GASTRONORMOUS

A few weekends ago, the Hubs and I decided to treat ourselves to a brunch a General Greene, a blog-ballyhooed restaurant in the neighborhood. I had been eager to try it since it opened in June. Expectations were high as I had heard good things about it.

It started out well enough. Tables were readily available. The faux-barnish rustic atmosphere manages to be both airy and cozy. Our waiter was pleasant. We ordered iced coffee which was served in cut-glass jam jars. Adorable! The Hubs ordered the baked french toast and I ordered the ratatouille baked eggs. Doesn’t that sound great? A rich, tomatoey, ratatouille chock full or eggplant, zucchini and other veggies, with two baked eggs nestled into the center?

Well, while what was actually put in front of me looked great, it didn’t look like ratatouille. It was creamy-looking, for one. But I was willing to go along with a non-traditional rendition of the classic French dish, so I dove in. What I found under the crispy golden top (pictured above) was a mass of foamy liquid, some small chunks of vegetables, all mixed in with completely uncooked eggs–yolks and whites. Whites! (The glop of clear whites isn’t visible in the photo left, but trust me, it is there. Oh, it’s there.) I can handle, and actually enjoy, a runny yolk in some dishes, but runny, still perfectly clear whites? That didn’t seem right. And I couldn’t get a grip on what the foam that was the base of the dish was meant to be. Was it supposed to be a custard? Not clear. It was so runny that a fork didn’t work in my admittedly half-hearted attempts to eat it. Rather than ask for a spoon, I reluctantly decided to ask the waiter to cook it a bit more.

While it might be said that I can be critical of the food I am served in restaurants, I am actually loath to send something back or lodge an official complaint to a restaurant employee. Sending food back to the kitchen interrupts the flow of the meal, and I feel this sense of guilt about it–I don’t like troubling the staff.  So, only when a dish is inedible do I send it back. And I had no choice in this case. So, I flagged him over and pointed out that the whites weren’t cooked. He seemed surprised when he saw the raw whites, and said that he had asked for it to be done medium-well (he actually hadn’t asked me how I wanted them done. I just assumed baked eggs were meant to be well done. And at the very least in any case, the whites should be white). He took it back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, The Hubs had nearly finished his french toast. It looks lovely. Unfortunately, the top was dry, as if it hadn’t soaked up any custard at all), and the bottom of the dish was filled with custard that was–incredibly–also undercooked. It was very runny, and clearly underdone, though not quite to the point of being inedible. The Hubs ate it, though he can’t say he enjoyed it. The flavors were good, it just needed a bit more care in custard coverage, and a bit more patience in the cooking.

The waiter brought back the baked egg dish as Hubs was finishing his french toast. I broke through the reformed top skin to find the same strange foamy liquid, and incredibly, still some uncooked, perfectly clear egg white! I just don’t understand how it could still be so uncooked after so much time, and two trips to the oven, passing? This was just so puzzling. I tried to eat it in any case, telling myself it was fine. But I just couldn’t do it. This was like a thin, hot, salty, shallow milkshake. It was just off.

At hubs urging, I flagged down the waiter again and told him it was still uncooked. Without my asking he said he would take it off of our bill, which I appreciated, and asked if I wanted anything else. Not having a menu in front of me, I just blurted out, “A muffin?” I wanted something fast as the french toast plate had already been cleared and we were nursing the milky ice cubes from our coffees.

A blueberry muffin was brought out hence. It was still warm from the oven. It looked divine. I split it open with my thumbs. It was undercooked. Sticky batter massed in the center. I asked the Hubs to verify. Was I being just too picky this time? He confirmed that indeed, it was undercooked. I looked around for hidden cameras. This had to be a joke. Alas, it was an unfortunate reality. We asked for our bill, paid it, and headed over to the Flea so I could get something to eat.

I might sometime in the future, when the foamy liquid and raw egg whites fiasco is but a dim memory, try General Greene again–for dinner, which I have heard is quite good.

