So Delicious
By Kate Morgan Chadwick
A take on food…
I love to eat. I love to eat really good food. You know, I have friends who could eat spaghetti and meatballs or peanut butter and jelly for the rest of their days, and they’d have no problem with that. (I mean, as long as they had some Gato Negro to wash it all down with, of course.) Hey, believe me, this is a much cheaper, and um….cheaper way to eat. But I think I’ve been spoiled. When I was touring the country with a certain classic American musical (as an actor, mind you, not a foodie), I had the privilege of being able to dine in some of the finest cities, at some of the greatest restaurants in the country. I had the cash, I had the boyfriend who wanted to come along, and man did I have the appetite. Frenchy by night, delish diner by later night. It was awesome.
There are a few of us young, artistic, financially struggling twenty somethings that, if we could, would be eating out at restaurants here in New York every night of the week. Hell, lunch too. Hell, who am I kidding?- breakfast, lunch and dinner! I am one of those people. And while I always notice a little more of my cushion doing a little more pushin’ when I’ve eaten out more in one week, I don’t really care. I realize I should be eating lean chicken (no sauce) and broccoli (no sauce) for dinner every night, according to certain lean machine gym gurus and of course, Jillian Michaels. But I find that lifestyle to be a little dull. And hey, like I said, I’m an actress. I gotta stay somewhat fit. And now that I’m moving to Los Angeles, I think that the term “somewhat fit” is probably an understatement. Whatever, this is NOT a diet manual.
Moving along..I’m no food blogger. I’m no expert. I have no degree in the culinary arts or writing for that matter. I just think I’ve had opportunities to taste REALLY good food in these past few years. And therefore, my palette has expanded. What once might have satisfied me on the fine dining spectrum, takes more of a doing now. I don’t just want a good steak anymore. I want it to melt in my mouth, make my heart beat a little faster, and I want it in every bite. I don’t eat my steak with diet coke anymore. I eat it with the biggest Cab I can find… or more often than that, can afford.
So I guess what I want to do here, is sample food at some of my local Williamsburg restaurants, and see what I can say about it. I love to write. I love to eat. Let’s marry the two shall we? Oh and P.S.… I know its not the most eloquent phrasing, but as my friend so kindly pointed out, he said, "Kate, every time you love a restaurant we walk by, you simply point that way and say “SO Delicious!”… yeah. We’ll see if my foodie jargon improves, but there’s something about even just saying the word “delicious” and my mouth waters. So with that, enjoy.
-Kate
The Pickle Plate
Available at
Post Office, 188 Havemeyer Street
Brooklyn, NY 11211
(718) 963-2574
You know when you just need a crunch in your mouth? A pre-dinner bite? Nothing filling. Just a lil nosh to have with your cocktail…
Well, this is just the thing to order. Chef Sam Glinn has decided to pickle outside of the patch with this one. With other unexpected delights in here such as pear, cauliflower, beets, ginger, carrots, watermelon, blackberries, and my personal favorite, the pickled crimini mushrooms, your taste buds will be like, “yeah gimme more of that”. Of course, the open sore in my mouth (HEY, I like to bite my front lip occasionally) wasn’t exactly loving the briny suckers, but I sure was.
I sipped my Floridita cocktail (Ragged Mountain rye, maraschino liquor, and fresh lime juice) made by one of my new favorite Brooklyn bar keeps, Jeffrey. And while he said this cocktail is more typically made with a lighter rye whiskey, (they are getting more 'American spirits only' up on the shelf daily) I enjoyed the fresh, sour punch it gave me alongside my pickled pretties.
Le Comptoir
251 Grand Street
Brooklyn, NY, NY 11211
(718) 486-3300
I bought a groupon here about a month ago. And yesterday, my friend and I decided to use it in search of bloggable food items, scrumptious fare, and as always, a few drinks.
So, this place sells itself as something French. Not like, rustic and butter French, but as I said to my friend, it seemed "more clubby, Tunisian French"… I don’t even know what I mean by Tunisian. But we’re going with it.
I order a quartino of the Bordeaux, my friend gets the Cab… We decide we like each other’s better, and switcharoo. I am kind of the grass is always greener girl, and sometimes it works out. Here comes the first course!
