The Small Things

Dinner at Stars and Comal

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

Friends,

It’s only Wednesday and I’ve already had two amazing back-to-back meals this week – one Monday evening with Sara Lieberman, my old friend from the Post, at Stars, the new 12-seat wine bar from the Claud/Penny team, where you must go and have many glasses of their super reasonably priced list (88 bottles all under $88 and wines by the glass under $20 which at this point feels like Costco pricing). Have the smooth as silk chicken liver mousse under a crisped shower of frizzled leeks, the shrimp mayo sandwich in a tidy wrapper like a gift, deviled eggs topped with stars made of potato chips, and a butterscotch pudding that gives tiramisu vibes on top and caramel notes underneath. It’s a petite little joint, but it gives serious amounts of joy per square foot.

Dinner at Stars is full of little surprises

Then last night it was dinner with Kiri at Comal ( 116 Forsyth Street), where we ate like we were in Mexico City. Chef/owner Chef Gaz Herbert, formerly of London’s River Cafe and Ikoyi, and Midtown restaurant Jupiter – has created a beautiful wood-paneled oasis, an effortless and easy spot that feels like it’s been there forever but only opened in July. Here, we got the tuna aguachile, the Fat Bastard oysters, the big beautiful lamb burger and his signature Smoked Half Chicken with a fun masa stuffed wing. Do yourself a favor and add on the house trio of salsas, the tiny tortillas, still holding heat from the comal, in a clay croque. We even had ice cream because yes it was 9 degrees but black sesame vanilla swirl is good even in arctic temps.

Effortless and wonderful, dinner at Comal.

The temps are what’s driving this post actually: the cruel cold, not only of the wind, but of the ICE army dispatched by Trump, terrorizing and murdering our brothers and sisters across our nation. It’s hard to wake up and not go back to sleep and stay tucked under a pile of down quilts and cats. But here we are. I don’t have a solution. Vote. March. Walk out. Protest. And in my own world, in my own heart, one solution of sorts is, as corny as it sounds, kindness. Something small, adding extra tip for the Lyft driver, a small hello to my tamale lady and a chat in these see-your-breath mornings on the way to the F train, a smile to the runner breezing past me, a high five to the crossing guards standing out in these temps.

And with regard to our restaurants, I have tried to remember to keep a couple of bucks in my pocket to leave a cash tip for the coat check at restaurants. I am guilty of never having cash in my wallet – it’s just too easy to tap and go, but these days, I am trying to remember to keep some in my wallet. Restaurants are understaffed – no one has a full time coat check person really anymore, so waiters and hosts are doing double duty. When someone takes or brings you a coat, how nice to be able to give a little cash tip. It’s a small thing, but we are solidly in the place where small things, those nearly invisible gestures, leave such an impression.

Andrea