NYC - Where "quaint" comes to die

A friend of mine in college had a theory about why everybody in NYC was so skinny – they couldn’t afford to eat. This also explained why everybody wore black – cuts down on cleaning costs. Anyway, while I’ve only had brief periods during which my lack of money led to weight loss, I certainly do agree that this city is too goddamn expensive. (And our rent is too damn high!) But sometimes you can stumble upon a surprisingly affordable evening of food and entertainment. My friend Kelly and I did just that last week – and in Soho no less.

Dinner in Soho is a dangerous thing. In Soho, you need to be prepared to spend some serious cash, or do a thorough search of your options. Let’s say you want a burger and fries. Well, in Soho, that burger will have come from a cow raised on a poetry-reading commune, and will have eaten only the finest, pesticide-free grass. And those potatoes? They will have been grown by Tibetan monks who serenade the spuds with throat chant every morning at sunrise. Needless to say, this kind of attention to nutritional detail comes at a very high price. We had been given a couple of suggestions for Italian places, but as it was yet another cold, dreary, rainy Spring day in New York, we really just wanted to run inside the first place that looked sufficiently hip, yet unpretentious (working on a level of 1 to Soho, of course). And so, we were seduced by the low key siren song of Hundred Acres.

It was just so hard to resist! From the rich, red velvet drape at the entrance, to the elegant marble slab of the bar, we were captivated by Hundred Acres’ upscale urban farm atmosphere! And no, we were in no way bothered by the inherent contradiction in that idea. We prepared ourselves to lay down the cash for an $18 burger or $20 plate of fried chicken (and that, of course, is before the wine. In Soho a single glass could easily cost more than your entire meal. Because restaurants in Soho are just that cool). But lo! As we sat down at the bar we were presented with a happy hour menu. Could it be! Could happy hour co-exist with cottage-chic? Yes! It could! We were now free to order small bites, pay normal dinner prices, and leave secure in the knowledge that our dark colored clothing would absorb any stains that may emerge as the result of eating at the bar. (Cause you know, we’re New Yorkers. We were wearing black.)

I have to say though, the food was good. We got steak skewers, papas bravas, and brussels sprouts with anchovies. The steak was meltingly tender, and very well spiced. The “papas bravas” were actually smashed, fried red potatoes, served with a chipotle aioli, and they ruled. Funny thing about aioli - I pretty much detest mayo, but I really enjoy aioli, its fancy ancestor. And yes, I’m aware that when most places say “chipotle aioli”, they really mean “mayo with some chipotle sauce mixed in”. But I can’t help it. I love it. I completely buy into the advertising. I, like the rest of my generation, am a slave to marketing. Anyway, the potatoes were lovely, and the Brussels sprouts added a really necessary bitter contrast to all this richness. True, my first bite did include a full anchovy, and that wasn’t exactly delightful, but that was a one time occurrence. Most of the anchovies had melted into the olive oil, and simply added a nice, astringent brine. All this, plus $6 wine! It was Soho slumming at its best.

Perhaps you’re wondering why we were braving the overpriced morass which is Soho in the first place. Kelly had found us a great deal for a chamber music concert – WQXR was broadcasting a festival of music entitled “Trout Week”. Each performance was about an hour long, there was commentary, free wine, and Kelly had a discount. What more could you ask for? Well, I could ask for no “Trout”s. I actually hate the “Trout”. And not in the way that I once hated Bach, as a kind of rebellious music-school thing (“I’m young and creative! I reject the standard musical cannon!”). I really do not like Schubert’s “Trout” Quintet. I also dislike the art song from which it derives. I guess you could say that I hate all things “Trout” (except for the smoked trout dip served at an Elsas holiday party. I loooooooove that stuff!) Luckily, the ensemble of the evening, Ethel, is not known for its “Trout” enthusiasm. There are many, many things to like about Ethel: their commitment to new works; their fierce passion when playing; their eclectic musical choices. And the fact that they provide some eye candy is not too bad either (I mean, we’re not talking about the Johnny Depp of chamber music, but there’s definitely some music-school level hotness on display here.*)

A few brief notes on some of the selections, because this post is already too long: Julia Wolfe's Early That Summer – apparently that summer was intensely emotional and minimalistic. Those are the kinds of things I look for in a season. Dohee Lee's HonBiBaekSan – So much gorgeousness. This meditative excerpt was a preview of the premiere the following Monday at Le Poisson Rouge (why oh why did I miss that!). Other pieces featured some very unique recorded tracks, and the high pitched, sustained squeaky notes that are almost a requisite for New Music. Those particular notes aside, it was truly a wonderful concert.

So that was our night in Soho! We somehow found a way to sensibly enjoy dinner and live music in one of the most expensive parts of one of the most expensive cities in the world. And what did we do with our unexpected plenty? Blew it all at the bar after the show. Priorities, people. Priorities.

*Music-school level hotness explained: When you’re in music school your social circle becomes surprisingly small. The schedule is so overwhelming, and you tend to find prospective dates only in theory class, in the Music Library, or at the pub across the street on Dollar Burger Night. This is not to say that your standards slip. They just become....different. When everyone is pasty and white from spending too much time in a practice room, the hottest pasty white man wins. That, my friends, is music school level hotness.