Category Archives: Technically not nut-free

Aug 16 2016
1 Comment
Chains, Japanese, Places to eat, Technically not nut-free

Hai Street Kitchen & Co.

A Slammin' Salmon f

I’m a big fan of Uma Temakeria, so I was pretty excited when I found out about Hai Street Kitchen & Co. Like Uma Temakeria, Hai Street specializes in sushi burritos…but bigger ones, with a wider range of ingredients, it seemed—and so I stood no chance. Onto my list it went.

Their only New York City location is at Urbanspace Vanderbilt, which didn’t sound ideal to me—but I figured they’d be worth looking into, at the very least. So what if Urbanspace is full of restaurants that are trendier than they are tasty? That’s a generalization; surely, there are some exceptions, and maybe Hai Street was one.

Hai Street never responded to the message I submitted via their contact form, and their Urbanspace location doesn’t have its own phone number, so I called one of their Philadelphia storefronts. The woman I spoke with assured me that nothing on Hai Street’s menu contains any nuts whatsoever, and that the same should be true of their other locations, too. I would’ve preferred to have been able to speak to an employee who was actually on-site at their Urbanspace stand, but I wasn’t all that worried—Japanese (and Japanese-inspired) food is usually pretty low-risk, so I decided to go ahead and give it a try.

Anyway, from what I could tell, Hai Street looked good. Their Yelp page is filled with photos of big-ass sushi burritos packed with generous portions of fish, and their online menu lists a bunch of appetizing ingredient options, so I figured I was in for a treat. If I’d been paying any attention at all, though, I would’ve realized that the Hai Street’s Urbanspace location doesn’t allow for customization—that is, they don’t offer the same build-your-own deal that’s advertised on the chain’s website and available at some of their other locations.

I figured it out pretty quickly when I got there, though. The menu was simple: five speciality burritos, some sides, some drinks, and some rolls. I was a little disappointed—I’d already gotten my heart set on a combination of ingredients—but I got over it. After a few minutes’ deliberation, I ended up with the Slammin’ Salmon (a burrito made with salmon, gochujang, romaine, cucumber, pickled jicama, red cabbage, and tempura crunch) with avocado salsa and without the cucumber, jicama, or cabbage. (What can I say? I wasn’t ready to let go of my ideal. The Slammin’ Salmon wasn’t it, but at least there was no cabbage involved.)

Even without three of its seven advertised components, my burrito was intensely flavorful—though the only reason for that was the homemade gochujang (which tasted much more like sesame sauce than gochujang, actually). As a whole, the burrito wasn’t all I’d dreamed of, but it certainly wasn’t bad, either. The romaine was fresh and crisp, and the rice was tolerable, which helped. The tempura crunch sucked (but I’ve never once enjoyed tempura crunch), the salmon was bland, and the avocado salsa would have been more appropriate on a Mexican taco than a Japanese-inspired dish of any sort—but nothing in my burrito was particularly offensive, so…I did enjoy it. For the most part.

Was I underwhelmed? Yes. Slightly annoyed that I’d just spent $15 for something so mediocre? Um, yes. Still bitter about the fact that I wasn’t able to add the pickled onions and fried shallots I’d seen online? Yes. But you know what? I’d probably eat at Hai Street again, given the right set of cravings—though probably only if I happened to be passing by. My allegiance still lies with Uma Temakeria, but I suppose there’s room for both restaurants in my life.

Find Hai Street Kitchen & Co. at Urbanspace Vanderbilt, which is located at 230 Park Avenue, between 45th and 46th Streets.

Tagged , , , , , ,
Aug 13 2016
5 Comments
Places to eat, Restaurants, Sandwiches, Technically not nut-free

Katz’s Delicatessen and the City’s Most Legendary Pastrami Sandwich

A plate of pickles, a pastrami on rye, and a corned beef on rye at Katz's Delicatessen

“For most New Yorkers, deli means pastrami, and pastrami means Katz’s. This is simply a fact of life, like death and taxes.”

*     *     *

Katz’s Delicatessen, easily one of this city’s most iconic restaurants. It’s been hanging around the Lower East Side for almost 130 years now, and in that time, tourists and New Yorkers alike have come to cherish its kosher-style food. Their pastrami sandwich is on every list of things you’re supposed to eat in this city—and you know what? You probably can, nut allergy be damned.

I’m in the process of breaking a bad habit of assuming I can’t eat any of the hyped-up foods everyone’s always talking about. Sure, it’s probably a valid assumption when it comes to some things (Dominique Ansel’s cronut, or—ugh, I need this—his burrata soft serve), but I’ve proven to myself time and time again that I can, in fact, get in on a lot of the trendy and/or iconic (read: uh, touristy) foods this city has to offer. Turns out, getting off my ass and asking questions actually pays off more often than I’d ever expected—and I suppose I have this blog to thank for that realization.

Since I started eating at Essen, I’ve been on quite the pastrami kick. It was that kick that led me to email Katz’s last week. I asked a few questions about nuts and cross-contamination, but the response I received was underwhelming, to say the least: “No nut products.” That was it. So I called, and while the experience was a bit painful (it involved, for some reason, lots of “can you just call back in 15 minutes?”), the results were well worth the effort.

