I know this will shock some of you, but I’m not a huge fan of bahn mi. Which is a shame, because these Vietnamese sandwiches are probably the best bang for your buck when it comes to a flavorful under-$5 meal. And it’s not entirely true either, because I’ve had bahn mi from Saigon Bakery and elsewhere that I’ve mostly enjoyed. The key word being mostly. There is usually some degree of discomfort involved because, here is the thing, bahn mi just has to be so goddamn funky.

In your traditional bahn mi you’ll find a scraping of liver pâté, a gelatinous layer of headcheese, a splash of fish sauce, pickled vegetables, and a few other odds and ends. Yes, there is a pleasing harmony of taste and texture, but there’s also a noticeable “aura” about it. Travel anywhere with this sandwich and it will stealthily overtake your environs with eau de bahn mi. Sometimes I can handle it but there are days when I require a variation on the recipe. Enter the Hog from Xe May Sandwich Shop.

The Hog keeps it real with pickled carrots, cucumber, and daikon, but replaces the funky bits with tender, juicy grilled pork, scallion oil, fried shallots, and chili mayo. It’s served on an absolutely perfect fresh roll that’s crusty but not too hard or a flaky mess in the making. To answer the inevitable question of spicy or mild, the chili mayo gives the mild version a pleasant kick, so I usually order it that way. The spicy version amps it up with jalapeños and Sriracha—I’ll ask for medium spice when I’m feeling daringly non-comittal. At $6, it may be pricey for bahn mi territory, but for one of my favorite sandwiches it’s a steal.

The East Village has no shortage of bahn mi places, including Baogette, Bahn Mi Zon, and Nicky’s–which is now apparently called Vicky’s but like the nouveau old-timer I am, I insist on calling it Nicky’s. Xe May has become my go-to spot, though. Seating is extremely limited and takeout requires at least ten minutes’ idling unless you call ahead, but the guys here are ridiculously nice, the quality is great, and they have bahn mi tacos, which I’ve yet to try but sound intriguing. If you need another reason, it’s practically next door to Puddin‘, without which my life would be incomplete. Sometimes there is a wonderful logic to this crazy, crazy town.

Xe May Sandwich Shop
96 St. Mark’s Place between First Ave. and Av. A.
Sun-Thurs 12pm-11pm, Fri-Sat 12pm-1am

While we’ve all been tossing aside our jackets and admiring blooming trees, maple syrup producers have been cursing this freakishly early spring. Maple trees need cold nights and warm days for the sap to flow, and many in the syrup industry are saying this is the worst season ever. So you’d better believe when I saw a stockpile of Noble Tonic 01: Tuthilltown Bourbon Barrel Matured Maple Syrup on the shelves at The Brooklyn Kitchen, I snapped up a bottle, the near-$30 pricetag be damned.

This maple syrup is harvested in Quebec and then matured in charred oak barrels with just a bit of raw bourbon at the Tuthilltown distillery in Gardiner (New York’s first whiskey distillery since Prohibition). This is the stuff I was trying to find and could not back when I reviewed Blis bourbon maple syrup. I have to say, I like this better than the Blis syrup. Upfront, the taste is pure maple, mellow and buttery, but then it’s joined by subtle bourbon notes, which meld together in a smooth finish. This is a great alternative to Blis’s straightforward boozy kick, but there’s enough bourbon flavor to give it a little something. This won’t overpower your pancake stack, but rather gives it a refined polish. I’m a little disappointed that they changed their bottle design from the cool square flask, but if I can figure out how to make cocktails out of this stuff, all will be forgiven.

Buy it at http://mikuni.myshopify.com or head over to The Brooklyn Kitchen to stock up while supplies last.

The Brooklyn Kitchen
100 Frost Street between Leonard St. and Manhattan Ave., Williamsburg

The old fashioned’s recent resurgence may have something to do with Don Draper hopping behind the bar to mix a couple in season three of Mad Men. But this cocktail has been kicking around since at least 1806, when the recipe was first printed in a Hudson, NY newspaper. The original recipe called for “a stimulating liquor, composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water and bitters.” Over time, whiskey became the spirit of choice and the drink simply became known as an old fashioned.

If there’s any drink to learn how to make, it’s this one. Not just because it’s the original cocktail, but since the recipe has gone through so many revisions over the years, the way it’s made is an indicator of the bartender’s taste. You will, in your old fashioned drinking travels, come across ones that are over-sweetened, watered down, or polluted with muddled fruit. At a high-end place, you may find yourself swirling one made with infused liquors and housemade bitters stored in esoteric-looking bottles. I think the best recipe is the original, but as always, you should tailor it to your particular taste.

