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Brooklyn, YES!
Cross a bridge once in a while, it's good for you!
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64 Places
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Becca’s 5-star review: I remember the day I found my apartment with a vividness comparable to that of meeting one's true love. The broker took us up to the roof deck, and I was so taken aback by the staggering beauty of the view in front of me that I clasped both hands to my forehead and didn't let go. After about 30 seconds, he said to me, "You can put your hands down--you can have the apartment." Three years later, I still haven't gotten over how utterly stunning the Brooklyn Bridge is, and how lucky I am to have it as part of my daily life. Living quite literally under the Brooklyn Bridge is exactly what I imagine it would be like to have an old, gentle giant by my side. The Brooklyn Bridge is my BFG, but instead of whispering of Snozzcumbers and Whizzpoppers, it lulls me to sleep with the gentle *whoooosh* of cars going by. Best white noise ever, as far as I'm concerned. I can lie in my bed and look up at the east tower, and when the lights go out around 1 every night I feel happy and safe tucked under its arm. The other night J and I were talking about The Future, and J mentioned how great he thought it would be if one day we were loaded and could buy our building. My initial response was, "Really, you want to deal with owning a 130 year-old building?" and he said "Can you think of anywhere else you'd rather live than right here?" Looking out from our roof deck at what is without question the most beautiful structure in all of New York City, I had to admit that I could not. -
Becca’s 4-star review: For me, Middle Eastern is a category of food that I never get all that excited about, even though I'm always pleased to be eating it once J drags me to it. He leads the horse to water, AND makes her drink, and only then does the horse realize she was thirsty. In case I'm not being clear, here, I'm the horse, and I recently drank more than my fill at Waterfalls. The menu at Waterfalls is so big and so cheap that you may, as I did, accidentally order two dinners. Before you scoff at the "accidental" bit, let me ask you a question: when you see "spinach pie" on a menu for $4, what do you picture? You picture a small slice of spanikopita, right? Or possibly a self-contained, turnover-sized pastry? Something dainty and appetizery, no? This is what I pictured, so I ordered the spinach pie to start, and the stuffed squash as my entree. Imagine my shock and embarrassment, then, when I'm brought a massive 10-inch spinach and feta calzone-type thing on a wooden paddle. It was enormous. Enormous and fresh and delicious, and worth at least twice what it cost. I cut it in half and took the rest in a doggie bag for a late night snack, a plan that was foiled when the fascists at the Court Street AMC made me throw it out. Who checks bag at a movie theater?? The stuffed squash was awesome as well--two plump zucchini bursting with a savory rice and meat medley, swimming in a slightly too-salty red sauce. This was $9, and came with a giant salad. J's meat platter is perfect for the indecisive, offering a taste of 4 or 5 different meats, plus hummus, salad, and fresh-baked pita. There was so much food on our table you may have thought we were dining with another couple, but no. It's just us, being gluttonous because we can. Thanks, Waterfalls! Oh and PS--BYOB!! -
Becca’s 5-star review: Zenkichi has to be the sexiest restaurant in the city. Its door is unmarked (sexy), you're led to your table through a narrow, dim maze that you're quite certain you couldn't find your way back out of (lost=sexy), and once in your booth your host pulls a shade for extra privacy (SEXY). If you're not making out with your dining companion by the time the sake comes, there's just something wrong with you. Either that or (like me), your dining companion is your bunkmate from summer camp who you just reconnected with on facebook. Another fun touch here is that you get a little bell on your table that you ring whenever you want something (can't believe most of the other reviews aren't mentioning this!!). And damn, are they speedy! Every restaurant should be like this. Ring a bell, and within a minute someone's pulling up your shade to see what they can do to make you happy. The fact that I was so comfortable doing this makes me wonder if maybe I had servants in a past life? The sake list might be longer than the food.menu, and our server was very helpful in suggesting some to try. Unfortunately, I don't remember everything we ate because it was a few months ago that I was there, but I do remember the chrysanthemum leaf tempura, which was fantastic, and the frozen black sesame mousse we had for dessert, which was just out of this world. You. Must. Get. As I recall, we loved everything we got, and we got a lot. And there's the only rub here--I think for two of us we needed 7 or 8 dishes (including dessert) to fill us up, and they do add up. But it was totally worth it--for the unique environment, and the chance to let my inner princess out. I don't want to say that all the sexiness was wasted on my camp friend, but...let's just say that next time I'll be bringing someone to make out with. -
