Birthday Humble Tart: Dinner at Narcissa

The entrance to Narcissa, tucked back behind the hotel's more casual restaurant.

The entrance to Narcissa, tucked back behind the hotel’s more casual restaurant.

 

I’ll hit a month at my new job this week, and one of the biggest lessons so far has been how little I actually know about food. I suppose it’s all relative (aren’t most things in life?), since I probably know far more about the ins and outs of animation than my new coworkers. But here I am, very much an amateur enthusiast, surrounded by people who have worked in kitchens and front of the house, who can list grape varietals like the names of their nieces and nephews, and could discern a julienne from a brunoise simply by touch. It can be a little intimidating at times, but I generally try to operate with an awareness of my own ignorance. I’d rather be surprised and delighted by something new, rather than rely on incomplete information to make decisions that may prevent discovery.

 

This all came to mind when thinking back on my recent birthday dinner at Narcissa, a popular farm-to-table restaurant in the Standard East Hotel. When I mentioned to my brother where I would be dining, he said “oh, I guess California cuisine is your favorite, then?” I hemmed and hawed (I hate picking favorites), trying to qualify what appealed to me about Narcissa’s menu (the emphasis on vegetables, the seasonal quality, the unconventional flavor combinations), claiming that it was somehow totally different from the delightful birthday dinner I had at Barbuto last year. But what I really should have said was “maybe.” The truth is I didn’t know the definition of California cuisine (here’s what Wikipedia has to say), and even with a bit of Googling I wouldn’t put all my favorite eggs in that particular basket.

 

Eh, enough dithering about known unknowns (ain’t that a timely idiom?). Regardless of categorization, I had another fabulous birthday dinner with my parents. Narcissa is certainly a buzzed-about restaurant in NYC right now, and it was lovely to have it live up to, and then exceed the hype.

 

First Impressions:

 

2014-06-12 18.05.37

A view into the open kitchen at Narcissa.

As I mentioned above, Narcissa is located in the Standard East Hotel, which reopened last year after extensive renovations. The entrance to Narcissa is tucked back behind the more casual restaurant, Cafe Standard, which has sidewalk seating. Narcissa has outdoor seating as well, but it’s made up of a small patio behind the dining room, creating a little oasis from the bustle of the city. I imagine it’d be lovely to sit out there in the sunshine (especially now that the restaurant is serving brunch).

 

The unexpectedly angular dining room at Narcissa.

The unexpectedly angular dining room at Narcissa.

Once you make your way past Cafe Standard, you’re greeted with a doorway surrounded by greenery and topped with a placard that reads Narcissa on a background of rolling farmland. The restaurant sources many of its ingredients from the farm Locusts on Hudson, where the eponymous cow Narcissa lives. Step inside and you’ll find a large open kitchen immediately to your left, maybe half of the size of the whole dining room. I beat both of my parents to the restaurant, and enjoyed watching the cooking and prep in action. To the right is the bar and dining room, decked out in soft white, golds, light woods, and blue-and-yellow striped banquettes. There seemed to be a prevalence of diagonals, from the square space of the room distorted by acutely angled windows, to our table which was not round, but actually octagonal. This lends a modern air to the casual elegance of the decor, which otherwise is kind of rustic chic — wooden/wicker chairs, no tablecloths. The bar area is sizable in itself, taking up about a third of the dining room space, staffed by at least two bartenders at a time to handle the orders of the dozen seats at the bar, collection of tables nearby, and the customers in the dining room.

 

The staff was friendly and charming from the get-go, offering plenty of advice on cocktails, and ever ready with refilling our (perplexingly tiny) water glasses or fetching us more bread. Throughout the meal our waiter explained each dish to us, even identifying components when we were confused, and even snuck us a few extra treats by the end. My mom was intrigued by the Buttermilk Ice Cream included in the Summer Sundae, but we passed on ordering it, so our waiter brought a tiny sample of it with dessert, alongside the Sundae’s pineapple sorbet. This, combined with the speedy, yet never pushy, service (we were out of there within 2 hours), helped to set a festive and exploratory mood. Plus, I always get a little bit of a kick out of dining at places where they refold your napkin for you — it’s the type of silly decadence that makes eating out an “experience.”

