Simone Dinnerstein

Dara writes:

Last night James and I had the privilege of experiencing the piano genius of new star Simone Dinnerstein, a 34-year-old pianist who lives in Brooklyn. Three magical elements marked the evening. One, of course, was Dinnerstein's playing. The second was the thing played: Bach's Goldberg Variations. James and I adore this piece and chose it as the music accompanying our wedding ceremony. Ms. Dinnerstein's love for the music is exceptionally personal as well as professional; she insisted that her doctor let her listen to it while she gave birth to her son during an emergency C section. She "thinks he was born during Variation 20."

Like most, I know Glenn Gould's iconic interpretation. Now there is another iconic moment in the piece's history. I'm not sophisticated about music, so all I can say is that her playing rocked. It was awesome. Certain things truly distinguish her mastery. Her rhythm and pacing are beyond reproach, in addition to being so unique and artistic. The way she trills and makes the piano sing is remarkable. Each variation and its repeat was so interesting, modulated, and fresh. Nothing by rote. Each note felt new.

The final element of the evening that will sear it in my memory was the setting in which we heard the Variations, the perfect setting, if you ask me: the sitting room in the Buckleys' maisonette on Park Avenue.

Our friend Larry Perelman, a pianist himself, organized the evening for Mr. Buckley. To listen to Bach in a plush room with red velvet sofas and silk tassels, reclining on a stuffed chair, intoxicated me. After she played, Ms. Dinnerstein was told by Bill Buckley that her playing represented one of the most exciting performances he had ever seen. He has lived quite a life, and that was an incredible compliment. She must be thrilled. Perhaps as much as we were listening to her!

Coconut Chicken and Lemonade Cream

Dara writes:

James and I set out last night to eat at Momofuku. But alas, the summer is over, the NYU students are back, and the wait at this loud and crowded shrine to pork was over 35 minutes long. We wandered back up First Avenue and ended up at Pistahan, a steam counter Filipino restaurant I'd read about in New York magazine's "Cheap Eats" issue.

$20 for two entrees, an app, and a drink certainly is cheap. Unfortunately, so are the ingredients. A sweet and savory crepe starter filled with "sauteed vegetables" was in fact filled with raw cabbage and bean sprouts so saturated in garlic we had to brush our teeth about eighteen times when we got home. My chicken marinated in coconut and vinegar had a nice spicy kick and tasted pretty good. But def the cheap parts of the chicken, and the sauce was gooey and cloying, kind of like sweet and sour in a Chinese restaurant. The rice was Uncle Ben's level. James's barbecue pork was fine. Since I'm not a fan of extreme garlic's masking not great ingredients, I won't be going back.

Luckily for us, City Bakery has opened an East Village outpost on the same block as Pistahan. So we washed down the extreme garlic with a cookie and what they call "Farmer's Lemonade," which is lemonade and a "touch of Ronnybrook cream." Sounds putrid but it is amazing; as the site I just linked to says, "it makes you kneel." It also clogs your sinuses like all get-out, but what a frosty, milky, tart kick.

Bar Stuzzichini

Dara writes:

Just in time for Frank Bruni's review in the Times today, we ate at Flatiron newcomer Bar Stuzzichini last night.

I agree more with the Times' one star review than with New York magazine's two stars. In fact, I may be even a bit less forgiving than Bruni.

Admittedly I dined there once, but I was not that impressed. First of all, the room leaves a lot to be desired, as many have said already. It's big and I agree with Adam Platt of New York mag, looks like a Pizzeria Uno. It's cheesy. It looks middle-aged and middle-brow--cue the odd photos on the wall of graffiti in Italy, I guess to youth-up the joint.

The meal started off promising, as our server chose an odd but mead-like white wine (honey notes) that was lovely. But then the bread basket was very Penn Station Zaro's (an outlet of which is just down Broadway from Bar Stuzzichini). James and I split the "five little plates for $22" as an appetizer. These little plates are the "stuzzichini" in Italian. We ordered zucchini, spicy soppressata, ricotta with saffron and honey, meatballs, and fried artichoke.

As readers of this column know, I tend to find zucchini in its natural form--meaty and squishy--repellent, so I asked the server how it was prepared. When he said grilled with olive oil, garlic, and mint, that sounded promising. But in fact what came to the table were castoffs from Au Bon Pain's "grilled veggie" sandwich, those horrible thick zucchini rounds with black char marks that are the stuff of food nightmares. The artichoke and meatballs were delish. The meatball is tiny, crispy on the outside, and really tender and well-seasoned on the inside.

James and I split the orecchiette with cauliflower and breadcrumbs, and a chickory salad with anchovies. We ordered the latter because it sounded exactly like a dish we had at Bebel's in Milan: tender bulbs of fresh chickory decorated with cut anchovies, lemon, sea salt, and olive oil. Fab. The Bar Stuzzichini version though was chickory leaves--lettuce, essentially--with a caesar-salad like dressing. Eh. Fishy. The orechiette tasted like gourmet mac and cheese. Not enough cauli to flower it. Our friend got the tuna; it looked a tad overcooked, but the pesto garnishing it was nutty.

A word about the service: not so hot. An odd thing happened as we were chowing on our appetizers; our server came over and said, "it would be great if you could consolidate your plates, because your entrees are coming." He literally took away my plate from which I was still eating and kind of moved my silverware out of the way to make way for the mains.

That would have been odd but OK if steaming plates then immediately were set down in front of us. But no. We waited fifteen minutes. So why on earth did he clear our apps so precipitously?

I agree the size of the place isn't right; it doesn't jibe with the little-plate feel. Moreover, while it's in my neighborhood, it doesn't feel neighborhoody. Not too expensive, but not sure I'll return.