Dining Out

In celebration of passing the bar, I finally made it to this venerable New York establishment.  (Thank you Fayaz for picking up the tab.)  In addition to being any red blooded carnivore’s dream, it’s hard to walk through these doors and not feel like you’re trapping into a little piece of history. The ambiance of the bar and the perfectly made Gibsons alone are enough of a reason to try this place.

While it seems like every two or three months a new restaurant pops-up in the South Slope–in a former bodega here, in a defunct shoe store there–8th Avenue is still by and large a culinary waste land.  So I was excited to see a restaurant in the works just two blocks from my apartment and waited with anticipation as it filled in a store front that has been vacant since I moved in to the neighborhood well over a year ago.

Then, one morning, on my way to the train, I saw that Giovanni’s Brooklyn Eats, complete with its shinny new neon sign, was open.  I excitedly grabbed a menu.  As I walked my excitement grew when I realized this new establishment was sporting a prefix brunch menu with all you can drink mimosas or bloody marrys.  But I could swear I’d seen it before.  As I scanned I realized that the menu was the same as Sette’s.  The same Sette at which I had a uniquely disappointing brunch experience several months ago.  Some internet researching revealed that this is in fact a reincarnation of the now closed Sette.

But this last weekend I was on the hunt for a brunch spot and thought I would give this Sette 2.0 a second chance.  It won’t be getting a third.  Giovanni’s presents a charming modern rustic interior.  But, as with the food, the appearance is where my appreciation ends.

As with Sette, the brunch food at Giovanni’s is remarkable only for its ability pack so little flavor into a beautifully presented plate.  I again tried the eggs Benedict.  This is a basic brunch dish, if it’s wrong it’s usually a sign the rest of menu will struggle.  None of the previous problems with this dish are solved in the new location.  The Hollandaise sauce is nothing more than a smear of orange on top of an admittedly well poached egg.  The ham acts as a salty condom ensuring that the delicious egg yolk  and sparse sauce doesn’t accidentally contact the hard bread base.  Though I did managed to get enough liquid under the ham to make one piece of bread edible.

The uovo al forno, an oven baked egg over polenta, tomato, and riccatt, was an uninspired, greasy, salty disappointment. Both who ordered this dish received over cooked eggs.  The real problem is that the tomato presented no flavor or freshness and nor did any other element to the dish.

On my visit to Sette I ran into serious server troubles–some of the worst service I’ve even encountered.  And, while the service was better at Giovanni’s, it still leaves much to be desire.  Our server wasn’t hostile or evasive, but it did at times take significant work to grab his attention and he never checked in on the table of his own accord.  My biggest disappointment was that, on exiting, I saw a sign outside describing the brunch and listing free coffee or tea as an element.  A fact that our server neglected to mention to this poor caffeine addicted soul.

I had strong hopes for Giovanni’s.  Nothing would make me happier than having an awesome brunch place such a lazy distance from my front door.  But it looks like the brunch gods want me to travel far and walk off my morning indulgences.

My recent post on Peter Luger reminded me of a trip to the Post House a few months back with my good friend Alex.  Alex lives in California, but he makes a point of stopping at the Post House every time he swings through the city.

Nestled in Midtown, the sophistication that people might miss at Luger’s can be found in abundance at the Post House.  The establishment has a a rich, but simple, elegance that you would expect from a top end Manhattan steak house.  The table clothes are white, the waiters dote, and the clientele is suit clad.  And, as Alex likes to point out, this was one of Bernie Madoff’s favorite haunts.

I had the New York cut, which was, of course, everything that you can hope for in a steak.

Our sides consisted of the creamed spinach and asparagus.  The creamed spinach was a clear home run.  Unlike Peter Luger’s, the Post House’s creamed spinach has visible strands of spinach mixed with a thick cream sauce.  (Luger presented creamed spinach that seemed to be whipped steamed spinach alone.)

But the coup de grâce was Alex’s order of the filet Oscar.  Wikipedia should have a picture of this bad boy under its entry for decadent.  The base is a huge melt in your mouth filet minion which is topped in crab meat, drowned (in the best sense of the word) in a Bearnaise Sauce, topped with chopped asparagus.  I’m sure this dish would infuriate a Peter Luger waiter, who seem to universally believe that a steak should, under no circumstances, be adulterated.  For my self, while I enjoy a great pure steak, this decadent tower of meat and seafood should be on everyone’s culinary bucket list.

In writing this, I learned that the Post House has a $24.07 dollar lunch prefix.  I’m not sure that I’ll spring for the $10 extra for the filet Oscar, but given that this amazing deal is within walking distance from my office I’ll have to find an excuse to try this place again on the cheap.