 

 

The Food:
After doing my requisite research and soliciting suggestions from a coworker, I came to my dinner at Narcissa armed with a post-it note crammed with dishes. The bad news is that, as a restaurant focused on seasonal ingredients, many of those items hadn’t made the transition from the Winter to the Summer menu. The good news is the ones that really mattered did, and with a little deliberation and negotiation, my parents and I settled on a repast covering a whole host of both highlighted dishes and unknowns. We decided to start with the Rotisserie-Crisped Beets, the Crab Salad, and the Potato Gnocchi, then I ordered the Lacquered Duck Breast, my mother got the Maine Scallops, and my father chose the Steamed Black Bass, along with a side of Supergreen Spinach for us all to share. Dessert (aside from our ice cream/sorbet sampler) was the Bittersweet Chocolate Tart and the Apricot Tart Tatin.

 

Complimentary bread served as a boule already sliced into quarters. Fresh butter that is barely needed on the fresh herbed sourdough.

Complimentary bread served as a boule already sliced into quarters. Fresh butter that is barely needed on the fresh herbed sourdough.

Our dinner began with a small boule of complimentary herbed sourdough bread, sprinkled with rosemary and served with a side of soft butter. The bread was crusty and crackly on the outside, with a whole wheat interior that was airy and chewy. I was more than happy to eat a piece on its own, though I have no complaints about the creamy fresh butter accompanying it. The bread was also exactly the right type of solid dough to sop up the remaining sauce from the gnocchi after we’d torn through the appetizer’s contents.

 

 

Potato Gnocchi -- delicate bundles of starch just begging to be popped one by one.

Potato Gnocchi — delicate bundles of starch tucked underneath shaved parmesan.

Speaking of, the Potato Gnocchi (fava beans, ramps, parmesan) was a solid, straightforward dish, perfectly fine but paling in comparison with our other hors d’oeuvre. The individual pieces of pasta were excellent — delicate little pillows of potato that managed to be chewy without being gummy — and I felt these were the best component. The rest of the pieces were certainly fresh, with the whole fava beans adding a summery brightness, but the broth and the cheese proved a bit too salty for me, and brought down the overall impact of the combination.

 

 

The Crab Salad -- a case for the value of hearts of palm.

The Crab Salad — a case for the value of hearts of palm.

If I hadn’t been told to try the Crab Salad (blood orange, hearts of palm, hazelnuts), I probably would have made the mistake of passing it by on the menu, simply because up until this point in my life, I’ve never met a heart of palm I liked. Now thanks to Narcissa, I think I might give them another go. This is a salad in the sense of chicken or tuna salad — hunks of shredded dungeness crab meat stuffed into a petite pot with an overhanging lip, mixed with sliced hearts of palm, pieces of chopped blood orange and hazelnuts, and plenty of sliced basil and parsley on top. The crunch of the nuts and the hearts of palm paired well with the softer textures of the crab and blood orange, and the addition of citrus acidity is always great with seafood. This dish was not a flavor bomb by any means, more about the combination of the ingredients than a hearty slap of crabmeat. My mother was underwhelmed by it, but I thought it was a light dish with a combination of acid, herbs and briny seafood flavors to wake up my palate before the heavier entrees.

 

 

Forget Boston Market's chicken, Narcissa's Rotisserie Beets prove rotated roasting is hardcore delicious.

Forget Boston Market’s chicken, Narcissa‘s Rotisserie Beets prove rotated roasting is hardcore delicious.

Although I enjoyed the Crab Salad, the Rotisserie-Crisped Beets (bulgur salad, apples, creamed horseradish) were one of the best things I’ve eaten in a long time. This is one of the dishes that has gotten a tremendous amount of buzz, so I went in with fairly high expectations, only to have them blown to bits by the real McCoy. Now I should be up front and offer a disclaimer: because I’m an old lady at heart, I’m really into beets. Like eggplant level of love for them. So if you’re not a beet fan, you might not have the revelatory experience that I did, but I would be shocked if you still didn’t enjoy the crap out of this appetizer. As the name implies, this dish shows off the rotisserie oven that Narcissa is known for, with the beets roasted to a blackened crisp on the outside. From the photo you might think they’re crusted with something, but it’s actually just the charred exterior, creating a crunchy shell that holds a supple, deep violet beet flesh inside. Not surprisingly, the flesh is super-giving, your fork gliding through it. The bulger, apples and herbs add some bulk to the dish, all of which is served on a pool of creamed horseradish sauce. Once again, I found myself face-to-face with an ingredient I largely avoid. Horseradish means one thing to me — maror (bitter herbs) at Passover, where it’s sandwiched between two pieces of matzoh in an obligatory ritual I’d otherwise opt out of. But here the bite of the horseradish was softened by the cream, retaining enough power to counter the sweetness of the caramelized beets and raw apples chunks. Overall, it was a great showcase of the skill of the kitchen — taking something as mundane as beets and elevating it through basic techniques. This is actually a perfect example of what I love about the recent turn towards giving vegetables their due — maybe it’s because I’m becoming a lame-o adult who actually loves eating well-prepared veggies, but I think people in general would change their minds about brussels sprouts or beets if given the opportunity to have dishes like this one (or simply being exposed to better cooking options than just the pile of steamed vegetables sitting on your plate at Outback).

