Sue Perette, Carroll Gardens

For our third and final stop of Brooklyn Restaurant Week 2010, Funny Nurse and I thought we’d try Po for brunch.  Unfortunately, some douchey owner felt it necessary to open 30 minutes late and smoke outside instead.  Well then why did you leave the door open?  So that we could embarrass ourselves by halfway walking in?  Why does your website say 11:30am?  No thanks.  So instead we trotted up to Sue Perette, which is ostensibly some random French place a block away, which also happened to be participating in Restaurant Week.  Though the prix fixe seems a good deal, I never received my salad or coffee to accompany this triple-decker sandwich, which also took kind of a while to come out.  The fries were oddly thin and not satisfying.  It was like eating nothing.  Plus, I think the waiter was crying.  Or it could have been allergies…but the point is that something was off.  On the other hand, the boozy drinks are crazy cheap, and at least there were no strollers.  Kind of a throwaway, but the price is right.  I’d love if they could alter the light fixtures to appear less like they are two seconds from falling on me, since they seem to be held in place with some stray wires and a bit of luck.  But to each his own.

Stan’s Place, Boerum Hill

For our second stop on the Brooklyn 2010 Restaurant Week tour, J and I checked out Stan’s Place, which serves New Orleans cuisine.  We first past it early in the morning on our way down Atlantic Ave towards Fort Greene and returned around 4pm because their prix fixe menu seemed the least disagreeable and most promising.  As it so happens this particular Saturday turned out to be a welcome preview of the spring to come.  Unfortunately, we were a bit early for dinner and too late for brunch, but curiously they offer a “pre-dinner” menu.  I kind of wish more places did this.  Think of it as happy hour for food.  Stan’s Place’s “pre-dinner” menu is comprised of various snacks, salads, and sandwiches.  J ordered an oyster po-boy, and I tried the shrimp po-boy.  Call us shellfish queens, if you will!  As you can see we washed them down with a healthy carafe of peach sangria.  My po-boy was simple but hit the spot, and at $10 there was little I could complain about.  Sure, the prior strenuous walking coupled with the sangria probably were contributing factors to my overall hunger.  But on the other hand, I think the total bill with tip came to something like $40, which is ridiculously low.  All in all, a perfect lazy Saturday afternoon.  I’d go back. 

Brooklyn Flea: Asia Dog and Kumquat Cupcakery

As you can no doubt see, the [official] flea market of Brooklyn is like no other.  It’s currently housed in the old bank within the Williamsburgh Savings Bank Tower, which is one of Brooklyn’s tallest, most phallic edifices.  For whatever reason the Williamsburgh Savings Bank abandoned this namesake astoundingly ornate structure so that a gaggle of fauxhemians could sell vintage clothes and tweet about their child’s achievements in soccer.  But I’m not complaining.  The literally underground food scene is showcased in the bank’s original vault.  It was tough to pick just a few places at which to eat – what with the Red Hook Lobster Pound calling out with its sweet succulent lobster rolls – but we settled on a hot dog and a cupcake.  Specifically, Asia Dog is mildly famous in Brooklyn, at this point, but I’ve yet to sample their wares.  I asked what the classic toppings were and was directed to the “Vinh,” which is in the classic

Vietnamese banh-mi style (aioli, pate, cucumbers, pickled carrot & daikon, cilantro, and jalapeno).  Washed down with a little hibiscus iced tea, this loaded dog was very satisfying.  Feeling refreshed but not bloated enough, we scoped out the sweets tables.  Immediately the tiny (and $1) cupcakes from Kumquat Cupcakery struck our eye.  With a healthy hunk of bacon on top of a maple frosted vanilla cake, how could it be any better than this?  

La Lunetta, Cobble Hill

For Brooklyn Restaurant Week J and I started with Lunetta, an Italian joint on Smith Street that’s been on my list for a while. The interior’s cozy and that vaguely modernly rustic chic we’ve all come to expect these days.  That and children chanting.  Loudly.   Here’s the deal: I’ll naively pretend I can enjoy an adult evening free of screeching spawn, and you naively pretend that there is something left of your adult life to salvage.  We ordered a potato croquette, a white been bruschetta (literally a slice), fried chicken, a pasta with lamb, lemon cake, and a chocolate budino (basically a dollop of gelato in an espresso).  The croquettes faired well in the crunchy/gooey dichotomy but were a little lacking in the flavor department.  Basically just potatoey. I could taste the paprika but not the aioli, which is a shame

because why ingest so much fat with no taste payoff?  The bruschetta was nice, albeit small.  It had some smoky properties, which we liked.  The fried chicken was such an oddball; it was Chinese by way of Italy.  I hated it at first, and it seemed like the drumstick had no flavor.  Gradually, I grew to like it, but only when a bit of fried skin was included in every bite.  The raisins were just odd.  I mean, is this what they would normally have on the menu?  Since when is restaurant week a time when you do weird things not normally found on your menu?  Wasn’t that the point of restaurant week?

Kitchen Mis/Adventures? – Or Where I Attempt to Explain Asian Marinades Whilst Wine-Drunk

Oven-roasted broccoli and Roma tomatoes

 

 

Salmon filet
Asian glaze for both

I’m not quite sure if this salmon turned out overdone or just right.

The charring was limited to the skin and was obviously a result of the

glazing.  That was the point? 

And herein is where I attempt to explain my

marinade, or at least, what my wine-drunk mind imagines the definitions of the ingredients used to make it:

   
Mirin: It’s some kind of sweetened rice wine, perhaps fortified.  Syrupy.