The folks at Katz’s do not cook with nuts. However, they do carry a number of baked goods (babka, etc.) made elsewhere that may not be free from cross-contamination. No word on whether or not those baked goods actually contain nuts—their babka is rumored to be made by Green’s, actually—but I’ve been told to avoid them regardless. No big deal, really; I don’t think anyone goes to Katz’s for the overpriced desserts.

We need to have a talk about Katz’s ever-important rye bread, though. It’s supplied by Rockland Bakery, whose allergen information is confusing as hell, to say the least. At Katz’s, the Rockland bags are made of wax paper and are without any sort of “may contain” warning. I’ve seen other Rockland rye bags, though—at Frankel’s Delicatessen, for example—that are made of plastic and that do bear a “may contain” warning, right above the nutritional information panel. Strange.

Naturally, I called Rockland to find out what was up, and the woman I spoke with (who worked in Rockland’s retail department, the only department I had any luck reaching by phone) told me in no uncertain terms that Rockland makes only one type of rye, and that they do make that rye on equipment that’s also used for their nut-containing breads. So that’s that, then, I guess? Nope.

At that point, I’d been eating their rye for weeks without issue, and I’d decided to continue to do so because (a) it had been fine so far and (b) I love Katz’s. But I wanted to be certain about the risks I was taking, so I sent Rockland an(other) email in an attempt to perhaps find out about any measures they were taking to reduce the risk of cross-contamination. The reply I received, from Rockland’s Food Safety Manager, was as follows:

Thank you for contacting us regarding your concern on the allergen in our facility. I would like to inform you, our Rye bread is manufactured in a plant that is tree nut free and no equipment is shared with any tree nuts or any kind of nuts.
We are a HACCP certified company with specific programs and cleaning procedures to prevent cross contamination as well we have programs to control any use of allergens.
The allergen disclaimer on the bag, it is a generic statement found on all Rockland Bakery products, and in most cases, it is requested by our customers or governmental offices, however, like in the case of the Rye bread, it really doesn’t apply.
If Katz and Frankel’s, in fact are using our Rye bread, in both cases, the bread is free of any tree nut and nuts contamination.

I sent a few more emails to a few more addresses to be absolutely certain that above information was, in fact, accurate, but I didn’t get much back…except for what seems to be Rockland’s official allergen statement, which I’ve attached here. (Spoiler: It’s consistent with the above email, which comes as no surprise, because it was written by the same guy.) Good news, I guess.

While I don’t like how much misinformation I received—inconsistent answers are one of the easiest ways for a company to put me off—I’m inclined to trust that Rockland’s rye is made in a nut-free facility. Of course, I understand that such hubbub is enough to sour many nut-allergics on Rockland (and Katz’s, by extension). It may have been a deal-breaker for me, too, if I’d gone through all this before I got myself addicted to this goddamn pastrami. Too late now, though. (Plus, I really do believe that Rockland’s bread is safe.)

That is, of course, just my personal stance, and as always, you should only eat where you’re comfortable eating. My goal in rambling like this is to provide you with (more than) enough information to come to your own conclusions about Katz’s and their rye. (And by the way, it’s certainly possible to avoid bread at Katz’s. You can order the meat on its own, or you can go for any of their other bread-less offerings, though neither of those options is, uh, canon. Still, doable. I recommend the three-meat platter.)

Anyway. All I can say, really, is that Katz’s works for me. Proceed past the following salami wall at your own risk.

IMG_5070

Katz’s is loud and chaotic and almost always packed to capacity (with ding-dongs, no less), but all that’s easy enough to ignore—just focus on the smell of the meat. When you walk in, you’re given a ticket (don’t lose it or you’ll be out $50), and then you’re on your own. If you choose to go the self-service route, you’ll eventually figure out that you’re meant to take your little ticket to the appropriate counter and use it to order some food. If you’re getting a sandwich (as you should be), you’ll want to tip the dude who slices your meat, and then you’ll want to take your drooling ass to a table and get to business before anything goes the slightest bit cold.

The first time we went, Sam and I both ordered pastrami on rye—a mistake, considering how huge those sandwiches are. (Half of one is pictured below, in a bit of disarray, because I’m a klutz.) To our delight, our cutter let us sample some hot pastrami before he piled it onto our sandwiches. (Apparently, that’s SOP; we’d had no idea.) Over the din, he looked for our approval, and over the din, we gave it. And then it was sandwich time.

IMG_5033

The sandwich. The sandwich. The sandwich. I’d really rather not play into the circle-jerk, but my honest-to-goodness opinion is that this sandwich is about as good as it’s reputed to be. It didn’t change my life. It didn’t stop my heart. It isn’t the best thing I’ve ever eaten. But it’s absolutely delicious. That much is undeniable. The pastrami, thick-cut and peppery, really does melt in your mouth. It’s very fatty, though not sickeningly so, and the sour of the mustard complements it wonderfully. The rye is just okay, but really, who cares? It’s all about that pastrami, baby. And the pastrami is damn good.

The corned beef (pictured below—first untouched, and then in the inevitable state of disarray) is wonderful, too. So wonderful, in fact, that some days, I even prefer it to the pastrami. (Which I like more depends on little more than which I had last. Seriously: Corned beef is criminally underrated.) Like the pastrami, it’s incredibly tender and juicy—but it’s saltier, tangier, and to me, it tastes a little cleaner (though I’m fully aware that it isn’t “clean” by any stretch of the word).

