february dinner: buddakan
22 February 2007
Holy fucking shit.
Last night, Nicole and I had our monthly dinner at Buddakan.
Holy fucking shit.
(That means it was good.)
Going into it - and even after arriving at the restaurant - I was a little suspect. This was Nicole’s pick, and as with many of Nicole’s picks, it was a little intimidating for me. You see, Buddakan is very "hot" (as the kids say). Rich, attractive, famous and powerful people eat there, people with whom I do not usually associate or am comfortable in the presence of (however, I take a bit of comfort in the fact that I think this might be the case as with most animals met in the wild: "They’re just as scared of you as you are of them"). I showed up wearing jeans that I pulled off my bedroom floor and a shirt about which four years ago my buddy Dave in Boston said, "You know, you wear that shirt every time you come up here." As I mentioned yesterday, I have been sick and looked pale and sallow and had dark circles under my eyes - and I won’t even mention what the wind and humidity has been doing to my hair. Meanwhile, Nicole looked immaculate with perfect hair, make up and dress and blended right in with all the attractive people at the restaurant, while I looked like a man going through a bitter divorce.
Much has been written about the space of the restaurant, namely that it is huge. I don’t give a fuck about this. Architecture is right up there with fashion and The Ten Commandments on my list of things I don’t particularly care for, so if you want to read about the design of the place, you’ll have to do some googling. (But I at least wanted to mention it.)
Nicole and I arrived ten minutes early for our 8:15 reservation and were seated at 8:20, so immediately this place was better than that stinkhole STK that we ate at last month. I had spent a good portion of the day studying Buddakan’s menu and knew what I wanted to get: I wanted to start with either the lobster egg rolls or the boneless spare ribs and for my entree have either the shrimp & lobster chow fun or the charred filet of beef, along with a side of crab fried rice. I did not know beforehand that the food is served family-style, meaning you have to share everything. This is not my favorite, mostly because I am selfish and also fat, but I got over it when Nicole was so impressed with my choices that we ordered every single one (with the addition of the edamame dumplings).
Then, holy fucking shit.
Nicole and I both agreed that this is one of the best restaurants we’ve eaten at on our lil’ tour. This one is difficult to place, because it’s very hard to compare Buddakan with some of our other favorite places like Perry Street (new American) or The Strip House (steaks).
But this…this was something special. I didn’t even know what edamame was prior to eating these dumplings, but probably would have kissed a man on the mouth for some more. The lobster egg rolls were as spectacular as they sound, but the boneless spare ribs…I mean, there is semen everywhere as I write this right now. I can’t get through a sentence without having at least a mini-orgasm when I think about those boneless spare ribs. They were so tender that not only did one not need a knife to cut them, but if you stared at them long enough, they would have divided themselves into neat bite-size pieces. I don’t know what sauce or marinade they were covered in, but I want to marry it. And that sauce and I would live happily ever after, because there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for it.
Then the entrees came. The shrimp and lobster, though good, was the least good of all the different stuff we ordered. This is, admittedly, perhaps because of my aversion to spice – I ate a chili pepper early on in the dish, and even after I calmed down and Nicole had procured me enough milkshakes to dull the heat, I was too shaken to dive haphazardly into the chow fun. The crab fried rice was giant, but also vainglorious (and yes, I realize that "vainglorious" doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the first word I thought of when I first tasted the rice). Who knew that the simple combination of rice, crab and egg could turn a bearded and jaded 200 pound man into a pile of quivering flesh, sobbing and praying in the middle of a crowded restaurant?
But the charred filet of beef…hold on a minute.
First, I love me some steak. I don’t pretend to know anything about it, but I’ve eaten a lot of steak in my life (hey, I grew up on food stamps and like to treat myself now that I’m a grown-ass man) and I know what is good and what I like. I keep a record of the top four steaks I’ve had in my life: the first at Ruth’s Chris in NYC, the second at El Gaucho in Seattle, the third at the Strip House in NYC, and the fourth at the Palm in Boston (the fifth may go to Spark’s in NYC). So though I’m no foodie, I at least appreciate a good steak.
