"No," I said, "radishes, please."
cabbage and halloumi skewers
2 days ago
Showing posts with label Brooklyn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brooklyn. Show all posts
3.20.2012
The Season for Canapés
Last night, after a particularly frustrating and discouraging day
(even the chronically excited among us have them), my Sidekick whisked
me away to Henry Public for a "Let's Celebrate Learning Things from
Failure by Eating All of the Things" kind of a meal. He brought out the big guns out for this
meal, "Bone marrow?" he asked. "Oysters?"
"No," I said, "radishes, please."
"No," I said, "radishes, please."
2.28.2012
Here We Are Again
I definitely thought that with this winter being milder, I would complain less. So far, that's been (just go with me on this) mostly true. However, at the end of February, as always, I am itching for spring again. To put it mildly: this really didn't help.
Listen, guys, I am a curmudgeon. I love to be all "UGH, here's my sustainably-grown, artisanally-roasted Brooklyn joke," as much as the next guy. Because I live there. And while I love it, I do find a lot of it to be kind of insufferable sometimes. But, if you can watch this and not feel the tiniest bit proud of this woman, her commitment to something that definitely seemed crazy not too long ago, and her desire to share it with people, I don't know man. Maybe you're even more of a grump than I am.
That said, watch all of Made by Hand's videos. They are crazy delightful.
Listen, guys, I am a curmudgeon. I love to be all "UGH, here's my sustainably-grown, artisanally-roasted Brooklyn joke," as much as the next guy. Because I live there. And while I love it, I do find a lot of it to be kind of insufferable sometimes. But, if you can watch this and not feel the tiniest bit proud of this woman, her commitment to something that definitely seemed crazy not too long ago, and her desire to share it with people, I don't know man. Maybe you're even more of a grump than I am.
That said, watch all of Made by Hand's videos. They are crazy delightful.
2.21.2012
Easy, Lovely, Strange
When you love someone, sometimes you do things for them that you don't totally understand.
My Sidekick turned thirty this January and one morning a few days before, I woke up and baked. This is not really normal behavior for me. But, the dude loves corn muffins the way most people love their pets, so I decided to take one for the team.
My Sidekick turned thirty this January and one morning a few days before, I woke up and baked. This is not really normal behavior for me. But, the dude loves corn muffins the way most people love their pets, so I decided to take one for the team.
11.03.2011
An Ugly Limbo
I will never claim to be the kind of person who does not complain about the weather. I hope you guys can forgive me. There is something about this particular transition of fall to immediate winter that really seems to throw me and the ones I love into a funk. I'm envisioning the next six months of bitter cold, slush on the ground and decreased sunlight, but am not quite to the point where I anticipate cozy nights with hot toddies and braised meats. It's an ugly limbo, October.
One freak snowstorm later, November is here with its closed windows, boots and early sunsets. I am glad to say that I spent one of our final bonus days of summer a few weekends ago sitting in the window of The Vanderbilt, sipping a cocktail of tequila and grapefruit juice, acting like I will never stop wearing flip flops and sun dresses.
 |
| Fried Pickles with Vanderbilt Ranch Dressing |
One freak snowstorm later, November is here with its closed windows, boots and early sunsets. I am glad to say that I spent one of our final bonus days of summer a few weekends ago sitting in the window of The Vanderbilt, sipping a cocktail of tequila and grapefruit juice, acting like I will never stop wearing flip flops and sun dresses.
3.01.2011
A First
Eep! Something amazing happened this weekend at our farmers' market. Mangalitsa came to us.
The farmer we bought this from said they're the only Mangalitsa producers in the area and even said to let him know if we'd ever like to come up to the farm and hang out with "the little guys". I feel like that is an offer I am pretty likely to take him up on at some point.
I'm cooking the chops tonight. Any recommendations from veterans? More porky details to come.
I've never worked with the stuff or tasted it before and am super excited. We got two chops, each a half pound, and a pound of bacon.
