My dearest Hagi.
That's right. I finally made it back.
Once our pitcher of Sapporo had arrived safely, my friend and I took turns shouting suggestions at one another.
"Calf liver sashimi?" I asked.
"I had it earlier this week," she told me. "It's disgusting."
Hagi is subterranean, inviting, low-ceilinged, bamboo-heavy, and warm. The service is rushed and you can never get much of an answer from the waitstaff. And no, they don't bring you water unless you ask for it. But who cares? The food is so incredibly good and cheap that it would be hard to leave disappointed.
Our neighbors ordered the liver sashimi. It did look kind of disgusting.
As for us, we started with a pickled radish special (3 bucks--beat that!), yellowtail sashimi (much better than Astoria version I had earlier in the week), and beef short ribs. The short ribs are not what I had expected. For one, they aren't slow-cooked. They arrive, seven or so to a plate, as small cuts of steak--in flavor, closely resembling a rib eye--on the bone. You have to pick them up and chew the meat, which is rich and flavorful and accented by the soy sauce and wasabi that comes on the side.
Round two: vegetable tempura, fermented soybean wrapped in fried tofu, and fried chicken. The vegetables were, specifically, shitake mushrooms, long thick spears of asparagus, and onion that reminded me of the famous Outback bloomin' onion. In a good way. Vegetable tempura might seem a bit pedestrian, but this version was balanced and tasty. For dipping, ponzu with fresh minced ginger.
The fermented soybean wasn't my favorite, possibly because it came swathed in bonito flakes, which kind of freak me out. First of all, I don't like the fact that the flakes move as if they're alive when they hit something hot; it's gross. Second of all, bonito comes from the shaving of petrified skipjack tuna over a mandoline. The fish, when fermented, is black and rock hard, kind of like amber. I can get past it in dashi, the famous Japanese broth for which bonito is also used. But thinking about old fish shavings on top of my old soy beans is a little too much to handle. I'm just saying.
I wasn't in a noodle mood, which was why I passed up my favorite Hagi dish, the udon hot pot. The fried chicken was a fine replacement. In this particular situation, Japan has the deep south beat. These are glorified white and dark meat chicken nuggets, almost the size of a fist. They are crunchy, gingery, umami-tastic.
Fearful Americans, be not afraid: Hagi provides full color photographs of most of their dishes, so you know exactly what chicken gizzards on garlic sprouts, or octopus balls, or spaghetti with cod roe and ketchup (my friend, who is half-Japanese, swears this is a traditional Japanese dish) look like before you order.
Those pictures will also help you identify the wildly popular--and incredibly potent, at 19 percent alcohol--sake-in-a-can, which should come at the end of every superior dining experience.
*
Hagi
152 W. 49th Street
New York, NY 10019
212.764.8459
Showing posts with label udon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label udon. Show all posts
Friday, December 19, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Are You Being Served?
Last night found me in Hoboken at a mediocre sushi restaurant. Actually, the food itself was decent. My appetizer, hamachi with chopped jalapenos and yuzu, was clean and refreshing. Hamachi, otherwise known as yellowtail, is a firm fish that holds up well to raw and ceviche-style preparations. It's one of my favorite fishes to enjoy raw. The yuzu juice acted as a par-cook marinade, not unlike a traditional South American ceviche. I prefer fresh jalapenos to canned, as these ones were, but regardless, the heat was ample without overwhelming the fish. All in all, nicely done.
I probably should have stuck with raw fish through and through--usually, at sushi restaurants, I either sit at the bar and order omakase, or I order sashimi a la carte. The fish, unadorned and fresh, is what I crave.
Last night was cold, though, and I felt like something more substantial so I ordered a soup of udon, chicken, shrimp tempura, and egg. Honestly, I don't know why I continue to order udon soups because I am always disappointed. I love the consistency of the noodles but the broth always leaves something to be desired and the things floating in the broth are never better than the noodles themselves. My two udon exceptions are the udon hot pots at Fatty Crab and Hagi, where Chinese sausage and soft poached eggs contribute to a delicious udon stew. In any case, I hope I learned my lesson: at sushi bars, stick with the sushi.
