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Posts from the ‘Greenpoint’ Category

Five Leaves

Last week my friend in Greenpoint, Sherri, suggested we check out Five Leaves and say hi to our mutual pal who was one of the chefs. Strangely, just minutes before her email I received one from him mentioning that he’d already moved onto another job. I don’t think it had even been three weeks. (For some reason I equate hasty throwing in of the towels with west coasters, which both he and I are. I’ve always had the same compulsion. Even after getting my master’s degree in 2004 and trying to be serious, I’ve managed to breeze through four jobs.) No matter, the new restaurant was still in need of a visit and as the only New Yorker who seems to enjoy riding the G train, it was a journey I didn’t mind.

At 7pm it was still early enough to have a choice of three open tables. Being of the wobbly chairs wedged inches from your neighbor school of style, we picked one of the single two-seaters in the front near the takeout window. Honestly, it didn’t matter; it’s a tiny place. We were still in the line of traffic and next to the bar. I’ve never been to Moto, but Sherri remarked that they looked similar right down to their triangular shapes. That was astute since the same person designed both interiors.

Five leaves ricotta We started with ricotta flavored with thyme and honey (at least I thought it was honey–the sticky substance looks more like marmalade in the photo) and topped with a few fig wedges. The fresh crumbly cheese paired well with the sweet raisin-studded bread. I think the smaller plates might be where they excel.

Five leaves burger It looks like the Five Leaves burger is a classic Australian rendition (though I recently read somewhere that this peculiar item is actually a New Zealand invention). I hadn’t heard of the beets, pineapple and fried egg combo until Sheep Station opened in Park Slope a while ago, and now it seems like these burgers have been creeping up throughout the city. It’s the beets that are the strange component, I think. I declined a bite so I’m not sure how this version was.

Five leaves frisee My frisee was heavily dressed but not off-puttingly oily. The unusually meaty lardons were the highlight of my meal. I know it would be grotesque to eat even a small bowl of cubed pork belly as a meal (well, I guess that's what lechon is but there's nothing remotely Australian about it) but really the egg and lettuce were nearly superfluous. I also ordered a side of truffle fries, which were a little on the underbrowned and soggy side. I do love starch, salt, and I guess the occasional drizzle of truffle oil, so it didn’t faze me much.

The overall consensus was that the food was average, and so too the service—at least by Williamsburg standards (yes, I realize this is just over the Greenpoint border, but it’s still on Bedford Ave.). You may wait eons for food, you might never get what you ordered and that phantom item will most likely show up on your bill anyway. It was hard to tell if the crowd that amassed outside during our hour-and-a-half there was due to sheer popularity or lackadaisical pacing inside.

Sherri described this service type as typically Brooklyn, but I think the cute and well-intentioned yet negligent staff is more uniquely Williamsburg and environs. I wouldn’t incriminate the entire borough. But no one who lives in 11211 seems to care, so no harm is really done. And if you happen to be one of those laid back types who live nearby, it’s worth a stop in for drinks and snacks but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the place for a serious meal.

Five Leaves * 18 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Queen’s Hideaway

I'm wary of quirky restaurants like this–the seats are going to be all smooshed together, theyre not likely to have air conditioning, and you might be at the mercy of whatever is on that nights menu and subject to the whims of a chef in a small hot kitchen. But thats bad quirky and Queens Hideaway was anything but.

I rarely dine in Williamsburg/Greenpoint (I know theyre not the same, as any Greenpoint dweller trying to prove how un-scenester they are would stress, but to me it might as well be one big neighborhood) despite practically everyone I know living there. But I'm trying to branch out and be more social on weeknights, and its easy to convince a friend to join you for dinner when its walking distance to their apartment (me, I'm relegated to G train torment). So, after a few $2 Yuenglings at Zablozki's, Jessica and I headed up Manhattan Ave. in the weird steamy October mist.

