The state of Empire

Last night I went to the Observer's real estate party at the Empire Hotel -- and even a jaded reporter like me was impressed.

The rooftop lounge is really quite spectacular; it's an glass enclosed deck that looks out on the city and is really lovely. (Fellas: If you don't mind being overcharged your date will be impressed -- mine was.)

Plus, the catering for the party was done in-house, and I learned after the fact that the restaurant is the work of none other than convicted felon, Jeffrey Chodorow.

Chodorow is one of those cats I can't help but have mixed feelings about. I generally hate his restaurants; they're usually dramatically overpriced with mediocre food. Frank Bruni was pretty much correct in his assessment of Kobe Club -- a friend of mine took his fiancee there for dinner and left because he thought the room was so scary. I, for one, didn't quite feel the need to flee -- but it really wasn't my speed at least in terms of decor.

That being said, I do think he's an interesting character. When I went to the restaurant in the Dominican Republic at the Maxim Bungalows when it was under the Chod's management (it no longer is) I was impressed. (Mostly.) Overall, the food was good. And the one party that I went to at Kobe Club the food wasn't terrible. (China Grill, on the other hand, I have many more problems with.)

Moreover, the one time I met Chod, he seemed like a pleasant enough guy. And when he entered into his huge feud with Bruni, I almost took Chod's side. Bruni isn't the greatest food critic in the world (at least for my money) and Chod's within his rights to say so. Moreover, Chodorow seemed to be acting out of genuine hurt. It's hard to fault somebody for being offended when someone tells them that they're unworthy, or incompetent, or whatever. Especially on something so dear to the heart.

But all that is back story...

The food at the Empire was, quite frankly, fantastic!

I didn't overdo too much because I had a dinner to go afterwards (see future entry), but they had these wonderful kobe beef sliders -- which tasted like they had soy sauce on them or something. But whatever it was, it worked.

The tempura shrimp was also pretty bad ass -- not too battered, nice sweet sauce.

And they had these mini-mozzarella and mushroom paninis. Awesome.

For health reasons I stayed away from the peanut butter and jelly foie gras (which sounded gross, anyway) and some sort of elaborate shrimp crab cake -- but the server swore to me that they were delicious. And she looked like a trustworthy person.

The long and short of all of this is: Check out the roof bar at the Empire. And while you're there, it won't hurt to order a snack or two.

Moon shot

Over the weekend I helped celebrate my friend Julie's birthday at My Moon, a place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I wasn't feeling particularly well so I abstained from any boozing. And I didn't taste any of the food. But one thing I will tell you:

It is a really nice space.

The bartender told me that it was some sort of warehouse once, and when they moved in a few years back it was filled with water tanks. They decided to chop up those tanks and turn them into booths. Plus, there was a really nice outdoor courtyard in the front.

From an architectural/design perspective, really nice. (Again, I didn't drink. But the prices were pretty inflated for Brooklyn. About what you'd expect for Manhattan.)

Yet another savvy businessman ...

Last night, my friend Noah took me to another bar which rivals Crocodile Lounge in terms of inventiveness for luring tightwads out of their lair:

1, 2, 3, burger, shot, beer in Hell's Kitchen on 10th avenue.

The concept of 1, 2, 3 is that the burger is one dollar, shots are two dollars and beers are three bucks. (The burgers are little sliders -- and you have to buy a minimum of three.) We spent a good two-plus hours there, had at least 10 beers between us, another half dozen or so shots and a lot of food -- our total for the two of us was less than $50. (Slightly more with tip.)

No matter how you look at that, that's a good deal by New York standards.

I will admit that the burgers were a little greasy. The service a little slow. The beer a little watery. The music featured Kelly Clarkson. And I couldn't taste that much alcohol in the shots. (So, no, I wasn't as blown away by it as I was by Croc.) But you certainly don't feel ripped off at the end of the day. And despite its problems, it was still an excellent time. Even if it was greasy, the food wasn't at all terrible (our waitress talked us into something called peanut butter wings which I was expecting to hate but wound up liking). The waitresses were extremely cute. And the place was hopping. If Noah was more willing to serve in wingman capacity, there were quite a few good looking women there who I might have approached.

Over all, really smart idea. Very good time. Check it out.

All right, whoever thought of this is a genius.

Attention all fressers reading this blog:

You should get to Crocodile Lounge on 14th street between First and Second avenue as fast as your legs will carry you. The concept of this bar is so genius that I'm sort of at a loss for words... Are you ready?

Free pizza.

Somebody got the idea that pizza isn't all that expensive to make. And that if your customers are getting it for free, they won't have an excuse to go around the corner to get some greasy slice somewhere else and perhaps not return. No, the guys who founded Crocodile Lounge figured it was worth the one or two dollars they have to spend on pizza materials to keep their customers right there.

And it worked like hell! My pal Noah, Mike and I went there for a drink and wound up drinking a lot more beer and staying longer than we intended to. (Did I add that the beer is also reasonably priced? Another point in Croc's favor. And they have skeet ball!)

The big question (of course) is: How was the pizza?

Not bad, actually.

It certainly wasn't the best pizza I've ever eaten, but it's perfectly decent by New York standards. (Beats the hell out of anything I ever tasted, pizza-wise up at Dartmouth.) As I was leaving, I looked across the street to the extremely touted new pizza place Artichoke. There was a line outside the door. I tasted the pizza at Artichoke a few weeks ago and I thought it was good. And if you had a taste test between Artichoke and Crocodile Lounge, Artichoke would win. But, frankly, I'd rather be at Croc, sipping beers, playing skeet ball and actually having a place to sit down.