 

 

The Maine Scallops with somewhat muted lobster butter.

The Maine Scallops with somewhat muted lobster butter.

There was only a little bit of downtime before our entrees arrived. I had been tempted by both of my parents’ choices, since the dish I had eyed from all the reviews, the lamb loin, had not made it onto the summer menu. So once I had that out of the way, I zeroed-in on the Maine Scallops (asparagus, green garlic, potato puree, lobster butter), but that was my mother’s top pick, so I went with my other menu kryptonite, the duck breast. Her dish came with four sizable scallops, seared to an exquisite golden-brown on top, but still a pale off-white on the sides and interior. They were melt-in-your-mouth smooth, not really seasoned beyond basic salt and pepper. The lobster butter, which my mother had been especially excited about, seemed to be located in the sauce underneath, and had a surprisingly subtle flavor. I had expected it to be more like a bisque with a real lobster tang to it, but I can understand the restraint given the delicacy of scallops — you don’t want a taste as recognizable as lobster to overpower the main component of a dish. This entree seemed to be the most classically executed and plated dish, so the vegetables were straightforward but well-cooked, with shaved slivers of asparagus and a silky potato puree, and greens that the menu lists as green garlic, but I thought looked like fiddlehead ferns. Then again, what do I know, I’ve never actually tasted fiddleheads, so I couldn’t discern a difference based on flavor.

 

 

Our side of Supergreen Spinach, which cannot be accused of false marketing.

Our side of Supergreen Spinach, which cannot be accused of false marketing.

We also shared a side order of the Supergreen Spinach (potato chips). You can’t see it in this picture, but the dish totally lives up to its name — we’re talking Incredible Hulk bright green. The potato chip topping was a cute play on the common steakhouse sides, and I definitely enjoyed it, but I think it wasn’t particularly memorable outside of its gamma-irradiated hue. Just solid creamed spinach, and nowhere near as innovative a use of potato chips as the incorporation into the Cod Brandade at Picholine.

 

 

The Steamed Black Bass -- so good it inspire musical theater references.

The Steamed Black Bass — so good it inspires musical theater references.

My father’s Steamed Black Bass (french curry broth, eggplant, toasted almonds) also looked great to me because of the accompanying items (as I believe Julie Andrews sang, curry, eggplant and almonds are a few of my favorite things). I thought the plating of the dish was just gorgeous, with the fillets sitting firmly atop the little hill of vegetables, just slightly bowing to show how soft the flesh was. You don’t think of steaming as a particularly exciting cooking method, but here it prevented the skin from becoming too soggy while the fish meat was easy to flake away with your fork. Unlike the scallops, I thought the sauce defined the taste of the dish. The curry had a strong flavor without real heat to it, and the fish and eggplant pieces soaked it up easily. The toasted almonds mirrored the nuttiness of the curry, and gave a nice crunch to an otherwise pretty soft dish. I think I would have been plenty satisfied if I had ordered this dish, but having now tasted the duck, I’m going to struggle to try other entrees if I return to Narcissa.

 

 

The Lacquered Duck, a dish now in my lifetime hall of fame.

The Lacquered Duck, a dish now in my lifetime hall of fame.

