In the Bronx, ZON's margherita is one of the city's most perfect evocations of that sainted Neapolitan pie.

Today, Counter Culture compares two renditions of Roberto Paciullo's (of Roberto Restaurant fame) Zero Otto Nove: one on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, the other in the Flatiron district in Manhattan. Both have their advantages, but here's a comparison of each's best dishes. Read the full piece here.

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On the left, slightly the more diminutive, the plain jelly donut from the sainted Donut Pub on 14th Street. On the right, the Berliner from Landbrot on Seventh Avenue.

There's an upstart jelly donut in town. It's called the Berliner, and it recently appeared at Landbrot, a new German bakery in town that fills a niche we never knew existed.

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We started off simple, with the #1, a sandwich featuring white American singles with tomato and bacon on peasant bread for $7.25. As with all of the sandwiches available, it came with a side of browned kettle chips, and the option of adding on a side of tomato soup for $1.25.

The sandwich was good, with fairly crisp bacon and tomatoes that were neither mealy nor watery -- a pet peeve when it comes to grilled cheese with tomatoes. Although the cheese was nicely melty, compared with the amount of bread, there could have been more cheese going on. The great thing about spongy, pliable Wonder Bread (or a Pullman loaf) is that it's really just a vehicle for the cheese and the whole shebang becomes one gooey, delicious mess. That wasn't totally the case here.

Lauren Shockey

And the fancier fancy grilled cheese

Next we went for the #2, a combo of Gruyère, chèvre, leek confit, and pancetta on French sourdough for $8.75. After all, what's fancier than French food, right? Although mixing goat and cow cheeses seemed a little intense at first, this duo worked well, simultaneously nutty and tart. The leek confit also added a nice vegetal accent and the pancetta an extra layer of saltiness.

So which sandwich did we like better?

The fancier fancy grilled cheese!

Maybe it's because we believe American singles work best when they aren't gussied up. If you're gonna make fancy sandwiches, better to go all out on fanciness than try to fix the humble grilled cheese that isn't broke and really doesn't want to be fixed. And, quite frankly, the ingredients in sandwich #2 simply worked better with the bread than those in sandwich #1. Yes, you're still paying $9 for a grilled cheese, but hey, at least it's a super-fancy-pants grilled cheese.

For more dining news, head to Fork in the Road, or follow us @ForkintheRoadVV, or me @ldshockey.

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Café-Tasse on the left, Bug Bites on the right

I am part of the 10 percent of the population that classifies itself as chocoholic. Of that 10 percent, nine-tenths are thought to be women. (Note to self: What a great way to meet females!)

As a chocoholic, I am prey to crass blandishments and commercial come-ons. When I see those tiny chocolates by the cash register, I know they have been put there to lure me. I know that they're an awful bargain, way more expensive ounce for ounce than a real chocolate bar. Yet I'm powerless to resist. Even if I came up to the register with my mouth stuffed with chocolate, I'd have to buy it anyway, just because it feels so good to buy chocolate.

Here are a couple of samples I picked up lately. Some day doing this will send me to the poorhouse. The one on the left (75 cents), made in Belgian and weighing in at 0.31 ounces, is called Café-Tasse, and boasts 77 percent cacao. It's smooth on the tongue and has undergone a real European milling. (Americans tend to mill their chocolate less time in the conch.)

The one on the right (69 cents) comes with a political plus. It's called Bug Bites and it's manufactured for a company called Endangered Species Chocolate, based in Indianapolis. The bar is covered with slogans and buzzwords, including "100% Ethically Traded," "Certified Organic by Oregon Tilth," "Gluten Free," and "Vegan." The website assures us in un-proofread English that "10% of net profits from each piece of chocolate your purchase from Endangered Species Chocolate goes back to partners that are affecting global positive change on their own ways." The bar weighs in at 0.35 ounces, and the percent cacao is not revealed. Once again according to the website, the chocolate originates in Ecuador and the Ivory Coast.

Next: The Winner ...

The Café-Tasse is imperially smooth and rich, with a shiny sheen that suggests careful manufacture. The Bug Bites is a little bit chalky and coarse, but still filled with a flavor that blooms a few milliseconds after you start chewing. Both are totally edible, but the winner is ...

Café-Tasse Extra Noir.

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Lauren Shockey

Fancy chocolate #1

Wanting to get something a little more exciting than plain old chocolate, we opted for the 100 gram (3.5 ounce) 56% dark chocolate bar with hazelnuts, priced at $10. The package suggested consuming it by November 30th, 2011, indicating that it contains few stabilizers that would preserve its shelf life. Bolstered with lots of hazelnuts, the chocolate was smooth and very palatable, with honey and vanilla-ish undertones. It's sweet, yes, and true chocolate purists might quibble at the lower cacao percentage, but all in all, it makes for a nice chocolate bar for snacking. Plus, the simple elegance of the lilac-colored box embossed with gold lettering drew us in right away. What can we say? We're suckers for pretty packaging.

