Sinanation

I became a fan of this place too late and can not recall when I first went there. In the middle of Chinatown in New York, in a forgotten alley, in between massage parlors and somber apartments you will find a bright red label that reads “Gold Flower Restaurant”. That is where you need to head to find Apotheke. Totally abandoned during the day and irresistibly full during the night, Apotheke is a cave of alcoholic wonders.

Around 11 pm, as you make your way into Doyers St. you will see a well-suited man with a hat guarding the door of the most unusual place at that time of the night. You will hear a buzz of music pumping out of what appears to be a restaurant. Once inside you will be amazed by the gothic exposed brick, red velvet, dimmed light decoration. The only window in the place will be covered in dark green wine bottles. The bar will be filled with not bartenders but cocktail experts dressed in white scientist coats. The menu of drinks will amaze you. The music will put you in a great mood. That will be the moment you will become a fan of this surprising cave of alcoholic wonders.

There will be a long line of visitors during the weekends (won’t bother you if you are friends with James at the door) and once inside, you will have a blast. If you ask my advice, go to Apotheke on a Wednesday night once in a while to appreciate the music and taste the amazing drinks in peace.

Femme Fatale and Pepper Infusion from the menu are my favorite. If you want to get jiggy, try a glass of the House Absinthe (be ready for some good show during its preparation).

Even though they said “please” I can’t help not writing about this tiny lounge hidden behind a delicious NYC hotdog shop. Please Don’t Tell (PDT) was the best entertainment for us on a quiet Wednesday night. Out of Luke’s Lobster in East Village, our appetite satisfied with delicious lobster rolls, we walked up to St. Marks Place to stumble into Crif Dogs. Inside the shop my friend made his call through the antique telephone booth found on the left side. Right after our friends who couldn’t resist the Crif sour cheese dog, were done with their food, a tiny door on the other side of the booth opened up to call us in.

It was easy to tell that PDT is a toughened up speakeasy from the people who have walked out of the booth before us. Some were in shorts and some in nice dresses. Anyone who knew someone inside was welcome. Dressed up with a black interior, dimmed lights and mummies of wild animals, PDT welcomes visitors to a wide corridor of a few booths and a sophisticated bar.

The cocktails (which change every season) are unique and worth trying. The short menu of food found on the last page is also too delicious not to notice. One other essential thing to notice here is, as my friend Can Paksoy mentioned, the list of house rules hung up inside the restrooms.

I close the door of apartment 29E one last time. My keys out of the keychain, I take one last glimpse at the gate that welcomed so many family members, friends and lovers. I leave it with good thoughts. Happy to be its patron for the past few years. Relieved to be able to separate from it with such determination and contentment.

Resigned from work and out the apartment that I called “home” since graduation, I spend the rest of my H1-B visa days in New York catching up with the city, hanging out with friends and making a list of everything that will be different once I am back in my home country. In between countless glasses of drinks, sweaty dances and plates of the most favorite NYC food I get closer to the day of my flight to Istanbul. I keep re-organizing the four large bags carefully packed to check into the plane to become close to the cold idea of departure. I realize it will be tougher than imagined. Never because of New York, but because of the people I will be leaving behind.

“How can you leave this city?”, “Life back home can’t even compare to the life here”, “Don’t you think you are making a mistake?” flush out of familiar mouths like bullets in a machine gun. Partially damaged with doubt, but still strong with confidence and determination, I hold on to my decision to move. I go back reminded how to love until it makes one shiver. I go back being re-thought the undeniable support of brotherhood and the importance of friendship. I go back with the necessity of trust carved on my head. I go back to end the longing for the family. I learnt a ton, yet I still have a long way to go.

I know so much will change. I leave to meet the ones who left before me. I leave cherishing the memories of the ones I leave behind. Time difference will interfere with Musa’s daily “I left the office, what’s the plan for dinner?” calls. I will not be able to personally observe his “my friend, how many wives do you have?” conversations with laid-back cab drivers. Burak will have to move his morning catch-up calls to my office to the late afternoon. Gorkem’s great last minute trips from Chicago to New York will now require 11-hour flights to Istanbul.

