AfterTaste (by Sherry)

Porcão - 360 Park Avenue South (bet. 25th and 26th Streets)
(212) 252-7080

Although I had pushed the reservation from 7:30pm to 9pm, the place was still comfortably crowded when we arrived (ten minutes late). Matt was sitting at the bar waiting for my family and me, sipping a coke next to a group of 14 rowdy men (barely) in suits. We were seated at a very large round table on the edge of the room, near the stairs to the restroom and the waiter station. You’d think being so close to the home base for all the waiters would get us great service since they were always whizzing by, but alas, that assumption never came to fruition.

Upon being seated, the waiter asked if we had been ever been to a churrascaria before. A couple of us had, most of us hadn’t so he explained the entire system. You go and eat as much from the salad bar as you’d like and when you’re ready for the main part of the show, you flip over your little cardboard button from red to green. The green light, theoretically, will bring a flurry of waiters wielding medieval looking spears of meats to your table.

I normally would have ordered a cocktail, perhaps a caipirinha from the caipirinha cart rolling around from raucous table to raucous table. Seeing as I was ill, I decided to ask what juices they had, expecting orange and maybe cranberry. They had strawberry, pineapple, lemonade, orange, mango, and a slew of others I don’t recall, almost all freshly squeezed and unsweetened. I ordered strawberry and pineapple, my sister got strawberry lemonade. The juices were accompanied by packets of sweeteners, but the pineapple juice in my concoction was sweet enough, thoroughly refreshing and delicious.

We all got up together to explore the salad bar and circled around it like hungry sharks with our mammoth plates (literally 14-15″ in diameter). There was regular create-your-own salad, Caesar salad, two types of pasta salad, potato salad, some suspicious looking sushi, marinated artichokes, a couple of soups, some hot items, some salad that looked like Potato Stix mixed with mayo, and many other dishes. The most notable thing was the potato salad, not just because the rest of the salad bar was forgettable, but because it actually was delicious. The potatoes were tender and it was so well mixed that you couldn’t detect the mayo, which had melded with all the crumbly bits of overcooked potato to create a pleasantly grainy, thick “sauce”. Pleasantly onion-y from the chives and perfectly seasoned, the potato salad was the biggest hit at the table.

Nothing else was very exciting or better than what you would get at a typical hot/cold buffet at your local deli. I had some palatable bow-tie pasta salad with pesto. The artichokes were eye-twitchingly tart with that tinny flavor of artichokes marinated in a can or jar. The Caesar dressing didn’t really taste like Caesar, but it was garlicky and the croutons were crunchy so I finished that. I realized too late that I should have stuck with the potato salad and a regular green salad. Gluttonous me, oh well.

I wanted to get rid of my salad bar plate since 70% of it was still filled with food that I scraped into the middle of it to signal to the waiters that I was done. I couldn’t get their attention or even slow them down so I scraped the food to the top of the plate to make way for the meat. It was only after three or four “meat men” that I finally got a new plate.

“Get ready, when you flip your button over they’ll start coming and won’t let up,” Matt warned me. Okay, I flipped my button over and braced myself for the onslaught. Nothing. Finally, the sirloin man arrived at our table. For the rest of the evening, the meat was stop and go, sometimes one would come right after the other; other times, there would be a five minute gap in between, which was good if you had a lot of meat to catch up on, not so good if you were just sitting there impatiently waiting as if for a bus to arrive.

We all agreed that the sirloin was the best of all, succulent, salty, and perfectly cooked. This includes the plain sirloin and the sirloin with mysterious gobs of cheese injected into it. The pork loin was overcooked, dry, and bland. The beef ribs arrived on a rolling cart and were meaty with a tender texture, a nice variation from all the regular steak we had. The pork sausage was deliciously spicy and savory, but far too rich to eat on its own. I longed for a soft, pillowy roll to tuck it into.

