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.