Miranda

80 Berry St.

Brooklyn NY 11211

718.387.0711

I've been putting it off for a while, but I finally checked out Williamsburg's Miranda, an Italian and Latin American joint right across from Hotel Delmano on N. 9th and Berry, opened by Sasha Roderiguez and Mauricio Miranda. After meeting in 2002 while working at a Union Square restaurant, they decided to bring they're twenty two years of experience to Brooklyn.

The outside of the restaurant faintly escapes me since I had ended a long Monday with a nice long L, and was so hungry I just wanted to get inside. We blazed before leaving the house, but like I've said before, the neighborhood is full of dark, neighborhood streets. However, police have been rolling around more than ever, so keep an eye out.

We sat at a table in the front window and I began to notice the details of the place. A nice small space running not too narrowly back towards the kitchen and bar with a recessed spot in the rear for a the chef's table. They did well utilizing the space, but I felt like I was in a family ski home newly and cluelessly decorated. The dining room felt organic, with exposed brick and wood paneling with the bar laid out in an odd, dated, loose zig zag with a matching wood beam running above it. I was confused about the beam's purpose, which I thought would be for lighting, but turned out to be purely decorative. There was also a feeble attempt at decoration with a shelf on the back wall of the bar covered in different colored, frosty looking "modern" vases. The place just lacked personality. I understand the concept of feeling like you are dining at a friends place, but why choose such tacky friends?

The food: Good. They're aim is to operate with green awareness and to provide fresh and local ingredients to the neighborhood. They do exactly that. The food was simple and healthily cooked and the ingredients were so fresh! I felt good eating it, and eventually stopped being perturbed by the decor.

We had:

Spicy chorizo Arrancini- delicious, not over fried.

Diver Scallops, cannellini puree and broccoli rabe- Perfectly cooked scallops, the puree was rich and velvety and the rabe was light, not oily.

Grilled baby octopus salad, avocado, cucumbers and a shallot-jalapeno vinaigrette- So, so, the flavors were a little too mild and were lost, I tasted no Jalapeno.

Mussels Marinera, P.E.I. with a garlicky tomato fondut- So yummy! Lot's of Garlic!

Garganelli- Egg pasta, peas, llonganissa and mozzarella- Too heavy for me and I didn't care for the flavor combinations.

The staff were nice and managed well with the place being so busy on a Monday night. Miranda doesn't break any ground, but maintains the most important element of a neighborhood restaurant: fresh, local ingredients. I predict that Miranda will do just fine with the support of the locals.

I give Miranda

out of

Blazeability

Amada

Amada
217 Chestnut St
Philadelphia, PA 19106
(215) 625-2450


We had a rental car, two splifs, the dog, a baggie, some papers and a grinder just in case. We also planned on an early dinner at Amada, a Spanish Tapas restaurant in Old City, Philadelphia.

First of all, Old City is gross. Between the milktoast types the Liberty Bell attracts and the college students, it's a rough neighborhood for a nice dinner. However, Sunday at 5pm was not so bad.

Amada's exterior is impressive; simply done in black and creme with large windows and french doors. The interior however is generic and astonishingly large, making it feel a little like a chain.

After sitting at a bar table, we noticed we were enclosed by two walls full of brand name products, like olive oil by Despana, on sale and with price tags made visible. Ew. So I wasn't surprised when I bit into a piece of Despana's frozen Tortilla. What a disappointment. Now I know that's a radical accusation, but other sources reveal it to be true.

We also had Jamon Croquetas that were super greasy, Boquerones served like Carpaccio?, Pulpo sickeningly over seasoned and greasy, Chanquetes with fish that were too large for the dish and sitting in grease. Besides the Revuelto with shired eggs and shrimp, the only other dish that was good was the complimentary Teule (tuna salad) they served when we sat down.

We had to split so I didn't get a chance to peruse the wine list. Also, the Manager was wearing heels. I'm not kidding.

I give Amada out of 's
Blazeability: smoke in your car

Zenkichi

77 N 6th st.

Brooklyn, NY 11211

718.388.8985

It was Saturday night at nine thirty and I was really high. Taking my chances with the Williamsburg weekend crowd, I kept my head down as I passed Sea and made my way to Zenkichi, a modern Japanese Brasserie, or Izakaya, on North 6th and Wythe.

To the virgin eye, Zenkichi's exterior looks like a

hidden sex den, with long wood paneling completely covering the restaurant, leaving room for only one door lit by a single red light. Sexy. Once inside, we were escorted directly up a flight of stairs and into a bamboo forest. Or at least that's what it looked like to me

at that level of lucidity. In actuality it's a series of dimly lit, mahogany built private tables, connecting throughout like a bamboo colony. I was mystified the entire evening and wanted to see a floor plan. Each unit is equipped with a button for service and a bamboo curtain which remains down unless attended by a server. And boy are they cute. Like little Sailor Moons.

I was impressed with how quickly and gracefully the girls opened and shut the bamboo blinds. It made me recall times of extreme frustration with Ikea curtains in college. I also really felt like I was having a unique, private dining experience, until I realized that the guy at the table across from us could see me quickly take a jab at my crotch under the table.

I've heard it said that they always play Jazz standards. Well that's just a mistake. Once you settle into your little nook and the immediate charm of feeling like you have been transported to Japan wears off, you start to hear the hum of other table's conversations, and then behind that, Jazz standards. Random right? It totally kills the high. And I'm not saying they should play traditional Japanese music, but something mellow and sexy and modern, since their concept is all about innovation?

