On this week's episode of my WVOX Radio Show "Almost Golden," on Wed. March 9 at 11AM EST,I will be interviewing the Sinanaj Brothers,owners of several of NYC's best steakhouse (Empire reviewed below). Go to: WVOX.com. The episode will also be archived at: almostgolden.

         The pandemic hit the Bronx’s Arthur Avenue neighborhood restaurants as hard as any, but, as ever, they survive and in many cases are again thriving, not least because they cater to an extraordinary number of regulars—many of them former Bronxites, now living in the ‘burbs—who come back for the kind of comfort food and comforting hospitality that has long distinguished this Italian-American enclave.
        And the food has never been  better, for while the cooking is still predominantly southern Italian, a glance at the day’s specials will find a wide range of regional cucina all’Italiana supported by first-rate ingredients, many purchased right there from the street’s market vendors and bakeries.
      Also of significance is the influx over the past two decades of eastern Europeans from Albania, Croatia and elsewhere who have added measurably to the neighborhood’s appeal and opened their own restaurants, which I shall be writing of in the near future.
      In the past I have lauded wonderful places like Tra di Noi, San Gennaro, Zero Otto Nove and Mario’s, so now let me treat some of those I have not, all of which have evolved into much better restaurants than they were even five years ago.

 

 

                                                                   ROBERTO’S

                                                                          603 Crescent Avenue

                                                                           718-733-9503

 

         Roberto Paciullo was born under a benevolent star. Almost all of his ventures have succeeded, including two restaurants on Arthur Avenue, two in Westchester and one in Manhattan (four under the Zero Otto Nove banner). But his flagship is Roberto’s, now open fifteen years, and actually around the corner from Arthur Avenue. It’s a handsome, two-level place with a wine list of enormous breadth and depth. Coming from a family of eleven kids, Roberto is not about to skimp on his portions, and, although his menu prices are slightly higher than elsewhere in the neighborhood, it’s because his food is quite different, quite seasonal and based on expensive ingredients no one else is using.
      One dish, seemingly ubiquitous these days, shows how distinctive Roberto’s fare is: A bulb of cream-filled burrata mozzarella comes slightly cold, and when you cut into it and the cream flows, it does so onto a plate of cooked sweet shrimp. At first I thought the burrata was mistakenly served cold until I tasted it against the warmth of the shrimp, which was magnificent.
      There is a printed menu with plenty of dishes unique to the kitchen, including the always signature radiatore pasta with porcini, cherry tomatoes and breadcrumbs steamed inside tin foil (in cartoccio), but regulars know to consult the blackboard menu for the day’s specials, which are always going to live up to that name. 
      One day for lunch there was a fabulous dish of a large raviolo stuffed with rich mortadella and topped with butter and Parmigiano ($23). Another that same day was a plate of tubettini with clams, octopus and fava beans ($$26). Fettuccine with black truffles ($44) is as simple as a comfort dish can be.
     In the Italian tradition, Roberto keeps main courses simple, like coniglio a doppia cottura ($28.95), a grilled half rabbit sauteed with fragrant rosemary, spinach, potatoes and carrots, and a breaded veal chop pan fried with tomato sauce and melted mozzarella ($41.95).
      There are good desserts in the Arthur Avenue restaurants, but most are purchased. At Roberto’s the cannolo is a thing of beauty, made with two cookie wafers sandwiching a big dollop of pastry cream laced with chocolate sauce ($9).

 

 

                                                                ENZO’S

                                                        2339 Arthur Avenue

                                                        718-733-4455

 