Becca’s 5-star review: If there is anything in this world that I am qualified to comment on, it is without question cocktails, but if there's anything besides cocktails, it's lobster. My grandma lives in Maine, and I've been going there every year for as long as I've been alive. In those [redacted] years, I've eaten a lot of lobster. I know lobster, I know lobster rolls, and I'm thrilled to report that the RHLP is the real deal. The rolls are easily as good as anything I've had in Maine, probably because they're made with fresh Maine lobster--a generous helping of plump claw chunks tossed in the lightest imaginable mayo sauce, so really all you taste is that juicy fresh crustacean. Oh, and then there's the matter of the beautifully buttered and grilled top-split buns. And the fact that at $13, they're cheaper than some places in the state of Maine, and certainly cheaper than any other lobster roll in the metro-NY area! Yes, the line is intimidating, but of all the things I've waited over an hour for in this fine city of line-waiting (DiFara's, Shake Shack, Clinton St Baking Co), this is by far the most worthwhile. You just can't get a lobster roll this good for this price anywhere else in the city, whereas you CAN get tasty pizza, burgers, and brunch elsewhere. And as if my life weren't awesome enough already, the RHLP stand at the DUMBO BK Flea is approximately 75 steps from my front door. Pretty soon, I expect I'll be getting my frequent customer line-cutting SpeedPass (no, this does not actually exist. YET). -
Becca’s 4-star review: Last week, Liza M asked me if I wanted to take a sourdough bread-making class at Brooklyn Kitchen. I jumped at the chance, because my sole experience with baking bread was when, twelve years ago, I had a brief stint as a Sandwich Artist at a Subway in Seattle's U-district. To make bread at Subway, you take the frozen baguette out of the box, let it defrost, put it in the proofer, and then finally move it to the oven. I was a REALLY good bread baker. As it turns out, making sourdough bread from a live starter is SLIGHTLY different from making bread at Subway; in fact, it takes 2 days! The class was taught by Nathan Leamy, who is clever enough to have gotten a fellowship to travel the world and study bread! He had lots of great stories and information, and he clearly loves bread and bread-making more than anyone I've ever met. He taught us all about different kinds of flour, how yeast works, how to prep a pizza stone so it doesn't shatter, and most importantly, how to care for the starter they gave us to take home. A starter is like a small amount of runny dough with live yeast in it, and according to the instruction sheet we were given, you must treat your starter "like a baby. That you eat." WELL! This is actually true. To keep the yeast alive, you have to feed it flour and water several times a day, keep it warm, and give it lots of love. Already, I am the worst mother on earth. First, I **almost** took my starter in the sauna with me at the gym last night. Then I left it in my bag until this morning, and I guess it was sad (Nathan confirmed that starters and dough can, in fact, feel emotion) that I neglected it all night, and it popped the top of its container and exploded all over my many very important belongings. There was a small amount left in the jar, and so I've been carefully feeding it today, and hopefully it will bounce back. Moral of the story: when people say something is like a baby and you should treat it as such, do not think that this is just them being hippies. Starters need love and attention, just like real babies. -
Becca’s 4-star review: A friend once noted to me that Carroll Gardens is basically "urban utopia", and I think I'd have to agree. They've got quiet, tree-lined streets, dozens of high-quality independent businesses, and nary a high-rise in sight. It's not touristy or douchey, and it's serviced by the F train, The City's Most Useful Subway Line. I'd totally move there if I weren't madly in love with my apartment in DUMBO. Buttermilk Channel sits on the southern tip of Carroll Gardens, and its modernized comfort food, its reference to a local waterway, and its fresh whites/dark wood decor are the neighborhood embodied. Classic, nostalgic, but new. I've been now for both brunch and dinner, and can say with confidence that I'd highly recommend the former, but the latter not so much. If you do go for dinner, without question start with the chicken liver mousse. SO DIVINE, and they were super nice about giving us extra toast so we weren't reduced to licking the bowl, which we absolutely would have done. It was incredible. The entrees didn't work so well for us--the waffles (as part of the chicken and waffles) were too dry to be helped by the drizzle of balsamic reduction that accompanied them--at least for me, waffles need to be smothered in maple syrup, no substitutions. And while the bacon-wrapped trout had promise (how could it not, being bacon-wrapped?), in execution it seemed not very well thought out. The trout itself was cooked perfectly, but the bacon wrap--which was really more like a tiny bacon ribbon--didn't add much of anything in the way of flavor, and the fingerling potato and ramp "hash" was not at all hash-like, but simply a couple of fingerling potatoes sliced lengthwise and tossed in mustard. I'm sorry, but where I come from we call that potato salad. Brunch, on the other hand, YES YES YES!! $10 or $11 gets you an entree, coffee or tea, and a champagne cocktail. How are they even making money on this? My Eggs Huntington (essentially Benedict, but with biscuits and fancier ham) were probably the best egg dish I've had this year. The ham was smokey and juicy and utterly amazing. The eggs were perfectly poached, and the dish came with a nice little side salad, so I didn't feel like a complete oinker (I felt like a complete oinker an hour later at the Brooklyn Beer experiment, where I pretty much had a second brunch). My friend's short ribs hash happily fell well within the category of "hash-like". Delicious, supremely affordable brunch? I'm pleased to report that Carroll Gardens' urban utopia status is most definitely still in tact. -