The Lacquered Duck Breast (parsley root, melted leeks, rhubarb) was hands-down my favorite dish of the night, and no joke, I’ve been actually thought about this dish several times in the weeks since my birthday dinner. I adore duck, and this might truly be the best duck I’ve ever eaten. First things first, it was a massive duck breast — this duck had Double D’s, and was clearly very well fed. The “lacquered” crust (which Google tells me just means a sweet glaze that lends itself to caramelization and the appearance of a lacquer-like sheen) was shiny and gave the skin a crunchy, crackly texture, and its sweetness enhanced the gamey flavor of the duck meat underneath. There was a much appreciated hint of tartness from the rhurbarb, which was echoed by the acidity of the melted leeks, which were almost like a puree in texture. I’m not sure how great my breath smelled after finishing the leeks, but I thought they served a similar purpose to the horseradish sauce in our beet appetizer — the bite of the ingredient softened by its preparation. Cutting into the breast revealed a cross section of medium rare and bloody meat topped by a full layer of fat sitting just below the crust. I felt like I do when there’s a bit of fat on steak, and I tell myself I should just cut it off and avoid it. But what can you do when it’s an integral part of the duck breast makeup? So I demolished it. The dish also came with what I thought were parsnips, but now realize was actually parsley root, which looks similar but is less sweet, again a very interesting and intelligent strategy when paired with the delicious but sugary glaze on the breast. This dish was relatively simple in its components, but really unlike any preparation of duck I’ve had before, and I can’t get over how addictive the combination of the duck meat and that glaze was. I would seriously go back to Narcissa for the beets and the duck alone.

 

 

The Apricot Tart Tatin, visually stunning but too sweet for my taste.

The Apricot Tart Tatin, visually stunning but too sweet for my taste.

The desserts certainly didn’t lower the overall level of the meal, but they were just more pedestrian compared to the earlier standout dishes. I think my dad was a big fan of the Apricot Tart Tatin (goat milk ice cream, pepper caramel), but I ultimately found the dessert cloyingly sweet. I enjoy the traditional apple tart tatin, and I do like apricot and apricot-flavored things generally, but here the apricots were almost like ovals of marmalade in their consistency, completely cooked down and syrupy. The best part of the dish was the pepper caramel, which I’d vouch is superior to salted caramel. Rather than enhancing the sweetness through salt, I think the pepper provides an interesting contrast that confused my tongue a bit. Not to harp on one point, but it was the same deal as the horseradish sauce and the melted leeks, where a bit of savory flavor made me stop and think for a second about what I was eating, how all the components came together.

 

 

The Bittersweet Chocolate tart, an exercise in tempered sweetness.

The Bittersweet Chocolate tart, an exercise in tempered sweetness.

No surprise that the Bittersweet Chocolate Tart (curry-roasted bananas, espresso ice cream) was a little more up my alley. The outer shell was crisp, looking almost bruleed on top, and inside was a dark chocolate mixture somewhere between a molten lava cake and mousse. The sweetness was tempered in every element of this dessert, from the selection of a darker chocolate base for the tart, to using the bitterness of the espresso to tamp down the gelato’s sugar, to adding curry as a savory element to counter the caramelized bananas. Despite my prior misgivings over espresso gelato at Osteria Morini, I really liked Narcissa’s version, which I felt has less of a burnt tone to it. Add in the Oreo-like cookie crumbles strewn throughout the dish, and I was more than happy to blow out the candle and let this dessert cap off a remarkable birthday dinner.

Final Thoughts:

 

What impressed me most about Narcissa was the deft handling of a variety of preparations, from the more classical techniques and flavor profiles of European cuisines to more unusual takes on American dishes. My parents and I had three radically different entrees and all of them were stunning in their own regard. They really ran the gamut, from the playful and elegant plating, to the provocative pairings of savory and sweet — themes that were echoed in every course of our meal. With a lovely atmosphere, attentive service, interesting cocktails, and a progressive menu of fresh, seasonal farm-to-table food, I would strongly recommend Narcissa to anyone looking for an American restaurant with a global eye. Perhaps that’s even one definition of Californian cuisine?

 

Speaking of, I owe my brother an apology — on Narcissa’s own website, they claim to “marr[y] the clean flavors and impeccably-sourced ingredients of California cuisine with new techniques of roasting, rotisserie and slow-cooking.” So count that as yet another reason to keep my mouth shut and my ears open. Or rather, to stop talking and start eating.