Corned beef on rye from Katz's DelicatessenHalf a corned beef on rye from Katz's Delicatessen

If plain pastrami/corned beef sounds too boring, you’re wrong, but consider trying the Reuben. It’s made with meat (pastrami or corned beef), sauerkraut, Russian dressing, and Swiss cheese, and it’s pretty solid. I could’ve done without the Swiss, and the rye couldn’t quite hold the combination of greasy meat and wet sauerkraut, but you know what? Messy as it was, I enjoyed the hell out of the one Katz’s Reuben I’ve eaten. It’s not quite on par with its kraut-less brethren, but it’s a good option when you’re in the mood for something a little different.

I like their knishes, too. (Actually, I like stuffing fallen sandwich meat into their knishes. Same thing, right?) They’re under $5 each, which is low for Katz’s, and I like to use them to supplement my usual meal of a half sandwich. (Sam and I have fallen into the habit of splitting a sandwich and a knish. That brings the meal-for-two price down to $25, which is a lot easier on our wallets than the double-sandwiched alternative.) Katz’s offers both square and round knishes, by the way. I’m partial to the square ones, but some insist that round is the way to go. Do with that what you will.

Anyway. I’m, like, 1,700 words and 5 photos deep here, so I suppose I should probably stop going on about this place. Suffice it to say, then, that I am a huge fan of Katz’s—at lunchtime, at dinnertime, and even (and especially) at 2am on a Saturday night, when there’s hardly anyone there and the bathroom floors are covered in sawdust. There’s just something about that place that makes me happy.

And okay, a lot of that something is the food, but there’s more to it, too. The atmosphere: the bustle, the smell, even the tourists—even the misguided ones, who spring for waiter service and then insist on ordering turkey on wheat, extra mayo. The enormous dining room, the hanging salamis, the kitschy celebrity photos that cover the walls. The cutters and their perpetual need to poke fun at me. The sense of coming together over something (pastrami, duh). And, of course, the fact that even I can take part.

Find Katz’s Delicatessen at 205 East Houston Street, on the corner of Houston and Ludlow. And remember: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LOSE YOUR TICKET. (Also, here’s some further reading, because Katz’s fascinates me: a lovely description of a night at Katz’s, and an explanation of how they make their pastrami.)

Tagged , , , , , ,
Aug 10 2016
2 Comments
Places to eat, Restaurants, Technically not nut-free

Terrace Fish & Chips

Fried fish, calamari, and fries from Terrace Fish & Chip

Until last week, I had no idea how much I needed a reliable source of fried fish. But now that I’ve found Terrace Fish & Chips, there’s no unknowing what I now know: I need this stuff, and I need it often.

To tell you the truth, I have no idea how I found out about this place. I keep a list of restaurants to look into, and Terrace sort of just showed up on it. I know I must’ve added it, but I don’t even remember having heard of it. There it was, though, begging me to call and ask a bunch of repetitive questions. So I did.

The man who answered the phone assured me that there were no nuts or nut products involved in anything at Terrace—and why would there be? It’s a very straightforward place. They do fried seafood, grilled seafood, seafood salads, seafood burritos, seafood sandwiches, and seafood rice. That’s it, so it isn’t as if there’s much room for nuts. I was psyched.

The first time I went, I tried a bunch of different things (all of which I’ve ordered many times since): the fried fish, the crab sticks, the calamari, and, of course, the fries. The woman behind the counter switched around one of their (many, many) pre-set meals for me so that the above assortment would count as a combination meal (and thus cost a whole lot less), which was very nice of her—especially considering the fact that she could’ve just as easily told me to get over myself and either (a) settle for one of their six trillion pre-sets or (b) pay the menu price for all the shit I wanted, but she didn’t. She just asked what I wanted, found me a similar meal, and made the necessary substitutions. Small potatoes, but I appreciated it.

Service was quick, too. Within 5 minutes of placing my order, I was out the door—and on a bench around 20 feet away. (There are only like four chairs inside the restaurant, but there are plenty of public benches in a cute little square-like area outside, so the lack of seating doesn’t matter all that much.)

By the way, these “fish and chips” are not British-style (which is to say that they aren’t fish and chips at all). But if you go in with that in mind, everything’s still pretty good. At places like this, it’s all about your expectations, and if you walk into Terrace expecting a big heap of greasy, fried, American seafood, then you’re going to leave happy. (I know I did, at least.)

Fried crab sticks from Terrace Fish & Chip

The fried fish (pictured at the top of this post, atop calamari and fries) is boring as hell, in the best possible way. It’s the sort of boring that comforts, and I must admit that I’m a fan. It’s a little fishy, a lot crispy, and a wee bit salty—and that’s all it takes to win me over, really. It comes in huge pieces, and it’s supremely satisfying, in that way only fried food can be. Swoon.

The calamari is a little bland, too, but it isn’t unpleasant. It’s neither too tough nor too mushy—and to my surprise, tartar sauce goes a long way in brightening up the flavor. (I’d really like it to come with lemon, but oh well. Meals come with ketchup, hot sauce, and tartar sauce. I hate ketchup almost as much as I hate hot sauce, and tartar sauce is pretty hit-or-miss with me, but I’ll make do.)

