Chapter 8 - Cafe Un, Deux, Trois (Theatre District)

Over the years I've eaten at Cafe Une, Deux, Trois a lot.  I seem to remember a lot of noise and plenty of good spaghetti.  That much hasn't changed. There's even a clone (I guess they could have called it "Cafe Une, Deux, Trois, Deux" if they'd been the kind of smartasses that I am.) down in Manhattan Plaza, and that's good as well.

Unlike a lot of restaurants in this city, CUDT is pretty large.  It's a pleasure to have room to move around in when you're eating in Manhattan, but, as happens sometimes, the acoustics in the place are incredibly hot, and like the John's Pizza down on 44th, it's so incredibly noisy that it rather makes you feel like you're eating in a very, very fancy high school cafeteria with great food.  On the particular night I was down there, the wait staff seemed to be singing "Happy Birthday" four or five times (I think the fourth and fifth times were just a joke by people wanting to go along with what seemed to be a trend that night.).

I had a ticket to "Women on the Verge" so I figured I'd pop in here and try the PF, taking a seat at the bar.  I did get a tad bit of "I'm the bartender so I'll only serve you dinner under duress" attitude from behind the bar, but only a tad.  I was pleased to discover that the Prix Fixe Menu was under $30 bucks for the usual three courses, and that there was a comforting variety of choices.  I chose the mixed green salad to start, but the pate is quite good as well, and the only reason I didn't choose the soup is that it was a creamed soup and I'm trying desperately not to blow up like a balloon this holiday season.  Like I do every other holiday season.

Anyway, my mind was taken off mister cute snobby waiter when someone ordered a glass of absinthe.  They have an urn set up at the edge of the bar for proper louching of the drink, carefully balancing the sugar cube over the tiny glass, dripping cool water on the sugar and letting it seep slowly into the absinthe to release the little green fairy.

How lovely.  Not before dinner for me, though, thank you.

I've had the pasta here many times before, so I passed it by this time in favor of trying something new.  And as my buddy Andi says, if you're going for a prix fixe entree, why not choose something that costs more to make than a plate of spaghetti does?  The Poulet a la Moutard was just what I needed.  Chicken breast can be scarily dry, but this was not so, and the mustard sauce was a good complement.

Dessert was nicely turned out, with a more than serviceable chocolate mousse jockeying for position with one of my favorite things on earth - a blood orange sorbet that almost (but not quite) rivaled the blood orange sorbet they used to serve at Rafaella in the village.  (Oh, why oh why did they close down my lovely Rafaella, with it's lousy service, it's cute waiters who didn't speak English, and it's lovely coffee and sweets?)

But back to Une, Deux, Trois - this place has been around long enough to know how to get you in and out in time for a show, the price of the prix fixe ($29.95) is right, and nothing you're served here is ever going to be a misfire.  You can even have a romantic snort of absinthe, poured in the old French way, if you want to impress your date.  True foodies may find the menu a little run of the mill, and the flavors a little timid, but Cafe Une, Deux, Trois, all things considered, is a definite "oi" and not a "non", trust me.