The farmer we bought this from said they're the only Mangalitsa producers in the area and even said to let him know if we'd ever like to come up to the farm and hang out with "the little guys". I feel like that is an offer I am pretty likely to take him up on at some point.
I'm cooking the chops tonight. Any recommendations from veterans? More porky details to come.
11.05.2010
Camemberry White
Oh my god, you guys. I can't stop laughing. Someone, please, give me something to bite down on so I don't swallow my tongue. I can't breathe.
Seriously, just go visit Cheese People. You won't regret it. I can only hope there will be more than four pages-worth soon.
 |
| via CHEESE PEOPLE |
Seriously, just go visit Cheese People. You won't regret it. I can only hope there will be more than four pages-worth soon.
10.22.2010
"Dude, People Like Pictures" - Sidekick
At his urging, some food porn for you.
First, long-overdue run-down on our Brooklynmoon trip to Roberta's. Guys, I've been kind of a bitch about Bushwick. The above chicken nuggets (dark meat only, thank you) with pepperoncini ranch have really changed my tone.
There was also guanciale and egg pizza. Look, I'll eat guanciale on anything. It's face bacon. What on earth could be bad about that? Also, their tomato sauce is bright, sweet and tastes like... well, tomatoes, which isn't always the case. But here's what's really special, that egg yolk? The beautiful yellow one with the charred crispy top? Was STILL RUNNY on the inside. I don't know how this was accomplished, but I want to eat it again.
 |
| Dear pepperoncini ranch, I love you. xoxo: Rebecca |
There was also guanciale and egg pizza. Look, I'll eat guanciale on anything. It's face bacon. What on earth could be bad about that? Also, their tomato sauce is bright, sweet and tastes like... well, tomatoes, which isn't always the case. But here's what's really special, that egg yolk? The beautiful yellow one with the charred crispy top? Was STILL RUNNY on the inside. I don't know how this was accomplished, but I want to eat it again.
9.13.2010
When Being Called a Jerk is a Really Good Thing
After my Sidekick and I tied the knot, we returned back to Brooklyn for a few-day decompression period before heading back to work. We lovingly titled this time Brooklynmoon.
Our brief but excellent Brooklynmoon was great for lots of reasons, but one of them is that we got to spend a few weekday afternoons doing whatever the hell we wanted. For my Sidekick and I, this meant mostly eating and drinking. On the list was a long awaited visit to the Brooklyn Farmacy & Soda Fountain on Henry Street.
Little known fact: My Sidekick is CRAZY for egg creams. CRAZY. And Brooklyn Farmacy's egg cream, with U-Bet syrup and clocking in at $2.50 made him VERY happy.
For those of us less inclined to drink fizzy milk, I can attest to their cherry lime rickey being very delicious. The cherry syrup has to be made with sour cherries as it is tart, juicy and smacks of homemade-ness. The Sidekick and I split a slice of plum and nectarine pie, too.
We were prepared to get the check and call it a day, until our soda jerk chatted us up. "Did you see the daily special? It's grape soda." I don't know how to spell the noise of the turntable needle getting knocked off the record, but if I did, that's what I'd use here. I LOVE grape soda. Needless to say, we split one of those too.
The co-owner came by to chat with us for a bit. We mentioned to her that we'd poked our heads into the space while her brother (the other owner) was still renovating and wasn't really sure what to do with it. The space was mostly abandoned by its previous owner, leaving a kind of time-capsule to old-timey pharmacies behind. She told us the amazing story of opening, chronicled (totally by happenstance) by a Discovery Channel show called Construction Intervention. Turns out the building had some serious structural issues and that it was kind of a miracle they'd been able to open at all.
We ended our trip to the Farmacy by loading up on sundries. Coffee, pickled fiddleheads and a bottle of Brooklyn-made ginger syrup that my Sidekick has been looking everywhere for.
