Chicken Parm

All too often, the hype of a New York scenester spot turns out to be nothing more than ordinary. Nothing is a bigger turn off than a restaurant that doesn't take reservations, thus forcing me to spend valuable time waiting on line to get in. Such is the world of modern dining. But, scenes be damned, I was determined to check out Parm on Mulberry, since I'm probably one of the last food people in New York who can say that I haven't eaten at a Mario Carbone/Rich Torrisi restaurant. Or, hadn't, until last night.

We had to get there at five and cram ourselves into the impossibly small nook between bar and door on a rainy Sunday evening, just to prevent the inevitable flood of people coming in off the street. It's the same tactic I employed at Mission Chinese in San Francisco a few weeks back. For our troubles (and to help bide the time of our wait until the restaurant officially opened), we were rewarded with hot pepper poppers, a teeny amaretto sour and an equally teeny Mulberry daiquiri--named not only for the street in residence, but also for the jam blended into the cocktail. The poppers, stuffed with cheese and rice and accompanied by some pinkish mayonnaise, were just what we needed to stave off hunger.

Then, the witching hour arrived and we were miraculously shown to a table. We ordered thick, deluxe garlic bread, less garlicky than cheesy but totally acceptable given the accoutrement of soft ricotta, fresh basil, and tomato sauce. It was a miniature "make your own pizza" experiment. Six littleneck clams, baked with breadcrumbs and butter and lemon, did not disappoint, nor did a trio of little bowls filled with vegetables: rich mixed mushrooms in a bright vinaigrette; toothsome asparagus with softened croutons; and clean pickled vegetables (cauliflower, radish, onion, fennel, and red pepper).

But we had come for the parm.

The first, eggplant on semolina, offered all of the textures and flavors we remembered from Italian joints growing up, minus the excessive portions. Chicken parm, crisp but not oily, came blanketed in soft mozzarella and nestled next to a towering cube of baked ziti with more of that fresh ricotta. The special of the evening, simply called Chinese (we ordered one to go, illegally, it turns out) began with crunchy wontons dipped in duck sauce and hot mustard and ended with boneless pork spareribs and pork fried rice with homemade sweet Italian sausage.

The icing on our literal cake, save for the liter of Italian wine that came to us in a straw-bottomed Chianti bottle, was a three-tiered ice cream version with competing flavors of strawberry, chocolate, and pistachio, all tucked between layers of crispy cookie (think Carvel for inspiration) and frosted with that familiar and fondly remembered white ice cream icing. We didn't need to be convinced; we finished the whole slice.

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Parm

248 Mulberry Street

New York, NY 10012

212.993.7189

Modern Chinese

I can forgive the unacceptable wait at Redfarm last night, only because the dumplings were so damned good. The drinks, even for a Chinese restaurant, were a little too sweet--watermelon rum punch that tasted more like a Jolly Rancher; a shiso cucumber martini with too much simple syrup--and by the time our food came we were famished. But still, small plates were an inescapable success. Shrimp and pea shoot dumplings in a thin, steamed skin tasted more of fresh peas than anything else. I mean that as a compliment.

Soup dumplings rivaled those of Joe's Shanghai, whopping, steaming, and filled with pork and broth. Shumai shooters, over a hot orange soup, tasted mushroomy and rich. Smoked cucumbers with sesame seeds almost tasted of meat, they were so rich. A Katz's pastrami egg roll, served with spicy deli mustard, was a Jewish fantasy--Chinese and butcher shop wrapped up into one, hotdoggy treat. A special of pork wrapped around rice, negimaki style, came with stewed and sweet tomatoes and concord grapes. Crispy beef with lotus root and sliced onions was salty and sweet and impossibly crisp, like the best version of General Tso's you've ever had. The only small plate failure came in the form of crisp crab and pork dumplings. They looked good enough, small battered pucks with mayonnaise eyes added on by a playful kitchen. But they maintained their shape from an internally intact crab shell and the pieces of pork were large chunks of fatty belly. We could have passed on the whole thing, even the curry broth dipping sauce.

