Posts from the ‘Carroll Gardens’ Category

Jun 18

Reds Produce

1/2 Knew this was bound to happen. Reds is no more. (1/10)

At some point–I couldn't tell you when–the name changed to the more fitting, Reds Tapas Bar. (5/09)

I do appreciate new dining options in Carroll Gardens because I have a fantasy of one day getting excited about eating in my own neighborhood. I was curious about this supposedly authentic tapas bar on Columbia Street, though I couldn’t find much written about it other than a few not terribly positive mentions on Yelp, a site I don’t trust for shit.

Maybe I was just in a good mood because even without well-functioning air conditioning (I don’t like my air au naturel when it’s sopping with 90% humidity) I enjoyed the place. It’s what it is; very simple and inexpensive (most items are $5, the most expensive are sharable $8 salads). This isn’t fanciful Spanish food served preciously. What you’ll find are mostly room temperature pre-prepared snacks displayed at the bar. Little bites to eat with drinks like at old-school taverns in Spain.

I did make a meal of it. Jessica and I ordered a bottle of Albariño. The weather was just too sticky and gross for something red and tannic.

Though it might not seem so, I’m relatively easy to please and was up for anything on the menu, but to be fair to the vegetarian dining companion I couldn’t be too meat-centric because I like sharing. Stuffed vine leaves were her idea and not something I would order because I’m not eating rice, not that fond of dolmas (with the exception of sushi, I think cold rice is creepy) and well, they’re not terribly Spanish. I did eat one, though. The creamy feta was nice.

Manchego

Murcia

I wanted to try two cheeses so I ordered an aged Manchego and what they call drunken goat (I’m pretty sure it’s Murcia) but that was a lot of cheese for two so I got leftovers wrapped as a midnight snack (afterward, we watched Cloverfield enhanced by homemade cookies not made by me. Let’s just say that those cookies make you hungry later). I’m still stuck on all the New Yorkers grossed out by leftovers. If you only ate half of this cheese, you would really just have it thrown away? I preferred the crumbly Manchego.

The jamon serrano was mine only and I thought it was quite good, much less salty and more substantial than the jamon crudo I’d been eating in Buenos Aires recently. I wasn’t paying attention to see if they were hand-slicing it. They did have a hoof-on pig’s leg on display but I wasn’t sure if it was just for looks. I tend to think it was machine cut because it was so uniform and thin. Anytime I’ve ordered jamon in Brooklyn it turns out chunky and mangled.

I like membrillo with my Manchego and did order some. This is the one thing I might say was overpriced. It seemed weird to pay $5 for the ham and only one dollar less for some thin blocks of quince paste. All of the accompaniments like fig cake and marcona almonds are $4, which isn’t outrageous but worth noting.

We split the beet and Cabrales salad. Jessica complained that it was too tart and didn’t contain golden beets as advertised (true). She also thought there was too much cheese, which I couldn’t disagree with more. We have different tastes. The sherry vinegar didn’t bother me so much but I think it was because I had been interspersing it with bites of tortilla and the starch neutralized the dressing. Once I did get a big mouthful, swallowed quickly and I choked from the acidity, so perhaps they could’ve eased up a bit on the vinegar.

Tortilla always seems dull in theory: eggs, onions and potatoes? Eh, but they always meld into something more.

I do plan on going back, and not just because it’s only five blocks from my apartment. I’d like to try the pan con tomate, another deceptively simple dish like the tortilla, but it really only works if your tomatoes are super ripe and it’s not quite their season yet.

Read my write-up for Nymag.com

Reds Produce * 289 Columbia St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Mar 19

Hibino

1/2 Hibino and Bocca Lupo always get lumped together in my mind. They both kind of popped up out of nowhere, glowing behind lots of windows on quiet Henry Street corners. Now, I’ve forgotten what previously filled those spaces.

I live on Henry Street so you might think I’d be excited by these options, but I never give them a second thought because I reside along that last little bit of Carroll Gardens that’s still on the east side of the BQE entrance.

I have been to Bocca Lupo twice now (once last month, but in a fit of reserve I didn’t write it up). Hibino, and Japanese food in general, is almost always charming yet it’s never what I’m craving. Subtle is a difficult concept for me.