Le Bilboquet will not be blocks away for me to drag everyone there for lunch or dinner. Luis will not be taking his unavoidable after-work movie naps in front of my unnecessarily massive TV. Selim’s unique sunglasses will not always be there during the sunny days to brighten up the day. The holy brotherhood of 25 Mercer will dissolve into the hype of Cihangir in Istanbul.

Vermont will be off the navigation map, no longer able to accommodate the weekend ski trips. Hamptons will be too far away to observe the vicious ocean waves (Tara would know better :)) and luscious weekend estates. The intoxicating happy hour will cease to be an amazing weekend ritual. Delicious sushi will not taste as good. Tasty Mexican food will not be as common. The heartbreaking, heart-stopping models of Union Square will be too far away to observe.

Yusuf’s “the best of” compilations will no longer apply to favorite destinations. Shopping will not be such a bargain anymore. Greg’s “come out tonight” messages will not conclude in actionable decisions. Olivier’s weird faces after listening to each of my mixes for the first time will be stored in memory. Eda’s incredible vintage boots will not longer take on the streets.

It will be tough not to have Leslie as the princess of our guys-only dinner outings. Ece will be showing off her flips in a different park far far away from New York. Simon’s latino parties will have one less Turkish attendee.

Miles will be recorded in kilometers. Pounds will change into kilograms and blocks into steps. The Empire State will be the Bosphorus. There will be a replacement for everything, but the true friends New York so gladly introduced me to along the four glorious years I have spent here. Continents away technology will help with communication. Days, months and years apart, memories will help narrow the distance to what was once. I hope it will be easy to leave the fast and greedy island., but I know that it will be difficult to part from the people I have shared it with.

Celebrating great memories and wishing for even better days, I leave you with a mix dedicated to the journey from one home to another.

I expect to see you all. This time in Istanbul.

All my best,

Sinan

I can’t put these amazing restaurants & bakeries in order so I will just list them alphabetically. I have written formal reviews on most so I am putting links to their actual pages. Hope you can visit all some day.

Le Bilboquet: French. Must Eat: Mushroom Risotto, Tuna Tartare, Poulet Cajun, Filet Mignon

Bistrot Bagatelle: French. Must Eat: Tuna Tartare, Cote de Boeuf (for two), Poulet Fermier Roti et Truffle

Bianca: Italian. Must Eat: Gnocco Fritto (fried puffy dough rectangles with Stracchino cheese), Spiendino di Mare (grilled shrimps and calamari on a skewer), Carciofi Fritti (fried baby artichokes with crispy parsley), Tagliatelle alla Bolognese, Panna Cotta

BondSt.: Japanese. Must Eat: Spicy Tuna Roll, Miso-glazed Sea Bass, Tuna Tarts

Chop’t: Fast Healthy Food. Salad wraps

Cipriani Downtown: Italian. Must Eat: Baked Tagliatelle, Seafood Risotto

City Bakery: Croissant, Hot Chocolate

Commerce: American. Must Eat: Bread basket, sliced rare beef tataki, marinated hamachi ceviche, Porterhouse for two

Ed’s Lobster Bar: Seafood. Must Eat: Lobster Rolls

Fat Witch Bakery: Brownies

Gemma: Italian. Must Eat: Foccacia, Chocolate Calzone

Magnolia Bakery: Must Eat: Banana Pudding

Momoya: Japanese. 162 West 21st Street, New York (corner of 21st & 7th Ave.) – (212) 989-4466
Must Eat: Yellowtail Jalapeno, Crispy Trio, Crispy Shrimp Salad

Tomoe Sushi: Japanese. 172 Thomson St., New York. No reservations. Must Eat: Hamachi-Kama with extra lemon on the side, spicy toro roll, California roll, spicy tuna hand-roll

Via Quadronno: Italian. 25 East 73rd Street, New York – (212) 650-9880
Must Eat: Lasagna, Bip Bip Panini, Tiramisu

Wolfgang’s Steakhouse: American. Must Eat: Steak for two, Filet Mignon

Woo Lae Oak: Korean BBQ. Must Eat: Glass noodles, Ribeye, Filet Mignon, pear crumble

My visit to La Barra (250 Broome St. between Ludlow and Orchard) wasn’t planned or based on any recommendation. This tiny restaurant with enormous taste sits quietly on a typical Lower East Side street with emerging denim, thrift and costume jewelry shops sparkling around it.