 

Narcissa

21 Cooper Square (between 5th St. and Bowery)

http://www.narcissarestaurant.com/

Advertisements

Dinner at Slide: Some Solace for the Indecisive

2013-09-27 19.55.10

Despite being the youngest child in my family, I’ve come to be a big fan of sharing, at least when it comes to food. As I’ve mentioned in prior posts, I really like options, and I usually find myself torn between at least two items when faced with a menu. Fortunately, my parents have always been big on sharing their dishes, often sketching out a strategy based on whether my father will eventually switch plates with my mother, or whether my mother will order something my father doesn’t mind finishing up (he’s a big supporter of Truman’s clean plate doctrine). Now that I’m an adult with a gradually expanding palate, every time I eat with my parents I get to join in on this delicate dance of gustatory genuflection, and I jump at the opportunity to share dishes when dining with friends.

If it wasn’t obvious from the myriad posts in which he has appeared as my culinary compadre, Jacob is also a firm believer in the advantages of strategic shared ordering. Our recent dinner at Slide provided a stress-inducingly long list of bite-size burgers to choose from, but I was happily secure in the fact that I’d get to knock at least two of the offerings off my list before the check arrived.

 

First Impressions:

The front bar area of Slide, facing out onto Bleecker St.

The front bar area of Slide, facing out onto Bleecker St.

Slide, a restaurant specializing in (you guessed it) sliders, is located on Bleecker St., where it seems I spend most of my time these days. It’s only a block or two down from Bantam Bagels, actually, taking up a narrow but very deep space near the corner of Sullivan St. The restaurant has a very lounge-like vibe to it, with a semi-circular bar taking up the majority of the front space, and featuring windows that open out to Bleecker so patrons at the high tables placed in the bar area can people-watch. Moving back towards the rear of the restaurant, the space is softly lit and decked out in cool colors, dark wood tables, and heavy curtains.

 

Walking back from the noise of the street, the soft-lit dining room has a distinct lounge quality to it.

Walking back from the noise of the street, the soft-lit dining room has a distinct lounge quality to it.

The rock garden and fountain at Slide, an unexpected respite from the urban bustle.

The rock garden and fountain at Slide: slightly aesthetically incongruous, but still a nice respite from the urban bustle.

We elected to sit outside, and so were led back to a beautiful fountain and rock garden-set patio. There were some odd Greco-Roman elements strewn about (Jacob sat directly in front of a disgruntled looking bust), but it was nice to have a small piece of greenery back away from the hum of the city street. The only downside was the small size of the patio, which was packed to the brim with tables. This required a bit of maneuvering on the staff’s part. I understand the appeal of having more tables to turn more business, but it might make more sense for Slide to take out a few of the two-tops and not have to worry about anyone falling into the fountain.

 

The Food:

Slide has a good deal of variety on its menu, although you could argue that the pan-global approach is a little disorienting considering the main draw of the place is ostensibly burgers. I guess I’d describe the offerings as eclectic international pub food, whatever that means. The appetizers include items like gorgonzola-stuffed figs, ceviche, and Thai lettuce wraps  (though as someone who just espoused the value of options, maybe I shouldn’t complain). They also serve some salads and non-sandwich entrees, but for the first visit, you really can’t walk into a place called Slide and not order the sliders.

The sliders section of the menu is equally diverse, ranging from beef to veal to  salmon, veggie burger, mushroom, grilled cheese, chicken & waffles, and more. After some serious deliberation (including weighing the merits of some of the combo slider entrees, which give you hodgepodge of sliders from three dishes), Jacob and I decided on the Smoked Duck and the Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi, with a side of Parmesan, Garlic & Herb Wedge Fries. Oh, did I not mention the variety of spuds and sides you can also pick from? It’s like a middle-school word problem prompting you to use factorials.

The Parmesan Garlic Wedges, an iceberg of starch with an surprising amount hiding below the surface of the tin cup.

The Parmesan, Garlic & Herb Wedges, an iceberg of starch with an surprising amount hiding below the surface of the tin cup.

The fries were served in what turned out to be a surprisingly deep metal cup, topped with a high-hat of parmesan shreds, rosemary and garlic. When we eventually made it to the bottom of the cup, there was a small mountain of herbal dust and debris. The wedges were thick-cut (my personal favorite cut of fry), and were of varying sizes, from steak fry to tater-tot in scope. The potatoes had a taut, crisp skin to them, bright with the cheese and herb seasoning, and eventually giving way to the soft, starchy interior. Even though Jacob generally prefers thinner-cut fries (ala the new spuds at Shake Shack), he and I both found the preparation of the wedges totally addictive.

