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THIS WEEK

NEW YORK CORNER: HOSPODA
by Mort Hochstein

NOTES FROM THE SPIRITS LOCKER 

To Sell Vodka, Sell the Sizzle
 by John Mariani

HOSPODA
321 East 73^rd Street (near First Avenue)
212-861-1038.
www.hospodanyc.com

    When my wife and I were much younger, we ate often at Sokol Hall, far over east on 71^st  street between First Avenue  and York. It was then a part of the ethnic Czech New York community that flourished in Yorkville, a neighborhood that in the 19th century drew German, Czech, Hungarian, and Polish immigrants by the thousands, some of whom opened restaurants.  Sokol Hall specialized in duck, and I’ve never found another restaurant   in NYC that made it as well--with the possible exception of Lüchow’s on 14th Street, now also only a memory.
   The restaurant disappeared sometime in the seventies, along with many of its Czech congregants, who seem to have relocated across the East River in Queens. Today the center of Czech cultural and social history in New York is the restored Bohemian National Hall, two blocks north, almost parallel, on East 73^rd street. While attending an event at the hall two years ago, I learned that a new Czech restaurant, based on one in Prague, was soon to open in the building. Memories of the old Sokol Hall were stirred up and I waited in great anticipation until this spring, when the long-awaited restaurant and beer pub, Hospoda, finally opened in that landmark building, now owned by the Czech Republic.
    Hospoda (Czech for beer hall) is part of a   group that owns 14 restaurants in Prague.  The NYC shop is beer oriented, and its simple, bare walnut tables and extremely modern décor are hardly related to the  dark woods and heavy furnishings that had characterized the old Sokol Hall.  It is, I suppose, what we now call a gastropub, but the décor reminds me of a Mitteleuropean coffee shop where patrons might linger all day reading journals and discoursing on world affairs.  It is sparsely decorated, once you get past the engraved abstract scenes carved on the wall by the Czech street artist known only as Masker.
   Indeed, patrons do linger, but here they linger over beer served in drafts from a unique bar, made almost entirely of glass (right), allowing guests to see its operating mechanisms and beer reserves. The transparency theme continues underfoot where a long stretch of glass flooring allows you to look down at  beer kegs in the basement below. Standing over that large pane and peering down  into the cellar  gave me the uncomfortable feeling of riding on a glass-bottomed tour boat. I quickly sought security on the wooden floor.
  Lukas Svoboda, who triumphed over several thousand rivals last year to win the title of 2010 International Pilsner Urquell Master Bartender, readily explains to patrons the four distinct, technical pours he offers.  They  are Crem Urquell,  the classic style, balanced with creamy head; Slice, with   a  more substantial head, slightly bitter;  Sweet, a slightly softer variation that appears to be entirely head ; and Neat, with no head and unique sharp and bitter flavor. The beer arrives by boat  across the ocean from the historic Pilsner Urquell brewery in Pilzen (CQ), Bohemia.     
     But what about the duck, which was one of my main reasons for visiting Hospoda? No complaints, and though Chef Oldrich Sahajak and Marek Sada, who come from Prague's highly regarded La Degustation Bohême Bourgeoise, take a more modern approach, I was happily reminded of the good old days at Sokol Hall. He served three slices of medium-rare duck breast, accompanied by an imported plum jelly, a dollop of sour cream and thyme shortbread.  The duck came from the chef’s portion of the menu, which also listed several Czech dishes.  My partner elected Prague-style ham, dressed with horseradish foam—a modern touch the folks in the old country might find challenging--- and pickled vegetable.
   There were all sorts of other enticing dishes on the list,  including slow baked lamb leg with eggplant puree,  roasted pork belly with red cabbage essence, dumpling and Savoy cabbage, and the one that is going to bring me back, smoked beef tongue with a  yellow pea puree and pickled spring onion.
    The wine list has global reach, including many bottlings from Germany and Austria, but there are no Czech or Slovakian wines available.
    What Hospoda serves up is not exactly what I might have encountered those many years ago in Yorkville, but the restaurant is certainly a worthwhile addition to the casual dining scene in Manhattan, and it revives an ethnic flavor  long  missing on the scene.