The General Greene
229 DeKalb Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11205
718-222-1510

Postscript: I decided on a papausa from one of the Redhook Ball Fields vendors at the Flea. I took a bite and passed it over to The Hubs to try as I said, “This isn’t as good as I remember it being the last time I had one.” He sagely responded, “No, but it is better than the baked eggs.” I couldn’t help but agree as I took another bite.

As I mentioned a few days ago, the Hubs and I ended up at Morrell WIne Bar and Cafe last Saturday for a pre-theater dinner. There is a dearth of good restaurants in this area, especially as we didn’t have the time to go over to Hell’s Kitchen and going to, say, La Grenouille or Le Bernardin was not really in our budget. Unfortunately, Morrell’s proved to be just another mediocre restaurant in the theater discrict.

We sat outside, where I suprised to find the chipped metal tables not covered with table cloths. Sure, it is a semi-casual restaurant, but with pastas all above $20 and entrees going higher, I would think especially tables in this sort of poor shape would be covered. This caused a bit of concern about the quality of the experience we were going to have here, but I stuck it out as we really did not have the time to go looking for someplace else.

We decided on our selections, and had plenty of time to peruse the impressive wine list during our lengthy wait for the waiter to return to take our order. Another long wait ensued before our wine came. It was The Red Brute [sic] sparkling Shiraz by Bleasdale Vineyards, South Australia. I was amused that the waiter described the wine as he poured it (something along the lines of “bubbly and refreshing”), rather than when we ordered it, but perhaps I was become jaded toward him after two over-long waits. The wine, though called a “brute,” was sweeter than a dry Lambrusco, but still rich and enjoyable.

I was heartened by the arrival of the onion tart, which wasn’t the most attractive thing I had seen, but was tasty enough, with a good balance of caramelized onions, gruyère, and puff pastry. It was supposed to be served with crème fraîche, but came it a very watery milky tasting liquid instead. Still, it didn’t harm the dish. The tart was garnished with some oven-roasted tomatoes, which I thought was an unusual accompaniment, but were very flavorful in their own right.

The tomatoes and dressing of the heirloom tomato salad were tasty enough, but as you can see if you look at the left side of the plate in the picture, the lettuce wasn’t very fresh. Mushy lettuce is pretty inexcusable in any restaurant, but especially at this price point.

The mushroom risotto was a huge portion. I am not sure that is a good thing, but it is the only non-negative thing I can say of it. It was too liquidy, not chewy the way true risotto should be (and I suspect this was not made using a true risotto technique), was topped with cheap, pre-shredded parmesan, and worst of all tasted of salt and not the promised truffle oil, or even, indeed, of mushrooms.

The scallops (both sea and bay types) were tasty enough, pan-seared perfectly, and presented in what would have been an elegant arrangement if not for the sloppy bed of cauliflower and spinach. Unfortunately the sauce suffered from the over-salting which apparently plagues this place and kept the dish from being a standout.

We skipped on dessert as Broadway beckoned, but I am not sure I would hazard a return visit to sample their sweet selections. This restaurant had mostly decent reviews on several websites, so I was disappointed and discouraged by our experience at Morrell’s Wine Bar. If anyone knows of good and reasonably priced dinner options in the theater district, please do let us know.

Morrell Wine Bar and Cafe
1 Rockefeller Plaza
New York, NY 10020-2102
(212) 262-7700

With the Hubs working all day last Saturday, the Predicate and I decided to have a girl-only outing to Coney Island; the uncommonly good weather beckoned us out to the surf, sand, and boardwalk. Though there is much that allures at Coney Island (the beach, the skeeball, and of course Nathan’s Famous), I admit that unbeknownst to the Predicate, I went there with singular purpose: to have Italian ices at Ralph’s. My plan of action was to casually suggest we go to Ralph’s directly after disembarking the subway; and then, right before we leave, happen to stroll by again and say something along the lines of “Oh, here we are again. Whaddya know?” I had it all worked out.

