OK OK. Let’s look past the name for a minute. When I see a dude hustling toward the checkout with three big bottles of a beer I’ve never heard of, I know something is afoot. A closer inspection of the label, a fairy-tale depiction of dandyfied pantsless rabbits waving from the back of a covered wagon, intrigued me enough to drop $8 on a 1 pt 6 oz bottle. But in all honesty, I did not expect much, except maybe bemused stares from my cohorts as I nursed the pussiest-looking beer known to man.

But wait, there’s magic in these bunnies. Fluffy White Rabbits poured out a foggy golden color with an–ahem–fluffy head and just a hint of citrus. Gone was the rough alcohol punch or in-you-face fruitiness I normally associate with Belgians. The underpinnings were there, but mellowed by the right amount of hops, and enhanced by just a bit of prickly carbonation. I’m not sure how else to describe this except as “smooth” and “springtimey,” quite a feat for an 8.5% ABV ale. In fact, I could probably chuck all those over-hopped IPAs and watery pilsners and drink this all summer.

Pretty Things Beer & Ale Project is a small brewery in Massachusetts. With brews named “Confounded Mr. Sisyphus” and “Babayaga” (a witch from Eastern European folklore), they’re aiming for the imagination as well as the palate, and if Fluffy White Rabbits is any indication of the quality of their beers, I’ll be looking for more from them. On a sad note: apparently there’s no plans to extend Fluffy White Rabbits‘ run beyond springtime. All the more reason to hop into Whole Foods and stock up while you can!

Available at Whole Foods Beer Room
95 East Houston Street at Chrystie Street

You know the expression, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans?” I was reminded of it after eating at Kampuchea. While I don’t know much about Cambodian cuisine, I know that Cambodia is close to Vietnam, so I was planning for some bahn mi-style goodness from Kampuchea’s num pang sandwiches. But as it turned out, the highlights of the meal were not what I was expecting.

On my first visit, I sat in the dining room, a streamlined space with a view of a spotless open kitchen. On my second trip, I ate at the adjoining Norry bar, dark, cozy room with rustic tables and cushioned benches. The Norry’s ipod was cranking MC5 and De La Soul, some of the rare hip-hop I can actually stand. Overall I slightly preferred the informal atmosphere of the bar to the dining room, although the menu was the same.

grilled corn

First of all, I was pleasantly surprised by the beer list. The Norry and dining room have several mircobrews on tap like Mothers Milk from Keegan Ales, Sixpoint Sweet Action, and Blue Point Toasted Lager. There was even a Belgian on tap (St. Bernardus). On both visits I opted for a cocktail to start, and the Norry ($14), a mix of lemongrass-infused maker’s mark, fig puree, honey syrup and lemon juice, was a winner. Most of the time I find restaurant cocktails to be disappointing, but this one was well-mixed and quite soothing for a cold–if a tad overpriced. I expected little from the grilled corn on the cob ($6), but I ended up savoring the roasted kernels covered with spicy chili mayo and coconut flakes. If you’ve had the corn at Cafe Habana you know what to expect, but this is twice as good. Fried chicken with chili-spiced salt ($11) was the perfect accomplice to a pint of Sweet Action, although the chicken was more lightly-breaded than deep-fried crunchy. The crispy pork belly with honey/cider glaze, scallions, and toasted lemongrass had a satisfying crispy layer–like a crust of bacon atop succulent pork and rivulets of fat.

fried chicken

Of the num pang I tried the catfish sandwich was the best ($11). The fish was topped with cracked pepper, honey, soy sauce, carrots, cucumbers, and cilantro, and served on a crunchy baguette. It was a well-balanced sandwich, if overpriced compared to what you’d pay for bahn mi. The cured bacon, pickled chili and red onion sandwich ($10) was poorly executed; the bacon was so tough it was impossible to get a good, balanced bite. The oxtail, tamarind, and honey sandwich ($13) wasn’t bad, but wasn’t especially enjoyable. I felt as though I should be eating a pulled pork sandwich, but the pork had been replaced with something stringier and suspiciously gamier. Granted, I’m not no oxtail connoisseur, and this may be a fine example of the ingredient. The sandwiches were served with sweet potato waffle chips, which were unforgiveably uncrisp.

catfish sandwich

Dessert was notable in that it was both a near-miss and a total disaster. The fried brichoe with apple butter, pecan, and butterscotch would have been good if the apple filling inside the doughy balls was warm instead of barely unfrozen. On the other hand, the honey granite with winter citrus and thai chili was, in a word, weird. Picture a bowl of shaved ice, topped with something akin to fruit and hot sauce. I’d recommend rolling into the Norry late at night for relaxed beers and appetizers, or maybe starting off the evening with a Norry cocktail and catfish sandwich. If you want a tasty sandwiches quite similar to this but cheaper, and atmosphere is no object, it’s a no-brainer: veer south into Chinatown for bahn mi.

