Restaurant Review : Sunny Brunch at Maialino in Gramercy Park

     The neighborhood of Gramercy Park in springtime is a lovely place to wander through: tall cast-iron fences around its park, old townhouses surrounding the square, colorful blooms sprouting up from the window boxes and lawns, and the calm "regulars" strolling about--far from the touristy mobs congesting around the brunch-goers of SoHo.  It's the closest facsimile that New York City has to London's gorgeous landscape, which is abundant with small parks.  Created in 1842, it is one of only seven small parks that were preserved from the city's never-ending overdevelopment and overpopulation.  However, it is private property--fenced off from the public--and intended for 39 local residents who have the privilege of gaining access.  The park is charitably opened to the public on Christmas Eve.

     Since last autumn, Lewis and I hadn't revisited Maialino Restaurant, so we decided to go.  Our intention was to test-drive its brunch menu.  The restaurant occupies a street-level corner of Ian Schrager's Gramercy Park Hotel.

     The eatery is owned and carefully operated by famed restauranteur, Danny Meyer, who is a native New Yorker.  When collaborating with Schrager, he insisted that his restaurant have its own name, instead of being "attached by name" to the hotel (like the "Plaza Hotel Palm Court" or the "Rotunda at the Pierre").  In fact, it's not called the "hotel restaurant".  Aptly, it is its own destination.  An advantage of adjoining the hotel is that its guests can pause in the lobby, admiring the log fire crackling in the lobby's mammoth fireplace, or they can go to the hotel's jazz bar.  

     Maialino has its own entrance: clean lines of genteelism.

The sight of fresh bread populated one of the sidewalk windows.

     Being a Danny Meyer restaurant, it is excellent "from A to Z".  I recall Meyer's book, "Setting the Table", about how to give great customer service.  The most important "first impression" is given by the phone receptionist and hostesses.  If they're cheerful and competent, then you know that the place "cares".  All of Meyer's eateries invest the time to put well-trained, well-paid individuals in positions to give you great first impressions.  
     Why is that significant?  Thousands of eateries employ careless, unenthusiastic people (bored-sounding or acting like you interrupted their life) to answer the phones or greet guests.  Thousands of unconcerned restaurants employ hosts who can't answer questions, have a poor attitudes, put you on extended Hold, are busy flirting with the bartender and not watching the podium, or offer no personality.  We dislike that (as do foreigners from first-world countries), yet many American customers tolerate it.  Some stand in "velvet roped" lines to be treated that way.  However, Meyer learned his techniques in Europe and believes that your first impression should warmly welcome and coddle you.  His "first line" of employees treats you like a competent concierge would.  That stands out impressively amongst thousands of mediocre places that scrimp on cheap workers, or make you feel like it's a privilege to eat with them.

     It's worthy to note that his chefs and maître d's stay with him for YEARS,.  He's one of the few restauranteurs who truly started "in the kitchen" and who currently gives lectures about Hospitality and Customer Service--that its possible to "make money by investing it and treating people as 'special' ".

     When I called a month ago to make our 1pm reservation, the lovely receptionist was as ladylike as the reservationist of a 5-star hotel.  I asked if we could order a particular side dish from the weekday menu?  Quickly, she obtained an answer: the chef could make it, since it would be used on that night's dinner menu anyway.  Efficiently, she noted my request in our reservation.
     Today, we ran late--due to the MTA's dilapidated subway.  So, Lewis called to push our reservation back by 30 minutes.  No problem.  The host told Lewis that if there was a slight wait for a table, we could start with drinks at the bar.  When we arrived, the host found our reservation and looked up with a smile and said, "Thank you for calling us to say that you'd be a tad late.  You're table is set, and we'll make your day even better now."  What a great way to start... and that didn't cost the restaurant a cent!  Yet, such helpfulness and cheeriness is priceless.

     Maialino was created as an homage to a old-world Roman trattoria.  In fact, it's the only place in the city that authentically uses guancalle (pig's cheeks) for the carbonara sauce!  That is an authentic Roman recipe, which brings tremendous flavor.  Lewis and I went to Italy twice, and we love Rome's cuisine.  