I noticed a theme of wrapping leaner meats in bacon to keep them moist. This included turkey breast and filet mignon. I quickly learned that the bacon should be scraped away and not consumed as the roasting process (or however these skewers are cooked) made the bacon chewy, pink, and soft. It did lend its smoky saltiness to the lean meats; most successfully, the turkey breast. I tried chicken hearts for the first time, which I was very proud of myself for. My previously mentioned Brazilian friend told me chicken hearts are very popular in Brazil so I’m glad I tried them. I only ate two. They were tiny little things, one would probably fit comfortably in a teaspoon. They tasted like dark meat chicken but with an unusual consistency, not bad.

About 15-20 minutes into our green lighting, I wondered about side dishes and wasn’t sure if we were even supposed to get any. As if reading my mind (for the first and only time that evening), a waiter swung by to let us know our side dishes would be coming along shortly. Ten minutes later, we received a small bowl of mashed potatoes, a plate of shoestring fries, and a plate of yucca fries. The yucca was by far my favorite, very crispy and lighter, smoother, and tastier than a regular potato. It was salted to perfection. The fries were cut exactly the way I love them (about the width of a McDonald’s fry), but hadn’t been salted at all. I would have tried the mashed potatoes but by the time our side dishes arrived, I was already pretty full from the meat.

Skip dessert. I couldn’t taste anyone else’s since I was sick, but judging from each person’s reaction the desserts ranged from mildly satisfied (my cousin) to disappointed (me). I only ate about 1/3 of my chocolate cloaked, Klondike-type ice cream square and it wasn’t just because I was stuffed.

I can’t do an itemized rundown of the bill, because it was kept from me, but I can tell you that with tax and tip, 4 Diet Cokes, 4 juices (in large daiquiri type glasses), one glass of wine, 5 desserts, and 2 coffees the total came to around $460. We knew going in that the all-you-can-eat portion cost $50/person and that it didn’t include drinks or desserts, but the extras added up fairly quickly.

This is what I have to say about Porcão. The atmosphere is a little cheesy in that trendy club kind of way, but still fun. It’s great for large, loud parties. There were at least three other birthdays being celebrated. I could tell because they did this whole tambourine, drum hoo-ha for them. I threatened my family with torture and decapitation if they told them it was my birthday. They got the hint, so I (and they) narrowly escaped that fate, thank god. I could see how diners could be horrified by the salad bar. It was a little Sizzler-esque. Stick with a plain make-it-yourself salad, Caesar salad, or potato salad. Nothing else is worth the calories or stomach space. As for the meat, I mean, it’s mass produced roasts. What can you expect? The meats ranged from delicious to flavorless sand. I’m happy I chose Porcão for my birthday and finally experienced the lively atmosphere of a churrascaria, but for the price and with all the other great restaurants in this town, will I be returning any time soon?

Another year passes since my last birthday. What have I learned in this additional year of wisdom?

A lot, but that’s not what this post is supposed to be about so I’ll just keep all those sage secrets to myself.

Alright, here are two:

1. When you’re too lazy to wash your hair, straight ironing it instantly makes it look, not only clean, but also like you got a professional blow out. Ha!
2. Fried calamari is one of the simplest and yet most impressive dishes to make for guests.

The most grueling thing about my birthday this year has been the fact that I just got sick two days ago and will probably still be sick on Monday, February 25, my birthday. Oh yeah, and the big decision of what restaurant to celebrate my birthday at! This year things are a little different. This blog has placed a unique sense of pressure on my decision. It matters so much…at least in my head it does. Do I go romantic and sumptuous? Do I go classic and elegant? Do I go fun and brand new? Where and what do I go?

For dinner with my family I decided to go with Porcão, the Brazilian style churrascaria, on Park Avenue. You know, the kind that has the green and red chip to signal to the meat men to either bring more meat or to stop coming over and watch out for the projectile vomiting. Fun, right? Plus, I love any restaurant concept that involves game tokens. My friend Aline, a lovely Brazilian, gave the restaurant two thumbs up. Can’t get a better endorsement than that. The busy, whirling carnival-like atmosphere of a churrascaria is exactly what I wanted for my family, a place my sister and I could speak at our normal volumes without being thrown out. Oh yeah, and we also just really love meat.