I only drink unfiltered Sake, and I'm really picky about it. I can't say why. Our waitress recommended a pretty straightforward Dassai that I had never tried and it was amazing! I couldn't wait to taste the food paired with the Sake.

Skipping the Omakase for two (we weren't feeling Sashimi so we opted out of the tasting menu), we ordered a la carte.

Wasabi marinated Octopus: Raw. And so spicy I couldn't eat it.

Sweet duck salad: Greens were way overdressed, the Duck was lost.

Amago (Eel) and cream cheese Tempura: You better not fuck up fried cheese.

Salmon Chazuki: Salmon was perfectly cooked over rice and they topped it with a tasty broth table side.

Fried Chicken wings? Kitchy, not innovative. My Fiancee ordered them.

Blackened miso Cod: Perfection.

Japanese cuisine is based on well cooked and balanced food. These dishes were so well balanced, and so minimally and awkwardly paired, that the flavors either fell flat, or just weren't there at all.

The neighborhood is dicey on a weekend to smoke, cops are everywhere now to patrol the herds of douche bags gathered outside Sea or chasing their girlfriends into traffic. But if you walk north a little further and dart down N. 9th or something, their are plenty of tree lined and dark streets with stoops.

I give Zenkichiout of

Blazeability:

Socarrat

259 w 19th st.

New York, NY 10011

212.462.1000

I have been living in New York for a few years now. Rarely do I ever venture out of the comforts of Brooklyn or anywhere above Union Square, unless on a work related stint lasting less than an hour, or wondering up to Anthropologie out of boredom, only to come face to face with the harsh reality that the dress in the window is silk, but its fucking four hundred dollars! Ew. Damn you Anthropologie!

Last night however I passed the border with a specific purpose: to eat at Socarrat, a new Paella and Fideua bar in Chelsea. My father used to live in Chelsea until a psycho, English homosexual sub letter destroyed his apartment solely with animal feces, urine of some kind, and lots of drugs, so it's been a while since I've been back in the hood. Well, it's changed. I'm not naming names, but certain establishments are capitalizing on the weaknesses of the "Gentler Masculine", taking their money, and their friends who just drove down from the Catskills' money, ruining classic facades with gobs of fabric and colored lighting framing outdoor diners all sipping identical cocktails, greasy calamari, outdoor run-of-the-mill dining, etc. and dropping Goodburger's and Chipotle's like hot bricks. Basically the mediocrity that has enveloped most neighborhoods in Manhattan has made it's insurgence, masking the dirty charm of Christopher street, and revealing that most of the natives really are happy living in a Gay Disney Land.

Combined the neighborhoods ability to blow our high with the lack of spots to blaze, it was a rough start to our evening.

Socarrat (which is named after the crustification on the bottom of the Paella pan once the rice is properly cooked) has made a valiant effort in maintaining a shred of dignity while opening a spot in the new soulless gayborhood. Opened by La Nacional owner Jesus Manso, the traditional Spanish Tapas bar is welcoming in decor, approximately 200 square feet for dining, one wall of exposed brick hung with antiquarian mirrors and paintings, the other wall, a collection of glossy butter colored cabinets housing dishware and menus hung on key hooks. Cute. Besides a wobbly, unlit bar height table in the front window, diners sit on either side of a long, narrow central bar table with a dark grey mirrored counter top seating twenty four: communal seating like a family reunion dinner which threatens to be nonfunctional. The lighting was simple, not too dimly lit a la AvroKo style hanging glass fixtures.

I love textures, and between the bordering "Martha Stewart Teal" tiling of the floor, the matching velvet bar seat cushions, the foggy mirrors and the wood panelled ceilings, I felt like I was visiting my uncle with a fetish for Pennsylvania antique splurges at his new Amagansett home, pimped out Americana throw back style. What I'm trying to say is that it didn't evoke Spain, which may be irrelevant depending on the design concept, but I have to say, Freemans does it better (and they have boar terrine!)

I was fine to hit up the closest bodega for beers (my mouth was really dry and their liquor liscence is pending) but I was not fine to stand by the front door with my brown paper bag while two seats were open and set and waiting. Their logic didn't make sense to me, like, if they were weeded, "why can't we just sit down and crack our beers? We won't order anything until you guys are ready, we swear!" So we just sat down anyway.

I started out with the Tortilla, Chorizo Croquetas, Brandada de Bacalao and Calamar a la plancha. Tortilla: Excellent, old school slice, medium thickness, lots of potatoes, and nearly no seasoning, leaving the simple flavors alone as they should be. Skimpy on the onions, though I could still have a piece for breakfast, lunch, dinner or post toke. Or post coital.

The Chorizo Croquetas were meh. The Aioli was weak and greasy and chorizo is just too easy. Croquetas are great because you can fill them with almost anything, and like the chatty cathy gym addict fey at the front table with a voice like a mega phone, I've ingested enough chorizo.

The Bacalao, over cooked and broken into unrecognizable and barely tastable bits, the Calamar, also overcooked and drowning in garlic broth.

The service was very good. The manager as well as the waitress spoke Spanish, and so did the bus boy and runner, obviously. All sweet people, but a restaurant that's cuisine is based on single and double orders of Paella and Fideua, there isn't enough room left to carry giant, steaming hot pans from the kitchen to the table. The boys were struggling not to burn people while nearly knocking the pictures off the wall.

We weren't hungry or impressed enough with the food to order Paella, but it did look decent from afar.

I give Socarrat out of

Blazeability: