Casellula Is My Favorite New York City Restaurant

Casellula - Hell's Kitchen
401 W. 52nd Street, New York, NY 10019

As we walked up to this little wine bar in the rain, we almost stopped short because of what looked like paper covering all the windows, a typical sign of interior renovations. Instead, it was just fog that had clouded the glass--a veil for the patrons that kept the harsh elements locked outside.

Unfortunately, a 40 minute wait deterred us from becoming one of the carefree indoor patrons that night. We had returned to the wine bar having eaten there not three weeks prior. Sadly, we veered our hungry bellies in another direction but vowed to return again.

It was the cheese that lured us back. How could it not with a knowledgeable fromager on staff to suggest the perfect set of country cheeses to pair with your wine and food selection?

Winter is when we found this gem. And the cold, the rain, and the fog are now gone. Summer is here, and we have been back to this wine bar several times since--I've lost count. Returning not just once, but repeatedly, Casellula has made me break my golden rule of unique dining experiences in the city. How am I supposed to try everything that New York has to serve if I continually revisit old stomping grounds? But this is worth it. Time and time again, it's worth it, so I can't help but return.

What makes Casellula my favorite restaurant in New York City? For a wine bar with a fromage specialist and an ever-changing menu of items such as Goose Breast Reuben or Roasted Bone Marrow, the lack of pretension is ironic. Instead, this simple, little restaurant--far enough removed from Times Square to be considered a midtown respite--is just warm and cozy, and it serves delicious food. It's as simple as that.

One particularly memorable night entailed an epic search for chocolate dessert. Though we were in Hell's Kitchen, I was thwarted at every turn in trying to satisfy this craving. Of course, I turned to Yelp in fervor, and a number of dessert options either looked mediocre or were already closed. I identified an Italian dessert place a few blocks away that looked like it had fine desserts, and I even called ahead to confirm their dessert menu and let them know I was coming in for some chocolate cake. However, once happily seated in a booth in the back, our waiter informed us that they were sold out of chocolate cake. Though other options were available, my heart sunk, and we excused ourselves from the establishment. Next, we tried a French restaurant not too far away. I liked the look of their chocolate cake, and we were about to take a seat when I saw that almonds were baked into the cake. Allergic to almonds and quickly running out of options, I decided not to stay.

I remembered Casellula.

We walked in, sat down (with no wait, thankfully), and asked to only see the dessert menu. They had chocolate cake.

I asked the waiter, "How good is your chocolate cake?"

He said, "Very good."

As a child, my mother spoiled me with her restaurant quality baking, and she has a particularly feisty chocolate cake that would knock out most competition. So, I'm not easily impressed with dessert, and nearly 40 minutes after my search for chocolate began, I wasn't in the mood to mess around.

"I have extremely high standards for dessert, particularly chocolate cake. Are you sure I'm going to like this?" I asked, in the politest way I could given my temperament.

"Yes," he stated confidently.

The cake arrived. I was disappointed. A thick block of chocolate layer cake sat before me--chocolate cake, chocolate frosting, chocolate cake, chocolate frosting, and so on...just like one might find in a grocery store or at a child's birthday party.

But then, the waiter held up a pitcher of heavy cream and ceremoniously drenched my chocolate cake. Oh my goodness.

How was it? Heaven. Chocolate decadence sopping up smooth white cream. The cake was richer than I had anticipated with frosting that was far less sugary than a cheap birthday cake. Little bits of chocolate (were they tiny chocolate chips?) melted with every bite. And the cream? Soaked up inside every nook and cranny, making this the most moist (and caloric) cake imaginable.

While that certainly wasn't the last time I went exclusively for dessert, I wouldn't want to peg this restaurant as just a wine bar, just a cheese bar, or just a postprandial dessert spot. It's everything, and I enjoy everything about it. That's why I'll be going back--again.

