Bruncher, Can You Spare The Time?

How I look forward to Saturday and Sunday! A couple of my friends have to work during the week, and Saturday and Sunday (they call it the "weekend") are the only days when everyone can get together for brunch. So, Saturday morning I drag myself out of the condo early, and by 3PM I'm ready to find a good brunch line to stand in.
Brunch is an old custom dating back to 1896, appearing roughly around the same time as the appearance of the brunch line. It's unclear which phenomenon came first.

A modern-day brunch line.


Old-time brunch line from 1930.

Either there weren't as many restaurants serving brunch back then, or this was a line for a REALLY good brunch restaurant!

Obviously, if there's no line, the brunch can't be any good. So, our team splits up and checks out the various brunch lines in Williamsburg, and wherever the longest line is reported is where we finally meet up. A good two-hour wait is considered respectable. This gives you plenty of time to catch up on your tweeting and blogging. I put many of my blog posts online, right here IN line! Also, a good strong brunch line is a formidable show of force on the streets to let everyone know who runs this town!
This Saturday, we had brunch at Awkward (343 Porter Ave. in Greenpoint, right next to the gasworks), where they run a Recession Brunch Special for $20. The coffee of the day was fair-trade organic Rwandan Harrar from Triangle Shirtwaist Roasters. A brief cupping for aroma revealed blueberry, raspberry, brown sugar, marmalade and melted butter notes. The muffin of the day was blueberry, raspberry and brown sugar, with marmalade and Idyllrich Farms butter, and the taste was reminiscent of Rwandan Harrar coffee.

At Awkward, brunch comes with all-you-can-eat bacon. I LOVE bacon! Does anyone else in Brooklyn love bacon? I almost hate to let my little secret out about this humble breakfast meat, but ultimately it's my foodie duty to spread the word.


I ordered the fried eggs with fleur de sel and shredded ten dollar bill. It's those little value-added ingredients that really make or break an egg dish.



As we ambled out into the early evening air, our appetites were whetted for dinner, but it was only 7PM. Someone ought to invent dunch, or linner, or suppunch!

Potably in Motion

Now, I didn't move to New York to eat a hot dog in an automat. I came here in order to enjoy the best food the world has to offer, right here and right now! New York is the swirling simmering stew pot of every known cuisine, and I'm lying under it with a funnel in my mouth. I've had Eritrean/Samoan pupusas in Tottenville and Antarctic/Uzbekistani sushi blini in Chelsea, and I must admit that I've been feeling a little jaded lately. Fortunately, there is a growing trend, primarily in the beer world, where the production process occurs while on an expedition, which gives the finished beer value-added travel miles before being shipped to the consumer. The most intrepid of these "gastronauts" are the brewers at BrewDog in Scotland. Here is how they describe the process behind their Atlantic IPA:

"BrewDog has once again blown other beer brands out of the water with the unveiling of the most ambitious brews by any drinks brand in over 200 years - Atlantic IPA.

James was given an 1856 "Brewer's Handbook" as a gift last Christmas which contained an even older original IPA hoppy recipe - which provided inspiration for him to embark on BrewDog's latest voyage of creating waves in an otherwise flat beer market. The following month (January 2009), he set off on a journey on his fishing trawler in the North Atlantic with eight barrels on-board, each containing beer brewed from the original recipe.

After two tempestuous months aging aboard BrewDog founder James Watt's mackerel trawler on the North Atlantic, Atlantic IPA will be the first commercially available, genuine sea-aged IPA in two centuries - a project which is typical of the scale, audacity and boldness characteristic of BrewDog in its quest to take the UK beer industry by storm."

I was so enticed by this travelogue that, as soon as I deposited the check from my dad, I rushed to my local bottle shop and sought out a bottle of Atlantic IPA. Unfortunately, there had been a two-year waiting list for the beer and there was none to be had. There were, however, a few bottles left of Barnum Brewing's Queequog Ale, brewed on Nantucket and aged on a Japanese whaling ship that traced the course of the Pequod, as laid out in Herman Melville's classic Moby Dick, in 2008. The 9 ounce bottle was $140, but if you think that's expensive, how much would a trans-Pacific voyage and a trip in a time machine cost you? As soon as I uncapped the bottle, I was knocked back nearly off my chair by a briny gust of foam. My face was flecked with bits of seaweed and ambergris, and as the swarthy brew descended the gangplank of my tongue with its rolling gait, its gumboots tracked the exotic tang of rancid blubber and stale beer that only the struggle of Man versus Nature could concoct. I must not have my "sea legs" yet, for I got pretty seasick after drinking it. Still, the experience is one more accomplishment for my diary.