      Enzo’s is certainly one of the best-looking restaurant son Arthur Avenue, having been updated a few years ago and extended to include a fine marble counter and bar, with French doors open to the street. The tables are set with white cloths, the brick wall is charming and the staff knowledgeable, led by Maria DeRende, whose husband Enzo died last year, and partner Ralph Martucci.                Whatever pasta you order, especially in springtime when basil is at its best, the potato gnocchi ($19) at Enzo’s is a revelation of careful cooking to make sure the texture of the dumplings and the verdant, intense pesto sauce meld perfectly. In fact, Enzo’s does wonders with gnocchi, as in a special of saffron potato dumplings with baby shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes ($ 34.95). The pasta alla carbonara ($19.95) is true Roman style with egg and guanciale.
      The eggplant sacchetto ($14.95) puts to shame all those pre-cooked, steamy versions, instead providing you with a large portion of sweet, velvety eggplant in a rich tomato sauce with cheeses melting within and on top. Enzo’s version of chicken scarpariello is called alla calabrese, cooked to order on the bone with big chunks of sausage; at lunch it’s a bargain dish at $15.95.
    They also render good, thin-crusted pizzas ($13.95 and up) at Enzo’s, which make a good lunch or snack at the bar with a Peroni beer.
     With springtime near, Enzo’s is one of the most charming al fresco dining experiences on the street.

 

DOMINICK’S

2335 Arthur Avenue

718-733-2807

 

      Dominick’s will never win any points for its décor, which aside from old tables set with old oilcloth  and chairs verging on the antique, is pretty much non-existent. Some would say that’s part of the restaurant’s unpretentious charm and non-nonsense ambiance, which extends to the staff whose usual greeting is, “How many in your party?” and doesn’t get much cheerier.
      Not too many years ago, Dominick’s was cast by ill-informed and bigoted snob critics at the New York Times and New York magazine as a place where gawking out-of-towners could go to get a taste of a Sopranos episode, with people expecting to see a bunch of goombahs sitting around planning a heist. Instead the clientele was always more locals and tourists from New Canaan and Short Hills, along with devoted local regulars. The crowd now seems to be more regulars and a few Saturday tourists with a Time-Out guidebook in hand.
      It’s a small room with a small bar and a wine list that is a choice of red or white (and they do push the expensive Brunello).
      There is a menu somewhere, but your waiter will yell you what’s on special that day in a desultory recitation about a couple of antipasti, a couple of pastas and a couple of main courses, which is similar to the way it’s done in trattoria in Italy, and you can be sure the day’s offerings have just been made that morning. 
      I recommend with gusto a perfectly tender stuffed roast artichoke ($15), whose leaves you dip into olive oil with a little salt and pepper and nibble on till the pastas arrive. So, too, mussels alla marinara ($18) is  a good choice.
     The pastas are rustic, hearty and the portions large. One day it might be an oval platter of linguine topped with an abundance of tender calamari (above) in tomato sauce; on another paccheri in a chili-spiked arrabbiata -style sauce ($18). I do wish they served their linguine with clams in the shell, but the ziti with broccoli di rape and sausage ($22) is one of the best on the street.
      For main courses the usual veal dishes are available, and the chicken alla scarpariello with tomatoes, peppers and garlic ($21) is hearty and worthwhile.  Dominick’s is one of the few restaurants still serving tripe in tomato sauce ($21), and on Sunday only they serve lasagna ($19), pork braciola ($19; left) and eggplant rollatine ($19).
      Be aware that Dominick’s only accepts cash (there’s a bank with an ATM up the block), and somehow, whenever I go and whatever I eat and drink, the bill always comes out to about $65 per person.

 

 

 

NEW YORK CORNER

 