On the way to the boardwalk from the subway station we came across this curious contraption outside of a Stillwell Avenue construction area. A kosher hot dog, um, vending machine. The machine is emblazoned with these words: “Kosher Cart, Hot Nosh, Hot Dogs, 24/6; grilled fresh and fast; any time, any where.” 24/6? Cute, but do they really unplug the machine on the shabbat? We sort of stood there for a while, as masses of people walked past on their way to the boardwalk, to see if anyone could resist the lure of a vending machine-produced meat snack. It turns out pretty much everyone can resist it. In fact, a kid who I estimated to be about 8 years old, stopped and looked at it for a moment and said, “Ew! Hot dogs from a vending machine??” Incredulous exclamations continued to issue from the mouth of this discerning child as his mother pulled him away by the arm down Stillwell Avenue.

Most people eat Nathan’s hot dogs, funnel cakes, and french fries when visiting Coney Island. For the more adventurous, there are many purveyors of clams and oysters–fresh, fried, however you want them. To be frank, I really try not to eat when at Coney Island (with the obvious exception of the ices), because most of the vendors there are sort of run down, and, well, I’ll just say it, dirty looking. That doesn’t stop others, obviously. I do love looking at all the shining examples of signage for these food hawkers, as it ranges from old-timey quaint to old-timey bizarre. The Astroland dog-faced hamburger guy (see thumbnail below) is a classic, but my favorite sign, hands down, is the one for a place called The Gyro Corner Clam Bar (go figure). The sign features clams dressed in tops hats and tails, similarly personified clams on the half shell, sitting down at a table for a romantic meal of cocktail sauce and lemons (see thumbnail below), and best of all, a muscle-bound, mustachioed dude grasping a beer in one hand, and coolly spinning a clam on the tip of the finger of his other hand, and exclaiming (or is he being called?), “Hey…Joey!” (which must be pronounced: “Eyh, Joe-EEE!”). Awesome. And also: huh?

After all these distractions, we finally reached Ralph’s Italian Ices, a very temporary tented stand set down on the wooden planks of the boardwalk itself. Ralph’s excels at fruit flavors. I am especially fond of the passion fruit flavor, which has just the right balance of puckery and sweet. I have never had a flavor here I didn’t like. You can’t go wrong with a fruit flavor. And the cookies and cream is truly amazing. The pistachio is great. But on this day I wanted something different. Something refreshing, something…minty. So, the mint chip it was. And boy was it delicious. Same flavors as in a great mint chip ice cream, but with a light, fluffy (yes, fluffy!), melty texture that is cold (natch!) and refreshing but doesn’t slow you down like heavy ice cream can. This was important as we were just getting going on the boardwalk. The Predicate had the spumoni ice, which was a mixture of amaretto, chocolate, and pistachio flavors. The amaretto was definitely dominant and tended to overpower the other players in the scoop. But if you like amaretto, and the Predicate does, then it is a winner.

We then went and hung out on the beach, where we had fun chatting and observing the habits of many loonies that inhabit this place. After finishing my ice, I fleetingly considered getting a heart tattoo with the name “Ralph” inscribed in it. While sunning, we were offered contraband beer (we denied), mango flowers, and churros by people doing their best to pull wheeled carts across the sand. Finally, on that increasingly windy day, we had swallowed enough sand that we decided to head back up the the boardwalk.

We walked over to the pier and watched people catching fish and sooty crabs. The creatures coming out of that New York City water looked primeval, like things that belonged in the Museum of Natural History rather than on a dinner plate. But that, apparently, was where most of these catches were destined. Shudder.

My stomach by this point was a little upset (Not from the ice! Can’t have been! Must have been the sand I ate!), so I gave up on a second round of ices, and the Predicate was none the wiser to my lofty scheme. We walked much of the length of the boardwalk to Brighton Beach, where there are some festive Russian indoor/outdoor restaurants facing the beach. I must make it back some day. But It was getting late. So sunburnt, exhausted, and filled with delicious icy memories, we decided to head home.