Second, I have no idea why they call this "charred" filet of beef. I work in marketing, and also self-promoted myself into (internet) fame, (imaginary) fortune, and the (size 22) pants of women the world over (mostly in Central America and for $7). If I worked at Buddakan, I would suggest dropping the "charred" from this entree, as that might scare some people away. I then might suggest replacing the "charred" with "there is no way that you deserve this" or "this is the opposite of being eaten by a shark – totally" or "if you like heroin, you’re going to love this" filet of beef.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that the charred filet of beef, which was served sliced and with a delicate mustard sauce and some sort of magic sauce poured on top, was one of the best steaks I’ve ever had. I know it’s not a "classic" steak because of the way it was served, but I was blown away. I can’t say enough about it. Or rather, I can’t say anything about it, because it was just too good. I did not cry while eating it, nor did I yell, nor did I cream in my pants – I just sat there. As soon as I tasted the steak, everything seemed to go in slow motion; my eyes widened, my jaw slackened, and I could hear the synthesizer intro to "Baba O’Reilly" start to play in my head. It was a moment. This may not make much sense, I actually learned while eating this steak. I’m not kidding when I say that if (when) I go back to Buddakan, I’m ordering two of these. Both for myself. No sharing.
(While we’re here, some more use of italics in this post. I guess I just figured out what the slanted I in the tool bar does. Good for me.)
I gave up sweets for Lent, but was so moved by the steak that I momentarily lost consciousness and when I came to was eating dark chocolate pudding (very unimpressive, sadly). The good news is that per yesterday’s post I didn’t drink during the meal. However, I did drink after the meal, but it’s not my fault. Nicole and I went to La Bottega at the Maritime Hotel for a drink, and the bartender essentially called me a pussy when I told him that I’d been sick for a while and might have an ulcer. One Manhattan and a bottle of wine later, the mother fucker had shut his mouth. That’s how I roll, son.
I got him after midnight to wake up at 5:30 this morning with the same tremendous stomach problems I’ve been having lately and have been a mess all day (I actually walked to work this morning as opposed to taking the subway because I needed air and wanted to be above ground if I shit myself/threw up). I’m going home and am taking some Xanax and drinking a half jar of Pepto at 8pm. Uncle Jason needs to shut down the engines tonight.
But today’s misery is worth last night’s ecstasy (which is really all I ask for in life). Buddakan was fucking incredible and I highly recommend it. Next up is mine and Nicole’s white whale: Babbo. Since Nicole and I started our monthly dinners last July, we’ve been trying to get reservations at Babbo and so far have been unable until now (I haven’t even been able to get past a busy signal). Expect a full recap in a few weeks.
(Provided I don’t shit myself to death before then. Keep your fingers crossed.)
Last night, Nicole and I had our monthly dinner at Buddakan.
Holy fucking shit.
(That means it was good.)
Going into it - and even after arriving at the restaurant - I was a little suspect. This was Nicole’s pick, and as with many of Nicole’s picks, it was a little intimidating for me. You see, Buddakan is very "hot" (as the kids say). Rich, attractive, famous and powerful people eat there, people with whom I do not usually associate or am comfortable in the presence of (however, I take a bit of comfort in the fact that I think this might be the case as with most animals met in the wild: "They’re just as scared of you as you are of them"). I showed up wearing jeans that I pulled off my bedroom floor and a shirt about which four years ago my buddy Dave in Boston said, "You know, you wear that shirt every time you come up here." As I mentioned yesterday, I have been sick and looked pale and sallow and had dark circles under my eyes - and I won’t even mention what the wind and humidity has been doing to my hair. Meanwhile, Nicole looked immaculate with perfect hair, make up and dress and blended right in with all the attractive people at the restaurant, while I looked like a man going through a bitter divorce.
Much has been written about the space of the restaurant, namely that it is huge. I don’t give a fuck about this. Architecture is right up there with fashion and The Ten Commandments on my list of things I don’t particularly care for, so if you want to read about the design of the place, you’ll have to do some googling. (But I at least wanted to mention it.)
Nicole and I arrived ten minutes early for our 8:15 reservation and were seated at 8:20, so immediately this place was better than that stinkhole STK that we ate at last month. I had spent a good portion of the day studying Buddakan’s menu and knew what I wanted to get: I wanted to start with either the lobster egg rolls or the boneless spare ribs and for my entree have either the shrimp & lobster chow fun or the charred filet of beef, along with a side of crab fried rice. I did not know beforehand that the food is served family-style, meaning you have to share everything. This is not my favorite, mostly because I am selfish and also fat, but I got over it when Nicole was so impressed with my choices that we ordered every single one (with the addition of the edamame dumplings).
Then, holy fucking shit.
Nicole and I both agreed that this is one of the best restaurants we’ve eaten at on our lil’ tour. This one is difficult to place, because it’s very hard to compare Buddakan with some of our other favorite places like Perry Street (new American) or The Strip House (steaks).