         Time was when New York was awash in glamorous supper clubs whose food mattered less than their swank: the Hawaiian Room with hula girls; the Persian Room with two dance orchestras; El Morocco, with its famous zebra stripe banquettes; and Versailles, which had a rhumba band led by Desi Arnaz, a palm reader named Doris and guest stars onstage like Bob Hope, Martin and Lewis and the incomparable Edith Piaf.
        When the appeal of such soigné watering holes wore thin in the 1960s, the premises were either closed or recast as more serious restaurants. Versailles’ operators, Nick Prounis and Arnold Rossfield, ran into federal tax troubles and between the afternoon and evening service shuttered the place and sold the building. After several more owners Versailles has now become a first-class steakhouse with all its former trappings intact, not least a mural of Piaf  herself belting out her Parisian street songs.
       The Empire Steakhouse is run by the redoubtable Sinanaj brothers, Montenegrin immigrants who rose through the ranks of New York restaurants to make their dream of bankrolling their own a reality. Now, Jeff and Russ, Jeff and Jack  Sinanaj (right) have two Empires in New York (and one in Japan), as well as Jack’s Steakhouse in Manhattan and Chazz Palminteri’s Ristorante in White Plains. 
      Empire’s East Side branch has a stunning bar and lounge up front, then you enter upon a vast room ringed with tufted gray velvet  banquettes above what was once the dance floor, now filled with spacious, well-set dining tables.  The lighting is fine, especially on the white tablecloths that show off guests and food at their best. The wine list is extremely comprehensive for any connoisseur’s taste (though the wine glasses are thick-lipped), and the service staff, as at all the Sinanaj restaurants, is never officious, always cordial and fast-paced.
      t’s a big menu in the generous American tradition of steaks and chops houses, beginning with an array of seafood appetizers that include jumbo shrimp cocktail ($27.95) and jumbo lump crab meat cocktail ($27.95), and they’re not kidding when they say “jumbo.” The “Empire’s Hot Platter” of shrimp scampi, stuffed mushrooms and baked clams is a good buy at $27.95, as is the sesame seared tuna ($27.95), which is beautifully seasoned and very, very fresh. Grilled octopus is first rate, served over creamy white bean purée with garlic and chili oil ($26.95). The Maryland crab cake with roasted pepper sauce ($27) comes as a rather flat browned patty. Perfectly crisp fried calamari ($19.95) are excellent, and, yes, they offer sizzling Canadian bacon by the slice ($8.95).
     There are three soups, French onion ($13.95), lobster bisque (($19.95) and one of the day ($12.95), as well as several seafood pastas that include a bountiful item called “A Bronx Tail” ($59.95), piled with abundant lobster tail meat, clams, shrimp and a light spicy tomato sauce over housemaid fettuccine.
     The options for beef are myriad, all made from USDA Prime, from a porterhouse for two ($127.95) that will easily feed three, which is another option at $191.95 or for four at $255.95. There’s steak au poivre made with filet mignon ($62.95), a sirloin ($60.95) and the now popular tomahawk ribeye with bone ($135.95), as well as a Cajun bone-in ribeye ($70.95). The menu also now offers American wagyu, if you’re fond of that overrated beef. If you prefer lamb, there is a generous double rack with brown mint sauce ($57.95), though I wish they still bought American rather than Australian lamb.
     Like most New York steakhouses, the kitchen at Empire does well by seafood like broiled Chilean sea bass ($47.95). The steak fries ($13.95) and home fries ($14.95) are the best sides. 
     Desserts, made in house, are enormous and a table of four need only order two. Of particular interest are the apple strudel, the chocolate lava cake, the pecan pie and the crème brûlée, which go with a long list of dessert wines.
     Empire’s 30-page wine list is rich in every category, with 22 wines by the glass of both red and white, most at a very reasonable $16.50, along with a slew of half-bottles, magnums and large format bottles that offer the best value on the list. Great to see New York State labels along with a Montenegrin red called Plantaze Vranac.
       The Sinanaj brothers’ Empire Steakhouse on the West Side, with the same menu, is ideal for pre-theater. But the East Side Empire presents a unique and historic venue whose swank and glamor makes women want to dress accordingly. Men: Pay attention!

 

Note: NYC Health Dept. rules require both staff and guests 12 or older to  show proof they have received at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine.
 

