Have you ever walked into a situation where there was so much good stuff to eat that you felt panicky from realizing that you could not have it all? This was the state of Snackish when faced with Smorgasburg, the Saturday-only food fest on the Williamsburg waterfront that features 100+ vendors. I mean, I knew what I was in for—I’d even prepared by wearing an elastic-waist skirt, a dual-purpose headband/sweatband, and an old t-shirt that could take some food dribbles without causing major upset. Even though I was attired for serious gluttony and chugging a large bottle of water, I was soon overcome by the 90 degree heat and relentless sun. After a quick stroll around the premises to survey my options, I double-fisted some snacks and made my escape. Here’s the rundown:
Cinnamon Sugar Donut from Dough ($2). My longstanding doughnut love, Doughnut Plant, has a rival now! This doughnut was incredible—light, airy, and chewy, with a freshly fried outer layer dusted with crunchy sugar. I also got one topped with hibiscus icing, which tasted like tart berries and flowers. OK, writing this is making me yearn for more of these donuts. Moving on.
The Sydney from Asiadog, a beef frank with Thai mango relish, red onion, cucumber, cilantro, and crushed peanuts ($4). I loved the relish on this, and the dog was decent, although maybe not up to Crif Dogs’ (bacon-wrapped) standard.
Basil Raspberry popsicle from People’s Pops ($3.50). This was fine if you’re cool with raspberry seeds in your popsicle, but I would not recommend getting this at Smorgasburg. It seemed like a good idea on a hot day, but it ties up one valuable hand and quickly starts to melt on everything. It dribbled sticky raspberry rivers on my hands, the ground, and the nice man who offered to throw it in the unreachable trash can for me. Once freed from this albatross I could get back to eating.
A Switzel, with organic blackstrap molasses, ginger, lemon, and honey ($3.75). I’m a little obsessed with ginger at the moment, so this was a refreshing twist on standard summer beverages like iced tea and lemonade. It’s a bit sweet from the honey and blackstrap molasses, which is apparently a good source of iron and calcium. I bet this would be amazing with bourbon in it.
Chicarron Papusa from Solber Papusas, a grilled corn patty stuffed with pork and cheese, topped with picked onion, cabbage, sour cream and a spicy pickle ($4). You can tell I’m winding down here because I’m getting sloppy with the photography and have moved into the shade. I never understood why people raved so much about papusas, but now I get it—all the papusas I had before this one were lousy.
That was all I managed today but I shall return with back-up next time.
Smorgasburg is open on Saturdays from 9am-5pm
Williamsburg Waterfront at North 6th St. and Kent Ave.
I’m not typically a hard cider drinker, but Etienne Dupont Cidre Triple is some very hard cider (10% ABV to be exact), so I figured if I didn’t like it I’d at least get drunk. I picked up this $9 bottle at Spuyten Duyvil Grocery after a brief exchange with a salesperson who looked and sounded as apathetic as I probably did when I had a soul-crushing retail job, with the added burden of living in the most expensive city in the country. So I am going to forgive it, lady, but I really feel that booze-buying should be more pleasurable than you are making it seem.
Although I chilled this for a reasonable amount of time, the stopper shot off the bottle as soon as I removed the cage, so I strongly caution you to think of this bottle as a weapon and aim away from your face or anyone else’s. It poured out golden brown and fizzy, and I could smell the booze straight away. The first sips confirmed—this is boozy, dry, and a little sour, with a hint of apples in the aftertaste. After an initial face-pucker over the sourness, it was drinkable enough. In fact it reminded me of Oude Geuze Boon, a sour lambic, but I like the Gueze better. I will say this isn’t like any hard cider I’ve had from the deli, and at least it isn’t sweet. But I think I’ll have to keep looking for the cider holy grail.
Sold at Spuyten Duyvil Grocery
218 Bedford Ave. between North 4th and North 5th.
If you enjoy vistas of deserted industrial streets and dramatic harbor skies, Red Hook is the hood for you. But even if you’re not in the market for cheap Swedish furniture or reveling in misanthropy, there’s other reason to head out here. Ever since the Red Hook Lobster Pound opened last year, lobster-lovers in particular have been finding the trek worthwhile.
