North East Kingdom--Brooklyn

718.386.3864

Northeast kingdom is exactly what it is. That statement is so tautological it becomes nonsensical, and I’m okay with that. The small, modest little place deep in the heart of Brooklyn, call it Williamsburg, or Bushwick, or Bed Sty, (I don’t know exactly where it is), doesn’t try to clobber you with gourmet comfort food pretense. It doesn’t overwhelm you with fancy-pants soft cow’s milk cheeses or exotic seasonal vegetables. The décor is modest, not riddled with post hipster kitsch appeal. No, Northeast Kingdom presents itself in all its layers as a small, quiet, neighborhood place that serves an affordable dinner. Thank God, for if I have to visit another stupid, gimmick riddled, quasi-gourmet Brooklyn restaurant I’d puke.
As most of the restaurants in Brooklyn, Kingdom’s staff is composed of older idealistic artists awaiting their upper middle class inheritance. And that’s cool. To be honest I find most people in that demographic to be educated and generally quite nice. What separates the Northeast Kingdom’s staff from the rest of the echelon is that they’re not trying to shove some sort of foodie snobbery down your throat.

I visited this restaurant with a group of friends in the know about a new place. Believe me you, I don’t necessarily know good restaurants from bad restaurants, and still feel that the Polish Diner on Bedford Avenue might be a contender for the best place in Brooklyn (to be honest this has less to do with the food than it does with the stiff, aloof Polish Lesbians who run the joint). None the less, when we got there we drank some beers and basically mixed it up enough to sample about everything on the menu. It’s not the best meal in town, in fact the green salad was rather ordinary, but the menu had some gems. For instance the chicken pot pie rocked. Granted, if you fuck up a chicken pot pie you’re either an idiot or my mother, but it was still a non pretentious down home meal. And that’s how most of the meal was, nothing flashy, nothing gross, just hearty and warm and inviting. The food was good, it was served hot, and it didn’t cost much money, really, what more can you ask for?

Dressler's--Brooklyn

718.384.6343


A beautifully restored restaurant, the iron wrought dining room reminds me of London, or perhaps New Orleans, not hipster haven Williamsburg. The iron working and tiled floors give off an ambiance that is rarely found in New York. This is about all I can say that was positive about the experience, and as much as I hate to write a negative review, cannot avoid it after encountering such an over-priced, mediocre, and quite frankly, insulting experience.
Owner, Colin Devlin, is no stranger to the gourmet Americana fare. Dumont, and Dumont Burger, both offer quality products at reasonable prices. Yet, his insistence on good food must have made him blind to service, and the shadow cast by the misgivings of the pretentious servers could spoil even the most savory of dishes. Not to say that the menu is something more than usual. It reeks of over cheffing, with each and every item having just one too many ingredients; for instance the sea scallop salad that contains too many oranges. Or the snapper, which turns out to be a considerably Asian dish in an Americana restaurant. All in all the menu has no identity or consistency, and the only dish that was interesting was a throwback to Dumont: the White bean and Artichoke salad.

Our party of three arrived on time for our reservation, and then waited five minutes to flag down a server to order a cocktail. We were tartly informed that she wasn’t our server, and thus rendered completely incapable of helping us. While waiting for our server we served bread, but no water. I can only assume they wanted us to work up our thirst, but this was not the case for when our server did arrive she asked for our dinner order. Fifteen minutes or so later, we were given our cocktails and our wine simultaneously. This junior varsity maneuvering should have prompted us to go, but I foolishly coaxed my companions to stay a little while longer.
Dressler does not offer specials, nor does it allow substitutions. To me, this is the spawn of chef ego, insisting that we eat the food the way it was meant to be prepared. This line of arguing is sufficient until a dietary restriction or food allergy comes in to play, and then its self-righteousness shines. "Sorry I can't take out the peanuts because of a nut allergy, we don't allow substitutions." The menu was so overly sophisticated that two of us ordered the plain salad and the “Rib eye.” Imagine our alarm when we served what looked to be a strip steak. We mentioned it to the server and she quickly corrected us, insisting that it was indeed a rib eye steak. Now I am no stranger to this business, and do not need to recount my resume to justify that I was not served a rib eye steak. Let’s just say that for one it was far too lean. When I pointed this out to her she said that it was marbled with fat. I nearly went cross-eyed. When I asked her to demonstrate the marbling effect on my piece, she said that the chef must have trimmed the marbling. That ranks easily as the top five stupidest things I’ve ever heard. Furthermore, any chef with a head for food costs would be foolish to buy a rib eye steak, only to trim away the fat that gives it its entire flavor. Even now, recounting this, I’m incensed.
Since we left without desert, after paying roughly $75 per person for two courses a bottle of wine, and a cocktail, I am unable to comment on the dessert menu. And why bother? If you are reading this I highly recommend you steer clear of Dressler. Believe me; you can admire the only nice thing about it from the street.

