"P" is for Paradisiaque (le) Pére Pinard

Newly anointed, Tenny "Give me a beer, son" Pearson, organized a splendid evening of French cuisine. Some nights are all about the food, and other nights are more about the party. le Pére Pinard was a nice balance of both. Let's start with the food. Some dishes shined, and others waned, and even a few whined (Sweeney). The starters were part of the shine family: French Onion soup, caprese salad, goat cheese in puff pastry. The onion soup was quoted as "one of the best i've ever had", "wanted to lie down in a big bowl of it", "a true highlight". There is just something so damn sexy about French Onion soup. How many babies have been made after eating French Onion Soup? Am I wrong here people? The caprese salad had mozzarella with a texture and taste more reminiscent of burrata than it did the usual rubbery, white slaps of store bought mozz ("muzz" as New Jersey would say). We might have selected every possible entree that was being served that night: ribeye skewers w/ peppercorn sauce and asparagus (a special), sole in beurre blanc with orzo and veggies, Shepherd's Pie, hanger steak with roasted potatoes (another special), and pan seared skate with a caper butter sauce. And since I was remiss in not tasting all the dishes for "O" night, my belly and I made a mission to play chinese fire drill around the table and take a little bite of each dish. The sauce on the heavy portioned sole may have been better than the actual fish, but the fish still held it's own with a light, fresh taste. The ribeye was flavorful and tender, served with a peppery, creamy dipping sauce. The food wasn't the most memorable we've had, but judging by the clean plates around the table, it was enjoyable enough.

The other nice thing about (le) Pére Pinard was the seating. We gathered around a big rustic, picnic-like table that allowed us to do a little musical chairs throughout the evening. We had two big surprises that night and #2 was Allison - she's engaged! Apparently after repeatedly watching Beyonce's hit video "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)" and realizing that Southern women couldn't cook nearly as well as Allison, he popped the question. We're seriously falling like flies here at Zupper Club.

Our special guest of the night was Candice Matthews, whom you might recognize as the lead singer in the all girl band "Date Nite". Luckily, she sat near Phil & Andrea, and it looks like Candy could be headlining at the Covitz's wedding. Andrea's Mom will be tickled pink! Dan got a little loopy and tried to tell Tenny about the dark web of zupper management but that's just nonsense. For all those who know what I'm talking about, don't worry, I've drugged him and his memory has been erased. We've also received more interest in franchising this puppy out (Zupper West has already begun and a Zupper SF is in potential development). Anyone who has ideas on how to commercialize this thing, let me know. And the #1 most interesting news of the night came from Molly. Apparently she loves magazines like South Jersey Girl Bride, and grew up with an ex-hitman teaching her to play the piano. No? Not that riveting? The guy hung around their house a lot and murdered like a lot of people. Trust us, it really explains a lot about Molly.

Kudos to Tenny for a superb night - she definitely earned her Zupper name. 16 months down, 10 to go!

"O" is for Oh My, Omai!

"O" night was certainly memorable because of the tasty Vietnamese food, but also because this was the first Zupper night it snowed! As snowflakes the size of golf balls fell upon the city, an impressive group of 12 (keep in mind this was during the holidays) were welcomed into a small, but chic and inviting dining room. There's something about the winter months that make you hungrier. Maybe it's the extra effort of walking through the wet streets, or getting dressed and undressed. Or, maybe it's just the perfect excuse for everyone to rationalize eating lots of comfort food and drinking pint after pint of Sierra Nevada. Either way, it's a wonderful time to get together and eat, and Omai was a perfect spot for the task. As New Yorkers, we have option after option of authentic, delicious ethnic food. From the Michelin starred, to the Shendy Halal cart, New York is filled with wonderous specialties from overseas. Omai is no exception. Omai represented a nice balance of the traditional, but somehow still felt like the typical NY restaurant you'd recognize anywhere. The restaurant was upscale without feeling stuffy, and the food was sophisticated without tasting complicated or fussy.