I still had to tackle where to have my dinner with Matt. The problem was there are a million restaurants I really want to go to, but none that I’m DYING to go to. Finally I thought, hey, I don’t have to go to a brand new restaurant, but maybe a new experience would work. So I made a reservation for an omakase meal with Gari himself at his new outpost, Sushi of Gari 46. I’ve lived near the original Sushi of Gari my entire life, but didn’t discovered it until a long time after it opened (~3 years ago; a long time when you consider it’s a stone’s throw away). It’s supposedly a religious experience to curl up vulnerably in Gari’s impeccably skilled hands and say, anything goes. If his regular sushi is any indication, I was ready to be whisked away on a cold of buttery tuna. But then I caught a cold and I’d rather not insult a genius by slathering every delicate piece of sushi he hands me with eight gallons of soy sauce just so I’ll taste something through my mucus-y haze. Ah well, another day, another Gari…

So then I thought, alright, I’m too sick to taste the subtle flavors of Japanese cuisine, but I can still taste. Then it dawned on me. There was a restaurant I’ve been very anxious to try (not dying, but close enough): Perilla, with its endearingly gruff part-owner, the shy Top Chef himself, Harold Dieterle, and those spicy duck meatballs we’ve all read so much about. I hope the meal is as enjoyable as I’ve heard it can be and I won’t have to tell him to please pack his knives and give us our money back. Reservation canceled due to illness. Damn it.

Hi, this is Matt [boyfriend]. Before I start I suppose I should tell you a little about myself. I am in my mid-20s and am a first year law student [hence this piece bordering on the edge of being posted within a reasonable time after Valentine’s Day]. I plan on being a prosecutor upon passing the bar and am a fanatical supporter of all things Yankees and Giants. I have always enjoyed food and eating out but before meeting Sherry never realized how fun and romantic cooking can be. This post is mainly geared towards the guys out there, but hopefully it will give the ladies some insight as to the male psyche in the kitchen.

As Sherry detailed in the Pre-Valentine’s Day post, I took a HUGE risk last year and decided to cook her a meal. Most people laughed at me since, outside of the occasional bowl of spaghetti and jarred sauce, I had little to no cooking experience. I chose something that was actually pretty easy but sounded very impressive: risotto with scallops and wild mushrooms. The risotto turned out pretty good if I do say so myself. More importantly though, I think it showed Sherry how appreciative I was that she introduced me to such an exciting new hobby that we could both share together.

Ever since then, Sherry and I pick out a new, challenging meal every few weeks to make and enjoy together. However, Valentine’s Day is my show: I choose the meal, buy the groceries, and handle most of the cooking, though of course with a little supervision from Sherry. This year, in an attempt to sort of add to what I did last year, I settled on veal osso buco over a risotto Milanese.

We settled on an osso buco recipe from Giada de Laurentiis as our base recipe and couldn’t have been more pleased. The recipe is supposed to serve 6, but we adjusted here and there to accommodate 2 people [ended up more like for 3 people, we couldn’t finish]. We had 2 shanks at a little under a pound each but didn’t really fuss with many of the measurements.

Veal Osso Buco

1 sprig fresh rosemary
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
2 whole cloves
2 whole veal shanks (about 1 pound per shank), trimmed and tied
¾ cup flour
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 small onion, diced
1 small carrot, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 tbs. tomato paste
1 cup dry white wine
4-5 cups low-sodium chicken stock
3 tbs. parsley, chopped
11/2 tbs. lemon zest

• Lay the rosemary, thyme, bay leaf and cloves into cheesecloth and secure with twine for the bouquet garni. [I, of course, had no idea what “cheesecloth” was. After wandering around the grocery store for about 10 minutes, I found out that you can actually ask people who work there and they will tell you where to find things. To think of all the time I have wasted wandering aimlessly. This of course will not affect my policy of never asking for directions. Anyway, this step is really easy. You literally just cut off a piece of the cheesecloth, throw the stuff in, and tie it up. Off to a good start.]
• Pat the veal shanks dry with paper towels. Tie the meat to the bone with the kitchen twine. Season each shank with salt and freshly ground pepper. Dredge the shanks in flour, shaking off any excess flour. [Again, self-explanatory. Our shanks came tied so I didn’t have to worry about that, though if you can tie your shoelaces you can handle this. And cover every inch of the shanks in flour, don’t cut corners here.]

