Good afternoon, everyone.
My weekend plans include putting a dent in the Unwelcome Guests collection on Criterion, finishing Heavy Cream by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright, and going to Jericho Cider Mill. I look forward to seeing some of you at the movies on Monday night in Cobble Hill.
Today’s newsletter includes: A statement from Feed Me’s Anonymous Transit expert on his absence, Anna Wintour’s former assistant is going to Polymarket, a dispatch from the new Teenage Engineering department store on Lafayette, J Lee returns from the Grand Central Oyster Bar with some oyster confessions, a job listing at one of the highest-grossing newsletters on Substack, and an interview with a New York City schoolteacher (and now author) about why children should learn about civics.
Did You Know That There’s a Secret Menu at Grand Central Oyster Bar* By J Lee
Expense Account is a series on Feed Me by semi-anonymous restaurant critic J Lee. He hosts a podcast with the same name. This week, he took a trip to the Grand Central Oyster Bar.
I have something to admit, I know I’ll lose some credibility, but I have to come clean. I like oysters but I don’t love them. I’m fine with two or three oysters, that’s enough for me. I’d rather have a shrimp cocktail. Oysters to me aren’t a food, they’re a ritual. No one has ever gotten full off of oysters, it’s impossible. Oysters are about how well they pair with wine, or a martini. Oysters are about getting the party started. Every meal should be a party. Not all parties need to be loud. There are very good oysters and then there’s everything else. Of course I love a good oyster, but most oysters are just ok. I love an oyster by the salty sea, no mignonette, maybe a squeeze of lemon. An oyster is always good on vacation, and an oyster is always good at sunset. I love the dressed oysters at Ha’s and at Neng’s. I love a little oyster that looks like a boxer’s fucked up ear. I like an oyster with a side of Guinness at Dean’s or Banshee or if you’re very lucky at Moran’s Oyster Cottage in Galway, Ireland. I recently had an impressively delicious oyster at The Lost Kitchen up in Maine. That said, I don’t need to eat an oyster at 169 Bar. I don’t need to eat an oyster to eat an oyster. I eat oysters to celebrate life.
“You can order a bowl of soup, and ask for them to give you half New England, and half Manhattan clam chowder. It comes out looking like a yin-yang. You get your creamy rich New England chowder on one side, and you get your brighter, tomato based Manhattan chowder on the other side. Two soups become three soups.”
There is no better place to eat an oyster in New York City than at the Grand Central Oyster Bar. Yes, there are better oysters, but there is no better oyster bar. The CGOB is topline essential. The GCOB is for the people. It’s for workers. It’s for commuters. It’s for locals and tourists alike. It’s been open since 1913. It seems like these days, I love saying that every dining room is the most impressive dining room in New York City. I said it about Marcel, and I said it about The Grill. I’m easily impressed, I love to love (I also love to hate). But the GCOB might actually be the most impressive dining room. It’s massive, domed, tiled, and subterranean. It’s in a fucking train station! There’s something so cool about eating in the train station. It’s a liminal space that’s neither here nor there. You’re either coming or going, and you’re on the clock. The GCOB is a stone in a fast flowing river. It’s an unmoving object in a field of perpetual motion. It’s an unblinking eye. The calories you consume at the GCOB don’t count, the martinis certainly don’t, they’re duty-free. (Makes you wonder why airport restaurants can’t be this good.)