The crab sticks (pictured second above) actually aren’t bland; they’re sweet and chewy—not tough, but chewy—and when they’re fresh, they’re sickeningly delicious. (I’ve tried to eat them as leftovers, and all I can say is that I do not recommend you do the same. Ick.) Aesthetically, they always remind me of the Angry Whopper—I have no idea why, because they don’t look much alike—but I can assure you these things aren’t anywhere near as revolting as any of Burger King’s latest cries for attention. They’re good, and that’s all I really have to say.

Anyway: Terrace Fish & Chips isn’t the most exciting place to eat. Their food isn’t gourmet, nor is it particularly interesting, but it’s damn good at being what it is: an inexpensive fried seafood joint that seems to have erroneously slapped the phrase “fish & chips” on its awning. [Actually, their awning says “fish & chip,” singular, but their website (and most others) say “fish & chips.” It burns.]

Find it at 77 Pearl Street, not too far from Pier 11/Wall St.—you know, in case you were planning a trip to IKEA or something.

Tagged , , , , , ,
Aug 04 2016
Leave a comment
Chains, Places to eat, Technically not nut-free

Luke’s Lobster

IMG_4860

[Edit: As of 2018, Luke’s no longer has a nut-free kitchen. Almonds. In some grain bowl. Ick. Oh well.]

I’ll admit it: I’ve been actively avoiding Luke’s Lobster since I learned it was nut-free back in February. They have 13 locations, most in pretty convenient locations, but fuck—$17 for a single lobster roll? I know it’s lobster, but come on. That’s a lot! So I stayed away.

Still, the allergy information I got from Luke’s was pretty solid. There are no tree nuts (or peanuts) in any of their dishes, and their bread comes without any sort of “may contain” warnings. No one I’ve spoken to has wanted to make any guarantees about cross-contamination, but that’s standard for places that aren’t declaredly nut-free. So: Luke’s. Safe. Great. But I still didn’t want to pay $17 for an ever-so-small meal.

Last weekend, though, Sam and I really couldn’t figure out what to eat. It all started with a simple question: “What do you want for dinner?”—and two hours later, we still hadn’t gotten anywhere. I didn’t want Mexican; he didn’t want Japanese. Neither of us wanted to go to the one Chinese restaurant I can eat at, and I couldn’t talk him into cooking. In defeat, we went home—we’d been having this conversation on a bench on Houston Street—and agreed to just have a frozen dinner.

And then it hit me. Sam had been wanting to go to Luke’s since we’d first heard about it, and I…well, at that point, I was feeling pretty good about anything that didn’t need to be microwaved. “Put some pants on,” I told him. “I have an idea that I think you’re gonna like.” And that was how I ended up spending almost $40 on lobster rolls (two—only two!) on a Sunday night.

IMG_4866

We went to the Luke’s on 7th Street (not pictured above—that’s the one on South William Street), which happens to be the smallest of the chain’s locations, Tail Cart not included. It’s a special kind of rustic-kitsch hell in there. There are about eight seats, and the walls are covered with sea-themed detritus. Sea, seafood…yes, I get it. But I did not appreciate having to wait 15 minutes in a shoebox that could pass for a Maine airport gift shop, six inches from the next person over, all for an expensive-ass snack-sized meal. (Oh, and the whole place smelled funny, too. Like a cheese shop, in a bad way.)

But I let go of all my ambiance-related gripes the second I bit into my lobster roll. The meat was fresh, and it came in large, satisfying chunks—and there was plenty of it, which was key. Plus, the bun was buttery and well-toasted (well-griddled, actually, which explains why it tasted so much like the bread on a good grilled cheese), and I wasn’t even upset when I ran out of lobster and had to finish the bun off by itself—it’s that good.

The seasoning (which I’m pretty sure is, like, 80% oregano) tasted a bit out of place, and I wouldn’t have minded if there had been a bit more mayonnaise involved, but there’s no denying that overall, the roll was good. That said, it wasn’t quite good enough to make me forget how much I’d spent—and it wasn’t as if I left Luke’s feeling particularly full, either. I’m not made of money, though, so I gathered all my self-control and got the hell out of there before I had the chance to find myself down another $20 with a clam chowder in one hand and a lobster tail in the other.

The Noah’s Ark (two half lobster rolls, two half crab rolls, two half shrimp rolls, four crab claws, two drinks, two chips or slaws, and two pickles—pictured above and below) is certainly a better deal. At $46, it feeds two—and doesn’t cost all that much more than two plain old lobster rolls. Our second time at Luke’s, we went with the Noah’s Ark, and we both left feeling far more satisfied than we’d felt the first time. All around, it was a win.

IMG_4873

Again, the buns stood out—enough to carry me through an overwhelmingly boring crab roll. The shrimp roll was better, but not by much. Unsurprisingly, the lobster was the best of the three, but I did like being able to try all of Luke’s offerings. The pickle was a pickle (a good one, I guess), and the chips (Cape Cod) were chips, but the soda was not just a soda. Luke’s sells Maine Root, which is really, really good. I had the Mexicane Cola, and I was in heaven.

I do have a complaint, though, and it’s an angry one. The crab claws (listed on the menu at an absurd $8 for 4) were a joke. Too cold, too small, too bland, too expensive—all I could think was “how much less would this meal have costed if these stupid crab claws weren’t included?” Still, if you were to buy everything included in the Noah’s Ark on its own, it’d cost you around $20 more than you’d pay for the bundle—so I couldn’t be that upset.

