I have to admit, I have a real love for the West Bank. A while ago, I had tickets to a show at one of the theatres on 42nd Street, and as I’d just been put on a very strict diet for health reasons, I couldn’t eat at my beloved Ollies, (Chinese food is a no-no) so I tried the West Bank. I’d always thought of it as pricey for some reason, but that turned out not to be the case at all, and the roast chicken au jus that they gave me was some of the best chicken I’ve ever eaten in my life. So when I found out that they were celebrating the 30th anniversary of the café by having a thirty buck prix fixe, the club just had to go. I insisted.
We haven’t talked about wine yet, but the selection at the West Bank is small but thoughtful – there’s something to please everyone, from the ladies who lunch looking for a nice pinot greege to the older dudes who have to have that heavy as lead red. My only quibble is the size of the goblets, because of course I have baby hands and am a klutz, so it’s a recipe for disaster to hand me an over-large glass with a slender stem.
Kel, Robby and I were seated at a table right next to a bunch of giggling ladies who seemed a tad toasted and were probably enjoying a night out away from their husbands. But aside from that, the atmosphere in the West Bank is absolutely lovely. There is a distinct lack of snootiness, and the menu is simple, yet the small touches – like candied pistachios on your lemon mousse, or dried cherries in a salad – show that the chef has elevated them to a new level. If people are going to be looking for a cheeseburger, then, by god, it’s going to be the best goddamned cheeseburger they ever had.
I don’t eat cheeseburgers anymore of course. No red meat, no cheese, and no refined carbs for the kid here. But the prix fixe in the West Bank is excellent, and full of healthy choices for me. They're updating their website at this writing, but I'll link to it now so you can see it: West Bank Cafe It says the Laurie Beechman because there is a theatre space in the basement. Neat, eh?
Kel and Robby started out with the gazpacho, which makes sense on a sweltering day in August. I chose the Caesar salad, not being in the mood for tomatoes. Both were tasty. I then moved on to the roasted chicken, with haricots verts (or, as my Mom would say, those skinny stringbeans). The dish usually comes with some lovely mashed potatoes, but since I don’t eat white carbs they were nice enough to toss some extra beans on the plate and leave the tatoes off. Kel went for the grilled Scottish salmon, which comes with summer squash, red peppers, roasted tomato, Japanese eggplant and a ratatouille vinaigrette. Can’t go wrong there. And Robby dove into some spaghetti and meatballs which were absolutely perfect.
Can I just go raving mad over the dessert here for a second? Now, I’m a sucker for lemon flavors. Caramels a second fave, but lemon? That’s for me. The way some people feel about chocolate, which I can take or leave, I feel about a lemon meringue or a lemon tart. At the West Bank, they do a lemon mousse with a small meringue on the top, surrounded by fresh berries and including the candied pistachio nuts that made me absolutely crazed. And, p.s., it’s huge. I only get to eat dessert once a week, so if it’s only once it better be great. I fantasize about the lemon mousse at West Bank. The alternative offering for dessert on the fixed price dinner is an Arborio rice rice pudding – ah yes – a former favorite that I no longer dare eat with my slow metabolism. Robby ordered the rice pudding and said it was fabulous. Arborio rice is the same kind, if you don’t already know it, that they use for making risotto. It’s a high starch baby, which is the reason I can’t eat it anymore and the reason it tastes sooooooo goooooood. It’s also short grain, which makes it a good choice for a pudding. You want that texture.
The only annoying thing about the West bank is in the bathroom. Okay, I’m not going to get too graphic on you, especially in a food blog, but basically when you think you’ve locked the door? You haven’t. I was unpleasantly surprised in there by some weird old lady in an evening gown and helmet hair, who SCREAMED when she realized the stall was occupied. I mean, seriously, this woman looked like she was a hundred and fifty, and she screamed like a little girl watching her Barbie get run over in the driveway. And it’s not like I was doing anything UNUSUAL in there.
Other than one bathroom stall, the West Bank is brilliant, and I am definitely going back again and again. The price is right, the service is attentive, the atmosphere welcoming (except in the john), and there’s even a theatre space in the basement which no doubt adds to the coolness factor. Eat there. Trust me.
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