Cafe Sabarsky; Grey Dog's Coffee
MOMA has come to Queens, and so everyone on the island must make a pilgrimage via the 7 train. I used to like the pizza at the midtown MOMA's cafe, and I liked to look at its many-lightbulbed lamps. And I miss the goat. I believe the goat is summering at the New York Botanical Garden.
While walking in Central Park with my friends from high school, who have the nerve to still be taller and thinner than me, Connie brought us to a spot where pretty-colored songbirds feed. Then she said the Botanical Garden was having a sculpture exhibit and wouldn't it be great to see it. I said well I think those are the sculptures from MOMA. After a beat she confrontationally called me on it.
"Lane are you saying that since they've been at MOMA that it's not something I should talk about going to?" Well, yes I was. But I pulled tootsie pops out of my purse and all was forgiven.
You know I really don't like to leave the borough of Manhattan. But then someone suggested, "We should go to that new gallery, we haven't been there yet." Huh? "Oh you mean the Neeyuu Gallereee."
Through heavy wrought-iron doors on 86th St., after a "bag inspection," a guard approaches me. "Victoria?" How nice it would be to be named Victoria and be expected. The cafe is on the ground floor and to the right. I'm told the coffee machine is broken and there are no coffee drinks at all. "No coffee?!" But everyone who is warned stays anyway. Maybe because the room is so inviting. A not-too-big rounded rectangle with elaborate wood paneling punctuated by a smattering of turn-of-the-last-century art posters, very high ceilings and dark brown flooring. Light is from wall sconces hung with sextets of glass globes, a beaded chandelier, recessed bulbs and tall white-shaded windows that reveal the goings-on of 5th Ave. passersby.
Along the windows are booths upholstered in rose-patterned fabric of crimson and gold. An outsize spray of red berries in a glass vase is reflected in a mirror above the gray- and purple-mottled marble mantle. The graceful bent-wood 1899 Adolf Loos cafe chairs may be yours, made-to-order from the Design Shop, for $900 a pop. High above, a security camera quietly observes your repast.
The cafe's staff is very polite, disconcertingly humorless and wearing long white aprons and dark ties. Your manager is charcoal-suited, multilingual and fabulously spectacled. Patrons sport foreign lingoes, Burberry, backpacks and boat shoes. Although the cafe bustles, I am seated immediately at a large table. Round marble-topped cafe tables are plenty big enough, but the smaller square ones present a problem for the long-legged among us. Atop them are fluted or swirled glass sugar, salt and pepper shakers. Utensils are wrapped in thickest paper napkins. An old-fashioned curlicued rack is hung with the news of Europe. The classical music seems a natural emanation from the Old World walls.
There is much fiddling with modern clear teapots by those unaccustomed to the machinations of the taking of tea. Trays with pitchers of tea and glasses of ice and lemon make their way to other tables. All the Liptons are tea drinkers, except for my coffee-drinking grandmother, who gets offended when offered tea, because she's an all-American gal you know, not like the rest of us greenhorns. But she raised me on tea, and tea I had, until I was 23 and working in midtown and coffee became inescapable. So I'm a coffee drinker; and since there is no coffee, I'm forced to have a beer. Two are offered, both pale in color. The Salzburgian Stiegl ($6) is poured with a foamy head and has a thin bite that brings me back to bars in Brussels. A Gösser ($6) is spring daylight and easy drinking, but still has that bitter tinge to make it interesting. It's served in its own pub glass, "seit 1860."
Palatschinken mit Räucherforelle und oberskin (smoked trout crepe with horseradish creme fraiche to you, $14) is speedily brought on a gold-lettered "CAFE SABARSKY" plate. The cold wrap consists of yellow eggy crepe holding delicate fish, matchsticks of sweet apple and clear-channel horseradish flavor. The sourness of the creme is undetectable. Sandwiches like matjes herring with egg and apple run $11.50-$14.50. They come with glistening, dressed mesclun garnished with yellow grape tomatoes, translucent slices of radish and cucumber, and crisp cornichons. A liverwurst sandwich ($11.50) is open-faced, dotted with golden onion confit and pretty sprinklings of minced parsley. The lush breadspread is dark pink with tender chunks of meat and marries well with the sweetened soft onions and sturdy, dark, thickly crusted bread. It's far from lunchbox liverwurst, and this month it seems Atkins was right all along, so as the Sabarsky servers say, "Enjoy."