Welcome to the neighborhood, Farmacy. We know it wasn't easy, and we're really glad to have you.
Brooklyn Farmacy & Soda Fountain
513 Henry street
Brooklyn, NY 11231
(718) 522-6260
Our brief but excellent Brooklynmoon was great for lots of reasons, but one of them is that we got to spend a few weekday afternoons doing whatever the hell we wanted. For my Sidekick and I, this meant mostly eating and drinking. On the list was a long awaited visit to the Brooklyn Farmacy & Soda Fountain on Henry Street.
Little known fact: My Sidekick is CRAZY for egg creams. CRAZY. And Brooklyn Farmacy's egg cream, with U-Bet syrup and clocking in at $2.50 made him VERY happy.
For those of us less inclined to drink fizzy milk, I can attest to their cherry lime rickey being very delicious. The cherry syrup has to be made with sour cherries as it is tart, juicy and smacks of homemade-ness. The Sidekick and I split a slice of plum and nectarine pie, too.
We were prepared to get the check and call it a day, until our soda jerk chatted us up. "Did you see the daily special? It's grape soda." I don't know how to spell the noise of the turntable needle getting knocked off the record, but if I did, that's what I'd use here. I LOVE grape soda. Needless to say, we split one of those too.
The co-owner came by to chat with us for a bit. We mentioned to her that we'd poked our heads into the space while her brother (the other owner) was still renovating and wasn't really sure what to do with it. The space was mostly abandoned by its previous owner, leaving a kind of time-capsule to old-timey pharmacies behind. She told us the amazing story of opening, chronicled (totally by happenstance) by a Discovery Channel show called Construction Intervention. Turns out the building had some serious structural issues and that it was kind of a miracle they'd been able to open at all.
We ended our trip to the Farmacy by loading up on sundries. Coffee, pickled fiddleheads and a bottle of Brooklyn-made ginger syrup that my Sidekick has been looking everywhere for.
Welcome to the neighborhood, Farmacy. We know it wasn't easy, and we're really glad to have you.
Brooklyn Farmacy & Soda Fountain
513 Henry street
Brooklyn, NY 11231
(718) 522-6260
9.10.2010
On How to Like Things
There are very few things in this world that I don't like to eat. I hate rice pudding. I think the combination of strawberry and banana should be stricken from existence forever. If I never tasted or smelled Bailey's Irish Creme again, it would be too soon. I've had to wrack my brain for these.
Mostly, I was born this way. I ate whatever my parents ate and my parents ate VERY well. But, it's also taken a lot of work. When I identify something I don't really like, I do my best to try it a variety of different ways - multiple times - and usually I come around. I can now say that I happily eat cumin (within reason), I now have an occasional craving for a tuna fish sandwich and I can say without reserve that I am fully ready to try sea urchin again.
Which brings me to fiddlehead ferns. I didn't think I liked them. In fact, I really didn't care about them at all. Fiddlehead ferns pop up in our markets and kitchens every early spring, along with the other spring harbingers everyone is always talking about, morels, peas and ramps. If you've never tasted one, it's sort of like a slightly bitter, wild-tasting asparagus. My trouble with them has been that because of their adorable, tightly curled spiral shape, they're almost never cleaned properly, usually undercooked for my taste and I find myself guiltily pushing them around on my plate every spring. Especially since I refuse to like something just because I SHOULD.
I know what you're thinking. "Uh, dude, it's September. We're kind of past fiddlehead season, aren't we?" Yes. We are. Or so I thought.
Yeah. That's what you think it is. A jar of sour pickled fiddlehead ferns, procured from the new and amazing Brooklyn Farmacy, which I can't wait to tell you about later. These guys hail from VoterVale Farm in Avon, Maine and I just don't know how to thank them enough.
I know that I'm so predictable, but it turns out that pickling these suckers is the secret for me. The vinegar bath and processing tenderize them just right and give them a slightly fermented, caper-ish, almost white-wine-like flavor that I absolutely can't get enough of.