You’ll enter with little expectations trough a tiny door decorated with a dripping A/C on top of it . Your eyes will be able to examine the whole place within seconds. You’ll wonder what type of food will come out of the open kitchen equipped with a little electric oven, two cooks and a bartender/cashier revolving around it. You’ll know you can’t judge this place by its looks after sustaining yourself so hard not to get a 3rd order of the homemade guacamole spiced up with an extra splash of lemon. The seafood ceviche will grow your appetite and a single order of the steak and shrimp tacos will not be enough to suppress it. They say great gifts come in small boxes. At La Barra great taste comes in small portions.

The Addams Family has finally made it to Broadway. Their Gothic mansion rises up in the middle of the Central Park surrounded by the glittering lights of the city that never sleeps. The dark has never been this funny. The dead has never been this friendly.

The Addams family, led by the elegantly gaunt and seemingly undead Morticia and her ever-devoted husband Gomez, is in turmoil. Their daughter Wednesday, now 18, finds herself falling in love—a sensation that is unsettling for both her and her family of endearing misfits. When the teen invites her new boyfriend, Lucas Beineke, over with his “normal” family to get better acquainted with the Addams household, comic chaos (including everything from an amorous giant squid to mixed-up potions to a scorching tango) ensues.

Despite a few unnecessary acts and a somewhat cheesy plot, the musical delivers an extremely funny glimpse into the life of the most exotic family on TV. In my opinion, the opening act where Fester awakens the dead fails to make an impressive introduction to the family. A more interactive entrance with some clever lines could have made a better impact on the audience. Yet again it should be entertaining for the younger crowd to watch the living dead prance around the Central Park and dance to the well-choreographed Addams Song. Although all the characters were exactly I imagined and expected them to be, it took me a while to get used to the girl that plays Wednesday. It could be that I am still stuck on the Christina Ricci version in the 1991 movie.

Other than a few edible complaints on the whole musical, I was extremely impressed by the performances of  Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth. Bebe’s complete embrace of the Morticia character, from her pose to the unique way she walks, was mesmerizing to watch. It was equally entertaining to guess her age given her impressive figure. As always Nathan Lane works all his genius to put out the best in the character he plays. Gomez is reflected in the best way possible as a man deeply in love with his family and the values of his ancestors.

Jackie Hoffman is the key laughing machine with her impressive role as Gradmama. Her advices and the tales of her past are extremely entertaining. Carolee Carmello as Alice Beineke and Zachary James as Lurch are the two characters that support Grandmama’s funny gestures. Fester on the other hand is stuck at being nothing more than a coordinator of the whole plot. He appears now and then as the tour guide who summarizes and introduces the upcoming acts. The only scene where he gets a break and delivers a great performance is when he serenades to his love, the Moon.

I say go meet the family before they leave Broadway (at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre).

Carefully crafted rolls of sushi gallantly fly across the room. They are perfectly rounded around the seafood and vegetable of choice, lined up on the plate like a string of pearls. They blink over to your comfortable lounge sofa on the main floor strategically positioned next to a DJ who knows how to get the groove on. You pause to think “Sushi has never been this fun. Japanese has never been so out of order.” You are surprised but extremely content to enjoy an extremely traditional meal in a sleek and comfortable lounge with such good music. Things get extra impressive in good weather when the windows come off to let you observe the pedestrians envious of the fun inside. Surrounded by such a good vibe, you can even disregard the slowness and the ignorance of your waitress. After all you are not at a traditional restaurant; you are at Sushi Samba Seven.

Sushi Samba has been around for a long time and has grown into a huge chain with multiple locations in different cities. Both of those facts label the restaurant as a tourist destination for the locals. If it wasn’t for Musa, I would avoid visiting Sushi Samba Seven just like its other locations. Yet, after my second visit, I realized that it would have been a mistake. Out of all the locations, this specific one turns the weekday dinner into a fun social gathering that carries on past the midnight. A few bottles of the Blue Moon Sake coupled with rock shrimp and spicy tuna rolls work the magic.

Sushi Samba Seven at 87 7^th Ave. South (on the corner of 7^th ave. and Barrow St.). No reservations necessary for the lounge.