• In a big, big pot, heat the vegetable oil until smoking. Add tied veal shanks to the searing hot pot and brown all sides, about 3-4 minutes per side. After browned, remove shanks and set aside. [I can’t tell you how many times I expressed my concern to Sherry about heating the oil until it smokes as the side of the oil container explicitly says not to let the oil smoke. However, she reassured me that as long as we keep an eye on it everything would be fine, advice I strongly recommend to anyone trying this recipe. But once you get the shanks in your worries about the original smoke will have long subsided as the smoke from the meat fills your kitchen. Just keep an eye on them, shift about every 3 minutes, and try to brown as much of the shanks as possible.]
• In the same pot, add the onion, carrot and celery to the pot of oil. Season with salt and pepper. Saute veggies until cooked, about 6-7 minutes.
• Stir in tomato paste. Return shanks to the pot and add the white wine. Bring liquid to boil and then simmer for about 6 minutes, until reduced by 1/2.
• Add the bouquet garni and 2 cups of the chicken stock. Now bring this to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover the pot, and simmer for about 2 hours or until the meat pulls away from the bone when poked with a fork. The meat shouldn’t actually fall off the bone since it’s tied on. Check on the liquid level every 15 minutes, also flipping the shanks and adding more chicken stock as necessary. The level of cooking liquid should always be about 1/2 the way up the shank. [A lot of steps with a lot of ingredients here but actually pretty simple. All of the suggested times are pretty much dead on and a little common sense can go a long way. After adding the shanks and pouring in the wine, take note of where the liquid is in relation to the twine on the shanks and then you will know when it has reduced by half. As the Grandpa in 3 Ninjas advised, “Always mind your surroundings.”]

• Fish out the bouquet garni. Carefully remove the shanks from the pot (if all has gone right, the bone might slip out) and place over risotto. Cut off the twine and discard.
  
• Ladle the osso buco gravy from the pot over just the shanks (leave the risotto clear so the bright yellow glows). Garnish the entire dish with the parsley and lemon zest.

Cooking to Dean Martin’s “Sway” and Dion’s “Runaround Sue”

I won’t go into detail about how everything came out because, frankly, I really don’t know how to. However, I will say this; after having a couple bites each of the veal and the risotto, Sherry put down her fork and said this was better than the osso buco she had in Italy with her friend Veronica. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond assuming she was either: (a) so in love with me that she became delusional; or (b) was a really good liar. Either way, it made me feel pretty good and made worthwhile all the anxiety I had experienced before cooking for her.

Guys, if you take anything from this post it should be this: don’t be scared to take a chance. Cooking for your girlfriend can be a daunting task, especially if she is a foodie. But be willing to try cooking something like the risotto with scallops and wild mushrooms I made last year. Even if you end up completely screwing it up and having to toss it in the garbage and order delivery, she won’t soon forget that you cared enough to try. Trust me, the next time you’re late meeting her on the subway platform [me all the time], or get into a fight, or want to watch the game instead of Giada’s Weekend Getaway in Miami, you’ll come out on the winning end.

And ladies, no matter what, IT TASTES DELICIOUS!

A work of art

Last year for Valentine’s Day, as his gift to me, Matt went out on a limb, put himself in a vulnerable position, and cooked me risotto with wild mushrooms and bay scallops. He was nervous and everyone he spoke to about it scoffed and said, sarcastically, “good luck, buddy”; everyone , that is, except for his sweet mother, his eternal number one fan. It became a bit more of a group project than him cooking for me, but, to be fair, risotto can be very daunting for a beginner cook and I mostly acted as a supervisor.

We’ve decided to make Matt cooking for me a Valentine’s Day tradition. Now that he is more skilled in the kitchen, the level of difficulty of the meal has also increased. He’ll be making me osso buco with risotto Milanese.