Becca’s 5-star review: When you heard that Williamsburg was getting a second bowling alley, you likely had one of two responses: 1. Oh, great. Another place for hipsters to chug PBR and mock working-class Middle America. 2. Yay!! Another place for me to chug PBR and mock working-class Middle America!!!!!! But what's pleasantly surprising if you're in group 1 (and judging by some of the other reviews, disappointing for those in group 2) about Brooklyn Bowl is that this isn't ironic bowling (I'm talking to you, Gutter), this is like, nice bowling. Really, really nice bowling. The space is totally beautiful, with raw wood exposed beams, skylights, two large bar areas and well-placed fixtures seemingly salvaged from an old carnival. Instead of hard plastic benches, the members of your team await their turns on plush over-sized leather sofas and ottomans, drinking tasty beer and eating some very strange bar snacks, like bologna and cheese pretzels and hot pork rinds, which literally taste like deep-fried air. Okay, so maybe there's a LITTLE bit of Middle America here. Some other items of note: *Giant projection screens line the lanes, and on my visit they were playing concert footage from classic rock band reunion tours, like the Who, Pink Floyd, and Steely Dan. That was funny. *The bathrooms are huge, with at least 10 stalls in the ladies'--finally, somebody gets it! *It's $40/hr per lane, with up to 8 people allowed per lane, so if you've got a big group, it's actually a really good deal! *The bouncer recognized me from the gym, which was at once both awesome and creepy. Look, I get that when someplace as classy as Brooklyn Bowl opens up in somewhere like Williamsburg, it can be a bit confusing. But have you taken a look around the Bedford area recently? The 1950s pre-fab walk-ups are not-so-slowly being replaced with luxury condos, and the hipsters are moving east. The nabe's getting fancy, and Brooklyn Bowl is ready for the new wave of yuppies. Yuppies love bowling, so look OUT! -
Becca’s 2-star review: Everyone knows the story of the Emperor's New Clothes, but how many of you have heard the story of the Emperor's New English Pea Ravioli? Listen closely, children: Once upon a time, there was a beautiful neuroscientist princess living in a magical kingdom called DUMBO. The princess liked DUMBO very much, but DUMBO's culinary offerings were limited, bland, and somewhat tourist-angled, and it made her sad because she loved nothing more in the whole world than going out to eat. Especially if she didn't have to take the subway. Then one day, it seemed the princess's prayers had been answered--a restaurant opened up within walking distance of her castle that promised to be just what she'd been hoping for--Vinegar Hill House. Headed by a chef from a popular restaurant in a nearby kingdom, VHH offered a seasonal menu, classic cocktails, and a carefully curated mid-19th century decor. People came from far and wide to dine at VHH, and they were creaming themselves. The princess was eager to try VHH, and repeatedly asked her handsome prince to go with her, but wary of the hype, this wise prince resisted her pleas time and again. One rainy Sunday, however, the prince admitted that after having spent the weekend watching the entire first season of Dexter On Demand, the two of them could use a little air and a hot meal. And so the incredibly good-looking couple strolled hand-in-hand over to VHH, where they were suddenly surrounded by plaid shirts and pork-pie hats. They ordered cocktails and the scallop-bacon-leek tart, the latter arriving before the former, as the bartender was deeply involved in conversation with the patrons at the bar. The prince and princess were not pleased, as they prefer to enjoy a few sips of an aperitif before eating. For entrees, the princess thought about ordering the Cast Iron Chicken, but changed her mind when she learned that it was literally just $15 chicken, with no vegetables or starch of any kind (for this, one was required to order an $8 side). She opted instead for the English Pea Ravioli, and there the evening went even more sour. She was brought a plate with six ravioli that could not have been more than 1.5" square and filled with what was almost certainly baby food. There was no sauce--no butter, no olive oil, no moisture at all--just a few scattered peas and a sprinkling of parmesan. "Is this a joke?" the prince wondered aloud. Sadly, it was not. His papardelle with rabbit ragu was somewhat tastier, but also came in an appetizer-sized portion at an entree-sized price ($15). The prince and princess left feeling duped but also amused. Another hyped-up restaurant that the masses seem to be gushing about for no other reason than to appear in agreement with the hype. As they began the walk back to their castle with half-full bellies, conversation turned to topping selection on the pizza that was about to be ordered, and they lived happily ever after, never to return to VHH again. The End. -
Becca’s 4-star review: When I moved to DUMBO several years ago, it quickly became apparent to me that this is the neighborhood where nightlife goes to die--or if "die" is too harsh, at least go into cryogenic freeze. I'm mostly OK with that, because I've lived in the E Village before, and I'm happy that my days of pushing past plastered B&T-ers to get to my apartment door are behind me. But sometimes I'd think how nice it would be to have a cool bar with fancy drinks that I could go to without getting on the train, and I prayed to the cocktail gods for a speakeasy to call my own. My prayers have been answered. Tucked below the exceptionally mediocre pan-Asian eatery Rice lies Speak Low, which impressively pulls off the Memoirs of a Geisha look without feeling dated. It's significantly bigger than most of its cocktail den contemporaries, but there are plenty of cozy nooks for cuddling if open spaces make you nervous. The cocktail menu consists mostly of classics and twists on classics, and so far everything I've had has been expertly made. My Sazerac, which is extremely easy to ruin if the absinthe isn't handled properly, was perfectly balanced, and the Kentucky Sidecar gave the traditionally brandy-based drink a nice bourbon-y kick. Clearly, they adhere to my mantra here: Bourbon Makes It Better. We chatted up the bar manager for a bit, and with places like Freemans and Socialista under his belt, it's no surprise that Speak Low is legit. If it were in Manhattan, it'd all be over--you'd never be able to get in. Thankfully, it's instead in my sleepy little neighborhood-under-the-bridges, and will forever be all mine.