 

      The receptionist in Steve Wynn’s outer office in The  Mirage Hotel-Casino could not have been more cordial, telling Katie and David, “Mr. Wynn is on a conference call, but he should be off in five minutes.”
         Katie wore a camel-colored skirt and white blouse, David his blazer, now with a printed tie whose style had gone sour about ten years before.
         Steve Wynn’s offices in his casino were not what Katie had expected. She thought it would be off-white brocade wallpaper and gold étagères full of awards trophies. But, except for a couple of travel industry award plaques, it was spare.  Katie did not know much about Wynn, but recalled a 1980s TV commercial for his Golden Nugget casino in which he appeared walking through a palatial suite to be met by Frank Sinatra, wearing a lavender sports coat.  Wynn introduces himself and Sinatra takes out a wad of cash, hands Wynn a few bills, and says, “You see I get enough towels,” then walks away.  Wynn looks wide-eyed at the cameras and says, “Towels?”
         It was a funny, very successful ad and seemed to meet everybody’s image of Vegas back then. He even did a follow-up, again with Sinatra, this time pinching Wynn’s cheek, saying, “You’re awright, baby.”
         Five minutes ticked by and the door to Wynn’s office opened.
         “Come in, come in, sorry to keep you waiting. Crazy morning, calls coming in from New York and Atlantic City.”
         David glanced at Wynn’s trousers to see how sharp the crease was, remembering how the DeNiro character (below) in the movie Casino—said to be based on Frank Rosenthal, who ran the Stardust—hung his pants in his office closet so as not to wrinkle the crease and only put them on when he had a visitor.
         Wynn’s dark blue suit was as crisp and well-tailored as any Katie’d ever seen. White shirt with a blue tie with a subtle stripe, silver cuff links, highly polished loafers. His jet black hair looked as if he’d just gotten out of a stylist’s chair, his tan was even but not looking made up, as did Wayne Newton’s. Katie noticed Wynn had perfectly buffed fingernails.
         Wynn’s office was much like the outer office, a large, unadorned desk free of clutter but with photos of his wife Elaine and his kids, and walls hung—though not covered—with shots of Wynn and myriad celebrities he knew and catered too, including several with Sinatra.
         “So, I hear you want to speak to me about my art collection?” asked Wynn, already looking at his Breitling watch. He’d been well informed as to who his visitors were and Wynn rarely missed an opportunity to talk about his art or his casinos. He figured on fifteen minutes for the interview.
         Katie said, “First, thank you for seeing us this morning, and yes, we do want to speak with you about your collection and about the so-called ‘new Vegas’ you’re building.”
         “That I can do,” he replied, his deep voice showing no trace of an East Coast accent (he was born in New Haven).
         “Do you mind if I record our conversation?” asked Katie.
         Wynn shook his head and said, “Fine, unless I ask you to turn it off for some reason.”
         “Fair enough.”
         “And this is Mr. Greco? He also works for your magazine?”
         Katie had told David not to brandish his police background.
         “He’s my researcher,” said Katie, immediately popping an unrelated question.  “So, first of all, is it fair to say you are a billionaire?”
         Wynn laughed. “What day is this, Thursday? Yeah, I think I’m a billionaire today. But ask me again Monday when the receipts come in from the weekend.”
         Katie knew that was the kind of quote Alan Dobell would love.
         “And so you have the money to buy some pretty fabulous works of art at auction?”
         “I’m getting there,” said Wynn, “but I’ve had to build up my credibility with the big time collectors, so I haven’t made too many ultra-high end purchases yet.  You see, a lot of the best works of art never come up at auction at all. We all know what the other guy’s got when it comes to paintings worth tens of millions of dollars.  Believe it or not, sales can be very casual.  We talk back and forth, say something like, ‘If you’re ever going to sell that picture, call me first, will you?’  And sometimes it takes years to get a favorite picture. You schmooze with them back and forth, you keep asking, you get wind from another collector that a Gauguin or a Renoir may be in play.  Right now I’ve got my eye on a beautiful Picasso, but I’m up against some tough competition. Otherwise you buy at auction, which the collectors themselves never attend.  And I never gamble, on anything.  I buy what I love, but sometimes I buy something I intend to sell at a higher price when the market’s right.”
         “I’m sure you’ve heard about an unknown Vermeer coming up for auction?” asked Katie.