From afar, your eye might be fooled into thinking this gleaming metal cart in front of what is loftily referred to as the Target Plaza in Brooklyn is one of the several hot dog or Halal meat stands that populate the area. Indeed, on this particularly hot day, as I trudged closer, I wiped the sweat from my eyes, thinking it must be a mirage. But as I approached I saw that it was actually an oasis of semi-frozen beverages, and the effect on me upon seeing this was as if the heavens cracked open and the sounds of a choir of angels filled my ears. Such was the level of my anticipation.

I had never noticed the slushy cart here before. Its appearance at this location might be seen as a gutsy move, considering the ICEE-equipped Target just steps away; but honestly, the Target machines are more often than not on the fritz (yes, I check. regularly.), so maybe it was in fact the smartest move they could make.

The slushy flavors: Cherry, Blueberry, Piña Colada, Mango, Lemon-Lime. It doesn’t appear that there is flavor rotation, so don’t go there hoping they will have a lemon-basil slushy any time soon (though that would be tasty!). But these are good basic flavors, and the Target or 7-11 don’t normally offer more variety in any case. The guy working the slushy cart repeatedly called me “Ma’am,” which I was simultaneously charmed and insulted by (polite, yes, but I thought only old ladies were called Ma’am?). In any case, I can’t fault the dude. The service was swift and polite, and the cart seemed to be among the cleaner ones I have seen.

I opted for a small lemon-lime and mango combination, which looks awfully pretty with its tonal variegation, doesn’t it? The lemon-lime was very sweet and intensely lemony-limey, but the flavor was about as artificial as its neon green color. The mango, on the other hand was a winner. It tasted of fresh mango, bright and authentic. My guess is that it is made with real mango or mango juice, as opposed to artificial flavors, as the mango slushy costs a dollar more than the other flavors. But it was certainly worth the extra expense. I might try other flavors in the future, but the mango slushy is what will draw me back to this oasis on Atlantic Avenue.

Last week I was waiting for a train in Grand Central Terminal (fun fact few tourists know: it is not called Grand Central Station!) at noon, and after perusing the offerings, I decided on Cafe Spice Express for lunch as I remembered hearing good things about their University Place outpost when they opened years ago.

I had high hopes as the area around Cafe Spice is about the best smelling place in Grand Central (though perhaps this isn’t saying much), but I found it was a mistake to rely on a heady aroma and bygone raves of a full-restaurant cousin of a to-go joint.

I asked the server which dish was the spiciest and he pointed to the vegetable curry, so I chose that and the chana masala. Both dishes tasted vaguely spicy, but neither had the specific flavor I usually associate with chana masala or vegetable curry. Of course recipes for both dishes vary from place to place (my favorite samosa joint in the city–Pak Punjab on the corner or 3rd St. and 2nd Ave. in Manhattan–has very unusual chana masala that is richly spiced with cloves, for instance), but these tasted of everything and nothing, not to get too philosophical on you. The curry had some weird slimy thready bits in it, that I assumed was cabbage. But it was a strange addition and I was slightly suspicous of it.

Also, and this is the most unforgivable part: the rice was undercooked! Crunchy! I tried to capture this in the photo below, but not sure this is clear. The naked eye could clearly see the still-opaque white centers of the grains. I have been to many mediocre Indian restaurants, but never I have encountered the bedrock of the plate, the rice, severely undercooked. To round out the meal, inexplicably, was a big pile of oxidized iceberg. Yum.

All in all, not a meal I would care to repeat, especially as it was overpriced at a few coins under $10 (naan not included; they automatically put it on your tray as if it comes with the dish, but then they charge you for it! I love naan, but I thought that was a little shifty and so refused it on principle).

There are plenty of dining options in Grand Central, so next time I will resist the aromatic allure of Cafe Spice, and try my luck someplace else.