Osso buco, that elusive comfort food from northern Italy, so rarely attempted and even more rarely successfully attempted. Real, authentic osso buco would be neither real nor authentic without a large heap of golden, saffron hued risotto Milanese. The first time I had osso buco and risotto Milanese was when I was studying Italian in Florence many years ago. The middle-aged woman that my good friend Veronica lived with was originally from Milan and offered to cook us a Milanese feast. Sick of my own perpetual diet of spaghetti alla carbonara and rigatoni with tuna, peas, and mushrooms, I gladly accepted the invitation. The savory, juicy meat fell from the bones in large chunks, landing on a bed of chewy, gooey, cheesy risotto.

Together, we’ve combed through a few recipes and settled on one by Giada di Laurentiis (I secretly worship her and her unusually large head). The whole process appears difficult because it takes a lot of time, but most of it is inactive braising time.

Anyway, I’ll be happy if we’re able to achieve 50% of the flavor and perfection of the meal I had that rainy day in Florence.

Another part of his gift to me is that he will be writing a post afterwards about his experience as a boyfriend making a complicated dinner for his cooking-crazed girlfriend. Be on the lookout for that, it should be a hoot.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

The Smith
55 Third Avenue (Bet. 10th and 11th Streets)
(212) 420-9800

From the name and the few photos of the restaurant available on its website, I assumed The Smith referred to a blacksmith, as the decor of the restaurant, with its black wrought-iron and dark woods, seemed to suggest. I now retract that assertion. I’m not sure what the name is all about. In fact, I don’t even know what The Smith is all about and I’m okay with that.

Aside from all the wrought-iron, the floor is tiled in the bistro style of small, octagonal tiles, the walls are covered in off white subway tiles and black and white posters. Downstairs, before you reach the unisex bathroom, you encounter a photo booth and a private room tucked away down a separate hallway. One part whimsy, one part functionality, one part 1920’s Paris.

The confusion from the photos doesn’t end with theme. The size of the bar/restaurant seems small and crowded on The Smith website, whereas in reality, The Smith replaced a mega-mart sized Pizzeria Uno, as out of place and inexplicable in the East Village as the 7-11 on the Upper East Side. Lucky for all of us, the vast space was replaced with The Smith and not another Duane Reade.

The macaroni and cheese at The Smith is what I’ve heard the most about (here and from friends of friends). But I was wary as I always am with homemade mac and cheese. I don’t enjoy the often bland flavor of the typically lumpy, curdled cheese sauce. The only mac and cheese I relish is Blue Smoke’s. I wish I could say that I was proven wrong at The Smith. I wasn’t, but I wasn’t entirely disappointed either. The noodles, fat elbows, were very al dente and the cheese sauce, while not as creamy or tasty as I normally would like (I had to add salt), was fairly spare, which I appreciated because that meant less curdled mouth feel. All in all, a solid dish, just not my favorite, but I may have been the only real critic of it at the table.

Served bubbling hot in a charming miniature cast-iron pan

Thankfully, the fried string beans, another touted dish at The Smith, did live up to the praise it has received. The beans, contrary to the greasy, limp mess I had imagined, were crunchy yet tender. The cool, onion-y Ranch dressing it came with paired excellently with the batter dipped green beans.

The potato chips with blue cheese fondue were hot, crisp, gooey, salty, and musky in that good way that blue cheese can be; in short, delicious, but nothing mind blowing. Great to have sitting in the middle of the table for picking and if I had been there just for drinks and nibbles (which The Smith would be great for), these would have been perfect. Unfortunately, I was there for a real meal and this never ending bowl just filled me up unnecessarily.

The most impressive appetizer of the evening, in my opinion, was the crab hush puppies, a pleasant surprise on the menu considering it didn’t appear on any of The Smith’s menus online. The crab hush puppy was like a doughier, chewier crab cake, which may not sound like a good thing, but trust me, it can be. The crab undoubtedly made its presence known, but the hush puppy batter brought a substantialness to the crab’s delicacy without masking its flavor. The hush puppies sat in a sharply lemony aioli, garnished with pieces of watercress. I could see the aioli being a little too overwhelmingly tart for some, but seeing as I have an unnatural obsession with all things sour, I enjoyed liberally slathering it on the hush puppies. Others should try just a dab to start. The sauce mirrored the hush puppy itself with its balance of heft from the fatty mayo and delicateness of the citrus.