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Becca’s 4-star review: If you were blindfolded, put in the back of a car, made to believe you were on a plane for a few hours, then brought to duckduck and, upon removal of the blindfold, asked what city you thought you were in, you'd probably be wrong. Between the board games, the cans of Schmidt and the hodgepodge of slightly worn vintage furniture, duckduck has a laid-back funkyness to it that feels more like Portland or Seattle than New York. It's comfortable and friendly, and you're pretty much guaranteed to hear "Just Like Heaven" at some point during your visit. It's not a destination bar; it's the bar you live above. The bar you lazily stumble down to on a Sunday afternoon, or pop into for a nightcap on your way home from the L train. The bar where the bartender knows your name. Of course, none of these things are the case for me; I don't live in Williamsburg. But if I did......oh yes. -
Becca’s 2-star review: You know how when you make a copy of something, you lose a little quality? And if you make a copy of that, you lose even more quality? Prime meats is like a copy of a copy of a copy of any number of the bars that have recently jumped on the classic cocktail craze, and I'm sorry, but just because you buy a ton of dark wood paneling and grow a mustache does not mean you're the next Little Branch. You have to actually know how to make classic cocktails too, and as far as our experience on Saturday went, they do not. We tried two standards--the Manhattan and the Bijou--and were pleased with neither. J's Manhattan was impossibly light in color, so much so that we were genuinely marveling, wondering what they could have done to one of the most basic drinks on the planet to get it to look like that. My Bijou, which is traditionally made with sweet vermouth, was made with dry vermouth. This is a really big difference--when it's made with sweet vermouth, the sweetness balances the herbal taste of the Chartreuse, and your drink is a lovely caramel color. With dry vermouth, the drink is the color of diluted Mr Clean and tastes not wholly unlike Pine Sol. Not that I know what Pine Sol tastes like. Other menu items just make no sense. Why is there maraschino in the Martinez? Why does something like the Absinthe Crusta--literally absinthe and bitters--exist? The Holmes Cooler starts out interesting sounding: gin, nardini amaro, punt e mes, but then tonic? Yuck. The one thing saving PM from a one-star review is that the staff were incredibly friendly and nice. Very low attitude for a bar in its genre. No doubt, I'm always excited when a new Prohibition/pre-Prohibition era den opens up, especially in Brooklyn. But recently, it seems I've been dragging J to these places, and we inevitably leave wondering why we didn't just go to Milk & Honey. PS--this is not a speakeasy, so stop calling it that!! Yes, if you're at Frankie's 457 you can enter through the back, but you can also enter through THE FRONT DOOR. That has A SIGN. On THE STREET. -
Becca’s 2-star review: I feel like I need to start with a disclaimer here: I grew up in New England, which is about as far as you can get on the culinary spectrum from the South. In my childhood, "We're having BBQ" meant "How many Hebrew National hot dogs would you like?" Which is all to say that there may be some of you out there who would not see me as a fit judge of "real" BBQ. But to you I say this: I have tastebuds. And frankly, they were not all that pleased with Fette Sau. The shining star of the evening was undoubtedly the pork belly--charred on the outside and incredibly sweet and juicy on the inside. I almost certainly ate more than my share, and was thankful that my friends were too polite to point out my obvious oinkery. The pulled pork and the brisket paled in comparison--neither reached the level of fatty juiciness of the pork belly, and I found myself continually putting extra sauce on my pulled pork sandwich to moisten it up. And I didn't even like the sauce all that much. Next, the disappointing sides. I know I'm no Southerner, but the few times I have had "real" BBQ, there have always been hot veggie sides and mac & cheese, but Fette Sau offers none. The only hot side is their burnt-ends baked beans, which I didn't get to try, but we did have an order each of potato salad and broccoli salad. The potato salad was tasty, but I just don't get excited about potato salad, ever. And the broccoli "salad" seemed to be nothing but cold steamed broccoli with some red pepper flakes--completely underwhelming, and went mostly uneaten. My inner grumpy 5-year old started banging the table in protest, chanting "Mac and Cheese! Mac and Cheese!" One thing I feel supremely qualified to comment on is Fette Sau's excellent bourbon selection. They've got a robust collection of bottles ranging from the most basic (Rebel Yell) to extra fancy (George T Stagg), and offer tasting flights for whiskey lovers of all levels. The prices are a little steep though, especially considering the ultra-casual atmosphere, and despite the crowd at the bar reaching 3 or 4-deep, the bartender was often nowhere to be seen. I haven't yet been to Dinosaur, but I have been to Hill Country. And though the clientele at Hill Country are decidedly less hip than those at Fette Sau and it requires going above 14th st, I'd still go there again before going back to Fette Sau. At least they have mac & cheese. -
Becca’s 4-star review: When you think the word "nightlife", Gowanus is probably not the first neighborhood to pop to mind. Most people probably couldn't even point to Gowanus on a map. But if the Bell House is any indication of things to come for the mostly-industrial stretch between Red Hook and Park Slope, that all could be changing very soon. The Bell House has all the trappings of a great neighborhood bar--vintage-style decor (dark wood, damask wallpaper, exposed filament bulbs, antique furniture and lamps), local beers on tap, and tasty fun snacks (Dub Pies!). For the uninitiated, Dub Pies are mini pot-pies, and in my mind are an excellent excuse to consume approximately half a stick of butter wrapped around what amounts to maybe 0.06 oz of chicken and vegetables, all while convincing yourself that you're having a balanced and substantial dinner. The Bell House also has an impressive-looking performance space, which I haven't yet had the privilege of experiencing (though certainly plan to). And finally, as an extra-special bonus, they have music trivia!! Monday's trivia spectacular was hosted by Takka Takka's Conrad, who personally told me that although my team, Bizarre Love Quadrangle, was not as music-savvy as the team looking up answers on their Google Phones, we certainly had the coolest name. I think that's worth something, don't you! The Bell House is well worth a trip to Gowanus, and even worth the walk down an eerily deserted block, especially if you're stealthily following peter d. In fact, I'd say it's just moved to the top of my list entitled Bars That Would Totally Be My Neighborhood Bar Were They Actually In My Neighborhood. -
