Sam Sifton Reviews the "Double Down"

With all the fuss made over New York Times critic Sam Sifton sampling the latest fast food monstrosity, KFC's "Double Down" (he previewed his intentions last Friday, leading Eater to set up spies at every Manhattan KFC to catch him in the act), I was sorely disappointed that the result was a mere Diner's Journal entry, rather than a full-fledged review in true Sifton-speak. So I wrote my own.

The men in the navy blazers, with their silk rep ties and their Jansport knapsacks, don't come here often. In fact, they never come here at all, and have to look up the address on their Blackberries. The food-obsessed will debate the finer points of the various other fried chicken offerings of Gotham, from Blue Ribbon or Locanda Verde, the two different styles of oil-bathed hen at Momofuku Noodle Bar, or the Korean fried chicken at Bon Chon that I think Jonathan Gold would really like if he came here. Not KFC.

But know this: a new dish is being served at KFC, and it's the "Double Down." KFC once was known as Kentucky Fried Chicken, just like KRS-One once used to be known as Lawrence Parker. You can still get your bucket of Original Recipe or your Extra Crispy here, or even the newer-fangled Colonel's Strips. But if you want to simultaneously provide free publicity for some appalling new fast food product, while still lording your own superiority, it is the "Double Down" you should order.

The sandwich contains no bread save for the breading on the chicken, which is fried and comes in two bread-like slabs. Between these a KFC worker places a slice of white American-style cheese, a piece of crisp-fired bacon, and a splat of "Colonel's sauce," a kind of mayonnaise. The sandwich, KFC says in its advertising materials, "is so meaty, there's no room for a bun." It's Festivus for fat kids.

You may have your Double Down in the restaurant, with its open kitchen, white subway tiled walls, and festive balloons, but this time of year it is better to do like the men in the baseball hats do, and bring your sandwich outside to eat among the tulips, on a seat on Broadway just north of Greeley Square. Keep it in the bag, so as to discourage the hordes of cannibalistic pigeons who may otherwise descend, to say nothing of the geek paparazzi lurking in the bushes.

The sandwich? The chicken is watery within its soft casing of "crust," the cheese familiar to anyone who has eaten food prepared by the United States government, the bacon chemical in its smokiness, the mayonnaise sauce tangy, salty, and sweet, all at once. It offers exactly the same sensation as a menage a trois with a couple of toothless carnies - a bolt of greasiness and disgust combined. To drink? You will want the Pepsi, which was, as Pepsi is, more sweet than Coke, more syrupy.

Restaurants are culture as sure as monster truck rallies or reality TV shows. This one says: "You are going to be sick shortly after eating this - even worse than after you ate the entire pig's foot at the Breslin." The "Double Down," as the New York expression goes, is "blech."

The Forge - Miami Beach

Our last steakhouse experience was a disappointment, though I sort of anticipated that going in. I had higher hopes for our visit to the newly reopened The Forge. For decades, The Forge had been one of the bastions of a particularly Miami style of high dining: luxurious, decadent, and over the top, where the food could be quite good, but was not necessarily the prime focus. Indeed, in its later days, The Forge was probably equally popular for its Wednesday night "disco dinners" as for the steaks. Nonetheless, I'd always had good meals there, and the restaurant, with its rococo decorations and encyclopedia-sized wine list, had its unique charms.

The place has quite a history: supposedly, it was originally an actual blacksmiths' shop, and in the 1930's was turned into a restaurant and casino. It was purchased in the late 1960's by the Malnick family, who were responsible for an opulent renovation that made the place a landmark for the next several decades. The restaurant survived a fire in 1991 and extensive damage from Hurricane Andrew in 1992; but after a 40-year run, The Forge closed its doors in July of last year, supposedly to do a major renovation. Frankly, most who heard that were dubious. "Closed for renovations" actually means "closed for good" about 90% of the time, and those odds seemed even more stacked against The Forge, whose extravagant, big-ticket style seemed particularly out of step with the declining local and national economy.

But The Forge proved all the skeptics wrong when it reopened its doors this month, showing off a thorough redecoration of the space, and also bringing in a new chef (Dewey LoSasso, formerly the chef-owner of now-closed locals' favorite North One Ten) to run the kitchen. Both the renovation and the chef have breathed new life into an old classic.

The entranceway, previously gated, has been opened up, making for a dramatic catwalk into the restaurant, with sconces which could have been lifted from a Tim Burton set along the walls. The main dining room has been brightened up considerably with new blond-stained wood paneling on the walls and new tables and chairs throughout (some in gigantic Alice in Wonderland proportions). A wall of glass beads separates a second dining room, and around the corner is a glassed-in private dining room as well as the "Library," an intimate little room with a gas-lit fireplace and stained glass all around. It's perhaps just a tad less ostentatious than the original pre-renovation Forge, but it will certainly never be described as minimalist.^[*]

Chef LoSasso's menu is similarly ornate. Fans of North One Ten will recognize some of Dewey's signature dishes, like his smoked salmon croquettes with "damn hot guava sauce," but it seems the surroundings - and, obviously some encouragement from the owners - have inspired the chef to explore any number of flights of fancy. Indeed, while the Forge still serves several steaks, it would be misleading to call it a steakhouse now. The menu is too far-reaching to fit into that narrow pigeonhole.

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III Forks - Hallandale

Many people think that food bloggers are nothing more than frustrated, wannabe restaurant reviewers - that we all secretly (or perhaps not so secretly) pine to be the big-shot newspaper critic doling out stars every week. Speaking for myself, anyway, nothing could be further from the truth. First and foremost, I don't think I could support Family Frod in the manner to which they've become accustomed on a professional journalist's pay grade. But more importantly, this is recreation for me, an outlet. I eat where I want, I write what I want, and I do all of it when I want (and don't do it if I don't want to). The prospect of being obligated to go to particular restaurants and writing about them, on deadline, seems absolutely dreadful.

As a result, you don't see a ton of negative reviews here. I tend to have a pretty good sense of when I'm not going to like a restaurant, and can usually avoid those where I'm likely to be disappointed. Likewise, if a place is merely mediocre, there's often not much of interest to be said about it.

But sometimes my sense of foreboding is not enough to save me from a bad meal. Sometimes, even if you're not a professional critic, you can't choose where you eat. I recently had one of those times, when friends made a reservation at the newly opened III Forks in the Village at Gulfstream Park complex.

If you haven't been down that way lately, you will be astounded at what's gone up on the massive plot of land that houses the Gulfstream horse track. In addition to the newly renovated track and adjoining casino, there is a Vegas-scale shopping complex with several restaurants. Aside from III Forks, there is a new Douglas Rodriguez restaurant opening soon (Ola Cuban), a Texas de Brazil, and maybe ten other big restaurants in the development (most still not yet open). The magnitude of it is pretty staggering. And the track itself is really just beautiful. We recently brought the kids to watch a couple races, and it was a great way to spend a sunny afternoon.

Anyway, as I almost always do, I checked out the online menu for III Forks before our visit. I immediately started whining to Mrs. F that it was the most soul-crushingly boring menu I'd seen in years, and desparately tried to find ways to alter our plans. But sometimes there's no polite way to do so. So, into the abyss ...

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