To see the recent time that we explored Rome, please use this link:

https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2022/03/our-trip-to-italy-part-6-of-7-rome.html

*Lewis still raves about entering its ancient Pantheon, rebuilt in 126 AD by Emperor Hadrian--who openly enjoyed same-sex intimacy.  It is worth seeing.

     Italy's gastronomic details are surprisingly hard to find in NYC--a huge, supposedly "first-world" city.  That is because it is inundated with cheaply-made junk food, because restauranteurs are cheap, and conglomerates dominate the food industry.  So, finding authentic Italian cuisine is worth going out of our way for!

     Many of Meyer's eateries have a formal--and austere--section, separated from a tavern-style section.  Sometimes, the course-menu of the formal dining room is worthwhile.  Usually, Lewis and I prefer the colorful vibe--and expansive menu--of the non-formal section.  That part of Maialino was decidedly more crowded, with boys in straw fedoras and tight T-shirts popping in for French-press coffee and baked-on-the-premises croissants.  

     The blonde girl tending bar was double-fisted as she vigorously shook up 2 cocktails.  (I love a vigorously shaken drink)!  People were situated at the bar, perched on barstools while nibbling on poached eggs and flapjacks.

     We sat in the cozy dining area: wood floor planking, gingham checkered tablecloths, handsomely-lit wall art, and stylish wainscoting.  Our "table for two" was surrounded by bubbly chatter.  On one side, a trio spoke Italian (and wore brighter colored pants and jackets than New Yorkers do).  Behind us, university students were in deep conversation.  On the other side a gay couple ate with one of the boys' parents.  It seemed like it was the parents' first time getting acquainted with their son's boyfriend.  Everyone seemed jovial.
     The well-trained waitstaff meandered through the room fluidly.  Each wore a blue chambray shirt that is made by Brooks Brothers.  Paired with an apron, that's the extent of their uniform... which keeps the ambiance homey.

     Our server was named Ashley, and she quickly fetched a vodka Bloody Mary for me (extra horseradish), and a salted tequila Bloody Mary for Lewis.  For nutritional value, Lewis ordered a blended juice of kale, fennel, tarragon, and mint.  The taste was extraordinary, with the fennel giving a wonderful tap on the palate.  
     We devoured everything in the breadbasket, dipping the rosemary twists into a wooden bowl of Italian olive oil.  We ate two orders of tomato/cheese risotto balls, dipping each forkful into warm Mariana sauce.  Fried artichoke hearts with lemon and oil were scrumptious.  Next, we selected a plate of thick-cut, charred pancetta.  SO YUMMY!  I got a pan-browned pork & pecorino sausage.

    As each aromatic dish arrived, we noticed other customers looking at them to get an idea of what to order for themselves.  Or maybe it was because we chatted cheerfully with each server, making them laugh with us, and causing them to blush from our compliments.  Therefore, servers clustered at our table and lingered, chatting briefly to make sure everything was okay.  I remember being a waiter at unpleasant mealtimes.  So, it's nice when customers treat to you like a human... and not as part of the furniture.  When you avoid "talking down" to servers, they treat you nicely.  It's the decent thing to do.
    I ordered a French-press pot of coffee.  I asked Ashley for a recommendation, and her blue eyes "lit up" as she mentioned one--described as "adventurous with hints of chocolate and orange."  Sold!  Smartly, I requested a small pitcher of cream, to soften the final portion, after it steeped so long amongst the coffee grinds.  

     Lewis ordered Chef Nick Anderer's famous Porchetta sandwich: moist roast pork and two fried eggs.  I had Garganelli: homemade lemon-scented pasta with cream-braised oxtail, tomato, and pecorino.  Each forkful was GREAT!  The chef only uses tried-and-true Italian cooking techniques.

     People predictably eat scrambled eggs and French toast, but Lewis wanted something savory and "different".  Plus, you know that when you dine at a Danny Meyer place, all the ingredients are farm-fresh.  As a trendsetter in the 1970s, he created the Farmer's Market at Union Square (which was previously only for hardcore drug dealers... and sadly the city lets that remain).  Seen below, it was the city's first greenmarket.