The menu is a difficult one, but only because every single item looked devour-ishly good. We started with a variety of decent spring rolls and grilled prawn rolls dipped in peanut sauce. The apps were probably more impressive and fresh than noted, but that's probably because the entrees left a more indelible mark... well, my entree at least. (You know, it's not easy remembering everyone's dish. And yes, I could start writing these in a little more timely fashion in order to better represent each Zupper's experience. And no, I'm not feeling guilty about it.) The Omai salad was anything but a salad in the traditional sense. A large steaming bowl of Vietnamese classics - filled with omai rice vermicelli noodles, salty pork, grilled shrimp and crispy spring rolls. It was perfect in that you could either combine flavors, or appreciate each ingredient as it's own clean, pure taste. I was also fortunate enough to taste Jen's dish - jumbo shrimp sauteed in a light coconut curry sauce. The first scent of the dish reminded me of those rich tasting, but somehow light Indian sauces that I love so dearly. The shrimp were perfectly cooked - the meat had a nice tender snap, far from chewy or fishy.

In-between eating, we toasted the engagement of Phil & Andrea - another one bites the dust! I wonder who will be next... Unlike "N", the night was void of drama, adventures or juicy gossip. It was just one of those great nights out, with great friends and great food. This is a definite Zupper recommend (but if you're also looking for another tasty Vietnamese place, we suggest stopping by Kampuchea on the LES. It has a different vibe; but the communal tables, street style sandwiches, noodle bowls and the Flaming Lips soundtrack make it an equally worthwhile experience.)

"N" is for November Nippy days and Natwurst Nosh @ Nürnberger Bierhaus

So what does a supper club do on an unseasonably cold day of 30 degrees in November? Take a ferry to Staten Island in search of sausages, of course. We decided to get our bellies ready and explore the unknown (Staten Island). The day began around 3pm at the Staten Island Ferry depot. We had two visiting friends from California, Debbie Hampton and Marina Myler, who Dan had somehow duped into boarding a ferry in the freezing cold, to eat sausages, in Staten Island, with a bunch of NY lushes. So, with the group intact and 100 other unassuming tourists, we boarded the free ferry. The boat ride was actually pleasant, with beautiful views of the city and Statue of Liberty. We arrived in the massive terminal-like port and took a guess at which outlet would have the correct #46 bus. That was our first mistake. (Not that anyone will, but if you do read this and decide to do what we did, make sure you find out how often the buses come around.) We lined up outside and after watching several of every other bus fly by, our group began to get anxious. Yoga poses, interpretive dance moves and lots of inappropriate touching and hugging took place. Just when we thought we couldn't take it any more, we saw the #46 rounding the corner... and just as excitement peaked, the sign changed to OUT OF SERVICE and the shouts of "Hooray!! Woohoo!!" turned quickly into expletives and rhetorical "Why God?!? Why us!??" This happened at least three more times. Either God didn't want us to eat sausage that day, or He was testing us as Zupperites. At one point, reaching her wimpy temperature threshold, Jane stomped over to one of the drivers with her left hand reared back in a punching stance. It must have been her scary presence, or the pink flower on her knit cap, but he quickly took off and bypassed the group.

Finally, a #46 pulled to our stop and the crowd broke into cheers (Well, only us 8 really. The other locals looked at us as if we were psychotic). For many of us, this was our first (and probably) last time in SI so we tried to enjoy the scenic drive through town. After a few false alarms of getting off, then getting right back on, then right back off, we reached our destination - Nürnberger Bierhaus (a.k.a heaven). Walking into that restaurant was the best thing in the world. We all swore that we'd never leave and contemplated moving in. The front room was a welcoming bar area, with a neighborhood pub-like feel. The bartender immediately greeted us and promptly started to dole out steins and lagers. After getting that warm, fuzzy feeling we headed into the main dining room, outfitted with a fireplace and all sorts of random and authentic German memorabilia. The menu is extensive, offering a wide array of traditional German plates, including an entire section called Kartoffelpfännchen (from what we understand, "whale's vagina" in German) - a massive meal of homefries, bacon and onions served with whatever wurst, schnitzel or chop you may desire. Although there were many choices, about half the group quickly announced the were ordering the Wurstteller mit allem Drum & Dran (basically a sampling of all the wursts they serve: pork-beef, pork-veal, kielbasa, veal weisswurst and pork-heartattack). Alex and Tenny ventured out and ordered the jägerschnitzel (breaded port cutlets fried in a brown mushroom sauce). The sausages, particularly the kielbasa and bratwursts with mash pos were the crowd favorite. You can just imagine the sausage jokes that were made with mature 35 year old males at the table. The Reibekuchen appetizer and apple cake dessert are also worth mentioning. Reibekuchen is a fancy name for fried potato pancakes served with applesauce and sour cream, and were so good, we devoured them in seconds. I think it was because they were crispy and delicious, but it also could have been that we had been waiting an hour to put something warm in our bodies. The apple cake, eh, well... came when we were over-served so I don't remember much, but just take my word and order it. It was delicious, I think.

