Franny's

Note: Franny’s is now located at 348 Flatbush Avenue. The former Franny’s space (reviewed below) is now Marco’s from the same owners.

*

For years, Franny’s was on that long list of Brooklyn restaurants that I’d like to try, if only I could find the time to get there. At an hour and fifteen minutes from home, it’s a bit far for anything other than destination cuisine, which I wasn’t persuaded Franny’s had. A Sunday visit to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (fifteen minutes’ walk from Franny’s) provided the excuse.

When Frank Bruni pronounced himself “besotted,” and awarded two stars, there was the distinct feel of a Brooklyn grading curve. Having now tried it, I can see somewhat what the fuss is about. Two of the dishes we tried (the appetizers) were fantastic. The pasta was less remarkable, but certainly very good. More about that in a minute.

At 6:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening, they were already quoting a walk-in wait of 40 minutes. I can only imagine what it might be at prime time on a Friday or Saturday. Franny’s does not take reservations, and the outdoor garden seating area had already closed for the season—an unfortunate decision on their part, as the temperature was an unseasonably balmy 75 degrees. Fortuitously, there were two vacant bar stools.

It is a noisy restaurant, and your evening is not unlikely to be punctuated with wailing infants and agitated toddlers. For a restaurant that appeals to that demographic, Frannie’s is wonderful—practically miraculous. If you’re in the area, by all means go, but be prepared with a backup plan or a place to cool your jets if they can’t seat you immediately. As good as Franny’s is, it isn’t worth a long subway ride, only to face an unknown, possibly lengthy wait.

A brick oven is the centerpiece of a half-open kitchen. The aroma of charred pizza crust permeates the restaurant, a terrific advertisement for their signature dish. We weren’t hungry enough to order a whole pie, and it’s a pity the chef doesn’t do more with that oven. Just imagine a pork chop, a whole duck, or even chicken. Instead, you’re limited to salumi (selections $9–17), appetizers ($6–15), pastas (just three offered; $16–17) or pizzas ($14–18).

The menu, re-printed daily, fits on one side of a sheet of stiff (presumably post-consumer) paper, with the now obligatory New Brooklyn list of farmers and suppliers on the reverse side. “Our sour cherries, honey crisp apples, blueberries, basil and kale are grown on Phillip’s Farm in Milford, New Jersey… . Our kitchen grease is converted into biodiesel fuel by Tri-State biodiesel.”

The cocktails here are reputed to be excellent, although we drank wine by the glass, a wonderful Casia di Cornia Rossa from Tuscany ($10). The nine-page wine and beverage list is far better than you are entitled to expect at a glorified pizza parlor. There’s an ample selection of bottles under $50, but the vast majority are higher than that, which is somewhat jarring when no food item is higher than $18.

A wood-roasted pork sausage with kale ($15; above left) was the food of the gods: salty, fattening, and bursting with flavor. More, please. A pork cheek and beef tongue terrine ($11; below left) was warm, luscious, and sticky. One hardly needed the excellent warm, crisp bread, but we were glad to have it.

Bucatini all’Amatriciana ($17; above right) was a more modest success: better balance and more deftly seasoned than most chefs could do at home, but unlike the appetizers, not a dish you’ll dream about for days afterward. The portion struck us as a bit small.

The pastas, according to Bruni’s review, had disappeared from the menu for a while, because the chef, Andrew Feinberg, didn’t think he’d mastered them. Perhaps the same timidity explains the absence of real entrées. If so, the chef should get over his hesitation, and start offering them.

On the other hand, when your restaurant is as successful as this one, you probably don’t look to amateur bloggers for advice.

Franny’s (295 Flatbush Avenue between St. Mark’s Ave & Prospect Place, Brooklyn)

Food: *½
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Lunch at Prime Meats

 

To visit Prime Meats for dinner, you need the Goldilocks plan. A couple of months ago, I arrived at 6:30 p.m. on a Saturday evening, when the wait was quoted as two hours. That was too late. (I dined at the same owners’ Frankies Spuntino instead.) Last week, I was so over-eager that I arrived at 4:45 p.m., which is considered the lunch shift. That was too early. Maybe next time will be Just Right.