Cafe Spice
Grand Central Terminal
Lower Level

Over the weekend we ate at a lovely little restaurant in our neighborhood, Bonita. (The restaurant also has an outpost in Williamsburg). The inside looks like it has changed little in decor from the space’s assumed previous life as a diner, but is oddly charming. We chose to sit outside as we arrived at one of the few times over the last weekend when the weather was a bit better than bearable. There isn’t much of an outdoor seating area, but there were a few tables available.

The guacamole and chips were excellent. I love all sorts of guacamole, from the chunky type filled with pieces of onion, tomato, and cilantro, to the smoother type in which the individual components are difficult to discern. Bonita’s is the latter type, and it was perfectly flavored. The chips, though not warm, were either homemade or very high quality. The beet salad was beautifully and unusually presented: a big mound of shredded lettuce, cheese, dressing, and pepitas sat atop extremely thin slices of beet. Unfortunately, the dominant flavor was the astringent lime juice used in the dressing. More oil, and perhaps a tad more salt, was needed to really make the salad taste as special as it looked.

More on this later, but I have long lamented the lack of good Mexican food in New York. And been puzzled by it. Certainly there are enough expatriates here that one should be able to find good Mexican food somewhere. (P.S. Don’t trust a native New Yorker who tells you some place has great Mexican Food. It seems you have to have lived in California or Texas, or ok, I guess Mexico, to be a reliable judge of this cuisine.) There are plenty of pretenders out here, claiming to peddle Mission style burritos! Ha! They are not even close. First, they use whole beans, which you would be hard pressed to find at California Mexican restaurants. Also, they always want to put lettuce inside the burrito, which makes no sense, it just turns into a slimy, limp mess.

All of this was to say that I was not expecting much from the burrito I ordered from Bonita. It had vegetables in it, for one, which I think generally detracts from the beans that should in my mind be the focus of any tortilla-wrapped meal. But I was surprised at the wonderful flavors this burrito contained! It looks like a total wreck (see picture, above), but all the flavors melded together nicely. It was mostly vegetables, in fact, with some beans and rice and cheese, plus more delicious guacamole inside. The fish tacos were a simple and delicious entree as well. The fish was perfectly fried, and folded into soft corn tortillas with lettuce, red onions, radishes, and a chili and sour cream-based sauce.

I would recommend Bonita for an inexpensive-ish dinner when you are having a hankering for Mexican-ish food. But don’t go expecting Mexican food of the type you find in California or Texas. For that, my East Coast quest continues…

Bonita
243 DeKalb Ave.
Brooklyn, NY
718-622-5300

338 Bedford Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718-384-9500

Now, I had dinner at Frankies 457 Spuntino once, a year or two ago I guess it was, and after waiting nearly an hour for a table, we were rewarded with indifferent service and a bit better than mediocre food. Honestly, I did not understand why there was so much buzz about this place. I had certainly had many a meal I had enjoyed much more at Bocca Lupo, which was closer to where I lived at the time anyway. So I dismissed Frankies 457, not expecting ever to grace their doorstep with my regretful palate’s presence again.

Perhaps because so much time had passed, I no longer felt the sting of stubborn disappointment when friends suggested that we go to Frankies 457 for brunch last Sunday; though I admit to feeling a tad wary, despite their assurances of the deliciousness to come. (I swear my relenting had nothing to do with the fact that Kate Hudson and Lance Armstrong brunched there.) I was surprised to have to wait only ten minutes for a table for four at peak brunch time. Especially as I happened to be starving, this was good news.

We ordered coffee, which was particularly good, and also bloody marys. I don’t usually indulge in alcohol at brunch time, but I tried one a friend ordered and it was so tasty I couldn’t resist. The service wasn’t the most attentive–we had to ask for the bread that other tables were getting as a matter of course, and it was difficult in general to get our waitresses attention–but it was friendly enough. And the food, well, it made up for any insufficiencies presented by the staff.