     Meyer also provides leadership for the City Harvest charity, founded in 1982.  

     His restaurants obtain their ingredients from the aforementioned farmers.  

     During our meal, everything was presented and cleared effortlessly by food runners and bussers who seemed to genuinely enjoy being there.
     For dessert, such a sunny day deserved a yellow slice Glazed Lemon Cake with Meyer-Lemon Marmalade (delicious lemon rind).  The pastry chef outdid herself.

     Finished with our scrumptious meal, we departed through the busy dining room.  Passing the Service Counter, we observed waiters cutting baguettes and slicing salamis.  Across from them, bakers added fresh platters of pastry to the showcase.

     The sound of shaking ice cubes told us that the blonde was still busy.  From there, we strolled under the sunshine and white puffy clouds.  Flowering trees added a sprinkling of small petals to the sidewalk.  It was a fine day, indeed.

Elegant Entertaining & Fine Dining Tips : Dinner with Ken

     Readers of my blog said, "Ken, in earliest blog posts, you talked about how much you liked cooking for friends at your home.  Any pictures?  What was that like?"  Well, if you were coming to join me for dinner at my former suburban home…

     It didn't matter what you wore, or what your job status was, what zip code you lived in, or what "contribution" you brought to my life.  True hospitality is a selfless act.

     Furthermore, I don't think that a grand home is necessary for a grand time.

     I didn't reside in a huge house, yet I used my urbane panache to make my home into a beacon and an oasis.  It proves that you can create a hospitable place, regardless of the size.

     As one of my guests, you walked up the driveway—perhaps admired the flowers—and heard lively music and laughter from within my house.  The motion-sensored front door light turned on to welcome you.  Guests rang the door chime, otherwise nobody heard them knocking.

     Coming in through the kitchen, you smelled fresh flowers (some given by my guests) and my aromatic cooking.  My lively music flowed from the living and dining rooms, thanks to small cube speakers in each corner and a great bass subwoofer.  It drew you in and invigorated you.    

Folks often helped with food/cocktail prep, so you always met people in my kitchen.

Below: the old kitchen I grew up with, compared with the new one I designed and invested in...

The fun of having a dual-facing fireplace was creating romantic spots in living room and the kitchen!

As seen below, sometimes too many cocktails prompted people to get "carried away" with frivolity!

     As you can see, guests rummaged in my well-stocked fridge, exploring the small-batch artisanal items that I had.

     Sinking into the L-shaped sofa—and gathering some pillows around you—guests were always offered a cocktail.  I wheeled over my glass/chrome bar cart and mixed something potent and pretty—in a crystal cocktail glass (my drinks rarely have ice unless I'm making summertime blends in Mason jars).  The chandelier was dimmed intimately, and the lights in the curios and wall-units added a warm glow of recessed lighting.

     A scented candle flickered on the mantle, and a 3-branch silver candelabrum illuminated the appetizers.  I usually offered paté, excellent cheeses, a plate of "mozzarella and fresh tomato", a plateful of thinly-sliced Prosciutto de Parma, and vegetable tapenade.  Each of those was served on wooden boards or silver platters.  Occasionally, I baked olive-stuffed palmiers or vegetable/bacon mousse in phyllo cups.  We sat together to chatter and gossip.  Depending on the weather, a fire might crackle robustly in the fireplace.  I kept a scuttle of logs nearby for convenient refueling.

     If it was warm enough, we might dine outside on the patio.  If so, dinner was cooked on the charcoal or the gas barbecues, to ensure that I spent time with my guests (instead of being in the kitchen and leaving them outside).  I grilled thick steaks from the butcher, stuffed beef pinwheels, shrimp/scallop skewers, and foil-wrapped salmon.  I ended with grilled peaches brushed with balsamic vinegar.
     To get to the patio, you headed through the house and out the back sliding doors.  A flowering Japanese dogwood tree sheltered the doorway.  