Clearly Don Draper’s taste runs to a sweet, watery old fashioned made with rye. I prefer it less sweet, with hardly any water, and high quality bourbon. Since this drink is mostly all liquor, quality does matter here, unlike other cocktails where you can get away with second-rate booze. I like Blanton’s for its smoothness, vanilla flavor, and subtle spicy notes. Plus the bottle looks cool as hell, which doesn’t hurt. So here’s what you need:

2 mini sugar cubes (Works out to about 1 teaspoon sugar).
4 dashes Angostura bitters
1 teaspoon water
2 oz bourbon
orange peel (tradition calls for lemon peel, but I like the smell of orange in this drink).
old fashioned glass

Stir! Stir the shit out of the sugar, water, and bitters. Stir longer than you think is reasonable for a human being to stir. You want the sugar to be completely dissolved. You could use pre-made simple syrup instead, but you don’t want this to look too easy, do you? Add your bourbon and stir some more. Fold an orange peel over the drink to express the oils, then drop it in. Add a large chunk of ice. Bask in the satisfaction that your old fashioned just knocked Don Draper’s out of the park.

After-work cocktailing should be as easy as possible and I can’t think of an easier, more refreshing beverage for this sudden spell of warm weather than a dark and stormy. This concoction originated in Bermuda after World War I, but the name is trademarked, meaning if you’re making a true “dark and stormy” you are only supposed to use the trademark-holder’s brand of booze: Goslings Black Seal Rum. I’ve tried making dark and stormies with other dark rums but the Goslings has an especially smooth, full-bodied, molassesy taste that really makes the drink. If you plan on making a bunch of these it’s probably worth purchasing a $25 bottle.

The traditional recipe calls for Barritts Ginger Beer, which I have never been able to find, so just make sure to use real ginger beer, not weak ginger ale. You want something with a nice, spicy kick that can stand up to the Goslings. The drink’s success will vary based on which brand you pick. On my first attempt I unwittingly bought Fentiman’s, which uses fermented ginger, resulting in a “damn, this is funky” perplexed state until I finally read the label closely. I’ve had the most success with Reed’s Extra Ginger Brew, which has loads of fresh ginger flavor and can be found at Whole Foods and fancier delis.

The recipe, from GoslingsRum.com is as follows:

1.5 oz Goslings
4-5 oz ginger beer
Pour in a tall glass filled with ice. Lime wedge garnish optional.

That’s it. Done. Easy, right? That’s not how I make it though.

I mean, it’s perfectly great that way, like an iced tea sweetened with molasses that gives you a hint of a buzz, but I can’t resist complicating my beverages, even when it’s a week night and I’m just longing to pour myself into an easy chair. My preferred recipe:

2.5 oz Goslings (I’m calling this the Extra Dark and Stormy)
4 oz Reed’s Extra Ginger Brew
4-5 dashes Angostura bitters
1/2 oz fresh squeezed lime
Splash of ginger juice. To make this, cut up 4 quarter-width chunks of peeled ginger root, press with a muddler, and strain into a shot glass.

Mix the Reed’s, Angostura, ginger juice, and lime in a highball glass with ice. Then float the Goslings into the glass by slowly pouring it over the back of a bar spoon. You want it to gently drip onto the sides and not pour straight down into the drink. This creates a layered effect, and if you look closely, you’ll see dark storm clouds as the rum slowly swirls into the ginger beer. Give it a good stir before you sip though, unless you like drinking molasses motor oil.

Oh, and don’t forget to put on lime wedge on that, or hell, I just went for a big, full-on lime wheel to catch some sunset rays. Now that’s some proper after-work cocktailing.

The sign does not lie. The doughnuts from Dough are clouds-parting, angels-singing glorious, and the best doughnuts I’ve had in New York City. My first bite of one of these mini miracles occurred at Smorgasburg last summer, but since the Saturday-only food fest paused for the winter, I’ve been unable to get them without venturing to the source, Dough’s bakery in Clinton Hill. That is, until I stumbled across this sign outside Gimme Coffee on Lorimer Street.

They had at least a half-dozen doughnuts in their display case, including plain glaze, berry glaze, blood orange, hibiscous, and sugar. Honestly I was too flustered by the bounty of doughnuts falling suddenly into my lap to note all the different flavors. I got a berry glaze and a cinnamon sugar (my favorite), and they were every bit as good as I remembered. The berry had a slightly messy, tart, intensely berry glaze over a moist, spongy middle. Usually I will not use the word moist, since it’s a horrid word, but this was moist, goddamn it!

The cinnamon sugar had a wonderful interplay of textures, with its sugar coating, slightly crisp outer layer, and fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth center.  This one holds up better if you’re traveling with it in a bag, due to the lack of delicate glaze.

I went in the morning and they tasted pretty fresh, although not straight-from-the-fryer fresh like you’d get at the bakery, but that’s to be expected. My two doughnuts came to $5 together and it was completely worth it (especially considering what they’re charging at Doughnut Plant these days). So I’m making it a Snackish commandment, thou shalt visit one of Gimme Coffee’s three locations in Williamsburg and Nolita for a cinnamon sugar doughnut.  Lest you risk coveting thy neighbor’s goods.