The service was great and swift with the food and the beer refills. Actually, very swift. At one point, out of no where, we heard a gasp, then the sound of broken glass and dripping beer. Von Klutz Rollman shattered his 12 inch pilsner glass all over the table. Luckily, it was completely full. After his blushing and apologizing, our dear waitress quickly replaced the beer. Not even 15 minutes later, Dan was in the midst of telling a joke and, as if in slow motion, he gently grazed the top of his beer glass with his hand. Again in slow motion, it bobbled up and down and up and down and just as Rollman was about to catch it in his lap... it splashed everywhere and crashed to the floor with humiliating embarrassment. Tenny could have been the saving grace but burst out laughing so hard, she only aided in the fall. At this point, our whole table had our heads down and were laughing so hard we were certain we'd be kicked out. We were...kinda. The somewhat senior (very Eastern European) waitress immediately dropped off our check (without being asked) and gave us all a disapproving stare (without being asked). Not to be undone, we went over to the bar for one last round. Dan's was served in a sippy cup.

As we embarked home, a determined Alex ran back to grab our mini-van cab and thankfully saved us from a bus ride. The car trip and wait for the ferry were filled with the obvious sausage and weiner jokes, a few hand slap tricks from Dan and group photo sessions (see above). Yes, we're massive dorks. But, we were having such fun we decided to keep it going and ended up at White Horse Tavern (near the ferry). It was packed. Well, there was actually only a waitress and a guy who had passed out in his beer, but with our spirits, we felt like it was packed. Even though the adventure began with blustery weather, ferrys, late buses and mysterious German words, I think it was one of our most delicious and soul nutritious yet. So great that it inspired Marina and Debbie to begin a Zupper West club! Zupper franchising, here we come!

So the final word is: If you dare venture to Staten Island, we highly recommend making a trip to the Nurnberger Bierhaus for some wurst, cold beer and apple cake. Just wear a bib and don't piss off the waitresses.

"M" is for Max and a Mega Meatball!

The Zupper Club takes its letter seriously: Molly picked Max as the restaurant, Mike ordered a Meatball the size of his Melon, Matt Rivitz joined as special guest, and Rollman and Magnusson Made out!

I have been to Max once before in the summer, and enjoyed the seasonal fare, but was so close the person next to me, I could barely concentrate on my food. Maybe it's because we were in a big group, but the experience this time was a little more roomy, cozy and enjoyable. The food was just as delicious, maybe even more so. We started with garlic bread and the prosciutto and mozzarella plate. The bread is not for the garlic feint of heart and the prosciutto was melt in your mouth-salty-porky goodness. Several serious zupperites ordered the signature dish - lasagna. Each dish came baked in a crock, bubbling over with molten magma-like tomato sauce and cheese. It was simply wonderful - layers of thick noodles and meaty, fresh tomato sauce. The food was so authentic, you'd imagine a plump, old Italian woman was in the back, rolling out the noodles with Pavarotti serenading her in the background. To the contrary, what we found in the kitchen turned out to be two short, hairy Mexican men shouting at each other over a large flame (see pic). *Word of caution about the lasagna - the surface of the sun isn't nearly as hot as this dish. Watch out before digging in.