In any event, I had traveled an hour to get here from Washington Heights, and I was not going to waste the opportunity. Prime Meats at 4:45 is almost empty, which is delightful. You can sit back, relax, enjoy the late afternoon sun, and not feel guilty that a hundred other people want your table.

With its Germanic Alpine theme, Prime Meats is an odd follow-up from two guys who opened a pair of Italian snack & sandwich places, both called Frankies Spuntino. It shares with them its rustic homespun décor, a commitment to locally-sourced ingredients and making as much as possible in-house.

They also share a no-reservations policy, and until recently credit cards weren’t taken either. Sam Sifton spent four paragraphs of an otherwise glowing two-star review complaining about that, and within a week they caved. American Express is now accepted.

At lunch, Prime Meats serves a much abbreviated version of its dinner menu, and the items in common are a dollar or two cheaper. (Click on the image above for a larger version.)

I’m sure that either Steak Frites ($25) or a burger ($15) would be just fine, but I wanted a better example of the restaurant’s Teutonic theme, so I decided on the Vesper Brett ($14), an “Alpine tasting board” with mixed charcuterie.

It’s a bit like a sandwich without the bread—an Atkins-friendly appetizer. I won’t try to describe the different meats, all excellent, which included everything listed on the menu and more (e.g.,duck prosciutto, fanned out in the lower-left quadrant of the photo).

Like the charcuterie boards at most restaurants these days, the Vesper Brett works best for sharing: it’s really too big to be an appetizer for one. As I was alone, I settled for that and a side dish of sautéed spinach with garlic ($6)—again, too much for one person, but very good for what it was.

 

The bread service, though, was underwhelming.

There is an alcoholic punch of the day ($5), which on this occasion featured gin, mint, and lime, with a hint of grapefruit juice. It came in an itsy bitsy glass, and even with the restaurant empty, it took a long while for the server to notice I was ready for a re-fill.

If you don’t live in Carroll Gardens, and you’re not keen on waiting for an hour or more, it’s hard to find the right time for a visit to Prime Meats. One of these days, when the time is right, I’ll try again.

Prime Meats (465 Court St. at Luquer St., Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn)

Frankies 457 Spuntino

I keep thinking that restaurant phenomena cannot get any stranger, and then I find another one. Submitted for your consideration, Frankies 457 Spuntino.

Just to unpack that mouthful of a name takes some work. Frankies are the chefs–owners, Frankie Castronovo and Frankie Falcinelli, and 457 is their address on Court Street, in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. Spuntino is an Italian word referring to an informal meal or snack. Like many a celebrity chef these days, the Frankies worked for culinary superstars like David Bouley and Charlie Palmer, then decided they wanted to make it small.

The two Franks opened this casual place to rave reviews in 2004, and then a sequel, Frankies 17 Spuntino in 2006, on Clinton Street on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Then came Prime Meats late last year, and all hell broke loose. Two doors down from the original Frankies, it received two stars from Sam Sifton in the Times. The two Franks now have a cookbook—you can see it in the window, in the photo at the top of this post.

The strange phenomenon is not that the two Franks built a miniature restaurant empire from humble beginnings—many have done that—but that the rapturous raves for the original restaurant vastly outstrip its merits. Don’t get me wrong: Frankies is a cute place, well worth a diverting little meal, if you happen to find yourself in Carroll Gardens.

But the big feature spreads in Food & Wine, New York, GQ, Travel & Leisure, and so forth? I don’t get it.

Frankies was where I dined on my way to something else: Prime Meats. Reservations aren’t taken, and I knew we’d need to arrive early to have any shot at dining there. After a transit delay, we arrived at 6:30 p.m. On a Saturday evening, that wasn’t going to cut it: we were quoted a two-hour wait. We put our name in, but I was fairly certain my son and I would find something else.

