Sitti, Authentic Lebanese

                                                                                                                                Visited in February, 2015

Next door at Gravy Restaurant, ten minutes before their opening:  “Could you let us in? We’re really cold. It’s freezing out here.”

The Gravy manager barked, “You’ll have to wait until we are open.  Not before.”

“We don’t need a table right away, can’t we just wait inside the door where it is warm?”

“No.”

“Jerks,” I muttered irritably.

“Are you still hungry?” my wife asked, ignoring my grousing.

“Look at you, your fingers are turning blue. You’re shivering. What else is nearby?”

“Sitti is right next door.”

“We’ve already been there twice.  The service was slow, the bar tender worthless.”

“That was just your martini.  You enjoyed the food didn’t you?  Besides I don’t see anywhere else.”

“I suppose.” I replied without conviction or even enthusiasm.

Well before the evening rush, there were plenty of tables. A waiter appeared. “How are you this afternoon, sir? My name is Ross.” Before us stood a stolid, somewhat stocky, unruly haired young Celt, either totally unfazed or unable to read my dour expression. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“How am I?  Let me tell you. We’ve just been pushed out in the cold by Gravy, and we’re hungry. Vivian is there a wine you would like?” I so wanted this to be fun, but I was not optimistic.

“Yes, this looks good.” she replied cheerily and returned the wine list to Ross.

“And for you sir?”

Grumble, grumble. “Is this bartender any good? The last two times we’ve been here, the drinks were terrible.”

“How so?”

“I like martinis. On our first visit, after reminding the waiter twice, mine finally arrived, well after we had begun eating. The second time – it arrived with ice chips all over the surface, obviously shaken when I had asked for stirred. Water kills gin.”

Ross’s eyes twinkled; his body language read “Ignore gruff.” He paused, smiled disarmingly, and responded, “How do you like your martini?”

Good man. No fear, very professional.  I liked him, but I still barked, “Tanqueray gin, classic not dry, not shaken, stirred only a few times, and straight up, with an olive. And better bring me a jigger of olive juice for insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“Yes, insurance, if it’s poor, I can drown it down dirty.”

“I’ll bring the juice, but you won’t need it. You’ll be pleased. To be sure, I’ll make it myself.”

I warmed to this guy.  My wife and I had begun to thaw.

The drink arrived, I sipped. “Ross, thank you, this is good.” He waited a bit more, the restaurant was not yet crowded. Though he had no accent, I wondered out loud,”You’re not Scottish by any chance, are you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact; my mother still lives there.”

And so started a conversation, first about Scotland, then his educational background, and finally the restaurant itself. He told us about the old time photos on the walls, “Many if not all are relatives of the owner, including his ‘Sitti’ which in Lebanese means ‘grandmother,’ the most important, and most beloved figure in any Lebanese family.”

We were in good hands. Ross’s martini calmed my inner dragon. “And so my new friend, what do you recommend?” Sitti organized its large, tri-panel menu by: Cold Mezze (salad, soup, sides); Entrees and Kabobs; and Hot Mezze and Pizzettes. “So many choices.”

The table pita arrived, fresh warm billowing pillows of goodness. Vivian and I relaxed enough to discuss Burning Coal’s production of Romeo and Juliet that we had just this afternoon. By the second martini, we were reminiscing about other productions. 

I truly enjoy lentil soup, one of the world’s great accomplishments, and Sitti’s ranked among the best, and also one of the most unusual.  Tonight’s included not only dark lentils but shredded grape leaves in a tangy vegetable broth. Slivers of a white root vegetable replaced the typical rice. Neither Vivian nor I could quite place the very fragrant spice. I’d go back just for the soup. Not ordering any appetizer, Vivian tried my soup and loved it.

Her shrimp kabob arrived off the spit, tangy with a delectable sauce.  “One of the best shrimp dishes I have ever had.” She exclaimed. I tasted the tails (yes the tails, I like them crispy and chewy).  The sauce was indeed good, not oily, and not overly spiced.  Her white rice, served with brown, fried bits of vermicelli and slivered almonds, was quite good.  

After all these good treats, my swarma was a bit of a disappointment.  Having lived in New Jersey with its large Middle Eastern population, the swarma I was used to was meat shaved from a large vertical-spit of overlapping cuts of meat.  What I received were pan fried, indistinguishable morsels of beef and lamb. My guess would be that the demand for swarma in Raleigh doesn’t warrant setting up a true swarma spit – nevertheless, this second best was just that.

Because it sounded so bizarre, I ordered garlic whips as my side.  Bizarre? Yes! As strange as Aladdin’s magic carpet and even more transportive. Wow, what a grand taste. Ross described it as a mixture of egg whites, garlic, salt and a small amount of oil.  It was far lighter than mayonnaise and spread wonderfully. Next time, especially if the lentil soup is not au jour, I’m ordering garlic whip as my appetizer.

In the hopes that we might someday bring our grandchildren, we checked out the children’s menu. It’s as much fun as the adult fare: mini tastes of hummus, baba ghanouj, and labneh; cheese pizzette with house-made mozzarella; chicken kabob; or peanut butter and jelly on pita. We laughed over the Lebanese interpretation of our traditional PB&J.

