Posted on

fried and true

Food writers are a breed prone to exaggeration. We lose our minds about a burger, wax poetic over small-batch ice creams, and regale you with stories about whatever we ate that day.

You hate us when we do this. I realize this.

But some scribes are awesome at conveying the wonderfulness of what they eat, particularly Duncan Hines. More than a name on the cake mix, he was one of America’s earliest critics, a Southerner who—per Rick Moody’s amazing Tin House profile a few years back—would go from chicken shack to chicken shack in the south in the ‘30s scribbling such accolades as, “the fried chicken in this establishment makes a man wish for a hollow leg.”

A hollow leg, folks.

This description was enough to make me want to buy a car, head south, and drive from chicken hut to chicken hut, patting my belly and swilling 40s of Old Gold from a paper bag.

This weekend I finally encountered such insanely good chicken, Mr. Hines. On Sundays at no 7, in Fort Greene, Tyler Kord (a man with Jean Georges cred) is churning out mind-blowingly good fried birds. Each piece seems to have a 2-1 ratio of fried crispy bits to juicy organic meat. Its seasoning is straight-up salt-and-pepper, and the treatment what Kord calls a “Texas secret, but really simple”—a mix of egg, flour and milk dunked in hot canola oil. Mr. Hines, I see you cruising in on your Vespa, taking a seat with your little lady, and tearing in. A basket of the stuff—5 pieces for a mere $10—arrives at your sunny little table crispy as can be. You could match it with beer, coffee, or a cocktail, and impress your girl with your Brooklyn brunch savvy. Yes, they offer waffles too, but one will run you $8 and it’s a little weak, so skip it. It’s just an excuse to drizzle syrup over the chicken, which you should do regardless.

Mr. Hines, I feel you now.

Posted on

BREAKING: Beer Delicious; Carrots Healthy.

There are two recession specials lurking in Brooklyn right now, and I wouldn’t feel right not sharing them.

One is Old Rasputin Imperial Stout, from North Coast Brewing. It’s not that it’s a new beer—it’s twelve years old—it’s that it’s an incredible beer, and on tap (a rare thing hereabouts) dangerously close to my abode. When asked to describe it I got so excited I sputtered, “It tastes like smoke and 1962 and tuxedos and bitterness.” (Yes, someone’s been watching too much Mad Men.)

Anyhoo, this velvety stout—which its website more sensibly proclaims “has a robust coffee and chocolate flavor profile”—is available two ways in Cobble Hill. At Bar Great Harry, where the taps are always changing, the dark-as-night elixir comes in a 12-ounce mug for only $5. Or wander into microbrew haven American Beer Distributing to buy a bottle for $2.25. These beers are 9% ABV (alcohol by volume), folks. That’s two Guinnesses in one little glass—a glass, no less, with a handle, which you will require after drinking two of them.

Not wishing to feel so, well, blurry? Get thee some carrots. Grampa Van Buren used to tell me carrots would improve my eyesight, and I figured an ophthalmologist would not lie to me. I was wrong. I held it not against him, but against carrots, for years—especially that ubiquitous, often dreadfully-stringy carrot soup. So I was shocked to find a silky version I loved at Ted & Honey, a tiny shop on Clinton Street. The giant bowl you see below, a steal at $4.50, uses local produce and is puréed with a hell of a kick of ginger. My very professional food-writerly notes read: “dill, ginger, strong black pepper, $4.50, three hunks of garlic Italian bread, the bomb.” The caliber of the peppery, gingery goodness was reminiscent of Manhattan’s new health-centric eatery Rouge Tomate, where they are currently serving a killer squash soup with licorice foam—for twice the price.

Bargain, thy name is Brooklyn.