I was afraid the small space would be crowded since it was 8pm and they'd had recent write-ups in the New York Times and New York, but thankfully, eaters love sitting outside (I do not) so the back garden was full while the teal-ceilinged interior wasnt near capacity. I knew they had a $5 corkage, which seems silly for a few Woodchuck Ciders, but whatever, because the food is a bargain. There were about four mains that averaged $12 and an equal amount of appetizers hovering around $5. A small bowl of boiled peanuts sits on the table, and at first we dug into them because as Jessica noted, “anything tastes good when youre hungry” (to which I'd add, and tipsy) and we were starving. But the mushy saline legumes grew on us after the first few.

It's strange, because I hate salads when I make them (same with sandwiches) but theyre always so much more impressive at restaurants. Thats likely due to all the little flourishes that dont seem worth the effort for one dish, but doable on a larger scale. My salad had half of a warm apple that had been stewed with chile peppers, which was much more subtle than it sounds, candied walnuts, an amazing cheese from Bobolink Dairy (I cant recall the exact name, its not on their site, but it had a rind washed with pear brandy, I think) that I wish I could go get for lunch right now but Murrays at Grand Central doesnt carry it, all atop a layer of wild looking long-stemmed arugula (stems normally freak me out, very autistic of me, I know and one of my very, very few food phobias). Sweet and peppery.

One of the reasons I dont frequently dine with friends is because they dont/wont eat what I want to, and thats no fun. Jessica is a vegetarian who has loosened up over the years and was hemming and hawing over whether she could eat the gumbo because it had something called sand shark in it, which creeped her out. And I was just like fucking order it, its fish not a mammal. So, I bossed her into eating a shark, then ordered the chicken fried steak, which I'm not normally crazy about (I mean, its just tough breaded beef), but I was swayed by the sides as I often am. The smoky, ham-hocky collard greens and fat butter beans definitely added oomph to the nothing special meat.

We had cheddar cheese crust apple pie and bread pudding supposedly in the style of Paul Prudhomme for dessert (they'd run out of a chocolate cake), which was a bit much, but hey, I needed some fortification for the unnecessarily long ride home (why does it take ten minutes to drive from my apartment to Greenpoint, yet take an hour by subway?). You could starve to death, or at least become bored to death, waiting for an off-hours G train.

Queens Hideaway * Franklin St., Brooklyn, NY


It's funny because Amarin was the first restaurant I ate at when I moved to
NYC (almost exactly) five years ago. It's all a blur, I didn't know what I
was doing, and barely knew the girls I was staying with. It was hot, humid,
I was overdressed (not formal, too many layers) and nervous, the cab got
lost on the way to the apt. and the driver called everyone "Poppy" so I
figured that must be a Brooklyn thing though I've only heard it maybe once
or twice since, and think it's actually spelled Papi. We ordered
take out and two of us got a chicken thing that came as a whole chicken leg.
I was fine with that but the other person was upset that there was skin on
it. I sensed trouble from the get go. What possible friendship could be
forged with someone who's scared of chicken skin? I only stayed with them
for about a month, but they must've liked Amarin because we went in person a
second time (I later discovered that's very Williamsburg, like people only
know a handful of places and only frequent those places in this peculiar
provincial way). This time the skin-shunner ordered the $9.95 fish entre,
which I thought was pretty ostentatious. She'd just started a new, fancy
internet job at and was making what I thought at the time was
big bucks (amusingly, I've yet to make that much). It's hard to remember a
time when $9.95 seemed outrageous for dinner, but that's the beauty of
pointless remembrances.

Anyway, I hadn't been back since '98. In fact, I didn't even know where
it was other than in Greenpoint on a main street. It's weird because I
frequent Williamsburg and have friends in Greenpoint, but like a good
visitor I never go over, past McCarren Park. It was only recently when James
was driving around Greenpoint, scoping the neighborhood for a potential move
that I re-discovered Amarin. The food's nothing to write home about, but
it's likeable, nonetheless. They employ oddball touches like serving mashed
potatoes, and putting carrots, zucchini, and bean sprouts where I don't
think they belong, but it's OK by me. I felt comforted like I'd come full
circle, back to where I'd started my NYC food journey. Everybody likes
closure, right? I would've ordered the skin-covered chicken, but now I'm
watching my weight like a true pathetic New Yorker. Jeez, at least I'm
eating carbs. Five years makes a world of difference, no?

Amarin * 617 Manhattan Ave., Brooklyn, NY