Faustina is located in the Cooper Square Hotel.

Gougeres from Jacques Pépin (makes about 30)

1 cup milk (I used whole milk)

4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/2 stick)

1/4 teaspoon salt

Dash cayenne pepper

1 cup all-purpose flour

3 large eggs

1/2 teaspoon paprika

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1 1/2 cups grated Gruyere cheese

Coarse salt (fleur de sel or kosher salt) to sprinkle on top

Bring the milk, butter, salt, and cayenne to a boil in a saucepan. Remove from heat, add the flour all at once, and mix vigorously with a wooden spatula until the mixture forms a ball. Return the pan to the heat and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, for about 1 minute to dry the mixture a bit. Transfer to the bowl of a food processor, let cool for 5 minutes, then process for about 5 seconds.

Add the eggs and paprika to the processor bowl, and process for 10 to 15 seconds, until well mixed. Transfer the choux paste to a mixing bowl, and let cool for 10 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375°. Line a cookie sheet with a reusable nonstick baking mat or parchment paper. Reserve 1 tablespoon of the grated Parmesan cheese, then add the remainder and all the Swiss cheese to the choux paste. Stir just enough to incorporate. Using a tablespoon, scoop out a level tablespoon of the gougère dough, and push it off the spoon onto the cooking mat. Continue making individual gougères, spacing them about 2-inches apart on the sheet. Sprinkle a few grains of coarse salt and a little of the reserved Parmesan cheese on each gougère. Bake for about 30 minutes, until nicely browned and crisp. Serve lukewarm or at room temperature with drinks.

*Mine were perfect at the 23-25 minute mark. Keep your eye on them.

K! Pizzacones have less grease than a slice of pizza and also less sauce. The cheese tastes like the pre-shredded grocery store variety and melts into a similar mess, globby and chewy. The cone is cooked until crisp, making it much less doughy than a calzone. It was much less prominent than I was expecting, its presence merely a vehicle for the ingredients it carried.

The available toppings stuffings are the pizzeria norm: pepperoni, mushroom, sausage, onion, etc. You can choose from a smaller cone (K!) or a larger cone (K!!!), both of which are more expensive, take more time to assemble and cook, and are less filling than a regular ole’ slice. They’re not served by dough-slinging-sometimes-impatient Italians, but by overly-excited-outfit-wearing youngsters. The cones are packaged in wasteful boxes and plastic bags that should make any quasi-green consumer cringe. So while the pizzacones tasted okay, everything about them felt wrong. Call me old-fashioned.

After the hype dies down, K! Pizzacone might find the most success with their dessert cones, which for the time being are buried under a menu of their savory counterparts. The Banana Flambe & Chocolate cone was not only tasty, but it had all the right charms for a sweet treat. It succeeded in every way the pizza-filled cones failed.

Though Hamantaschen are available year round, yesterday, in anticipation of Purim, I braved the blizzard-like conditions in search of NYC’s best.

The route: A pilgrimage to seven of the most famous Hamantaschen-selling bakeries, from the Lower East Side to the Upper West Side.
The guidelines: Purchase both raspberry and poppy-filled Hamantaschen, in the smaller variety where available, and return home to commence tasting with eager husband.

1. Yonah Schimmel’s Knishes Bakery – 137 East Houston Street: Dry and flavorless cookie. Pale (the most unattractive of the group). Schimmel’s is best known for their knishes. I imagine it will stay that way. The worst of the group.

2. Moishe’s Bake Shop – 115 2nd Ave: Too much almond extract in the cookie left an artificial after taste. The raspberry filling tasted like melted Twizzlers. The most disappointing.

3. 9th Street Bakery – 350 East 9th Street: The cookie was buttery and pure. The dough was more neutral, in a good way, than most of the others. The jelly filling was too sweet. The poppy filling was much better. Tied for best overall.

4. Bruce’s Bakery – 1045 1st Avenue: Lingering taste of almond extract from the cookie, but good consistency. Great raspberry filling. The poppy filling tasted a little off. So close.

