NYC — Summer 2015: The Spotted Pig

On Wednesday, my mom and I took the subway down to West Village for lunch at The Spotted Pig. I've been wanting to try this place for some time, since it's gotten so many rave reviews over the last decade (chef April Bloomfield holds a Michelin Star for both The Spotted Pig and The Breslin, where we went to a couple years ago). It's one of those places that you have to actively seek out or walk into randomly because it doesn't look like much on the outside; you can walk by it and not even realize you passed it. It's a small two-storey, 100-seat gastropub that is charmingly rustic and jam-packed with whimsical tchotchkes that provides a very cozy, casual atmosphere. As for the food, you can expect modern twists on classic pub dishes but made with quality, local ingredients.

Cubano Sandwich
We were informed by the host upon being seated that their signature roquefort cheeseburger was "sold out," even though we had arrived at 12:30 — only 30 minutes after their lunch service starts. It was especially disappointing when we saw the three people at the table beside us each having a cheeseburger in front of them. But not to be deterred, we ordered the Cubano sandwich instead. It doesn't look like much and the plating leaves something to be desired, but it is wildly delicious. The name is somewhat misleading since it's not made with ham and Swiss (two main components of a Cuban), but I am not complaining because a damn good sandwich is a damn good sandwich. In between a toasted ciabatta bun is the aforementioned Gruyere with sweet pickled jalapeño peppers, cornichon pickles, mustard relish, smoky prosciutto, and super-tender, super-flavourful pork (which is apparently brined for five days and then cooked in pork and duck fat). So no, it’s not a Cuban, but it’s a sandwich that other sandwiches should aspire to be.
Sheep's Milk Ricotta Gnudi
Wanting to try a non-sandwich item (we had been debating over the grilled cheese, but an $18 grilled cheese was just a bit too steep for us), my mom and I ultimately decided on the sheep's milk ricotta gnudi, which our server whole-heartedly recommended. What is a gnudi, you ask? As Jamie Oliver explains, "Gnudi means naked, and quite simply this is a ricotta ravioli without the pasta (a.k.a. naked)." I thought it was more akin to gnocchi, but whereas gnocchi is made with potato and is much denser, gnudi is far lighter, made with less flour, and is filled. Apparently, it's been around for decades, but the version at The Spotted Pig has made this dish most famous in recent times, and for good reason. The gnudi here is stuffed with sheep's milk ricotta, making them pillowy light and soft, sitting in a shallow pool of creamy butter sauce and served with basil pesto on top. I think what's most surprising is the texture, because you don't expect them to be so delicate. It's probably the most elegant comfort food I've ever come across, and I can see people making repeat visits to The Spotted Pig for this dish alone. I mean, really, who cares about the roquefort burger when you can get these instead?

The Spotted Pig 314 W 11th Street New York, NY 10014 (212) 620-0393

The Black Hoof

Steph and I decided to meet up for dinner last night, but couldn't decide where to go, so Steph compiled a list of top-rated (but moderately-priced) restaurants in Toronto. We originally wanted to go to Campagnolo (Steph's favourite restaurant in the city), but it turns out that they're closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. So, we decided to go to another highly-praised restaurant neither of us had tried before that just so happens to be down the street from there: The Black Hoof.

Charcuterie: Duck terrine, duck prosciutto, chorizo, bison salami, and sundried tomato paste

Charcuterie: Mortadella, smoked summer sausage, horse sausage, and full-seeded mustard

Obviously, since The Black Hoof is a charcuterie, we had to get the charcuterie platter. I assume that the variety changes daily, but ours included six different types of thinly-sliced meats, a terrine, and two spreads. They're arranged from the most mild flavour to the strongest; my favourites were the duck terrine, chorizo, and salami. It was our first time trying horse meat, and while it's not terrible, we both decided that it would never be our first choice — it tasted like ultra-salty salami for the most part, but there's a strange aftertaste that I can't place. We got an order of bread along with the platter; it's an extra $2, but I would say that it's almost mandatory to get some bread, if not to put the terrine and spreads on, then at least to temper the saltiness of the meats.

Scallops and oxtail

Tongue on brioche

The dishes here are meant to be shared, so we decided on two more items. The scallops and oxtail came next, which was served with balsamic grapes and celery and peanut chutney. The scallops were perfectly seared on the outside and left almost rare in the centre, so it remains soft and fleshy — an amazing textural contrast to the tender flakiness of the oxtail and the light crunchiness of the crust. The crisp tartness of the grapes and the salty-sweet crunch of the chutney offer a nice juxtaposition along with the two meats. Finally, the tongue on brioche came to our table, a sandwich that they tell you to eat open-faced style so it makes for easier sharing. A very generous portion of juicy, ultra-tender, thinly-sliced beef tongue is piled in between two thick slices of fragrant, toasted brioche, and then drizzled with horseradish and tarragon mayo. It reminded me of a fancy Montreal smoked meat sandwich, in which the meat is thinner, juicier, and more tender, and the bread is lighter, fluffier, and perfectly toasted — absolutely glorious. It's served with full-seeded mustard, which we both found unnecessary, as the horseradish and tarragon mayo added more than enough flavour. On the side are cornichon pickles and celery salad, which proved really helpful in aiding our appetite as we were getting ridiculously full by then but refused to leave a single piece of food behind.

Almond polenta cake with blood orange

Finally, after much debate over whether we could fit dessert in, we caved in and ordered it. Last night's offering was an almond polenta cake with blood orange. Surprisingly addictive: light, airy, almond-scented cake with juicy blood orange segments, tart blood orange curd, sweet citrusy cream, and a flurry of crushed almonds on top. The perfect ending to a rich dinner so full of strong flavours. The service was pleasant enough; while the hostess (or, at least, the person who seated us) seemed a little snobby, our actual servers were polite and attentive. The space itself is extremely small, with a tiny open kitchen right next to the bar and then a handful of tables in the back that make up the entire dining space. Basically, your table neighbours can hear everything you say in conversation and vice versa. If you want privacy, this is not the place for it. On that note, though, you can easily make friends with the people dining next to you. There is no food menu here, either; everything is listed on large chalkboards.  The lighting is very dim, too, so you're really seeing everything on your table by candlelight. Some might see it as romantic; I see it as a real pain in the ass when you're trying to photograph your food. But I digress — the food alone makes it entirely worth going.


The Black Hoof
928 Dundas Street West
Toronto, ON M6J 1W3
(416) 551-8854