Taps and schnapps.
In the spectrum of Manhattan biergartens, which includes the rough-and-tumble Hallo Berlin and the theme park of Zum Schneider, Loreley appears to be the quiet man's beer hall. The muted atmosphere can be summed up by its color scheme: a limited palate of whites and browns, which imparts the esthetic ho hum and easy comfort of a slice of toast and a soft-boiled egg.
Even with 12 German beers on tap and plenty of schnapps, there was no "ja-ja-ing" or sloshing of heads over the rims of beer steins. Rather, we found a restaurant/bar that was quiet by any standards, dominated by scattered couples and small groups having intimate conversations. (We did, however, spy a centrally placed television that probably comes to life during soccer matches.)
Seated at a long, potentially communal table, we worked our way through several draft beers, none of which cost over $7. The house was pushing Kolsch, a clean but unmemorable variety indigenous to Cologne, the city with more breweries than any other in Germany and the one that Loreley looks to for inspiration. The Jever pilsner, served in an oversized beer stein, was the hoppiest beer of the evening?an astringent kick in the pants. Several Weiss beers?Schneider Weiss, a warm, amber liquid and the paler, fruitier Erdinger Weissbier?were incredibly easy going down.
Loose consumption of beer was a dovetail fit with Loreley's menu. Remarkable sausages ($13)?smoked wurst, frankfurter and weisswurst, all from Manhattan charcuterie Schaller and Weber?tasted lean, with good flavor and a juicy crunch. Everything about this dish was right: The sauerkraut was sour, the hot mustard spicy and the mashed potatoes excellent. This potato had a cheesy tang (think farmer's cheese, not cheddar) and bits of crisp onion, and was beyond delicious. Most kitchens do their spuds a disservice by adding copious amounts of butter and cream. They should take their cues from Loreley, where the secret weapon is sour cream.
Also notable were the potato pancakes, crisp and non-greasy with a fluffy middle, served with applesauce and lingonberries ($8). Hyper-ironic Lower East Side hipsters can come here to eat them on Hanukah.
The wiener schnitzel ($14) I could take or leave. Some paprika in the breading made it more interesting than most, and it didn't taste of oil?both good things. But the occasional bite that resulted in a mouthful of gristle bordered on unacceptable. Likewise, skip the cold German-style hamburger ($7), an otherwise harmless patty that a lingering flavor of beef fat killed.
The appropriate finale to this humble meal was a baked apple stuffed with sliced almonds and raisins in a vanilla sauce ($5). Apart from the dollop of whipped cream that tasted like refrigerator, this dessert hit the spot. Don't bother with glasses of pear or cherry schnapps ($4-$6)?both taste like lighter fluid. Stick with the beer.
New Yorkers love their hot dogs. In addition to the thousands of street vendors sweating tourists every day, New York City has a dog shop for all people: Crif Dogs for badasses, F & B for Europhiles, Nathan's for sentimentalists, Gray's for purists, Sparky's and Westville for hardcore gourmets, etc. If native New Yorkers still sink their teeth into the occasional dirty-water dog, something must be wrong when your sausage doesn't make the cut.
The latest joint to join the tubesteak fray is Mandler's: The Original Sausage Co., which appears to specialize in an international selection of sausage and too many choices. The root of their idea is sound: Enter authentic sausage into the array of existing options, and you are bound to appeal to a certain type of consumer. If the sausages were any good, Mandler's might stand a fighting chance. Of those that I sampled, only one was actually delicious: the mild, juicy bratwurst.
To save some time, let's just run through these, "Mandler's: The Original Sausage Co."-style:
Chorizo: Mushy and bitter with mysterious chunks.
Knockwurst: Rancid-tasting and buttery.
Turkey: Bland. No, flavorless.
There's more than just lack of appeal to the problem. Let's start with the method of ordering. Picture it: Union Square, lunch-hour rush. You want a sausage. First, you will be pelted with a barrage of questions: "What kind of sausage would you like?" "What kind of bread?" "Which toppings?" and "What kind of sauce?
You only chose one sauce; you can choose one more." Damn! You thought you were just dealing with mustard and ketchup? No! There's tahini, hot sauce, roasted red pepper?seven in total to choose from. Toppings? Eleven. Breads? Five. Can you imagine the fiasco that will ensue if things ever start to get busy here?
If all of these choices led to subsequent reward, the trouble would be worth it?a labor of love, even. But the rolls that sheathe the nine-and-a-half-inch links manage to be at once overly bulky and lacking in substance. And those sauces? The mustard was bitter and nasty; the relish, generic. The other sauces are not worth mentioning. The same goes for the toppings: The sauerkraut tasted strongly of clove and was not remotely tangy. The bacon tasted like nothing, and I could hardly force down a mess of sauteed onions with mushrooms.
Nor was the saving grace in the snacks. Corn fries, small nugget-like fritters, weren't bad at first: crisp on the outside, a battery center studded with fresh kernels of corn. But after two or three of those fatty suckers, my companion and I both started to feel sick.
This slick business was started by a garment district executive (the Mandler of "Mandler's") who perhaps took his cue from Haig Schneiderman, another garment-biz exec who recently took over Knish Knosh in Queens and appears to be doing quite well. But if Mandler wants to get a foothold in this dog-eat-dog world, he'd better make some changes.