Down the block, at Frankies, we were quoted 45 to 60 minutes. We wandered outside to ponder that, but moments later the host ran after us: “Don’t go too far. I am almost ready to seat you.” Forty-five minutes had turned into six.

The narrow space is a former blacksmith’s shop, rough and ready, with bare wooden tables and a pressed tin ceiling. The two Franks have made as much of it as they can, but you need to be limber to manoever through the cramped space. There’s a garden in the back that they rent for wedding parties at $90 a head. I wouldn’t choose Frankies for that, but someone did: we saw a large party with men in suits and tuxes, and women in strapless summer gowns, traipse through the über-casual dining room.

The menu is simple, which it needs to be, as the kitchen is apparently quite small. It’s dominated by cheeses, cured meats, salads, soups, sandwiches, crostini, and antipasti. There are eight or so entrées, mostly pastas, and mostly under $15.

There was nothing revelatory about a chef’s choice antipasto plate (above; $15), but there was nothing wrong with it either. You’d be happy to have it in your neighborhood.

Our entrées were a clear cut above the average pasta parlor, though I wouldn’t tell you to travel to Carroll Gardens for them. My son had the House-Made Cavatelli with Hot Sausage and Brown Sage Butter ($15; above left), I the Sweet Sausage, Roasted Red Peppers & Onions over Pine Nut Polenta ($14; above right). There was real skill in both dishes. Of all things, I was especially impressed with the polenta, smooth and creamy. It takes some guts to serve that in lieu of pasta.

About an hour in, as our meal was winding down, the host from Prime Meats called: they were ready to seat us. That’s only half of what we were quoted, but still a remarkably long wait for an early dinner on a Saturday. Obviously, we said no, thank you. Prime Meats will have to wait.

Service was fine, but you could tell the staff wants tables to turn. So do the many standees who line the edge of the room, ready to pounce as soon as the next party leaves. Even if this were the kind of restaurant that encouraged lingering, you’d feel a bit guilty about doing it.

Credit cards aren’t accepted, but dinner doesn’t break the bank. Even after a lemonade for my son, a cocktail, and a half-liter of wine, the bill was only $90 including tax and tip. At that price, I didn’t regret the meal at all, but I don’t quite get all the media attention lavished on what is, after all, just a very useful neighborhood place.

Frankies 457 Spuntino (457 Court St. between Luquer St. & 4th Pl., Carroll Gardens)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Fatty ’Cue

Note: Fatty ’Cue (Williamsburg) has closed. The space will became “Fatty Lab,” a test kitchen and private events space. Fatty ’Cue (West Village) later closed, as well. In addition, Zak Pelaccio is no longer affiliated with the Fatty restaurant chain.

*

Four years ago, on the way to dinner at Dressler, we took a brief walk around South Williamsburg and suddenly found ourselves in no-man’s land. As I wrote at the time, “I’m not saying it is scary—only that it looks that way.”

The area still doesn’t look pretty, but with hipster bars and fancy salons dotting the landscape, it’s getting better all the time. In this formerly desolate area, chef Zak Pelaccio has installed the latest member of his fatty family, Fatty ’Cue. It’s the third member of the brood, after Fatty Crabs in the Meatpacking District and on the Upper West Side.

It wasn’t easy. Once announced for a Fall 2008 opening, Fatty ’Cue didn’t appear until March of this year. I don’t know the reasons, but getting the permits for a barbecue smoker is notoriously difficult, especially in an historic neighborhood full of buildings that pre-date modern construction codes.

The restaurant is a mash-up of the faux Malaysian cuisine offered at the other Fattys, and Texas barbecue supervised by former Hill Country pitmaster Robbie Richter. Sam Sifton, who awarded one star in the Times, wasn’t kidding when he said that, “No one else is cooking like this anywhere.”

The service and atmosphere very much resemble the other Fatty restaurants. Except for the barbecue smoker, so does the cuisine.