It wasn’t until this weekend after watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (I was most struck by how attractive [in a natural way—not my usual taste—again with the subtle] all of the actresses were and yet not one was under 35. There’s no way they’d make the movie here without throwing in at least one young starlet to play baby mama, mistress, nurse, speech therapist or eye-blink transcriber) at Brooklyn Heights Cinema, my favorite never-full movie venue, that I gave in to Hibino.

There was no way I was eating in the immediate neighborhood. I don’t think I’ve ever dined in Brooklyn Heights, unless you count the north side of Atlantic Avenue and include Chip Shop or Waterfront Ale House, which technically fall into that zone. One block south of Atlantic is safe, though, and there’s friendly Hibino.

I felt I’d be remiss if I didn’t try any tofu since it’s made in house. I can’t speak to the wonderfulness or miserableness of their bean curd because I just can’t tell. Well, obviously it didn’t suck. I was impressed with the barely (in the past year I’ve noticed so many abuses of the bear/bare homonym—one during a subtitled trailer for The Band’s Visit before the Diving Bell and the Butterfly—that I’ve started questioning my sanity. But I do know there’s no way that a crust can be bearly there) there lightness of the coating. You could hardly even call it tempura.

But the squares were surrounded by dashi, once again presenting me with the tempura in soup conundrum: why it’s agreeable to put crispy into wet. If you don’t immediately dig in, there’s trouble; the coating flakes off, sinks into the liquid and turns to fluffy mush. I don’t see how it couldn’t. And this seemed like a high quality preparation. Three shishito peppers and a few shiitake mushroom caps also sat in the bowl lending spice and texture.

Mayonnaise, even sweetened Japanese style, has always been a creepy condiment but I can deal with drizzles on onomiyaki. It’s not the flavor that’s offensive because if you close your eyes and nibbled everything would blend, crispy with creamy, hot and cold. This pancake with octopus, cabbage and other bits, was a little thicker than I’m accustomed to. And I’m not convinced that the center was fully set. This was a dangerous move for someone who’s supposed to be avoiding starch, but I couldn’t help myself.

I did eschew all the meaty entrees over rice and sushi for unadulterated fish slices. Octopus never tastes like much even though it looks interesting (I first discovered this at an early-‘80s luau thrown by Hawaiian church friends of my parents. Church friends were always meh, but I did relish trying the “gross” stuff like octopus legs covered in tentacles and poi. I also used to be known for eating pet food for shock value. In fact, I lived up to this when my sister was recently in town and she scrounged up a dog pepperoni stick from her coat pocket and dared me to eat it. Of course I took a bite. It was foul, bitter and waxy, nothing like the surprisingly benign Milk Bones I used to chomp for shits and giggles).

I like fat and oil so the mackerel (Spanish and non) and tuna were my favorites. And the dramatic yet practical on-ice presentation somehow made everything taste better.

Here’s the sushi plate, traditional, not “new style.”

Hibino * 333 Henry St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Mar 3

Lucali

In a city that outsiders equate with amazing pizza, it’s a pain in the ass to actually acquire a worthy pie. I haven’t been to Di Fara in years because I’m impatient, Totonno’s is a trek, Lucali is three blocks from my apartment but it’s so impenetrable you’d think it was Waverly Inn.

I’m happy to have a neighborhood gem, something to keep my blahness of South Brooklyn food resentment in check. But they don’t make it easy to partake in the goodness.

Maybe this is what it’s like to live around the corner from Little Owl or Momofuku. At least with Momofuku you could pop out of your home late and hope for the best. The Lucali window--6pm-10pm--is distressingly short. Crowds raise my blood pressure. Just passing by Lucali and seeing groups outside the door make me jittery.

To be honest, I don’t completely understand the seating procedure. There aren’t reservations but it seems like people call ahead and I swear they play favorites. We showed up at 6pm on the dot and the room was already filled and people were being quoted 45 minute waits. I kindly let James deal and stepped outside with my sister and her husband for the long haul.

