Raining Katz and Dogz

It’s been so cold that food trucking has been prohibitive. So it’s been quite some time since my college roommate Ford McKenzie and I stepped out for a noontime bite to eat. 

Then, out of the blue, he suggests we grab lunch. I suspect he is secretly jealous of my BFF Amanda and the fan base she has built as a recurring guest star on “Culinary Types.”  Personally, I’m not choosy – the more scintillating sidekicks the bigger, as long as they’re entertaining.

Ford pings me that morning for lunch details. I suggest the new deli truck “Katz and Dogz” which I spot that morning parked on 55^th and Broadway.  It promises a Jewish deli on the streets of New York.  

“What hotels are in the area?” Ford asks. Please note, that it is now just assumed that when we get truck food we are going to a hotel lobby to dine.  I offer a few suggestions that Ford summarily dismisses as too small or not hip enough.  I should know better than to take on the fine dining aspect of the lunch adventure.

Ford and I rendezvous at 55^th Street and Broadway shortly after noon. While I have assumed that Katz and Dogz is affiliated with the famous Katz Deli of New York, Ford informs me that this is not the case at all and the K&D team is actually Brooklyn-based. “So much for truth in advertising,” Ford remarks.

Ford is dressed urban urbane. He’s wearing a black leather jacket from Botticelli, black mid-1960s Ivy League style pants, JM Weston penny loafers, a white button down shirt from Maxwell’s of Hong Kong, Bulgari stainless steel watch, and socks and underwear from Target (Or so I’m told.  I know. TMI.).  As I aim to snap a photo he says, “Don’t make me look fat.”  

Now to the food.  Katz and Dogz promises a dining experience that will rock your world.  

We queue up to place our order.  I notice that one member of the K&D team is slicing pastrami paper-thin using one of those circular meat grinders.  If not for the automobile fumes, it would really feel like a deli. Ford orders the Pastrami Paradise on Rye with Mustard and a side of macaroni salad. I order the Rueben Orgasm with Russian dressing on Rye (which sounds way too racy for lunch) with a side of potato salad.  

Ford has come prepared for a covert dining operation.  This is the first time we’ve lunched on the west side and he’s a little uncertain of the landscape.  Will we get easy access to lobby dining, or will west side hotel security be more stringent?  So, all of the food gets concealed in a canvas bag allowing us stealth entry to the hotel of our choice.  

Ford offers two options for our street food, indoor picnic.

“The Novotel in Times Square has a view,” he adds with a glint in his eye. 

“Sold!” I reply.  I’m a sucker for a good vista.  

“I had a feeling,” Ford says and we are on our way.

The Novotel on 52^nd just off of Broadway has recently been remodeled, and is promoting itself as a Four Star hotel.  It sounds like just the right spot for a pastrami lunch.  We enter on the street level undetected.  There is just a bellman’s desk and whole bunch of luggage cluttering the immediate area.  I try to look inconspicuous but I’m wondering if the bellman can detect a hint of pastrami as we breeze past.  

The lobby is actually on the 5^th floor, proof that lobbies are no longer at street level and you can’t count on anything anymore. No underachiever, the lobby bar is called “Supernova.”  

It is a stunning, high tech environment dotted with computers and tables that simulate the effect of ocean waves. Very scenic and somewhat overstimulating.  Note how the computerized water pools around the lunch sack.

I notice that there’s even a soundtrack. We are on Broadway after all. The ambiance is punctuated with a peppy selection of show tunes, jazz and reggae.  

Ford removes the pastrami and corned beef contraband from the lunch sacks. The pastrami is sublime – silky, and perfectly spiced without a hint of grease.   Within moments, it has vanished.  

I’m really not sure how to assess or describe the orgasmic qualities of a Reuben Sandwich. I probably need to spend more time in Times Square.  However, I can tell you that it is quite tasty, and the Swiss cheese and sauerkraut adds a nutty, piquant touch to the Dagwood-sized sandwich.  

The side salads are less than impressive, but the massive sandwiches overshadow any disappointment there. It looks like a lot of food, but within minutes, we seem to have inhaled it all. We’re growing boys, I guess. 

With our ocean wave tabletop cleared of all food, the only thing we haven’t done is checked out the view from the wrap-around outdoor balcony. 

If the Reuben is orgasmic, the view from the Novotel is indeed thrilling, offering a sweeping view of the best of the Great White Way.  

As Ford and I part ways, I return to work defying gravity and humming the theme from “Rocky.”

Late that night, I am scanning the news headlines online and come across a classic David and Goliath smack down. That afternoon, perhaps as we were gorging ourselves on pastrami and corned beef, Katz’s Delicatessen slapped the Katz and Dogz food truck with a lawsuit, claiming the food truck is making money off the deli’s brand without permission.  