The menu is in two parts—snacks ($3–12) and specialties ($11–22)—but they all seem to be appetizers, more or less, delivered to the table as they’re ready, and designed for sharing. Most items are a mixture of proteins from the barbecue smoker and Asian-inflected condiments. For example: “Hand Pulled Lamb Shoulder, goat yogurt with Vietnamese mint, house pita.”

At plate-sharing places, it’s always difficult to gauge how much to order. I had two of the snacks and two of the specialities (again: these distinctions seem arbitrary), and it was a shade too much food for a solo diner. One fewer plate probably wouldn’t have been enough.

The server recommended a salad as a foil to the barbecue. Cucumbers ($6; above right) with smoked chili, brown rice vinegar, and toasted sesame seeds, fit the bill admirably, but they were nothing special on their own.

’Cue Coriander Bacon ($11; above left) is awkward to eat. You’re supposed to slather the steamed yellow curry custard on toast, then put the bacon on top of that. Perhaps you can guess from the photo that this didn’t quite work out. The bacon was just fine, but $11 is a lot to pay for five small pieces. An order of bacon at Peter Luger, down the street, is something like $2.95. You get more, and it is equally good.

Like the other Fatty restaurants, Fatty ’Cue serves dishes that obviously require a knife (in this case, for spreading the custard), but doesn’t supply one. I’m sure they have knives, but this isn’t exactly Le Bernardin, where you have but to flick an eyebrow, and a server appears instantly. So I used the fork as a spreader. When the server re-appeared to clear the plate, he picked up the fork and hesitated slightly before making the right decision to replace it.

Fazio Farm Red Curry Duck ($14; above left) was the dish of the evening, the best duck I have tasted this year—plump, tender, luscious, and yes, fatty. It came with a curry sauce on the side, but I quickly figured out that it was superfluous—as sauces invariably are with the best barbecue. In any case, those large pieces of duck didn’t readily fit in the dipping bowl.

Brandt Farm Beef Brisket ($18; above right) was the least successful dish, and like the others, ill-conceived. The meat lacked the deep marbling of the best brisket at Hill Country. There were a couple of moist pieces on top, but those below (not visible in the photo) were dry. You’re supposed to make sandwiches with the steamed buns, adding red onions and chili jam, but I ran out of buns before I ran out of brisket. Once again, a knife would have helped, as the remaining pieces of meat did not yield to a fork alone. Finally, I gave up.

There are some wonderful cocktails here, especially The ’Cue (Wrey & Nephew overproofed run, smoked pineapple, citrus, Tabasco, Pernod), featured in this week’s New York, and a bargain at $8. However, they were slow in coming. Every booze run to my table and others within earshot was prefaced with, “Sorry, but the bar is really backed up.”

Notwithstanding that, the servers and runners were helpful and knowledgeable about the food. Meal pacing is often a problem at small-plate restaurants, as indeed it was on our last visit to Fatty Crab. This time I lucked out, and everything came out (except the drinks) at exactly the pace I wanted. Based on other reviews I’ve seen, this will not happen to you, unless the stars are in alignment.

I wasn’t encouraged when I walked in at 6:30 p.m. on a Friday evening, to find a loud bar nearly at capacity. But the space is on three levels, and the higher you go, the more pleasant it gets. The hostess seated me a table on the quiet (relatively speaking) third level, which has only five tables. I suspect it gets much louder later on: they are open until 4:00 a.m. Thursdays through Saturdays.

While no dish at Fatty ’Cue is expensive on its own, the costs mount in a hurry. I paid almost $90, including tax and tip, for four small plates and three cocktails. That might be more than most people would want to pay in a casual restaurant that is not conveniently located, for food that is certainly interesting but is also uneven.

Fatty ’Cue (91 S. 6th St. between Berry St. & Bedford Ave., Williamsburg)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Vinegar Hill House

[Kreiger via Eater]

Vinegar Hill is a tiny Brooklyn neighborhood, nestled between the Brooklyn Navy Yard to the north and DUMBO to the south. Like many recovering neighborhoods, there are lovely blocks and others that look like a disaster area.

