E.U.

This being the third, maybe fourth time I've been here, the atmosphere is decidedly less party tonight. But God bless 'em, they've got Lambrusco. In New York City. In mid-September. It's almost suspect that they'd still have it. No one can hang onto this stuff. It's just that good! It's a deep purple, sparking red wine, the color of an abyss or black hole maybe. And it's rich but effervescent. Me, oh my, I love the stuff. And am in luck.

I'm having a cheese plate here at E.U. Yes, that stands for European Union, and the food is a European blend from paella to gnocchi to foie gras. The restaurant space is oh-so-library chic, exposed brick, dark wood, stainless steel coupled with wash basins, oil lanterns and candlelight. Like Ben Franklin could walk in at any minute. Wait...maybe...William Shakepeare. Seems like the neighborhood has to catch up to a place like this. It's a little too corporate quaint for this residential neighborhood. Here's the deal. If enough people outside the neighborhood come in to it to support a place like this, I guess it could succeed regardless of the menu, atmosphere or neighborhood. I guess I'd just like to see more of a blend. Like if a Puerto Rican lady strutted in the door right now with her kids, grandkids, a niece, nephew and second husband for a meal, then I'd be happy. But it doesn't seem like E.U. has quite been accepted yet. Maybe if they'd called it S.A., served alfajores, cafe con leche, ceviche, arepas, sancocho and maybe even cuy it might work out.

And that's another thing. This place is called E.U., only everyone's speaking English. Fine. The U.K. But it seems like I should hear some German, English, and Castellano with a peppering of maybe Flemish? But, no. Maybe this restaurant is better in theory than authenticity. And I paid with my American Express card. Apparently, they don't take euros.