         “I have indeed,” said Wynn, nodding. “I would love to have a Vermeer. What collector wouldn’t?  But, if the work turns out to be the real thing, the price on that may be astronomical.  You see, Katie—may I call you Katie?—the art I’m buying is almost all going to go into a museum in my new hotel casino, the Bellagio—which is replacing the Dunes—and I guarantee it will be the most spectacular hotel ever built in Las Vegas.”
         “When do you figure that will open?” asked David.
         “October next year. Guaranteed. Only Walt Disney and I can say that we always open right on time. And when it does, it will house my art collection in a museum inside the hotel. Nothing like that has ever been done before.”
         “So will you bid on the Vermeer?” asked Katie.
         Wynn shrugged and said, “There’s a lot about the painting I’d need to know first. From what I’ve read and heard, it’s shrouded in mystery and speculation. The fact is, I’ve got my eye on another possible Vermeer that’s been under re-evaluation as to its authenticity.”
         Katie was writing in shorthand. “There’s another Vermeer out there?”
         Wynn nodded and said, “Well, it’s nothing new. It’s called Young Woman Seated at a Virginal, and it’s been known at least since 1904, but the experts haven’t been able to agree if it’s the real thing. There’s another painting by the same name that is definitely by Vermeer, hanging in London’s National Gallery. Right now it’s in the process of being analyzed by more scientific means, but it could take a long time to get a definitive attribution. If it does, and if it comes up for auction, I’ll probably bid. You know, the only other Vermeer in private hands is owned by the Queen of England.”
         “And, if the disputed painting proves to be a Vermeer, you think it also could go for a hundred million?,” asked David.
         “No, nowhere near. As I said, it’s been known for a hundred years, and it looks like there’s been some overpainting. But, if I could get it for thirty or forty million, I would certainly go for it. A hundred million for the ‘new’ Vermeer?  Like I said, I never gamble.”
         “Have you spoken with your fellow collectors about the new one?”
         “Oh, yeah. It’s been a topic of conversation for months, but no one seems to be able to pin down the seller. Lots of conjecture but nothing firm.  I’ve heard Russian oligarchs, Hong Kong dealers, Swiss banks, Greek shipping magnates.  But nothing concrete.”
         David interjected, “Would you say that your colleague here in town, Harry Balaton, will be bidding on the Vermeer?”
         Wynn looked at Katie and asked, “Would you turn off your recorder for a minute?”
         She did so and put down her pad and pen, too.
        “Let me just say that Harry Balaton is not a guy I choose to have much contact with.  For one thing, he’s very old school Vegas, and, as I’m sure you know, Detective Greco, he was once very connected with the Chicago mob.”
         David suddenly felt embarrassed, realizing Wynn knew all along he’d been a cop.
         “Second, Balaton has terrible taste in art. He’s got his advisors but he buys what he likes and most of it is third-rate stuff. Would he bid for the Vermeer? He’s got the money and the connections to raise whatever it takes, and I’m sure he would love to rub it in my face if he got it and I didn’t.”
         “When you say connections, what exactly do you mean?” asked David.
         “You’ll have to figure that one out on your own.  But, Katie, you said you wanted to talk about the ‘new Vegas?’  You can turn your recorder back on now.”
         The ‘new Vegas’ was Wynn’s favorite topic, and he was willing to give Katie as much time as necessary to say how he and other entrepreneurs were going to change not only the tawdry image of Sin City but would bring good taste, fine dining, and great entertainment to a town for which such things had long been mere background for the gaming tables.  There were plans for hotel casinos with replicas of the Eiffel Tower and Venice’s Grand Canal, the New York skyline and Cairo’s Sphinx.
         “In ten years Vegas will be making more money from restaurants and entertainment than from gaming,” he swore. “You saw the end of the Scorsese movie Casino, when they’re blowing up the old casinos? Multiply that by ten in the next five years and wait till you see what replaces them.”
         Wynn went on and Katie was writing furiously, amazed he was giving her so much time and giddy to think how much material she had for a profile of Wynn that would justify the trip out there.
         “So, if you’ve got all you need,” said Wynn, “I guess we can wrap this up. If you need anything more, just call my personal secretary and she’ll get right to me. And enjoy the ‘old’ Vegas while you can; it’s not long for this world.”