Then there’s Hudson Avenue between Front and Water Streets, where you’ll find elements of both side-by-side. As I was walking to Vinegar Hill House, I first encountered the dilapidated building on the left, below. I thought, “Surely I must be in the wrong place.”

Next door, I found the restaurant, which occupies a former carriage house and movie set. It’s a bit gussied up (though not much) since chef Jean Adamson (ex-Freemans) and her husband (who also live in the building) opened the place late last year. There’s a lovely outdoor courtyard where they’ll be serving food when weather permits.

Though the walk to get here isn’t pretty, diners have had no trouble finding the place. The 40-seat dining room was about 2/3rds full by the time I left at 7:00 p.m., and a party of 11, most wearing sport coats and nice dresses, was just arriving.

Adamson keeps the menu simple, with a frequently changing list of about eight appetizers and five entrées, many of which exploit the large wood-burning oven that you can’t help but notice in the open kitchen. The choices aren’t adventurous, but there isn’t a “bail-out dish” either—no burger, no strip steak.

I especially liked the Wood Fired Tart ($9; above left) with mushrooms, crème fraîche and thyme. The same ingredients seemed to re-appear in a house-made Tagliatelle ($14; above right), which seemed more pedestrian, but perhaps I should have realized the similarity before I ordered.

Service was friendly, and there seemed to be an ample number of staff for the small space. It does not strike me as a destination restaurant, but I’d be more than happy to return if I am in the neighborhood again.

Vinegar Hill House (72 Hudson Avenue between Water & Front Streets, Brooklyn)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Flatbush Farm

Flatbush Farm is yet another entry in the farm-to-table movement, an idea that wasn’t exactly new when the restaurant opened in Park Slope in 2006. This haute barnyard sure is dark—not quite like the photo above, but close. Those with middle-aged eyes might struggle to read the menu.

That menu features modestly priced starters at $7–14, mains mostly $16–22, bar snacks $6–12, and desserts $7–8. Dry-aged steak for two is an incongruous $70.

The server recited a long list of specials—enough of them that it was hard to keep track of the choices. Reprinting the menu daily would reinforce the restaurant’s greenmarket cred. and would make ordering easier.

Crispy Pig’s Head (above left) was one of those daily specials. According to the server, “It’s great. Just forget about how they made it.” That was pretty good advice. Little balls of slightly gooey pig flesh were coated in spicy breadcrumbs and deep fried. I would order it again any day.

A pork terrine (above right) with quail eggs wasn’t bad either, but it was a touch on the cool side, as if it had sat in the fridge too long.

The Roasted Pork Chop (above left) was tender, with a nice smoky char on the outside. My girlfriend had asked for a substitution in lieu of sweet potatoes. The kitchen forgot (or hadn’t been told), and the dish had to be re-plated. Her vegetables were fine, but mine weren’t warm enough.

There were other service glitches too. A perfunctory bread service came with a vat of herb butter that looked good, but turned out to be hard as a rock. We asked for tap water. The server pointed at a bottle already on the table, and said, “There you go.” But she didn’t pour it, and it wasn’t cold.

I asked for a bottle of 2004 Cabernet, but the server apparently did not notice that she had returned with a 2006. When I pointed it out, she had to consult with a manger before replying, “The wine list is out of date. Our current vintage is 2006.” Anyhow, I rejected that and requested a 2003 Tempranillo (above right) at the same price, $38.

The mistakes seemed mostly forgivable at this restaurant’s price point. But they were enough to put Flatbush Farm at a disadvantage when compared to Manhattan restaurants offering similar fare with greater polish.

Flatbush Farm (76 St. Marks Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn)

Food: *
Service: uneven
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Ginza

Last week, I wanted to take my son to a Japanese teppanyaki restaurant—one of those places where the chef prepares the food in front of you on a hibachi grill and performs a bunch of slapstick knife and spatula tricks. Benihana was fully booked, but a bit of googling led me to Ginza in Park Slope.