Kampuchea and The Norry Bar
78 Rivington St. at Allen St.
Dinner: Mon 5:30pm-11pm, Tues-Thurs 5:30-1am, Fri-Sat 5:30pm-2am, Sun 5pm-11pm
Brunch: Sat-Sun 11am-3:30pm

You can eat poutine any time of year, but this Quebecoise treat tastes best when it’s really, really cold outside. I’m talking Montreal in January cold, the kind of frigidness that invades unusual places like your eyeballs and your teeth. Now that I don’t drive a car anymore, I don’t mind winter. I enjoy having an excuse to stay home, drinking dark beer and swaddling myself in layers of wool–the better to hide the gut I’m packing from savoring my favorite foods. Poutine is actually very simple–it’s just french fries and cheese curds, melted into savory gobs under a layer of steaming gravy. But it is somewhat tricky to execute. Proper curds are not easy to find, the fries should be fresh, the gravy ratio MUST be perfect, and a snowstorm backdrop doesn’t hurt either. Unlike your typical diner cheese fries, which fill you with self-loathing and regret, poutine, when it’s done right, warms your cockles, which I believe are located somewhere somewhere between your gullet and your spleen.

Poutine is pretty rare in the States but there are a few places in New York City that serve it. On Saturday, I checked out TPoutine on Ludlow Street, a relatively-new burgers-and-fries shop advantageously located in the booze-soaked Lower East Side. A classic poutine ran a steep $7.25, and came served in an appealing iron skillet, the curds just beginning to melt in their gravy bath. The cheese curds tasted authentic, and were generously-sized, although this possibly prevented them from completely melting. The fries, to their credit, maintained a fair amount of crispness, but the gravy didn’t taste much more than hot. A friend’s plate arrived with entirely too much gravy, which soon made the fries soggy, so it may be to your advantage to tell them to go light. All-in-all, this did a fair job satiating my poutine craving, but I’m told it’s not as tasty as the stuff you’d find in Montreal. TPoutine is open til 5am on weekends, so I could foresee a making late-night pit stop, but I’d probably keep looking for the really good stuff–my next destinations will likely be Mile End or Sheep Station in Brooklyn. There’s also decent and cheaper version available at Pommes Frites in the East Village.

TPoutine
168 Ludlow St between Stanton St & Houston St.
Tue-Wed 12pm-2am, Thu-Sat 12pm-5am, Sun 12pm-2am

Papabubble, a downtown candy lab specializing in flavorful hand-made hard candies, smells like the inside of a sugar bowl. Jars of crayon-colored treats line the walls, alongside oversized spiralling lollipops and jewel-hued ring pops. There’s usually a couple of candymakers at work behind the counter, in what amounts to a free show. Today they’re busy chopping up long glossy sticks of spun sugar into bite-sized discs. “Is that a ghost?” I ask, pointing to the tiny freakish face imprinted on each one, and I’m told it’s actually a special Hannibal Lecter Halloween candy. I’m handed a sample, which dissolves into bright mango on my tongue.

Watching candy being made is a strangely mesmerizing experience (see ropes of candy being pulled by hand in this CoolHunting video) and since Papabubble makes custom candies and sugar sculptures on request, there’s usually some new part of the process to watch, or a different flavor to sample, each time you visit. The prices for pre-packaged candies are not cheap–2oz bags run $5, 7oz small jars are $14.50, and a one-of-a-kind ring pop is $20—but the candies come in beautiful bespoke designs each one packs a lot of flavor.

Varieties include pink grapefruit, raspberry, anise, bergamot, pear, fizzy cola, red chili, ginger lemon, and several others. My favorite so far is watermelon with salt and chili (spicy, sweet, salty–just like the watermelon sugar cocktail from Mayahuel in candy form). This time around I did not spot the watermelon candies but I was sorely tempted by the black and white “Halloween mix” and ended up purchasing a big cherry-flavored black heart lollipop ($7). Highly recommended stop for sampling, browsing, or picking out a cute gift.

Papabubble
380 Broome St. between Mott St. and Mulberry St.
Tue.-Sat. 12pm-9pm, Sun 12pm-6pm
Other locations in Amersterdam, Barcelona, and Tokyo

I’ll let you in on a secret: Frankie’s Spuntino, a cozy spot for reliably delicious Italian fare, serves a pretty damn good brunch. Just a few doors down from where weekend hordes queue up outside Clinton Street Bakery, I had some of the finest french toast in town–without waiting for a table. When I heard Frankie’s was opening Cafe Pedlar next door, I dutifully marched down to Clinton Street to sit in a sunbeam and sample some pastries. Keeping up Snackish is a dirty job sometimes but someone has to do it.

Cafe Pedlar serves Stumptown coffee, a name I hear thrown around so much I’m starting to wonder if they’re trying to annex a little bit of Starbuck’s turf. No matter, as the barista coaxed a fine cappuccino ($3.75) from the La Marzocco espresso machine. The pastries were even better. I sampled a moist and spongey olive oil cake with lemon zest ($3.50) and the pièce de résistance, a slice of crunchy french toast ($4.00). This was french toast imagined as pastry, a piece of eggy bread encased in a crisp maple syrup shell, served room temperature and eatable on the go, if you don’t mind sticky fingers.

The room will feel familiar to anyone living on the Lower East Side–a narrow, ground-floor dwelling with brick walls and few windows. Spartan’s the word when your main decoration is a shelf of wine bottles. But the open tables and mellow Bob Dylan tunes on the stereo invited lingering, whereas many of my favorite coffee shops (sorry Think, Abraço, and Ninth Street Espresso) seem designed to hustle me back onto the street. Next time I’m bringing a book and trying one of their delicately-twisted soft pretzels.

Cafe Pedlar and Frankies Spuntino also have Cobble Hill locations.

Cafe Pedlar
17 Clinton St. between Houston and Stanton. 7am-5pm Daily