Claret: Helping you to see the Sunny Side of life since December 2008

According to Wikipedia (a most, uh, reliable source), Claret is a name primarily used in British English for red wine from the Bordeaux region. Claret is also a winebar in Sunnyside, Queens on Skillman. Perched on a cute tree-lined corner, Claret offers outdoor seating in the nicer weather and odd interior seating year-round. I say odd because there's a lot more standing space than seating, which is odd considering it totes itself as a wine bar, not a bar-bar.

Now, while I felt their Cote de Rhone was a little overpriced ($10 for a class), the tempranillo that I consumed was delectable and, as stated on the menu, paired beautifully with the prosciutto, ricotta, fig and hazelnut open sandwich I ordered. However, based on what I tasted, the best thing on the menu was the black truffle macaroni and cheese. Oh man, not too much truffle oil, just enough, and the "cheese" part was gruyere, which is one of my absolute favorites. The hummus was okay, a little too oily and the pita served with it tasted a little too "packaged." Average NYC prices for wine and a pretty decent selection, a strong beer list (especially for a "wine" bar) for those who don't enjoy a glass of white, red, or pink, and excellent food with an option of a tapas for 2 as well as cheese platters (in various sizes, which is nice), and an uber sweet dessert menu. (How romantic.) A good date place--share the food, don't share the wine, or a good place to chillax with some friends and catch up. Can get a little loud though, especially with the music which my friends and I felt was a little much. I really liked the artwork on the walls. I'd go back, especially because I'd like to check out the rest of Skillman--seems pretty hopping, even in the rain!

www.claretwinebar.com

Lavagna. Like Lasagna with a V

Brad and I went to Lavagna last night. Possibly my favorite tucked-away restaurant in Manhattan for bang for buck. And it's Italian, which is surprising for me, because I'm not necessarily a proponent of Italian restaurants. We drove into Alphabet City (the restaurant is on 5th Street between Ave. A and Ave. B, which usually is fine but turned out to be a mistake, for the parking outlook was quite abysmal. After driving around for at least twenty minutes, we finally parked and walked over. Slightly annoyed with the parking experience, we then were seated at a table touching elbows on either side right next to the kitchen. It was as close as you can get to a German beer hall without a stein. Brad couldn't really hear me from across the table, but both of us could here the first date conversation taking place next to us. Yippeeeee.

However, waiters and waitresses were very attentive with the water, which is good, because Brad is a very dehydrated young fellow. We ordered: homemade pappardelle with rabbit and a glass of my favorite Malbec (Altos Las Hormigas). Brad ordered the same thing, as per usual. Well, when the food came, I forgot that I was cramped between a strange first date and a man in a long sleeved jean shirt. The rabbit was sweet and tender, the pasta was soft and smooth, and the wine was delectable. Man, oh, man. I ate as slowly as possibly, savoring the subtle taste of tyme and salt, and Brad commented that he could have eaten the entire portion in three bites: 1) because it was small, and 2) because it was delicious. He then continued that he wished he could have an entire plate of it. Ditto.

Sammie's Downtown: Rosie's Sidekick. Hold the Margarine

For anyone who has been to Bronxville, NY, you know that Rosie's is an old-Italian standby. Good food, naked-lady art, old people abound... but pleasant, predictable, and quite yummy. Not too long ago, Rosie's decided to open a sister restaurant named Sammie's. Also located in Bronxville, NY. Now, the only Sammie I know is Sammie the elephant at the Bronx Zoo. I used to visit Sammie with my grandfather every Wednesday after he was born. Why Wednesdays? Two reasons. 1) I went to Catholic school, so we got to leave at 1:00 every Wednesday so the "heathens" could come and get their CCD education. Ahh, alas, heathen doesn't mean what it used to, thanks to the new councilman in Bayside, Queens. Thank you Dan Halloran, for giving America yet another well-deserved vocabulary lesson!

But moving along... the second reason we went on Wednesdays is because the Bronx Zoo is free on Wednesdays, and my grandfather can't pass up anything that's free. Whether it be toothpaste, toilet paper, ice cream (we all walked around with our own pint this summer just to try and clear up some freezer space), or shampoo bottles from the Taj in Atlantic City... He basically runs a grocery store out of his basement. Which was very convenient when I was in college; I can't lie.

Anyway, so back to the restaurant Sammie's... So, I'm guessing in the daylight it looks like a Parisian coffee shop, but at nighttime it just looks like a haunted house gone bad. Red lights in the corners scream REDRUM REDRUM! and the rest of the lighting is non-existent. My seventh grade teacher taught me that people eat less when the lighting is dim, and this was no exception. Yet, I must explain that it wasn't because of the quality of the food. I ordered the Octopus Portuguese which was absolutely lovely. It was served with a salad and fried onions, more for display than anything else. The octopus was fresh, soft, and scrumptious. A simple dish. For an entree I ordered the salmon with steamed asparagus and both were delicious. Now, I'm not running off to marry this chef, but it was quite good. The French Bordeaux (red) got better as it opened up, but wasn't spectacular. The chocolate ganache truffle cake with Tahitian ice cream sounded better in description than in actuality. The cappuccino was typical restaurant cappuccino quality. I wasn't transported back to my days living in Italy, sipping cappuccino watching the world stroll by, but it did the trick.

So since it was nothing spectacular, why did I choose to write about it? Because of the beurre! Yes. I wrote this whole thing so I could end with a description of the butter they provide when they bring their bread offering to your table. Again, like the band KISS proclaims: Keep it simple, stupid! This whipped butter arrives looking like a melon ball. "Oh, I don't want to ruin my dinner!" you protest. But then you're waiting, and you're chatting, and you're waiting, and they bring you your wine. And what goes better with wine than bread? Every good Catholic knows that! So you sigh and resign yourself to choosing a slice of bread. So of course, since there's no olive oil on the table, you choose the butter. Now, my aunt, with whom I was dining, had to spread the butter on my bread for me since I still am having trouble moving my left arm... Damn you iv! and she spread a generous helping. So I take a bite and now I'm slightly transported to a happier time. What is this? Why does it taste so different? Do I like it? I need another bite. And another, and another, and another... So what is this miraculous butter? Rosie's, the original restaurant doesn't serve butter, they serve ricotta. But this, this is not ricotta. It's not unsalted... It's not like anything I've had in a restaurant before. Turns out, it's honey! Butter and honey whipped together, scooped up like a melon ball, and placed on your table, probably to sit there untouched by the ignorant until it finds its home in the trash later that night. Ladies and gentlemen, do not, I repeat, do not let this butter meet its usual fate! Cherish this butter, spread it generously over the soft, warm bread, and smile. Butter makes everything better!