Overall, I like Luke’s. For my bank account’s sake, I wish I didn’t, but I can’t help it. Their lobster rolls just taste right, and I can’t convince myself otherwise—so I suppose I’ll have to learn how to exercise some restraint. (Or not, because they have a loyalty program. For every 10 lobster dishes you buy, you get a free lobster roll—and the Noah’s Ark counts for two. I’m on my way.)

There are a bunch of locations in the city, but the two I’ve been to are located at 93 East 7th Street and 26 South William Street, respectively. I preferred the William Street location, literally only because all the sea-flotsam and Maine-jetsam took up a more reasonable percentage of space than it did on 7th Street—and I’m willing to fight anyone who thinks that criterion is illegitimate.

Tagged , , , , ,
Aug 01 2016
1 Comment
Japanese, Places to eat, Restaurants, Technically not nut-free

Yuka Japanese Restaurant

Yuka's all-you-can-eat menu

Listen: I’m sorry. All-you-can-eat sushi is an abhorrent concept, and I’m actually sort of ashamed to be writing about it again. But a nut-free restaurant is a nut-free restaurant, and I don’t really have the luxury of being as choosy as I’d like.

Sushi’s tough, though. Bad sushi and those who swear by it make me irrationally angry, but I can’t shake this perverse compulsion I have to try out every nut-free Japanese restaurant I come across. It doesn’t matter that the vast majority of these places are so obviously the exact type of thing that riles me up; I read about them, tell myself I’m not interested, and then find myself there within a month or two. The food’s a joke, but I don’t care. More often than not, I end up becoming a regular at these godforsaken places. It’s insane, and I have no idea what’s wrong with me.

…Let’s move on.

I first read about Yuka on this list of New York City restaurants that offer all-you-can-eat sushi deals—a list I was reading because, as I said, there’s something wrong with me. Yuka was one of the least expensive options on the list, so I gave them a call, and sure enough, they’re pretty much nut-free. There are no tree nuts or tree nut products in any of their dishes, but they do use peanuts in a roll or two of theirs. Fine by me—so on a particularly boring Sunday night, my boyfriend and I made the trek uptown.

The restaurant’s small and dark, with string lights and origami birds hanging from the ceiling. Tables are very close together—we ate about six inches from the couple next to us, both of whom kept (literally) overflowing their own glasses with canned Coke. In all, though, the atmosphere wasn’t particularly unpleasant; it was just…strange.

All-you-can-eat was indeed available—at $23.95 per person, which is a pretty good price. Your whole party doesn’t have to go for the all-you-can-eat deal, but be warned: If one person does, and the waitstaff catches the others sampling off the all-you-can-eater’s plate, all will be charged the full all-you-can-eat price. This rule—along with the others, which concern time limits and fees for leftover food—was printed on paper and secured under a layer of glass on our tabletop, along with a partial menu, a beer ad, and a sushi identification chart. Weird, but whatever.

Ordering is done with paper and pencil, which is straightforward enough (though certainly a little less fun than ordering via iPad). You can place as many orders as you’d like, but Yuka will charge you for the food you leave behind, so make sure your eyes and stomach are in-sync, lest you end up on the receiving end of a few contemptuous side-eyes. Overall, Yuka is pretty similar to most other all-you-can-eat places; there’s one real rule, and it’s “be reasonable.” If you can handle that, you’ll be fine.

Anyway, I guess I’ve avoided talking about the food itself for long enough. I hate to say this, but…it’s actually all right. It isn’t good, mind you, but it’s tolerable—and even enjoyable, if you’re prepared for what you’re getting yourself into. The sushi is better than Kikoo‘s, better than Marumi‘s, and generally just better than I’d expect of a) all-you-can-eat Japanese and b) the particularly unpleasant stretch of 2nd Avenue on which Yuka is located. And although the variety of fish isn’t all that wide, it isn’t oppressively narrow, either.

We ordered three rolls—salmon, tuna, and shrimp tempura—and a whole bunch of nigiri, too. When it comes to rolls, I like to keep it simple, especially when I’m eating at a restaurant I don’t (yet?) trust, and that isn’t just because I have food allergies. In my mind, it’s pretty tough to disgust-ify something as simple as a salmon roll, but a roll with eight different components? That’s a whole different animal—one I’m not willing to bet on.

When we started to eat, the first thing I noticed was the temperature of the rice. Unlike most sushi joints toward the worse end of the spectrum, Yuka’s rice isn’t even the slightest bit cold. In fact, it’s almost too warm, but when it comes to rice, I’ll take too-warm over too-cold any day. Most of the fish is an inoffensive room-temperature, but some pieces are inexplicably cold, which is very off-putting, to say the least. For the most part, though, temperatures are solid. Such a relief.

That first night, our rolls surprised me. Salmon and tuna were simple and pleasant, and shrimp tempura was refreshingly no-nonsense. I’ve gotten used to restaurants putting some crazy shit (ranch? RANCH?!) in their shrimp tempura rolls, but the folks at Yuka seem to know better. They use shrimp, avocado, rice, and seaweed—no cucumber, which was strange, but fine by me—and it’s actually not half bad. (If you’re trying to strategize, though, stay away from this one. It’s the most filling thing I’ve eaten at Yuka.)

Truthfully, the nigiri was even more surprising. The salmon was buttery; the squid was nice and firm, without bordering on tough; and the shrimp was sweet, though a bit boring. The whitefish and the yellowtail were both very cold and very bland, but I got over it. I was paying less than $25; what right did I really have to complain?