Levain Bakery Cookies Are Not Cookie Cutter Perfect--They're Better

Levain Bakery - Upper West Side (Also in Harlem and the Hampton's)

167 West 74th Street

New York, NY 10023

My cousin goes down in the in Hall of Foodie Fame for this recommendation.

As though it were no big deal, she slipped in the name Levain Bakery over lunch the other day. Despite her lack of fanfare, I knew the bakery must be good for her to have mentioned it. I just didn't know just how good.

Having no prior knowledge of the Levain Bakery's cookies, my expectations were moderate, which is unusual in a city where every "hot" foodie trend spreads like a pandemic through Buzzfeed, Twitter, and casual conversation. But when I sidled into the line crowding to the door, I realized maybe this was a hot trend I had missed.

As a grab-and-go basement bakery, the queue moved quickly, ushering in the stalwart patrons who had been patiently waiting through wind and spitting rain. With the chocolate chip brioche out of stock, I opted for the double chocolate chocolate chip cookie, which arrived not warm but hot. Levain defies the flat, cookie cutter feel of chain stores (Think Mrs. Fields, if you dare make the comparison.) As with any fine work, the imperfections contribute to, rather than detract from, the brilliance. In the case of Levain Bakery, what you receive is a mildly misshapen, mountainous cookie that gets your hands messy and melts in your mouth--but I guarantee you wouldn't want it any other way.

After also trying the walnut chocolate chip (also delicious), I would recommend the double chocolate instead. The walnut cookie's sugar content carried a zealously sweet imprint of blanched sugar. Left unchecked, this sweetness becomes too overpowering to continue eating after just a few bites. In contrast, the bitter cocoa in the double chocolate chocolate chip enriches the dough and eliminates any trace of processed taste. Nevertheless, the cookie is rich enough that halfway through my chocolate cravings were satiated. In a moment of unexpected self control, I saved the rest for later.

And I am so glad I did. After a night in the refrigerator, a Levain Bakery cookie is still soft enough to sink your teeth into--like a block of fudge. It is the breakfast of champions.

Put On Your Best Dress For Tea At The Lowell

Pembroke Room - The Lowell Hotel - Upper East Side

28 E. 63rd St., New York, NY 10065

Afternoon tea is served between 3pm and 6pm. Reservations recommended.

While still in the single digit years, I insisted upon having tea with my American Girl Doll at Colonial Williamsburg. On my first trip abroad to London I cajoled my father (or rather my mother, whose agenda was the same as mine, cajoled my after) into participating in British High Tea. While in Hong Kong I somehow managed to re-convince my father to partake in afternoon tea, this time in the famous Peninsula Hotel lobby. For my sister's bridal shower, I rounded up the talent of several family friends to throw a spectacularly lavish high tea, complete with crustless finger sandwiches, scones, clotted cream, and an assortment of chocolate-laced desserts. 

I can't put my finger on anything in particular that drives this lifelong interest in tea time. But, then again, why shouldn't I love it? If you don't have another excuse to get gussied up, put on your best dress and head to the Pembroke Room at The Lowell Hotel for a short entrée into elegance and luxury. 

With a pot of chai steeping by my side in a silver kettle, we tackled the three-tiered silver tray of finger sandwiches, tarts, and sweets. Like good girls, we started with our sandwiches before proceeding to "dessert". Once we made it through the cucumber sandwiches and triangular tartines with smoked salmon, it was a mountain of éclairs, berry tarts, iced cakes, and--my favorite--French macarons. 

For nearly three hours my friends and I sipped fine tea from finer china while participating in the age old tradition of social banter (gossip). It was nothing but lovely. 

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. 

I'm Afraid Of What I Would Do For A Dough Doughnut

Dashing out of bed on a weekend morning almost never happens. Only truly important things can make me want to unwrap myself from my comforter cocoon.