The other great thing about them? See all those mustard seeds swimming around in there with them? The shape of the ferns sort of acts like a natural scoop for those guys, trapping them in their inner coils and transporting them directly to your mouth.
In addition to eating them greedily, straight out of the jar, I've also been using them anywhere I'd use capers or olives, like the fiddlehead pesto crudo I drizzled on top of a risotto cake and a sunny-side-up egg last weekend.
Pickled Fiddlehead Pesto Crudo
2 garlic cloves
1/2 cup grated Parmesean
10 - 12 pickled fiddleheads, finely chopped
3 cups packed basil leaves, finely chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil
Grate garlic cloves on a fine micro-plane into a small bowl. Add fiddleheads, basil leaves, salt and pepper. Bash with cocktail muddler until the basil is just bruised and releasing some oil. Stir in the Parmesean and olive oil and let sit while you prepare whatever you will drizzle this over to make more delicious.
Mostly, I was born this way. I ate whatever my parents ate and my parents ate VERY well. But, it's also taken a lot of work. When I identify something I don't really like, I do my best to try it a variety of different ways - multiple times - and usually I come around. I can now say that I happily eat cumin (within reason), I now have an occasional craving for a tuna fish sandwich and I can say without reserve that I am fully ready to try sea urchin again.
Which brings me to fiddlehead ferns. I didn't think I liked them. In fact, I really didn't care about them at all. Fiddlehead ferns pop up in our markets and kitchens every early spring, along with the other spring harbingers everyone is always talking about, morels, peas and ramps. If you've never tasted one, it's sort of like a slightly bitter, wild-tasting asparagus. My trouble with them has been that because of their adorable, tightly curled spiral shape, they're almost never cleaned properly, usually undercooked for my taste and I find myself guiltily pushing them around on my plate every spring. Especially since I refuse to like something just because I SHOULD.
I know what you're thinking. "Uh, dude, it's September. We're kind of past fiddlehead season, aren't we?" Yes. We are. Or so I thought.
Yeah. That's what you think it is. A jar of sour pickled fiddlehead ferns, procured from the new and amazing Brooklyn Farmacy, which I can't wait to tell you about later. These guys hail from VoterVale Farm in Avon, Maine and I just don't know how to thank them enough.
I know that I'm so predictable, but it turns out that pickling these suckers is the secret for me. The vinegar bath and processing tenderize them just right and give them a slightly fermented, caper-ish, almost white-wine-like flavor that I absolutely can't get enough of.
The other great thing about them? See all those mustard seeds swimming around in there with them? The shape of the ferns sort of acts like a natural scoop for those guys, trapping them in their inner coils and transporting them directly to your mouth.
In addition to eating them greedily, straight out of the jar, I've also been using them anywhere I'd use capers or olives, like the fiddlehead pesto crudo I drizzled on top of a risotto cake and a sunny-side-up egg last weekend.
Pickled Fiddlehead Pesto Crudo2 garlic cloves
1/2 cup grated Parmesean
10 - 12 pickled fiddleheads, finely chopped
3 cups packed basil leaves, finely chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil
Grate garlic cloves on a fine micro-plane into a small bowl. Add fiddleheads, basil leaves, salt and pepper. Bash with cocktail muddler until the basil is just bruised and releasing some oil. Stir in the Parmesean and olive oil and let sit while you prepare whatever you will drizzle this over to make more delicious.
8.06.2010
And Then Sometimes You Eat Baklava for Breakfast
The problem with living above one of the best Arabic restaurants in Brooklyn is that there are often lots of leftovers.
And then sometimes you eat baklava for breakfast.
So, in case you're wondering, baklava and iced Stumptown are a really good combination.
And then sometimes you eat baklava for breakfast.
So, in case you're wondering, baklava and iced Stumptown are a really good combination.
2.15.2009
Let's Play Catsup.
Oh, hi.