As a starter we had the beet and avocado salad—glistening gems of purple and green, in a creamy but light dressing, and wisely unencumbered by lettuce or other intrusions into the delicious flavors of the simple dish. The frittata with sweet sausage and broccoli rabe came with lightly dressed greens, making for a satisfying savory meal. Frankies 457 version of a BLT, made with super thick-cut bacon, juicy tomatoes, and iceberg, was a succulent success. The prosciutto frittata sandwich was the one dish that underwhelmed. Maybe this was because it was no more imaginative than it’s title suggested. It was simply a piece of their frittata sandwiched between thin piece of flat Sullivan Street Bakery bread. No mayonnaise or other condiment, not even a piece of lettuce. It was a bit dry, and the tasty bread served to mask any flavor that the frittata on its own had. With so little apparent thought put into this dish, we were left to wonder, “what’s the point?”

The most winning dish of the day, surprisingly, was the eggplant sandwich. A sloppy affair of eggplant in a thick tomato sauce, topped with fresh salted mozzarella, all on the super thin Sullivan Street Bakery bread. It was difficult to eat, and at one point we resorted to using forks and knives, rather than our hands, but such a beautiful mess I have rarely seen. It was perfectly seasoned, and all the flavors were well balanced. Even the gaping hole in the bread exposing the cheese beneath didn’t bother me. It was an amazing sandwich that I would go back for again and again.

I do want to go back–and soon–if not for the eggplant sandwich, then for the french toast. As we were settling our bill, I smelled the most enchanting aroma, like sweet caramel and vanilla cream. I perked up and searched the room to see what it was, and then I saw it: a waitress was carrying two plates, each with two enormous slabs of battered, fried bread. That was when I inquired to my friends, “Brunch? Next week? Whatdyasay?”

Frankies 457 Spuntino
457 Court Street
Brooklyn, NY 11231
718-403-0033

Many people don’t get too excited about non-dairy frozen desserts, but in New York, the “ice” is perhaps the most loved traditional treat of summer (sorry, Mister Softee, the ice has been around longer). As Italian ice, it is ubiquitously found at pizza parlors in its least inspired form throughout the city (brand is almost always Genos), but if you want the tastiest treat, decline the pizza parlor option. Instead go to traditional Italian neighborhoods and look for ices sold out in front of restaurants, pasta shops, or bakeries. Similar ices can been seen being hawked by street vendors with little carts on the street and called coco helado, especially in Latin neighborhoods. Sorbettos, sold at the many good artisanal gelaterias around the city, are more intensely flavored, often more exotic, and more expensive cousins of the ice. All three are very popular across the city, irrespective of socio-economic-cultural differences. Why this is, I can’t say. But I can say that in on a hot, humid, New York Summer day, the last thing I want is a fatty, cream-rich dessert, no matter how cold, that will fill me up and slow me down. No, only the decadent-in-flavor, but not fat content really appeals.

On Saturday, after my trip to the Farmer’s Market, I headed over to the new ice cream and coffee window at Provisions. They sell a limited number of Ciao Bella gelato and sorbetto flavors. Unfortunately, they do not carry any of Ciao Bella’s fantastic fruit-wine combo sorbetti; the wine lends an usual depth and dimension to the one-note fruit. But they did have mango (belying the chalkboard list with that flavor excised), lemon, raspberry, and strawberry. I got the mango. It was delicious. The texture is denser and gooier than your typical sorbet, and much less watery than your typical Italian ice, with nary an ice crystal in evidence. And the flavor was really, really mangoey. It was delicious, but true to its mango source, intensely sweet. If I had to do it over again, I would get half lemon-half mango, to cut the sweetness a bit.

On Sunday, after a delicious brunch at Frankies 457 on Court Street, we decided to head over for a little dessert at our favorite place for ices in the neighborhood: Court Pastry Shop (actually, it is my favorite ice place in the entire city, second only to Ralph’s, which has a seasonal stand on the boardwalk at Coney Island). On the way down Court Street, we got stuck in a 10-minute deluge, which we were forced to wait out under some scaffolding as we were mostly umbrella-less. But we persevered. Such is the Siren-like lure of Court Pastry Shop ices; once they are invoked, you cannot rest until you have that paper cup in hand.