5. Orwasher’s Bakery – 308 East 78th Street: Crunchy and flavorful cookie with perfect balance of butter and sweetness. Raspberry filling tasted more like cherry and was way too artificial and sweet. Tied for best overall.

6 – William Greenberg Jr. Desserts – 1100 Madison Avenue: Cookie tasted like pie crust. It could have had a touch more sugar and been crisper. Again, the raspberry filling tasted more like cherry, but appeared to be, and tasted like, real fruit. The best poppy seed filling. The best fillings.

7. Hungarian Pastry Shop – 1030 Amsterdam Avenue: Tasted more like biscotti. Very dry and crumbly with hints of almond extract. They didn’t carry any small varieties but were the only bakery with a walnut filling. The most non Hamantaschen-like.

My goal of finding the single best Hamantaschen in NYC was not as easy as I had hoped as there wasn’t a clear winner. While 9th Street and Orwasher’s had the best cookie, William Greenberg had the best fillings. Those are the three plates to which our hands kept returning.

Regardless, it was well worth the schlep.

On Sunday afternoon, my arteries and stomach begging for reprieve, my husband and I happened to walk by babycakes, a 100% vegan bakery on the LES. It couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than a sign.

In addition to being dairy-free, babycakes’s baked goods are wheat-free, soy-free, refined sugar-free, and guilt-free. Their cupcakes, brownies, cookies, and loaves are made of spelt and sweetened with agave nectar. They also offer baked goods that are gluten-free.

The cupcakes were not the moistest we’ve ever had, nor the sweetest, but they were surprisingly good. And better yet, we felt good about eating them.

Am I a convert? Maybe on Sundays.

You can learn more about babycakes and their ingredients at their website. They deliver in Manhattan and ship outside the city.

The Breslin’s authentically tarnished ceilings and dark wood are not only gorgeous, they’re inviting. Though you’ll complain, you’ll secretly relish the inevitable wait for your table amongst the attractive New Yorkers. You’ll order a drink, maybe even a cask beer to get you in the mood, and take in the scene.

Decorative pigs adorn the walls. On your way out you’ll realize they were taunting you, smiling and whispering: “you are what you eat!” You’ll also wish they could be conjured to life to help with the sloppy service.

We oohed and ahhed at the pork scratchings’ packaging just to discover it was a hog in piglet’s clothing. The Scotch egg, fried in a batter of sausage and breadcrumbs, was too bloated with its own crust. Thankfully, The Breslin-coined scrumpets of twice fried lamb were worth the calories and the dill pickle juice that accompanied the raw oysters was something of a revelation. Pearl, Mary, Ed – are you listening?

One doesn’t go to The Breslin for fish. Even the lamb burger seemed too healthy a choice. Once you’re seated and resigned to your porkful fate, it’s near impossible not to be wooed by the pig’s foot. Don’t believe the menu’s claim that it feeds two. Four of us were hard-pressed to finish this behemoth.

The foot is generously stuffed with ground pork before it’s – yep, you guessed it – fried. At our table, the feeling was unanimous: the texture was unappealing and the flavor underwhelming. This was not a star trotter.

The smoked pork belly was the meal’s savior, reminding us that pork deserves its time on the throne. We somehow managed to squeeze in an order of thrice fried chips and a side of cabbage & bacon.

For dessert, we simply couldn’t stomach the donuts and instead focused on toffee pudding and chocolate. We had our fill of oil. We were fried.

Enter The Meatball Shop – a new EV eatery with a menu dedicated to yes, you guessed it, meatballs. It’s been open less than a week, but it’s already packed. Last night we managed to squeeze ourselves into one of the communal tables with just enough table space between us to sample every type of ball the The Meatball Shop offers.

The balls: beef, spicy pork, chicken, salmon, veggie, and the daily special. The sauces: parmesan, mushroom gravy, tomato, and spicy meat. You order your balls in slider form (above) or in a bowl. If you’re looking for a sampler, the slider route is the only way to go.

