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A few weeks ago I was in Manhattan for work. I had lunch at Jean-Georges’s Nougatine with my agent as well as my editor and publicist (from Scribner no less, home of my literary heroes). It was the kind of lunch I used to dream about when I was in my 20s, writing pretentious novels and lusting after literary fame. Then I walked across the street to Per Se to meet with Keller and Jonathan Benno—for more and different work. Life is good.
I also ate at Daniel with Molly O’Neill, who was writing about Tennessee truffles—Daniel did an all truffle menu for us—along with Sam Beall of Blackberry Farm, and others. The next night, I stopped in at The London NYC to check the place out. I ordered a Negroni at the bar (very sharp, comfortable room), and asked how business was at the restaurant. The bartender shrugged and said lots of British. I thought, “Of course, Ramsay’s got a built in clientele, the Brits—to them he has a cache that he doesn’t have in America.” This was before the ousting of Neil Ferguson, a sad business.
Then I headed over to The Four Seasons where my friends Richard and Ann (Richard, a writer/director, is revising my chef script) treated me to dinner at Joel Robuchon’s new place—exquisite food, maybe the best burger, a mini, I’ve ever had, and a whopping bill.
So life IS good. I hit all the bases in a short time—books, Hollywood, working, eating at the greatest city’s greatest restaurants, and working with the city’s best chefs.
None of it, though, compared with my first night there, or a few dishes that cost two or three bucks apiece. I’d made no plans. Weather was a misery, airports closed all over, I could only get into Newark and felt lucky to have gotten in. I was tired. It was Valentine’s day and I was without my beloved. I went out to look for quick bite, happy to be a bar loser, feed myself and get back to the room.
Keller had mentioned a place near my hotel called Yakitori Totto, a Japanese grill joint. It was freezing outside. At fifty sixth and seventh, I stepped over a puddle onto some solid snow, only it wasn’t solid, and my foot vanished ankle deep in the gray slush. I viewed it as a small gift from a God just having some fun on a slow night.
I arrived at 251 West 55th and looked up the narrow staircase—hmm, second floor, OK. At the top, a tiny room, a bar with maybe ten seats, all filled, maybe 20 other seats, all filled. I stood and watched the room—it was delightfully warm and smoky from the grills; oh I didn’t want to go back out in the cold. An enormously helpful server called a reservation that was so far a no-show and said, OK, you can sit.
I’d heard chicken was their specialty. I wanted everything. A server brought some ginko nuts and I ordered chicken bones, first the breast bone. Three small fin-like pieces of cartilage, nothing more, on a skewer, lightly grilled. I had never eaten chicken breast bone. I took a small bite; it was crunchy. A great snack, mildly chickeny and smoky. I told the server, “These are amazing.” She said, “I like the knees better.” I’d ordered the knees (these are from a menu of 2, 3, 4 dollar plates). Chicken knees—the cartilage and bone of the knee joint. Crunchy like the breast bone but with meat and fat that made it flavorful and juicy and crunchy. I couldn’t believe I was eating chicken bones. Pure chicken flavor and texture. Then the neck, meat off the bone, wrapped around a skewer and grilled—oh my god, it was like eating the best chicken sausage ever, deeply fatty and flavorful.
I had to have more. Heart, grilled rare, juicy and tender and deeply flavorful. Liver, medium rare. Amazing for its texture, chewy, not mealy, with the fresh, clean liver flavor. I had never known chicken like this before. I had some eggplant with miso, some pork belly, but I wrote in my notes, giddy from this revelation and happiness, inarticulate and helpless, “Absolutely best chix ever!”
Lame, perhaps, but true, one of the most surprising meals I’d had in years.
The next day, I went in to work at Per Se. Thomas said, “Where’d you eat last night?” I told him. He turned on like light bulb. “That’s my favorite restaurant!” he said.
“Thomas, I ate chickens bones!”
He grinned and nodded. “Did you have heart?”
“Yes!” I said.
“Did you have the liver?!”
“Yes!”
I’m starting to like Manhattan. Not because it’s got restaurants like Daniel, and Robuchon, and Jean Georges and Per Se, but because on a wintery, Valentine’s, bar-loser night with my shoe full slush, there’s a place like Yakitori Totto that takes you in and for a few dollars changes the way you see.
Right on — In southwestern Zimbabwe, I had a meal of perfectly roasted chicken bones and organ meat on skewers over a campfire. People laugh at me when I tell them how amazing it was. They might still laugh, but it’s nice to know that I’m not alone. Thanks for that.
*sigh* I miss my hometown.
Chicken bones are for more than just stock.
And here I was congratulating myself on the dim sum chicken feet. Okay, gotta try this. Thanks for the tip.
Now that’s the way to not waste animal parts.
First we see fried rabbit ears, and next perhaps…..fried chicken knees?