Lauren Shockey

Fancy chocolate #2

Moving on, we stepped into La Maison du Chocolat, which unlike Ladurée, was blissfully empty (Ladurée wait time was about 10 minutes). They didn't offer a dark chocolate bar with hazelnuts, only a milk one, so we went with the dark chocolate and almond bar, also priced at $10. Their bar, though is only 75 grams (2.6 ounces), meaning that on price per volume alone, you're paying 25% more than Ladurée. The chocolate is 60% and scored into larger squares filled with finely chopped almonds. While certainly echelons beyond what Hershey could ever aspire to, the chocolate lacks the richness and viscosity of the Ladurée one. Its flavor is slightly more one-note and less complex. Still good, but not OMG-chocolate-orgasm good.

And for the winner and your daily dose of macaron food porn...

Lauren Shockey

Not quite Paris, but close

Ladurée wins! We were smitten with the chocolate, which was both better tasting and a better deal than the La Maison du Chocolat one. So all you macaron haters still have a reason to check out the new Madison Avenue store, which looks like this:

Lauren Shockey

Still lines, but not like on opening day, when the wait time was one hour

Lauren Shockey

Should you want your house to smell like macarons, they have candles for that

And for the chocophobics, here are the macarons:

Lauren Shockey

From left to right: cassis, pistachio, salted caramel, and raspberry

Lauren Shockey

From left to right: green apple, coconut, cassis

The macarons are priced at $2.70 apiece, and come in the following flavors: raspberry, green apple, vanilla, coconut, strawberry-mint, coffee, lemon, pistachio, cassis violet (our personal favorite), chocolate, orange flower, rose, and salted caramel. A sign also notes that the cookies must be eaten within three days of purchase.

Having sampled the cassis, green apple, and coconut on our way home, we can say that they do taste just like the ones in France (which makes sense since they're shipped over). Because of today's rain, though, we felt that the cookie might have been slightly affected by the humidity in the air, since the treat felt slightly denser as opposed to flaky. Still, though, if you're a macaron fan, Ladurée really is the Platonic ideal.

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On the left, Old Jamaica Ginger Beer; on the right, Idris Fiery Ginger Beer

Another reason to drink it is that ginger has medicinal properties; next to cannabis, it's one of the world's great anti-nausea agents, which is why parents give it to children with upset stomachs. A third reason lies in the making of shandies -- as usually defined, drinks featuring an equal proportion of ginger beverage and beer.

American ginger ale, despite the stronger-sounding name, is a much weaker form of ginger beer. Today we pit against each other two English ginger beers. In the yellowish can decorated with a golden helix on its cylindrical surface is Old Jamaica Ginger Beer. In the bright red can stands Fiery Ginger Beer, whose slogan is, "Try me if you dare." Indeed.

Actually, both ginger beers are weak compared with Jamaican ginger beer made by D & G in Kingston. As it turns out, Old Jamaica Ginger Beer is made by a licensee of D & G. For English tastes, the product is not nearly as strong. Here are the tasting notes.

Old Jamaica Ginger Beer -- This product is cloudy-white, quite sweet, and possessing of an almost floral nose. The carbonation is moderate, and the sweetness is provided by sucrose (table sugar). The legend on the can reads, "With Fiery Jamaican Root Ginger," suggesting the origin of the natural flavor is the island itself.

Idris Fiery Ginger Beer -- The beverage is tinged yellow, and more fully carbonated than Old Jamaica, and moderately sweet from sucrose. There's an earthy flavor mid-palate, which is notable, but neither annoying nor desirable. This ginger beer also boasts a slight citrus flavor. Real or not, it tastes like a squirt of ReaLemon has been added.

The Verdict: Old Jamaica Ginger Beer is best.

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Lauren Shockey

At Momofuku Noodle Bar, you get two buns for $10.

We began our quest at Momofuku Noodle Bar, and ordered the classic pork buns, which run two for $10. The buns come slathered with hoisin sauce and quick-pickled cukes, plus a sprinkling of minced scallions. The buns are notably soft and squishy but sturdy enough to stand up to the slices of pork. Pork belly, obviously a fatty cut of meat, can be tricky, and it's not uncommon to end up with gobfuls of straight fat. The meat here had a good balance of flesh and fat. Although we preferred the restaurant's older version in which the pork took on much more of a roasted character, this bun proved that, yes, much of Momofuku's hype is still well-deserved.

Lauren Shockey

The Chairman Bao at Baohaus, one of eight types of available buns

We then strolled a few blocks up to 14th Street and popped into Baohaus 2, which occupies a narrow storefront with an open kitchen, also visible from the street. Here, the buns cost $4 apiece, so a good 20 percent cheaper than Momofuku's, plus you can mix and match, which is something we always appreciate. Sticking with piggy delights, we opted for the classic Chairman Bao, which comes with pork belly, "haus relish," chopped cilantro, and crushed peanuts. Size-wise, the bun is about the same as Momofuku's, though the flavorings used for the pork here are slightly sweeter and the nuts add a nice textural crunch. Our slab of pork belly, however, was all fat, lording over a tiny nub of cooked meat hidden at the bottom of the bun. The flavorings were more complex than at Momofuku, but, truthfully, we would have liked a bit more meat in our mouthfuls.

