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"FacebookPinterest\n\nI remember the murder. This wacko had a young girlfriend, she was a Swiss part-time topless dancer. He made soup of her and took it to Tompkins Square Park, fed it to the homeless.\n\n \u2014overheard during dinner at Esperanto\n\nThe East Village was never about dining. Radical bookstores, squatters' rights, lesbian health care, no-water flats and The East Village Other (a pioneering underground publication in the field of explicit personals) defined a singular American neighborhood. The local cuisine was the heavyweight home cooking of the Eastern European immigrant community. The dominant cultural commitment was to dark poetry and collectible graffiti. Compared to other radical communities, the East Village had the heavier food and the deeper thoughts.\n\nIt had little in common with Greenwich Village, the celebrated warren of burnished town houses that abuts the Hudson River. The East Village, located close to the East River, is an architecturally stolid section of Manhattan with the physical charm of a Soviet-era subdivision. Except for the occasional attention-grabbing riot over workers' rights, nothing particularly significant took place until late last century, when it became notorious for the annexation of Tompkins Square Park by the homeless, coke sales outside the Horseshoe Bar on Avenue B and fat-chested men with fistfuls of bills who bet on illegal cockfights along Avenues C and D.\n\nNot until a few years ago did visitors to this improbable section of New York come to feed anything but their habits. The beginning of the transformation dates from the late '80s, about the time police evicted the homeless from their tent city and Iggy Pop took up residence in the sixteen-story Christadora House. It's hard to know which event was more life altering. Now the once infamous neighborhood is so agreeable, a Subway sandwich shop has emerged on Avenue D\u2014yes, the national fast-food chains have arrived.\n\nThe newly gentrified neighborhood still has graffiti and barbed wire, but they might as well be props for a stage show, some sort of outdoor production of Rent, which is set in the East Village. The prevailing air of uneasiness has been pushed aside. At least McSorley's Old Ale House, reputedly the oldest bar in the city, famous for its sweet ale and potbellied stove, is unchanged. McSorley's remains a treasure, even if my burger was overcooked.\n\nThe East Village has evolved into Manhattan's most diverse dining destination. I set out to eat in an assortment of restaurants, a few ethnic in nature, a couple still specializing in counterculture cuisine, others cleverly positioned by marketing experts. Most are undersized, raffish and unpredictable. Coat checking is unlikely, dress codes are nonexistent, exposed brick walls are everywhere, wine lists are disappointing, and service tends to be delightful, better than it has any right to be, considering that so many of the customers look as if they can't afford to tip.\n\nI graded the restaurants A, B, C or D. After all, I was dining in and around Alphabet City. I suggest making your way there as soon as possible, because the East Village has never been better than it is now, and given the inevitability of further change, what it is today may not be the way it remains for long.\n\nALPHABET KITCHEN\n\n 171 Avenue A, 212-982-3838\n\nOn the surface, this unusually comfortable establishment is pure East Village: Our Brazilian waitress had a bare belly, wore a chain belt and said we could open the red wine I'd brought \"if you, like, pay a wine fee.\" Telephonically, it's more Upper East Side: Press 3 for catering, 4 for accounts receivable.\n\nThe menu of Spanish and Portuguese food is engaging and the cooking successful, if understated. The wine list is a mess: Too old whites, too large markups. Too bad there isn't a phone option for that: Press 5 to fire the sommelier. I liked the white sangria, which reminded me of apple juice laced with chopped fresh fruit.