 Dinner, Mon.-Sat. Lunch will begin in the fall; Fixed price dinners two plates for $32, $45 for three.

MAN ABOUT TOWN
by Christopher Mariani

    My plan was to ride the train into Manhattan, stop by Eataly for some shopping and then meet my brother and his gorgeous girlfriend for dinner at Kenmare (98 Kenmare Street; 212-274-9898). Upon exiting Grand Central I was greeted with a blast of  summer rain that almost soaked my entire outfit. With a bit of luck I caught a cab immediately and headed straight for Kenmare, north of  Little Italy—the section dubbed NoLita—so my visit to Eataly was out of the question. There was no way I would be lucky twice on such a rainy day.
         I arrived at Kenmare around 6:20 pm, early by NYC standards for dining, and was not surprised that I was the only guest in the restaurant. My reservation was not until seven pm, so I took a seat at the bar and ordered a tall negroni. It was obvious the bartender had a good amount of set-up to take care of prior to service yet he found time to chat with me and keep me company for almost 40 minutes, a very nice touch and a much appreciated gesture.  Oh, and the negroni was excellent.
         When my party arrived, I said farewell to the bartender and was led to my table by a beautiful, tall blonde hostess who wished us a wonderful evening after seating us at a very comfortable banquette. The room seats around 100 people, with white marble table tops, candles on every table, an amber hue throughout the entire restaurant, and a very lively bar after nine pm. The music goes on throughout the night, but at that early hour  it was a bit loud, considering we were the only table in the dining room and the speaker hung directly above our heads.
         After ordering a bottle of Soffacone di Vincigliato (the original label is very controversial)  from Kenmare’s limited yet modestly priced wine list, we started with a selection of appetizers by the new executive chef, Gilbert Delgato. The top two starters included a heirloom tomato salad layered with shreds of fresh burrata cheese, drizzled with a fine olive oil and balsamic vinegar, along with gravy meatball sliders made with beef, pork, veal and pecorino, a staple on Kenmare’s menu since opening just a little over one year ago. The grilled octopus was a little chewy and although one-dimensional, still tasty. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the crab cakes, but they were not of the style found at some of the great NYC steakhouses, that is, they were not filled with big hunks of lump crabmeat.
         For our main course, crispy, pounded veal Milanese came stuffed with provolone and topped with a lightly dressed arugula salad. Having just returned from Piedmont, I can declare that Kenmare’s veal Milanese is a great example, slightly heavier than what is typically found in Northern Italy but still wonderful. Kenmare’s other standard dish is “The Chicken,”  succulent, seasoned lightly and sided by a summer potato salad mixed with green string beans and onion. Delgato’s burger, made with ground ribeye, would please any NYC burger aficionado and comes with a side of addictive cheddar French fries. Sides included the best onion rings I’ve ever tasted, cooked in a tempura style, and a bowl of overly salted sautéed spinach.
         Desserts could use some improvement, as the flan was soupy and the bombolini too doughy.
         Chef Gilbert Delgato is doing a good job for a restaurant that opened as one of Manhattan’s hottest restaurants just last year, serving simple dishes he knows how to cook well. There is always room for refinement,  but overall you will not be disappointed with a meal at Kenmare.