The Queen’s Hideaway--Brooklyn

718.383.2835

Not too long ago a large group of old friends planned an expedition to The Queen’s Hideaway. Our party was so large and the dining room so small that we had a narrow window in which The Queen could accommodate us. The organizer insisted that we get there on time so we trekked there 10 strong intent on making it. We arrived on time and boisterous, after having to jettison our cocktails at a not-so-nearby-bar, relieved to find the people who dictated this time slot to be completely amenable, as opposed to the Gestapo I envisioned on our large liquorless journey. Little did I know, and to be honest rarely do I know anything, that this attitude permeates the entire restaurant. Their motto must be laid back, for the Queen’s Hideaway’s dining room embraces trailer park chic down to the salt and pepper shakers, it has an open kitchen and large and comfortable backyard. Everything seemed to be, well, relaxed. I could tell immediately that our rag tag band of misfits would fit right in.

The Queen’s Hideaway is a no-nonsense eatery devoid of anything but down home, offering culinary slang such as Fritters, Snaps, and my all time favorite, Bacony. The place is as charming a backwoods cousin, and the grub suggests this simile even more in essence as it is also humble; the Potato salad was home-made, the salads fresh, and the trout hot off the griddle. There was nothing overbearing about the food, and this might be a curse as well as a blessing, for nothing jumped out as a must have. This is acceptable only because the menu changes daily, literally hand written on a sheet of paper. And it could be argued that there was enough variety and home-made consistency that one will always find something worth eating.

Despite its humility the Queen’s Hideaway takes itself very seriously. The menu modestly hides its fresh food and organic underbelly. The waitress succinctly warned us when supplies of certain dishes were low, and the table maintenance, though with mismatched silver, was impeccable. The chef banged out an incredibly busy restaurant with a four top stove and not much else, a feat in time and anger management. And the whole time this grace in restauranteering was not trumpeted, but rather accepted as par for the course. The night passed and our merriment grew, having as much to do with the endless supply of Paps in a can as our own store bought wines (with a $5 corkage fee). Our shenanigans were tolerated if not encouraged, and after a filling meal our group enjoyed itself immensely. Queen’s Hideaway offers a good meal at a fair price, it is the best of a low bar and for less than thirty bucks, delivers authentically. The only shortcoming, and one we didn’t anticipate at the beginning of this escapade, was becoming stranded from civilization completely drunk. Be weary fellow food aficionados, the Queen’s Hideaway is a remote destination.

Henry's End--Brooklyn

718.834.1776


As much as I’m surprised to say it, a good meal isn’t too difficult to find in New York City. A great restaurant must obviously have exquisite cuisine, but the food must be supported by a cast of equally great amenities. So many times I’ve waited eternities for my check, fought with hostesses, searched beguiled for toilet paper, shouted to my companions, and felt as though I were lucky, no, privileged to eat at Chez Rank. Fortunately for Henry’s End, the great food is accompanied by a tremendous wine selection, superb service, and a subdued unpretentious atmosphere, missing all of the shortcomings that can fuck up a perfectly good meal.

Our party of six was given ample attention, and we were sat even though the entire party hadn’t arrived. I love that, especially if there isn’t a bar. It allows you to get take off your coat, refresh yourself with water, order the wine, and get the entire process moving. Those restaurants who don’t do that because they want to use the table are assuming their diners are as rude as they are. Any polite group knows to order if a couple is running late. Henry’s End seemed to understand this, and since this time I was the late comer it was nice to walk in and get a drink after a harrowing cab ride.

We ordered a number of appetizers to share, and then rated the appetizers. All of them were above average, but none could beat the West Indian shrimp. The crab cake, a first course that has burrowed itself onto every menu I’ve seen in recent history, was also remarkable. The salads were ample, especially the Fiddlehead fern salad. Yet, more than the great food was the brisk attention of a seasoned waiter. He wasn’t there to be our friend, wasn’t there to up sell a special, but was there to serve us.