     Your feet crossed the illuminated paver-stones through the flowering bulb garden to the lawn.  That path also branched off to go around the house towards a tool shed—where I kept my bike and gardening supplies.  There, my neighbor's magnolia tree fragrantly grew underneath my bedroom window.

Night-blooming jasmine, mint bushes, and astilbe sprouted along the path.

Sometimes, that was the perfect space to barbecue!  

     Two cement pedestal pots (filled with something different for each season) sat closest to the lawn.  The bulb garden had been planned by my perfectionist father (one good thing he left behind), so layers of different flowers popped up annually, in different months: Snowdrops in January, Crocuses and tulips in spring, Peonies in May, variegated Irises in June, Tiger lilies in July, sunflowers in August, and autumn Daisies.

     I made my renown punch recipe for warm summertime and festive Christmastime!  Learned from my Lutheran pastor, it includes one bottle of chilled vodka, one bottle of champagne, one bottle of chilled rose wine, one bottle of cranberry juice, a dash of Grenadine for sweetness, and fresh fruit as a garnish to float on top.  Unsuspectingly, it is a powerful punch.

     My recipes included herbs and veggies grown in my garden: rows of rhubarb, lettuce, carrots, eggplant, tomatoes, oregano, thyme and a sage bush.  (Tip: to avoid bruising your tomato plants when you tie them to sticks, use strips of nylon stockings).  I also nourished strawberries, and I tended blueberry bushes and raspberry bushes.  (My grandfather and great-uncle had abundant gardens, and I paid attention).

     To protect my gardens, I bought unhatched eggs of ladybugs and praying mantises: organic pest control!

     Homegrown things always taste delicious!

     Another illuminated path of paver-stones came from the front door and went along my vegetable/herb garden, racks of firewood, and my neighbor's wooden fence, to the other end of my backyard.  

     It touched the grass through a cast-iron archway of roses.  I strung pink lights on the archway for nighttime illumination.  

     A strand of white lights ran from it to an ornate wooden pole (that held a hanging flower basket and bug-zapper) and onward to the Japanese dogwood.  
     Dotted along the permitter of my backyard, I installed garden lights (on a timer).  

     Providing privacy, my backyard was enshrouded by tall rhododendron, azaleas, assorted pine trees and "butterfly bushes" (which brought many lovely butterflies).  I was alway a treat when clusters of Monarch butterflies paused in my garden during their miraculous thousand-mile migration to Mexico!

     "Hanging baskets" of flowers dangled from tree branches and two cast-iron plant stands.  

     Providing another sensory pleasure, three wind chimes dangled in the garden.  They played melodic sounds in the breezes and a metal one reflected glimmers of sunlight.

     Birdhouses (handmade when I was a Boy Scout) and a bird feeder attracted lots of chirping songbirds to my home: robins, sparrows, chickadees, cardinals, and Blue Jays.  Gray squirrels scurried to catch any fallen birdseed.

     Two Japanese pine trees acted as bookends for the patio... and gave shade.  My patio table was lovely for an outdoor dinner, or to read books alongside a martini.  It was the perfect place to share a meal and admire fireflies when they appeared in my backyard at sundown.

     My two-person canopied hammock was situated on the left.  

     A resin 3-tier fountain added calming gurgling sounds.  Songbirds and dragonflies enjoyed it, too.  

     An ornate 6-foot wrought-iron plant holder (tiered and with 3 hanging baskets) was centered behind the patio.

     Assorted flowers and border blooms (usually Impatients) edged the patio and camellia bushes bloomed until November.  Flowerpot holders were staked in the grass and held Begonias.  Seen below, two cement angels sat atop cement columns (all from Martin Viette Nursery) on the corners of the patio.

     White globe lights were strung overhead between two trees.  Thankfully, the neighbor behind me didn't mind my entertaining; she told me that she sat on her patio and admired the lights and music.  (She was the mother of one of my former teachers: it pays to be a good pupil).  In cooler months, a copper fire pit kept us warm.  