And that’s the thing: I expected very, very little of Yuka, so naturally, I ended up with a better meal than I’d prepared for. Perhaps that’s why I don’t find myself descending into an irrational fit of rage every time I walk through Yuka’s doors—well, that and the whole unlimited-food-for-cheap thing. For what it is, Yuka is actually pretty great. It isn’t high-end, and it’s full of misguided Upper East Siders, but you know what? It’s cheap, it’s easy, and it’s satisfying—and it’s way, way better than most other sushi at its price point.

Find Yuka at 1557 2nd Avenue, between 80th and 81st. It’s pretty far uptown, but that’s fine—you can use your train ride to mentally prepare yourself for the absurd amount of food you’re about to (try to) choke down.

[Sorry about the lack of photos in this post. I tried, but I couldn’t get a single decent picture of the food itself. It’s dark in there, and things move really quickly. I’ve failed you; try Yelp.]

Tagged , , , , , ,
Jul 26 2016
3 Comments
Chinese, Kosher, Places to eat, Restaurants, Sandwiches, Technically not nut-free

Essen New York Deli, Part I

A pastrami sandwich from Essen NY Deli

Man, Jewish delis are the best.

I’ve had a lot of luck with kosher food, but until now, that luck has been reserved for baked goods. I’d never been able to find a nut-free delicatessen—that is, until I heard about Essen, a glatt kosher deli in Midwood, Brooklyn that happens not to have any nuts in house.

It sounded too good to be true, so I sent Essen an email to double-check. The response I received, in its entirety, was as follows: “Hi, we do not cook with any nuts but we are not a 100% nut free environment. Any questions please call us.” That response could have meant a whole lot of different things, so I did end up calling with a few further questions.

After being transferred a few times, I ended up on the phone with someone who really seemed to know what he was talking about. He explained to me that, while they don’t cook with any nuts at Essen, they don’t like to call their food “nut-free,” as they have no means of controlling what their customers (or employees) bring in with them. They prefer to say that they make food without nuts so as not to mislead anyone with severe allergies. So far, so fair.

Bread’s trouble, though, and I wasn’t about to make a trip to Midwood without the promise of a sandwich, so I was sure to double-check on that, too. With me still on the line, the man on the phone called up his bread supplier, put him on speakerphone, and asked him whether there might be any nut traces in their rye or club breads. The answer was “no,” and that was that. Within 30 minutes, I was riding the Q to Avenue J.

[Before I move on, I’d like to emphasize just how competent and knowledgeable this guy was. I asked what “we are not a 100% nut free environment” meant, and without a second’s hesitation, he jumped into an explanation that demonstrated a degree of allergy awareness that was really refreshing—especially at the tail end of a few hours of restaurant-calling. He was patient, clear, and actually helpful, and I was incredibly grateful. Serious props to the folks at Essen for that one.]

The restaurant’s bigger than I expected it to be, with a few different rooms full of tables. There’s counter service at the front, and it’s easy enough to get food to-go, but Sam and I opted to eat in (mostly because I’m absolutely hopeless when it comes photographing food without a table to help me out). Ourselves excluded, all the patrons were Jewish—and most seemed to know one another, too. We got a lot of funny looks, but such is life in an Orthodox neighborhood for even the most modestly dressed of goyim. In all, everyone was friendly enough.

Essen has two menus: one Chinese and one with traditional deli food. Before I’d even sat down, I knew I’d be ordering the hot pastrami on rye. (How could I have considered anything else? Pastrami’s at the base of my need-hierarchy pyramid.) Sam got the Yitzy’s Favorite Deluxe (fried skirt steak with gravy on a club roll), which came with french fries and onion rings—and as we tend to, we split both sandwiches.

First came the cole slaw and pickles, though. The cole slaw was good, if a bit sweet—though it was much, much better after a few too many bites of pastrami. There were two types of pickles: half-sours, which were all right, and full-sours, which I much preferred. The full-sours tasted inexplicably like salami, but we didn’t care much. We ate them quickly, and our sandwiches arrived soon after.

The pastrami on rye (pictured above) cost $14.95, and it was worth every last penny. Fatty, tender, and juicy, the pastrami itself was really tasty, if a bit thin-cut—and the bread wasn’t half bad, either. It held its integrity, at least. (I tend to hate rye, but how can you hate anything that’s acting as a vehicle for a few inches of freshly-carved meat? You can’t.) As a whole, the sandwich was simple and delicious, and I’d already begun to crave another within an hour of finishing my first. (Unfortunately—or fortunately, perhaps—I was back in Manhattan by then. Oh well.)

The Yitzy’s Favorite ($22.95) wasn’t my favorite, though I didn’t actually dislike it in the slightest. It wasn’t at all bad, but the fried steak just wasn’t anywhere near as good as the pastrami, and the club bread was worse than the rye, too. I loved the gravy, but the sandwich was a little boring overall—and it’d cost $8 more than the pastrami, which just made me feel like I was paying more to miss out. Nothing was wrong, but I’m not exactly in a rush to order the Yitzy’s Favorite again.

The fries it came with were pretty terrible, by the way. (Like, inedibly bad. Neither Sam nor I could get through them, which is sort of saying a lot.) And the onion rings were not onion rings; they were strands of hot onion adorned every few inches with clusters of fried batter. Regardless, they were delicious, though certainly a little strange.