As for entrees, by the time they came we were ready to throw in the towel. A selection of sauteed mushrooms with baby bok choy was light, delicate, and lovely. A richer platter of lamb and asparagus won my vote for best in show. Fried rice included corn and bean sprouts and snow peas and goji berries, but I had no room left once it arrived. Desserts were throwaways--a lackluster jelly roll with "creme fraiche" whipped cream that tasted only of regular cream; a poached pear over out-of-season fruits. Save room for extra dumplings, instead.

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Redfarm

529 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

212.792.9700

Spicy, Tasty, Salty, Sweet

I finally made it back to Flushing for Chinese food.  We couldn't have timed it better; having Saturday night dinner in the outer boroughs means no negotiation with maitre'ds, no hour long wait, no deus ex machina needed to provide an actual table.  

Our destination was Spicy and Tasty, a small Chinese spot off of Roosevelt Avenue to which Frank Bruni awarded two stars last year.  Sitting in Spicy and Tasty, it's hard to imagine the Brunz here with his portfolio bag, notepad, impeccable dress.  Like most Chinese restaurants in Flushing, this one has allowed decor to fall by the wayside.  The service--what little of it there is--consists of servers tossing down menus, bringing us our Tsing Taos, grudgingly taking our order, and bringing (and later boxing) our food.  There's tea, but despite my request, no water.  

As it turns out, the icky service matters very little.  What matters is the spicy, spicy food.  Those of fragile palates, do not fear; when I say spicy, I mean not only the tear-provoking rip of hot pepper.  These dishes are layered, complex, warming, supple, and generously flavored.  There also so, so good. 

We ordered four dishes, which, it just so happens, would have been enough for an army of us--and we were just two.  We defended our ordering to ourselves: how else could we judge the restaurant and all it had to offer?  And what could possibly be better than Chinese leftovers?

Sauteed Chinese cabbage with dried chilis surprisingly took the cake as the night's best dish.  Crisp, generously sliced cabbage came in a sea of brown sauce adorned with dark chilis.  Shrimp with pickled turnips did not disappoint.  The shrimp themselves were smaller than prawns and larger than rock shrimp and danced with large chunks of toothsome and salty turnip, minced ginger, red pepper flakes.  

Spinach almost matched lamb in proportion in a dish called lamb with red chili sauce.  Not to be outdone, fatty and ample sliced pork came with its own peppers, this time small, red, and hot.  Each dish had its own brand of spice and no dish could have ever been confused with its neighbor.  Maybe that's what made the meal so satisfying.  The total price tag for a meal that will likely offer us two days' worth of leftovers?  $63, including tip.  

Of course, we needed something sweet to end our adventure into the belly of Queens.  We considered it fortuitous that the Yi Mei Fung Bakery happened to hock its wares right at the entrance to the 7 train.  Inside, were attracted to a case of creamy looking pastries, tarts, and birthday cakes.  My friend ordered one with a dark chocolate disc on top.  

Here was our confusion: the cake's frosting (light, airy, resembling buttercream) tasted more like actual butter.  We kept eating it to try and figure it out.  Was it a mistake?  Had a young pastry chef accidentally replaced sugar with salt?  The frosting was salty.  Salty!  The cake itself, angel food stuffed with coconut cream, was not salty.  Why, then, was the frosting?

We had to get to the bottom of it.  Maybe this was some Chinese joke on us.  I went back to the counter and ordered a pastry the size and shape of a sub sandwich billed as "coconut creme."  The thing had been dusted with toasted coconut and was split open at the front, resembling a donut's unfortunate cousin.  We used our hands.  And guess what?  The frosting, once again, was salty.  Very confusing. 

Later research conducted by yours truly indicated that Yi Mei Fung's baked goods rival, Tai Pan Bakery is known to produce the best egg custards in all of Flushing, if not New York.  I think next time I'll head there instead.  

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Spicy and Tasty

39-07 Prince Street

Flushing, Queens 11354

718.359.1601

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Yi Mei Fung Bakery

135-38 Roosevelt Avenue

Flushing, Queens 11354

718.886.6820