We shared the baklava for dessert: five pieces, sweet but not too rich; we could even taste the pistachios.  To Vivian’s disappointment, they did not serve Turkish Coffee.

On leaving we thanked Ross profusely, “Great time; you’ve made me want to come back.”

 

Sitti Authentic Lebanese is located at: 137 S. Wilmington Street, Raleigh, NC 27601.   919-239-4070.   http://www.sitti-raleigh.com/

Vincent’s Restaurant

Easy go – easy come.

OMG all of Vincent’s restaurants are dropping away, first Cucina di Milano in Morrisville and then Vincent’s on Creedmoor Road -- two of our favorite Italian restaurants.  Now gone. Gooooooooone.

After learning about the closing of Cucina, we went to Vincent Barresi’s flagship restaurant on Creedmoor, mostly to explore what it was like.  We loved it – but ours was a love heading headlong into regret, not because of the food, far from that – so delicious. Our regret came when our waitress told us that this was the restaurant’s very last night.  Tomorrow – no more.

After dinner, still feeling the savory warmth of that truly glorious, no frills Italian, just-like-grandma’s, cooking, I ventured over to ask Vincent, “What gives? Why the closings?”

True to his typical Italian courtesy, first he hugged and greeted us warmly, asked us about the food, and then proceeded to introduce his father, Dominick, who also worked the floor. Only then would he talk business.  People always come first.

With their lease coming to an end at that site, a decision had to be made.  Closing seemed the best option. 

But not to fear! 

A reincarnated Vincent’s is on its way in a new location, Glenwood South. The actual name is still under discussion, a so very Italian process where all the family participates, debates, argues, perhaps even shouts, but eventually confirms the final decision by the boss himself, a system of decision making I recognized from my own Italian in-laws. 

The new place will open before the beginning of April. What delightful news.

I’m so looking forward to seeing Vincent again, watching him as he oversees his new pride and joy.  And, let’s face it, I’m also looking forward to some of his old favorites like fettuccine Bolognese and shrimp scampi – so very good, and so comforting. The Creedmoor crowd will miss him greatly, but most had to get there by car anyway, now it’s just a bit further.

The new Vincent’s will feature many of the old favorite recipes – and perhaps even a few new dishes.  It will also feature a full bar – to my mind a change much to be appreciated. Vincent also assured us that easy parking will be right next door.

Look for the announcements for Vincent’s up-and coming-gotta-go-to place.

Gravy Italian-American Kitchen

Think “restaurant”, and one generally thinks hospitality and congeniality – along with the enjoyment of dining. Not so at Gravy.

A few weeks back, Vivian and I saw Romeo and Juliet at Burning Coal Theater.  A wonderful and ingenious interpretation that required great skill, energy and understanding from the actors.  After the play, we were eager to discuss our views over a fine evening meal.
Earlier that morning we had reminisced about good times at Gravy, back when our friend Ray was the bartender.  His martinis were fantastic; the food was always home-cooked good.  What better place to continue our discussion of such a fine, modern interpretation of Shakespeare.
We arrived around 4:30; Gravy would open at 5:00.  It was a brisk cold day, but we made use of the interval to walk around downtown Raleigh.  But enough was enough. My wife hates the cold; her fingers, even in the best of gloves, still go blue so we headed back; at least we could stand in the entryway to keep out of the wind.

Ten minutes before five, the tables were empty, the waiters stood ready, and the receptionist was at her desk.  I motioned to her -- she courteously unlocked the door.  “Could we come in just to wait, we are both very, very cold.”  She asked her manager; he replied,” NO.”

Just freeze while we fiddle with the forks.

That disdainful manager snuffed out our joy of being back at Gravy.  We left and had our grand discussion, fine drinks and dinner at another restaurant.

Preparing to write this blog, I checked Gravy’s website for its address and telephone number.  Though hard to believe, it wasn’t there.  Not on the homepage, nor on any of its tabs, including the “about” page.  After reading and re-reading everything and fifteen minutes later, I finally found the “contact us” page, and there it was.  Not only was common sense marketing ignored, so also was an obvious courtesy to its patrons. Why make it so hard to find the obvious?

No page mentioned any obligation or interest in their guests; the site only touted the quality of the food (and it is good, quite good in fact), the credentials of the chef, and opportunities for catering and private parties. Arrogance? More likely ignorance.

To be a guest at an Italian’s table is a deep honor, and deep pleasure.  The hosts express their welcome by cooking their best dishes.  Italian dining is primarily social, what is served is a reflection of the hosts’ hospitality, and a chance to honor those who are present.  My Italian father-in-law, though a very busy corporate executive, spent time each week bringing people to his Sunday table; only after the inviting would his wife and he discuss what to serve.  The food itself was just an expression of regard for their friends.  When Italians invite you to diner, it is you they want to see; your happiness is foremost. Even a generation later, I still find this universally true.

Oh sorry, not at Gravy. 

Located at 135 S. Wilmington St, Raleigh, NC.  919-896-8513.

 

RED MONKEY TAVERN

Luck was a lady that night.