For the less adventurous, there is a new mobile brewery cart that travels the streets of Brooklyn-Mobile Foam- which provides the freshest beer in the borough, at random locations. Follow them on Twitter to find out where they are now. The plain white Dodge van is hard to spot, but I noticed it one night parked by a Key Foods dumpster, where the brewer was throwing out his used barley ("helps to reduce our carbon footprint", he explained), and some torn clothing. He offered me samples of Amber Alert, a sparkling amber ale fresh out of the tank, and Barely Lager, a pilsener so young that it was still fermenting. "The younger the better",the brewer, who preferred to remain anonymous, murmured as he screeched off into the night.

One more way to add stamps to your beer's visa is the collaboration ale, whereby all of your favorite brewers meet up as far away as possible and combine their talents to brew a beer that could only be exponentially better than their solo efforts. Last week at Gouty McGillicuddy's on 23rd St. at Third Ave. I tried Bukaki Ale ($15), made in Japan by the brewers from Turtle Head, Rabid Squirrel, Chemical Valley, Gander Hill Prison Brewery, UniBev and Flying Cockroach. Each brewer contributed an ingredient, and the resulting cream ale is a delicious testimony to the creative power of synergy and travel expenses. AMAZING!

Take A Chillaxative!

One thing I don't understand about New Yorkers is- why is everyone in such a rush? Men in suits jostling past you, SUVs barreling down the little streets, people pushing onto subways, people even grabbing lunch at fast food restaurants to save time....if everyone would just slow down a little they'd enjoy life much more!
Now, I never thought that I would ever see the inside of a fast food restaurant, but thanks to those masters of creative repurposing, FastBuck, it's now safe for the smart young foodie to pass under the golden arches. The team behind White Capsule and Bar-ger King have done it again: they've taken a mainstay of mainstream American fast-food and brought it up to fine dining standards, while ironically preserving the original ambience.
And so, one late Wednesday morning I ventured to MacDonald's ( 1124 Honeywell St., Long Island City) to see about some brunch. Several likeminded adventurers were waiting outside, tweeting each other and waiting to be pinged to their table. As we waited, a few locals, baffled by the exterior, wandered in, and then right back out, apparently unable to fathom irony.
Once I was seated, I looked over the Value-Added Meal menu and found an interesting appetizer: Chicken MacNuggets ($15)


The hand-formed nuggets of pastured pedigreed Barbu d'Uccle chicken breast are breaded with crumbled pane casareccio from Il Forno Caterers, then panfried in Mongolian dromedary hump oil. The dipping sauce is a pomegranate/Chilean wildflower honey reduction with Brown Turkey figs, coarsely ground Aleppo pepper, sriracha, Tuthilltown bourbon, ras-el-hanout, preserved lemon peel, heirloom habanero chile, vinegar of Bartolo Mascarello 1989 barolo, Bartlett pear, grains of paradise and Virginia Dare Red Color. This simple glaze perfectly overwhelms the subtle flavors of the nugget.
Our cicerone recommended the Fentiman's Dandelion & Burdock Cola ($6) as a suitable pairing, and my tastebuds benefited immensely from his impeccable taste and encyclopedic knowledge of soda. The main course arrived after a respectful ninety minutes of slow-food languor: The Big Mc with Fries ($28)




As high as my expectations were, I was not prepared for the masterful alchemy of ingredients that comprised this re-interpreted classic sandwich. The beef patties are hand formed from 100% locally-sourced, grass finished, home schooled, pro-active, mollycoddled Black Angus cattle. According to Gullible Manhattan, the music of Sting is played in the slaughterhouse to insure a peaceful departure.

The patties are then char-broiled over palo santo wood, with fire passed from the Olympic torch. The two outer buns are sesame kaiser, and an extra center bun is sourdough challah, all baked on premises. Adorning the sandwich are mascarpone cheese, homemade heirloom tomato and okra ketchup, garlic pickles from Greenpoint Brinery, shredded heirloom Bibb lettuce, Vidalia onion, and a secret special sauce made of bacon-infused mayonnaise (I LOVE bacon!), diced bread-and-butter pickles from The Triangle Gherkin Factory, and saffron.