If it could bring YOU to your knees, I know it must be good.
Anyone else, I would’ve thought it was a knee-jerk reaction.
Omigod, I am not alone in liking all the weird parts!
You are a very lucky man.
Great post. I just got back from NYC too – I am loving it more and more there for similar reasons.
If you like the idea of chicken knees, wait until you see what Michael does with tongue n’ cheek in March’s Food Arts magazine!
Awesome post. I love eating the cartilaginous ends of drumsticks and chicken wings — the best part, in my opinion!
Please write more book and write them right now. After reading this entry, I tried to come up with a clever, short way to say that it’s posts like this from a writer like you that can bring a smile to my face in what has so far been a really crappy day. So instead, I’ll just say thank you.
Damn, Michael, you sure are getting good at these envy-inducing blog posts. Thanks for another brilliant entry.
I’ll have to tell my 11 year old that he’s in good company. He’s always savoring the cartlidge-y bits.
There’ll be no living with him…
Oh Lord, it has been a crappy day. I meant bookS in my earlier post, not book. I sound like Natasha from ANTM. And that is not a good thing.
awww and thanks for the mention…and Tom V and John Stage of Dinosaur BBQ their wives and Richie and I went there and had a blast. Lord there were so many plates on the table, it was a fete. So funny, from the sublime to the cheap and sublime. when I think of the two checks, I really have to have a chuckle, too bad it is at my own ‘expense’…
I have some lambs tongue from the local Middle Eastern Market for dinner later today. Haven’t had it in years. Tried tongue and lamb kidneys when I was a kid in my grandmother’s kitchen. Nice to know that I am not the only one who likes to eat weird. ( raw lamb any one?):)
Cleveland pulled the same snow/puddle trap on me the first time I visited, so now we’re even.
Good call on the Food Arts article, Tags. I laughed the whole way through.
Fantastic post! I didn’t think it’d be possible to find myself lusting after chicken bones, but now I am.
Michael,
After reading your post I quickly read the review the Times gave Yakitori Totto and have a question: Did you try the chicken shashimi?
Hubby and I always fight over cartilage of chicken bones. Sounds like an interesting restaurant. What chef script are you writing?
I was sort of grossed out by your vain celebrity-chef reportage, but man that restaurant sounds amazing (and far from gross). It should be said that I am aware of, and respect, your humility as a chef and writer, despite the lofty position you now inhabit.
Cartilage? Big -yawn- deal.
Wake me up when you eat the popes’ nose.
Seriously though, it sounds like you had a great time in NYC. Better than my last trip for sure -at least from a gastronomic perspective. Me, I had to settle for a great sushi at Sushi-Ann* and then wasted the rest of the night doing stuff like getting to say hello to Vanessa Redgrave while waiting on line to see Julianne Moore and Bill Nihy in “The Vertical Hour” on B’Way.
Whatever.
As Lord Buddah said “existence is suffering” and god knows how I suffer.
*http://tinyurl.com/37tpqu
phil, no, didn’t try the sashimi, though i would in a second, that chicken was so damn good. the best ever! as i said!
chris, yes, i thought about whether or not it sounded as pretentious as my younger self only hoped to be. and i knew it did. but then i thought, first, well, fuck it, this blog is from the vantage of a working writer, and this is what i do. and second, it’s not like i’m don delillo or pynchon or somebody truly revered. i’m still just a schlep living in cleveland eating fatty foods and wallowing in the gray. even harvey pekar, who lives up the street, hates to be in my house. it’s not like i’m in a convertible drinking champagne with bordain and morgan fairchild.
bob, you’re just jealous because I know julianne and you don’t (she’s incredibly gracious, which matches her talent). You could live with this. if you could cook better than me. me, a pretentious writer. your hands are tied, now, i know, but one day…
Damn you big city folk, dammit all!
Ruhlman, with all the facelifts Morgan Fairchild has had, I don’t think she *could* drink the champagne unless she had a straw. You and Bourdain in a convertible, however, is always a good bet, if the Las Vegas No Res ep is anything to go by. Champagne optional.
Randomly, I find the fact that you said “fuck it” inexplicably awesome. I think it’s because you come across as the squeaky-clean sort.
Oh, Michael’s not squeaky clean. There’s no such thing in Cleveland, even in tony Cleveland Heights where he lives. Around here, “fuck” is a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, exclamation, declaration, and prognostication.
If anything, he should get credit because he doesn’t speak like Clevelanders from some of the more earthy, old-ethnic neighborhoods, where “you guys” becomes “youse guys” and “this, that, these, and those” becomes “dis, dat, dese, and does.”
Otherwise, he represents Cleveland pretty fuckin’ good, I’d say.
