Marc-ing Territory

I used to be a regular at Landmarc in the Time Warner Center, partly because I used to work in midtown and Landmarc serves until 2 am nightly.  Also, the hot spot used to be known for this weird trick they pulled with their wine list: no wines served by the glass, and a list dominated by magnums and half-bottles.  If memory serves, there were no ordinary 750 ml bottles on the menu.  

Times may have changed, but Landmarc still bustles on a Friday.  Here's the thing about Landmarc.  In all of my years of late-night stopover appearances, I mostly only ever ate two (delicious) dishes: bone marrow with country bread and a rib eye cooked rare.  With French fries.  My new attempts at self-preservation (and the battle to wear a size 26 without unbuttoning my pants, a goal now reached) mean no tasty white crusty bread, which makes the bone marrow--toasted in the bone and served with sea salt, a demitasse, and caramelized onions--obsolete.  And my personal ban on red meat (for the most part--let's not go crazy here) means no more rib eye, although I allowed my brother to order the hulking 23-ouncer so that it stayed in close proximity.  

My realization, then, was that, without my unhealthy staples, Landmarc just wasn't what I remembered.  I ordered the quail, which came in a vastly oversized portion (honestly, who on earth needs to eat two birds for dinner?) wrapped in undercooked bacon.  Traditionally, quail is snapped at the breast bone and cooked meat side down so that the skin crisps.  The bacon got in the way of any crispy skin, and even the bacon itself, gummy and unpleasant, didn't do the birds justice. 

And why stuff a quail?  The meat should be the point of the game, and my meat was overdone in places and underdone in others.  Quail, like duck, should arrive medium-rare.  Some parts of my bird were cooked all the way through, while others looked as if they'd never seen that long grill in the back.  A stuffing of some kind of bready thing and sausage rendered the dish a gloppy mess.  I wouldn't order it again. 

I subsisted, then, on a tasty bite of my brother's rib eye and two vegetable side dishes, haricot verts that tasted strongly of celery (?) and roasted mushrooms that were perfect but not enough to live on.  Dessert may have been the highlight, and may still be the best sweet deal in town, a sampler of blueberry crisp, lemon tart, creme brulee, nutella eclair, chocolate mousse, and tiramisu, all for $16.  Cotton candy--you have to ask for it--arrived in traditional paper cones.  Flavor of the night was Dimetapp grape.  

I should mention, too, that Landmarc is still a bargain basement when it comes to wine.  We drank the 2005 Beckmen Grenache, because my mother won't drink anything French--"too dry"--or crisp--"I like it big and full-bodied."  Our tastes couldn't be farther apart.  Beckman Vineyards, based in the southern Californian enclave of Santa Ynez, produces rich and ripe wines at a variety of price points.  For $56, this was a great deal for an American wine, if you like that sort of thing.  

In fact, you'll find more than a lion's share of bottles between $50 and $60, nothing to scoff at in hard economic times.  Too bad the quail can't meet the same standards.  Next time, it's back to the drawing board.  Flour ban be damned: I want my marrow back.  

*

Landmarc at the Time Warner Center

10 Columbus Circle, 3rd Floor

New York, NY 10019

212.823.6123

Cowboy Country

Prescott, Arizona, two hours noth of Phoenix, bears no relation to the desert cities. When you're leaving the Phoenix valley, the cacti grow tall and green scrub vegetation spreads out over the desert. But the climb in elevation, rising to a mile when you hit Prescott, changes the topography of the land. Tall cacti are replaced by prickly pear and snow-capped mountains. Keep driving north and the land more closely resembles Colorado, with colossal pine trees rising from clay soil.

Prescott is one of the original western mining cities and still capitalizes on history and old architecture. Downtown, near the straight-out-of-Back to the Future court house, the so-called Whiskey Row dominates the town. Old saloons have been renovated into new saloons. Candy shops selling hand-churned ice-cream and popcorn replace boutique coffee joints or delis.

In the heart of this western square lies the ancient and tourist-attracting Palace Restaurant and Saloon. It was once a hotel and brothel, replete with a long bar and a host of heavy gamblers ready to dedicate their fortunes to the dealing of the cards. Wyatt Earp and his brother, Virgil, spent a good deal of time at the Palace before retreating south to Tombstone. The space is reportedly haunted by its past and has the authentic bullet holes to prove it.

Like any good slice of American history, the Palace stores its treasures in glass cases so onlookers can admire postcards, coins, and slick silver guns from the Wild West. They also serve western steakhouse fare to a market of eager tourists.

I ordered a thick corn chowder to start, which came adorned with thin and smoky ribbons of fresh bacon. The soup was roux-thick and most certainly not the kind of cuisine that keeps you thin or healthy. My friends ordered a 'calamari steak,' double-wide planes of calamari deep fried and served with a pineapple salsa. I couldn't bring myself to eat calamari that was both genetically altered to resemble a steak and also clearly not even close to native.