After being sufficiently ball-busted by my uncle (Mitch of Tasty Travails), my aunt (his Significant Eater) and my trusty Sidekick for not updating this mother, I've finally caved and will now fill you in on some delectable details. And you will, in turn, forgive me for my weeks of laziness/having a job.
Stomach Grumbles are GOOOO....
Let's start on some weekend day in the past. My Sidekick and I, mildly hung-over from the night before, dragged ourselves out of bed for our (semi) weekly bocce match at Floyd with our compatriots on If You Want My Bocce. The magical thing about Floyd is that it sits directly next to the second location of Brooklyn's Chip Shop.
I'm incredibly pleased to see that England's bad rap as having terrible food is quickly being beaten to death with a club. In fact, I credit the time I spent in England to really putting the nail in the coffin for my food obsession. If you've ever lived in a place where you have HP Sauce on every table, London Pride flowing from every tap and some of the greatest grocery stores in the universe, you'll understand.
I've come to think of this day as one where HP Sauce followed me nearly everywhere. Never a bad thing. What you see above is a Full English Breakfast. Or, as it is affectionately known at the Chip Shop when paired with a cup of coffee and a mimosa, The Hangover Special. And let me tell you, it really does have miraculous properties.
This breakfast led us to our first bocce win this season. Coincidence?
After plenty of beer in the middle of the afternoon (I heart Saturday), my sidekick and I made the decision to go see a certain crappy horror film in 3D, down near Prospect Park.
With a little time to kill, and grumbles in our stomachs (we're truly incorrigible, folks), we stumbled upon a Windsor Terrace gem from the DUB Pies folks (stands for Down Under Bakery), The Pie Shop. This is a tiny storefront cafe, with three two-top tables pushing max capacity. Their menu is written on a huge chalkboard wall, and consists nearly entirely of Australian/New Zealand style pies. Meat pies, fruit pies, veg pies. They also have a few soups on the menu, which are NOT to be missed.
My sidekick and I shared a steak and mushroom pie, and each got our own cups of the potato dill soup. If you go to Dub Pies and are lucky enough to have potato dill soup as an option, I urge you, I insist, ORDER A BOWL. A cup will never be enough of this perfectly seasoned, piping hot concoction. Although, should you ignore me and need a second cup after realizing your mistake, I'm sure that the phenomenally friendly staff would be happy to assist you. You'll be dead to me, however.
Clearly I'm biased, as soup is my favorite genre of food, but I can not think of enough praise for this stuff.
With a little extra time between HP Sauce's latest appearance in our lives and the movie we were about to expose our brains to, we decided to make one last stop on 7th Ave at Beer Table. This, another tiny storefront temple to booze and grub, is truly a place for people who love beer like some people love a fine wine. Their beer list is extremely intimidating, both intellectually and economically (the bottled beer list tops out at $110, no kidding), so my Sidekick and I stuck to a Long Island porter that was on special.
Paired with a bowl of fiery, citrusy picholines, a fresh baguette and tangy, piquant, house-made beer cheese, we were fortified against the cold, and just drunk enough to see a hilariously stupid movie in a theater full of screaming teenagers.
Also, apparently drunk enough to have documented my 3D glasses. Yikes!
Chip Shop
129 Atlantic Ave
(between Clinton St & Henry St)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
DUB Pies: The Pie Shop
211 Prospect Park West
(corner of 16th St)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
Beer Table
427 B 7th Avenue
(Btwn 14th & 15th Sts)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
After being sufficiently ball-busted by my uncle (Mitch of Tasty Travails), my aunt (his Significant Eater) and my trusty Sidekick for not updating this mother, I've finally caved and will now fill you in on some delectable details. And you will, in turn, forgive me for my weeks of laziness/having a job.
Stomach Grumbles are GOOOO....