\n\nMy wish is that more of the dishes were as vivid as the lamb pincho, two tiny skewers of luscious grilled meat, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes, every bite explosively rich and ripe. Other worthwhile choices are the tortilla espa\u00F1ola with chicken, eggs and potatoes (actually a scalloped-potato pie), a piquillo pepper stuffed with too mild mashed salt cod, and pork ribs in a \"bitter orange sauce\" that was delicious but not bitter. One warning: Alphabet Kitchen is so dark that anybody without superb night vision risks embarrassment when attempting to distinguish the men's room from the women's room. So I made a little mistake. Big deal. GRADE: B\n\nBANJARA\n\n 97 First Avenue, 212-477-5956\n\nThe stretch of 6th Street between First and Second Avenues is the curry corridor, where innocent passersby fall victim to barkers proclaiming the greatness of their employers' lamb vindaloo. The proprietors of Banjara, on the corner of 6th, do not waylay innocents, but they have a come-on: the promise of fare from the state of Rajasthan. This sounds exciting until you discover that Rajasthan isn't known for its cuisine.\n\nBanjara does differ from most Indian restaurants in one meaningful way: It messes up two all-time favorites, raita (cooling yogurt with cucumbers) and naan (hot, puffy, charred tandoor-oven bread). Here the raita had been turned into extra-thick, extra-sweet baby food, and the naan was doughy and undercooked.\n\nI tried two dishes from the northwest, where Rajasthan (and its better-known capital, Jaipur) is located. The chicken stew, topped with an amusing pastry dome, had large but flavorless chunks of chicken. The wok-finished lamb was well spiced but badly overcooked. The creamed lentils turned out to be a variety of beans in a thick sauce, more southwest Texas than northwest India. The decor, HoJo meets Art Deco, is unlike India, too. GRADE: C\n\nBAO 111\n\n 111 Avenue C, 212-254-7773\n\nThe sign identifying Bao 111 is barely visible and still the customers pour in, lured by a somewhat Asian menu and the most costly embellishments in the East Village.\n\nThe cooking is sophisticated, but the menu isn't particularly well conceived. Fresh shrimp summer rolls came with a thick hoisin sauce that obliterated their delicate flavor. A green-mango salad had julienned vegetables identical to those garnishing the summer rolls. Nicely seared quail arrived atop dried-out sticky rice (the only kitchen shortfall), and our two main dishes seemed oddly incomplete: Quail eggs and chicken in an iron pot and prawns in a bouillabaisse reduction were in much need of substantial vegetables and starch.\n\nOur order was taken at 7:10 p.m. Our main courses were cleared away at 7:40. The staff was exceedingly amiable, to say nothing of lightning quick. Resist the pressure to move on, and try the fabulous ice creams, especially the avocado and the black sesame seed. I returned a few days later, bellied up to the bar and asked for a double\u2014of ice cream. I expected to be tossed out, but dessert was graciously served. GRADE: B\n\nCARAVAN OF DREAMS\n\n 405 East 6th Street, 212-254-1613\n\nThis place is vegan, organic and kosher. That's strike one, strike two and strike three, as far as I'm concerned. You can't avoid reading the menu babble about \"live food\" and \"living enzymes,\" variations on the joys of raw. Still, Caravan of Dreams has a sweet, mismatched, Pete-Seeger-ate-here feel to it. The day I had lunch, crates of veggies were piled up in the dining room.\n\nThe root beer contained sassafras. The marinated tofu was insipid. The grilling was so inexpert I started to see the desirability of uncooked.\n\nFreshness is a virtue. The thin flaxseed chips were addictive, the guacamole was smooth as butter, and the pea soup was thick and chunky. Our meal seemed to last as long as a Grateful Dead concert, but I don't blame the single waitress on duty. A couple of vegans made her recite the ingredients in every cold drink. GRADE: C\n\nDOK SUNI\n\n 119 First Avenue, 212-477-9506\n\nThis relentlessly hip spot seemingly has it all: a Dok Suni cookbook, long waits for tables, and semi-authentic Korean cuisine neutralized for the sake of its mostly Caucasian clientele. The night I went, most of the customers looked happy. I was an exception.\n\nDok suni means \"strong girl,\" a designation I wouldn't apply to our dour waitress. Bullheaded, maybe. Stubborn, for sure. Twice she brought out our main courses before we had finished our appetizers. The second time, we relented and let them stay. They were limp, lukewarm, disagreeable and overdone. Even hot they would have been disappointing.