NOTES FROM THE SPIRITS LOCKER

by John Mariani

     How is it that a spirit defined by the U.S. Standards of Identity as “without distinctive character, aroma, taste, or color” became one of the world’s largest sellers? In fact, after a Russian émigré bought the rights to make Smirnoff vodka in the U.S. in the 1930s, it was advertised as a “White Whisky — No taste. No smell." Which meant no telltale booze breath.
         Back in 1987, when Poland was still a Soviet state, I visited the Wyborowa distillery outside Warsaw, where I was challenged to taste the differences between vodka made from potatoes or rye, the latter the basis of Wyborowa’s distillate and its big selling point. After sniffing and sipping and finding virtually no difference, I simply guessed which was which. One of the Wyborowa executives laughed and said I’d guessed wrong, saying this one was Wyborowa and that one a Russian potato vodka.  At which point the plant’s master distiller sheepishly said, “Actually, sir, that one is the Wyborowa and this one the potato.”
    Vodka may be distilled from any starch/sugar-rich plant matter, including sorghum, sugar beets, corn, rye or wheat, even grapes, though this last is controversial among the EU nations for being too far from the original idea. The result of distillation is almost pure alcohol, which is then cut with water to achieve a standard 40 percent alcohol level in the bottle—although some devastating rarities can hit 95 percent. Rarely is vodka aged.
         The fact is, vodka has traditionally been sold by ad campaigns, not flavor, the most famous of which have been Sweden’s Absolut ads in which they always cunningly place their distinctive bottle shape into themes, like Absolut Psycho, with a shower curtain torn into the shape of their bottle. Stolichnaya has always made much of its true Russian heritage, while Holland’s Ketel One’s recent TV ad refers to a time “when men were men” and “didn’t drink their vodka from delicately painted perfume bottles.”
         Other brands insist their vodkas are all the more pure for being made with million-year-old water poured through diamonds and quintuple distilled. Still, it’s hard to increase sales of a neutral, tasteless, odorless spirit on ads alone, which is why the industry has come up with so many flavored vodkas, like Kubanskaya with dried lemon and orange peels; Ciroc, with coconut and red berry; Pertsovka, with black pepper and chilies; and Okhotnichya, with ginger, cloves, lemon peel, coffee, anise, sugar and white port.
         Flavored vodkas are nothing really new. I have enjoyed many a Russian Easter meal after midnight mass, accompanied by vodka flavored by my host with lemon, pepper, or buffalo grass.
         Vodka is also the basis for the Bloody Mary, created at Harry’s New York Bar in Paris during Prohibition, and James Bond’s enormously influential 1950s vodka martini he called the Vesper (right), along with the screwdriver, the cosmopolitan made famous by the women of “Sex & the City,” and, thanks to the 1998 movie “The Big Lebowksi,” the white Russian.
         Thus, given how unflavored vodkas add little or no flavor of their own to cocktails made with orange juice or Kahlúa, it’s baffling to me when vodka aficionados order an expensive for such concoctions.
         So I decided to do a blind tasting of a dozen unflavored vodkas, most fairly new in the market, some oldtimers, to see what differences I could detect. They were not, shall we say, pronounced. I doubt many people who swear by their favorite brand could ever pick it out in such an array.  All vodkas were 40 percent alcohol and tasted neat.
         One that no one will ever mistake is the new Vampyre from England ($22), which is “naturally colored” a true, viscous blood red and whose ad say it was specially created to attract those creatures of the night. Whatever. It’s pretty bland with little aroma but velvety on the tongue.  And fun to drink.
         The potato-based Luksusowa ($14-$18) has a strong nose with real citrus in it and a light burn on the tongue. A nice entry level example from Poland.
     The popular but expensive Chopin ($26-$30), also a potato-based Polish vodka, smells like little more than alcohol and has a faintly sweet flavor with a mild burn. Not at all distinctive.
         Medea, which runs $40 and up, is from Holland, with a fairly bland nose and a sharp burn to the sinuses. Not worth the money.
         Sweden’s Svedka ($14-$17) has built a following among young drinkers, maybe because its very smooth, but it’s almost flabby too, with an unpleasant aroma. 
    I think my overall favorite was the grain-based I Spirit ($35), from Italy, with a lovely aromatic nose, distinctly flavorful with no intrusions from other ingredients, and a nice, refined bite on the end of it. It's a collaboration between Arrigo Cipriani. owner of Harry's Bar in Venice, Lapo Elkann of Fiat Automobiles and Friulian distillers Marco Fantinel and Francesco Cosulich, well known for their grappas.
         Turning to U.S.-made vodkas—and there’s a slew of them out there—I wasn’t surprised that good old Smirnoff ($14) pleased me so much with its bountiful flavor, though the aroma was slightly diesel-like. It’s a solid, good example with light burn.
         Smooth Ambler Whitewater ($30) is an “artisanal” grain vodka made in West Virginia, that I could have sworn was apple-based calvados, from aroma to finish. It has some real taste to it and would probably stand out in a crowd of vodkas.
         Star ($30), made in “Oregon’s scenic Cascade Mountains,” is a small batch vodka made from “handpicked” corn though I’d never mistake it for aged bourbon. It’s filtered five times (most premium vodkas go through thrice), which seems to smooth it out but may rob it of its nose.
         Bottles of Noon Mountain ($20) from Indiana are numbered and signed by master distiller Gerry Webb, who gives the product a lush, fruity aroma and spice, all solidly knit together.      
          Tito’s ($22) from Texas has a very light nose, shows tangy on the palate, but then finishes hot as hell on the back of the throat.  You’ll know it’s from Texas.
         Crystal Head takes its name from the admirably eerie skull-shaped bottle it comes in, together with two little skull jiggers. It’s based on the legend of the magical 13 crystal skulls (the title for the last Indiana Jones movie), and the founder of the company is actor Dan Ackroyd. It has a pleasantly grassy bouquet, is very smooth, aromatic and not at all hot. And it comes from Newfoundland. The oddity has developed something of a cult following that will pay up to $50 a bottle.
         And last, there’s Ciroc ($29-$32), made from French grapes, like brandy; in fact, one of the grapes used, ugni blanc, is also used to make cognac. It has a very citrusy nose and pretty tropical notes and a tangy, mild burn. I could swear there is a light flavoring in it, but it’s probably just the natural grape flavors. Sales have been very good, especially since Sean “Diddy” Combs (left) became a spokesman in 2007.
    As I said, the key to selling a tasteless, odorless, colorless spirit is a food ad campaign.