Benihana basically invented this genre. I’ve been to teppanyaki restaurants in Tokyo, where the food is taken seriously, and there are no clown tricks. But every version of it that I’ve found in the U.S. (plus once in London) follows the same pattern: mediocre food, but a fun night out for kids and tourists: Disney meets Japan.

Craig Claiborne of The New York Times awarded two stars to Benihana in 1970, but it hasn’t been a serious restaurant in years. Ginza, at least, feels a lot less commercial. It’s in a narrow Fifth Avenue storefront, and with plenty of exposed brick it even feels cute. There’s a small seating area for those who want to order sushi, but four hibachi grills are the showcase. We saw plenty of families, most probably from the neighborhood.

The chef knew all of the standard clown tricks, but the food was pretty bad, starting with a humdrum salad and dull miso soup.

  

The chef gets the rice and vegetables started, then the shrimp, and throws in some fire for show (it has nothing to do with the cooking).

 

The shrimp are about done now, and so is the fried rice, to which the chef had added two fresh eggs. These are the best things we had at Ginza, mainly because they were not over-cooked, and the chef didn’t cut them into little pieces.

 

Now, the chef finished off the chicken. Three lovely chicken breasts were chopped up and fried to death, losing all of their natural mosture. In the photo on the left, you can see a strip steak on the grill, thick and nicely marbled.

But the same violence was inflicted on the steak, too: it is cut into tiny pieces and fried to death, so that almost none of the natural juices are left. The chef cut off a fatty piece on the end, and was about to throw it away, but we insisted he give it to us. At least it had some flavor.

Ginza is good fun for the family, but I wouldn’t go for the food. My son complained about the long subway ride from Upstate Manhattan into far-away Brooklyn, but his objections melted away when he saw the hibachi grills: kids adore this stuff.

Prices don’t break the bank. My girlfriend had the chicken and shrimp dinner ($20.95), with an extra side of vegetables ($7.00). My son and I had the chicken, shrimp and steak dinner for two ($47.95). Beers were $6 apiece.

Ginza (296 Fifth Avenue between 1st & 2nd Streets, Park Slope, Brooklyn)

Food: Fair
Service: Fine
Ambiance: Nice neighborhood place
Overall: Fair

Porchetta

Note: Jason Neroni and the owner of Porchetta had a nasty split in April 2007, and the restaurant closed, re-opening as Carniceria, a Latin American steakhouse helmed by Alex Garcia of Calle Ocho and Gaucho Steak Co. fame. That restaurant didn’t last long, closing in September 2007.

*

It seems like forever ago (more like seven years) that Wylie Dufresne pioneered the Lower East Side restaurant revolution at 71 Clinton Fresh Food. Dufresne left 71 Clinton to open the ground-breaking WD-50. 71 Clinton drifted for a while, until Jason Neroni took over in March 2004. Many were smitten, including Frank Bruni, who awarded two stars. I was was not.

A year later, Florence Fabricant reported in the Times that Neroni was leaving to become the personal chef for “some kind of billionaire,” and 71 Clinton was closing. The gig with the billionaire didn’t last long, and by November Neroni was back in town, cooking at Porchetta in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. The critics have mostly been pleased, but Frank Bruni, who loves to hand out stars to casual restaurants in the outer boroughs, could muster only one.

I am sure the owners of Porchetta fancied themselves a two-star restaurant, on the theory that if Dressler and The Little Owl could get two, then so could they. Alas, this time Frank Bruni is entirely correct. Porchetta is a decent casual restaurant, and no doubt a step up for its neighborhood, but we tasted nothing that justifies the schlep from Manhattan. The review seemed to be good for business, though. The restaurant was full on Friday night, and several walk-ins were turned away during our short visit.