\n\nThe appetizers were much better. Batter-coated shrimp and kimchi (pickled cabbage) pancakes were expertly fried. Quite wonderful was a mild version of a traditional Korean dish called dukboki\u2014 fabulously chewy rice noodles the size of double-aught shotgun shells in a red-pepper- and-garlic sauce.\n\nMy friend and I tried two Korean cocktails\u2014 a martini containing orange-flavored vodka, and cinnamon-flavored tea with bourbon. The first drink tasted like orange juice, the second like tea and cinnamon toast. If I become an alcoholic, this will be my regular breakfast spot. GRADE: C\n\nTHE ELEPHANT\n\n 58 East 1st Street, 212-505-7739\n\nAre there Thai bistros? Probably not, but that's what the Elephant looked and tasted like to me. The mostly red room has a copper bar, a tin ceiling, a beaded curtain, hanging bunches of bananas and an air of culinary confidence I associate with the French.\n\nThe service could not have been friendlier, and the food was appealing, except for an overabundance of shredded beets and carrots. The hot-and-sour soup was fierce, so spicy and vinegary it alerted me that this is no tropic-themed restaurant. The red-lentil soup with fluffy shrimp dumplings was velvety and tingly, and those dumplings were put to even better use in another appetizer, where they were matched with an intense red-curry-and-garlic sauce.\n\nThe duck was a conceptual shocker: Thick, rare, beefy slices atop macaroni and cheese suggested southeast U.S.A. more than Southeast Asia. GRADE: B\n\nESPERANTO\n\n 145 Avenue C, 212-505-6559\n\nEsperanto isn't a restaurant. It's a Caribbean vacation, the kind where you drink forty beers in one night, the natives are especially nice, and you're glad you ignored the State Department warnings posted at the airport.\n\nThe place is goofy and ramshackle. Spice packets are nailed to the wall, the lightbulbs are bare, and I swear I heard sitar music while I was eating. You may think the people running Esperanto are clueless\u2014 until the food comes out.\n\nThe cuisine, supposedly nuevo latino, isn't very nuevo. It's Brazilian. Or Cuban. Or Mexican. Mostly, it's traditional, and it's great fun. We started with tender, sweet grilled squid, so beautifully prepared we knew right away we'd underestimated the talent at the stove. Feijoada, the Brazilian answer to cassoulet, was inelegantly presented but deeply delicious, and the tender carne asada was matched with a cheesy, messy stuffed pepper, impossible to resist.\n\nThe best dessert was a mango gratin\u2014 coconut sorbet in a warm mango-rum nectar, the Caribbean equivalent of a hot-fudge sundae. Then, I swear, a flamenco dancer appeared. GRADE: B\n\nFRANK RESTAURANT\n\n 88 Second Avenue, 212-420-0202\n\nThe laminated menu of this inexplicably popular red-sauce spot is bedecked with a sepia-toned photograph of a matronly Italian mother making orecchiette by hand, obviously intended to evoke the harmony and sweetness of familial Italian life. Dishes such as \"Uncle Tony's gnocchi\" and \"spiced meat loaf with Carmela's tomato gravy\" suggest a highly personal, attention- to-detail cuisine. I had one lunch and can't recall eating worse Italian food. Or so much of it.\n\nThe heaping plate of rigatoni with \"Grandmother Carmela's tomato and meat gravy\" included rubbery pasta, neutral sauce, slices of bland sausage and tiny overcooked meatballs. Everything seemed reheated, but I suppose the rigatoni hadn't been.\n\nThe room has wide-board floors, unsteady chairs and plastic over the tiny rickety tabletops. There's an open kitchen, but I tried not to look. GRADE: D\n\nITZOCAN CAF\u00C9\n\n 438 East 9th Street, 212-677-5856\n\nLet's talk unimpressive at first glance: The walls and ceiling are decorated with Inca-like, mock-stone outcroppings. If Itzocan Caf\u00E9 is unearthed by archaeologists in a future millennium, they'll think it was a cut-rate temple to forgotten gods. Lunch features nachos, tostadas and similar forms of Mexican funny food. There's a delivery bike outside, unvarnished wooden tables, hard chairs and so little space it's hard to believe that a burrito\u2014they're available at lunch too\u2014can fit inside.\n\nI'm no fan of Mexican restaurants. You probably can tell. I'm certain that no cuisine is so bungled by the joints that sell it. Not here. I had three meals and tried almost everything, including the specials. Only a dried-out tamale wasn't carefully prepared. (I didn't care for the lumpy semolina dumplings, but they seemed authentic enough.)