At this point, I’ll go anywhere and try just about anything, and if it’s halfway decent and the things disliked are minor or anticipated or just fun in a chaotic kind of way, I’ll return to the restaurant again and again and again.
It’s like a good book or good song or favorite team.
I mean: If you’ve found what you like, if it feels good being there, why not make it kind of a home? And, sure, add homes, but stay loyal. The fact is that there are precious few restaurants worth time and money.
So, for example, I was in ESCA on Friday evening (before Hamilton) and Saturday at noon (before Charles III). RUBIROSA on Friday and the previous six weeks in twice. IL BUCO ALIMENTARI a lot over the past couple of months. BATARD: three times since August. Good food, served with confidence and pride. No fuss on the plate or in the room.
These are the kind of meals I prepare at home, too: Small plates that focus on fish, vegetables, Italian or Italian-American, and, yes, a bit of Central Europe by way of France.
Many places end up with what is, by any standard, bar food: High in fat, pork-centric, often fried, and salted to a degree that you end up buying drinks marked up, ballpark, 300%.
At home: I’m a regular with EATALY‘s housemate pastas: Agnolotti plin-style or fiori di zucca stuffed ravioli. Is every cashier there from Queens or Staten Island?