The French fried potatoes are hand-cut heirloom Vienna Fingerlings, seasoned with black pepper spray and Indonesian Kalak Numakala ("child laborers' tears") salt, then deep fried in polar bear grease.

I must digress here to mention the decor. Anyone who's been to Di Faro's Pizza can appreciate the gritty charm of an unswept, dirty dining area. With a knowing wink, the MacDonald's crew neglects to wipe the tables, restock the napkin dispensers or mop the floors, giving the space an urban edginess and a real simulated "dive bar" look. Expensive dining doesn't always have to be a fancy affair. It's fun to dress down and go slumming once and a while! Unfortunately, the previous occupants of my table had thoughtlessly cleared it of condiment globs and crumpled napkins, so I slipped the server a ten and asked her to dump some floor sweepings from a dustpan onto my table. This little touch of authenticity completed my dining experience.

The bill came to $90 with tip, which isn't so bad for lunch. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, drinking in the babble of tongues and pallette of complexions that makes Queens such an exotic foodie destination, I wondered why fast food gets such a bad reputation. My meal was inexpensive and delicious, and only took up a mere four hours of my afternoon. One of these days I might just pop into a little taqueria by my condo and spend the afternoon. It called Taco Bell. Ever hear of it?

Pints of Interest

Is it just me, or are the pint glasses in New York City getting smaller? I think it's great that bar owners here are thumbing their noses at the boring traditional English system of measurement and trying new ideas. Personally, I'm tired of drinking out of some old-fashioned, morbidly obese, supersized Budweiser pint glass that Joe The Plumber slurps out of! When the bartender pours me a perfect pint of Guinness at Zooropa on Ludlow St. (only $10 at happy hour), it's like I'm in a Dublin pub with James Joyce and The Edge.


Now, I am a hopeless beer geek, and I'm always trying the latest experiments out of the most daring breweries in the world. These breweries are half Hogwarts Academy, half Astra-Zeneca, and the stuff they come up with is AMAZING! At Nausealeum in Williamsburg, I tried a beer from Dog Mountain River Brewing Co. out of Alva, Oklahoma. It's made from 100% yeast, and it's unlike any beer I've tried before. According to the insane wizards at the brewery, the beer is made from 46% California ale yeast, 21% lager yeast, 15% Burton ale yeast, 8% Weinstephaner hefeweizen yeast and 25% Belgian yeast. The beer contains no alcohol at first, but after you drink it, the yeast ferments all the sugar in your body and you get REALLY drunk! On yourself!! It is served with a shot of hop extract to balance the sweetness of your blood sugar. The taste is reminiscent of sourdough bread that's been soaked in Jagermeister.
I was literally drunk for three days afterward, for the yeast continues to multiply in your system until there's no more sugar. It pretty much wreaks havoc on the old tripe. If I had a job, I don't know what I would have done! But I can now add "being fermented" to my list of accomplishments.

Sole Kitchen

When I was about eight years old, my father sat me on the butler's knee and told him "Son, your stomach is an exclusive supper club. Your tongue is the red carpet. YOU are the doorman. Be very selective about what, or whom, you let in past the door." I was already quite the little gourmand, but after I heard this stern lecture, I vowed to leave the culinary mausoleum that is New Orleans and live in the edible crazy quilt that is New York City. Since arriving two years ago I've taken my meals at hundreds of amazing restaurants, several of which are still operating. In this blog I'd like to share some of my discoveries with you.


A few weeks ago I had a great meal at The Dusty Skillet in East Bushwick (1272 Flatlands 3rd St., near the Rockaway Parkway L stop. No phone.) Owner Chris Gaines had worked in several Denny's in New Jersey before he became a raw-food devotee ("I burned my finger on a hot pan during a dinner rush. That was it.") He now serves all-organic, locally sourced meats according to the "paleolithic" raw-meat diet.



Here is the Berkshire trotter on ciabatta ($18), served with rocket and Kopi Luwak coffee beans from Brush Fire Roasters.The hoof meat was cold and chewy to perfection, the skin leathery with very few bristles.




I asked Chris whether there were any all-raw dishes. I was offered the pastured Heritage chicken feet on a pigfoot roll, clover garni ($20). The chicken toes were lightly stained with clover from the fields, which I licked off greedily.



I couldn't resist the Grand Slam Head Cheese Plate ($16), one full pound of homemade Berkshire head cheese, so fresh I could almost taste what the pig was thinking when it was slaughtered. Flecks of tender eye and jowl gave the cheese a nice marbling. All in all, an AMAZING meal!