Not to out-do the pomp and circumstance of a traditional Christmas dinner, but the winner of the “food” holiday of the year would have to go to Thanksgiving. Call it what you want: “Turkey Day,” “Gobble-gobble day,” and – to a much lamer extent – “The Day-before-black-Friday” holiday. Thanksgiving rivals Christmas as the most popular holiday of the year. Like its December counterpart, Thanksgiving is a special time for family and friends, and often serves as the pre-cursor to the height of the year-end holidays. There’s no stress about gift-shopping, and it’s a great time to sit-around with family and friends, share an amazingly-prepared meal, take in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and a football game (or two) on TV, and exchange stories with loved-ones in-between visits to the Thanksgiving table.
For the past four years, I spent my Thanksgivings away from home. So this year was supposed to serve as my “homecoming” Thanksgiving. That didn’t exactly happen, however, as I decided to make plans with friends to spend a couple of days in New York City instead. Admittedly, I was secretly relieved that I wouldn’t have to play games with anyone’s Thanksgiving spread; anything to keep me from going back for seconds, thirds, and even possibly fourths. And let’s not even think about the desserts. Instead, I was content with the fact that my friends and I would have to make dinner reservations somewhere, and that after the servings were handed out that would be the end of it all. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones with the same bright idea… but then again, we were in New York City.
While our hotel was packed with visitors from across the globe, many of whom had no real idea of what the American ideals of Thanksgiving are, pockets of neighborhoods were pretty empty. Unless you found yourself in the middle of Times Square, which never seems to quiet down, you were most likely in a sparsely-populated part of town where businesses were closed, and folks were away for the holiday. Apparently, everyone in the East Village seemed to be at The Smith for Thanksgiving dinner. Lucky for us, so were we.
The American brasserie, which is a creation of native New Yorkers, Glann Harris and Jeffrey Lefcourt, sits in the heart of the East Village. From the street, you could see the restaurant filled with other patrons seeking to have their holiday fill. The overall feeling was that a lot of the guests that night were locals: students from NYU who stayed in town for the holiday, and neighborhood families who opted not to venture out of Manhattan. Then you had your sprinkle of out-of-towners simply looking for a prix fix “Thanksgiving” dinner. As you entered the restaurant, you were greeted with the sounds of bustling conversations amidst the clanging of silverware and stemware. Then you were hit with the smells of all things delicious as dishes were brought to tables from the super-busy kitchen. Our waitress gave us a run-down of the menu, and let us know of the specials for the day –including a “turkey” special in honor of the holiday. My friends and I opted against the traditional Thanksgiving dinner since we were being anything BUT conventional, and we kicked-off our meal with an order of crispy calamari (Brooklyn style –ie, marinara sauce over top) and crawfish hush puppies (served with an Old Bay aioli). The comfort food continued with our main dishes, which ranged the breadth of a roasted pork chop to steamed mussels & frites to a hearty bowl of spaghetti & meatballs. The pork chop was cooked to perfection, and was served on a bed of sweet potato hash; perfectly marrying the sweet and saltiness of the dish. The pot of mussels simmered in a broth of chardonnay, tarragon and Dijon was served alongside shoe-string frites giving any Belgian brasserie a run for its money. And finally, a big bowl of spaghetti - complete with large and in-charge meatballs - easily made you feel like you were 10 years old again.
It certainly felt like we were eating at someone’s home, and our fatigue from the day began to mix in with our full bellies. If beds were on the menu, we would’ve ordered three easily. When it came time for dessert we couldn’t do it, and we were off to the street to walk-off the glaze of tiredness that was coming over us.
It wasn’t your traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but it was our Thanksgiving dinner. And when you find yourself in an empire state of mind, even on Thanksgiving day, there really isn’t anything else that would matter.
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The Smith, 55 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10003, 212.420.9800
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