But this…this was something special. I didn’t even know what edamame was prior to eating these dumplings, but probably would have kissed a man on the mouth for some more. The lobster egg rolls were as spectacular as they sound, but the boneless spare ribs…I mean, there is semen everywhere as I write this right now. I can’t get through a sentence without having at least a mini-orgasm when I think about those boneless spare ribs. They were so tender that not only did one not need a knife to cut them, but if you stared at them long enough, they would have divided themselves into neat bite-size pieces. I don’t know what sauce or marinade they were covered in, but I want to marry it. And that sauce and I would live happily ever after, because there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for it.
Then the entrees came. The shrimp and lobster, though good, was the least good of all the different stuff we ordered. This is, admittedly, perhaps because of my aversion to spice – I ate a chili pepper early on in the dish, and even after I calmed down and Nicole had procured me enough milkshakes to dull the heat, I was too shaken to dive haphazardly into the chow fun. The crab fried rice was giant, but also vainglorious (and yes, I realize that "vainglorious" doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the first word I thought of when I first tasted the rice). Who knew that the simple combination of rice, crab and egg could turn a bearded and jaded 200 pound man into a pile of quivering flesh, sobbing and praying in the middle of a crowded restaurant?
But the charred filet of beef…hold on a minute.
First, I love me some steak. I don’t pretend to know anything about it, but I’ve eaten a lot of steak in my life (hey, I grew up on food stamps and like to treat myself now that I’m a grown-ass man) and I know what is good and what I like. I keep a record of the top four steaks I’ve had in my life: the first at Ruth’s Chris in NYC, the second at El Gaucho in Seattle, the third at the Strip House in NYC, and the fourth at the Palm in Boston (the fifth may go to Spark’s in NYC). So though I’m no foodie, I at least appreciate a good steak.
Second, I have no idea why they call this "charred" filet of beef. I work in marketing, and also self-promoted myself into (internet) fame, (imaginary) fortune, and the (size 22) pants of women the world over (mostly in Central America and for $7). If I worked at Buddakan, I would suggest dropping the "charred" from this entree, as that might scare some people away. I then might suggest replacing the "charred" with "there is no way that you deserve this" or "this is the opposite of being eaten by a shark – totally" or "if you like heroin, you’re going to love this" filet of beef.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that the charred filet of beef, which was served sliced and with a delicate mustard sauce and some sort of magic sauce poured on top, was one of the best steaks I’ve ever had. I know it’s not a "classic" steak because of the way it was served, but I was blown away. I can’t say enough about it. Or rather, I can’t say anything about it, because it was just too good. I did not cry while eating it, nor did I yell, nor did I cream in my pants – I just sat there. As soon as I tasted the steak, everything seemed to go in slow motion; my eyes widened, my jaw slackened, and I could hear the synthesizer intro to "Baba O’Reilly" start to play in my head. It was a moment. This may not make much sense, I actually learned while eating this steak. I’m not kidding when I say that if (when) I go back to Buddakan, I’m ordering two of these. Both for myself. No sharing.
(While we’re here, some more use of italics in this post. I guess I just figured out what the slanted I in the tool bar does. Good for me.)
I gave up sweets for Lent, but was so moved by the steak that I momentarily lost consciousness and when I came to was eating dark chocolate pudding (very unimpressive, sadly). The good news is that per yesterday’s post I didn’t drink during the meal. However, I did drink after the meal, but it’s not my fault. Nicole and I went to La Bottega at the Maritime Hotel for a drink, and the bartender essentially called me a pussy when I told him that I’d been sick for a while and might have an ulcer. One Manhattan and a bottle of wine later, the mother fucker had shut his mouth. That’s how I roll, son.
I got him after midnight to wake up at 5:30 this morning with the same tremendous stomach problems I’ve been having lately and have been a mess all day (I actually walked to work this morning as opposed to taking the subway because I needed air and wanted to be above ground if I shit myself/threw up). I’m going home and am taking some Xanax and drinking a half jar of Pepto at 8pm. Uncle Jason needs to shut down the engines tonight.
But today’s misery is worth last night’s ecstasy (which is really all I ask for in life). Buddakan was fucking incredible and I highly recommend it. Next up is mine and Nicole’s white whale: Babbo. Since Nicole and I started our monthly dinners last July, we’ve been trying to get reservations at Babbo and so far have been unable until now (I haven’t even been able to get past a busy signal). Expect a full recap in a few weeks.
(Provided I don’t shit myself to death before then. Keep your fingers crossed.)
