Watch A Man Pull Your Noodles Before You Eat Them

Lam Zhou La Mian - Chinatown
144 East Broadway, New York, NY 10002

The storefront's ambiguous name was no help in confirming we made it to the right place. However, once inside, the yellow and red sign on the wall listed the restaurant's name as well as the menu items, which are essentially all a variation of noodle soup.

As the sign is in traditional characters, it was not until later that I realized something about the name was amiss.

Traditional: 蘭州工手拉麵
Simplified: 兰州工手拉面

Pinyin: LánZhōu Gōng Shǒu Lā Miàn

Translation: Lanzhou Hand-Pulled Noodles

The translation/English name listed on the menu is "Lamzhou". However, the Chinese confirms that this is supposed to be Lánzhōu, the capital and largest city of the inland province Gansu.

I don't know if this should make me question the authenticity of the establishment, but I do know that we enjoyed it all the same. Sitting at questionably clean wooden tables looking at open bottles of various half-used sauces I felt like I was back in China. Ordering in Mandarin (given the waitress's shaky grasp of English) also felt like flexing a stiff muscle. And when the enormous ceramic bowl of pulled noodles came out--complete with whole leaves of bok choy and a fried egg--I was reminded of my daily noodle soup lunches in Nanjing. Squirting a bit of vinegar and dropping in dangerously hot flakes of chili added just the right amount of flavor to make you sweat it out on a warm evening.

Just as in China, the noodles curled and twisted with the imperfections of manual labor. As you sit and eat, you can watch a man at the front of the kitchen pull long threads of dough. Every now and again I would flinch when the high-pitched slapping noise of slamming the dough down pierced the restaurant quiet.

The one drawback I would say is their dumplings. As the name suggests, this restaurant's forte is in pulled noodles--which I highly recommend. But if you're looking for authentic, Chinese dumplings, go elsewhere (possibly Prosperity Dumpling a few blocks over).

We took leftover soup home so we had room enough for bubble before departing Chinatown. Next time--and I do expect a next time--I will have to try the lamb pulled noodle soup. 

Big Gay Ice Cream Isn't Flamboyant Enough

Big Gay Ice Cream Shop - West Village
61 Grove Street, New York, NY 10014

Disclaimer: this post is missing any scrap of political correctness yet intends to offend no one. Cheer up; we're talking about ice cream.


As frigid winds blow out of the city and make way for spring breezes, new fashions pop up, spirits lift, and food cravings emerge from hibernation. Winter is about hearty dishes--hot soups, heavy sauces, and wholesome carbs--but spring brings salads, fruits, and ice cream. 

I have been meaning to try Big Gay Ice Cream since last summer after hearing it mentioned in every ice cream article and word of mouth whisper. As soon as April hit and the temperature crept up to a palatable 50+ degrees, ice cream no longer seemed an absurd notion for an out-on-the-town dessert.

The little shop belongs in the West Village. With such overblown store fronts all over the area, my friend and I walked right past the giant unicorn on the window pane on our first attempt at locating the parlor.

At the risk of offending, well, everyone, I must say: Big Gay Ice Cream just didn't seem gay enough. I'm sure you could bash me from both sides on political correctness when I say this, but I was expecting Big Gay Ice Cream to glimmer with fairy dust glitter, stock colorful ice cream balls, or at least boast a heavily decorated interior. Sure, there was a unicorn on the window, and the ice cream names possessed a twang of gay humor. Nevertheless, the store did not meet my expectations of flamboyancy.

The ice cream didn't quite meet expectations, either. Admittedly, I had built this up in my mind, so when I was served nothing but vanilla soft serve with a few toppings, I felt let down. The ice cream was creamy and smooth--a well curated soft serve--and no one was stingy with the chocolate-coated toppings. However, at the end I just felt unsatisfied and sticky. (Insert gay joke here).

I'd like to go back, though. I probably just need to accept Big Gay Ice Cream for exactly what it is--good soft serve--and lick my way through the West Village this summer. 

All Charm and Little Flavor at Antibes Bistro

Antibes Bistro - Lower East Side
112 Suffolk Street, New York, NY 10002

How can a restaurant have so much charm and still fall flat?

Walking into Antibes Bistro is like walking into a quaint left bank cafe in Paris. We sat at a worn wooden table by a large window, listening to jazzy tunes that livened the mood. Details such as the tiny vase of wildflowers or the bottle-nosed glass carafe of water gave a happy rustic feeling to the restaurant. My only complaint with the atmosphere was that it was a bit too dim--we read the menus by candlelight. Otherwise, it was charming.

Yet the meal started with a mediocre baguette and only fell further from expectations thereafter. No Parisian patron would have been satisfied with this bread, which consisted of a tough white stuffing and softer (dare I saw chewy?) brown exterior--precisely the opposite of a fresh French baguette.

For the main dish the waitress talked me into the special: red snapper. Priced higher than the other entries, I was first disappointed with the taste then annoyed by the bill. Though presented well, the snapper lacked flavor and creativity. Served as the whole fish, I was able to separate the two fillets to de-bone in one piece, only to be left with little meat and a number of pin bones. My mashed potatoes and side of greens were the best part of the meal.

Given that this was the special (and recommended over other dishes when asked), I should have been blown away. My friends' dishes--in appearance only--did not suggest I would have been much better off with another selection.

We passed on dessert. What a shame; the restaurant just looks so adorable.