Becca’s 3-star review: At DuMont Burger the other night, I watched a couple next to me share a plate of mac & cheese, but not finish it. When the waiter came to clear it, I literally--LITERALLY--thought for about 1.5 seconds about offering to finish it for them. And I totally would have, because I have a solid immune system and am not really afraid of germs, and because the DuMac is quite possibly the best mac & cheese in BK after Jack the Horse. However, a little voice inside me declared that in modern civilization, it is really not OK to finish a stranger's food, no matter how delicious you know it would be, and no matter how slim your chances are of catching something. The DuMont burger is good but not great, and is $4 more than Royale's, which is better anyway. The fries, however, are first rate. They've got a cute little cocktail list, and when I ordered a Dark & Stormy I was given the entire bottle of ginger beer along with my drink--a nice touch. If I'm in the area, I'll probably never say no to eating at DuMont Burger, but at the same time I'll probably never say yes to it if I'm not. -
Becca’s 5-star review: I asked peter d to host a BK elite event in the part of Brooklyn that doesn't require the L train, and since peter d does everything I say, he did! And because he cares about me not having to go very far in the rain, he had it around the corner from my apartment. And because he knows I don't like vodka, he had a gin distributor sponsor the event. Me me me!! I was especially pleased that I got to spend oodles of quality time with Best Bromance winners at the Yelp Awards In My Head, Kyle H and Andy L. These guys are the coolest, and you should all be a little jealous of me. The food was great too--it made me think that I should maybe actually eat at WSG sometime, seeing as it's so close to my apartment. The real standouts were the wings, despite being pretty much impossible to eat and still appear ladylike. Thank goodness, then, that I was with Christopher I, who knows I gave up on ladylike quite some time ago. Finally, it was nice to see how easily the bartenders could be bribed. I had this conversation: Me: Can I still get a drink? Bartender: Open bar's over, it's a cash bar now. Me: What if I gave you a really good tip? Bartender: Sure, what would you like? The end. -
Becca’s 4-star review: When J moved in last December, we had a cat merge the magnitude of which few had ever seen. I had two, and he had three, and now is when you get the Brady Bunch theme song stuck in your head. J's cats are fancier than my cats, by which I mean that J feeds his cats food that costs more than people food, while mine get IAMS. However, we decided we needed to get them all on the same diet, and through a series of well-played guilt trips on J's part, fancy won. Now, this fancy food isn't easy to find, but thankfully we live in DUMBO, a neighborhood known for its residents' penchant for over-spending. NYCPET.com just added itself to the many fancy pet stores that already lie within a 5-block radius of each other, so we thought we'd see how it stacked up. Ironically, you can't buy pet supplies online yet from NYCPET.com, you have to go to the actual store. But this is OK, because the actual store is great! It's spacious and clean, and the people who work there are incredibly knowledgeable and helpful. Recently, they didn't have the 20 lb bags of food that we need to feed our little army, but they sold us smaller bags that in total weighed 20 lb, for the price of one 20 lb bag. They also let us mix-n-match cans of wet food (for special treats) to make a case, which we were also given at a bulk discount. AND they delivered everything up our three flights of stairs! Because while we're pretty fancy, we're not fancy enough to live in an elevator building. -
Becca’s 5-star review: File Under: ACTUAL Best Kept Secret Gem Street would be the most inappropriately named street in history were it not for the Acme Smoked Fish Corp, which supplies Russ & Daughters and pretty much anywhere else in the city that sells fresh-cut smoked fish. Now why, you ask, would you ever shlep to Greenpoint for your smokey, salty fishiness, when you can just skip down to Houston St? Because on Fridays, you don't have to be a Russ OR his daughter to get your fish for the same price that they do--$12/lb instead of $26/lb for nova lox, plus half price on gravlax, sable, sturgeon, pastrami salmon...everything. You will literally walk into the warehouse, be greeted by friendly workers in rubber boots and hairnets, and also literally walk into a room with a giant table piled high with fish. It's not a store, it's a fish room. You will get samples of everything, and you will spend every last dollar in your wallet on this fish, because it's the best, freshest smoked fish you've ever had, and also because...well, seriously now, how often can you really be expected to ride the G train? -
Becca’s 5-star review: Like my profile says, when I'm not Yelping I'm analyzing the dendritic arbor of neurons in the rat prefrontal cortex, but when I'm not doing that, I'm moonlighting as an LSAT teacher. Class isn't over until 10 pm, and by the time I get back to Brooklyn I'm usually a) famished and b) in serious need of a cocktail. This was especially true on Monday, when my students spent 15 minutes debating the meaning of the word "professional" (don't ask). All I wanted was pizza in my belly and a glass of bourbon in my hand, so I headed straight to Franny's, the only place I know that features both. They were 10 minutes to closing, but were super friendly and nice about seating us and didn't rush us to make our decisions. We had cocktails--a Negroni for J, and a Brooklyn for me, and although the Brooklyn wasn't made as I'm accustomed to, it was still tasty and refreshing and made with 2.5 oz of bourbon that I promptly guzzled like they do in the movies but no one does in real life. And the PIZZA--ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Best pizza I've had in New York, by a long shot. Laws of physics-defying thin crust, perfectly burnt in places, spectacularly fresh sauce, great cheese, olives, anchovies...arrrghh...I'm making myself hungry just thinking about it! Way out of Grimaldi's league. Way. Franny's only con is that because the pizza is so thin (and so freaking good) you could kind of keep eating it forever and never get full, which at $14+ each can really add up. J and I split 3, and that plus our one cocktail each and tax and tip somehow turned into $85. Which I'm sure most of you will agree is a lot for pizza. I'd like to take off a star for this, but I can't. It was just too good. And I will gladly pay it again--I may just have to get a 3rd job in order to do so.