While it was fun to try them all (yes, even the meatless balls of salmon and veggie) I can save you the trouble. It’s all about the chicken which is insanely moist and flavorful. Italian grandmothers everywhere will be asking for the recipe (if they can be heard over the excruciatingly noise level). The side dishes – which can also be served under your slider-less meatballs – were surprisingly tasty. The white beans with bread crumb topping were cassoulet-esque while the creamed spinach (a daily special) will make wolfing down your greens easy (and your aforementioned grandmother very, very happy).

The Meatball Shop also has a build-your-own ice cream sandwich dessert menu. Get the walnut meringue cookie with vanilla ice cream. Don’t ask. Just listen. You’re welcome.

We had received a gift certificate for a home cooking instruction and when I perused the catalog of recipes, it was hard to overlook the duck with cherry port jus. I was game for the challenge. The fine chef who came to our apartment demonstrated the proper way to pan roast duck and in turn I learned what I had done wrong back in 2001: absolutely everything. The skin needs to be scored. The meat needs to be cooked on low heat for a very long time. The fat needs to be poured off throughout the cooking process. Under professional instruction we turned out an outstanding duck breast. But could we do it on our own? Our annual home cooked Valentine’s Day meal seemed like the ideal opportunity to find out. The picture tells the tale:

A perfect medium-rare. A crispy skin. A decadent sauce.

We served our scrumptious duck with a creamy and nutty farro risotto and broccoli rabe. My days of duckphobia are officially behind me!

It’s been three months since I dined at a restaurant in its opening week. My last such experience was at Trigo, where I thought there was a chance at longevity. Even though it only took two months for Trigo to secure a spot in the NYC restaurant graveyard, that won’t stop me from making a prediction about Table 8: it’s here to stay.

With outposts in both Los Angeles and Miami, Govind Armstrong, Table 8’s chef and proprietor, has a successful track record. For his NYC debut, Armstrong has found a home in the already-hip Cooper Square Hotel. The pairing appears prosperous.

We definitely experienced a handful of kinks and miscues, but nothing that won’t get ironed out as Table 8 finds its’ footing. But as opposed to other newbie restaurants, whether or not they’re ever corrected probably won’t alter Table 8’s fate. It’s just one of those places. A place to see and be seen. A place where people will be drawn to eat, regardless of the food. A place where success is in the cards.

The music was so loud, yelling across the table was required. The restaurant was so dark, we passed around our single votive like a torch, so we could actually see how each dish had been plated. Women bore cleavage and stilettos. Men sported gel-infused coifs and shirts with one too many buttons undone. If I hadn’t just walked off the Bowery, I would have sworn I was in Miami, or maybe Los Angeles. Go figure.

Armstrong’s menu is varied and well thought out. He demonstrates cooking ingenuity and prowess. But the atmosphere prevents diners from appreciating these accomplishments, and from what I observed, the patrons are looking for more scene than food. With a couple Table 8s already under his belt, I assume this is the atmosphere Armstrong desired.

Armstrong’s menu features a Salt Bar (think amuse bouche-size bites), a flat bread, Starters, Entrees, and Small Accents (aka sides). We sampled Venison and Fluke from the Salt Bar. Both were flavorful and pleasing. For $4, there were no complaints about the generous portion of flatbread.

While there was nothing extraordinary about our Scallop and Quail starters, both were prepared expertly and both were very, very good.

Armstrong’s culinary capabilities were most evident in the Halibut entrée. Though its description is over-simplified on the menu, the halibut arrives two ways – smoked on a buttered and crispy baguette and as a small filet. The dish was delightful.

The Bone-in Skate, served in a spicy saffron broth with cockles, was also different than any skate preparation I’ve previously had. The broth was more salty than spicy, but once you mastered eating the skate without getting a mouthful of bones, the reward was luscious fish.

The Grilled Baby Chicken was the night’s only disappointment. It was grilled until rubbery, all its succulence depleted. The accompanying Short Rib Hash, however, should get the opportunity to be its own entrée.

If you can bear to stay for the final course, reward yourself with the Coffee Parfait.

While the scene at Table 8 is far from my preferred dining experience, and I’m not compelled to return, I have little doubt that there are countless others to take my place.

Table 8

www.thecoopersquarehotel.com

25 Cooper Square

New York, NY 10003

(212) 475-3400