\n\nChef Anselmo Bello, who is from Puebla, Mexico, has worked in French restaurants, and the training pays off in both subtle and obvious ways. Profiteroles, a special one day, were basically French: choix pastries with ganache (truffle-like chocolate) centers accented with a goat's-milk-and-caramel sauce. They were fabulous, but not better than the blue-corn crepes with the identical sauce.\n\nAt dinner the presentations tend to be vertical, sort of Guadalajara meets Gotham Bar and Grill. (Mexican presentations are usually excessively horizontal, overflowing the plate.) The flank steak was savory and subtly spiced, and the inspired braising also appeared at lunch, in the impossibly delicious chiles rellenos with beef.\n\nSoups were smooth and satisfying, although that's insufficient praise for the puree of zucchini and huitlacoche mushroom (the truffle of Mexico).\n\nPerhaps I haven't praised lunch quite enough. I never imagined saying this, but even the burritos were first-rate. GRADE: A\n\nJEWEL BAKO\n\n 239 East 5th Street, 212-979-1012\n\nJewel Bako is Manhattan's most fashionable raw-fish rendezvous. The exterior resembles a stucco Navaho blockhouse. Inside, the elliptical shape suggests a nicely appointed submarine. My guest, absolutely enchanted, decided Jewel Bako was perfect for a first date. She thought the ambience, service and tiny portions induced a feeling of bliss.\n\nNowhere else in New York do morsels of food cost so much. A marinated octopus amuse-gueule was the size of a thumbnail. The toro tartare with golden osetra caviar, admittedly costly ingredients, went for $15 and consisted of a small cylinder of mashed tuna topped with so little caviar it must have been weighed out in carats instead of grams. Gerber could market this as Toro for Tots.\n\nMost sushi and sashimi items cost $4 or $4.50, and they're one bite. I recommend sushi because the rice is sweet, firm and fresh. If you don't consume rice, you can eat for hours and not feel full. The fish is excellent, but a lot of it is weird. A tiny whole squid was mushy and fishy. A special scallop touted as firmer than most might well have been a scientific demonstration of the bivalve mollusk after rigor mortis sets in. King-salmon sushi was superb, and plain old standard red-hued tuna, a bargain at $3, was unexpectedly luscious. Particularly impressive was sea urchin from Santa Barbara, as exquisite as that briny liquid gold gets.\n\nAll patrons receive a series of tiny complimentary desserts. We had microscopic tea-in-a-dollhouse cookies, creamy litchi-nut sorbet and a dollop of plum-infused sake. The desserts amused me, but my guest had become resentful by then. She'd realized she wasn't as cute as the restaurant. GRADE: B\n\nLIMA'S TASTE\n\n 432 East 13th Street, 212-228-7900\n\n\"I don't want to eat gerbils,\" said my wife.\n\n\"They don't eat gerbils in Peru,\" I condescendingly explained. \"They eat guinea pigs.\"\n\n\"I don't want to eat any rodents,\" she insisted.\n\nLima's Taste was rodent-free the night we went, although cow's heart was a special. We stuck to standard items. It didn't help.\n\nOvercooked shrimp wrapped in bacon reminded me of pass-around party tidbits, and the lamb stew was genuinely inedible, a few cubes of extremely tough meat. Thank goodness for the salad of smoky grilled mushrooms, asparagus and greens in an addictive sweet-tart dressing.\n\nWe tried a dessert of boiled blue corn with pineapple and prunes that came in a tall ice-cream-sundae dish. The purplish gelatinous sludge was a cross between grape jelly and napalm, and no matter how diligently I ate, the level wouldn't go down. I was certain it was regenerating.\n\nAs we left, the owner asked how we'd liked the pudding. When I said it wasn't a favorite of mine, he revealed that it was an ancient Incan recipe. Now we know why that civilization disappeared. GRADE: C\n\nLUCIEN\n\n 14 First Avenue, 212-260-6481\n\nMy meal was pleasant, except for the bouillabaisse, which shouldn't be missed. The stock was deep and dark, and the fish lurking within were mostly of the expensive varieties\u2014a half lobster, a colossal shrimp, a chunk of Chilean sea bass and more. The kitchen could do better in the way of shell removal, a defensive measure that would help save clothing from spatters, but otherwise I found the bouillabaisse flawless. I was almost as impressed with the appearance of this modest French restaurant, which reminded me of an unpolished bistro tucked away in a part of Paris unknown to tourists.