The Drink’s Little Known Secret

Sometimes, in life, things are obvious. A bar called The Drink. Fitting. Especially if you come from a sailor’s family and know (or have to have it explained to you) that The Drink refers to alcohol/alcoholism/inebriation. And if you come from a sailor’s family, you’d know that “The Drink” is a sailor’s term for the sea. So then, it’s even more fitting that the guys at The Drink are now offering lobster and shrimp rolls. Starting two weeks ago, owner Adam Collison and his young protege Chef Eric Mann began whipping up these nautical bar snacks, though haven’t begun to advertise. “We prefer word of mouth,” Collison said. Silly, it seems, since they are ordering 15 pounds of lobster every couple of days from Sea To Table, where it is caught, steamed and cooled on dock (so the lobsters never experience any “stress”), then driven directly to them from Maine in all of ten hours. After all that, just a tiny caricature lobster on their already full chalkboard drink menu . Which means no one even knows to ask for this delicious, airy, succulent treat that’s just $15. Yes, that’s right. $15 for lobster in January, the same lobster they use in their creamy, smoky $8 lobster bisque. There’s also a shrimp roll, served on the same lightly grilled hot dog bun, also $15, as juicy and plump as their lobster roll, both of them served with Cape Cod kettle chips and a house-made pickle.

Then there’s the beef jerky. At $8, you get a more than sharable portion of salty, tangy, peppery beef jerky. Not only beef jerky, but there’s also a citrusy, gingery salmon jerky, both of them made in-house in a ten hour commercial dehydrator. A perfect bar snack that’ll keep you drinking one (or perhaps all) of their five draught beers, or their infamous punch. We liked The Dutch Rudder punch- a concoction of Damrak gin, Bols Genever, cherry juice, vanilla tea, lemon, and custom made cranberry bitters. The punch is served in vintage glass teacups, so while the portion seems small, you’re actually getting about two shots worth of booze. Careful now.

If you’re into pickling, try their smoky brussels, made by hot smoking and then pickling in the technique Chef Eric Mann learned from his days at Manhattan’s beloved Prune restaurant. Mann pickles seasonal ingredients, like cauliflower, tomatoes, string beans, okra, and in the summer, watermelon rinds.

As it starts to get warmer, expect them to sell out of their lobster rolls faster than you can say “chowda” but for now, enjoy being in on the secret. Just ask, and you’ll be brought what Mann likes to call “elevated bar snacks.” If you’re like us, you’ll be hooked.

The Drink
228 Manhattan Avenue
(Between Maujer Street and Grand Street)
(718) 782-8463

Il Passatore

Just because you have the palate of Emperor Nero doesn’t mean you have to spend like him.  In honor of holes-in-the wall that do it well, I give you Il Passatore.  It’s easy to walk right past Il Passatore even in daylight- it’s just behind a seedy looking gas station on the corner of Metropolitan and Bushwick Avenues in a limbo part of East Williamsburg.  There’s a White Castle across the street that has more traffic than an L.A. highway, and the neighborhood is just shy of the gentrified and hip Graham Avenue area.  But step inside Il Passatore and you’re transported into an Italian wine cellar: dim lighting projected onto the exposed brick walls, knick knacks scattered about give this place a cozy feel.  A tiny kitchen in the back manned by two chefs caters to the whole room, full even on a cold Tuesday night.  And it’s no wonder- items on this menu are mostly under ten dollars at this cash only Roman cucina.  Opened in 2007 by two former waiters of the West Village’s La Piadina, Il Passatore borrows its name from an Italian version of Robin Hood, and also perhaps its ethos.  Authentic Italian specialties, like daily hand-made pasta and the freshest, creamiest Burrata are practically given away at this tiny treasure.

