Here it is again, in all its glory:

Okay, I’ll say a little more. Having eaten several of these, I’m amazed at how consistently awesome they are. It’s kind of like with a McDonald’s hamburger: you know exactly what you’re going to get. Except instead of feeling shame, you get the urge to start writing love letters.

Now that it’s in the eighties most days in Austin, it’s becoming hard to recall how cold it was in New York at this time. But what I can clearly recall is that this was one of the most satisfying meals we’ve had in some time.

Country style pâté.

Rabbit rillette.

Sausage with lentils. I wish I remember exactly which sausage this was.

Eliza had the burger, which (in another example of my experience with fancy burgers) didn’t actually knock our socks off. But, the fries… Oh, the fries.

The Ace itself was great. The shower alone is worth the cost of the room. Even better, the place is full of good food and coffee. We started every day at Stumptown Coffee Roasters. They’re based out of Portland, so they know a thing or two about coffee. In this photo Eliza’s expression is called “I’ve grown to tolerate, perhaps even enjoy, your constant photo taking.”

We don’t call ourselves “foodies.” For one, the term gives me the willies. More importantly, “foodies” tend to take the fun out of eating. For us, fun is the whole point. So we’re not the kind of people who know the names of chefs. A notable exception to that rule, though, is April Bloomfield, the mastermind behind the Spotted Pig. It helps that the New Yorker recently ran a profile of her. The occasion for that profile was the opening of Bloomfield’s latest venture, The John Dory Oyster Bar, conveniently attached to the Ace.

Naturally, we started off with oysters. This was a very happy meal for Eliza especially. Shellfish as far as the eye could see.

Next up were a couple of soft boiled eggs, served with sea salt and parsley-butter slathered crostini.

Here was some kind of oyster soup with uni crostini. That’s uni as in sea urchin. This little dish is the kind of thing that makes you search in vain for appropriate metaphors. Let’s just say my mouth is literally watering as I write this.

Here was some other kind of mussel or clam-based soup. I’m telling you: Eliza can’t get enough shellfish. But I wasn’t complaining. The weekend was off to a lovely start.

New Yorkers didn’t quite know what to make of it. Was it a bar with good food? A restaurant that was fun? In any case, it was an immediate hit, a seat at one of its cramped tables so coveted that Frank Bruni, in a mostly admiring review in the Times, deemed the place a “gastromelee.” Message boards abounded with proudly masochistic anecdotes about what one blogger called the “hipster bloodsport” of trying to get in.

I hesitated for a moment. I had just eaten a plate of meatball sandwiches! But I was too afraid that I might regret passing on that second lunch and too tempted by the tantalizing display of cream cheeses to say no.  I surrendered to the call of the everything bagel slathered with that delicious caviar cream cheese.

It was everything I had been dreaming of.

One of the problems with hanging out in New York is that you’re always surrounded by people who are far cooler than you are.

A nice touch: you check off your order with a marker on these laminated menus.

They pack the tables pretty tightly in there. Eliza couldn’t get my face in this shot because the camera would have actually gone up my right nostril.

We went with the sliders so we could try as many different types as possible. For each one, you choose both the meat and the sauce.

A surprising winner was also the salad you see here, a little greenery to go along with all that meat.

Before dinner, we spent a few minutes at the bar, which overlooks the main dining room a floor below. It creates a nice effect, making the place feel huge.

We started off with the foie gras, in an effort to eat something not offered in Austin barbecue joints.

In keeping with the busman’s holiday theme, Eliza had a beer that was imported by an Austin company.

The ribs were nice. The meal was nice. The ambiance was nice. And maybe that’s why I wasn’t crazy about it. It felt like something was missing at Ma Peche, and I think that missing piece was attitude. In David Chang, we’re talking about a guy who makes a dessert called “Crack Pie.” But Ma Peche felt a little conservative.

We did stop at the Milk Bar on the way out for some of that Crack Pie, though. There’s a reason they call it that.

Here’s a shot of the restaurant scene with the new lens. Pretty nice, huh?

This one is not so nice. I need a nap. And maybe a hairbrush.

This little bowl arrived at the table with our hot tea. We had no idea what it was or what to do with it, and we were too embarrassed to ask the surly waitress, so it will remain a mystery.

Some very tasty wontons.

And then the soup dumplings. They were served in a bamboo steamer and, unfortunately, a lot of their soupy goodness leaked out before we had the pleasure of slurping it. But nonetheless, they were very good and still soupy enough that I managed to spill some on my sweater.

We shared one entree – twice cooked pork. VERY spicy and delicious.

The restaurant is in a 1920s Kullman Diner car. Very cozy.

Our waitress sat down next to us and wrote the daily specials on the table. Nice touch.

Add this to my list of New York food surprises: finding one of the best biscuits I’ve ever had. This one ranks up there with this one and this one.

Eliza had the ham sandwich, which was served on a scone.

I loved not only how our meals at Diner tasted, but also how they looked: elegant, but effortless. Whenever people talk about “presentation” in the context of food, it always seems overly fussy to me. On the other hand, I suppose it’s not actually the idea of presentation that bugs me, just fussy presentation. It’s not about an oddly shaped plate or a random squirt 0f some mystery sauce, but just about letting the ingredients shine. And that’s exactly what’s so great about Diner. It’s simple, fresh and satisfying. All in all, a great way to avoid death by hypothermia while visiting New York.