To many, the name is synonymous with great steak.  Founded in 1887, Peter Luger is a New York institution that I had yet to experience.  Fayaz changed that by generously treating Nick and me for a passing the bar celebration.

On the night of our 8:45 Thursday reservation, Nick and Fayaz were running a little late and on Fayaz’s arrival we learned that he had made the reservation at the sister restaurant 140 miles away from the Brooklyn location.  This small error just meant we had to spend a little quality time at the bar.  After a proper negroni and solid gibson (think a martini with cocktail onions instead of olives) we got our table.

The dining room is simple, with bare wooden tables and humble decor, but feels as a steak house should.

Second only to Peter Luger’s reputation for amazing meat is it’s reputation for dismissive and and condescending servers.  I have to say that we experience none of the rumored poor service.  The only slight sneer we drew from our waiter was when Fayaz asked if the sauce on the table was the famous Peter Luger sauce.  (Despite having steak sauce in stores all over the city, Lugers hates the idea of you putting it on their steak.)  If I had to guess at the reason for the service reputation, I would point the finger at the customer.  Not only does some Minnesota nice and few please and thank yous go a long way, but I suspect that many first time Luger diners have miss placed expectations.  Yes, the place is expensive, but the menu is spartan and its simple food done really right.  I can see people coming in the door expecting pretense having their reality realigned by a server who’s seen it all.

And the food.  To start we ordered the Sliced Tomatoes & Onions and the bacon.  The Sliced Tomatoes & Onions are perfectly named, you get three huge slices of tomatoes and two large onion slices on a plate–that is it.  Our waiter recommended that we try it with a rust brown sauce sitting on a table in a gravy boat.  The sauce, their signature, reminded us of a cocktail sauce, not very sweet and heavy on the horseradish.  The sauce was great on the tomatoes and onion and delicious when sopped-up with bread.

We ordered steak for three (yeah, that’s how you order it at Lugers) and it was [insert beefy superlatives].  It’s the best selection of meat that is dry aged on site before it’s butchered and cooked perfectly.  But, at the end of the day–and I know my grandfather is spinning in his grave as I type this–it was still steak.   I just don’t know if I’m able to tell the difference between a really good steak and an amazing steak.  The thick cut bacon, that little appetizer I didn’t elaborate on, was the home run when it came to the meat.   Fatty, but not overly so, this little bit heaven had prefect crisp on the outside and a smoky flavor that is still making me salivate as I think of it.  I felt like I was experiencing a whole smoked ham in every bit.  (To my vegetarian, Muslim, and Jewish friends: if you every change your mind run here and order several slices of this.)

For sides we took down the creamed spinach and the German potatoes.  The creamed spinach was unremarkable, but a necessary bit of color and texture for a plate of steak.  The German potatoes, not so different from home fries, were the prefect crispy starch that every good steak needs.  You can also get a baked potatoe (thank you Mr. Quayle) or french fries–I’m happy with our pick.

We decided to round the meal off with a tall ice cream Sunday that seems to hail from an old school ice cream shop.  A prefect sweet ending to a great meal with a literal cherry on top.

Today, I attempted to make a return to the Waffle Truck to satisfy my lunch time craving for a BBQ pork waffle. Unfortunately, the truck was no where to be found at its Tuesday location.  A quick twitter check revealed that the truck was stuck in the repair shop for a few hours.  Luckily the streets of New York are swarming with food trucks.  A few blocks later and I was standing in front of the Schnitzel and Things.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Schnitzel and Things offers up schnitzel… and things.  They actually have four different kinds of schnitzel and a bratwurst.   You can take the schnitzel down in either sandwich or platter form.  If you opt for the platter you can pick two items from a long tasty list of things (aka sides).  In case your not sure what schnitzel is: it’s piece of meat, pounded thin, breaded, and fried–so good!  Oh, and I almost forgot, the truck offers up an amazing array of condiments, including Spicy Sriracha Mayo and Ginger Scallion & Garlic Relish.

I went for the pork schnitzel, with fries, and sauerkraut with the sriracha mayo.  It was a heaping amount of fried deliciousness.  It was a little to heavy for lunch, actually it was just missing a beer, but I’ve just grazed the surface of this menu and will need to make a return trip.

I have an embarrassing confession:  I don’t know where I live.  I tell people, with confidence, that I live in South Slope (aka South Park Slope).  With it’s amorphous borders, South Slope seems like a realtor’s invention to lure renters further into the heart of Brooklyn.  Some say that I’m in Sunset Park while others tell me I’m living in Windsor Terrace.

