Best And This Is Where I Ate With My Folks

Okay, so two weeks ago (where does the time go?) my parents were in town and we ate a few times.

Thursday night we had dinner at Prime Meats in Brooklyn.  It was my third time there and it was a charm.  I had the steak frites.  The frites were whatever but my steak, whoah.  Best piece of meat I've had in two years.  It was super dark inside the restaurant so no food pictures.  Can you imagine a strip steak?  Okay, good job.  You've now seen my dinner in your mind's eye.

For dessert we went to the Brooklyn Farmacy.  On the left was a Almond Joy-inspired sundae, on the right a sundae-inspired sundae.

Friday night we had a pre-theater dinner at the West Village Frankies.  Beautiful restaurant, even more beautiful food.  Unimpeachable meal, actually.

Did you read Sam Sifton's last article as food critic for the Times?  Looking back on his time as critic, he said:


But the best meal I had on the job? It was in the garden of Frankies 457, on Court Street in Carroll Gardens, on a summer evening with my wife, my children and my brother. We had what everyone always has at Frankies: crostini and some romaine hearts, beets, cold rib-eye salad, cavatelli and sausage and brown butter, meatballs, braciola marinara. The kids hovered while the adults talked family over cold red wine, and a little breeze moved through the trees, and around us other people did the same.


There was bread as we needed it, water, more wine. The food was simple and elegant. The children behaved as they do when they are starving, and in love with what they are eating. Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. It would have been nice if it could have gone on forever.


Basically all I can say is "ditto" regarding our meal.  With a few adjustments.  (we didn't have beets or the cold rib-eye, for example . . . and also, we were in the West Village, not Brooklyn).

Saturday afternoon Ma Peche was packed so we settled for lunch at Nobu.  And then, for dinner, Go Go Curry!

Mom about to learn what Dad ate on his mission . . . 

And with that fine supper put away it was time for my folks to catch a cab and head back to Chicago.

And now I'm done with posts about my parents' visit . . . or am I?


(I actually think that I am)