As for entrees, the braised short ribs were disappointing. Until that night I don’t think I had ever been let down by a big bowl of comforting, earthy, melt in your mouth short ribs, but the flavor just wasn’t there for these. The meat was tender, but it tasted like a typical beef stew with potatoes and onions.

Another dish that fell short of very, very high expectations was the lamb schnitzel served over mashed potatoes. Sounds ridiculously delicious, right? Well, it was good…but just good. I mean, it tasted like fried meat. How bad could that really be? And, yet, we all wished it had been more. Not that there had been more, but that it had been more.

The best dishes of the evening were the ones I thought would be the most run of the mill: steamed mussels, a gargantuan pork chop, and the burger. The burger with its tangy, Big Mac-like special sauce was delightfully crusted with char. Even though the kitchen forgot the bacon that was supposed to come with it and even though they didn’t offer American cheese (much to Danielle’s chagrin), it was deeply satisfying and a good size. The fries that came alongside it and alongside my mussels were slim and crisp with the skins on. Lovely.

The sweet mussels were in a predictable white wine sauce with an unpredictably heavy (but delectable) amount of Dijon mustard. The pork chop was, as I said, mammoth and ridiculously juicy. It was served with a side of “smashed” potatoes, which I did not enjoy, but then again I’ve always disliked the texture of the cheekily named “smashed” variety of potato.

By the time the dessert menus hit the table we were all ready to unbutton our pants and roll over for a nap, but my friend Nay insisted on ordering at least one dessert to share. She and Danielle couldn’t resist the novelty of the birthday cake (candles and everything, no real birthday girl/boy required).

Cute, huh?

Yes, cute concept. Yes, very cute presentation (in a silver bowl over vanilla ice cream). Unfortunately, non-existent taste. Unfortunately, five-day-old-cake-that-had-been-left-in-the-fridge-uncovered texture. Avoid it at all costs. To be fair, when we complained to our waiter about it, he apologized and brought us a new slice. To be honest, it was just as bad as the first one.

Like with any restaurant, especially any new restaurant, The Smith has its strengths and its weaknesses, but the important thing is that its strengths outweigh its weaknesses. And I can’t (and won’t) ask for anything more.

PS - Be on the look out for their burger and beer special on Sundays for $12.

PPS - Also be on the look out for all the exposed nipples in the artwork in the restaurant. Inexplicable.

Like this pair paper clipped to our bill

Dinner for Five:

• Macaroni and Cheese - $10
• Crab Hush Puppies - $9
• Potato Chips with Blue Cheese Fondue - $6
• Beer Battered String Beans - $5
• Burger Deluxe - $12
• Pork Chop - $17
• Braised Short Ribs - $19
• Lamb Schnitzel - $17
• Steamed Mussels - $15
• 5 Cocktails ($9 each) - $45
• 2 Draft Beers ($5 each) - $10
• Birthday Cake - $7
• Total (excluding tax and tip) = $172

I recently decided that my blogging life and future job search was being hindered by my lack of a computer of my own.

I have no one to blame for that but me, I suppose…and Moo Shu. Moo, that mischievous pup, chewed up my AC adaptor around August of 2006 and instead of going out and buying a new one for $50, I just figured I could go without my own computer. Plus, I was too lazy to do all that stuff to it that’s necessary for it to have Wi-Fi.

Moo as a puppy, who knew he’d be such a trouble making panda bear?

Since then I’ve relied on my office computer and my sister’s laptop for all my Internet needs. Up until recently this served me just fine, but now I’m rolling up the shirt sleeves and ready to get down to business. Why not just get a new adaptor, you ask? Well, considering I bought my old laptop in the fall of 2002, I thought I was due for a new one anyhow.

Anyway, to make a long story short, last Tuesday I dove head first into researching laptops and by Friday, boom! I was suddenly a Mac convert. I bought my MacBook Friday evening at approximately 7:35pm. As a life long PC owner, it was a bit tough getting over the mental hurdle of buying a Mac. It was as if, after a lifetime of growing up and living on the Upper East Side, I was suddenly forced to move to the Upper West Side, thinking, I mean the Upper West Side is really nice, great to visit, but live there…that’s just not me? Not that I’m much Upper East Side material either.