John Mariani's wine and spirits column appears in Bloomberg Muse News, from which this story was adapted. Bloomberg News covers Culture from art, books, and theater to wine, travel, and food on a daily.

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SOYLENT GREEN IS. . . PEOPLE!!!!

Researchers at the Beijing University of Chemical Technology have discovered a method for creating large quantities of human-derived gelatin, which in theory, could become a substitute for the thousands of tons of animal-based gelatin used in desserts, marshmallows, candies, and other products.

WHY NOT JUST DRAG A TROUGH INTO THE
RESTAURANT AND LET THE SLOBS GO AT IT?

"Even as recently as six or seven years ago, restaurants were still places where you made a reservation, sat down, ate an appetizer and then an entrée, had coffee with your dessert, and left. But now we're dining in a new era of restaurant. You know the kinds of places I'm talking about: No sign out front; the bartender maybe has a carnation in his lapel; food is served on carving boards and granite slates; something vintage in the decor (taxidermy, rotary phone, estate sale cutlery); definitely no tablecloth in sight. Most of us have happily dispensed with the blazers and sauce spoons of the fine-dining era and are relieved to do away with archaic formalities like standing when a lady leaves the table."—Phoebe Damrosch, "Scruffy Chic," Grub Street, July 20.

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I consider this the best and savviest blog of its kind on the  web. Potter is a columnist for USA Weekend, Diversion, Laptop and Luxury  Spa Finder, a contributing editor for Ski and  a frequent contributor to National  Geographic Traveler, ForbesTraveler.com  and Elle Decor. "I’ve designed this site is for people who take their  travel seriously," says Potter. "For travelers who want to learn about special  places but don’t necessarily want to pay through the nose for the privilege of  staying there. Because at the end of the day, it’s not so much about five-star  places as five-star experiences."  THIS WEEK: Cape May, NJ; Cape Cod, MA.

Eating Las Vegas is the new on-line site for Virtual Gourmet contributor John A. Curtas., who since 1995 has been commenting on the Las Vegas food scene and reviewing restaurants for Nevada Public Radio.  He is also the restaurant critic for KLAS TV, Channel 8 in Las Vegas, and his past reviews can be accessed at KNPR.org. Click on the logo below to go directly to his site.

                     

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