Let's start on some weekend day in the past. My Sidekick and I, mildly hung-over from the night before, dragged ourselves out of bed for our (semi) weekly bocce match at Floyd with our compatriots on If You Want My Bocce. The magical thing about Floyd is that it sits directly next to the second location of Brooklyn's Chip Shop.
I'm incredibly pleased to see that England's bad rap as having terrible food is quickly being beaten to death with a club. In fact, I credit the time I spent in England to really putting the nail in the coffin for my food obsession. If you've ever lived in a place where you have HP Sauce on every table, London Pride flowing from every tap and some of the greatest grocery stores in the universe, you'll understand.
I've come to think of this day as one where HP Sauce followed me nearly everywhere. Never a bad thing. What you see above is a Full English Breakfast. Or, as it is affectionately known at the Chip Shop when paired with a cup of coffee and a mimosa, The Hangover Special. And let me tell you, it really does have miraculous properties.
This breakfast led us to our first bocce win this season. Coincidence?
After plenty of beer in the middle of the afternoon (I heart Saturday), my sidekick and I made the decision to go see a certain crappy horror film in 3D, down near Prospect Park.
With a little time to kill, and grumbles in our stomachs (we're truly incorrigible, folks), we stumbled upon a Windsor Terrace gem from the DUB Pies folks (stands for Down Under Bakery), The Pie Shop. This is a tiny storefront cafe, with three two-top tables pushing max capacity. Their menu is written on a huge chalkboard wall, and consists nearly entirely of Australian/New Zealand style pies. Meat pies, fruit pies, veg pies. They also have a few soups on the menu, which are NOT to be missed.
My sidekick and I shared a steak and mushroom pie, and each got our own cups of the potato dill soup. If you go to Dub Pies and are lucky enough to have potato dill soup as an option, I urge you, I insist, ORDER A BOWL. A cup will never be enough of this perfectly seasoned, piping hot concoction. Although, should you ignore me and need a second cup after realizing your mistake, I'm sure that the phenomenally friendly staff would be happy to assist you. You'll be dead to me, however.
Clearly I'm biased, as soup is my favorite genre of food, but I can not think of enough praise for this stuff.
With a little extra time between HP Sauce's latest appearance in our lives and the movie we were about to expose our brains to, we decided to make one last stop on 7th Ave at Beer Table. This, another tiny storefront temple to booze and grub, is truly a place for people who love beer like some people love a fine wine. Their beer list is extremely intimidating, both intellectually and economically (the bottled beer list tops out at $110, no kidding), so my Sidekick and I stuck to a Long Island porter that was on special.
Paired with a bowl of fiery, citrusy picholines, a fresh baguette and tangy, piquant, house-made beer cheese, we were fortified against the cold, and just drunk enough to see a hilariously stupid movie in a theater full of screaming teenagers.
Also, apparently drunk enough to have documented my 3D glasses. Yikes!
Chip Shop
129 Atlantic Ave
(between Clinton St & Henry St)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
DUB Pies: The Pie Shop
211 Prospect Park West
(corner of 16th St)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
Beer Table
427 B 7th Avenue
(Btwn 14th & 15th Sts)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
12.21.2008
In Which I Conquer My Fear of Cold Weather for Love of My Tastebuds.
Hi kids!
It is WINTER in New York. Anyone noticed?
We all know I'm a desert kid. New Mexico gets snow, on occasion. By 'on occasion', I mean that one inch of fresh powder on the sidewalk shuts down schools and businesses city-wide. I have no idea what my fair hometown would do with the snow-rain-sleet-hail combo blanketing NYC the last three days.
But I, my friends, am determined to adapt. So, yesterday my sidekick and I decided to venture out into the 27 degree day for a little adventure. First stop: another one of Kathy's ideas.
The day we met Kathy and Mitzy at the Brooklyn Flea, she mentioned a great patisserie in Park Slope called Trois Pommes. She offhandedly mentioned that they make killer doughnuts, but only on Saturdays. This is information that I promptly forgot. However, my sidekick, failure of many a sweets-12-step-program that he is, has been pining away every weekend for a trip down 5th avenue to this fabled patisserie.
