We’ve been to The Dutch several times now and it’s on our top picks because, baby, it never fails. Close your eyes for a moment and concentrate (your inner eyes- not your “reading” eyes). Can you envision a pork chop so good, you almost cry?
If you said “yes,” then concentrate some more… Is this your card?
If you said “no,” then you’re wrong. Both times.

The pork chop was bigger than this.

Aside from being as big as Taylor’s head (which is large), the grilled pork chop at The Dutch comes glazed in heaven-clouds spiced with angel farts. No wait, it was actually seasoned with a sweet/sour cider glaze, and served on a bed of spinach with a few spiced apples on the side. But none of that matters. At all. What matters is that it’s brined for over 30 years in a cave full of pixies. That’s not true. But listen- the reason I keep diverging into these made-up scenarios is because it really is almost impossible to describe how good this pork is without resorting to cliches or throwing the word “perfect” around a dozen times. But for those of you who need to hear those words, here they are: it was incredibly moist, juuuust sweet, sour and salty enough, exceptionally tender, rich and meaty, light, yet hearty, and it made us both say “this is so good, why is this so good?!” over and over to each other in frustration/unearthly-pleasure (which is a dichotomy it seems only the two of us experience with wonderful food).

The golden beets were very good too, but who cares about a quarter lying next to a whole pile of pirate gold?

Oh, and one last thing about that pork chop- I forgot all about it when I tasted the short rib pot roast. Do you UNDERSTAND what I’m saying? I literally tasted probably the best meat I’ve ever eaten and not thirty seconds later it was replaced. This short rib pot roast was THAT good. “Good” doesn’t even work at this point! “Delicious” means NOTHING! It made me want to laugh and cry and pass out in an opium dream-orgasm of flavour the instant it hit my tongue. Believe me- I can’t use any MORE hyperbole to accurately describe my experience because it simply must be experienced. Also there were mashed potatoes.

My point is: I want you to eat at the Dutch; not because I like their management (I don’t) or because their waiters and bartenders are really nice (they are), or because the atmosphere must be experienced (it’s cramped).

I want you to eat here because food like this is the entire reason Taylor and I started Chew York and you owe it to yourself to enjoy the masterpieces of chef Andrew Carmellini.

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