But I could bring myself to order a rib eye, and the 12 ounce steak came with decent skin-on mashed potatoes and boring steamed zucchini. I should have taken my other option, ranch beans, slow cooked beans resembling the refried variety and fortified with fresh corn.

My steak was thinner than I expected, but still marbled and tasty. In the west, the meat is good enough to stand alone without the sauces or silly fanciness we rely on back east. That's no real surprise, given the wide swaths of land dedicated to free-grazing cattle, likely some of the happiest cows in the world.

The Palace would benefit by giving up the shtick and focusing on food alone, but that's probably an unlikely expectation. In the end, theyb serve a good (if kitschy) steak.

*

The Palace Restaurant and Saloon
120 South Montezuma Street
Prescott, AZ 86303
928.541.1996

Meatatarians

Brunch isn't really my thing. I'm over egg-y attempts at the perfect fritatta and over-crisped bacon. The more excited I get about food the less excited I get about brunch. Because, let's face it: if brunch were a sandwich, it would be peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, satisfying but not particularly adventurous.

That being said, I had heard great things about Back Forty's burger and they do serve said burger at brunch, so I found myself dining with other Bloody Maryied New Yorkers early Sunday afternoon.

I'll get to the burger in a second, but it should be noted first that Back Forty makes a mean Bloody Mary, adorned with pickled vegetables (fennel, wax beans) and served a little spicy. If I hadn't been driving, I would have indulged in the Voodoo Root Beer (house-spiced rum, stout) or the Honey Margartia (honey sourced from the rooftop apiary of the chef himself).

And still, before the arrival of that infamous burger, we had other treats to enjoy. First up, two perfect donuts, topped with a concord grape syrup. They were still warm. Following the donuts, three equally impressive pork jowl fritters arrived atop a lovely jalapeno jam that reminded me of something I couldn't quite place. It was both savory and sweet and more than a little spicy, which worked perfectly with those fried and fatty jowls of love. Had they posed no danger to my ability to fit into my pants, I would have chosen to eat those things all afternoon.

And then... the burgers. The ketchup arrived first, billed as a "spicy house-made ketchup." It was darker than the processed variety and, yes, it was a bit on the spicy side, but mostly it was rich and sweet and full of molasses. The burger itself--about a 6oz patty, if I had to guess--was grassfed beef served on a buttered sesame bun. With it came sliced pickles, red onion, and some beautiful Boston lettuce, along with a hearty helping of rosemary fries. No tomatoes with this burger until tomatoes hit the markets again next summer. Back Forty puts a clear and present emphasis on seasonal, local, and slow.

The burger was perfect and well-seasoned. I passed on the additions of heritage bacon and cheese, but those options are available. The only disappointment suffered with Back Forty had to do with their fries, which were overcooked and, for my taste, sliced far too thick. The rosemary imparted very little flavor and what remained were too crispy potatoes. I would have preferred a second helping of the jowls instead.

*
Back Forty
190 Avenue B
New York, NY 10009
212.388.1990

Early in the day, my Back Forty friend and I decided that we'd have dinner at BLT Prime, an old favorite. But as the day (and the rain) wore on, we decided to head back to Astoria for a more local dinner. We had already spent the day dreaming of a steak dinner, so we decided to try Christos Steak House, which a friend had once lauded as completely reasonable and completely delicious.

Christos is an American steak house with Greek influence, but we were really looking for the traditional goodies, so we skipped the tzaziki dip and the veal sweetbreads sauteed in lemon in favor of clams casino. I'm not sure I've ever ordered clams casino in my life, but it was as predictable and yummy as I could have imagined, six Cherrystones stuffed with bread and minced peppers and topped with a squirt of lemon juice. Bread service included a grilled assortment and a black olive tapenade that was neither too oily nor too aggressive.

For dinner, we shared a 24oz bone-in rib eye, grilled asparagus, roasted mushrooms, and creamed spinach. The rib eye was perfect, charred on the outside and fatty inside. The meat was tender and well-rested and had definitely been dry-aged. I'm not sure if it was prime or not, but it certainly tasted so. The asparagus were thick-stemmed (my favorite) and came topped with a chiffonade of basil (an interesting touch, but completely unnecessary). The creamed spinach seemed to please my friend, the spinach connoisseur, and the roasted mushrooms (shitakes and oysters, mostly) were buttery and rich. At the end, I struggled not to pick the bone up and chew from it like the old ladies I always mocked during my steak house days.

For dessert I visited Greece, ordering a sheep's milk yogurt with walnuts, honey, and quince. Fine Greek yogurt has the consistency of sour cream and this was no exception. The honey cut the assertive tanginess of the yogurt and the walnuts offered crunch. I was not disappointed.

And neither was my friend, who finished every last bite of her apple crumble. It seems we've found a new spot for our iron-deprived Sundays in Astoria.

*
Christos Steak House
4106 23rd Avenue
Astoria, NY 11105
718.777.8400