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Becca’s 5-star review: The Richardson is the bar that every neighborhood needs. Imagine a bar in the spirit (ugh, pun not intended) of the recent prohibition-era speakeasy explosion, but without all the fuss. The Richardson is not a speakeasy--it has a sign on the door, and big windows you can see through from the street. To get in, you're not required to make a reservation using an unlisted number, pass through a phone booth, or troll a subterranean alleyway. You just go! How novel! And once you're there, you're in for a truly lovely evening. While not as plush and detailed as its local competitor Hotel Delmano, the Richardson is well-appointed with Damask-patterned wallpaper, dark mahogany paneling and frosty vintage-style (though I think not actual vintage) light fixtures. Our server was super friendly and nice (a sad rarity in high-end cocktail bars), and very helpful in recommending drinks from the balanced cocktail list. And the drinks!! Really excellent, easily rivaling their fancier contemporaries, even without hand-chiseled ice. I loved my Scottish Dew, a refreshing cucumber-y Scotch-based cocktail, as well as the signature drink, the Richardson Aperitif, made with Campari and grapefruit juice. Now, ladies and gentlemen, here's the kicker--all of these expertly-made and delicious-tasting drinks will run you just NINE DOLLARS. You heard me. No, you did not just step back in time to 1998--one Alexander Hamilton (with change!) is all it takes. I feel like somebody finally got it right, here. Quality drinks, nice people and a pleasant environment, without forcing you to eat ramen for the rest of the month. I'm super jealous of Kaelea A and her proximity to the Richardson--if I lived around the corner, I'd be here four nights a week, minimum. -
Becca’s 4-star review: I'm not sure if anyone has been anticipating the opening of Clover Club more than me. While the 11201 zip code has a few go-to spots for the hard core cocktail enthusiast, Brooklyn Social is too small and crowded, and Jack the Horse Tavern closes too early. More fancy drinks in Brooklyn, please! Enter Julie Reiner, mastermind behind Manhattan's cocktail haven Flatiron Lounge. Now, if you're expecting the low-key speakeasy scene you'll be disappointed with Clover Club--no secret numbers, no unmarked doors. But what she has done is create a larger-scale bustling neighborhood brasserie/pub scene that happens to serve top-notch cocktails and perfect bar snacks. Tonight was opening night, and CC was busy, but not annoyingly so. I got a seat at the bar while I waited for J, and had the signature Clover Club cocktail--gin, lemon and raspberry syrup. A little sweet, but tasty and super-frothy, just how I like it. The main space is lovely--hanging lanterns, tile mosaic and hardwood floors, textured wall paper and high pressed-tin ceilings. Unfortunately, when J arrived, we were squeezed in at what was most likely the worst table in the bar, a tiny two-top between two other tiny two-tops near the front of the room. It was loud and cramped, and definitely dampened our experience. However, the drinks and food were fantastic. J had the Black Mamba, a rye-based drink with a distinct herbal taste to it, and I had the Slope--also rye, but much more in the traditional Manhattan vein, and garnished with a brandied cherry, my favorite! I was also famished (and more than a little tipsy after my first drink), so I ordered the deviled eggs from the small but quality food menu. Excuse me, I need a minute. I can't even talk about how fucking good the deviled eggs were, I think my heart might break. Four beauties on the half-shell, each topped with an exquisite garnish--bacon, truffles, yowsers. I hit. The jackpot. Although we couldn't be seated there, I took a peek into the back room, and honestly, it's stunning. Another, smaller bar, plus antique furniture, rugs and a fireplace. One trillion times nicer than the main space in front, which is really saying something, as the main space is quite nice. When we go back, we'll settle for nothing less than the back room. And neither should you. -
Becca’s 5-star review: I have died and gone to mid-century heaven. Baxter & Liebchen is a perfect example of the kind of place that makes me wish I didn't have such EXQUISITE taste, because I can't afford anything in here, and I want pretty much everything. I've been obsessed with mid-century furniture since WAY before Mad Men, and while I've collected a couple of decent pieces over the years, they look like trash compared to what's in B&L. Their large showroom is filled with perfectly mint-condition, beautifully constructed sideboards, coffee tables, credenzas, desks and chairs, all one-of-a-kind and all things that I really and truly NEED. They just don't make furniture like this anymore. But let's put it this way--there are way more 4-digit price tags than 3-digit ones (even during their 20% off sale), and so all I can do is look...and drool...and cry. -
Becca’s 3-star review: It seems that the Hideout has given up on its own premise. No longer is it necessary to buzz at the unmarked carriage house door, be checked out by a pair of scrutinizing eyes through a peephole, and breathe a sigh of relief as you're granted entrance into the tiny but nicely-appointed cocktail den. Now, a bouncer sits on a stool outside the door, though he doesn't check IDs. Or at least, he didn't check mine. I'M OLD!!!!! While this may be an acknowledgment that the whole Speakeasy phenom has jumped the shark somewhat, one thing that apparently hasn't is $14 cocktails. Which, as my fellow reviewers also note, is way too much, especially for Fort Greene. Don't get me wrong--Fort Greene's great and all, but if Little Branch can give me first-rate cocktails with table service for $12 in the West Village, then a Brooklyn bar where you have to retrieve your drinks from the bar yourself should be charging $10, tops. And the drinks...well, they're hit-or-miss. The Poisoned Rose, garnished with an actual rose petal, was delicious--complex and perfectly balanced. However, their signature drink, The Hideout, was little more than a glorified strawberry daquiri--too sweet and just plain uninteresting. All that said though, the Hideout still has a few things going for it, not the least of which is that it's pretty much the only high-end cocktail bar in the area. It's lovely inside, and as long as it doesn't get too crowded (which, if the fact that we had no trouble getting seats on a Saturday at midnight is any indication, it doesn't) it's a very pleasant and romantic place to have a nightcap. Plus, they have goldfish crackers! I love goldfish crackers! -