Don't ask me why yesterday, a Saturday in Brooklyn where I saw fewer people on the street than may have been out in Albuquerque after a snowstorm, was the day we decided to do so. I am, however, extremely glad that we did.
Exhibit A: Coffee and House-made Rasberry Jelly Doughnuts.
I'm back on coffee for the first time in years. And it's a good thing. Trois Pommes uses Gorilla Coffee, (a local favorite, which just so happens to live a block away from me) which I've decided is fantastic.
Exhibit B: An Extremely Pleased Sidekick.
So, with the boyfriend happy and sugar-ed, we decided to go for a little romp around Williamsburg and do a little (much procrastinated) Christmas shopping. Our plan was to kick around until afternoon for a late lunch at Fette Sau (famed Brooklyn beer bar Spuyten Duyvil's BBQ brainchild), as we've heard raves about it and are both meat fans, in general. I mean, pork is important. Disagreement with that statement baffles me.
However, much to our and our frost-bitten noses displeasure, we discovered that Fette Sau is dinner only. They open at 5pm to dispell their carnivorous gospel, and not before.
Instead, by very, very happy accident, we wandered into a diner. Well, not A diner, rather, a joint simply called 'Diner' at the corner of Broadway and Berry. Now, rumor has it, this mildly renovated 1920's dining car once held an actual greasy spoon.
I thank whichever restaurant god bestowed it's latest incarnation upon us.
It is a tiny, cramped, possibly architecturally unstable hovel. Which, if you know anything about me, you know appealed to me instantly. The menu, which I would guess changes daily, comes to you hand-written on a piece of cash register receipt. These are market-influenced offerings. You can just tell. That being said, it is a BARGAIN. Not ridiculously cheap by normal diner standards, but this is FAR from a normal diner.
Exhibit A: Sidekick's Sausage 'Sammy' (their words, not mine).
Soft, butter-griddled bun. Like the best bulky roll you've ever tasted. If they're not house-made, they get them from somewhere VERY close. Perfectly seasoned, home made sausage patty (I tasted rosemary). Two, perfectly over easy eggs. Runny yolks, tender-but-set whites. House-pickled onions (are you noticing a pattern here?). So simple, so perfect.
Exhibit B: My 'Market Salad'.
House-made buttermilk dressing (I am a fan of the newest Ranch come-back). Herby, leafy salad with chives, green onions and radishes. BACON LARDONS. And the most perfect (while maybe not traditional) Scotch Egg that's ever existed. Allow me to expand upon this (as if you have any choice):
I think Scotch Eggs are gross. They're usually a pretty stodgy amalgamation of hard-boiled egg, greasy sausage, stale bread crumbs, fried to death.
Diner's Scotch Egg defies physics. In order to... Scotch an egg (?), it has to be boiled first, at LEAST soft-boiled, so that you can shell it and add the crispy coating. It is then cooked again. The yolk inside that Scotch Egg is RUNNY. What does this mean?
This means that Diner has cooked an egg TWICE better than most mortals could cook an egg ONCE. And for that, I salute them. I believe the egg was missing the requisite sausage component, but aside from that it was a Scotch Egg for all others to aspire to.
Oh and GREAT coffee. Did I mention I'm back on coffee?
Happy Eidachristmahanukkwanzikah everyone!
Trois Pommes
260 5th Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11215
718-230-3119
Diner
85 Broadway (Berry St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718-486-3077
It is WINTER in New York. Anyone noticed?
We all know I'm a desert kid. New Mexico gets snow, on occasion. By 'on occasion', I mean that one inch of fresh powder on the sidewalk shuts down schools and businesses city-wide. I have no idea what my fair hometown would do with the snow-rain-sleet-hail combo blanketing NYC the last three days.
