I saw Half Nelson on Saturday night after dinner at The Spotted Pig. It was a movie deemed:
"An honest and inspirational film that explores the precarious relationship between a white man struggling with his own demons and a young black girl on the verge of loosing her innocence."
But lets just move on. Lets skip discussing the movie after wandering around an abandoned lower Manhattan and revert to the late afternoon and dinner adventures, since the movie (even though everyone seems to love it) was shitty. And I mean I fell asleep for twenty minutes and woke up thinking that I was missing why everyone in the theater was laughing in enjoyment. It turns out that my friend didn't love it either, so I guess I should have just slept the entire movie.
After outdoor cocktails at Spice Market where I tanked down 2 mojito's and a Tiger beer to relax after my parents left, we wandered to The Spotted Pig a few blocks down and into the W.Village. Spotted Pig is what one could call a "gastropub" which I think means a great bar and good food. It has been opened for awhile (we could say 2004) but getting in nearly requires selling off your first son. Finding the host is like finding a needle in a haystack most of the time and the line outside of the jam packed restaurant makes you think twice of trying to find the needle waitress. But thankfully it is Labor Day (or at least the four weeks around it) and everyone in Manhattan (who isn't a tourist) has left for something relaxing, chilled, and foresty. A huge party on Fire Island means you can get into the Spotted Pig which in reality is where I would much rather be in the first place. So, we walked right in (yes, close your astonished mouth) and were seated upstairs in a totally cute lil corner table. April Bloomfield has had some help from Mario Batali, has a single STAR from Michelin and creates simple yet excellent food. The building is an adorable little place adorned with more pig art than one could ever imagine possible. And the runners wear hot tshirts with pigs on them. I wanted one, to match my Ginch Gonch underwear that I am madly in love with. haha.
I had the gnudi which is one of their signature dishes for an appetizer. They are sheep's milk dumplings topped with parmesan, butter, and fried sage leaves. They are delicious though not very different or much more creative than simple gnocchi with butter. For a main course I had quail which I thought was a good idea until it arrived and picking through bones wasn't my idea of a good meal that night. It was yummy though. The food is rustic, fresh, and delicious.
NYTimes food critic Frank Bruni, per typically, was an awesome bitchy cunt about the place but ultimately loved the food, which I pretty much agree with. My one trip to the bathroom which was a good 15 minute and when you entered, thoughts of a crowded sauna in Las Vegas came to mind.
What I encountered looked less like a restaurant than a mosh pit. I spent 10 minutes trying to press through the mass of bodies around the front door and flag down the host. He told me that the wait for a table - the Spotted Pig accepts reservations only in special cases - would be nearly two hours. I took a pass, because I had this thing called hunger gnawing at me, and vowed to be cleverer about my next Pigward journey.
That happened on a Sunday night at 6:15. And didn't go much better. The mass at the door was thinner, but where oh where was the host? "In hiding," cracked a server who passed by, which was funny but then again not. When the host finally appeared, he projected a wait of at least 20 minutes. Not so bad, but no stools were available at the downstairs bar or the upstairs bar and it was freezing out on the sidewalk, where many a Pig aspirant loiters.
The Spotted Pig may well be Manhattan's most unforgiving, uncomfortable trough, the gastropub as gastromelee. Almost immediately after it opened in March 2004 and began serving its sometimes heroically satisfying combination of English and Italian cooking, the throngs started to descend, and they have never stopped. So the Pig, inevitably, has porked up. Late last month, with the opening of that upstairs room, it more than doubled in size, to about 110 seats from about 50. But so far, it seems, the waits at dinnertime are as long, and the crowds as dense, as ever. The Pig should give you more than a menu. It should hand out a special Kama Sutra on the contortions necessary to get to and from your seat.
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