Table for Two

I recently read that the restaurant as we know it today didn’t exist until the late 18^th century. For a New Yorker like me that’s like learning that air didn’t exist until Eisenhower administration. How could there be a time without restaurants? How can there be life without what has become our alternative kitchens and dining rooms?

Adam Gopnick in his book, “The Table Comes First,” reminds us that many of our life milestones happen in restaurants: first dates, engagements, break-ups, job offers etc. But for me it’s the smaller moments that I remember.  

Back in the 70s when I was a child, it was truly a rare occurrence to dine out. About twice a year on special occasions my mom would take my sister and me to Joy Teang, our local Chinese joint on Ralph Avenue. It was a darkly lit white tablecloth establishment with lots of oriental décor. As we tucked into our egg rolls, spare ribs and Lobster Cantonese I felt like I had been transported to a foreign land. But one night we had a different kind of adventure when we witnessed a hold-up. An armed, masked man came in and demanded the cash from the till. We all watched as he dashed out as quickly as he had appeared. A few moments later the police arrived. We never moved. It was just more entertainment and we devoured our meal.

Meanwhile, somewhere on the upper east side of Manhattan, my bachelor dad was spending most of his lunches and dinners rubbing elbows with the glitterati in the finest restaurants of the day. In fact, for decades, his caricature adorned the walls of the original Palm.

Weekends with my father meant trying some new kind of food. This thrilled me and horrified the less adventurous palette of my sister. One week it was raw squid in the city’s first Japanese restaurant. The next time it was a sampler platter of tacos, enchiladas, chile relleno and refried beans during my first Mexican experience. And in the summer we’d drive out to Sheepshead Bay and sample dozens and dozens of clams and oysters at Lundy’s.

A rare occurrence: my whole family out to dinner. Circa 1967

My father and I were in our glory dining out. And it was during one of our dinners out that – for the first time –I realized how alike we were. For us, food was magical, spiritual, powerful, and mystical and had the capacity to change our mood. Of course, I was to learn that this had mixed consequences.

Over the years I’ve attempted to analyze the allure of the restaurant. Why do I and millions others flock to restaurants not only to mark the memorable moments of our lives, but to treat ourselves and – of course – to find sustenance. In a world in which we are responsible for each and every minute of our lives: get up on time, make your bed, clean yourself, get dressed, catch the subway, get off the right stop, work your ass off, return emails, pick up your drycleaning, pay your bills, plan your vacation on-line, meet your friends, find your keys, ad infinitum, it’s nice to sit down and take a few hours off and let someone else (or a well-trained team of professionals) satisfy your needs. What a beautiful concept! You take a seat in a lovely room, someone hands you a printed list of what they are prepared to make for you, you tell someone who comes right to your side what you want, they bring it to you, you eat it and all you have to do is whip out some piece of plastic and figure out a tip in the end. 

And like that robbery in the 70s, restaurants also provide a vast amount of entertainment – usually in the form of people-watching. I’ve seen oodles of celebrities dining by my side (or drinking at the bar!) I’ve overheard outrageous conversations and run into old friends. And, I once witnessed a man have a heart attack and be carried out of Josephine’s – the luxe French bistro owned by the illegitimate son of Josephine Baker.  The owner followed the gurney as it weaved in and out of the tables and exclaimed in a thick Parisian accent, “…only in New York!” I’m still not sure what he meant by this but I will surely never forget it.  

Life happens at restaurants like nowhere else. You can choose to fill your belly with comfort food, fuel your body with nutritious fare or send your taste buds on an exotic holiday. You can date, reunite, celebrate and plan while sharing these experience with scores of strangers (some stranger than others.)  Other that the transporter from Star Trek, I know of no other vehicle that gives you such power to transform a moment in time.

I believe that one of the reasons I have stayed in this crazy, crowded, noisy, expensive city is for the restaurants. Unlike my late father, I do not frequent the finer dining rooms or the “it” spots of the week.  But living here means that at any time of the day (or even night, in most cases,) I can have whatever cuisine I desire.  My favorite coconut bun or hand-stretched noodles are just a 15-minute walk away in Chinatown.  I can order escargot until 2 am at one of the three (that I know of) French bistros in my neighborhood. When I feel like Italian I can choose between northern, southern, casual or haute cuisine. I can eat vegetarian, macrobiotic and vegan at a variety of places.  And, I am proud to have a favorite Vietnamese restaurant when most of America probably has never even tasted a Vietnamese meal.