The menu offers the traditional Italian appetizers, pastas, and main courses. The pasta portions, however, are not large. We started with the potato gnocchi ($13). Even allowing for the lack of depth in the photo (above), you can see it is not a large portion. The light texture of the gnocchi was heavenly, and I loved the quilt of duck proschiutto and crushed black truffles.

Frank Bruni raved about the short ribs ($20), but we were less impressed. We weren’t fond of the puddle of puréed mustard greens surrounding the brick of short ribs, which were adequate but not ethereal. “Not as good as Café Gray,” as my friend put it.

It so happens my friend and I were immediately drawn to the identical choices—the gnocchi and the short ribs. Our server seemed to think this was a bad idea. When we placed our order, she tried mightily to persuade us to order different items, and share. We found her assertiveness a bit presumptuous, and stuck to our guns. (Yes, Virginia, we did discuss our order before telling you.)

At many casual restaurants, the wine list makes the difference between a moderately priced meal and an expensive one. We were please to find good red wines under $40, and indeed, none over $69. We were quite happy with a bottle priced at $38.

The dining room at Porchetta looks like two or three failed decorating projects gone badly awry. In one corner is a black-and-white striped design suitable for a redneck rec room, with a wooden moose head and two more sets of fake antlers with light bulbs on the end. The rest of the room has two different wallpaper designs, as if the owner started a renovation and ran out of money.

You’ll have a decent meal at Porchetta, but it’s not the revelation Jason Neroni’s fans would claim. It’s solid Italian food, in a city that has plenty of it.

Porchetta (241 Smith Street at Douglass Street, Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: Fair
Overall: *

Applewood

Note: Applewood closed in March 2016.

Hardly a month goes by that I’m not writing about yet another restaurant that specializes in seasonal ingredients, locally sourced from artisanal farms—what New York’s Adam Platt calls an “haute barnyard.” As Platt puts it, these restaurants are “country-themed, supplier-obsessed, [and] increasingly expensive.”

Few restaurants wear their organic souls on their sleeves as proudly as Applewood, which has been wowing diners in Park Slope since September 2004: “We use only hormone- and antibiotic-free meats and poultry. Our fishes are always wild and never farmed… Our produce is procured from biodynamic, organic and/or local farms.”

Applewood is on the ground floor of a Victorian townhouse, on one of the side streets just steps away from Seventh Avenue, one of the main drags in Park Slope. It seats about 45, in a cosy room that looks like it could be transplanted from the countryside, although the noise level quickly reminds you you’re the city. All the tables were occupied, although I had no trouble getting a 7:15 p.m. Saturday evening reservation just a few days in advance.

You quickly find out what Frank Bruni meant, when he wrote, “Sometimes the food at this restaurant reads better than it eats.” Out of four plates ordered between us, only my friend’s appetizer, Crispy Vermont Pork Belly ($11) really lived up to its promise. It was accompanied by caramelized apples and roasted hazelnuts, and a pepper jelly puréee provided an unexpected spicy kick.

I started with the Warm Vermont Ham Confit ($10, pictured below), served with pickled red onions and a parsley-jalapeño sauce. In this case, the expected flavor punch from the jalapeño sauce never materialized. Fresh (not smoked) ham can be a dull meat, and the accompaniments didn’t rescue it here.

For the main course, both of us had the Grilled Vermont Veal ($24, pictured below)—“free range,” we’re assured, which means the beasts have a bit of leisure before they’re slaughtered. It was served with caramelized brussels sprouts and turnips. An applewood smoked bacon sauce promised excitement, but it was pedestrian. The veal had a welcome crisp outer crust, and I enjoyed my portion, but my friend said hers wasn’t tender enough.

Even the wine list played along with the barnyard theme, with organically-grown wines specially pointed out. I found the list a tad over-priced, but we found a satisfactory (non-organic) shiraz at $45 to our liking. Two wonderful homemade breads came with a choice of three luscious spreads, but alas no butter knife.