For music, I opened the dining room windows, so the stereo sound could roll out across the lawn.  A few times, my buddies performed live jazz music.  

     Most of the time, we began my soirées on the patio but ate dinner inside the dining room.  Folks liked my dining room because I designed it to look handsome, impressive and comfortable... and I laid out a very nice table.

     If fully extended, the table could seat 14.  It had inlaid squares of polished wood, which I liked to show off, so I didn't use a tablecloth.  Instead, I relied on eye-catching placemats of unique fabrics or silver chargers.  Inheriting several full sets of china from my maternal grandmother (it resembled Downton Abbey), as well as her full sets of Wallace "Grand Baroque" and "Rose Point" sterling silver (service for 12 for all), I could mix & match those heirlooms with élan.  Friends were fond of the crystal knife rests, calling them "little dumbbells" (seen below).

     The sterling flatware (service for 12 of 5-piece place settings) of Rosepoint is worth $11,000, plus 12 butter spreaders ($160 each).  Created in 1934, it's the second-most popular pattern that Wallace Silversmiths made.  Yet, their Grand Baroque (created 1946) is one of the most popular sterling patterns in the world.  It is worth $13,000, plus 12 butter spreaders ($240 each).  Innately, I loved that set!  Very ornate, luxuriously weighty handles, intricate scrollwork and piercing that gives it a handsome view from all sides.  Its designer called it "the very essence of merriment and adventure."  Another special detail: the knife has roses, the forks have narcissus, and the spoons have a five-petaled flower (maybe a pansy).  

     My maternal grandparents also gave my parents a complete set of crystal stemware, which I augmented with tall, pineapple-stemmed crystal wine goblets (antiques from the turn-of-the-century).

     If I used place cards, I didn't sit couples next to each other.  It kept conversations going and allowed you to meet other people.  Many friends liked that tactic.  Some took it upon themselves to be a bit flirty with their neighbors.

     I altered the music at dinnertime—going for a mix of uptempo jazz, big band ballads, soft opera, romantic 1950's Doo-Wop, and vivacious baroque classical music.  Despite their ages, all of my guests complimented me fondly on the music.

     A grand 5-branch crystal candelabrum sat "center-stage" on the table, under the dimmed crystal chandelier.  Made of glass, five "candle-shaped" lanterns (filled with clear lamp oil) kept the candlelight at full-height throughout the evening.  Two silver candlesticks, with seasonal bobeches, sat towards each end of the table.  Smaller items—like Santa figurines or clusters of alabaster Easter eggs, or bud vases (stems cut fresh from the gardens) or votive candles ran down the center of the table.  
     What awaited you at your seat?  Soup spoons, first-course forks, dinner forks and knives.  Dessert forks and spoons were crisscrossed above your plate.  Bread plates and butter knives.  Name-cards only at big dinners; otherwise, it was always democratic seating.  Sometimes, I put out my grandmother's small silver individual salt-and-pepper shakers (seen below).

Otherwise, I liked my crystal ones, which never tarnished, and that you filled from the bottom... so you used the old quantities first.  
     At one end of the room, the lighted china-hutch glowed.  In addition, flickering candle votives—at different levels all around the room—illuminated small corners and glinted against metal objects.

     Everyone unfolded their elegantly shaped napkins (I learned the designs from working at an Italian catering hall).  If it was a pot-luck dinner, we served ourselves in the kitchen.  Otherwise, I carried out everyone's plates from the kitchen.  Long ago, I realized that having tipsy people passing platters and bowls of food around the table got messy.  So, when I sensed that folks were ready for "seconds", I insouciantly swooshed into the kitchen and brought out trays and bowls for them.  Rack of lamb.  Sausages in wilted onions with reduced beer.  Beef Wellington (named for the Duke of Wellington: a British hero during the Battle of Waterloo to defeat Napoleon).  Pork loin stuffed with pecorino and broccoli-rabe.  Chicken filled with Manchego, spinach, and smoked ham.  Veal Milanese: hammered and breaded perfectly.  Pasta with homemade sauce (I grew my own tomatoes, oregano and basil).  My own béarnaise sauce in a silver (candle-warmed) gravy boat.  