The winning dish of the night belonged to Mike (although, ask him 4 hours later and he may not have agreed. actually, ask his wife 8 hours later and she definitely wouldn't have agreed). First of all, the size of it rivaled a ten pound bowling ball. Then after deconstructing the m'ball, and several arguments over whether the thick white center (that was wrapped in prosciutto) was cheese or a hard boiled egg, Mike was able to dig in and enjoy. And to his delight (or to his later chagrin) we discovered it was in fact both an egg and a ball of cheese. Wow.

Max turned out to be the perfect spot to get out of the cold, drink some wine and eat some Italian on the cheap. And we can't end this without mentioning that M was a Monumental night in that it marked our one year anniversary of the A-Zupper dining club. We've eaten together, every month, consistently now for 12 months. Now, only 14 months to go. Easy, cheesy.

"L" is for Lessons Learned

Zupper speaking, "L" is actually for La Nacional tapas restaurant in Chelsea. But I've named this entry as Lessons Learned because I think we learned a couple important things that night. It started with a small group of Zupperites and a couple of beers across the street. We headed over to the restaurant and began scoping it out while we waited for a couple people to show up. Upon peering in, the place looked pretty empty and non-inviting. We began questioning. Then questioning quickly became doubting. Next thing you know, I'm yelling "let's go, let's go, let's go to Lombardi's!!" Nick & Alex are quickly yelping every L restaurant in Manhattan and Rollman is pacing outside telling us not to panic (hoping the host doesn't see us). Then, as if in divine intervention, Rollman gives us a much needed pep talk and reminds us that we are indeed Zupperites, culinary adventurers & foodie explorers. We can't turn to Lombardi's in face of the unknown or seemingly shady digs. Plus, Allison would never lead us astray, right? (Although we had another shameful moment and almost accused Allison of setting us up since she wasn't there).

Well, our dear Allison did not lead us astray and the evening, nor the food, was boring. The dining room was nondescript but cozy and within 15 minutes, young couples on dates and old Spanish men came trickling in. Although we ordered several entrees, the tapas were the highlight of the night and the reason I'd return. Fried baby artichokes were lightly fried and served with lemon aioli. The buttery crust didn't overwhelm, but rather complimented the bright artichoke flavor. A variety of Spanish cheeses (we didn't receive details) were creamy and salty. The chorizo slices were served hot and delicious, with a good balance of spice (good enough for me to promptly order another round when Mike came in). Meatballs tasted good, but they were just meatballs - no Spanish flare of any sort. On the other hand, the shrimp were served in a fantastic garlic-spicy sauce and perhaps tasted more "Spain" due to the olive oil. We followed with a classic and vegetarian paella, and the codfish. The paella was beautiful in its presentation, and fine in its taste. It could have used a little more flavor, but the rice was cooked well (tricky in paella) and both boasted fresh tasting vegetables, fish and meats. The only thing I really remember about the codfish is that it was hard to tell which was the codfish and which were the potatoes (but that was after a couple pitchers of deceptively strong Sangria). Service was quick and attentive, and the bill didn't break the bank.

Interesting things to note (and had I done my homework, I probably wouldn't have doubted). There are no signs outside, and this is due to the fact that it is still the gathering spot for the Spanish Benevolent Society, founded in 1888 to provide a cultural welcoming for Spanish visitors and ex-pats. This also explains the strange room you have to first go through in order to get to the dining room. The club sponsors performances, and has a bar that not only shows all the Spanish soccer matches, but also provides little tables for card games and socializing.

Muchas gracias a La Nacional y Covitz, Andrea, Sweeney, Nick, Alex, Rollman y Tenny para un tiempo muy divertido y muy delicioso!

"K" is for Krazy Kreole Kookin at Kombit

"K" was a myriad of memorable experiences, very few having to do with dining. The first and probably the best experience of the night was the guest appearance of baby Julia Nissan (broke the record for youngest Zupperite appearance). She might also break the record for cutest Zupperite (sorry Colin, I know you were campaigning for that one). While we applauded Colin for his pro-risk, cavalier choice in the exotic - Caribbean Creole - we lambasted him for his suspect, non-investigative, "dysentery farm" pick of where to eat. (Noooo, it wasn't that bad. I'm just kidding. But seriously, the place is like a block away from Colin's apartment. Maybe a quick "let me stick my face in this place to make sure the waiters are breathing and that they're not cooking up some nasty goat" would've been a good idea.)