Becca’s 4-star review: 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning has always been my standard example of when you should go somewhere that's normally so crowded you want to rip your eyes out--as in, "if you want there to actually be food on the shelves at Trader Joe's and not have the check-out lines start in the produce section, you need to go at, like, 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning". Or, "the best time to avoid being trampled by tourists at MoMA and get close enough to the art to be able to see it is probably something like 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning". Ironic, then, that I went to Costco at EXACTLY 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning, and it was packed! Not wait-for-a-cart packed, as some other reviewers have described, but still we had to park pretty much as far away from the door as possible, and navigating most aisles required some skilled maneuvering around other shoppers and their massive carts. Who are these people? I wondered. Don't they have jobs??? Oh wait. The store itself is easily much larger than the Costco in Queens. And while it otherwise carries all the same stuff you can get at any wholesale club (cheese balls by the barrel, 42 boxes of kleenex at once, 6 dozen frozen hors d'oeuvres), this Costco comes with one fun addition--cart escalator! You get to ride up with your cart, and there is a special escalator-watcher person whose sole job is to tell you to be careful. How nice! Now, I know that there's one big question still on your mind--how were the samples? Well, here's the inventory: Chewy Fruit Snacks Frozen Waffle 99% caffeine-free mocha cappuccino Really, Costco, very sub-par. I would not buy any of these things. There was a lady giving samples of stuffed shells, but she was always out when I went by--which, if I'm being honest, isn't the world's worst travesty because I probably wouldn't buy those either. I do like free samples, though! One final word of wisdom--do NOT, under any circumstances, go wholesale shopping on an empty stomach. It's pretty much guaranteed that you'll end up with a massive tub of mustard pretzel bites and 3 lbs of mini peppermint patties. -
Becca’s 4-star review: You know how sometimes you bake brownies or a cake and after you eat a slice you think to yourself, "hmmm....I think it would be ok if I had just a *teensy* bit more" so you cut off the tiniest sliver you can, but then after 5 minutes goes by you say to yourself, "you know, that sliver was SO tiny--I think I could have maybe one more and I wouldn't really be a bad person, plus I really should even out the ends here" so you go back and cut off another, and this process repeats until all of a sudden you've eaten 2/3 of your brownies/cake and can't help hating yourself a little bit? This is what I'm doing right now with a loaf of multi-grain bread from Almondine. I did not expect this. I didn't know bread could taste so good! I just thought it would be nice to have some fresh bread for sandwiches today, since J's recent deli meats purchasing activity can only be described as "overzealous". But before making my sandwich I lopped off the end of the loaf, smeared some butter on it, and nearly cried out with joy at the delicious party in my mouth. There were whole sunflower, poppy, flax and sesame seeds, oats, and other multi-grain-y items all vying for my attention, and I was happy to give it to all. Since finishing my excellent turkey and ham club, I've been going back to the kitchen on a 10-min interval schedule for more slices of bread and butter. Seriously, I can't stop. OK, this is hardly a useful review, so here's a little more: the smell of butter croissants outside Almondine assaults you when you've still got 5 stairs to get to the door, and by the time you're inside, your olfactory epithelium is singing hymns of praise to your legs for carrying you there. Everything is fresh and beautiful-looking and it is incredibly difficult to decide what you want because it's all just so gorgeous. I haven't tried the sweet pastries, but if you went just for croissants and/or bread you'd have made a worthwhile trip to DUMBO. -
Becca’s 5-star review: It's been a while since I've been able to update my Speakeasy list, but hoo-boy was it worth the wait! As you can see by the "address" listed, it's not like you can just walk in here, meaning it's time to make some phone calls, cash in those favors and kiss the ass of whomever necessary to get yourself an invite. This past Saturday, a few friends and I made our way through the rain to an unmarked door in Williamsburg. After being buzzed through, we found ourselves in a sprawling, multi-room space--bright and cozy, pressed-tin ceilings (a prerequisite these days for any good speakeasy) and, brilliantly, yacht rock coming through the speakers. There were bellinis in our hands before we even sat down, and to say they kept coming is putting it mildly. I could hardly keep up with how frequently our hostess appeared with the bottle--and believe me, I'm no stranger to the unlimited cocktail brunch. The food, which is served small plates/sharing style, also seemed to be limitless--ham & swiss crepes, sausage sliders, crispy bacon, steamed asparagus and artichokes with lemon butter, deviled eggs with gherkin slices...and for dessert, fresh berries with nutella and cookies from City Bakery. Crikey! You know what else didn't end? Me, completely STUFFING MY FACE. Everything was so good, I just couldn't stop (plus, it seemed prudent, given the copious amounts of prosecco I was consuming). We stayed for hours, eating, drinking and laughing, and never once felt rushed out. Really just the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon--good friends, good food and good booze. Thank you, Debut-Taunt! Hope to see you again soon.
