Food and Drink: June 2005 Archives

A particularily appealing plate of mussels at Partage, the new offshoot of Paradou in the West Village. YUM!

Minibar on Court Street celebrated its one-year anniversary last night. Hard to believe that this little spot on the quieter southern end of Carroll Gardens has been open that long. And yet, in a year, it's gone from being a quiet, sometimes empty spot to one where seats are at a premium on the weekends. Despite last night's broken AC, the place was hopping with $2 draft beer, $3 house wine and discounted thin mint martinis.

Given the recent interest in Coney Island--to develop or not to develop--and the 90 degree weather Sunday, I decided that the kitschy strip of Brighton Beach needed a visit. Sunday was unbelievably crowded, with all walks of life exposing themselves to the elements. A few things I learned from observance: Seagulls are just as disturbing as pigeons when being fed en masse, Shoot the Freak appeals across social and economic classes, and high-heeled shoes do *not* make for good footwear on the boardwalk. There's something uniquely Brooklyn about the place, and it seems dangerous to mess with nostalgia. Walk more than a block from the beach, though, and it's easy to see why this area needs a little economic kick-in-the-ass. It's not that I want to see the Freak Show or the wonderfully greasy food shacks be pushed out by a beachside Olive Garden, but the area is obviously suffering.

At least half the reason for our trip was Totonno Pizzeria Napolitano. The oldest continuously operating pizza parlor in New York churns out some fantastic thin-crust pies. The freshness of the dough and the cheese blows the competition out of the water. In fact, the place smelled so good that I forgot to take a photo of our pizza until we'd consumed all but the last two pieces--which we promptly ate right after taking this photo.  While waiting for a table outside, we had the chance to talk with a couple who'd been going to the restaurant for the past 20 years. They recommended a few old Brooklyn favorites you may be reading about in the coming weeks.

New York Mag drew up an especially helpful list of bars that barbecue. In Brooklyn, that includes Lillie's, East River, Hank's Saloon, Red and Black and Metropolitan. I believe Duff's in the 'Burg has also been firing up the grill. Any other places to add to the list?

The burger above is made entirely of cake. More can be found on the Cake Fairy's website.

Ahh the bachelorette party, a tricky little beast. This past weekend I organized one for my good friend (who will remain nameless, in the leopard print skirt above). We had dinner at 'inoteca in the Lower East Side, which was an excellent experience--amazing wine under $30 a bottle, more than enough food in the prix fixe deal and an excellent server. It was marred only by the hostess who after seating us 20 minutes past our reservation because the restaurant hadn't set the table, told me I had to be out by 9:15, when my contract clearly said 9:30. I told her this, and she snapped, "Eh, 9:15, 9:30, what's the difference?" Riiight. As long as they keep her away from the customers, things will be fine.

Next, we headed to Naked Boys Singing. There's a certain amount of pressure to include some kind of nakedness in any bachelor or bachelorette experience, but I just couldn't stomach the "hunky" men of Hunk-O-Mania or the more "American" approach to the male revue at All-American Male. Naked Boys Singing is just that. Men, almost exclusively without clothes, singing as if they were in a Broadway musical. Sometimes it is hysterical: The song "I Beat My Meat" comes to mind. Other times, the show tries too hard at a story line: A man, undressing, staring out the window wishing that his lover would want him. At the very least, it's a change to compare and contrast the anatomy of about 10 guys, while listening to a mostly amusing musical soundtrack. Interestingly, the show was shut down by police in Atlanta, but then later reopened, with an apology.

Lastly, which is really what this post is all about, we headed to Yogi's. The Upper West Side bar, affiliated with the downtown Patriot Saloon and the now defunct Village Idiot, was a blast. Maybe it's because it was Fleet Week, maybe it's because we were some of the few females under the age of 30, but it's been quite some time since I've had this much silly fun out at a bar. Plenty of free shots, lots of Johnny Cash and a healthy escape from bars so enmeshed in their own hipsterness that they forget what a good time is all about: cheap drinks, uninhibited dancing and the company of your best girlfriends. A big thanks to our bartender Patience (on the left in the photo).