Midtown March madness Fressenwagen, smack in the heart of Koreatown.
When you walk into a restaurant and are greeted by the site of a white grand piano mysteriously suspended from inside a huge rock waterfall -- and not only is the rock waterfall going full splash, but the piano is actually a player piano playing by itself -- you know you've stepped into another dimension. This is the kind of place that was probably considered as a venue by Albert Brooks when he filmed the movie Defending Your Life, about being stuck in purgatory.
But ascend a tremendous staircase and there you would have found our merry band, sequestered behind a wooden screen like the criminals we are, safe from the prying eyes of waiters who would otherwise doubtlessly be offering us drinks. More on the service element later.
The less-than-a-week lag time between plan announcement and event, plus the midtown midweek location, brought our group to over 20. I suspect some of you still think you'll get a glimpse of some A-list director if you show up -- I could tell by the way you were all dolled up. But sorry, it was just us Jews/people who are Jewish by virtue of living in New York. Really, it's not a bad thing, nominal non-Jews. Welcome to the tribe. Let all who are hungry come and eat!
We started with Kim Chi Pajun, a kimchi pancake which is allegedly spicy. Perhaps I inadvertently Botoxed my tongue at some point, rendering it senseless, but it didn't seem so spicy to me -- it was more like a pubescent cousin to a Chinese scallion pancake. I suppose that here is where I note that I did not blog about our last Fressenwagen, a trip to Szechuan Gourmet. And you know something? That's right, I didn't. And both the food and company were great. I don't know what to tell you. Sometimes, I just f*ck up. Yes, even me, Goddess of the Wagen.
We then moved on to the complicated task of arranging tabletop barbecue for disparate people with disparate tastes/theistically-enforced dietary restrictions. It all seemed to work out. I have to say that this trip reinforced just how much I like you people. Well, all of you but one. But more on that later. Seriously - what a great group! Even the randoms who showed up seem lovely. We are fortunate folk.
I didn't get involved in the barbecue scrum because of God, and because I love bi bim bap: rice, vegetables, a random fried egg, tofu, etc. all scrambled together and drenched in spicy sauce. Not spicy enough for me this go-round, though, I'm sad to say, and I was sucking down kim chee like there was no tomorrow. I guess the Botox really worked.
So since I go veg at these events (see http://www.kveller.com/traditions/modern_rituals/the-kosher-question.shtml, if you're actually interested in why), I ask the carnivores at the table for their opinions on various dishes. I only got one response from a lovely lady at the other end of the table, who said everything was "so good, and so garlicky! The clear rice noodles with shredded crab was a nice surprise." She also pointed out that it was the first time she'd had lotus root in heavy brown sauce and was happy about it.
And one disturbing thought from my other-end-of-the-table source: "Curious how much longer we'll be able to drink Saporro without glowing in the dark (unlike Kirin which I think is brewed in California, Saporro is actually imported from Japan)." Trouble. I personally believe that Korean food really should not be eaten without consuming a bit of beer, or preferably more than a bit. This is where the whole 'pregnant' thing is actually kind of annoying, as opposed to how much I relish forcing people out of their seats on the subway.
But it was not nearly as annoying as what transpired for one carnivore, who, when all the food was served, found out that some food hadn't been served...specifically, his. We called over the waitress, who outsourced and brought over other help. Carnivore explained the situation (which really didn't take so much explanation - it was more of a "I ordered the marinated steak. It didn't come. Nu?").
The waiters stared, slack-jawed. From the more authoritative waiter came this cryptic statement: "It's not coming?"
It was totally unclear as to whether this was a question, and if it was, if we were expected to know the answer. "It seems as though it's not coming," we replied on behalf of Carnivore.
The waiter looked genuinely distressed. "I'm really sorry." In the space after this sentence, where an offer to remedy the situation ought to have been put on the table, so to speak = nada but the sounds of silence.
Hmm. A particularly businesslike Fressenwagener then proposed the following situation: that all parties resume their normal waiter/customer roles, with the waiter going into the kitchen, procuring a dish of the missing food, and bringing it out to the customer who had ordered it. The waiter looked at the Fressenwagener as if to say, "My God, this man is a genius!"
That's weird, right? The waitstaff seemed genuinely disturbed and worried, as though they were thinking, "But where on earth will we find Korean food at this hour of the night?" But fortunately, we WERE in Koreatown. Somehow, somewhere, they found a dish of food and placed it in front of Carnivore.
Thanks to all for showing up...except for the one person who didn't pay. Yes, I noticed that the bill came up exactly one-person's-worth-short. Sooo, if you're reading this and you were the one person who didn't go into your wallet to take out money to give in exchange for your food (a common practice in a restaurant environment, fyi), don't worry about it. We'll find you, and will make you pay -- Shirley Jackson/"The Lottery" style.
One helpful person pointed out that perhaps I should have paid for two. Thank you, sweetie. In the meantime, a bit of self-mockery: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJRzBpFjJS8.
One more issue: The List. So some people have asked me questions, and I figured I'd answer them.
1. How does a person get on The List?
Well, really, what it boils down to is that I have to like you. If I was ever previously married to you, for example, your chances of list-getting-on are slim. If you want to be on the list, or know someone who does, have them email me.
People to whom Fressenwageners get engaged, folks with whom Fressenwageners become romantically involved, or children of Fressenwageners can be grandfathered in, so to speak. But please note the answer to Question 2.
2. How does a person get off The List?
So far, there have been a few ways.
a. If there's an ugly breakup, I simply choose which member of the relationship I liked better, and the other person is never heard from again. I mean, is off the list.
b. If I find out you skipped out without paying, well, honestly.
Some have argued that if people haven't shown up in a while, they don't deserve to get these emails. It's more likely, though, that if I continue to like you despite your piss-poor attendance record, you'll stay on the list until I'm explicitly instructed by you (or your next-of-kin) to do otherwise. Who makes the rules, people? Me. Let's all remember that, shall we?
Happy eating and be prepared to cross the Hudson for our next adventure!