     By rummaging in my grandmother's things, I had unearthed sterling silver asparagus tongs, espresso spoons, cheese knives, and even a silver butter holder (with a compartment for crushed ice underneath, to keep it chilled)!

     We savored long languid meals, made with fresh ingredients, homegrown herbs & vegetables and my famous butter & cream sauces.  When a neighbor left brown bags of eggplants and zucchini at my front door, I gladly incorporated them!

     None of my evenings were stuffy or formal.  Pretty, yes.  Rigid, never.  The conversations and antics were never-ending.  

     I always kept the atmosphere light and cheerful.  Elegant interior design, but always comfy—with something in every corner for your eye to rest upon.  I believe that people deserve to have a really great meal served in a fabulous way!
     Thanks to a quiet signal, I knew when to clear the table and get ready for dessert; my nostrils smelled the aroma from my automatic coffeemaker.  I do love GREAT freshly-ground coffee.  (I bought a machine with a carafe, instead of a glass coffeepot, so the liquid stayed warmer).  I also had a wooden tea caddy filled with small-batch blends and stalwart favorites.  

As you might expect, I owned an espresso machine.  Coffee and tea were served from my grandparents' silver coffeepot and teapot, with a tray, sugar bowl, and a creamer.  It was classy.

     Mouth-watering desserts came from Dortoni Italian Bake Shop, which was famous across Long Island.  They made excellent entremets and cakes, so I was a regular customer!

     I usually added pastries, cannoli, and cookies on a glass 3-tier server.  The centerpiece cake would rest atop a crystal cake stand.  That gave a truly "elevated" presentation.  

     Trays of gourmet chocolates (some were liqueur-filled) accompanied those.  At Christmastime, I bought gingerbread houses.   

     Then, I passed a tray of silver cordial glasses while asking if anyone wanted something: liqueurs, schnapps, port, or cordials.  

     While I reset the table with dessert plates and coffee cups/saucers, you might use the lavatory.  Inside were softly absorbent towels, a flickering candle, a bud vase of blossoms, and fragrant hand soap (probably sandalwood or lavender).   Friends joked that my chrome wastebasket looked too shiny to use!  Before you found the light-switch, the room was always lit with a "geode" nightlight.  (I like to bring Nature's beauty indoors).

     As the candles burned down and the coffee disappeared...

… I sometimes suggested moving to "the North Room": a second TV room (where the old patio used to be).  In December, it was where I set up my Christmas trees.

     With the summery scent of night-blooming jasmine wafting through the windows, guests got comfy in the black leather loveseat and the vibrating armchair/recliner.

     Glass-enclosed candle holders helped the wall sconces provide a perfect milieu.  

     During nice nights, we ventured back outside into a cluster of lawn chairs and tables, admiring the crickets, fireflies, and starlight.  Unrestrained for conversation topics, we discussed our goals and fantasies, reminisced our memories, and planned our future events.

     All in all, I made sure that your whole visit to my home was seamlessly relaxing, lots of fun, delicious, schnazzy, and sublime.  Folks were astonished that I hosted effortlessly: they stressed over details, obsessed over place settings and recipes, worried if food would be done on time, and worried about how things would turn out.  I just did it naturally.  Others who hosted such elegant get-togethers were snooty show-offs.  I was just happy doing it.  
     As a final touch, my Guest Book awaited you, on the way out, if you wanted to mark the moment with a signature or blurb (sometimes, we joked as we flipped backwards through it, admiring our past fun).  As I walked you to your car and waved Goodbye, I knew that you enjoyed a "moment of mental peace", an "escape from stresses", lots of laughter, and "great food and company"!  Maybe you met somebody new at my home, because I like bringing people together.
     I look fondly on those days.  My current Astoria apartment can't fit as many people, but I realize that sometimes it's good to be the host, and sometimes it's good to be the guest (a cheerful personality enhances both roles).  Many days are ahead of us, and I look forward to socializing in many ways!