A seared, sushi grade tuna appetizer:
OK, first bite. Warm. The sauce on top: some bland mixture of mayonnaise and maybe a tepid jalapeno? Whatever this sauce was, it did absolutely nothing to enhance the flavor of the flavorless, warmish tuna. The tuna itself was prepared well, seared outside, raw middle. But I saved my calories for the next course, which was this:
*Foie Gras crème brule. I was major big time looking forward to this dish, hence my asterisk over there. So now is probably a good moment to let you know that I am no supporter of PETA. I love our family dog, (enough). I like our cats (enough). And yes, I realize foie gras is about as controversial as it gets. That being said, let me tell you how this all partied down in my mouth:
Really well, for the most part. So the dish is served in a traditional crème brule ramekin and it has the traditional flame caramelized, “Lay off, I get to crack it open” top layer that sits delicately upon the surface. And so we CRACK! What lies beneath is an ultra smooth, velvety, creamy, seriously savory mousse. The whipped foie gras spread on a little warm baguette was heaven. But something is missing. Here’s what else I wanted: I wanted that top caramelized shell in every bite. Perhaps some candied kumquats or something to accompany the delectable mousse. Of course, we needed more toasted baguette, (Why do they never give you enough bread?) I was tempted to order a Riseling with this, not that I checked if they had one, but then I figured that I’d let the dish stand on its own. And lets be honest, I’m at restaurant on Grand Street, in a neighborhood started by Jews, not Napa Valley-ians… But I was in search of that contrast that I love so much when eating foie gras. You need that honey, that sweet blossom taste to heighten the deep, rich fatty succulence. Overall, this was my favorite dish of the night. And the good thing about this dish is that it’s not pure foie gras. Not only would that rack up the cost, but since it’s so whipped and airy, you don’t have to feel how that poor little duck felt. Yes, thank you little overly pumped duck. I’m sorry you had to die like that, but you were really delicious. HEY LOOK OVER THERE! Oh you missed it, let’s move on.
to…
Short Rib with Parmesan Risotto
Ok, so this place keeps juuust missing it. Well, actually this dish missed it by more than just a little. The short ribs were good. Not great. But pretty good. They could have been more tender. Unfortunately, they were glopped onto this mass of starchy parmesan risotto. And risotto always makes me nervous. I feel sometimes like I may as well just have cream of wheat with some cheese thrown in. This risotto, in particular, was pretty lame. Really bland. Really starchy. I mean, totally edible, just not so enjoyable. And tell me if I’m wrong, but not something you’d typically find at a French/Tunisian/techno European restaurant either? I don’t remember France being big on the pasta. I feel like that was Italy. Who knows, I was drunk. Anyways, this dish, while comforting at best, does little to satisfy the palette. It did, however, take me back to Cafeteria Fridays in High School. There was always some “fancy” lunch we were given on Fridays. I’m pretty sure Lupita served this exact dish up with a big smile. Thanks Lupita. No thanks Le Comp.
So, after this, my friend wanted one more bite of something savory before dessert. We ordered the side of “Peas and Bacon”. The peas were big and plump, and the broth they swam in was pretty good. The chicken broth (we think), butter, and the little chunks of bacon fat harmonized *total foodie word, pretty well together. At one point, in my attempt to “really taste” the broth, to my friend’s complete horror, I lifted the hot little bowl to my mouth, and went in for a hearty slurp. His eyes went bug wide, and then I realized that most proper food tasting people probably don’t do that. So then I did it again, just to make sure his eyes worked properly, and also I still couldn’t tell if it was beef or chicken broth in these damn peas. Overall, a fine little meal filler.
In between peas and dessert, we glanced around the room some more, and continued our initial contemplation of what the hell this place was trying to accomplish style wise? Our napkins were French country, our tables and wall mirrors black, glossy, and modern, and our waiter, a watered down Sasha Baron Cohen. And apparently this place has a DJ on certain nights. So either I’m about as hip as a wicker basket, or this place is having a huge identity crisis. But then, in an attempt to break up our confusion, dessert arrives! P.S. dessert is my favorite. I am that girl. I am the girl who wants dessert after breakfast.
I ordered The Floating Island: a soft whipped, egg white meringue delicately placed into a vanilla, condensed milky pool of delight. There were toasted slivered almonds floating nicely in there too. I loved the textural combination of the whipped island, the crunchy nuts, and the very sweet sauce. But again, the only thing French here is the word “meringue”.. and it wasn’t even a real meringue. This dessert gives much more tribute to something con mas mucho sobroso, El Flan!
My friend ordered the “Prohibition Sundae”… not sure what was so prohibiting. The vanilla bean ice cream was lightly drizzled with dulce de leche (totally French) and I think a coffee liquor…well I guess, because they used that lil’ bit of alcohol, there lies our rub with the name. My bad.
This was also good. Not as inventive as mine. But really yummy. God, maybe I shouldn’t discuss desserts, because really, someone could pour a few packets of domino sugar in front of me, flambé that, and I’d be totally set. Also, the word yummy (used above) tends to make me cringe. Only because sometimes its used in more of a, how shall I put this delicately, sexual way? Whatever, it grosses me out. I won’t use it again. Sorry.
So, overall, this place is probably worth a second try. People seem to be really keen on their $20.11 all you can drink brunch. But here’s my thing- with so many good restaurants around the hood, if the place doesn’t really knock your socks off, what’s the point of going back? Yes, we all like our neighborhood diners, delis and dives, but when it comes to going out for a new dinner, a new flavor, a new sensation, don’t we want it to be the best that it can be? With that said, I think I'll let Le Comptoir sit on the back burner for now, but I wouldn’t mind going back if the opportunity presented itself. I’ll just be sure to bring my own candied kumquats.
