Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A Meal With No Proof

So at some point in January, I watched I Like Killing Flies on Netflix Insta. Mr. Ass and his family have long praised Shopsins (the subject of the film) as an interesting eating experience, and seeing the movie I finally had a better sense of why that might be. So, when my New York weekend was shaping up, I expressed a firm interest in going there. L. is excellent at humoring me; it's one of the things I like about her. So even though the idea of standing in line for an hour wasn't overly pleasing to her, and she didn't exactly understand why I was so nervous about the whole thing (the restaurant's proprietor is a notorious grump who won't hesitate to kick out a customer if he feels they are rude or overly entitled) L. gamely accompanied me to Essex Street Market for brunch. After a quick tour around the market, which is a pretty nice looking one -- though I actually think Philadelphia's Reading Terminal Market has it beat hands down -- we took our place in line. The thing about the spot is it's small. There are tables for a combined total of about 20 people, and the restaurant has a firm rule that you can be a party of no more than four (which I kind of find funny, because the family that runs it is a family of 6 ... so they wouldn't be served at their own spot). Anyways. The line wasn't too long, but because of the number of tables, the wait was (long). Eventually we were seated. And it turned out we were seated right next to Kenny Shopsin, the top dog and chef of the place. This made me even more nervous. In the end I ordered the poutine with three poached eggs, fried pickles and a horchata. Seriously, look at the menu and try to decide what you would do. My brain almost exploded.

Long story short. I was too intimidated to take photographs, because I wasn't sure if that would be accepted or frowned upon and I didn't want to be thrown out before I had the opportunity to dig in. The pickles were fried as slices, not spears, and were nice and hot. Very dilly. The poutine was a mess of gravy, french fries and cheese. I don't think I really needed three eggs, but that was how it was served (no substitutions or changes are allowed for any menu item) and so that's how it arrived. The horchata was good. L. took a sip and decided she wanted one for herself, but when she asked our server about it, he said she was too late, that she should have asked when she first ordered. L. had a lamb curry sandwich with something magical and weird. The prices are decent for the amount of food you get. I would definitely go back and try any number of things. Though I probably would remain uneasy about documenting the experience.

3 comments:

nc catherine said...

Wow. I must be old or something but the idea of being intimidated by a chef just doesn't sit well. I mean, be a prima donna and all but remember who pays. Altho I confess eons ago the long ago spouse and I got lunch reservations (dinner was booked like a year in advance) at this place in some dumpy 'hood in Paris that had been written up and was to die for...we showed up for our appointed time and were yes a wee bit nervous when the snooty maitre d' questioned our reservations. We were after all Americans...

It was lovely, the grilled baguette slices were cool and the super thin shoe string frites and the yummy duck confit and the tender beef but I am not sure it was worth the swoon factor.

So go back again and take pix, snotty chef be damned!!!

cc said...

You've got it kind of wrong. It's more that he won't put up with overly snooty or pretentious customers. He wants more of a relationship with his clientele or something. It's hard to describe, but if you watched the movie you'd see that the last thing you'd call Kenny Shopsin would be a prima donna.

nc catherine said...

Ah ok then. A good guy in the world of pretentious wingnuts. I sit corrected. But take pix anyway so your far away friends can see the awesomeness!