At Diner’s Journal, Edward Schneider writes about Pizza with no sauce but plenty of flavor.

Danny Meyer is one of the most successful and well-respected chefs in New York. Most everything he touches turns to gold. But here is a good piece in the Atlantic Monthly on how Meyer deals with closing a restaurant.

[Photo Credit: The New York Observer]

For an old-fashioned, no-frills treat, stop by the Donut Pub next time you are on 14th street. Their Boston Creme rules:

[Photo Credit: Juozas Cernius and robobby]

Serious Eats has a slide show of their favorite burgers of 2010:

Dig this cool article in the Times on the simple pleasures of Hash:

At his modest restaurant Stove, on an equally modest block of Astoria, Queens, Mr. Cass makes a hash that many consider the best in New York, a title that he wears lightly. It’s simple, he says: two kinds of boiled potatoes, diced and mashed. Caramelized onions, present in two forms: sliced, and ground. House-corned beef, purpose-made for the dish. The whole of it mixed together on Saturday night, ready for Sunday morning’s brunch rush. “Season it up and let it sit, that’s the only secret,” he said.

The final cooking step is turning the meat and potatoes and onions together in the pan (or on a griddle), pressing down to make the edges of everything crisp up. The ingredients must be jumbled together — made a hash of. If the ingredients are coerced into tidy separate circles, well, that’s not hash. (Chefliness can go too far).

Sounds like it is worth the trip. Or should be something you can make right quick at home.

[Photo Credit: A Girl Named Bong]

I like hot chocolate as much as the next person but don’t ever go out of my way for it. Yesterday, a friend brought me to a snooty chocolatier called Jacques Torres and got me a hot coco.

I had no idea hot chocolate could be so good. It was like drinking from Willy Wonka’s chocolate river, off-the-chain sinful, and a treat that is worth the trip.

[Photo Credit: The Gothamist]

Deep in the heart of hipster Brooklyn you will find the Mile End Deli–Montreal Pastrami, go figure. I’ve heard mixed things about the place but I had one of their pastrami-on-rye sandwiches and thought it crazy tasty. Well worth the trip, man.

[Photo Credit: Smooth Dude]

Dig this long, engaging profile of April Bloomfield in the New Yorker.

[Photo Credit: The Lunch Break Chronicles]

The Times also had a little piece on Esposito’s Pork Sausage store, one of my old haunts when I lived in Brooklyn.

Yes, we have no pastrami…

Hill Country Fried Chicken…it’s on my to-chow list for sure.

On the Go…

[Picture by Bags and Marianne Rafter]

Nah, I haven’t been to Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Brooklyn yet.

But I aim to change that in the near future.

I’ve had these at Ssam and one cold day this winter I’m a try ’em at home.

Dig the recipe. I love that he uses cilantro stems. Why not, right? And the mint really makes it sing.

A week from today the season could be over or the Yanks could be getting ready to play in another Whirled Serious.

We’re lucky to even have another week to look forward to, and starting tomorrow night, Cliff Lee vs. Andy Pettitte…it should be lively.

In the meantime, enjoy a lovely, cool fall day in New York. Those of us with Cablevision are shut-out of the first game, but the Jets are on at 4.

Let’s Go Sun-Day.

Dig this New York Magazine profile on April Bloomfield, the chef behind The Spotted Pig and The Breslin:

Bloomfield had planned to be a policewoman in Birmingham, England, until she didn’t get her application in on time. Thanks to that bit of tardiness, she instead decided to follow her two sisters into cooking, working her way up the line in restaurants around London. She worked for Ruth Rogers and the late Rose Gray at London’s River Café and later spent a summer with Alice Waters at Berkeley’s Chez Panisse. But when fellow Brit and River Café alumnus Jamie Oliver recommended her to Friedman, she was still a relative unknown. Her debut at the Spotted Pig drew a lot of attention—not just because of the involvement of Batali and several high-profile investors (Bono and Jay-Z), but because Bloomfield was running a new kind of restaurant that brought together several foodie threads: serious snout-to-tail cooking with a religious adherence to fresh/local/seasonal ingredients, served in a casual atmosphere with a tone of clubby downtown cool. As Anthony Bourdain puts it: “She pretty much wrote the all-time book on how to come from someplace else and make New York love you.”

Bloomfield’s cookbook, A Girl and Her Pig, comes out in 2012, but beyond that and a few odd interviews and TV appearances, she keeps her head in her pots. She’s in the kitchen at the Pig on some nights, the Breslin on most others, and getting the new John Dory Oyster Bar (also in the Ace) ready for opening in early November. She also maintains a food-exchange program with father of head-to-tail eating Fergus Anderson of St. John—they switch spots on occasion to keep up with each other’s shore.

“She’s never worked the room, she’s never played the game,” says Bourdain, “and yet everybody knows who she is—she’s one of the only high-profile chefs who’s almost never on TV, she rarely gives interviews, and every time I walk into the Breslin or the Spotted Pig, I look back there and she’s standing behind the line, actually cooking.”

I haven’t been to The Breslin yet. Sounds like a treat, though.

I’ve never been to a four-star restaurant. Might be fun to try one day if I ever win the lottery.

In the Times, Sam Sifton gives Del Posto, the coveted four-star rating:

GREAT restaurants may start out that way. But an extraordinary restaurant generally develops only over time, the product of prolonged artistic risk and managerial attention. An extraordinary restaurant uses the threat of failure first as a spur to improvement, then as a vision of unimaginable calamity. An extraordinary restaurant can transcend the identity of its owners or chef or concept.

And of course an extraordinary restaurant serves food that leads to gasps and laughter, to serious discussion and demands for more of that, please, now. The point of fine dining is intense pleasure. For the customer, at any rate, an extraordinary restaurant should never be work.

Such was the poignant wisdom of my old college chum, Lomain. That was his line, right out of “The Pope of Greenwich Village,” ‘cept out of Bayside, Queens. This is Beef Lomain I’m talking about, the eldest Lomain. His brother Mikey was Chicken Lomain and his little brother Matty was Shrimp Lomain.

I’d like to see A.J. take a piece for himself tonight, wouldn’t you?

Why mince words? Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

It’s been chilly the past few nights here in New York. October baseball is in the air for Yankee fans and I’m here to tell you that it feels good to be so spoiled. For years my sense memory informed me to get anxious in this weather which meant the start of school. Now, it’s been replaced by a luxurious feeling–the Yankees and the playoffs. It is a sensation that I cannot take for granted.

Now that autumn is fast approaching the summer bounty is running dry. No more corn, just a few precious tomatoes left. These here were grown on a rooftop in Manhattan. August is my favorite time of year for food and I’m always sorry to see it go, but take comfort in the fact that it’ll return next year. And when it arrives again, just like when the Yanks make the playoffs, I’ll appreciate every last moment.

What’s your favorite food to get from a cart?