My favorite are fat fresh oysters dusted with cornmeal, chopped cilantro, and minced chilies, deep-fried and nested on feisty salsa. You get peppery corn muffins and orange-and-jícama salad with slivers of red onion to nibble at while you try to winnow the choices. There’s a savvy wine list, too, and gentled prices, as the territory demands: entrées $13.50 to $23, about half that at lunch and brunch, where Brendan is experimenting with fried-oyster omelets (“sort of like a hangtown fry”) and poached eggs on braised greens with fresh biscuits and pasilla-chili sauce. Even Far Rockaway is not so far that its citizens can’t be seduced by the magic. He weaves a tapestry of flavor - smoke and herbaceous grass add exotic perfumes. Besides, Brendan’s way with spices is never simply torrid. After a big, slightly sweet margarita or a heavenly frozen black-currant variation (or two), gastronomic phobias do fade. He felt forced to tame his goat-cheese rellenos with white cheese and Monterey Jack. No one was sure how Brendan’s adopted southwestern, chili-powdered palate would strike local fancies. If something breaks in the city…”Īt first, he was urged to be cautious. ![]() “The only plan I have right now for fall is going into something else. “It’s been six weeks, but it feels like three months,” Walsh admit. The toughest traffic snarl is the winding track from the parking lot to the highway late on a Saturday night. There is a fireplace, too, for chilly nights - like tonight - rough pale beams and some Western artifacts, silly folk art, and Brendan in the kitchen doing a reprise of the food we fell in love with at Arizona 206 before he quite to seek his fortune, so far elusive. What looks like authentic brown butcher paper protects the tablecloth from poblano stains - it’s stiff, and you’ll want to crease it down so it doesn’t cut off your reach for the fries.īare unpainted wooden chairs could definitely use cushions, though calculated discomfort may turn the tables faster. Inside, the clamor bounces off hacienda walls and the great stretch of glass that frames the channel. Soon, there will be late-night kabobs off the grill and seviche after the kitchen closes. Linger on the deck for drinks and snacks from the bar menu. You can even pull up in a boat at the dock. With old Arizona 206 hand Sam Rosalsky as manager and maître d’, and an eager team from the salad days on the East 60 th, he’s launching this casual canteen for John Vitale, who also owns the popular Paddy McGee’s up the road. Too long between ranges, his ballyhood deal for a spot in the Saatchi & Saatchi building have come a cropper, Walsh found the invitation to shape the new Coyote Grill appealing. Has Brendan Walsh gone native? No, he’s just taking a summer vacation. A valet takes your car, because that’s how it’s done in America. Follow the signs for Jordan Lobster Farm, right next door. Just a few miles of bucolia, then a stretch of burban commerce, a flash of purple neon. Pick a weekday non-commuting hour and you can hit the Atlantic Beach Bridge in 45 minutes, with a flaming sunset behind you and a moon emerging ahead, fishing boats trolling, the feel of ocean tickling your skin. Across Reynolds Channel from Long Beach - once a summer treat for middle-class urbanities, then rather tacky and run-down - the area is seeing a renaissance of youthful commuters and now the Coyote Grill.įrom the moment it opened, they’ve been jamming the stuccoed westernization of what was once an old-fashioned Italian restaurant. The kid from the Bronx is up to his usual sophisticated southwestern tricks in a cute little joint on the water in Island Park, Alfonse D’Amato country. And if necessary, I’d probably organize a camel caravan to taste what Brendan Walsh is cooking now. So I prefer to drive, and it’s an excursion that can shorten the life of both car and driver. The exam is about to start, and I cannot find the classroom. For me, walking into Penn Station always provokes panic…like that of a recurring dream. ![]() Not that it’s far - 35 minutes by train, our waiter, a commuter from Manhattan himself, assures us. I’m sending you off to the edge of Long Island to thrill at the Brendan Walsh revival in summer stock.
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