\n\nDesserts are a treat, particularly the tarte Tatin, which had a thinner-than-usual crust and an apple filling that was soft but not pasty. Our waitress was a charmer who got yelled at by the owner for her game effort to chill my too warm Sancerre in a pot from the kitchen. (My ice bucket wasn't deep enough.) I asked her if he was always so crabby, and she said wearily, \"All the time.\" GRADE: B\n\nMAMA'S FOOD SHOP\n\n 200 East 3rd Street, 212-777-4425\n\nThe field marshal behind the cafeteria-style counter ignored me for a few minutes, then started barking orders: Don't touch the glass. Move up in the line. Pay in cash. Take your food. Get your own water. The person who named this joint Mama's surely had a miserable childhood.\n\nPortions are staggeringly large. Prices are incredibly low, $9 for an entr\u00E9e and two vegetables, each plate piled with enough home-style grub to feed two. The decor is a unique melding of Victorian parlor and army mess hall. The fringed floor lamps are an inspired touch.\n\nThe extra-crispy fried chicken was pretty good. The lukewarm macaroni and cheese was authentically southern, not gooey in the least.\n\nNothing else can be recommended. (The cold meat loaf, shaped like a Bundt cake, was dreadful.) To say we left most of our food on our plates would be inaccurate, since we weren't allowed to do that. We were ordered to scrape our dishes clean at a kitchen sink. Taking out your own garbage is surely the worst way to end a bad meal. GRADE: D\n\nMAMLOUK\n\n 211 East 4th Street, 212-529-3477\n\nThe voice that returned my call requesting a reservation was throaty and warm, not too young. She asked my first name, getting a little personal. I asked to bring my own wine and pay corkage. She said the cost would be $20. \"Too much,\" she added. I promised her a glass. She laughed. Suddenly Mamlouk\u2014the heavy-handed name honors slaves who became masters\u2014did not seem so foreboding.\n\nI pictured cushions and hookahs, creamy hummus and smoky baba ghanoush, cool grape leaves and meltingly soft lamb. What I found, when I arrived, was all I'd imagined and more. (By now, given New York's nonsmoking laws, the hookahs are surely decorative pieces.) The hostess who spoke on the phone was named Najah, cousin by marriage of the owner, who is from Iraq. She coolly nodded hello\u2014am I that disappointing in person?\u2014 and vanished. The food started coming, served atop a tiny hammered-brass table. Dishes piled up. Jaws dropped. Each taste was exceptional.\n\nMamlouk has no set menu, and the price of a meal isn't announced in advance. No explanation of what you will eat is offered unless you ask, and then you learn that the recipes are from all over the Middle East. Of nearly two dozen dishes, a half dozen were superb: hummus, baba ghanoush (I've never had better), cheesy yogurt with mint, buttery phyllo-dough turnovers that reminded me of Turkish brek, lamb tajine and a walnut-mango tart that was a sweet variation on the earlier turnovers. Other dishes were merely excellent. (Okay, the stuffed grape leaves were ordinary and the tabbouleh gritty.) The cost was an absurdly modest $30 a person.\n\nAt the end of the meal, Najah came by for seconds on the Shiraz I'd brought. I promised her I would return often and bring wonderful wine for her.\n\n\"Don't threaten me,\" she said, then laughed and faded away. GRADE: A\n\nODESSA CAFE\n\n 119 Avenue A, 212-253-1482\n\nIt's irrelevant to discuss the taste of the food here, because the reluctance of the kitchen to apply heat overwhelms all other considerations. Were the Ukrainian and Polish food freshly made, some of it might be acceptable. Were it sufficiently warmed up, it might be edible. Unfortunately, everything arrives cold.