Here’s a cool video about how they make their doughnuts so damn good. Warning—if you watch you may find yourself hopping on a train to Clinton Hill.

Dough Doughnuts at Gimme Coffee
228 Mott St. between Spring and Prince St., Manhattan
107 Roebling St. between N. 5th St. and N. 6th St., Williamsburg
495 Lorimer St. between Powers St. and Grand St., Williamsburg

Dough
305 Franklin Ave at Lafayette Ave., Clinton Hill/Bed-Stuy

Deep fried pizza. The words made me think of regrettable trips to street fairs, of zeppole hangovers and cheesestick mistakes. But when New York Magazine crowned the montanara sarita at Don Antonio the best pizza in New York, I started to think maybe I was missing out on some exciting new pizza frontier. How could I say that this was my favorite food while ignoring some raved-about part of pizzadom? I resolved to eat the fried pie, but quietly planned to start another juice cleanse once the experiment was complete.

No need for that though—my pie was excellent, and I don’t feel like I need to bike off a 12-inch fritter. I picked up a $10 montanara pizza at Williamsburg’s Forcella, since it’s in my neighborhood and they pioneered the thing (in New York, that is—the style comes from Naples). The crust is first deep-fried in vegetable oil, then simply topped with zingy San Marzano tomatoes, house-made mozzarella, and basil, and finally baked in a wood-burning oven. The resulting crust has a delicately thin, crisp, and bubbly outer layer, but is wonderfully airy in the middle, with an extra dash of savoriness from frying, and very little char. If you tend to leave nibbled crusts in your wake as you eat pizza, you probably won’t with this pie, since the crust is just as toothsome as the rest. But it does need to be eaten immediately, as the center gets quite soggy.

For traditionalists, Forcella serves a range of non-fried Neapolitan pies and solid salads, particularly the procida with greens, cucumber, corn, and cherry tomatoes, lightly dressed in vinaigrette ($7); or the sorrento with arugula, cherry tomatoes, raspberries, blackberries, and shaved ricotta salada ($9). But the montanara pizza is clearly where it’s at. Save the rest for once you’ve checked that one off your list.

Forcella
485 Lorimer St. between Powers St. and Grand St., Williamsburg
Also at 334 Bowery between Bond. St. and Great Jones St., Manhattan

If I had to pick one thing that was wrong with my corner of Williamsburg, it was that we didn’t have a craft beer store. A place for those with restless palates and hearty livers to discover new bottles and generally geek out about our favorite beverage. Well, now the beer gods have smiled upon the denizens of Graham Avenue, with the opening of Beer Street.

The shop’s doors just opened today, and my first glimpse was promising. There are ten draft lines, with growlers ranging from $5-$12 for 32oz and $10-$24 for 64oz. I didn’t recognize anything on the opening day draft list, aside from the Rodenbach. Styles range from a Greenport Chinook hopped scotch ale to a Le Bilboquet La Corriveau oatmeal stout. According to Thrillist, you can mix-and-match a sixer, which may be what I end up doing. They’re also stocking 100 bottles, about half of which have arrived, including one of my all-time favorites, Saison Dupont. I picked up a very nice bottle of Carnegie Porter ($4.25), which I’ve never had before, and would definitely get again.

Although the selection is certainly not as vast as some places, I was pleased to see so many unfamiliar varieties. The shop definitely has that narrow, wood-planked, old-timey apothecary feel, and there is a small space in the back where they’ll be hosting events and home brewing classes. I hope they get a few tables and chairs, so my fellow beer geeks and I can give the draft list a proper study. But then, the store is located so tantalizingly close to my roof. And when it comes to the best place to have a beer, you can’t beat a rooftop on a warm evening in Brooklyn.

Beer Street
413 Graham Ave between Withers St. and Jackson St., Williamsburg
2pm-10pm

The roasted cauliflower sandwich at No. 7 Sub was no doubt the result of some light-night experimentation with leftovers. I picture someone standing in their kitchen thinking, “Hmmm let’s use up this cauliflower, throw in some some of these scallions, and what’s in here? OK, raisins and potato chips.  Done.” It shouldn’t work, but when you tuck those ingredients onto fresh, crusty roll and add some smokey French dressing it totally does. The dressing amps up the mild cauliflower, the chips lend a satisfying salty crunch, and golden raisins add bursts of sweetness. For nearly $10 the sandwich is small, but decently filling. After all, there are many neighborhood standbys that will make you a deliriously overloaded deli sandwich for $7, but it will probably taste similar to all the other deli sandwiches you’ve had.