Where ever I live, it’s still New York–the land of bagel snobs, where a bagel store is never far off.  So it’s no small matter when I say that Terrace Bagels is my favorite bagel spot.

There is always a long line at this cash only establishment.  Behind the counter is a crew of four or five weary looking souls.  Every day it looks like at least one employee was up all night.  Even if they are sleep deprived, they keep the line moving and the orders strait with a New York briskness and edge.  Know what you want when you get to the counter.  The attitude isn’t charming, it’s short, curt, and necessary to bring order to chaos and to keep the wait short.

The stereo typical New York service is well worth it for the bagels.  They are exactly what a bagel should be, a fresh snappy doughy ring.  (If it reminds you of bread it’s not a bagel!) And, unlike at Murray’s Bagel’s, you can get your bagel toasted.  You can top your choice, from a wide selection, of bagels with a range of cream cheese flavors.

Whether it’s a solo bagel for me alone or a half dozen of em’ with a tub of cream cheese, I think that some of Terrace Bagels’ fine product makes it into the house on a weekly basis.  With this place just a few blocks away, I’m happy to call 17th Street home, whatever anyone else wants to call it.

I can’t believe this my second sweet post in two weeks, but this is another great sweet treat.

I’d heard of the waffle truck (aka Wafels & Dinges), even seen it parked at the farmers market, but never thought about stopping in.  But it was a Tuesday afternoon, I had writers’ block, and I was staring down a half written corporate policy.  When a coworker told me there were bacon waffles to be had I knew I had to check the place out.

On the walk over to the cart, I got a rundown on the menu.  The bacon waffle is a relatively new addition and has bacon actually integrated into it.  The deluxe waffle is called Da Throwdown and it packs spekuloos (a paste that is some kind of cross between a cookie and caramel) and whipped cream.  It was added to the menu after the Wafels & Dinges beat celebrity chef, and asshole,  Bobby Flay on his show, the Throwdown.  You can choose to top your waffle with ice cream and/or scale everything back to an afternoon snack sized mini-waffle.  The ice cream flavors rotate, and on this trip there was beer & honey (yeah, that’s right, beer ice cream!) and some kind of strawberry swirl  something that I stopped remembering after I heard about beer ice cream.

I was glad the plan involved sharing.  I ordered Da Throwdown and my co-worker got the bacon waffle with the beer & honey ice cream.

I had never had, or ever heard of, spekuloos.  But it was a great waffle topping that seemed to add both sweet and savory flavors.  And I normally don’t much care for whipped cream, it’s usually just some flavorless (but high caloric) foam that you have to get past to find whatever is underneath.  This whipped cream was different.  It was thick and rich.  The waffle itself walked a perfect line between substantial and heavy.  I don’t know what Bobby Flay made, but this concoction would be hard to beat.

And there was the bacon waffle which followed the universal law that bacon makes everything better. The beer ice creams was also a winner.  The flavor was mild and overpowered when eaten with the bacon waffle.  On it’s own, it  had a light yeast flavor that that reminded me of a saison.  In all, the ice cream was fantastic on it’s own, but not much when paired with the waffle.

As we were waiting for our orders, something else on the menu caught my attention: a BBQ pulled pork waffle.  Rumor is that the truck is around the office every Tuesday.  I think I know what’s going to be on the lunch menu.

I’m still steaming about a recent experience with a mostly M.I.A. waiter at a mid to upper priced place (think $15 to $18 an entrée).  It has me rethinking my philosophy on tipping.  Here’s the story.

My dinner companion and I hit the restaurant just as the height of the dinner rush was passing.  After being seated it was 10-15 minutes before the waiter stopped by.  No question about if we wanted drinks–just an “are you ready to order?”  The waiter took our order in a sullen hipster silence and left.

Maybe the waiter’s brevity was due in part to our luck at being seated at worst table in the place.  A table  right near the kitchen and right on/in the servers’ path to the main dining area–there is a constant stream of traffic past the table that the table’s waiter inevitably has to block.  But the thing is I’ve eaten at this restaurant before, at the same table, and the waiter some how managed the miracle speech.  But not this time.

A food runner brought our food and took away our dishes.  The plaid clad server returned once our leftovers were neatly packed and the restaurant about 70% cleared out.  He didn’t even speak at this point, I just asked for the check which he silently retrieved.  The second sentence he managed all night was to ask if I wanted change (I was paying cash).   Not thinking about the service too much I calculated $9 as a 20 percent tip which I couldn’t give without change.  What happened next is what REALLY pisses me off: the asshole  came back with a 10 and 1.  I don’t want to get all Reservoir Dogs (see below if you’re confused), but what in god’s name made this man think that he deserved more than a 20 percent tip?  In retrospect I wish I had just left him the $1 (well maybe not, the food runner hopefully gets a cut).  I’m not asking for a show or to be dazzled but there is no reason for me to pay you if you don’t do ANYTHING.  When I’m paying $15 plus for a plate why should I give a waiter anything for a disinterested attitude.