The only truly terrible part of dinner was the service. I am not one of those uptight crazies who gets all nutso over careless service. Certain things annoy me; I hate having to hunt for my server and I hate having to wait an inordinate amount of time for my drinks and food. But most of the restaurants that I choose to spend my money at have pretty high service standards.
Not so much for Sushi House, where my dining companion's salad arrived a full ten minutes before my hamachi. (By the time my hamachi hit, her salad was gone and cleared.) Drinks came after our appetizers and a glass of plum wine I was drinking on ice was mistaken by a busboy for tap water. Despite my hand-waving and desperate cries of "No, that isn't water," the busboy poured tap into my drink. A few minutes later, a manager arrived to offer me another drink, but mine was already half-gone and I was driving, so I didn't want another drink. What I wanted was for that particular drink, all six dollars of it, to be removed from my check. I didn't say this, of course, but it's one of those unspoken things that managers do when a customer is visibly upset about having lost her drink to tap water.
The drink was on the check and I paid that check without complaint. So my distress wasn't exactly recognized by the FOH staff.
Our waitress cleared our plates by stacking everything in front of me at the table and then lifting them out of my way. It's a pretty gross method of table-maintenece. I don't particularly want to look at someone else's ort after I've eaten. For that, I work in restaurants.
Finally, our check sat out, AmEx protruding, for another healthy ten minutes before our waitress returned to run the card.
Perhaps I'm too picky, or too observant, having spent most of my life trying to avoid service snags in a professional setting. No matter the caliber of the restaurant, though, service standards should be consistent and fluid. Servers exist to ensure the comfort of the guest, not heighten the guest's anxiety level. For that, I have a personal trainer.
*
Sushi House Bar and Lounge
1319 Washington Street
Hoboken, NJ 07030
201.222.9991
I probably should have stuck with raw fish through and through--usually, at sushi restaurants, I either sit at the bar and order omakase, or I order sashimi a la carte. The fish, unadorned and fresh, is what I crave.
Last night was cold, though, and I felt like something more substantial so I ordered a soup of udon, chicken, shrimp tempura, and egg. Honestly, I don't know why I continue to order udon soups because I am always disappointed. I love the consistency of the noodles but the broth always leaves something to be desired and the things floating in the broth are never better than the noodles themselves. My two udon exceptions are the udon hot pots at Fatty Crab and Hagi, where Chinese sausage and soft poached eggs contribute to a delicious udon stew. In any case, I hope I learned my lesson: at sushi bars, stick with the sushi.
The only truly terrible part of dinner was the service. I am not one of those uptight crazies who gets all nutso over careless service. Certain things annoy me; I hate having to hunt for my server and I hate having to wait an inordinate amount of time for my drinks and food. But most of the restaurants that I choose to spend my money at have pretty high service standards.
Not so much for Sushi House, where my dining companion's salad arrived a full ten minutes before my hamachi. (By the time my hamachi hit, her salad was gone and cleared.) Drinks came after our appetizers and a glass of plum wine I was drinking on ice was mistaken by a busboy for tap water. Despite my hand-waving and desperate cries of "No, that isn't water," the busboy poured tap into my drink. A few minutes later, a manager arrived to offer me another drink, but mine was already half-gone and I was driving, so I didn't want another drink. What I wanted was for that particular drink, all six dollars of it, to be removed from my check. I didn't say this, of course, but it's one of those unspoken things that managers do when a customer is visibly upset about having lost her drink to tap water.
The drink was on the check and I paid that check without complaint. So my distress wasn't exactly recognized by the FOH staff.
Our waitress cleared our plates by stacking everything in front of me at the table and then lifting them out of my way. It's a pretty gross method of table-maintenece. I don't particularly want to look at someone else's ort after I've eaten. For that, I work in restaurants.
Finally, our check sat out, AmEx protruding, for another healthy ten minutes before our waitress returned to run the card.
Perhaps I'm too picky, or too observant, having spent most of my life trying to avoid service snags in a professional setting. No matter the caliber of the restaurant, though, service standards should be consistent and fluid. Servers exist to ensure the comfort of the guest, not heighten the guest's anxiety level. For that, I have a personal trainer.
*
Sushi House Bar and Lounge
1319 Washington Street
Hoboken, NJ 07030
201.222.9991
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