I’m still not clear what transpired but minutes later we had the biggest table in the place, a rectangular six-seater. I had to have been total happenstance and lucky timing because there were groups ahead of us. In fact, a couple who were waiting outside when we arrived were still waiting outside when we left. I’ve had so many table waiting disasters that I’m not even going to question the how or why of we scored so effortlessly.

Ok…the pizza. It’s simple and it works. I don’t always appreciate minimal done well, but I get it with pizza. There’s nothing further from a deep dish, it’s not even the same species. I’ll never understand crackly, thin crust haters.

James and I ordered pepperoni and accidentally got the basil from my sister’s olive and basil. That was easily rectified.

The dim light (Lucali always looks closed from the outside because it’s so dark) is an anathema to good photos. But you get the gist. (3/2/08)

Nov 21

Mazzat

Mazzat certainly isn’t going to help re-gentrify Red Hook or that isolated sliver of Carroll Gardens that some call Red Hook. I was excited to see something new show up on Columbia Street earlier this year but the Mediterranean tapas (so says their awning) aren’t really any great shakes. Then again, they’re not horrible either. If the urge for Armenian string cheese and a glass of wine ever strikes when in western Carroll Gardens, you’ll know where to go.

Chicken cigars aren't such a crazy concept, but served with honey mustard?

Don't worry, there's no honey mustard in the hummus.

Soujouk, a crumbly, mildly spicy Armenian sausage with cheese. It's not pretty, but at least it's something you don't typically see at a tapas bar. I also don't think Armenia is Mediterranean–maybe it's one of those Carroll Gardens/Red Hook debates.

Read my Nymag.com review

Mazzat * 208 Columbia St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

May 1

Alma

1/2 I’m still not al fresco crazed or warm weather loving and I still kind of hate eating outdoors (which is hard to reconcile with my love of street food and blazingly hot countries) but it was balmy, not hot for those few days last week. Plus, Alma is walking distance from my apartment so it didn’t take much effort to get there and up on their roof deck.

You kind of have to ignore the stevedoring (I’m still not sure what this exactly) that stands between you and the reason for eating at Alma: the up close Manhattan views. Some would say the skyline overshadows the food but it’s fine for what it is.

I shared a chorizo, potato and goat cheese quesadilla, which was good enough to prompt James to recreate it a few nights later. I didn't taste the poblano relleno but it photographed a little better than the quesadilla so there it is.

I also had a simple grilled shrimp dish with cucumber-mango salsa, pickled red onions and chipotle sauce. Warm corn tortillas come on the side. I’m always distressed that I’m given too many and then I worry about wasting (at realer Mexican restaurants you’ll frequently get an impossible stack). This was the first time the opposite happened and could’ve used an extra. Oh well. (4/24/07)

Apr 12

2 Comments

Ferdinando’s Focacceria

In the three years I’ve lived seven blocks from Ferdinando’s, I’ve never paid a visit. Part of that was oversight, though to a small degree it was intentional. I like that cuspy little area west of the BQE that’s mostly Carroll Gardens and a little bit Red Hook. I have tried Bouillabaisse 126, Schnack and House of Pizza and Calzone, all on the same Union Street block as Ferdinando’s so it was time to be all inclusive.

I was always a smidgen intimidated by the place, the peculiar hours (which also used to be the case with HOPAC’s previous incarnation), the old-schoolness, and never mind the fact that I almost never ever eat Italian food. Brooklyn Sicilian sounded ominous in a no outsiders way. I don’t mean that as a cultural stereotype. But occasionally you get whiffs of local/townie animosity in NYC. P.J. Hanley’s, also in the neighborhood, certainly had/has that reputation.

No biggie because I don’t feel like I fit into any particular neighborhood anyway (though I do feel an inexplicable kinship with the M train). I’ve never understood transplants who come to New York City and feel an epiphanous energy and comfort like there’s no place else they could imagine themselves. I can think of plenty of other cities I’d rather live in, though none are in the U.S. (I was recently informed that Beijing might seriously become a potential work-related relocation [not my work] and I’m completely open to that idea though I would be surprised if it came to fruition.)

Change is so rapid lately, that I figured I’d better hurry and give Ferdinando’s a try before it turned into a condo, mediocre Thai restaurant or an Alan Harding venture.

The menu had more variety than I’d expected. Since they close so early (7pm Monday through Thursday) I thought it would be more lunchy. I’m not crazy about heavy tomato sauce and they had plenty of enticing alternatives like pasta con sarde (sardines, wild fennel, pignoli) and panelle served four different ways: panelle, panelle sandwich, panelle special and panelle and potato special. Starch and starch is my way so a chickpea fritter sandwich is definitely in my future.

I knew what I had to order though, vastedda, the peculiar and lauded spleen sandwich. I imagined spleen might be like liver or sweetbreads and would be breaded and shallow fried. Not so, the organ is thinly sliced, nakedly gray-brown and wispy like the gills of a mushroom. There was something vaguely portabella-ish about it. The offal is served on a roll with a healthy dollop of ricotta, grated parmesan and baked.

The bread, both rolls and heroes, were remarkably good, not too crusty and very substantial. No fluff. The last time I had a foreign-to-me sandwich on a real homemade roll was just last month at Chilean San Antonio Bakery. I’m lucky to have so many sandwiches to choose from.

James ordered a hulking sausage parm hero that caused our waitress to ask if we were sharing it when it arrived. Only a few other tables were occupied during late afternoon on a Saturday so I eavesdropped on the staff talking about Grindhouse and the Yankees, which came in snippets. Every so often someone would switch to Italian and throw me off.

The only tragedy of the meal was that I’m pretty sure I left my camera sock behind. I’m concerned about scratching up my new camera but I hate all the cases I’ve seen so I started carrying it around in a sock that had been sitting in my drawer. Green argyle hearts are perfection to me so it’s a mystery how they went unworn. But I noticed it was missing when I got home and my camera was bare. The beauty of socks is that they’re a pair and I still have one left. I considered calling up Ferdinando’s and asking if they’d found my footie but if I was already concerned about their impression of the neighborhood’s gentrifying inhabitants, this wouldn’t help relations any.

Ferdinando's Focacceria * 151 Union St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

May 20

Schnack

1/2 I go to Schnack more than I mention, maybe once every other month, but I never bother saying so because I almost always eat the same thing and nothing noteworthy ever happens. That's not a bad thing, that's consistency. Fries, cubano and a pint of Schwag are my usual M.O.

My latest visit was a balancing act. After an earlier Room 4 Dessert venture, we had to counter the sweetness and sophistication with something "grubbing," so to speak (I hate that adjective, but it's fitting in this case). There are only so many late night options that fit that criteria in the neighborhood.

This was the first time I'd ever tried the schnackies, and I'm glad I did. They're heartier and saucier than typical sliders, which I suspected and ordered three rather than the four I might have at White Castle.

The weird thing about my last two Schnack experiences has been the cheese fries. The last time we ordered them we ended up with chili cheese fries. I'm not a chili lover, but it was ok and it wasn't a big enough transgression to ask for a re-do. This time we also asked for cheese fries and got regular fries, which we did get rectified. It's feast or famine with the damn fries.

Schnack * 122 Union St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Jun 5

9D

1/2
Carroll Gardens/Cobble Hill needs another Thai restaurant like it needs more
baby strollers and SUVs. I can think of at least five off the top of my
head, and so far I've been less than impressed. It sucks having to go to
Queens just to satisfy a Thai urge, no spontaneity. And no, 9-D hasnt
rectified the situation. But it is one of the closest restaurants to my
apt., the food isnt heinous and the dcor is soothing, a notch above what
I'd expected from the former Josies Java space (the illuminated sign still
sits above the store front—a memorial to Josie?).

The dishes are carefully plated, presentation is important, they have a
wine list, lots of silk pillows with elephants on them, and light jazz
tinkles in the background. It could be a tourist restaurant in Bangkok.
Which isnt a bad thing compared to others in the area.

