The New Yorker

"Several house cocktails, such as the Clock Tower Sour and the Lazarus, were punch-bowl sweet, but the gingery Dark and Stormy on tap had some razzmatazz."

"How is it that the tomatillos, tossed with white cabbage and cilantro, sitting quietly at the side of a house-made-duck-sausage banh mi, taste like such sweet, healthy candy?"

"Unless you know the Spanish word chapulín, you may not realize that the shrimp tacos are battered and fried in a crust of grasshoppers, creating a deliciously recursive arthropod."

"Out comes a parade of sushi, though the chefs identifying their creations don’t always make themselves heard over Drake or Jay Z. Guessing games ensue: “Did he say scallop sperm?”"

"A drink called Beets by Dre contained beet juice, gin, and rosemary—O.K. if borscht’s your thing; watch the white jeans."

"Raising a salutary rumpus for summer’s dog days, the Matthew Marks gallery gives three locations over to “What Nerve! Alternative Figures in American Art, 1960 to the Present.”"