So which bun wins?

Lauren Shockey

Momofuku's winning pork buns

This was a tough one, but we're going to give the win to Momofuku. Even though it was more expensive and somewhat less original than the selection of quirkily flavored baos at Baohaus, the meat was far better and not simply a lump of cooked pearly fat. Succulent piggy flavor still came through in each bite, which is key when it comes to a pork bun. Though of, course, even a fatty pork bun is better than no pork bun at all.

Visit for yourself: Momofuku Noodle Bar vs. Baohaus 2

For more dining news, head to Fork in the Road, or follow us @ForkintheRoadVV, or me @ldshockey.

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Rebecca Marx

Our first stop was Épicerie Boulud, the chef's very casual takeout joint across from Lincoln Center. Its menu features a $9.50 pan-bagnat, which is what a tuna sandwich is called if you happen to be eating it on the French Riviera. The sandwich is a specialty of Nice and its environs, and much like the salad Niçoise, the city's other great contribution to lunch, it features tuna, chopped hard-boiled egg, and plenty of olive oil.

At Épicerie Boulud, the fish has been poached in olive oil, which gives it a silky, pleasantly unctuous texture. It's crowded between two halves of a focaccia bun with thick, ripe slices of avocado, bits of egg, chopped black olives, juicy tomato slices, and a few leaves of spinach.

All of the ingredients are very fresh and well-seasoned, and balanced in ideal proportion to one another. Every bite threatens to force them out of the focaccia, which is sprinkled with fleur de sel and a wee bit tough around the edges, but generally pretty delightful. The latter could be said of the entire sandwich, which convinced us that there really are tuna sandwiches that merit a $9.50 price tag.

Rebecca Marx

Next we went east to Untitled, which Meyer has styled in the manner of a diner that just happens to be located in the basement of the Whitney Museum. So it follows that the restaurant's tuna sandwich is $12, is served on rye, and features pole-caught tuna.

What doesn't follow is how paltry and frankly underwhelming it is. We've had tuna sandwiches made only with Chicken of the Sea and a tub of Hellmann's that were not only a better value, but just better, period. The tuna salad in Untitled's sandwich is bland, dry, seemingly devoid of seasoning, and cottony. It's lumped between two slices of rye bread that have only slightly more surface area than a MetroCard. The bread had been toasted, and while that's something we usually appreciate, here it colluded with the tuna salad to create a sandwich with the mouthfeel of Tyvek siding.

The quarter-cup of Israeli couscous salad that accompanied the sandwich was a nice touch, but didn't go any way toward making us feel that this sandwich merited its price tag. Claiming to model your restaurant's food on unassuming diner fare and then charging $12 for a skimpy tuna salad sandwich is not only tacky, it's mean. We understand that running a restaurant in the Whitney Museum costs money, but it seems completely counter to Meyer's celebrated brand of hospitality -- not to mention his track record -- to serve such lackluster food at such an inflated cost.

Obviously, then, Épicerie Boulud wins this battle, not only for its quality, but for its value. We're glad that they're using pole-caught tuna at Untitled, but based on what we ate, they would do well to throw it back.

Épicerie Boulud
1900 Broadway
212-595-9606

Untitled at the Whitney Museum
945 Madison Avenue
212-570-3670

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On the left, weighing in at 2.5 ounces, medieval prelate St. Anselm! On the right, tipping the scales at two ounces, barnyard bully Fatty 'Cue!

I've been seeing lots of bacon apps on menus lately. It probably goes back 100 years -- Peter Luger's bill of fare was the first time I remember seeing bacon all by itself as a dish.

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Amy's baguette, priced at $2.45, was long and slender, with a nice, slightly crisp crust. The one from Blue Ribbon Bakery, meanwhile, was $3.25 and shorter, but also significantly thicker. Sparring took place in the jousting arena, otherwise known as my living room, with myself and a friend whacking the baguettes as hard as possible against each other. The loser would be the one whose baguette broke first.

After a couple minutes of faux fencing and some actual whacking of our baguettes (which, perhaps unsurprisingly, led to crumbs and flour being dispersed throughout the air), this happened:

Lauren Shockey

Amy's Bread's baguette, or what was once a baguette

Amy's baguette had broken, meaning that Blue Ribbon Bakery's emerged victorious.

Lauren Shockey

Blue Ribbon Bakery Market's baguette, unscathed

Lauren Shockey

After the battle

Perhaps this wasn't a totally fair fight, since it makes theoretical sense that short and fat can beat long and skinny due to more surface area. But after sampling the remains of both breads, we're happy to report that this battle can really be considered more of a tie. A blind taste test among both fighting participants and a witness concluded that Amy's actually offered a tastier baguette. While Blue Ribbon's tasted floury and a little dry, Amy's had a nice chew and better taste overall.

Conclusion: If you're attacked on the street, hopefully you've bought your bread at Blue Ribbon Bakery. But if you just want some starch with your dinner, go to Amy's Bread.

En garde!

For more dining news, head to Fork in the Road, or follow us @ForkintheRoadVV, or me @ldshockey.

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