(looking down Van Dyke Street, Red Hook)
Ever since Luke’s Lobster opened in the East Village, I’ve consumed more lobster rolls than I care to admit, including a couple from the not-enigmatic-enough Dr. Claw in Greenpoint. Sadly, Dr. Claw was shut down by the Department of Health in August for running an underground lobster roll operation out of his apartment, but when he was in business he bought his crustaceans from the Red Hook Lobster Pound. Taste-wise, Dr. Claw’s rolls were totally legit. But I couldn’t really see the outsized persona (we’re talking shades, gold lobster claw bling, and third-person self-referencing) and the novelty of exchanging cash on the street for a hot paper bag, NOT attracting a big story in New York Magazine. (The article at the NYmag link has some interesting info about why lobster is suddenly affordable street fare by the way). I hope Dr. Claw is back in a DOH-blessed operation soon because the rolls spoke for themselves, but generally I’m happy to cut through the pretense and go to the source.
(a shot of one of Dr. Claw’s deliciously basic creations, before the bust)
The Red Hook Lobster Pound is located in the midst of gentrification creeping up Van Brunt Street, which is relatively lively with shops, galleries, and restaurants. Inside the pound, two large vats hold live, fresh-catch lobsters trucked in from Maine. They’re available for purchase although they encourage reservations on weekends. Rolls are ordered up at the counter, and seating consists of a bench outside or a picnic area next door.
I ordered a Connecticut-style lobster roll ($15 and pictured at the top of the post), which was served with grilled lobster meat topped with lots of butter, paprika, and scallions in a toasted split-top bun. The roll comes with chips and a pickle, and ginger ale was $2.50 extra. My friend got the Maine-style roll (pictured above), which had cold meat lightly dressed in mayonnaise. Both were excellent and filled with huge chunks of delicate claw meat. I slightly preferred the Maine version, since I couldn’t resist eating the Connecticut roll long enough for the lobster to cool and quit burning my tongue. My friend slightly preferred the less mayonnaisey version at Luke’s, and I thought the toasted bread at the Pound was a bit better, but we thought they were pretty much neck-in-neck. The amount of lobster in the rolls was generous at both places but the total price when you included the soda was slightly steeper at the Pound than at Luke’s, where a drink is included for $16.
In addition to the slight pricing difference Red Hook is not that easy to get to. The F train makes a hard right away from it, damning residents to walking from the Carroll Street stop under the Gowanus Expressway and through housing projects to get to the snacks. One alternative is the M61 bus, which runs from the 9th Street stop up Van Brunt Street. The ferry from Ikea to Pier 11 in Manhattan is another option, although they recently started charging $5 each way unless you spend $10 at Ikea. Basically, if you’re up for furniture shopping, exploring the neighborhood, or heading out to the Latin food stalls at the Red Hook ballfields, stopping in for a roll is a must. But if you’re feeling lazy, you can do just as well at Luke’s.
Red Hook Lobster Pound
284 Van Brunt Street, Brooklyn
Wed 12pm-8pm Thurs-Sat 12pm-9pm Sun 12pm-8pm
“Glorified Popeye’s,” he muttered. “No it’s more special than that,” I said. We both fell to the task of devouring fried chicken down to the bone. Maybe I thought it was special because of the setting—a summer night with a hint of fall, after the most photogenic sunset the city had seen in months; the JMZ train rumbling not-unpleasantly overhead, a beer cooling in my hands. But on second thought, maybe it really was the chicken.
My chicken box ($11), which was served on a plate, came with three pieces of brined, deep-fried chicken. Lightly crisp, golden crust (not too greasy), a bitable prison for tender, juicy meat. Umami-receptors-screaming-hell-yes, belt-loosened-to-first-notch, satisfaction. Pies n’ Thighs also has a pulled pork box, fried catfish box, chicken brisket sandwich box, and burger, but I can vouch for none of these. Just get the fried chicken!
The chicken box also came with a choice of side and a biscuit. Since they were out of hush puppies, I chose grits, and my associate chose collard greens. What passed next can only be described a mutual flicker of disapproval for the other’s taste in Southern side dishes. The grits were fine–a creamy baseline for fried chicken savoriness–at least around the edges. I did not appreciate the squirt of hot sauce soaking in the middle. It’s like putting hot sauce on mashed potatoes; sure, you can do that, but should you? The collard greens were allright, if you like greens seasoned with plenty of salt and pork. The biscuit tasted like it had been baked much earlier that day and had been patiently waiting my arrival. But since it was otherwise a fine specimen, I liked it well enough. I didn’t expect much from a side of peaches and cilantro ($4), and it pretty much met my expectations. Maybe this combination works in a salsa, but I thought that the perfectly lovely peach wedges would have been better off left unadulterated by cilantro. Still, none of the sides were bad, and I came dangerously close to not having room for pie.
