Not Cheese
With so many different places to eat well in the city, why would someone return to the same place more than once? I suppose one answer would be that we are habitual and we seek familiarity. Another reason might be because of a particular restaurant’s consistent quality. For whatever reason, we returned again last night to Artisanal for a hearty bistro meal. Manchego will by now be perking up because, as all cheese heads know, Artisanal is one of the premier fromageries in New York. From the time we walked into the place until we left, the reek of ripe, ripening and aged cheese swathed us in its warm clammy embrace. The room is huge with tables on top of one another and with a noise level slightly louder than the No. 4 subway station at Grand Central. In the back is the famous cheese cave where the frommage oompa lumpas coddle their rinds. Music may have been playing in the background but I never heard it. The service was curt but respectful and our meal was neither too rushed nor excessively slow.
Our party of four sat in a central location but sadly, cannot report any celebrity sightings. Given the short distance between tables, however we were, unfortunately, able to listen in on all of the other conversations taking place around us. But that’s just the set up. Why do we go out? To eat of course.
We started with a very nice (cheap, oh so cheap) bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, then another, etc. and tasty Gougers served hot in a paper cone. Next we shared appetizers of sausage, rabbit and foie gras, quince paste, figs and lightly dressed greens. Fresh baked bread from Rachael’s and premium rocket-your-HTML-level butter accompanied the whole shebang.
For our entrées we had, going clockwise from the left, cassoulet, monkfish, braised duck and again cassoulet; all were delicious. We topped off the meal with mint tea and the table shared a tarte tatin with cheddar cheese crust.
Manchego now goes back to the beginning and searches for the cheese course, which, perhaps, has been inadvertently edited out.
Alas, we passed on the cheese. With the exception of the Gougers and the cheese in the pastry crust – we ate no cheese. We had no fondue, no Selles sur Cher, Artisanal, not even a small cabecou feuille.
In truth, the bistro portions overwhelmed us and by meal’s end we didn’t have the heart to select and then eat more. So shoot me why don’t cha?
New York now has so many good quality imported, local and hand-made cheeses that the city is lousy with the stuff. There was a time when you could only get your Velveta in either slices or in great yellow bricks. Now, on any Saturday morning at the local green market, we find smiling craftsmen from upstate who offer wonderful, leaf-wrapped, oozing, stinky globs of cheesy pudding. Even our local every-day supplier has a store that we can literally see from our front stoop. Her selection of cheeses is remarkably overwhelming and plentiful.
Notwithstanding the cheese pass, we had a brilliant meal.
Champurrado rating: 2 tamales
posted by Champurrado at 11:31 AM
12 Comments:
How many tamales does your ratings system have? Is four tamales the max? Or is it five? And could you come up with a visual logo of little tamales maybe? Thank you.
I am in cheese heaven, dear C. I have a need to stick with non cow cheeses and this is the place to be since I can find real Roquefort at the corner store for one 20th of what it costs at home. It is heaven! Then, there is the goat yogurts! Rhubarb goat yogurt...sigh.
I have heard of the restaurant you wrote about. My friends had a celebrity sighting when they were there last but I can't remember who. Someone young and hip and needing to be thin too much to enjoy their meal - much less the cheese.
I have eaten so much roquefort in two days that I fear I am starting to smell like it. That's a scary thought.
I thought you still owed me some tamales... ;/
Foil: Like the other (thpffffffft!!!) rating authorities, I use a five star system. No tamale: Say, was that a rat moving behind that crate of aged meat on the floor near the bathroom? One tamale: Well, you gotta eat Marge - and nobody gets sick. Two tamales: OK, maybe I was a little skimpy with the tamales for Artisanal - two means the meal met expectations and no one had wine spilled on their lap by a snooty waiter. Three tamales: A memorably prepared and served meal - someone got laid. Four tamales: Now we're talking big deal restaurant - the chef drives a nicer car than we do - and someone else pays. Five tamales: This would be a meal where angels sing and fireworks appear in the sky after the first bite. I hope someday to eat in such a place.
DD:
You probably don't really smell like Roquefort. But the thought of eating that much cheese made me laugh.
Schaumi:
Yes, I am in debt to you. I owe you tamales. There I said it.
Remind me again, was it when you insisted on buying all the beers at CBGB's or the time we ran out of fuel off the Canarys and you werre the only one on board with a valid credit card?
Okay. Look. I'm still in shock. Hardly know what to say. Can't believe you didn't have...the cheese. Opportunity...lost. So...jealous. Makes me want to visit the big apple...visit Artisanal...eat cheese until I smell like it.
Thank you for adding the tamale pictures. That's just cool.
Manchego:
Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, and I have no reason to believe this will in any way mollify the pain, we've been munching on a nice block of caerphilly we've been hiding in the ice box. Truly, you of all cheesomaniacs, would find a little piece of heaven on earth if you made the trip down for a nice dinner at Artisanal. They have a pretty expansive webpage if you just want to get a little worked up.
Foil:
You say - I do. Simple.
Champ,
any of those occasions works for me.
Champ: Hee. Obedience. I like that in a man. Or, more earnestly, a man who can listen to what I say or read what I write. Good thing you're taken.
I'll say.
OMG - I thought that food would be FAR from thoughts after the gluttony of last night's dinner but this makes me jealous. I want what you had!
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