But I, my friends, am determined to adapt. So, yesterday my sidekick and I decided to venture out into the 27 degree day for a little adventure. First stop: another one of Kathy's ideas.
The day we met Kathy and Mitzy at the Brooklyn Flea, she mentioned a great patisserie in Park Slope called Trois Pommes. She offhandedly mentioned that they make killer doughnuts, but only on Saturdays. This is information that I promptly forgot. However, my sidekick, failure of many a sweets-12-step-program that he is, has been pining away every weekend for a trip down 5th avenue to this fabled patisserie.
Don't ask me why yesterday, a Saturday in Brooklyn where I saw fewer people on the street than may have been out in Albuquerque after a snowstorm, was the day we decided to do so. I am, however, extremely glad that we did.
Exhibit A: Coffee and House-made Rasberry Jelly Doughnuts.
I'm back on coffee for the first time in years. And it's a good thing. Trois Pommes uses Gorilla Coffee, (a local favorite, which just so happens to live a block away from me) which I've decided is fantastic.
Exhibit B: An Extremely Pleased Sidekick.
So, with the boyfriend happy and sugar-ed, we decided to go for a little romp around Williamsburg and do a little (much procrastinated) Christmas shopping. Our plan was to kick around until afternoon for a late lunch at Fette Sau (famed Brooklyn beer bar Spuyten Duyvil's BBQ brainchild), as we've heard raves about it and are both meat fans, in general. I mean, pork is important. Disagreement with that statement baffles me.
However, much to our and our frost-bitten noses displeasure, we discovered that Fette Sau is dinner only. They open at 5pm to dispell their carnivorous gospel, and not before.
Instead, by very, very happy accident, we wandered into a diner. Well, not A diner, rather, a joint simply called 'Diner' at the corner of Broadway and Berry. Now, rumor has it, this mildly renovated 1920's dining car once held an actual greasy spoon.
I thank whichever restaurant god bestowed it's latest incarnation upon us.
It is a tiny, cramped, possibly architecturally unstable hovel. Which, if you know anything about me, you know appealed to me instantly. The menu, which I would guess changes daily, comes to you hand-written on a piece of cash register receipt. These are market-influenced offerings. You can just tell. That being said, it is a BARGAIN. Not ridiculously cheap by normal diner standards, but this is FAR from a normal diner.
Exhibit A: Sidekick's Sausage 'Sammy' (their words, not mine).
Soft, butter-griddled bun. Like the best bulky roll you've ever tasted. If they're not house-made, they get them from somewhere VERY close. Perfectly seasoned, home made sausage patty (I tasted rosemary). Two, perfectly over easy eggs. Runny yolks, tender-but-set whites. House-pickled onions (are you noticing a pattern here?). So simple, so perfect.
Exhibit B: My 'Market Salad'.
House-made buttermilk dressing (I am a fan of the newest Ranch come-back). Herby, leafy salad with chives, green onions and radishes. BACON LARDONS. And the most perfect (while maybe not traditional) Scotch Egg that's ever existed. Allow me to expand upon this (as if you have any choice):
I think Scotch Eggs are gross. They're usually a pretty stodgy amalgamation of hard-boiled egg, greasy sausage, stale bread crumbs, fried to death.
Diner's Scotch Egg defies physics. In order to... Scotch an egg (?), it has to be boiled first, at LEAST soft-boiled, so that you can shell it and add the crispy coating. It is then cooked again. The yolk inside that Scotch Egg is RUNNY. What does this mean?
This means that Diner has cooked an egg TWICE better than most mortals could cook an egg ONCE. And for that, I salute them. I believe the egg was missing the requisite sausage component, but aside from that it was a Scotch Egg for all others to aspire to.
Oh and GREAT coffee. Did I mention I'm back on coffee?
Happy Eidachristmahanukkwanzikah everyone!
Trois Pommes
260 5th Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11215
718-230-3119
Diner
85 Broadway (Berry St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718-486-3077
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