That’s why as an adult, I was so proud to be able to return the favor to my father, to continue his legacy. When he used to visit me from his adopted home in Maine, I would set up a crowded itinerary of all the restaurants to hit. Our time together would be a mini road trip up and down the streets of Manhattan sampling as much exotic fare as we could stomach – trying to digest all the foods that were unheard of in Kennebunkport. I remember finishing a four-course Indonesian meal and stopping off for a piece of authentic New York pizza on the way home. This is how we bonded.

When my father was sick with bladder cancer, I would try to buoy his spirits by promising that as soon as he recovered I would take him on yet another tour of my favorite New York restaurants. He’d smile weakly thinking about all the great meals he had enjoyed over the years all over the world. He’d been fortunate enough to sit down at tables in Hong Kong, Israel, Italy, Mexico, France and many more places I probably don’t even know about.  I believe he remembered each meal in fanatical detail and would often attempt to recreate them in his own kitchen. At times, I was fortunate enough to be served his attempts. But deep down, he and I both knew that these culinary adventures were in his past.

A few months later as I stood in front of a room full of mourners reading the words I had carefully, lovingly written to remember my father, I chose to share what I realized was my fondest memory of our time together. He had just emigrated to Kennebunk, Maine. When my sister and I came to visit he wanted to show off his new home and took us to the Cape Arundel Inn (in view of the Bush’s vast compound, he pointed out.)  I was enjoying an amazing meal of steamed clams, lobster and other delights when the dessert menu came. I studied it furiously for several minutes with my brow furrowed. My father looked over to me and asked what was wrong. I replied, “I can’t decide between the chocolate mousse and the lemon cheesecake.” It was then he said three words that I would carry with me forever: “get them both.”  And I did.

Those words have stayed with me because he was acknowledging our shared love of food and of the dining experiences. He wanted me to indulge and to be happy and he wanted to be the author of that joy.  And that is the reason why restaurants will always be a huge part of my life and continue occupy enormous real estate in my heart and mind.

 

 

Karen's favorite restaurants/best and worst dining experiences:

Current Faves

Mexican: The Little Place – my favorite local haunt. Family-run authentic joint on Warren and West Broadway.

Vietnamese: NhaTrang – Baxter between Bayard and Walker

Chinese: Great New York Noodletown – 28 Bowery

Comfort Food: Bubby’s – Hudson and North Moore (skip the brunch to avoid crowds – but save room for dessert.)

Tex/Mex/Southern/Trailer Trash: Cowgirl Hall of Fame – Hudson and West 10^th  (nutty great place for events)

Haute Italian: Petrarca – Church St and White. Mellow and fab food.

Old Time Italian – Arturo’s – West Houston and Thompson (mobster ambience and jazz!)

Greek: Kyclades in Astoria – fresh fish done simply and deliciously. In Manhattan: Uncle Nicks on 8^th Ave and 29^th .

Ukrainian: Veselka – 2^nd Avenue and 9^th Street. Borscht and pierogies say no more.

Spanish: El Coyote – 23^rd Street between 7-8^th. Real swanky, great lobster and paella.

Midtown Lunch: Lugo – 33^rd between 7-8^th. Good service, outdoor options and tasty small dishes along with amazing pizza.

Dining Experiences

Best: A shout out to my dear friend (and avid reader, Andrew) who FINALLY escorted me after a long-held bet to Lutece just months before it closed. I will probably never experience such exquisite service.

Worst: Nobu L. After years of anticipation, I finally booked a table on my birthday and was treated about as kindly as Leper at a germophobe convention. In a nearly empty restaurant, I was given a tiny table right next to the kitchen and bathroom. When I asked for a better table the seater left us for 3 minutes and came back to put us in the 2^nd worst table.  There’s no excuse for this kind of discrimination – especially years after a hot opening. Boo Hiss! Won’t ever go again.