Before retiring to Raleigh, we lived in NY/NJ and then DC, both areas rich in restaurants of all prices and ethnic varieties.  We enjoyed “regular” status in both areas, and even garnered good friends from waiters there, one whom my wife even invited to our daughter’s wedding.  Moving to Raleigh to be close to family meant we gave up a lesser benefit for the greater – and yet we yearned for the cozy, emotionally satisfying feeling of a restaurant we liked, whose management and waiters knew us, and to which we could escape as we needed. 

We accidentally fortuned onto Red Monkey. Impatient with the long line at Crabtree Mall’s Cheesecake Factory, we journeyed next door.  Though Red Monkey’s parking lot entrance gets eclipsed by the jazz of its neighbor, don’t pass it by.  If you’re in the Mall look for the spiffy red bi-wing plane that hangs over its mall entrance.

Inside, the club like atmosphere beckons one to enter a world of imagination and delight, where quality trumps excess quantity.  An incised red arabesque swirls across the ceiling, beckoning exploration. I love the large bronze monkeys, especially the one golfing and another geared up in a Paddington coat. Nooks hold various whimsies, including a toy British double decker holding candy.  Antique lights and crystal chandeliers shine on portraits and posters of by-gone Hollywood stars. Everything seems a bit off center, even a bit hokey, but in its own asymmetric style, it all fits. Though the room tingles with the warm hubbub of groups having fun, the well-stuffed burgundy crescent banquettes and the high backed, mad-hatter chairs frame individual eating nooks for cozy, and intimate conversation.

After our first experience at Red Monkey, I read the reviews; not so great.  Several complained of the recent changes. Though retaining the five TVs over the bar, the Monkey, under manager Guy Meacham’s guidance, had metamorphosed from sports bar to chic restaurant frequented by families and couples. Never has Guy not been there to greet us; has he a bed in the basement? With mixed feelings the other night, we noted his success, every chair occupied. I hope the owners truly appreciate Guy; it is so easy to take such talent and work ethic for granted.

Last Saturday, I called to reserve a banquette only to be told by Laura, in her truly gentle voice, that they did not take reservations. At my request, Guy came to the phone and said not to worry, there would be a table waiting for us.  When we got there, a hand-printed sign on the table read, “Reserved Headmaster.”  What a fleecy warm stroke to my ego.  I waved to Zack who tended bar; he waved a great smile back.  Young couples sat tête-à-tête; families gathered around the larger tables; and kids of all ages (even those sulky teen years) seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Patrick, our favorite waiter, was off that night; Daryl took his place.  He chatted with us and played a bit with Nicholas our three year old grandson, who had already informed me, “No cherries -- olives tonight.” Referencing the Manhattan I’d had a few nights back, he now staked claim to this night’s drink garnish.  As we all got settled, I took off with Nicholas to “interview” Zack.  Without slowing his pace, Zack managed to discuss the importance of Hemingway, bring another couple at the bar into our conversation, hand Nicholas a few more olives, and go on to recommend my reading Milan Kundera, a Czech now living in France and nominated several times for a Nobel Prize in literature.  What fun.  I so rarely get to talk about our literary world.  Red Monkey is quirkily confident enough to enjoy and keep a bartender so literate and engaging.  Guy hires great people, no mere tray holders or menu rattlers. Daryl, tonight’s waiter, presented well:  a warm, friendly smile accented by a short well-kept beard. Originally from the Princeton area of New Jersey, he and his wife have moved to Raleigh where he works in human relations with a large company.

Red Monkey’s menu strives for understated quality; the chef takes ordinary American dishes and amplifies them to high levels of excellence. My son, a food truck chef and owner, had the On the Border Burger ($12) which he raved about: great concept, great taste, juicy burger and fantastic fries.  His wife, a vegetarian, had the Rock Shrimp Bisque ($6) and the spinach and feta cheese South of the South Empanadas Haven ($10); three per plate, flaky dough, moist and savory.  My wife had the Lobster BLT ($18); my sister the Monkey Field Green Salad ($9).   Nicholas also had his usual, kid’s mac and cheese ($4.95), he loved them -- and so did the rest of us.  Tonight I decided against my very favorite, Harrys Carpaccio Rustic ($12), in order to try the Braised Beef Ribs ($22) with its rich mushroom and onion gravy. A real delight.

Our only mishap that evening came when Nicholas accidentally spilled a glass of water all over the table (and my wife).  We all jumped, startling him to tears; others at the table proffered napkins, which proved useless being the non-absorbent, no-iron variety.  Neither Guy, at the far end of the restaurant, nor Daryl, in the kitchen checking on an order, could come to our rescue.  This left only the nearby door receptionists, who produced an unopened package of bathroom hand towels.

This review has been difficult to write.  Witty and acidic come easily; praise not so much. Red Monkey is our go-to place, our Cheers. I hate malls and rarely shop there, we actually go there for the food and the company. To quote its website, “The red monkey has seen the world beneath the wings of his one man biplane. He comes back home to relax in this home away from home with family and friends!”

Red Monkey Tavern is located in Crabtree Mall. 919-896-7412.  http://redmonkeytavern.com