Akendiz
The pre-theater prix fixe at Akdeniz isn't the world's best-kept secret, if the number of people packing the basement restaurant, along a desolate strip of 46th, at 6.15 on a Saturday night provides any indication. Our three courses began with babaghannous, filled with chunks of eggplants, and spinach tarator, a yogurt-based spinach dip with walnuts --- both excellent but not particularly photogenic.
As mains we went for the salmon kebabs and barbecued meatballs. Neither dish looked like what we'd imagined.
The salmon kebabs were little packages of extremely moist (steamed?) salmon, wrapped in grape leaves, served with carrot salad, green salad, and lemon wedges. And the meatballs were actually grilled meat patties, spiced but not doused in BBQ sauce, as we'd expected / sort of feared, and served with nutty rice and pickled cabbage salad. Our skepticism soon gave way to sheer enjoyment.
The almond pudding, with its stripe of crumbled pistachio, used slices of almonds for texture. The baklava had a heavy dousing of citrus syrup, which helped glue together the layers of filo and nuts. We're not complaining: a little extra chewing never hurt anybody.
All in all, the meal was a series of contrasts: between what we were expecting, and what we received; between soft textures and hard, chunky ones; between congratulating ourselves on finding an alternative to the standard, before Broadway schlock, and the realization that we and our big bellies would now need to sit through an intermission-less play, when what we really wanted to do was take our leftovers to go and enjoy a post-nap snack.
As mains we went for the salmon kebabs and barbecued meatballs. Neither dish looked like what we'd imagined.
The salmon kebabs were little packages of extremely moist (steamed?) salmon, wrapped in grape leaves, served with carrot salad, green salad, and lemon wedges. And the meatballs were actually grilled meat patties, spiced but not doused in BBQ sauce, as we'd expected / sort of feared, and served with nutty rice and pickled cabbage salad. Our skepticism soon gave way to sheer enjoyment.
The almond pudding, with its stripe of crumbled pistachio, used slices of almonds for texture. The baklava had a heavy dousing of citrus syrup, which helped glue together the layers of filo and nuts. We're not complaining: a little extra chewing never hurt anybody.
All in all, the meal was a series of contrasts: between what we were expecting, and what we received; between soft textures and hard, chunky ones; between congratulating ourselves on finding an alternative to the standard, before Broadway schlock, and the realization that we and our big bellies would now need to sit through an intermission-less play, when what we really wanted to do was take our leftovers to go and enjoy a post-nap snack.
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