Greenpoint Gazette

I've been writing restaurant reviews for the Greenpoint Gazette, lately. Here are the links to reviews of two of my favorite Brooklyn Restaurants, DuMont and Applewood.

And that's a picture of the best sandwich i've had in awhile, from Moto in South Williamsburg. Moto has the tastiest paninis.

Dining in Brooklyn Week Has Begun

It's finally here!! Some tips I'm making myself remember this time around:

1. Look at a the restaurant's wine list before you go. You'll cancel out the euphoria of three courses for $20 if you're washing it down with a hundred dollar bottle of wine.
2. Research. Just because a place is on the list doesn't mean it's worth your $23. (Los Pollitos, seriously? Shouldn't you be able to get three courses there for cheap, anyway?)
3. Commit to the prix fix menu. Sometimes, you can look at the Dining Week offerings online, so you won't get there and realize the only thing you're craving is a $70 cut of steak that doesn't come with dessert or an entree.

I highly recommend Applewood, Blue Ribbon and A Di La from this year's list-- although none of those are particularly inexpensive wine-wise. I'm hoping to try some of the places in Williamsburg, as well as Chez Oscar in Fort Greene.

Beer Garden Opening in Ft. Greene!

Auspicious news for summer... Clinton Hill Blog says there is a beer garden coming to Fort Greene in June! Schneider-Weisse on tap and meals under $10! It's going to be at Fulton and South Oxford-- just a block from Habana Outpost. Think I'll be spending a bit of time in that neighborhood once it gets warm.

Please Don't Tell

The other night, I went for the first time to PDT, the speakeasy annex to Crif Dogs on St. Marks (113 St. Marks, at Ave. A). I was pleasantly surprised, once seated, to find that “Please Don’t Tell,” accessed through an old-timey telephone booth and staffed by achingly beautiful people, isn’t nearly as inaccessible as it wants to be. The soft light and friendly service is a welcome contrast to the insanely formal speakeasy pretensions of Milk and Honey (You’ll get reprimanded for knocking on the door if you haven’t texted a reservation in advance—so much for a prohibition-era feel), and PDT actually embraces its association with the grimy hot dog joint next door. On the menu, alongside inventive cocktails with names like ‘Falling Leaves’ and ‘El Burro,’ were five “specialty” dogs, including one apparently engineered by David Chang—a deep fried, bacon-wrapped frankfurter topped with ample kimchi. I actually drooled a little bit. This spicy, daring, perfect little thing had such an enthralling texture, I almost didn’t realize that someone near me was ordering “bacon-infused” whiskey. Wow on all counts.



Not forty-eight hours later, I returned alone during the day to Crif, hoping for another taste of the Chang Dog. Surely, I thought, PDT shares their kitchen. If I asked nicely enough, someone would fashion me another kimchi dog. But the tie-dye clad kid working at Crif was decidedly uncomfortable when I asked for something special. “Uh, they only do that…” he shiftily looked for his manager, then whispered “next door.” Okay, I wouldn’t push it. He looked like acknowledging PDT’s existence was punishable by firing if not death. I ordered a Crif bacon/chili dog out of desperation, which was unsurprisingly very gross. If the only way to get the Chang Dog again is to have it with a $13 cocktail, then so be it. I’ll go back very soon.

Tailor Made Hot Wings, Not So Hot....

I raised my eyebrows more than once reading the food picks in New York Magazine’s Best of 2009 Issue (Best Bargain Noodles at $14? I’ll stick to Top Ramen, thanks…). It’s easy to pick apart something that strives to be as authoritative as a ‘Best Of,’ and in any case I can’t begin to offer a point by point rebuttal. But there is one thing on the list that is just flat-out egregious. That the bar at Soho’s Tailor lays claim to the cities best chicken wings is as false as to say that the bar at Soho’s Tailor serves chicken wings. These things were not wings; the weird chemical aftertaste of them, the cube shape, it belonged nowhere in the realm of wings. I don’t even know if the rehydrogenized, melded product placed before me was still chicken. The sauce was certainly not Buffalo, or even hot sauce—it was something buttery and bland-- and the little top sprinkles of blue cheese were a far cry from the gooey dripping dip I’d been dreaming of. And I had been dreaming. Because when I read what Adam Platt wrote about these Tailor Made boneless wings, I was instantly transported back to a late night four years ago when I drunkenly stumbled upon a now closed spot on Fourth Ave and had the most juicy, delectable, hot as hell, and still entirely boneless chicken “wings” imaginable. I’ve been searching for something like that for ever. Boneless is definitely not a bad thing, but Tailor’s were an entirely different animal, and at an ungodly $15 for five wings, not one I think I’ll try again anytime soon.