Fillet

Big City
Eats

Adam Powell

Last week, I started cracking up, going crazy, losing my marbles in the office and decided it was time for a vacation. The idea of a relaxed sojourn in Tahiti or Trinidad didn't appeal to me, so I decided to go the opposite route and headed for the most intense spot on the planet: New York City in mid-August. My mission? To eat, drink, sleep very little, and endlessly walk around for 72 hours.

First stop: the requisite nameless deli on Broadway for an egg sandwich with bacon and a "cuppa" coffee, $2.50. It tasted great, and they were pleased to serve me.

Lunchtime brought the next quest: the ultimate slice of pizza. I bypassed Ray's and even Ben's, and headed straight to Brooklyn. I managed to pacify my "traveling companion" with some tourism en route. We did the promenade thing and took a long walk through Brooklyn Heights. And indeed, I found the best slice I've ever tasted in Caroll Gardens at a place called Bolla. "It'sa all in the crust, you know," the proprietor told me with a huge smile. And right he was - thin enough for a crisp bottom but rising to a luscious, doughy top graced with herbs and fresh tomatoes.

Back in Manhattan, after East Village cocktails, we went west and dined at Café Greenwich restaurant (75 Greenwich Avenue, off of 7th and 11th). We were surprised by the good food and relatively reasonable prices. The big bonus is the round-the-clock service. The boomin' hip hop and mini dance area frequented by the waitstaff between orders completed our New York club-cum-café experience.

The next day, shopping in SOHO allowed for a convenient fine dining experience - the much discussed SOHO Grand Hotel lay in wait. The new chef, Michael Scheiman, has appointed the menu with a new style - French technique through a New England filter. Since I was there with Michael's brother Steven, I anticipated family treatment, whatever that may be. The decor is pleasant and mildly soothing, like someone's wealthy grandmother's dining room at a Sunday feast.

We ordered a couple glasses of the Schramsbourg Blanc de Blanc to begin, then we did the starters. I went for the Manhattan clam chowder, with Manilla clams ($9.50), hoping for some degree of authenticity in a mostly French repertoire. I was not let down; it was straight-up New England in its hearty, robust texture and flavor. Steven's marinated tomato salad with red and yellow tomatoes, arugala, aged goat cheese and Chianti vinaigrette ($12.00) was an excellent melody that upheld the individual tastes of each variety of tomato.

Steven's entree, the pan-roasted salmon with potato cake, mustard greens, and vegetable chowder sauce ($18.00) was outstanding. Here a heavy French influence was evident; the sauce was rich, buttery, and delectable. I had the cured and roasted pork loin ($17.50) with honey-glazed carrots, salsify, and buckwheat pancakes, which we agreed was the winner. This dish was less traditional, the buckwheat pancakes were quite light and combined deliciously with the honeyed carrots.

We shared three desserts: a citrus rice pudding with roasted peaches, blueberries, and fruit sauces; a warm chocolate cake with caramel ice cream and chocolate sorbet; and a banana split of caramelized bananas with an edible bowl and fruit compotes. All three were delicious, but the banana split was the most original (odd as that may sound). Put it this way: I'll never think of a banana split in the same way again.

We stayed up until 4 a.m. wandering the streets and watching the rats run away. I left the next morning, fat and happy, with my mission accomplished.

Adam Powell has a new marketing plan for Fillet.