107176135672798925

tim, ryan, and i checked out 50 carmine last night. apparently, sara jenkins (daughter of food writer nancy harmon jenkins) is supposed to be one bad-ass italian cook. after reading new york magazine’s glowing review and asimov’s equally complimentary write-up in the times, i was hoping to be impressed. and i wasn’t. we had the razor clam ceviche and the baccala to start. the former was heavy on the red onion and had barely discernible clam, while the latter was excellent but skimpily portioned. optimism still unflagging at this point, i was looking forward to jenkins’ much-venerated pastas, and tim’s gnocchi di patate with oxtail ragu was right on the money, but my bucatini con cavolo nero and ryan’s pasta with many cheeses were eh. mine was underseasoned; his tasted like a watered down version of kraft. of the entrees, ryan’s duck bested my flavorless venison and tim’s perfunctory rabbit, but it wasn’t anything to get excited about. all in all, disappointingly mediocre, and not worth a return trip. it’s really frustrating to eat out in new york. at all the mid-ranged spots, one’s still bound to pay at least $60 per person, and yet, nearly every experience is really not that great. and this is new york, fer chrissakes!

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