Craftbar

I'm late to the show. Everyone and their brother has apparently already eaten at, gushed over, gotten tired of, and moved on from, Craft and its lesser sibblings. My girlfriend and I just made it to Craftbar this weekend. I need to earn money. Which means I can't flitter about restaurants as much as I'd like.

Food talk later. But first, we couldn't figure out whether we had a good table or not. We were tucked into a sort of dark box off to the right of the main dining room. A booth to be sure, but in a small alcove.

On one hand, there was something of the imperial about it. On the other, we were in a box. A dark, gloomy box. I cannibalized the candle in order to see the menu, but I was tempted just to set the menu itself on fire in desparation. Though, this is an idea for a gimmick - the self immolating menu.

Am I unattractive enough that the maitre d' thought I needed to be hidden away? My hirusitism isn't usually visible through my shirt, I thought. In any case, it was some of the food that needed to be hidden away.

The risotto balls were satisfying. But the chickpea fries were soft, and limp but saved by the creamy black olive tapenade.

My veal sweetbreads (when did sweetbreads become ubiquitous?) tasted like those Weber chicken cutlets I used to eat when I was younger. It is not clear to me how this was accomplished, but using the same, heavy, Weber chicken cutlet like breading that was used for the risotto balls might have something to do with it. A hint for Craftbar - more than one breading makes The Hirsute Warrior a happy boy. As would more than one cooking method (I like frying. But we have PROGRESSED beyond the fry pot.)

On the same note, fried things made of an organic wholes cut into sticks are "fries". Cut up pieces of dough, like the supposed Chickpea "fries", are "fritters". But the Warrior forgives. People like fries. I like fries. So they're called fries.

A $90 bill for two, for a nice meal. I have no complaints.

But what was up with that booth?