The last time I had a bad waiter experience was months ago at Sette.  And that was a totally different experience.  At Sette my waiter was probably  having a horrible day–in my recent experience maybe that was true, but all that came across was laziness and indifference  that I hear is becoming more common.  I’m not sure how I’m going to handle such an experience if and when that happens again–but I am extremely tempted ask myself WWMPD (what would Mr. Pink do?).

Beer Table is another one of those place that I walked by a million times before finally stopping in.  Though in fairness, the streets are packed with more amazing look restaurants than I can hope to take on.  In the mile or so walk from my apartment to the gym there must be well over 50 restaurants.  But I’m not complaining.  There are far worse things in the world than finding a hidden gem just down the street after living in a place for almost a year.  Have I mention lately that I love Brooklyn?

In July, the final hours of the dark days that were studying for the bar, I stopped in for a little dinner and a beer break.  Recently, I stopped back for a second visit.  All in all, I love the beer menu, the food is good, but might cost more than I’m comfortable spending.

Let me start by talking about the beer.  To say that Beer Table has a good beer selection is an understatement.  The draft list is 6 beers long and rotates on a regular basis.  The bottled beer list, at 25 beers long, presents a wide range of styles.  Both the drafts and bottles are beers you’re unlikely to find at a normal bar.  It’s a place that will make a beer love feel like the proverbial kid in a candy store.

One of the perks of Beer Table is that you can either get a full glass of beer (not always a pint, some of the higher octane brews come in properly reduced glasses) or a smaller taster glass (maybe about 2 or 3 shoots worth).  The small glass is great way to try a few new beers and still be able to savor the third as much as the first, with the added benefit of being able to make it work the next day without a headache.

Both times I’ve made a visit the servers seemed excited to tell me about  their beers and help me find something delicious.

On my last trip I sampled the Rogue John Juniper Ale.  As the name suggests, it has some strong Juniper elements.  (Juniper is a berry that gives gin it’s characteristic flavor.)  I was informed by the server that the beer is actually aged in barrels formerly used for gin.  And the taste?  Imagine a light and delicate gin (think Hendrick’s Gin) becoming effervescent, gaining some beer color, and not without a flavor reminiscent of beer.  It’s light and refreshing.  I wish had a few of these when the mercury was pushing its way past 100 degrees.

I also tried a small glass of Barrier Spelunker a Saison with all kinds of crazy coffee and malty flavors in the mix.  This beer convinced me that Saison’s are my current under-explored corner of beer and that I should focus these over the next few months.

The food is good.  Actually it’s really good.  The menu is small, but seems to change regularly.  One wall of the bar is lined with jars of dehydrated vegetables.  On my last visit, dehydrated tomatoes were prominent in both the “BLT” (dehydrated tomato, mustard-glazed bacon, pickled bok choy) and the spicy pork and beef meatloaf (with Tickle Sauce, potatoes, kale, and red onion).  The BLT was small, two little sandwiches with two tomatoes slices holding the pork, each about 2 or 4 bites, but packed a solid punch of flavor (with the dehydrated tomatoes lending a concentrated, almost savory addition).

And looking at the prices objectively, they are reasonable.  But I’m tempted by so many things on the menu: an entrée, a “snack”, some spicy pickled vegetables (they don’t pull punches on the spicy), and of course some great cheese.  I just need a little self restraint on my inevitable next visit and I’ll be fine.

Beer Table
427B 7th Ave. 
Brooklyn, NY 11215

A quick lunch with co-workers at Pescatore (Italian for fisherman).

The Smoked Salmon Sandwich was good.  Not amazing, not innovative, just the smoked salmon, red onions, arugula, capers, and a generous amount lemon dill mayo.  Simple and done right—enough for me to want another, to make me trust what they do, and to make me go back and try something new.

What got me excited though was the cucumber-yogurt soup.  Light, fresh, with a bit of that yogurt tart.  Some chives for a few fun spikes of flavor.  Perfect for a hot humid day.  I’m sure it’s a simple recipe; I’m going to have to hunt for one and make it for the next roommate dinner.

On a final note, the atmosphere at Pescatore is clam and pleasant.  And staff actually spoke Italian.  A server to two young Italian men at the table behind me and (shockingly) in the kitchen—there were actually people yelling at each other in Italian!

Pescatore
955 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10022
www.pescatorerestaurant.com