A heart that is worth a thousand words, a thousand guts, a thousand kisses, a thousand fights, a thousand make-ups, a thousand welcomes and a thousand farewells… It comes surprisingly soon, unexpectedly easy. Delivered on a ripped piece of paper with a borrowed pen. It is surrounded by daylight, music, food and wine. It is brought to life at a small restaurant in New York. You are having the most intriguing conversation with an Italian girl sitting at the table next to yours. You tell her about your Italian business partner and she starts teaching you the language. Your pronunciation makes her laugh. You both enjoy each other’s company in this overly-crowded and eventful restaurant you both happen to be in. An accidental acquittance, a pleasant conversation, a short piece of reminiscence  stored in your ever-expanding library…

This little piece of evidence popped out of my blazer’s inside pocket and pulled me back a few years to Le Bilboquet. One saturday, one brunch, some tuna tartare, a medium rare filet mignon and too many glasses of the famous rosé. That was how it all started…

Girls think it is so easy. Gather a few cute friends. Blow-dry the hair. Put on the make-up, a cute smile with a flirty mimic, some short tight skirts, sexy tops and high heels. Once out the door, they are ready to conquer the nightlife in New York. 80% of the bouncers will be happy to let them in and mingle with us poor guys who are forced to drink at least a few bottles of alcohol at a table with a fake sexy waitress who is looking to suck out the limits on our credit cards.

Do not tell us that we can (maybe) avoid a table reservation. We don’t have the luxury, the character or the patience to deny the rules of the game. It takes ratios, bribes, credit cards and a totally superficial acquaintance to make it to the famous club where you want to dance us until bedtime.

The moment we are behind that red velvet rope we are reminded that we are there to be spiritually abused and financially raped. We get the attitude from the host who probably can not come close to the education, vision and culture we have been injected with over the years. We become the victim in front of an “average Joe” looking to abuse all the power he/she has been surprisingly given as the person who decides who to let into this luscious club that will only be popular for a few more months. We are constantly asked how many is in our party as we watch weird guys cutting through the line with their whole clan. We point towards the faces of our friends hoping they will pass the “beauty” test. We overhear the bouncers deciding the faith of our night by asking each other “what do you think?” with an extremely arrogant face. We wait. We ask for attention like a helpless puppy although a lion roars “you are too good for this” inside, grabbing onto our male ego. We are finally slapped with the sentence “I.D.s out!”. We hug although we despise. We shake hands although we hate the deal.

Each time we walk up to that club door we have cramps thinking about the next step. Yet, we walk the line with the prospect of a fun night with close friends. We take the attitude with the hope of a kiss from a girl we fancy. Alcohol helps only to ease the tension built up at the start of a night out in the city.

We pay the bill with a bad hangover and a regret that reminds us how we will pull through another night out in the city that never sleeps.

I have never been to the infamous Socialista at Jane Hotel in New York (113 Jane St.). It became so popular at one point that numerous New York blogs and magazines started writing about every detail and socialite visitor of the hip lounge/nightclub. Yet with growing noise complaints from the rich and influential residents of the West Village, Socialista was forced to close its doors before we could visit the place. The only time we gave it a try was when we got the most well-known New York bouncer excuse “sorry but we are closed for a private party” casually thrown over us.

The supposedly cool and nontraditional bohemian Cuban  lounge handed over its keys to a completely different setting a few months ago. The bar filled with alcohol turned into a fruit and desert display with abundant coffee. The red velvet sofas left their place to comfortable leather chairs. Bright light became a necessary accessory in this high-ceiling room that once housed dark night sessions of live Latin music. It became the second location of the original Gitane of SoHo. The menu stayed the same with food as delicious as before. The dirty look of the SoHo location, which forced visitors to question the hygiene level in the kitchen, transferred into a fresh, well-established restaurant that also accepts credit cards. Rather than being a source of bad day-after hangover, the place became a fun healing ground after wild Saturday nights.

It finally came all together here. This place could be my new most favorite Sunday eatery. I recommend:

The fresh watermelon juice (with ice)
Avocado, Lemon juice, Olive oil, Chili Flakes on Seven Grain Toast
Cucumber, Yogurt and Mint Salad with hummus, chili flakes and pita bread
Moroccan Couscous with red peppers, raisins, toasted pine nuts, hummus and eggplant with organic chicken
Orange Blossom Waffle with fruit, maple syrup and a scoop of vanilla ice-cream

Get everything to share if you want to avoid obesity.