Another curveball, though less so than the cauliflower, was the zucchini parm. This sandwich had fontina cheese and sweet onion on lightly breaded zucchini, with spicy pickled jalapenos and smokey BBQ chips lending interestingness. I also tried the meyer lemon chicken sandwich and the canadian bacon sandwich, which were both solid but traditional, especially after my appetite had been whetted for weirdness. I will definitely return to try some of No. 7 Sub’s more head-scratching combinations, like the fried broccoli with marinara sauce, olives, and banana peppers; or the cheese sandwich with spaghetti squash, honey roasted peanuts, and peach muchim. Although there are meatier options, like pork and shrimp or liverwurst, it seems the menu was designed with vegetarians in mind, a rare quality in a sandwich shop.

Another rare quality, the newly-opened Greenpoint location is a sandwich shop I like being in. It’s sleek and spacious, with dark wood walls and blonde floors, inviting lighting, a long bar, and a comfy window booth. There’s usually good music playing, and on the two Saturday nights that I went, it was pretty empty. They serve beer, wine, and cocktails, including one intriguing-looking tequila and Srichacha combo, and they also offer delivery service. Not to my house, of course, but that’s no surprise. At least, if Brooklyn won’t let me be a shut-in, it out-mellows Manhattan any day.

No. 7 Sub
931 Manhattan Avenue between Kent St. and Java St., Greenpoint
11am-11pm daily

But it gets better! There’s a multitude of different sauces and toppings, like salted caramel, marshmallow creme, hot fudge, maple toasted granola, graham cracker crumbs, and red velvet cake ($1 extra). You can choose one of their three sizes ($3-$8.50) and layer as many different pudding flavors and toppings as you wish. Moreover the counter people seem excited as they ring up your custom parfait, like you’ve just created something new and awesome. Or maybe this is like a rigged painting competition for kids, with the cup as canvas and pudding as paint, and everyone’s an artistic genius here. No matter. As long as I get my puddin’ you’ll hear no complaints out of me.

Puddin’
102 St. Mark’s Place between Ave. A and First Ave.
Mon-Thu 9am-11pm, Fri-Sat 9am-1am

The first time I tasted a penicillin was unforgettable. In fact, you could probably pin the blame for my home cocktailing zeal on this moment. There was a nose full of scotch smoke up front, a bit of numbness on the lips at first sip, and then a fiery kick of ginger on the tongue. This was followed by a surprisingly smooth finish, balanced between honey, lemon, and a mellower scotch. This drink falls into that elusive complex but drinkable category, and the strong flavors and soothing qualities make it a perfect nightcap. Obviously, I can’t afford to order these at Milk & Honey or Dram that often, so I had to try creating it at home.

Replicating a spot-on penicillin cocktail recipe involved a bit of trial and error. Aside from the usual experimenting with proportions, my first penicillins seemed to lack spice. I soon realized that I had to make the ginger syrup fresh every time. I had seen recipes saying you can make the syrup ahead of time and store it, but for whatever reason the spiciness would dissipate so fast that I had to use the syrup right away to get the flavor right. Getting enough juice out of the ginger root became much easier once I bought a sturdy stainless steel muddler. It cost about $8 and was a worthwhile investment. Another issue my with my first attempts was a lack of smokiness. The recipe calls for two kinds of scotch and I’d tried making it without Laphroaig, since you only need 1/4 oz per drink and a bottle is $50. Without the smokey nose this cocktail falls somewhat flat, so I finally broke down and bought a bottle since I like the taste anyway. Even now that I have penicillin-making down to a science, I wouldn’t bust this drink out at a party. Save this one for special moments with a select few awesome people, and you’ll see a little labor and good scotch go a long way. So, the recipe:

2 oz blended scotch. Famous Grouse works well.
1 oz ginger honey syrup
1 oz fresh squeezed lemon juice. No bottled lemon juice!
1/4 oz Laphroaig

To make the ginger honey syrup, combine 1/2 oz water and 1/2 oz honey in a short, heavy-bottomed glass and stir until dissolved. If you don’t have honey you can use sugar instead. Peel about a thumb-sized portion of ginger root and cut up into 5 or 6 chunks and add to the glass. Using a muddler, press and swivel the ginger pieces to release the juice. Strain into a shot glass, and add to the cocktail shaker.

Shake the blended scotch, ginger honey syrup, and lemon with ice. Pour into an old fashioned glass over a large ice cube. You can buy large ice cube trays at Crate and Barrel, or for extra fancy points, use an ice ball mold. Don’t try extracting your ice balls without running some warm water on them first!

Next, float the Laphroaig on top. To do this, pour about 1/4 oz into a shot glass and balance the back of a bar spoon on the edge of the glass. Angle the spoon down against the side of the glass and slowly pour the Laphroaig over it so it’s evenly distributed on the top. Serve as is, or with a piece of candied ginger speared on a swivel.