The dinner menu is exciting yet crowd pleasing. Our entree’s came out promptly, and though the Kobe beef didn’t live up to it’s over thirty dollar price, it was delicious. The veal scaloppini with lemon and capers was great, as was the Moroccan Salmon. It’s quite a large menu, justifying repeat visits. One thing to note: the entrée’s come with a side salad. This allows you to explore the 1st courses and still get your leafy bed for you meal to lie on.

We quickly moved to dessert when the waiter offered us a free Mrs. Mud pie to accompany our Mud pie. Again, what a great move. These guys know that we just put down a lot of money and threw in the dessert. Chances are the dessert was going in the garbage and the staff was sick of eating it, but the gesture was one of camaraderie. They didn’t throw in dessert because they had to, but because they understood that we deserved it. We drank, we ate, we made merry, and had survived the entire rush. Since we were the last ones standing, we got the prize: free dessert. After we settled up and polished off our buzzes with some grappa we left Henry’s End as one should when spending $100 a person: completely satisfied.

Bar Tabac--Brooklyn

718.923.0918

After visiting an artist friend in Cobble Hill we decided to try Bar Tabac, on Smith Street. A hopping joint full of black haired sex pots serving food in push up bras and tight black clothing, Bar Tabac is a neighborhood standby not a destination spot. Though it didn’t necessarily make culinary promises, it also didn’t deliver a memorable culinary experience. By far and away the most notable feature of this restaurant is the old fashioned foosball table sitting smack dab in the bar. Regretfully, the dark lights and subtly sultry setting swept my girlfriend away, forcing me to sit before I could play a game and teach some middle aged graphic designer a lesson.

I would love to go on and on about the menu, but it was a French Bistro. If you’re reading a restaurant review and don’t know the predictability menu of a French Bistro then move back to Iowa. The food was average, as was the service, sans an occasional glance at some cleavage. We had the Muscles and the Steak Frites, two anonymous dishes for a wine list that was equally anonymous and uninteresting. All in all setting us back $61 bucks. I imagine that on late nights the lights go even lower and there could be some interesting dance sex orgy party. Of course, this could also be my misogynistic fantasies getting the better of me. I would recommend Bar Tabac if you can’t make up your mind where else to go in the neighborhood. But whatever you do, don’t go with your girlfriend.

Good Fork--Brooklyn

718.643.6636


The Good Fork is a lovely little restaurant situated in the industrial district of Red Hook. Located on it is exactly what one would expect from a hipster outpost, quaintly standing proud in an otherwise industrial and underdeveloped neighborhood. As the website will tell you the word is out on the 25 seat restaurant. It was packed. The owner/operator Ben Schneider did what he could to assuage our hungry group of four, sending us just north to have a cocktail at a neighborhood drinkery.

It was evident with our negotiation of getting a table that this was a new enterprise. Ben’s heart was in the right place but you could tell that despite the casual ambiance that he was teetering on the edge of total disaster the entire evening. Good Fork became somewhat of a quagmire, suggesting one thing and delivering another. Though the front of house experience was truly lacking, the food was exceptional. A unique collection of Asian influenced comfort food, the eclectic menu dares you to try the sweet breads, but has crowd-pleasing stand-bys like the crab cake and farfalle with lamb ragu. The pan seared dumplings were off the hook, obviously a specialty of chef/owner Sohui Kim. For dessert we shared the chocolate cake, and it was again as consistent in attention to detail and taste as was our first course and entree. Our dinner of four with a three course meal, wine, dessert, and after dinner drinks landed in the $60 a person ballpark; and despite not having half of the after dinner drinks in house, our party was completely satisfied.

Much like the contrast between the service and the food, the overall décor was a little confusing. The natural homey feeling intimated an obsession with wood working and interior design, yet all of it was so brand new that it came off as saccharine. It was too handmade, too well crafted. Like so many New York restaurants the devotion spent on the design should have been spent on the front of house operations. For example: the bathroom, done complete with clever counter levered door, offered paper C-fold napkins as a hand towel. The backyard looked as though it were an impending project, yet, due to ventilation the door was left open, exposing a ramshackle underbelly.

My hat is off to the hardworking couple, for at the end of the day they delivered a nice product: a comfortable atmosphere with quality product. In Brooklyn this recipe grows on trees, and Good Fork’s only true shortcoming sprouts from this accepted notion of casual dining. I understand dropping the formality, but on the same token guests should not be treated like house guests. Good Fork is worth the trip, but you might be expected to help with the dishes at the end of the night.