I ordered a slice of key lime and my associate ordered banana cream ($4.50/each). When our slices arrived the waitress switched them so the banana cream settled in front of me. When my associate promptly pulled it back across the table, and sent the key lime sliding my way, I realized that perhaps I should have ordered differently. But since I’ve been forged by the fire of many years of snacking, I tucked away my pie without complaint. The key lime filling was suitably tart and creamy, but the pie would have been 100% better had the graham cracker crust not been soggy. The banana cream slice was far better. I did sense something in the banana filling that tasted suspiciously instant-puddingy, but I merely noted it and moved on to enjoyment.
I have a feeling I’ll be back. Pies n Thighs is not a fried chicken “event” like the $100 Momofuku chicken dinner, or trek-worthy, like a soul food meal in Harlem. But it’s pretty likely I’ll be in Williamsburg some evening, wandering from one place to the next, and it will strike me that what I really want right now is some plain, unpretentious, and tasty fried chicken. Without setting foot in a Popeye’s. And this time I will order the banana cream pie.
Pies n Thighs
166 S. 4th St. at Driggs St.
Mon-Fri breakfast: 8-11, lunch: 11-4, dinner: 5-12
Sat-Sun brunch: 10-4, dinner: 5-12
When I showed up at Barcade on Sunday it occurred to me I hadn’t visited in about six years. A whole new generation was there, sipping microbrews and banging away on vintage arcade games. Think about it: today’s 22-year-old was born in 1988. Do these kids remember pumping quarters into Sega Out Run at the pizza parlor and tearing ass through pixelated palm trees while a pie blisters in the oven? Did they ever have to fetch their brother out of the mall arcade, a flashing cavern shot with victorious bleeps, electronic rifle fire and Bon Jovi, and steeped in the miasmatic body odor of teenage boys? Not likely. They probably cut their teeth on a Game Boy, and grew up crouched over Nintendo 64 or Playstation, safe at home and far away from the pressure of being on their last quarter while some random dude peers over their shoulder, silently wishing for their doom.
Those old arcade games seem like they’re coded in my DNA. I don’t consciously remember the exact timing of Mario’s first barrel jump in Donkey Kong or watching the heart erupt between Ms. and Mr. Pacman before level one but these things evoke the eery, inconsequential familiarity of deja vu. It’s a strange thrill one can have thirty times over at Barcade, with Frogger, Punch Out, Galaga, Contra, 1943, Ghosts n’ Goblins, Centipede, Tapper, and Rampage, among others. But for me, one game towers above the rest.
Tetris is probably the only video game I don’t suck at. There’s something utterly hypnotizing and timeless about manipulating those falling pieces into tidy lines. The game starts off deceptively dull as the pieces hop downward, teasing you into hurrying them along and misplacing them. Then it eases into a trance-state as pieces start falling faster and faster, finally driving you to hopeless desperation as the stack reaches the top of the screen. Other games are dated–adorably so, but they quickly become boring to my media be-numbed eyes. However, I could fill Tetris up with quarters all night, if the beer didn’t catch up with me first.
Speaking of beer, Barcade has an impressively long list of domestic microbrews on tap, including Victory Pilsner, Sixpoint Sweet Action, and Captain Lawrence Liquid Gold. There’s usually a cask ale, and expect $1 off during happy hour from 5-8 (2-8 on weekends). My Victory Pilsner came to only $4 during happy hour. One of the best things about Barcade are the little ledges you can rest your beer on while you’re playing, so you can grab a quick sip between levels. Off times are usually the best bet if you expect to grab a seat, get served quickly, play some games, and generally enjoy yourself. Later on all of Brooklyn, in fashionable dishabille, crowds inside. Perhaps things clear out around closing time, although you’d have to hold out til 4am to see it.
Barcade
388 Union Avenue between Powers St. and Ainslie St., Brooklyn
Mon-Fri 5pm-4am, Sat-Sun 2pm-4am