With tax and tip, the meal was on the expensive side, but I maintain that it was absolutely worth its price. Fortunately, Essen is far enough away that I can’t stop by every day, which should go a long way in keeping me from going broke. Their menu’s pretty big, and I’ve only eaten two of its offerings, but you know what? I’m ready to say with confidence that I love this place.

Perhaps one day I’ll let go of the pastrami (yeah, right) and try out the rest of the menu. I’d like to try their knishes, or their matzah ball soup, or maybe some of their other sandwiches, at least. Perhaps I’ll even get around to trying a few things off their Chinese menu—though I think that’ll probably deserve a post of its own. (That’ll be part II—stay tuned.) But for now, it’s pastrami for me.

Find Essen New York Deli at 1359 Coney Island Avenue, between Avenue J and Avenue K. (It’s not that far away, really. From Manhattan, it’s 40 minutes on the Q, tops—way less if you’re starting off downtown.) Beware, though: They are Jewish, so they won’t be open on Shabbat. They close at 2pm on Fridays, and they don’t reopen till 11am Sunday mornings.

Tagged , , , , ,
Jul 23 2016
3 Comments
Chains, Pizza, Places to eat, Restaurants, Technically not nut-free

Joe’s Pizza

joespizza

If you Google “best pizza in NYC,” you will come across Joe’s. That’s just the way it is, especially if you’re looking to purchase by the slice. And while the articles that’ll come up are all just products of a huge best-pizzeria circlejerk, there’s just no denying that Joe’s is good.

It’s places like Joe’s that give New Yorkers grounds to brag about pizza. Theirs is simple, cheap, and quick—exactly as pizza should be—and it’s good, too. As their website says (errors intact): “At Joe’s, you won’t find any pretentious concoctions nor do we serve bargain pizza made with who-knows-what.  It’s just the old-school, real deal New York Pizza.  No string-bean, asparagus covered, wild turkey surprise pizza here.” And it’s true: Joe’s is the real deal.

As far as I can tell, they’re pretty much nut-free, too. (Really, most plain old pizza places are.) At Joe’s, there’s pizza, there are toppings, and there are drinks. Sometimes, there are salads…though I’ve never actually seen one. That’s it. No nuts—that I know of.

Of course, if that isn’t enough for you (and why should it be?), I’m sure the folks at Joe’s would be happy to answer any questions you might have. I’d recommend asking in person, though. In my experience, calling pizzerias to ask about allergens typically doesn’t go all that well. (It’s near-impossible. “Nuts? No, sorry. We have pepperoni, sausage, peppers…”)

Does Joe’s offer the city’s best slice? I have no idea. My personal favorite is (and probably always will be) My Little Pizzeria‘s plain slice, which I’ve been eating regularly for half a decade now—but what do I know? (A few things, I guess. But only a few.)

In any case, I like Joe’s. A lot. For a good lunch, it’s so absurdly cheap and easy—how could I not be a fan? My preferred Joe’s is the one located at 7 Carmine Street, right off of Bleecker. It’s open till 4am (5am on the weekends), and it’s right across from Father Demo Square, whose benches make up for the lack of indoor seating at Joe’s.

There are two other locations—one by Union Square (150 14th Street, between 3rd and 4th) and one in Williamsburg (216 Bedford Avenue, between North 5th and North 6th). I’ve never been to either, but I assume they’re pretty similar to the Joe’s on Carmine—i.e. worth a try, at the very least.

Tagged , , , ,
Jul 20 2016
27 Comments
Brands, Guides, Online vendors, Snacks, Sweets, Technically not nut-free, Truly nut-free

A Guide to Tree Nut–Free Peanuts and Peanut Butters

You can spend as much time as you’d like combing through Google results; you won’t find much in the way of information on tree nut–free peanut products. I’ve been complaining about this for a while (and I’ve blogged about it before, no doubt) but I figure it’s probably time to actually do something about the issue.

So…I have. I reached out to approximately half a billion peanut and peanut butter companies, and this post is the result. I’ve only included companies that are reasonably allergy-friendly, so if a brand’s not on this list, I’ve either never come across it or I’ve come across it and found that it’s probably not a viable option for those with nut allergies. (Or! A handful of stick-in-the-mud customer-service representatives have kept me from being able to find out much of anything about a company’s facilities. That happens a lot, actually.)

The products that have made this list are peanuts and peanut butters that probably won’t kill you…if you’re allergic to tree nuts and tree nuts alone, that is. And if you can’t eat peanuts (or if you’re in the mood for a change of pace), scroll down to the bottom of this guide for a section on other nut-free spreads.

(Looking for tree nuts free from cross contamination with other tree nuts?)

Continue reading →

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Jul 14 2016
1 Comment
Chains, Mexican, Places to eat, Restaurants, Technically not nut-free

Taqueria Diana

taqueriadiana

I know, I know. This blog is filled with posts about nut-free taquerias; how could I possibly have found another? Well, I actually have an answer: I found Taqueria Diana here, where I ended up after a Google search of “best nachos in NYC.” 30 minutes later—after I’d called and made sure the folks at Taqueria Diana don’t use any nuts in their kitchen—it was time to go.