They excel at the non-fruit flavors here. The chocolate, pistachio, and custard are the best. I do believe they have some milk in them, but they are still light and refreshing, unlike their heavy cream cousins at the Baskin Robbins (slash Dunkin’ Donuts) down the street. I usually go for the custard flavor here, a vanilla ice scented with sweet spices and studded with crunchy, honest-to-goodness hazelnuts (ever had hazelnuts in an italian ice before? I didn’t think so), but on Sunday I ordered half chocolate and half custard, all in a very generously sized small ice (the photo was taken after I had taken a few bites). The chocolate has a mild chocolate flavor with a hint of cinnamon, and is just a delicious as the custard flavor.

There are several places to buy ices in the immediate vicinity, but Court Pastry Shop is the only one where I have ever seen a line crowding the sidewalk. That tells you something about the quality of their unusual, almost decadent, ices.

The Hubs thought I was too hard on Lodge in the restaurant review below. I thought that half the dishes were good, the other half mediocre. It was not a horrible restaurant, by any means. If the choice was between Lodge and the Olive Garden, don’t get me wrong, I’d absolutely choose Lodge.

If you have an opinion on Lodge, let us know!

A friend of mine has some great work in a successful group show at Like the Spice gallery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. After attending the opening last Friday we all decided to go out to dinner somewhere nearby. Luckily, there were a number of good restaurant choices in the more or less immediate area. At first we stopped at the festive Taco Chulo, but we were too hungry for the 30-minute wait. So we ended up at Lodge, which had an interesting looking menu and was able to seat us immediately.The interior, as the name might lead you to suspect, is faux-rustic, all wood paneling and antler light fixtures. The large space is divided in two; the bar space was completely empty, but the dining room was full save for one table that seated the five of us perfectly. The empty bar was a puzzlement until I studied the arrangement of the furniture, which, though it is a large space, doesn’t seem to be equipped to hold more than a dozen people.

The waitress took our beverage orders and then a while later came back and explained the many specials in excruciating detail, a process that took much longer than it needed to. We don’t need to know the precise plating of every dish, just the major components will do, thanks. I ordered the gouda mac and cheese (a side) and wanted a side vegetable to go with it. I asked the waitress which she thought was better the toasted brussel sprouts or the lemon and garlic mushrooms. She said brussel sprouts, rather unequivocally. I love crispy brussel sprouts, so I followed her advice.

For an appetizer we had an artichoke dip that was possibly the best i have ever had. It wasn’t too mayonnaise-y or liquidy, but very thick and chunky. It isn’t much to look at and I’m afraid the photos don’t do it justice, but everyone at the table loved it.

Unfortunately much of the rest of the food was not as winsome as the appetizer. Many dishes suffered from under-salting, including my brussel sprouts, which also were not crispy as the “toasted” in the title implied, but actually seemed braised, served in a pool of the presumed braising liquid. They were also very undercooked; I hardly nibbled them. The grilled whole trout was also under-seasoned, and the shrimp hush puppies that came with it were lacking the shrimp. The sweet potato fries were overcooked to the point of being mostly inedible.

The cheeseburger was deemed well-cooked and tasty. The cod with a cauliflower puree, spinach, and bacon–a special–was another standout. Everyone loved the mac and cheese that I ordered. I liked it, but wasn’t as completely won over by it as the others. I love macaroni and cheese and the flavor was good, so I admit I ate all of it, but the texture was a little too thick and sticky for my taste. If I ate there again, I would instead try something meant to be an entree than cobble together sides to form a meal. But whether or not I go again is in question. Based on this experience, I think I might instead give Taco Chulo a try. I assume there is a reason for the wait for a table.

Lodge
318 Grand St (at Havemeyer)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
(718) 486-9400