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Becca’s 4-star review: Not to be confused with the 42nd street S train connecting Grand Central Terminal to Times Square, the Brooklyn S train shoots up and down Franklin Ave in Crown Heights between Fulton St and Eastern Parkway, and is a bona fide NYC subway train! I'll admit I had my doubts as to whether the S train did, in fact, exist, since I don't think I've actually met anyone who's ridden it before. But then yesterday, looking for the best way for my sister and I to get to our dinner destination, there it was: HopStop was telling me to take the S. As skeptical as I was, when entering unknown territory I'm not one to argue with HopStop. So after getting off the C train at Franklin Ave, we climbed several flights of stairs to an outdoor platform (who even knew this was here??) and lo and behold, there it was! The S train! With real people on it! At least, they looked real. We climbed aboard, and inside it looked just like any other subway car. Orange-palette seats, steel poles, windows, etc. As the doors closed, they made that familiar ding-dong sound, and I began to believe. Needless to say, we reached our destination safe and sound. Thank you, S train! I'm sorry I ever doubted you. -
Becca’s 3-star review: In general, I think most New Yorkers would agree that our image of being rude, obnoxious, self-important assholes couldn't be farther from the truth, and that we are, overall, quite polite and nice. However, when it comes to Di Fara's, all bets are off. When we arrived yesterday at 5:15 Dom was just locking the door, posting a sign in the window that said "Open at 6". At 5:45 they changed the opening time to 6:20. At 6:30 they still hadn't opened the door, but they let people place their orders at the window, presumably to get a head start. Great, we think to ourselves, our pizza will be ready when we get in! OMG LOL BEST JOKE EVER! At 6:45 the door finally opened, and it was then that the gloves came off. All the nice people who for the last hour and a half had stood patiently in line chatting amiably with their neighbors rushed in and filled the small space in front of the pizza counter with no regard to who had been ahead of whom in line. We were lucky enough to get a table and chairs, but J's sister in-law nearly got into a bona fide cat fight with a woman who adamantly maintained that we were obligated to let her have one of our chairs since J's brother was up retrieving our pizza. We politely disagreed to such a social contract, and she then proceeded to bitch loudly about us for the next 15 minutes. When we grew so tired of listening to her that we finally relinquished our chair on the condition we get it back upon the arrival of our pizza, she continued to berate us for not giving it up sooner. We got our first pizza just after 7:30, and yes, it was delicious, but 2 and a half hours delicious? I'm not sure anything is. A sneaky and evil old man STOLE our second pizza, but we managed to get the next one that came out, and that was quite good too. As we left, we saw two groups begin to argue about who had been waiting longer for our seats, and others pushing and shoving to get to the front of the counter space. Honestly, the whole experience was some of the ugliest human behavior I've seen in a long time, and I was genuinely sad witnessing the levels people were willing to stoop to. It's pizza, people! A little perspective, please! Pizza alone: 5 stars Everything else: 0 stars -
Becca’s 4-star review: River Cafe has been my fancy next-door neighbor for almost two years (and is where I tell cab drivers I'm going, since none of them have heard of my street), but for some strange reason I'd never eaten there until Friday. What on earth could that reason be? Oh wait, I think I've got it. $98 pp for 3 courses. Thank heaven for Restaurant Week, no? If there's ever a place to go for RW it's River Cafe, because, as NY Mag put it, it's not like they take away the view just because it's RW. Now, the view (a stunning panorama of the BK Bridge and lower Manhattan) isn't so much the draw for me, since it's the same view I have from my roof, but it's still breathtaking nonetheless. And even though River Cafe is only 30 years old, it feels like New York circa 1940--white-coated waiters, little lamps on the table, about four different people to greet you and show you to your table--I love this stuff. Classic and classy, but not pretentious. Sometimes when you go to a restaurant for RW they offer you a crappy, scaled down prix fixe menu where you suspect your dinner was created out of the scraps from last week's staff meals. Not the case at River Cafe! The inimitable Kaelea A and I had a choice of 4 delicious-sounding (and tasting!) appetizers and 3 drool-worthy entrees, and for dessert we didn't have to choose, because each person automatically got a DESSERT TASTING of creme brulee, chocolate mousse cake and peach sorbet (see pics). Holy cow! This is my kind of place. I'm now thinking that I should have started frequenting River Cafe the second I moved here--you know, get in with the bartenders, make friends, play the neighbor card whenever I need a hard-to-get resy--and then maybe I'd be able to get a little of that $98 shaved off the top when it's not Restaurant Week. Or at least a comp'd BK Bridge cake. -
Becca’s 4-star review: I know, I know. You're tired of speakeasies, right? If you hear about one more decoy-storefront, hidden-entrance, unlisted-number, laser-engraved key-carrying members-only den of mixology you're going to chain yourself to the bar at Jake's Dilemma and drink MGD until you forget what house-infused ginger-clementine bitters taste like. But wait. Peerless Platters isn't just another over-hyped Prohibition-era style cocktail lair, it's a bona fide supper club at a location unknown even to its guests until hours before the meal, and unlike its better-known contemporary Whisk & Ladle, you don't have to charm your way in, you just have to wait. I signed up with PP almost a year ago and had nearly forgotten about it until a little email arrived in my inbox saying I had a spot at their October event. Looking over the menu, my taste buds nodded in approval at such drool-worthy items as fluke carpaccio with peaches and caviar, pan-seared scallops with crisped lardons, bourbon-lacquered duck breast... EXCUSE ME. Did you just say "lardons" and then say "bourbon-lacquered"???!!!?? Yes, complete strangers on the internet, here is my credit card number. My favorite foodie gal Claw and I arrived last night at the address I'd just been emailed, wondering nervously whether we were about to spend the evening with pretentious food-douches, smug hipsters, or both. Once inside, though, we happily discovered that it was neither. We were warmly greeted by the PP organizer, and found a low-key, non-sceney group of nice people who, like us, were just there for a good meal and tasty cocktails. Which we got! Since the menu is pretty much guaranteed not to be the same ever again, I see no point in detailing the perfectly salty, sweet and buttery sensation the fluke-peach-caviar combo delivered, nor the way in which we were all essentially licking our bowls to get every last possible taste of tomato coconut curry soup. I'll just say this: if you happen to be lucky enough to be offered a spot at a Peerless Platters, take it. Not because you're a food snoot or a speakeasy groupie, but because it will be worth it.
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