The Smoked Duck Slider -- a great set of components tripped up by execution.

The Smoked Duck Slider — a great set of components tripped up by execution.

Our sliders arrived on wooden planks with three small divots that cup the bottom bun of each slider. I realized when the Smoked Duck (w/ duck fat chips, blackberry chutney & parmesan bun) arrived that I had misunderstood our server’s description of the burger. I thought the duck fat chips meant that the meat had been formed into chip shapes and then fried, imagining a chicken parmesan-type patty that sounded like a high-risk experiment in cholesterol elevation, but one that I was willing to undergo in the name of science. I was relieved (if slightly disappointed) to discover that the duck fat chips were in fact, potato chips fried in duck fat, nestled beneath a regular old ground duck patty. Above the patty rested the chutney, and the bun sported the same hillock of cheese strands as our fries. I really enjoyed the individual pieces of this slider, but overall felt that flaws in its constructions kept the parts greater than the whole. The duck meat was moist, if not as smokey as I would have thought from its title, but when paired with the blackberry chutney, you had a sour-sweet-fatty combination that was reminiscent of the turkey-cranberry Thanksgiving flavors. I liked the sharpness of the parmesan to highlight the brioche bun, but I think I would have preferred if the cheese had been baked into the bread, since it haphazardly slid off as you progressed through the burger. The chips were a great idea, and ever since I had a “crunchified” burger at Bobby’s Burger Palace, I’ve been a fan of adding in a little textural contrast to a burger with more oomph than crunchy romaine. Unfortunately, but placing the Pringles-thin chips beneath the meat, the juices from the duck soaked into them and removed all semblance of crispness. Ultimately you were left with a fresh but soft bun, soft duck meat, soft chutney, and a soggy chip — great flavors on their own, but somewhat one-note as a full sandwich.

The Cheese Steak Bulgogi slider -- Philly meets Seoul, with some low-level kimchi.

The Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi slider — Philly meets Seoul, with some low-level kimchi.

The Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi (w/ pepper-jack & kimchi pickle) was definitely our preferred slider of the night. Instead of coming as a patty, the beef was served in a bundle of thin sliced cheesesteak fashion, although obviously made up of much higher quality meat. As a Philly cheesesteak vet (with strong opinions), cheese whiz or provolone would have been a more authentic topper, but I found that the pepper-jack melded well with the Bulgogi marinade (bulgogi seasoning usually incorporates ingredients with heavy umami, like soy sauce, mushrooms, sesame oil, plus bbq elements like sugar, garlic, pepper, etc). The Korean seasoning gave the meat great depth of flavor, the umami-punch of the beef counterbalanced by the saltiness of the cheese and the kimchi. I was surprised by how mild the pickle was — I’m not usually into pickles of any type, and have had much more powerful kimchi before — but I didn’t mind the pickles at Slide because they mostly seemed like vinegar-dipped cucumber. The Cheese Steak ended up being the opposite of the Duck slider — here, the individual pieces were all pretty good, but not spectacular, but the combination of tastes and textures turned out to be far more successful. The only thing I would add to the slider would be some sort of sliced onions, to add a bit of acidity to the dish and more completely harken back to classic Philly steaks.

 

Final Thoughts:

Slide is definitely a great spot for dabbler dining. It seems best suited to larger groups (ideally in multiples of 3) who are willing to share their entrees, especially if you can work out an effective slider-bartering system. With a wide-ranging menu to suit most tastes, Slide can seem a bit scatter-brained, but the kitchen turns out some solid fare on the more basic offerings, like good ol’ beef for your protein, and a well-seasoned side of fries. I’d like to come back and try some of the other items on the menu, but when I do I’ll probably opt for one safer choice and one more adventurous, and maybe I’ll see how their special menu of spiked milkshakes stands up. So check out Slide if you’re looking to leave behind your humdrum, full size hamburger lifestyle for a day. You’ve got plenty of options to explore, and hopefully a trusted companion to walk through the high and low bites of the menu.

 

Slide

174 Bleecker St. (corner of Sullivan St.)

sliderestaurant.com