Applewood tries earnestly to please, and I’m sure it’s possible to have a wonderful meal here. But we found ours merely adequate. With so many similar restaurants to choose from, we won’t be in a rush to go back.

Applewood (501 11th Street between 7th & 8th Avenues, Park Slope, Brooklyn)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *½
Overall: *

Dressler

Note: Dressler closed suddenly in June 2013 after a rent increase.

*

Frank Bruni raised eyebrows in June, when he awarded two stars to Dressler, a Williamsburg newcomer that—from the description—seemed to be simply a solid neighborhood restaurant. Whether it deserved those stars I’ll get to in a moment. But Bruni put Dressler on my radar screen (and apparently lots of other people’s), and last night I finally got to see for myself what the fuss was about.

When you think of restaurants in Williamsburg, Peter Luger springs to mind. But just a block away is Dressler, and better yet, it doesn’t take three months to get a prime-time reservation. Williamsburg is gentrifying by the minute, and Dressler’s arrival could very well signal that the neighborhood is primed to become a dining destination (for something other than porterhouse steak, that is). It’s just one subway stop into Brooklyn on the J train, and a four-block walk from the Marcy Avenue stop.

Williamsburg still has a ways to go, however. Other than Dressler and Peter Luger, virtually every other storefront on this section of Broadway was locked tight on Friday evening. Many buildings are still covered in grafitti. Walk just another block west of Dressler, and suddenly the neighborhood starts looking a little scary. (I’m not saying it is scary—only that it looks that way.) We might have said the same about TriBeCa 25 years ago, or what is now Lincoln Center 50 years ago.

Dressler is certainly packing them in, and not with a neighborhood crowd. The generally young clientele have heard the buzz, and are coming from all over town. The host told us as much, when he said, “All our reservations are running late, because a subway train got stuck.” Indeed, we were not seated until about 20 minutes after our reservation time. But we were immediately impressed by the friendliness of the staff. At many hot restaurants, the hosts act like they’re doing you a favor to even notice your existence. At Dressler, they apologized profusely, several times, for the delay.

The restaurant is in a deep, narrow storefront. It seats about 60. Black cast iron filligree on the chandeliers and wall decorations put an unusual slant on standard bistro décor. Those chandeliers were enough to captivate us all evening long. Brown paper takes the place of table cloths, in a space that is rather tightly packed. With plenty of exposed hard surfaces, the noise level is on the slightly uncomfortable side of loud.

Smoked sturgeon ($10) comes in a vertically-stacked dish that also includes a potato galette, frisee, arugula, crème fraiche, and truffle vinaigrette. I can well understand why Frank Bruni refused to share it with anyone else. My friend was pleased with a black mission fig and baby arugula salad ($9)

Seared Ahi Tuna ($24), a new dish on the menu (so the server informed me) also came in a vertical stack, with several kinds of vegetables. Duck ($26) came with both sliced breast and the braised thigh on a bed of risotto. Many restaurants charge as much, or more, for the breast alone. My friend gave it a strong thumbs-up.

Frank Bruni complained that a Strawberry-Rhubarb Crisp ($8) with buttermilk ice cream was so goopy that it needed a straw. That problem (if it ever was one) has been corrected. It was warm and comforting, and we had no trouble eating it with our forks.

The wine list is short, but there are plenty of reasonably-priced bottles under $50. The bread service is unimpressive, with consisting of hard rolls that were probably baked the night before. The service was extremely solid, especially considering that our server appeared to have quite a few tables to cover.

Well, what about those two stars? Quite simply, Frank Bruni is crazy. On the New York Times rating system, one star means “good,” and that’s precisely what Dressler is. We had a great time at a very reasonable price by New York standards, and would happily come back. But when Dressler is lumped into the same category as Alto, The Modern, Café Gray and Eleven Madison Park, it makes Bruni into a laughing stock.

Dressler (149 Broadway between Driggs and Bedford Aves, Williamsburg)

Food: *
Service: *½
Ambiance: *
Overall: *