Darren W.
Yelp
Earlier in the year, I missed out on an opportunity to come here before a concert. Tonight however, with rush-hour roads particularly congested due to the NHL draft, Kay and I parked the car in a leafy, shaded part of Butler Street, and went to New Amsterdam.
With bohemian graffiti on the side and an industrial motif in the storefront complete with a retractable garage door which was open for the summer evening, New Amsterdam is fashioning itself into a unique Lawrenceville fixture without a drop of sweat.
Our terrific twosome of young, female, adorably chichi servers were rays of utter sunshine to everyone from mohawked urban guerillas to middle-aged mothers. We were immediately made to feel as if we were just spontaneously visiting some good friends at their mod East End apartment.
I know I keep alluding to "hipness," and there's nothing wrong with it, really. I only have issues with it when it is done too laboriously or in an attempt to alienate and exclude or when it's simply silly or lame. NA get a big "N/A" on every one of those dotted lines because it just is what it is. Everyone is welcome at NA, and the prices are affordable. Not being a drinker, I can imagine feeling gobs more comfortable here than in neighboring bar Partners, where I fear I'd likely find myself having to knock someone on his ass or some more pretentious place where I'd laugh at everyone.
So what did I think of the food? I mean, why else would a semi-straight-edger like me come here?
I came very close to ordering the Pulled Pork Sliders since they came with potato salad, but our server raved about Jimmy's Fish Taco and offered to make the desired side-dish substitution, so I went pescaterian for supper.
The scorched tiger stripes on the artful, cut-on-a-bias tortilla gave each munch a charred, campfire hug, one that included a fully-stuffed sleeping bag of creamy, tender Mexican flavors and textures. Cubes of cauterized Mahi Mahi snuggled alongside avocado, tomato, and a peppery orange mayonnaise that bled down my fingers as I gently savored each half.
The potato salad stand-in had a runny dressing, huge cuts of spud, and some hints of bacon and onion. While not a truly great potato salad to my palate, I didn't find myself wishing for fries either as it was a notch above serviceable but probably could have used more salt, acid, thickness and tubers that were boiled a little longer than they were.
Kay ordered the Mediterranean Trio, a hearty platter of an appetizer that includes hummus, spinach/artichoke dip, grilled pita triangles, and an assortment of olives. The pita bread alone was such a perfect balance betwixt pillowy and mildly crispy that they almost needed nothing to go with them. The nutty, thick, satisfying hummus only vaulted the pita bread to further heights. However, the spinach/artichoke dip, while acceptably gooey, was somewhat deflating with its seeming paucity in terms of seasoning; I didn't detect any salt, let alone garlic, something I know can make the dish wail like Uli Jon Roth.
We also ordered a sextet of garlic parmesan wings that astounded us with golden, brittle, aromatic hides that garbed some of the most lovingly lardy and 'licious (hey, what would Chuck Berry do? eh?) poultry I've ever had aside from Frisch's, which might was well be a galaxy away in Whitehall.
We were asked if we wanted some cheesecake for dessert, but with plans in mind to head down the road to Sinful Sweets, we politely declined.
New Amsterdam epitomizes what urban living can and should be. Not exceedingly voguish and never roguish, all but the most fatuous guttersnipes will enjoy themselves here.
P.S. Why do mere soft drinks, my choice of carbonated beverage being Sprite, taste so much better to me in bars? Perhaps it was the heavy, transparent glass that was colder than winter and teary with condensation or the fact that I work too hard in an environment that is far more inhospitable than I deserve. Having mentioned that, I didn't feel out of place in my soiled jeans and pocket t-shirt, demonstrating NA's liberal atmosphere yet again.
P.P.S. If I was a much younger single man, I'd be in love with the two waitresses/barmaids, who would probably just think I'm a nice guy. And I still am. Too much so for my own good so I've been told on occasion. I hope their special someones treat them like special someones if they in fact have special someones.
