Foodies and barhounds alike chastised me. I hadn’t been to Veselka yet? Jesus! I’ve lived in New York how long? Jesus!
The foodies championed the hearty portions of authentic Ukrainian fare. The barhounds championed the prime East Village location for 24/7 pre- and/or post-drunken splendor. And when I arrived in the chill after work tonight, a paper sign on the door alleged that the godmother of punk herself, Patti Smith, would choose to eat her last meal here.
Jesus.
My love and hate of Veselka lies where these lines of reasoning intersect. I cannot deny: I was here once before, in mid-December. After I’d seated myself, not one member of the not-too-busy waitstaff acknowledged my presence. Twenty-five minutes later, during which I absorbed more than my usual fill of sprawling New Yorker bullshit, I left. I’d already been cranky, felt worse then, and didn’t feel like a confrontation. Apparently Veselka’s notorious for its service but this had been foretold by the barhounds: the place is a 50-year-old diner in a grubby part of town with the spotty service that crustiness may imply.
The foodies insisted I give it another try. “The raspberry blintzes alone are worth the ineptitude,” they said. I’m stubborn, so it took some time but, O.K., I’m back and John R., my waiter, is prompt and attentive. He recommends a 300-year-old Ukrainian brand of beer, Lvivske, and yes, that’s good. He recommends I don’t order a side of the horseradish-beet salad because my entrée will arrive with a dab of it and that’s all most people need, and he’s correct there, too. But later he recommends two blintzes, each brown-edged, eggy crêpe rolled fat with farmers’ cheese and served with raspberries on the side, when clearly only someone of Orson Welles’ corpulence could eat two.
So some of John’s advice was right, as was some of the meal. The borscht, made with thick beet slices and butter beans, was topped with fresh dill—a perfect winter garnish—although the broth was almost too sweet. An accompanying slice of potato bread arrived sad and stale on a ceramic plate decorated with an amusing illustration of an interplanetary meatball hurtling towards Earth, perhaps where Patti is scarfing down a veal goulash. My other side dish, a potato pancake, resembled a puck of stone-cold spackle. But my entrée of stuffed cabbage in tomato sauce was great, the ground beef and pork filling flecked with white rice recalling my Mom’s own secret recipe for meatballs. So although the meal was hit or miss, I will give the edge to the foodies. Those blintzes were good, or at least the 1.25 of them I ate. Jesus.
Veselka
- 144 2nd Ave. (at East 9th Street)
- (212) 228-9682
- Meal 11 of 52: a bottle of beer ($5.50), stuffed cabbage entrée with two sides ($11.25), two raspberry blintzes ($11.25) and a coffee ($1.50).