Sooooo, the restaurant didn't quite deliver on service (it's like they were brewing the beer in the back... and, there wasn't even anyone in the place!) decor, or food, or really anything else that you go to a restaurant for but hey, who cares, it was a critics pick on NYMag.com and they never lie! Of course, the very first review on NY Mag reads "I'm not used to Caribbean spices, so I got sick afterwards, but I'd still go back"... Hmmm. Words to consider.

Skip the starters (bbq wings were light on the meat, and the coconut shrimp were pretty typical). I ordered the shrimp gumbo and I was actually impressed. The flavors were complex, rich but not heavy and the shrimp tasted fresh. Traditional rice and beans were served family style and were equally tasty. Mike (**important to note that my sometimes conservative eating husband spent the afternoon at the Yankee/Red Sox game and was undeniably over-served**) ordered the goat. (Yep, that's right. Goat. Not lamb. Not cow. Goat. Goats eat clothing. Goats have horns like the devil. Goats inspired millions of guidos to wear goatees. And yet, with all those facts staring him in the face, Mike still ordered the goat. Bad call.) It was served in a sauce of herbs and spices, resembling a chunky beef stew. Reminiscent of pork tenderloin, yet not as tender. And, well, not as porky either. Another hmmm.

Overall, the group was satisfied with the place but the bizarre decor (or was it the quiet atmosphere?), slooowww service and "mixed bag" dishes probably made it the oddest zupperite meeting so far. But, odd can still be fun and fun we had. Odd can also be delicious. Sometimes.

Special shout out to the Spahrs who just moved to New York. Hope we didn't scare you off.

p.s. guess who was a contributing editor to this post?

"J" is for Joup Jumplings at Joe's Shanghai!

Around 7:30, a group of seven zupperites huddled in a small alley off Bowery, fidgeting and mouths watering as we waited in anticipation of sinking our teeth into the famous soup dumplings from Joe's Shanghai. Thanks to our seasoned vet, Butter My Rollman, we were amply prepared for the great (and often dangerous) art of eating soup dumplings. We graciously perused the menu out of habit, but we already had a shortlist of desired items in our minds. Rollman & Sweeney took initiative and ordered the night's spread. Within a few minutes, cold TsingTaos and three baskets of dumplings were planted at center table.


We began by pouring a small amount of the table "soy" sauce mixed with a sriracha-like sauce that looked like it was studded with red pepper flakes. After several jokes related to men's "tonsils" and such, we dug in. Obeying Rollman's direction, we each slowly nibbled on the outside of the tender pork dumpling, letting a bit of the hot steam escape. After another small nibble or two, we began sucking out the soup. Just the broth alone packs a ton of shanghai flavor (mmm... salty! mmm... porky!) With one bite, there was an explosion of juicy, ground pork with the lingering taste of tender dumpling dough. Good thing I was wearing my napkin as a bib - the small explosion of flavor went dribbling down the sides of my spoon on more than one occasion. The third basket was filled with crab and pork (and the same dribbling smiles from the crowd, although I do think the pork were the best).

Just as our smiles faded with the last trace of dumpling, we were brought new rounds of TsingTao and steaming plates of meat, vegetables and shanghai noodles. Had we not dug in like animals, we might have noticed that two of the dishes didn't resemble what we ordered (or what we thought we ordered). The General Tso's chicken and vegetables and beef with string beans were the crowd pleasers, while the crispy chicken (which wasn't so crispy) and the noodles (which weren't the little flat ones we were seeking) were still tasty, but didn't really wow. But hey, they had a tough act to follow. It wasn't really their fault.

All in all, a culinary feast and success. As we relaxed, fat and happy, we recalled the past 10 months of fine New York dining and toasted making it to "J" night. We've had babies, marriages, new jobs and new members (a special welcome to newest member Tenny Pearson!). I'm feeling a bit nostalgic (perhaps I'm still giddy from my love affair with the dumplings last night) and extremely proud of our little club. Now, forge on zupperites! We've got some "K" eatin' to do.