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I feel like I've been saying it for years, to the point that all of my wives roll their eyes and quote me: "Low hanging fruit, ripe for the picking." Yes. That is Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. As Williamsburg slowly morphs into upper-middle class Soho the kids are moving east and north. Greenpoint, though still relatively Polish, is now being infiltrated by the younger middle class. The junior graphic designer and architects, accountants, and other hipster related white-collar professions. Manhattan Ave is the main drag, be-lining straight through. See my Manhattan Inn post for more clarification, but I have been preaching to anyone that will listen (and that list is dwindling my dear nine) that if you have an inkling of restauranteurship in you, this area is a no brainer.
I feel like I've been saying it for years, to the point that all of my wives roll their eyes and quote me: "Low hanging fruit, ripe for the picking." Yes. That is Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. As Williamsburg slowly morphs into upper-middle class Soho the kids are moving east and north. Greenpoint, though still relatively Polish, is now being infiltrated by the younger middle class. The junior graphic designer and architects, accountants, and other hipster related white-collar professions. Manhattan Ave is the main drag, be-lining straight through. See my Manhattan Inn post for more clarification, but I have been preaching to anyone that will listen (and that list is dwindling my dear nine) that if you have an inkling of restauranteurship in you, this area is a no brainer.
Enter Calexico, a Mexican restaurant on Manhattan Ave right next door to the illustrious Dunkin Donuts. Five of us went on a Sunday night, in the middle of a fucking monsoon mind you, and we waited a full hour before sitting down. The place was packed. I mean, sardine can, only place in town, packed. Granted, our wait was a result of poor management as much as anything else (the douchebags at the table nursed their dark beers like they were twelve) but that only drives my point further: we had no other choice but to wait!
The food? It's Mexican food. The degree between bad and good is slight, as it's always the same ingredients. The guac was flavorless, so I'm gonna lean on not-so-good food by my now patented Guacamole=restaurant quality litmus test. But it wasn't bad. It was edible. And for Manhattan Avenue that's a beginning.
Here are the notes from my logbook:
I hate peopleGood
BusyKids
DecentCrowded.
How's that for note taking? I should get a job in the steno pool.
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