I forward the NY Post article to Ford.   He responds with his typical brand of understatement. “Legal or not, it was mighty good pastrami.”

©2014 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

A Touch of Class: Dining at RPM Italian in Chicago

Business travel can be tough on social life, circadian rhythms and diet. But when I visit Chicago, there’s always hope for a reunion with my street food muses, the inimitable Zany and Mad Me-Shell.

As soon as I alert them to my imminent arrival, they are on the case. I’m expecting our menu might be sliders and fries on the corner of Michigan and Randolph, but when it comes to local haute cuisine, the girls are always au courant.

“We thought we'd mix it up a bit and take you to one of the hottest new restaurants in town,” Mad writes. “RPM Italian just opened last Wednesday and we've scored a 6pm reservation. RPM Italian is a new Melman restaurant opened with Bill and Giuliana Rancic -- I'm sure they will be there to greet you!”

Dining indoors? I’m intrigued.

A quick Internet search brings me up to speed. RPM Italian at 52 West Illinois, launched with a glitzy opening just days earlier. For those of you who don’t know Bill Rancic was Donald Trump’s original “Apprentice” winner, and Giuliana is an anchor on E! News. The couple hosts a show on the Style Network. My heart’s all aflutter. Dining with the glitterati is a first for us.

RPM has a sleek, shiny black and white motif. The menu is pure Italian comfort served up on small plates suitable for sharing. We like to share.

I meet up with Zany first in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. She’s looking glam in a smart black and gray ensemble which bridges effortlessly from conference calls to cocktails. I’m wearing a serviceable navy blue pullover, but hey, it’s cashmere.

Zany’s recently become a gin aficionado. The gin epiphany came when she and Mad were drinking tequila at a Mexican cantina. Okay, I don’t quite get it either…

Mad Me-Shell breezes in soon after. She’s decked out in elegant urban black, with just a touch of bling. Mad recently wrapped a grueling street food smack down (which she provoked) that threatened to besmirch her title as the Queen of Chicago Food Trucks. But, don’t expect spoilers on that epic challenge right now. Mad promises she will dish on all the sordid details right here on CT very soon.

We are seated and begin to catch up. Zany and Mad have just come off a grueling weekend kitchen project. They spent 10 hours making homemade ravioli while watching the Daytona 500.

“It was a six-pack-a-person job,” says Mad.

Zany scans the room. “So where are Bill and Giuliana?” she demands. “You said they would be here to greet us.”

“I made that up,” confesses Mad.

“I’m telling your mother,” snaps Zany.

“Oh, add it to the list!” retorts Mad.

We order a bottle of Barbera wine. It is described on the menu as a “Soft and Approachable Wine.”

“How very Italian of us,” says Zany.

Mad takes a sip, swirls the wine in her mouth and murmurs her approval to the waitperson.

“Aren’t you quite the red neck sommelier!” remarks Zany.

After making the waitperson wait an excessive amount of time while we chatter, we finally kick off the meal with a healthy spread of appetizers – Provolone Stuffed Peppers, Arancini, Roasted Beets with Blood Orange and Pistachios, Prime Beef Meatballs, Truffled Garlic Bread and a Pizzette with Cremini Mushrooms and Fontina Cheese. Mad insists that we order the meatballs to offset the beets.

This probably looks like enough food for an army but I swear to you that all these dishes are listed on the menu as “small bites.” Tiny is SO fancy. While scrumptious, the small bites have done little to blunt our appetites, so we order three different pastas – Truffled Farfalle, Porcini Mushroom Risotto, and Lamb Sugo with Chickpea Pasta, Black Olives and Oregano.

At one point during the meal, I elbow Mad. “That guy at that table over there keeps looking at us,” I whisper. “He thinks we’re somebody.”

Mad gives the guy a once over. “He’s an out-of-town businessman,” she pronounces. “To him, we are somebody.”

With such small bites, we certainly have room for dessert, and request a Hazelnut Gelato in a Chocolate Shell and a Caramel Pine Nut Tart with Rosemary Gelato.

We finish things off with Amaro, a dark, bittersweet Italian Herbal Liqueur with flavors like Black Pepper and Bitter Orange.

Zany orders a serving of Cannolis-to-go for her husband Luigi the Baker. “I’m shooting for the Best Wife Ever Award,” she says.

We pronounce the meal a great success. There’s something to be said for sitting down and enjoying a leisurely meal without any threat of automobile exhaust fumes.

“I still would have liked a celebrity cameo,” says Zany.

Mad looks slightly affronted. “I was here. Does that not count?”

As we reach for our coat checks, Zany sums up the evening with her usual flair for words. “We are street scavengers, but we can class it up.”

©2012 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved