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Posts from the ‘Brooklyn’ Category

World Tong

1/2

I imagine that dim sum can be civilized, but in my experience it has never
been a tidy orderly affair. Thats OK, ordering from a menu kind of takes the
fun out of it anyway. But you do have to be in the proper frame of mind to
deal, particularly with World Tong. We might not have been up to it this
Sunday. It was just too hot for all the crowding. And being first-timers we
had to pick up procedures on the fly.

It quickly became apparent that numbers were not being called in English
when countless customers who arrived after us began taking spots at tables.
I'm still not sure how youre supposed to get seated if you don't know your
number is up, you have to pester the host if you can even get close to him.

Order is luck of the draw, and the women with carts tend to keep the
lids on the metal steamer containers so mere glances arent telling. I tried
taking cues from the two groups at our round table. If they seemed
interested in what was being hawked, I would wait and see what they were
handed then make a split second decision. We managed to amass shrimp
dumplings, shrimp in bean curd skin, sweet and sour spareribs, turnip cakes,
mini pork chive buns sprinkled with sesame seeds, a chile popper affair
filled with a seafood paste and a large plate of suckling pig.

Dim summing can be frustrating if you fear disorder (and sitting with
strangers), but as far as risks go, dumplings are on the low end. I've never
had any major duds. Not even the tripe, which I've learned not to order
because I'm the only one wholl eat it and the portion is too generous. While
good, you don't want to fill your stomach with anothers. All in all the meal
only amounted to $28, which is amazing considering the pork was a $10.95
special. That averages out to around $2.50 per plate.

Next I would like to attempt weekday dim sum. Maybe Ill finagle it soon
and get the kinks worked out at a more leisurely pace.


World Tong * 6202 18th Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Gravy

People always lump Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill together. Perhaps its the
blur of homogonous residents (the minor exception being the freaky front
yard, social club, right leaning, elderly Italian contingent, whom I happen
to share a neck of the woods with). But even only being one subway stop
south of Bergen, I'm still out of that more bustling loop. To me, Gravy
popped up out of nowhere, I had no inking. But it's kind of hard to ignore
(and dislike) a giant neon gravy boat. Gravy is now the cornerstone
(literally), connecting Pacifico to La Rosa in some labyrinth-like near
gimmick. I don't have issues with the whole Alan Harding empire, La Rosa
pizza tastes good to me, Schnack is fun and cheap. Pacifico supposedly
sucks, and thats why I've shied away.

Gravy falls into the affordable and light hearted camp. No new ground is
broken with the updated diner concept, but thats okay (it certainly beats
the hurl inducing Sonnys). The interior is bizarrely vast, even by Brooklyn
standards. A Friday night table for two was no problem.

Unfortunately, the operation wasn't completely up to snuff yet. Not all
menu items were available, for instance the vegetable muffaletta I'd wanted.
After striking out, I changed my second choice Monte Cristo to the more
routine Rueben just to preempt any additional disappointment. It was a
perfectly respectable rendition, skewered with toothpicks bearing a black
and green olive. The fries, sprinkled with shredded parsley, were also nice.

The entrees include what you might expect: chicken fried steak, meatloaf
and macaroni and cheese, which every table of white guy/Asian girl duos (to
be fair, there was one table with the reverse ethic combo, but they were
both wearing flip flops so my initial positive impression was soured) in the
room seemed to have a plate of.

Mac and cheese is one of those gross comfort foods that I don't get, but
everyone seems to love (I also dislike hotdogs, so maybe somethings wrong
with me). Noodles and cheese just don't thrill me, but perhaps thats not the
point. I noticed a lot of faces being made, complaining and picking at food
by the women, which was kind of baffling. But the men werent much better,
the gentleman next to us didnt know what chicken fried steak was, and he
didnt even touch his vegetables, which appeared to be fresh picked and
decent looking not frozen.

The desserts, however, were not freshly made as I'd been hoping. The
adequate choices, which included Reeses cheesecake and apple pie, came boxed
and ready to slice. I know because the woman prepping them with sliced
strawberries and whipped cream was stationed mere feet from us.

When I originally heard that Gravys stayed open until 2am I got excited
because there's nowhere for late night dining in the neighborhood. I was
super thwarted on a recent Sunday when I wanted dessert after 10pm and we
walked blocks and blocks of urban ghost town. I had visions of eating
homemade lemon meringue pie in the middle of the night, but it looks like my
sugar fix might more along the lines of a defrosted cheesecake slice.


Gravy * 102 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

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

Banania

I think this place is closed/in flux (4/06)

I'm not a brunch person. I like the concept, but the dining event takes
effort. And really, its a social affair. Friends meeting friends from the
neighborhood. Youngsters placating visiting parents. And depending where you
live, brunch is a playground substitute. If anything I shy away in Carroll
Gardens because I find strollers, drool and colic less than appetizing.

But we ventured out on a sunny Sunday morning anyway. Banania is one of
the more popular brunch spots in the area (my out of town sister and
boyfriend nosed it out unaided on their last visit), I'm not sure why, the
food is standard fare, I guess the prices are fair, there is outdoor seating
and a complimentary bread basket, complete with chocolate croissant. Thanks
to the nature loving throngs who adore dining al fresco (I generally don't)
there were actually free tables inside during prime time. No complaints
there. James and I went Hollandaise crazy and ordered eggs benedict and
Florentine, respectively (I never realized people had such issues with
Hollandaise. The woman on my right ordered Florentine minus the sauce,
though clearly wasn't fat-phobic since she ordered an extra plate of bacon.
The woman on my left wanted her Hollandaise on the side. Why don't they just
order egg white omelets and be done with it?). They were pleasant enough
renditions and came with home fries and salad greens. It's doubtful I'd
return any time soon, no fault of Banania, brunch is just a very occasional
thing.


Banania * 241 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

Tempo

I don't unusually partake in any of those Restaurant Week type promotions. Partly because it makes me feel like a scornful cheapskate coupon clipper, but mostly I'm just lazy. The one time we did it years back, we just ended up ordering off the regular menu anyway, the discount not making a major difference. Value is the thing, ideally you want restaurants with entrees that cost over $20 to make the $19.95 deal sweeter. (I'm still trying to figure out what Uncle Sams in Sunset Park is and how they could possibly serve three courses worth twenty bucks. Sunset Park kicks ass with Mexican and Vietnamese fare, but minus the White Castle, I'm scared of anything all-American in the neighborhood. )

I thought this would be a chance to finally try some of the new-ish acclaimed restaurants that kind of blur together in my mind with their New American flair. Applewood, Tempo, Stone Park Caf, Chestnut, all sort of wholesome and simple sounding, right? Wed actually eaten at Chestnut when it first opened, but I think there's a new chef, so thats on the list for later in the week. Stone Park was all expectedly annoying because theyve been talked up in the food press lately, that was a no go. All reviews of Applewood make mention of the owner toting around a toddler, and thats a deal breaker, kid-friendly makes me cringe. Tempo became our other reservation. Since we were looking at Friday and late in booking, are options were 6 or 10pm. I don't mind late night dining so we chose the latter.

I didnt anticipate the downside to this slot until later. It was crowded in the bar area when we arrived, not the best sign, but it wasn't as daunting as it first appeared. We ordered gin and tonics and barely got through a third of our cocktails before being seated. Luckily, we got the better spaced side room, and even though we were given a two-seater next to another table, they werent touching or close to touching like in the main dining space.

Unfortunately, we were seated next the couple giving me the heebie jeebies in the lobby. I know, I complain about the upscale bohemians in Brooklyn, but this girl was 180 degrees, young and well, kind of trashy and not in a refreshing way. Like she thought she was super sexy and all dolled up in short '90s body hugging dress, the guy seemed foreign and actually too handsome for the louche lady friend. They were kissing and groping at the bar and its not like I don't already get enough of this on the F train every day. I tried to ignore them, but its hard to when fingers are being licked and food being spooned into each others mouths. My favorite overheard line was "I want you to teach me about food." There's probably some other schooling shed benefit from first.

The P.D.A. twosome ordered right before us, the guy asked millions of questions, his way of showing off. I started getting antsy about the service, this couple was sucking all the waitstaff energy and we werent given a wine list like they were. So much time elapsed between when they ordered and when we did that their first course had already arrived by the time someone stopped at our table. I had wanted the duck pastilla roll as a starter, the same thing the gentleman next to me was tearing into. As an entre I chose the Moroccan spiced roast chicken with chickpea fries. Minutes later the waiter returned to inform me that they were out of duck. Really? Because the eurotrash next to me got the last of it?

I seriously almost lost my shit. It's one thing to blindly be told a restaurant has run out of something, but its pernicious when you can see it being devoured inches from your face, and by a diner already on your bad side. So yeah, I was irritated the rest of the meal. Dumb and petty as it is, not getting what I'd ordered when another did, struck a nerve, a nerve that happened to have a lot of alcohol swimming around it that evening. I became a little vocal and disdainful, it couldnt be helped. I wasn't mad at Tempo (the food was fine), I was incredibly pissed off at the couple having the fucking time of their life right next to us. They spoiled my meal.

This happened once before, and I wasn't the upset one, so don't brand me an isolated kook. A few years ago I took Jessica to Diner for her birthday and we wanted mussels and fries like usual, that was the deal. The table next to us full of fun loving oblivious Williamburg kids ordered the same thing right before we did. Guess who didnt get mussels and fries? It's the principle. And the context. Wed just been talking about getting older, late 20s, Jessica wondering if shed ever find anyone (she still hasnt, for the record). Meanwhile these yahoos were acting like NYC was one big juicy apple ripe for the picking. We both got ruffled, she started crying. Not getting what you want in life, even a stupid bowl of mussels, can have serious emotional repercussions.

I might return to Tempo, whos to say, but certainly not at 10pm and during prix fixe promotion. Discount dining brings out the riff raff and the worst in me.

Tempo * 256 Fifth Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Atlantic Chip Shop

Everybody was in such as tizzy over the opening of the Atlantic Ave. branch.
Maybe the months and months of opening soon teasing built up hype.  I
don't know why I cared so much, I don't even like battered fried fish
(battered fried candy is another story). But I couldnt pass up the chance to
give it a try since I was seeing a show at Magnetic Field, just a block over
(never mind that I live near walking distance to the Chip Shop anyway).

There's not a lot of seating, but luckily we didnt have to wait too
long, and I didnt mind passing time with a pint at the bar (something the
original location lacks). I ordered the steak and kidney pie with chips like
I've always done at this now chain. I don't know why everyone gets grossed
out by that. I love meat pies, pot pies, I used to eat frozen ones after
school like a little freak. Combined with the beer, its filling fare, for
sure. We were only able to share the treacle pudding, which was warm,
carmelly and good. The fried Atkins bar was an amusing touch. As for the
fish? I really couldnt say.


Atlantic Chip Shop * 129
Atlantic Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Totonno’s

While everyone and their pet pug now know that Di Fara is the shit, its not
always a wise move on a Saturday night. Youve got to have patience and
sometimes youre willing to take good enough over good when waiting for good
things can mean an hours wait.

We were on a terrorizing unfruitful journey to Brooklyns bowels, trying
the Starrett City Target instead of the Elmhurst location and testing out
the Kings Plaza H&M rather than heading into Manhattan. Next time well
bypass Brooklyn, thank you. But dealing with Flatbush Ave. and Belt Parkway
traffic works up an appetite.

Totonnos is cute, particularly for its lackluster location on Neptune
Ave. I was initially put off by the young Italian toughs rapping out front,
but it was ok once inside (where I was then put off by the table with a
classic loud Brooklyn construction worker type. He was with two quiet
Mexican men and a woman, maybe he was their boss, maybe they were friends,
but he was barking out everything he wanted, “Hot
peppers!”  “another pie—pepperoni.” He wasn't
addressing anyone in particular, like this is how he gets served at home or
something, but of course none of the staff found it odd. I'm always freaky
the other way, too namby-pamby  when I should just be “gimme
this, gimme that”).

The menu is bare bones with toppings youd expect. We chose pepperoni and
mushroom, and in less time than expected our charred on the edges, crispy
pizza arrived at our booth. Good stuff, though perhaps a touch too blacked
around parts of the perimeter. But hey, think of all the calories avoided by
leaving the crusts behind (Glamour magazine actually advocates this
practice as a weight loss tip).


Totonno’s * 1524
Neptune Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Cubana Cafe

Cute but cramped, and in a more claustrophobic way than most elbow-to-elbow NYC eateries. We bailed on our first attempt to dine here a few months ago. It was freezing and the only open tables were in the heated, but still off-putting front room addition. This time we managed to avoid the annex, but our table was one of three in a row that are barely bigger than barstools. Good for cocktails, not so good for dinner

The food, however, is reasonably priced, most entrees stay under $10. My empanadas were flavorful, the drinks were interesting, but the mains were kind of so-so. Not that they werent well prepared, its just my bias against this kind of rice, beans and a meat cuisine. I don't get enthusiastic over rice and beans, I've never understood the big deal. So, my inclination would be to return on a weeknight and get a Cuban sandwich, appetizers, sides, whatever, and split a pitcher of sangria. Maybe in another couple months.

Cubana Caf * 272 Smith St., Brooklyn, NY

Gia Lam

You say faux, I say feu. Everyones got their way of pronouncing pho. And to
be honest, I havent listened closely enough when a Vietnamese speaker orders
to hear how they say it. I had always read that it was like foot minus the
letter T, and I've stuck to this track even if it makes me sound
pretentious. It was only recently that I read how pho is derived from the
French pot au feu. You know, French colonization and all that. Duh.

Despite a fondness for pho I rarely eat it. Vietnamese cuisine is that
way. While rabidly fanatical about banh mi, which isnt sit down restaurant
food, when prowling for a full Asian meal the cleaner, simpler Vietnamese
style usually loses out to a preference for richer, spicier fare, most often
Thai, occasionally Chinese. However, while searching for a wok in Sunset
Parks Chinatown, which is rapidly becoming Vietnamesetown, the blustery
weather was practically begging me to eat a bowl of soup.

I had the dac biet, I almost always go for the special combo thats at
the top of the list. The hodgepodge of parts always differs from place to
place, though flank steak and tendon seem standard. This menu mentioned the
inclusion of navel, which confused me a bit. The pho was very no nonsense,
no choice of sizes, condiments consisted of basil, bean sprouts and lemon.
It seemed like something was missing—maybe sliced chiles?

I've yet to master the art of slamming a bowl. Customers came in after
us, slurped away, and hit the road while I was still sucking noodles. It
made me wonder about the French and all the recent press about joie de vivre
being the secret to thinness. Good quality and long meals savoring each bite
supposedly lend to good health. But fat Asians are still pretty rare and I
don't see a lot of lingering and pondering over each morsel. Maybe I just
visit gauche enclaves.


Gia Lam * 5402 Eighth Ave.,Brooklyn, NY

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