Our appetizer, a seafood salad, was on the small side, which was too bad
because it was quite good. The entrees were healthier in proportion. Duck in
three forms was being pushed as the Sunday night special—isnt that
what they do when they want to get rid of something? No matter, I love water
fowl. We tried basil duck, which tasted almost Chinese, flavorful, but not a
bit of spice. The penang beef was also picked from their small list of
curries (only three: penang, massamun and green). It was done right with
little coconut cream drizzles and kaffir lime shreds. It's the little
touches that give me faith.

What I don't have faith in are horrible know-it-all BoCoCa (barf)
residents who insist on asking for chopsticks. How do you get people to stop
asking for chopsticks in Thai restaurants, anyway? I don't care if it makes
me a “no lattes after breakfast” snob. There are rules in this
world, and even the upscale Brooklyn bohos need to follow them. (6/5/05)

I'd almost forgotten that we live only two blocks from a Thai restaurant.
And I really shouldn't complain about the mediocrity of Carroll
Gardens/Cobble Hill Thai food because I frequently get Chinese delivery of
the General Tso, crab Rangoon persuasion and don't hold it to higher
standards. It is what it is, and honestly, 9D isn't soul crushing.

We asked for spicy over the phone and it really was perky, way more so than
what typically passes for hot in NYC. Unfortunately, we had their old menu,
not the expanded one, so our choices were limited. And I still don't get why
they don't serve pork. Some of my favorite Thai dishes (which aren't at most
restaurants any way) are reliant on crispy gooey porcine flesh. We had
drunken noodles (not like my
inebriated version), gai pad krapao and red curry beef. As much
as I would like to, I really can't complain about any of it. (11/16/05)

9-D * 460 Court St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Jan 29

Fragole

It's the former Max Court space, which I never really got to know. There's
so much Italian food in the neighborhood and I'm rarely inspired to sample
any of it, but we were suffering car withdrawal due to it being stuck drifts
of ice and wanted someplace close and walkable. Thats Fragole (I've never
heard it pronounced aloud, but I cant help but think of it sounding like
Fraggle, as in “Fraggle Rock”). But the experience started off
poorly when we were seated at a table a half inch from loud party of three
when there were other available tables. They totally dampened our spirits,
and the mood suddenly turned sour, which seems to happen every now and then
at restaurants and the food is unable to rescue an initial bad impression.
Atmosphere is important. So, we only had one thing each, no appetizer, no
dessert. My porcini ravioli was perfectly fine. We had much more fun at
Juniors, where we trudged for dessert afterward. Bolstered by a shared
bottle of wine, the chilly trek was like nothing.

Fragole * 394 Court St.,
Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr

Jan 22

Bouillabaisse 126

Judging from the crowds jammed inside this tiny new bistro mid-blizzard,
Bouillabaisse will have no trouble attracting business. It took us at least
twenty minutes of trudging through fresh, powdery snow drifts (you really
have to appreciate NYC storms quickly, as the scenery turns from pristine to
putrid with each dirty footstep) to make the mere 7.5 block journey.

By the time I reached the restaurant, socks soaked and mascara streaked,
I felt like I'd really earned a soothing dinner and glass of wine. (Luckily,
we knew it was still BYOB. Unluckily, we only had one bottle in the apt. and
liquor stores werent open. We had no one but ourselves to blame for the
tasty, but probably incompatible Spanish red). The wintery landscape
fostered by our adrenaline boosting journey made me a little giddy. This
mightve been a case where atmosphere and circumstance make the meal. If had
been any other Saturday night meal my impressions might have been duller.

James ordered the requisite bouillabaisse and I tried the seafood combo
(which sounded like the exact same thing) for comparison. They both included
lobster, crab, scallops, shrimp and mussels, but mine had a tomato parsley
base while the bouillabaisse broth was lighter, perhaps tinged with white
wine and saffron (I preferred the namesake dish over my choice). I think the
traditional preparation is very particular about using fish, and certain
kinds, but this loosey-goosey Brooklyn rendition suited me fine. We also had
to try the “signature” dessert that I'd just seen disparagingly
described as sour and crunchy. Well, it was sour and maybe more chewy than
crunchy. But heck, we saved a few bucks not buying wine, a dud dessert was
nothing to get worked up over.

Bouillabaisse 126 * 126 Union St., Brooklyn, NY

Share on Tumblr