Fushimi--Brooklyn

718.833.7788

What the fuck is this place? I'll tell you what: the future of Williamsburg. And for the record, I don't necessarily think it's that bad of a thing.

What is Fushimi? Evidently a franchise based out of Staten Island that is trying to capitalize on the upwardly mobile yuppy vibe that is slowly, albeit with the pervasiveness of a glacier, transforming Williamsburg. Though comparable to Sea in its over-the-top saccharinicity (that's a word) this place delivers with more punch and more fire power. Cloth napkins, attentive service from a uniformed employee, a host that says welcome and thank you, sake tastings, matching flatware, and the decor, Christ all mighty they must have a tiny little coal burning power station all to their own to light up all of the neon and LEDs kicking around (and that's after taking into consideration the limited draw of LED power).

I digress, the decor is not necessarily to my taste, but at least it departs for the now mundane turn of the 19th century vibe that Zeb and Billy and all of the other Townies have cashed in on. And the food? Well, if you like steak, and you like sushi, and you like somewhat predictable crowd pleasing fair, then the food is okay. Lot's of fat kicking around on the menu in the form of mayonnaise dressings and deep fried goodness but for someone like me that's a plus. For someone like any number of my wives, perhaps a a little too close to Appleby's if Appleby's started a sushi chain.

For the record, this place is also insanely large. I'll be shocked if it actually fills to capacity. But who cares? More important is the validation of my opinion. I've been talking for years, literally years, about the low-hanging fruit on the north end of Williamsburg. With the Emerald City near completion it was just a matter of time before these super restaurants emerged, catering to those who can afford to buy an apartment at $600 a square foot. God, it feels good to be right, even if it is all of the time.

PT--Brookyln

718.388.7438

Ate here once a while ago for a friend's birthday, but it was so far on the south side we never returned. Recently while coming home from the LES we decided to hit it up, and boy were we psyched!

Firstly, this is how an Italian restaurant should feel. Simple, rustic, darkly lit, romantic. I felt like coming in from the fields after a hard days work, Ernest Hemmingway sipped absinthe at the bar. There was an innocent country girl waiting to offer me a washing bowl. As for the food, well the food was good. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what we had, as did not write anything down. Once again I will employ a cutting-edge reviewing technique, that of hypnotic reflection, to intuit what we had drawing on the sensations I feel when I think about this restaurant. Here goes!

First I must find my chi and then balance the bad ass motherfucker.

Um-num-chi-bum. Um-num-chi-bum. Um-num-chi-bum.

Mmmm...server in black pants...She's hot. No, she's not hot. Damn it, she's like a librarian, sort of hot but not feminine in any way.

Here comes the wine. Red. Flavorful. Barbera, no...Barberesca.

Okay....we started oil, flat bread, salt. Cristini? Cheese tomatoes. good. Yes. Okay, maybe she's not a librarian, but like the less attractive of two sisters...

Wife had the fish. No the lamb. No the fish. I had steak. Came out to rare, but they brought it back.

Followed up with a tiramisu. Delicious.

And that's it. I channeled that entire review just by using my memory. Egad, that's a tricky thing to do. Fortunately for you all, I have the skill to pull something like that off.

Parm--Manhattan

212.993.7189

Ate here with my other wife on an intrepid visit during my workday. It was cramped, tiny really, and I made the mistake of bringing a derby hat that I had no place to put. The waitress was cute in an inept sort of way, spilling things and unfamiliar with the beers, though it didn't bother me so much because I was drinking on a Wednesday afternoon instead of running around trying to make people happy that would rather not be. My hat made a home for itself on the napkin dispenser.

Other wife has a knack for finding places that have buzz, and I have a knack for being completely unimpressed as a natural defense mechanism to the insecurity I feel when I don't understand something. I had some deep fried cheese that was made in house, and the baked clams. Other wife had some turkey sandwhich sort of thing. All in all the food was delicious, though I thought the cheese wasn't as melted as I would prefer. And since the food was so delicious I suppose Parm justifies all of this buzz.

But somehow, good food doesn't do it. This place was crowded as fuck for a lunch hour in Nolita. I mean wait at the door crowded. What gives this delicious food so much more clout than say, some mom and pop place just down the street that's been there for years. Press? Sexiness? Some je ne sais quoi factor that idiots like me should not try to put into words? I guess buzz is a sociological phenomenon well above my ignorant head. And good for them, cause the food was delicious.