That was refreshing to read. Chicken parts are a highly underestimated delicacy here in the states. I first had heart, liver, and bones at a small local Yakitori restaurant here in Orange County called Honda Ya and it was outstanding. I was hooked from then on, but it’s still difficult to find places like this that will offer the “nasty bits” here in my area. Seems that a lot of people turn their nose up to it.
You big city kids have it made, man. I’m jealous.
Chris, you’re fuckin’ A right about “fuck” being a Cleveland sentence staple, in every form. Even in fucking Cleveland Heights.
Try Yakitori Totto’s sister restaurant Aburiya Kinnosuke (213 E 45th St), which speciallizes in robata cooking — grilling meat and fish with Japanese charcoal (unusual cuts of fish like red snapper head sliced lengthwise and a chicken meatball stuck to a wooden spatuala standing upright). It’s a little more upscale — but just a little — and reminds me of a smart joint in Tokyo. They also prepare rice dishes and yakisoba (fried soba noodles) in an earthenware donabe pot — a must. I often take friends here to introduce them to the world of Japanese cusine beyond sushi. They’re astounded, every last one… Enjoy, Harris
Just keep blogging Ruhlman. Ego is important anyway. Be ruthless.
Wow, now I understand why my dog loves chicken bones so much. JK.
Sounds great. I love Manhattan.
Michael you wrote
“you’re just jealous because I know julianne and you don’t (she’s incredibly gracious, which matches her talent)”
You are correct on all points. And bully for you that you saw through my shallow attempt to pretend that I was unimpressed by your story.
Now that that’s out of the way.
Do you have her phone number?
That smoky flavor was probably due to the famous Bin cho tan Charcol from Japan. The hottest burning and most flavorful to my mind. If you ever get to Osaka, there’s a small yakitori restaurant called “Satori” in the Toyonaka area. Try the segi-mo (reproductive organs). Killer !
That was sublime. And so disconnected from what’s happening in the real world. Did you see the news that beef and chicken production are being cut back because of the spike in corn prices, linked to corn being used for ethanol. I’m picturing a time when all the rich will be driving into Manhattan in ethanol-laced vehicles to dine so sublimely on chicken bones.
My avocation is a serious cook and serious student of food. My husband and I have archived for the last ten years the best chefs in the world. We are students of Adria (since 1997), Andoni Aduriz ( our favorite chef anywhere in the world) of Mugaritz in the Basque Country; Sebastien and Michel Bras, and O. Roellinger in Cancale,France. Yamamato of Tokyo, Japan and Tojo of Vancouver, BC both inventive Japanese trained chefs.
So Michael your input about food and chefs is very significant in our view. We are followers of your culinary history and welcome every article you author. We have as two people some culinary gravitas so we hope to respond to some of your culinary observations.
Your report of the remarkable chicken menu from this tiny, Japanese restaurant is
our next NY destination. We want to eat one meal at Per Se but we are equally excited about your latest Japanese chicken meal which has, apparently no equal. Thank you. Judith Gebhart
My avocation is a serious cook and serious student of food. My husband and I have archived for the last ten years the best chefs in the world. We are students of Adria (since 1997), Andoni Aduriz ( our favorite chef anywhere in the world) of Mugaritz in the Basque Country; Sebastien and Michel Bras, and O. Roellinger in Cancale,France. Yamamato of Tokyo, Japan and Tojo of Vancouver, BC both inventive Japanese trained chefs.
So Michael your input about food and chefs is very significant in our view. We are followers of your culinary history and welcome every article you author. We have as two people some culinary gravitas so we hope to respond to some of your culinary observations.
Your report of the remarkable chicken menu from this tiny, Japanese restaurant is
our next NY destination. We want to eat one meal at Per Se but we are equally excited about your latest Japanese chicken meal which has, apparently no equal. Thank you. Judith Gebhart
ruhlman:
what i dug about your poultry excursion – or rather, its blow-by-blow from breast to kneecap – is, you didn’t hide the fact that there’s a part of you who’s a great philistine when it comes to food.
i’m surprised keller likes the knobby grub, since most french and francophiles can’t stand to use their fingers when they eat: much less deal with bones and everything connected to such.
This article has been sticking around in my head since I read it. So, what to do? My wife and I have a reservation there Sunday. Thanks for the pointer and fantastic description of your experience.
Michael,
I think I have an idea what you experienced. Every Thanksgiving I reach for those crispy-burnt turkey wingtips that others ignore. They’re crunchy as pork rinds and have this concentrated bacony/poultry flavor.
My wife and I went there this weekend as part of our wedding anniversary, and it was everything you said it was. The knees were still on when we finally got seated (no reservation), we had them twice they were so good! The skin was also fabulous, as was everything we had. Thanks for posting about this, we’d never have known about it otherwise.
And I loooove living in Tokyo as yakitori is my favorite bit. You simply just can’t help but stumble into any one of hundreds of these kinds of joints wherever you go. Glad to know that it has jumped across the Pacific.