\n\nI'm not sure anybody cares, because most of the customers appear to be drunk. Indeed, the decor is best faced after a few shots. The ceiling appears to be covered with bright red shag carpeting. The fake-wood paneling is so hideous it makes all other fake-wood paneling look good. GRADE: D\n\n2ND AVENUE DELI\n\n 156 Second Avenue, 212-677-0606\n\nHow was the \"house-cured\" corned beef and tongue? Don't ask. To me, the beloved 2nd Avenue Deli is a flop in the sandwich department. The meats, pickles and rye bread are middling, but I have to admit that nobody suffers heartburn from food so underspiced.\n\nAs an Eastern European kosher Jewish restaurant, the place delivers the goods, although you might have to be from Lithuania to appreciate it. Meatballs and derma (an almost meatless sausage) are heavy and rich, while stuffed cabbage is heavy, rich and sweet. My mother always told me to say something nice, so I will: The matzoh-ball soup was beautiful, a light, dill-scented broth with matzoh balls so light they could have floated through a Chagall painting. GRADE: C\n\nTHE TASTING ROOM\n\n 72 East 1st Street, 212-358-7831\n\nThis is one of the best small restaurants in New York.\n\nIt is not one of the most comfortable restaurants in New York. It's so small only a high ceiling holds claustrophobia in check. My admiration is limited to the food, the wine and the service.\n\nConceived as a wine bar, the Tasting Room has a splendid all-American list. A Barboursville Vineyards Gewurztraminer was the finest Virginia wine I've come upon, and a Brick House Gamay from Oregon could teach French Beaujolais producers something about the grape they claim as their own. Even a California-made Vin Santo was far more palatable than the generally sorry ones arriving from Italy.\n\nThe creative American food that emerges from a subterranean kitchen directly under the too warm dining room is elaborate, superbly prepared and entirely successful. I was reminded of the creativity of the restaurants in San Sebasti\u00E1n, Spain. My only nitpick might be that the sauces, toppings and seasonings dominate the meat and fish they are intended to accent, but so delicious was everything, I didn't mind.\n\nThe two dishes most affected by sensory overload were the impeccable Rhode Island oysters topped with a thick, eggy sabayon, and a few barely seared slices of striped bass laid over a tomato \"jam\" laced with bits of sausage. Whatever was left of the jam and the sabayon, I mopped up with bread. Bits of baby octopus came with an astonishing sausage concoction, an explosive cross of p\u00E2t\u00E9 and tartare. Unable to determine whether I liked the roasted squab over a mushroom-tomato-olive compote more than the lightly seared duck over vegetables cooked in olive oil and lime, I returned to have them again. I still couldn't decide, but the restaurant is so difficult to get into I didn't try a third time.\n\nDesserts are satisfying, although less thrilling. The ice cream sandwich made with crispy rice cakes is a simple but inspired idea, since rice cakes, unlike chocolate wafers, apparently don't become soggy the instant they come in contact with a dairy product. GRADE: A\n\nTHE MERMAID INN\n\n 96 Second Avenue, 212-674-5870\n\nI asked our waitress, a former dot-com capitalist from Houston, if ordering the grilled whole dorade was a bad idea. I dislike the ritual of fish filleting: Present it to the guest, return it to the kitchen, find a cook to fillet it, bring it back dreadfully cold. She said filleting the fish would take just about as long as we wanted, because we were going to do it ourselves.\n\nShe was perfect, a blend of insouciance and confidence, East Village gentrification at its most appealing. The Mermaid Inn is a newly arrived, expertly packaged New England\u2013style fish house with professional interior design: a whitewashed plank ceiling, framed nautical charts on the walls and adequate room between the tables. The menu is small, reasonably interesting and consists almost entirely of fish, but the overall dining experience is muted. The cooking is capable, but either the products have to become more vivid or the chef has to do more with them.\n\nParticularly inviting were the firm roasted mussels with clarified butter for dipping and a sandwich of crispy skate with onions and a citrus remoulade. No desserts are sold, but everyone received a complimentary demitasse cup of chocolate pudding. It made me happy in a way I wish more of the seafood had. GRADE: B"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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