 

   Not to be confused with…
Rice Wine: OK, so this is somehow different from mirin.  It’s definitely a cooking wine, though less sweet and thinner.

Soy Sauce: The ever-present salty swill somehow made from beans, which are occasionally a desert.

Siracha: I’m pretty sure this red “cock sauce” is actually made in Brooklyn and not Thai at all, but oh well.  Best paired with Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwich.  Somehow fulfills my naive notion that spiciness = less fat. Don’t tell me if that’s not true.
Lemon: Because you need a little sour in every marinade.
Garlic and Onion Powder: Because sometimes it’s too hard to julienne.
Thai Basil: Which didn’t actually make it into this marinade, though I did chop it.  Or maybe I meant to chop it.  It’s totally growing in the Aerogarden, so I at least get credit for that.  What a better use for Thai basil would there be?  Exactly.
Sesame Oil: Serves the same purpose as olive oil, except it has like 100x the flavor, albeit in a somewhat already cooked way.  Not to be overused.
Olive Oil: Because you can’t overdo the sesame oil.

Salt & Pepper: Not to be confused with Salt-n-Pepa, rappers.

I sautéed the skin side first, as one should, and was disturbed by the blackness upon first flip.  Huzzah wuzzah?!  Not that I’m racist or anything.  When I flipped it once again onto the plate, I was met with this gorgeous and miraculous golden red color.  Success?

Char No. 4, Cobble Hill

Eats Meats West has yet to eat at Char No. 4 for dinner, always seeming to do brunch and/or booze instead, and…that tradition continues.

After an extended scrutinizing of the menu, we were told the specials were a beef brisket hash, sour dough French toast with maple butter, and a chorizo omelet.  We ordered all three in varying amounts.  I tried the Bloody Mary, with its house pickle and smoky whiskey.  It was a little fruity but overall fine.  Right before our food arrived, a huge group of people, led by Rat-Tail from Project Runway, coagulated at several tables behind us, blocking the fire exit. I will tear my way through your bohemian enclave, Rat-Tail, and make no mistake about that!

Getting back to the food, I found the beef brisket hash to be very finely grained with a very even and unmemorable meaty flavor.  Almost like, dare I say…cat food.  I was just imagining hunky pieces of delicious brisket.  Instead, it felt like the meat had been blended.  I understand that a hash is necessarily a fairly chopped mound of breakfast meat, but this was just plain mealy.  Also, it needed salt or smoke or something in that realm.  Plus, the egg to hash ratio was way too far on the hash side. The French toast was really amazing, on the other hand.  Too bad we shared a single plate between four people because it was easily the best dish.  With a great balance of crunch and softness, plus a heaping portion of cream and maple butter, it was like an ice cream sundae.  When we signed the bill, D noticed it was half of the total; the waitress had split it four ways for some reason but charged only two cards.  D was like, “sign it and let’s go!”
   
Verdict: Skip the hash.  Love the toast.  Avoid the rat-tail.  Confuse the waitress.

The Breslin, Chelsea

While we waited for our coffee – itself a wait for our unnecessary Breslin wait – in the Stumptown Coffee inside the Ace Hotel, J texted me “This is so douchey.” Was he referring to the taxidermy display in the lobby, or was he thinking that waiting on The Breslin three times in one season is overkill?  If you haven’t already noticed, we’re not big on waits at Eats Meats West.  But alas, we had guests in town, and it was determined that brunch was a reasonable means to give The Breslin another shot.  Ostensibly, we went because the English Breakfast had been voted best in the city by NY Mag, plus they seemed to like the three-cheese sandwich.  To back up a bit, the fake short supply of tables was in full effect, though to be fair we were seated faster than our quoted 30 minutes.  Right away there were some stumbles.

 

They were out of pains au chocolat (at noon), and they weren’t able to make a scotch egg (it’s dinner only).  Oh cause I’m sure they don’t have sausage sitting around.  The English breakfast doesn’t come with toast, but you can it for $3!  Thanks?  Finally,

when asked what the “selection of pastries” entailed (we assumed a combo of the

pastries listed individually) we were told that it consisted of “whatever we have in the back.”  Literally.  D asked for milk to go with her tea, and it took two more requests before she got it.  These are simple requests, people!  The fried peanut banana and bourbon vanilla sandwich is less of a sandwich and more of a sphere of fried dough (the scotch egg dough, perhaps) with some peanut butter and a tiny bit of honey.  It was just not sweet enough on the inside, and the batter could stand to be a little less savory.  The first bite was good, though, but after a while I hit a particularly boozy and raw flour patch.  It left an unsettling aftertaste.  For shame.  It was at this point that our sharing plates arrived, but the sandwich was all but gone.  I just kept thinking, “is this even a sandwich?”  It could best be described as an oversized mildly sweet corn dog with no meat or stick.  At long last: the aforementioned triple-cheese sandwich [with ham and a poached egg].  Yes, it was crispy, salty, and cheesy.  And yes it was $18.  I was prepared for the price, yet even on this our third trip, I was not prepared for the bloat factor.  The Breslin a heart-healthy establishment is not.  J also ordered the cheesewich but omitted the egg, which for some reason included mustard and house pickles.  Why would the inclusion of a fried egg make the sandwich any more or less pairable with mustard and pickles?  It’s weird either way.  By the end we were all so full that it was legitimately sad…and we’re foodies!  I mean I’m just saying there was cheese on the outside of the bread.

Verdict: We need a break.