[Pigging by Wilfrid: January 18, 2010]
Okay, I know, but I do like headlines which are easy to write.
And pretty much deserved in the case of Brooklyn Star, a small southern dining room offering more interest food and polished service than the setting might lead one to expect.
Brooklyn, yes, and the whole new Brooklyn dining scene from Park Slope to Carroll Gardens, the restaurants, the hip butchers and now the brining craze, may be old news and has all been described by writers better situated than me. And now Williamsburg. Rye - which I would like to review if everyone else doesn't get there first - Walter Foods, Sel de Mer, La Superior, joining more established places like Dumont, Radegast Hall and Fette Sau: the list is becoming substantial.
All very nice, say the sceptics, but which of these restaurants is worth a journey from Manhattan? Here's one.
In fact, if Joaquin Baca and his team had opened in the East Village, there would be a line around the block. The menu reflects the Zeitgeist in its presentation of hearty animal parts; the open kitchen has the cheerful MomoChang-like rock'n'roll vibe; the ambience is relentlessly communal and casual. Also, since we are over the water, the prices are terrific.
Not that there aren't rough edges. This is a simple storefront place. No reservations, and next to no space to wait inside (I have been seated immediately and waited no longer than ten minutes, but larger parties might need more time). A beverage list which boosts low end beer - think Lone Star Long Necks - and Kool Aid. There's a very short wine-list, two reds by the glass for example, and its served in tumblers. I actually like the downbeat dark green and wood tones of the place, but seating can be awkward. The benches against one wall are narrow; on the other side of the room, you have no choice but to face the wall.
But while you're waiting, try the four dollar corn bread, and don't shrink from spending the extra fifty cents to add jalapeños and bacon.
This sizzling skillet of spicy fluffiness - almost audibly groaning with dairy products - can be shared by four normal appetites, although you might want to keep it for yourself. The chunks of bacon are big; the bread almost trembles when cut; I can't imagine how many calories are involved; and it may be the best cornbread in this style I've ever eaten. It comes with butter, and with honey which it doesn't really need.
After this, over-indulgence in appetizers will leave little room for main courses: be warned.
Yes, those are pig's tails. Scattered with chunks of hush puppies. I've been a fan of the pig's rear extremity since finding a recipe by Fergus Henderson years ago. He treated them like pig's feet, braising them aromatically, breading them, then (as Sam Sifton and I like to say) frying them crisp. More recent history has seen Momofuku Noodle Bar take a similar approach. Chef Baca has a different spin. He cooks them tender alright, then breaks them up and coats them in a sticky, but not too sweet, sauce of the barbecue family. He gets meaty tails too. This is messy eating but delicious.
The meatload sandwich, in any sane world, would not be listed as a small plate. It's a ribsticking classic, enhanced here not only by a good slaw but by a layer of mashed potato spread on the bread. I did like the homey touch of toasting the bread on one side only. It comes topped with potato chips. And believe it or not, it gets better...
Tripe is an underrated ingredient, not least because some places still serve it rubbery. I can cook tripe so many different ways, I've thought of opening a tripe restaurant (I even have a tripe dessert in my portfolio). I concluded that the demand was limited, but I may be wrong. When I tried to order the tripe chili a second time at Brooklyn Star it was all sold out - there had been a run on it and rightly so.
This is a fabulous winter-warmer of a dish, and I struggle to rate it behind my favorite tripe soup at the Ukrainian East Village Restaurant. A few chunks of conventional meat feature too, but it's as if chili was invented to show off tripe. The strips are perfectly cooked here, the broth rich and moderately spicy, cilantro and - yes - Fritos on top; sour cream and red onion on the side. Eight dollars, I think, and worth a detour.
A craving for vegetables might be satisfied by the roast brussel sprouts.
A bowlful, with big hunks of apple and ham, and I suppose a sort of warm salsa of other chopped veggies in a mildly peppery dressing.
Inevitably, big [sic] plates are even larger and weightier than these sturdy delights. And here we needn't blame Brooklyn Star: the latest trend in New York dining - distinct from the rush to comfort foods - is service of fat-heavy meat dishes in massive portions. There are too many examples for it to be incidental, from the premium steak at Minetta Tavern, through the suckling pig at Maialino, to the several monsters for two at The Breslin. In the Times, Sifton rightly railed against the latter's menu - "Yes, the food is good. But it is monochromatically good: it is 10 colors of fat" - calling the lamb burger the "diet plate."
Brooklyn Star, then, is not an outlier in serving meat dishes so substantial that even those priced for a solo diner could really be shared by the table. The pork chop is big indeed; a special pork shank was the size of a football; chicken and dumplings looked like a plateful (I had hoped to try the Maplecrest roast chicken, but it had dipped off the menu). There's a ribeye, priced by weight, too.
You might take this plate to be a brace of catfish - and there is catfish on the menu. In fact, it's country-fried steak, or rather steaks. Two of them, sizeable, although not quite as hefty as they first look, as the crunchy batter is puffed out from the meat and shatters on contact with utensils. I have seen it argued, and plausibly, that this approach to steak is inherently a bad idea. If the batter is to be cooked, the meat will be overdone. Probably true. The steak here, although tasty enough, is certainly not rare - but at least it's not coated in a boring breading which slides off as soon as you touch it. About as good as you can do with this dish, I think; southern gravy to finish it off.
Worth mentioning that service, by two or three informally dressed young people, rises to a level of excellence sadly missing from some joints where hipness seems to exclude hospitality. Servers carefully wipe each finished plate with a fresh cloth as it arrives at the kitchen counter. Wine is presented formally and a taste offered (yes, in a tumbler). The style is unfailingly courteous as well as friendly. Much credit for this.
If there are desserts, I never had the strength to find out. Not, then, a venue for an entirely balanced meal, and perhaps better for sharing parties who are as happy with a pitcher of suds as a bottle of Burgundy. I hope I've conveyed, though, that there are items on this menu which are fiercely competitive with similar options on Manahatta island, and that readers in that boro should take to their longboats, or the L Train, and check them out.
