MEAT BARS

by savoryslave

A bloody white apron taut around the belly of a wide-girthed man, suggestive as a byproduct of his profession, stubby sausage fingers handling raw cuts of meat like clay. Blue collar man. Neighborhood man. Slaughterer. Kind of sexy, right? Or at least Daniel Day Lewis was for me as Bill the Butcher in Gangs of New York- that sweaty, greasy mug of his twitching in the violent scene where he jabs that upside-down cow carcass with finite incisions, each jab like a porn-worthy pounding. That booze-swilling, pig of a man, a man who knows anatomy, a potential Jack-the-Ripper. A man who will have his way with you, and then eviscerate an 800 lb. cow with the same gusto. Take me now.

But really. Is this why we idolize butchers? Back in the day, butchers were always the money makers, the hot-shots who held power. Not to mention they were always known for having hot wives. With the urban all-things-vintage aesthetic, is this why dozens of butcher-inspired restaurants/bars are popping up everywhere? Then there’s also the admirable butcher shop mentality- the small business, use everything, DIY venture that instills us with confidence that the butchering was done with skill and not in some meat-plant. It’s bloody, violent work, but they hold the gold, so to speak, the most highly concentrated proteins that we, as inherent omnivores, lust after.

We don’t know what it is, but we’re kind of meat-addicted: meat plates, barbecue, meat sandwiches, bacon anything (did you catch our Tuffet post?). Who doesn’t like to sit down at a bar, order a good pilsner and munch on breseola? Somehow it reminds us of the good old days, when Ma would drag you along to the butcher shop where you were handed a slice or two of cold cut, and suddenly the errand became delightful. There’s evidence that we’re not alone here- look at Fleisher’s, The Meat Hook , and Marlow & Daughters, to name a few. Where there’s demand, there must be a supply. Lucky for you, we’ve isolated a few of Brooklyn’s meat dens:

FETTE SAU:

Three rows of long picnic benches look like a lumberjack’s dining hall in this giant warehouse dedicated to not just “fat pigs” as its name suggests, but to the art of barbecue. There’s a BBQ going full boar, the smell of skin crisping in the air obvious from ten blocks away. The bar is stocked with the “Best American Whisky list in New York City,” but the best part, we think, is that Fette Sau is really a glorified deli. At this testosterone soaked restaurant, you order from a glass deli counter, where you can see the smoked meats of the day- short ribs, brisket, pork belly, pulled pork shoulder, and spare ribs. All thrown on a metal tray lined with brown wax paper, these crispy skinned gems are weighed by the 1/4, 1/2, and pound. Pure heaven. We loved the spare ribs, and so did the gent sitting next to us, who had a pound of them. “They’re meat candy,” he said.

354 Metropolitan Avenue (between Havemayer and Roebling Streets)

HUCKLEBERRY BAR:

A place that’s obsessed with mixology and has a three page list of bonafide cocktails (seasonal, classic, and neighborhood favorites), you’re gonna need something to soak up all that booze. We love Huckleberry Bar because, god love em, they serve food well into the night. Good food. Meat. Yes, they have meat plates (and cheese plates), with a choice of one for $5, 3 for $12, and 5 for $18, but we found the portions a little on the small side. Their prosciutto and gouda sandwich with homemade fig jam and pickled fennel does, at $9 hit the spot, and their ham and beer soaked Irish cheddar sandwich with pickled onions ($8) was good for sharing. The curved wooden bar is hearth-like, candle-lit and warm from the constant use of their single (!) panini press that serves as their whole kitchen. Plus a wood porch backyard with booth seating is great when you’re sipping on your Fernet Branca, trying to digest for the walk home.

588 Grand Street (Between Lorimer and Leonard Streets)

THE RICHARDSON:

What isn’t good about the Richardson? A block south of the noisy BQE, but you’d never know it after two steps into the bar, where you’re transported into a velvety speak-easy where the bartenders’ white sleeves are rolled up to expose their formidable tattoo collections. They wear suspenders and have epic facial hair in the forms of waxed mustaches and mutton chops. They all rock perfectly-parted pompadours, and play everything from retro sixties like The Downbeats to John Lee Hooker. Go in during the daytime (they open at noon daily) and sit at the bar- the place will be empty. Order a $9 Old Fashioned and The Royale, a speck and Irish cheddar sandwich on a hearty walnut raisin bread, also $9. They offer meat plate and cheese plate combos (1 for $6, 3 for $15, 5 for $24, and 7 for $32) and their drink menu is incredible. These guys know their stuff about cocktails, and have an impressive whiskey, scotch, bourbon, and rye list. Always sit at the bar- the table service pales in comparison. A rowdy crowd materializes at night, but always disappears by 2:30am, when you can sit down and have an Aperol or nurse a Templeton Rye until they actually close the doors at 4am (or, if you’re lucky, even later).