Expect my posts to become, if not more frequent, then at least more interesting with better looking photos (I hope iPhoto can perform miracles on the rinky-dink pics from my point-and-shoot camera). We’ll soon see what this machine can really do.

 So far, I’m likin’ it on the Upper West Side…

Butter
415 Lafayette Street (Bet. 4th Street and Astor Place)
(212) 253-2828

For my second and final Restaurant Week meal I went to Butter with seven colleagues. It’s somewhat of an annual tradition for us. Last year we went to Blue Smoke, this year it was Butter.

After my experience at Chinatown Brasserie (across the street, coincidentally), I was nervous about how a ragamuffin troupe of young 20-somethings, some dressed in work gear, some in jeans, would be received at such a trendy establishment, but everyone from the woman at the coat check to the hostess that led us to our table was perfectly polite and pleasant.

We were seated downstairs in a rounded banquette with a small two person table attached. The decor at Butter differs whether you’re seated upstairs or downstairs. Upstairs there’s a slightly more trendy, yet Zen-like feel. Downstairs, with its glass wall of wine bottles, red velvet banquettes, and pulsing classic rock play list, possesses a vibe that suggests a sexy, dim lounge, an ambiance that’s perfectly appropriate for nighttime play but a bit much for a 6pm supper.

I struggled to hear what was being said across the table as Oasis and U2 blared in the background. Eventually, someone (with a heart) lowered the volume of the music to a tolerable level.

Of course we all sampled the bread and butter. We each received a slice of (cold) crusty white bread and a cube of cornbread. The cornbread was comfortingly sweet and moist. The waiter served us two kinds of butter: one French cream with sea salt and another herb one. The herb was the bigger hit of the two with its mild, but distinct flavor.

Most of us had the cavatappi (curled tubes) with lamb sausage to start. The cavatappi was perfectly al dente and each piece of pasta was evenly coated with the well-seasoned tomato sauce that was more creamy and sweet than soupy and acidic. The lamb sausage was lean (well, as lean as sausage can be), savory, and delightfully spicy. The dish, as a whole, was full of flavor and enough fat to be satisfying, but not so much fat as to feel like a lump in your stomach by the time the entree arrives.

I ordered the pork osso buco for my main course. The pork was undeniably tender, as braised pork should be, but the taste was reminiscent of any generic meat stew with caramelized onions. The flavors in the sauce were muddled and one-dimensional with only the occasional onion breaking things up. I was thoroughly unimpressed. Most had the pork osso buco. Another popular choice at the table, per the waiter’s recommendation, was a grouper over mashed potatoes that was light and flaky, but under seasoned.

For dessert I partook of the dark chocolate and caramel sea salt tart topped with a vanilla creme anglaise and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. As one of my coworkers pointed out, the tart tasted like a Snickers bar, but gooier and crumblier with a deeper and darker chocolate flavor. The first few bites were heavenly; unfortunately, it quickly became clear that the combination of the caramel and sea salt, which brought out the darkness in the chocolate, made the tart too rich overall, even with the vanilla ice cream. I left half of it on the plate.

I left Butter that night full, but not satisfied. I had a sneaking suspicion that my fellow coworkers felt the same way as we quietly filed out of the restaurant. As I rode home in a cab, I ruminated over my experiences with Restaurant Week thus far and decided that Restaurant Week was everything I had been fearful that it would be: not worth it. At both meals I spent $50-$60 dollars, the same amount I pay at restaurants where I’ve found far superior meals (Momofuku Ssam Bar and Alta, just to name a few) with similar, only slightly less formal atmospheres.

The next morning, I canceled my last Restaurant Week reservation.

• 8 Pre-Fixe Restaurant Week Meals - $280
• Scotch on the Rocks - $14
• Bottle of Gewurztraminer - $39
• Bottle of Pinot Noir (off the RW Menu) - $35
• Total (excluding tax and tip) - $368