I went pretty late in the day, and they were out of both carnitas and elote—which, to be honest, had me pretty disappointed—so I got a tray of nachos al pastor and Sam got a burrito (also al pastor). I tried his burrito, and…it was pretty bad. The filling was mostly rice and beans, and when Sam gave up on holding the burrito together and let its contents spill into onto his tray, I couldn’t deny how much what fell out reminded me of a cockroach infestation.

Unnecessarily mean comments aside, the burrito was undeniably mushy and bland, and I probably won’t ever eat another. The nachos, however, were a different animal entirely. (Not literally. Same meat.) For $12, it’s a huge portion—and it’s really good, too. Seriously: I can’t stop ordering them. It’s becoming a problem.

The chips (homemade!) are strong enough to hold the toppings: cheese, beans, guacamole, crema, salsa, jalapeños, carrots, salsa verde, and the meat of your choice. There’s plenty of cheese, always fully melted and well-distributed—and there’s a whole lot of guac, too, which I can’t help but appreciate. The salsa verde isn’t all that flavorful, but there are squirt-bottled salsas of various heat levels all over the restaurant, so the verde’s a non-issue, really. Even the beans are good (and I’m unashamedly anti-bean).

Best of all, these nachos are entirely free from that nasty-ass, movie-theater-tasting slop called “nacho cheese” that everyone and their mother seems to need to drizzle over tortilla chips. (Ugh. Ugh.) They’re missing pico de gallo, too—but I’m willing to accept that as long as nacho cheese stays out of the picture, too.

The pork itself—which is the one meat they never seem to run out of—is pretty dry and boring, but that’s my only real complaint. The earlier I go, the better the meat is—so perhaps it’d actually be good if I could manage to show up around lunchtime. (Or perhaps they won’t be out of carnitas. One can hope, right?) Meat aside, though, these nachos are pretty solid, and I’m grateful to have found them.

Two tacos— from Taqueria Diana

I’ve tried the tacos, too—al pastor and chicken, both pictured immediately above)—and while I prefer those at Los Tacos (and Otto’s, too, on a good day), these definitely aren’t bad. There’s plenty of crema to go around, and I’m a sucker for anything with a bunch of cilantro sprinkled on top, so it wasn’t all that hard for these to keep me chewing. Still, the tortillas were sort of shitty, and both meats fell totally flat. The al pastor was as described above, and the chicken was mushy-soft, in a tuna-fishy sort of way.

Via delivery—and only via delivery, because I can’t seem to ever get out the door before 3pm—I’ve actually been able to get my hands on both the carnitas and the elote. Though everything got a bit soggy in transport, I can still say that I liked the carnitas a whole lot better than the al pastor. On the other hand, the elote fell a bit flat. It had way too much mayo and not nearly enough cheese, and the corn itself was pretty bland—though perhaps it would’ve been better if it hadn’t just traveled a few miles in a tin foil cocoon.

Anyway. I’ve done a fair amount of complaining in this post, but I do like Taqueria Diana. The tacos are good, the nachos are great, and the elote’s all right, I suppose, though it’s not as if I’ll ever crave it. Maybe one day I’ll be able to get my hands on their carnitas in-store—or maybe not. Either way, I’ll probably continue to eat at Taqueria Diana. That’s kind of just what I do.

They have three locations: one on 2nd Avenue, between 7th and 8th (129 2nd Ave); one on 6th Avenue, between 17th and 18th (601 6th Ave); and one on the corner of 9th Avenue and 39th Street (524 9th Ave). It’s not McDonald’s, so they’re all a little different. I’ve only been to the 6th Avenue location, but I look forward to trying the others, too.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Jul 11 2016
1 Comment
Brands, Online vendors, Snacks, Technically not nut-free

America’s Best Nut Co.

Southern Homestyle peanuts from America's Best Nut Co

Tree nut–free peanuts are trouble. I’ve written before about how tough they are to find, so I won’t rehash—but suffice it to say that they aren’t easy to come by. In fact, America’s Best Nut Co. makes the only safe shelled peanuts I’ve managed to find in years (and years) of half-hearted searching.

Their website is pretty lean, and they have no email address, as far as I can tell—so I did the unthinkable: I called. The (very, very kind) woman I spoke with confirmed what I’d heard: that they don’t have any tree nuts in their facility, and that their peanuts should be entirely nut-free. Unfortunately, she also told me that their peanuts aren’t sold in any New York stores. Fortunately, though, they are sold online, so—well, I’m eating a handful as I type this. (Literally. One-handed blogging is a slow-going labor of love.)

Shipping was expensive, so in the interest of efficiency (and certainly not because I’m a pig), I ordered three tins: one lightly salted Southern Homestyle, one unsalted Southern Homestyle, and one sea-salted. All three were great, but I liked the lightly salted best, as they were a nice happy medium between the other two. (Duh.) The peanuts themselves taste great, and the salt complements their flavor nicely (rather than covering it up, as it tends to with the sea-salted variety). Plus, unlike the unsalted peanuts, these don’t grow boring after too many handfuls. They’re frighteningly addictive.

The unsalted did have their perks, though. First, they’re a classic—and second, they’re super greasy. These are some oily peanuts (though they aren’t unpleasantly so in the slightest). It’s a nice touch—in my eyes, at least—and it certainly sets these peanuts apart from those you’ll pull out of a shell.

In all, America’s Best Nut Co. is a lovely company that makes some damn good peanuts. My only gripes, really, are that they can’t be found in stores, and that they’re too expensive (for me) to order regularly.

Tagged , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →