Greedy NYC - Part 2

Some more places I'd go back to in the massive apple

The second instalment of my NYC recommendations all added to the GREEDY MAP (link below paywall).

Johnny's Reef
2 City Island Ave, Bronx, NY 10464, United States

“You ever been to City Island?” I’d demand of almost every New Yorker I met. Those who had answered with a certain smugness, true urban explorers. Most, though, had no idea. “No, what’s that?” Very few had heard of it, distantly, but never visited, uninspired by their city’s small archipelago. It’s worth going – New York rarely feels like a seaside city and when you’re looking out from Manhattan it feels like the sea, rather than the city, is insignificant. City Island also reminds you of the city’s bizarre geography, though you’ve got to drive out of the Bronx and the city, then turn back around to get to it.

I went under recommendation from my friend Hanna, a very trustworthy source, a gourmand. When she lived in New York she’d often go with a friend to eat seafood – the place was Johnny’s Reef, and I don’t know if it's the best but it was her favourite. It’s opposite another seafood restaurant and on a street made up of them. Her favourite, or simply the first she’d tried?

An industrial-looking building a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean, inside it is gigantic, with booths selling various fried, steamed and boiled fish. Not all together – no, there’s a booth that does clams, another that does deep fried things, another that does boil – all part of the same restaurant, all expressive of American efficiency, encased in faded stainless steel. Like all else, this was new once. And, finally, there’s a bar, stocked with all you could wish for, including non-alcoholic pina coladas.

Our order was magnificent – soft-shelled crab, snow crab legs, bullet clams, each with fries and garlic bread, doused in liberal quantities of tartar sauce or butter. The portions were expressive of the America Europeans are taught to fear – maximalist, well-salted, colourful and delicious. How could so much cost so little? Of particular note were the crabs, some of the best I’ve had, and more importantly the fries were brilliant and, unusually, the tartar sauce was too. My friends ate like a couple of lovestruck otters and I watched, grinning. As I limped back to the car I hummed The Ronettes’ Be My Baby, for this was that sort of America.