. It was almost like a squab, or a NYC squab, A.K.A. pigeon. Whatever it was it tasted good, but I'm definitely suspicious as to its origins. 

The bottom line is this; if you are the sort of person that would be bothered by questionable food, less than stellar cleanliness, and general disconcert for modern culinary conventions, this place isn't for you. But if you eat street food all the time, know and employ the "five second rule," and enjoy ethnic cuisine you should check it out. Still, I'm torn on this one. On return to those very internet sites that referred me to Raj Mahal, I noticed something I missed before. All of them read, "great takeout". Until next time, stay hungry. 

Food: B

Atmosphere: Either an A or a C, I really can't say. 

Service: A-

Price: A- 

 

Overall: You be the judge, I'm sitting this one out.