Every meal, including brunch, comes with a basket of hand diced, house-made foccacia, so delicious and salty it threatens to spoil your appetite.  The waiters speak in soft, almost embarrassed thick Italian accents, and though they don’t speak often to you, manage to materialize with a new fork half a second after you’ve dropped yours.  A delicate shaved brussel sprout and raddichio salad is mixed with walnuts and pecorino grano, then tossed with a lemon dressing- a pleasingly tangy, tart, and crunchy prelude.  Octopus is grilled and tangled with fresh cherry tomatoes, raw onions, and celery, and is slippery with a fiery spicy olive oil.  Fresh tagliatelle co-star with mussels and white fish in a subtle red sauce, letting the fruit of the sea do the talking, and though there could have been more variety, at $14, it was still satisfying.  The surprise here, though, is in subtle nuances- a roasted pork loin is accompanied by a powerfully flavorful warm lentil and pancetta salad.  By the time you’ve finished your entree, though you are bursting at the seams, you can still (and should) have dessert, like their incredibly fluffy chocolate mousse (which they had already run out of) or a near-velveteen soft chocolate tarte.  After all that, and a $12 half carafe of wine, they leave you with the check and complimentary house-made grapefruit limoncello.  If you can’t afford a plane ticket to Italy, this is the next best thing.

Il Passatore
14 Bushwick Avenue, Brooklyn NY 11211
Open daily, 12pm-11pm

MEAT BARS

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).

45 Graham Avenue (At Graham and Richardson Streets)

Pics: (1) ButchersCase, (10) Village Voice, (11) Serious Eats, (12) Goodies First, (13) Time Out New York, (14) Star Chefs, (15) The Green Pointers, (16) City Mouse (Country Mouse), (17) New York Travel Guide, (18) City Search

Williamsburg’s Tuffet is La Crème da la Curds

I admit, I’ve been stalking someone.

Alicia Rebensdorf has the tightest, most unruly blonde curls that give her the appearance of a frazzled schoolteacher, and even with that subtle lisp, those apple-round cheekbones and soft curves make her look like a sexy milkmaid.

Though I think she’s a peach, I’m not trying to get laid here.  What I’m really interested in is her bar, Tuffet, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  I’ve had this dream (I must be a masochist, I know)––I really just want to open a bar.  For the past two years I’ve been planning, plotting, scheming of ways to make this happen.  Any time I come across a bar or restaurant that I wish were mine, I start stealing ideas, putting them in a mental safe, squirreling them away for later- the way the menu is printed, what kind of bowls are holding the bar snacks, gee, look at those lighting fixtures, those would look great at my bar.

Smack in the middle of a Little Puerto Rico pocket and a gentrified Williamsburg neighborhood, Tuffet introduces an adult maturity to the whimsy of a beloved nursery rhyme. Referencing Little Miss Muffet’s infamous lunch, Tuffet is all about curds of all kinds––firm/aged cheeses, bloomy rinds, soft/young, and washed rinds, all meticulously placed in a streamlined glass deli counter, their creamy, nutty smells permeating with each cheese plate order.  Tuffet’s clean monochromatic white walls, black floors, and sparse black furniture lend an industrial feel, but the soft, buttery candle light is perfect for cozying up with a good book and a glass of wine, but also, and I’ve done this, canoodling in a corner after one too many Manhattans.

The chalkboard menu above the wonderfully organized bar also highlights cured meats, many of them local, others from Spain. Stocked with a dozen beautiful European wines, and a surprising amount of apertifs, and even a six-beer draft, Tuffet also does expertly poured classic cocktails- Negronis to Manhattans. Though a long and narrow space, Tuffet also has a private rentable backroom dubbed “The Study,” which also serves as a freelancer’s (my) makeshift office during the day hours. There’s even a Parisian-inspired backyard, the walls crawling with ivy, the wide white-washed space full of delicate white wrought-iron tables and chairs, complete with marble ashtrays atop every table. Though church-quiet during the day, Tuffet becomes lively at night, Billie Holiday and Sam Cooke swirling in with background chatter. Sophisticated without pretense, Tuffet is the New York casual wino’s haunt.

Tuffet: 286 Graham Avenue, Brooklyn (At Graham between Powers and Grand)

Pics: (1,2,4,5) Bryan Sargent (3) timvidra