Seven salads run from $10 to the $17 lobster and crabmeat with celery and tarragon. A neighbor's cod strudel with tomato salad and opal basil ($20) looks cooling and delightful. In a colder season, Hungarian beef goulash with herbed quark (fresh cheese) spaetzle ($25) may tempt. Wire baskets of breads are served with entrees.
As the afternoon ages the fading warm sun peeks in and slows the pace. Quick serving makes for a fast lunch, perfect for a jam-packed tourist schedule, but lingering in the European way is fine here too. However, the real reasons we've all come are displayed on the marble sideboard. The desserts elicit studied concentration and cleaned plates. "Delicious" is overheard. Multilayered slices of cake come with peaks of piped, fluffy, unsweetened whipped cream. Dreamy Hungarian Dobos torte has six layers of lemony yellow cake with a sweet creamy filling topped by glassy, crunchy caramel. The ganached Klimt torte mit schlag is flourless chocolate-filled hazelnut layers decorated with gold leaf. Its bittersweet chocolate coats the mouth, takes hold of the brain and purges negative thoughts. Also available, apple strudel and Sacher torte of dark chocolate cake, chocolate filling and apricot.
One twentysomething strolls over to the sideboard and seriously peruses the offerings with folded arms; the gravity of the decision perhaps equaling that of career-path selection. The "Sweets" are all $6. Served on a small white saucer is the check and a self-portrait of Egon Schiele.
Across the foyer, the soothing bookstore has monographs on, among others, Klimt, Kokoschka and Schiele, bios of Serge Sabarsky and a volume entitled The Classic Art of Viennese Pastry.
On the way back downtown, I was handed a "moist towelette" in a packet that said "Tony Shalhoub is MONK." I probably wouldn't have got one of those in Long Island City.
Cafe Sabarsky, 1048 5th Ave. (86th St.), 288-0665.
The Grey Dog's Coffee
My mother, scared over terror alerts, insisted on spending July 4 with me. I thought she was the only nut, but two days later, in Angelina's backyard, Angelina said she'd spent the day in Pennsylvania and had refused to return to the area till after midnight. Has everyone gone mad?
Some normalcy at Angelina's barbecue when another girl and I bored our large table with this discussion:
"I'm from Saratoga."
"I'm from Saratoga."
"Where?"
"Rock City Falls."
"I lived in Rock City Falls."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I really did."
"Do you know Jane Purvee?"
"Of course I know Jane Purvee. Do you know the Seward sisters?"
"I know the Seward sisters."
Ad infinitum.
On the Fourth, I wanted to try Da Silvano Cantinetta, because I really really like the word "Cantinetta," but it was closed. So we went to the Grey Dog's Coffee not far from it. Decor is frosted glass-lamped ceiling fans, Christmas lights and things you find in a garden. Walls of brick and a pressed-tin ceiling. Early on students chat; later, dates start their evening by sipping sangria and snacking on shareable platters of crudites, cheeses or smoked salmon. Occasionally, at some tables, callow revolutionaries drone, due to the Unoppressive Non-Imperialist Bargain Books shop directly across the street.
The blackboard lists salads and burgers (veggie, turkey and "classic"), and 11-filling sandwiches that go for $5.95, dubbed the "Michigan Collection." The #2 has sweet Black Forest ham, melty brie and sinus-blasting Dijon. For your sandwich order, you can choose your bread from a number of loaves. Grey Dog's challah is more of a soft white and not so eggy, but my mom recognized it as "holly" right away. I took a bite of my portobello and mozzarella on sun-dried-tomato bread and blanched. The portobellos didn't have that steak-like rich flavor that I love. I saw an unsuspecting woman across the table from me. "Trade you half of mine for half of yours?" Her #1 was more to my liking, with smoked turkey, brie and raspberry-honey mustard. And she actually liked the mushroom sandwich. They also have big portions of baked goods like bricks of Rice Krispy treats with interspersed globs of marshmallow, and a banana bread that is overly sweet.
My mother had all kinds of important news like, "Little Bow Wow isn't going to be 'Little' anymore."
"Neither is Little Stevie Wonder."
Two hyper-alert border-collie mixes sat nearby. One was described as old and cranky. The younger was referred to as "a handful." With Pet Sounds coming out of the speakers, it was a happy place for a bite.
The Grey Dog's Coffee, 33 Carmine St. (betw. Bedford & Bleecker Sts.), 462-0041.