I had set my sights on dough doughnuts since my first visit to Bed-Stuy--apartment hunting--and this weekend became my target. So, getting out of bed was surprisingly easy. And instead of lumbering around the apartment mechanically getting ready, I dressed with agility and practically skipped down the sunny avenue toward Dough. 

Good job, self. So worth it. 

The smell of fresh baked goods hit me, and the line out the door didn't matter anymore.

As I was bringing home a half dozen for my roommates and friends, I knew I would need something to tide myself over. I bit into the Nutella stuffed mini-doughnut, and the pocket of Nutella burst into my mouth. Not too sugary, perfectly fresh, and squishibly soft, this mini-treat was a happy indicator of the joys to come.

Dough doughnuts fill you. One doughnut is bigger, heavier, and more generously topped than any mainstream doughnut I've seen on the market. As you sink your teeth in, the dough scrunches down from top to bottom before slowly rising back up again (unlike a Krispy Kreme, which is so airy it never rebounds; and unlike a Dunkin, which is often too stale to have any give in the first bite).

I ordered the salted chocolate caramel. This chocolate layer coated the doughnut in a fine layer of rich cocoa--it didn't lay lifeless and stiff like an icing, or plastered to the bread like a glaze. The Toasted Coconut and Sugar doughnuts each lived up to high standards, too.

Dunkin Donuts has bastardized the doughnut, twisting Americans' perception of what one should taste, look, and smell like. It brings me hope that little shops like Dough are popping up to correct the wrong.

**Side Note--My roommate brought home a custard stuffed Jolly Doughnut from Sandusky, Ohio not too long ago. After a cross-country commute to the Big Apple, it arrived smushed and disfigured. This doughnut was dense and heavy as a brick. It was also the best doughnut I've eaten to date. 

Insomnia Cookies Are A Midnight Treat

Insomnia Cookies - Upper East Side
237 E 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022

Can't sleep? Milk and cookies might do the trick.

After listening to Allegra Levy (vocals) and Seán McCluskey (piano) at the basement bar, Tomi Jazz, I emerged ready for a midnight snack. Something about late evening hours makes cravings cut deep and calories seem irrelevant.

Insomnia Cookies is next door and open late. Walking into the store means relaxing into a sugar coma. Strong smells of sugar sedate the salivating insomniac. I was seduced by the chocolate peanut butter cup cookie; it was love at first sight.

These cookies are big, and they're served warm. Breaking off a piece, the cookie didn't flake, crumble, or snap. In addition to this perfect, malleable texture, Insomnia Cookies are packed full of flavor. The warm chocolate and chunks of peanut butter may have been enough in other cookies, but to achieve this flavor the bakers must have folded peanut butter right into the batter.

I only wish I'd ordered a glass of milk.  

Grom's Whipped Cream Is Like Crack

Grom - West Village

233 Bleeker St., New York, NY 10014

While out with a friend, I ran into an acquaintance in the West Village. When he heard we were scoping out dessert options, he pointed to a well-lit shop on the corner. This man is a clean-cut southern gentleman and music composer, so his words surprised me:

"Order the whipped cream--it's like crack cocaine." (His words, not mine.)

Obviously, I did. 

Grom is a gelateria. Presumably their gelato is great, but on a mild winter eve I ordered a small hot [dark] chocolate with whipped cream. The cocoa is not for the faint of heart. My friend and her mom ordered a small, and between the two of them they did not make it halfway through the cup. It's not because it's bad--it's simply so rich. The viscous cocoa coats the sides of the cup and lingers on the plastic spoon. The whipped cream is just as pure. As though scraped off a spatula, the whipped cream hangs off the side of the cup. It didn't fall in or drip down--only the bottom slowly melted away, forming white rings in the black sea beneath. 

While I did manage to finish my cup, I feel that the optimal way to enjoy Grom's delights would be to have an espresso-sized hot cocoa with whipped cream and a single scoop of vanilla gelato. As I've learned, it's the best balancing act. 

So, next time I must try the gelato.