Trench press

My round up on everything growing up along the Brooklyn Queens Expressway (a k a, "The Trench") is in today's NY Post.

The Real Deal was nice enough to link to it. (As was Brownstoner -- although they were slightly cheeky. But, hey, it's a free country.)

I'm really looking forward to that Pok Pok!

Let's go Metro!

This is my roundup of everything that's happening in Downtown Brooklyn's MetroTech area.

The stuff about the snake is gleaned from my own personal experience -- I remember coming out of the Fulton Mall's A&S and walking past the defunct movie theater (the same movie theater where I saw such '80s classics as "The Karate Kid" and "Back to the Future" when they first came out) and saw a snake charmer with what looked like a 9 foot long snake!

I nearly ran! (I managed to just walk quickly away.)

The area still has a ways to go, but, yes, it has made some remarkable progress.

Big Kent party

A couple of weeks ago I took a bike ride along Kent Avenue.

And even a jaded New Yorker like myself was surprised (pleasantly surprised!) by the amount of progress Kent Avenue had made.

A lot of the buildings that had been in the works for years are finally getting people in them. Brooklyn Flea and Smorgasburg have opened shop on N. 6th Street.

In short, a very industrial and ugly stretch has gotten much nicer.

I became so convinced, I managed to talk my editor into making this a cover story for NYP Home.

Enjoy! (And take a ride along the bike lane!)

Gee's whiz!

If you've never had bacon marmalade pizza before... Well, you don't know what you're missing! (In a good way.)

Or Lemoncello pizza, for that matter.

If this sounds like I'm touting a weird pizza parlor, I can assure you Paulie Gee's, the relatively new Greenpoint pizza place, is not weird. Rather, it's inspired!

I've seen Nutella pizza before, but never had I encountered Lemoncello pizza. It's a nicely charred disk of bread drenched in a thin, sweet, white Lemoncello and Anisette creme sauce. And it's about as good a dessert as one can expect in a pizza parlor.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The desserts are excellent, of course, but the real goods are in the savory pizzas.

The bacon marmalade pizza is made without red sauce. Just cheese, red onions and little spurts, here and there, of black jam. In the jam are crunchy bits of bacon. And damned if it isn't delicious!

But, then, almost everything at Paulie Gee's is delicious.

The Parma D'Or is a pizza with a virtual forest of arugula and nice slices of prosciutto. Their "Rooftop Pie" is a great offering of kale and sausage. And rather than have a pepperoni pizza their "Delboy" is covered in sopressata. (One of their special Delboys had the faintest taste of honey on it, from one of the local beekeepers. It was my favorite thing they made.)

But the way the pizzas were served was fairly traditional Neapolitan-style. And by Neapolitan style, I don't mean the kind you get in Brooklyn -- I mean the kind you'd get in Naples. There is a large wood-burning oven in the back where the dough goes in and out, and is manned by hipsters. (At least that appeared to be the case the two times I've been there. But the eponymous Paulie, who walks around the dining room, and is as friendly an owner as I've ever met, is definitely not hipster.)

In short: Get thee to the G train. (Or the shuttle bus. The G wasn't running on Saturday.) And go out to Paulie Gee's!

Brooklyn: The new Beverly Hills?

Well, I wouldn't go that far...

But I do have a story in today's NY Post about the celebs who have made beloved brownstone Brooklyn their home. There are bunches.

And there was some personal relevance to at least two of the jokes in this piece:

I once saw Turturro waiting for a table outside Al Di La.

And I have a reliable witness report that says that Paul Giamatti was once having lunch in the Heights Cafe when someone asked him for wine advice.

"I don't know anything about wine!" he practically growled. "It's just a character I played!"

...he must get that question a lot.

Max Gross stuffs his face... AGAIN

My new video on the South Williamsburg food scene is up on the Post's web site. (It's attached to my friend and colleague Adam Bonislawski's story.)

I've already written a little about Fatty 'Cue, so I won't say too much more about it. (Except that I tried three things that I hadn't before, all of which were uniformly excellent: The whole pig (8); the clams (8); and the curry duck (10!). Seriously: That place is awesome.)

While the people who ran Pies 'N Thighs were slightly less friendly than the rest of those I interviewed, I have to concede: I had one of the best pieces of fried chicken I've ever tasted. Not too greasy, and well salted. For $5 you can get the chicken and a biscuit with a dollop of honey butter. (Sooooooo good.)

I was slightly less impressed with the dessert that I picked than I let on in the video. (I've tried some of their others -- the desserts are great.) The peanut butter pie that I tasted was only so-so. Stick with the cookies or one of the fruit pies.

And Traif is great. I was already pretty full by the time I stopped there so I chose scallops instead of something heavy and porky. They were really delicious. They come on a bed of green snap pea risotto. Rich and delicious. (I know why: Having watched the chef, Jason Marcus, making them for me he used a tremendous amount of butter.)

I didn't actually eat anything at Dressler this time, but having eaten there in the past I can attest the place is worth a splurge. And I'm not even mentioning Dumont burger (so good). But in any event, for my foodies out there: South Williamsburg is worth a trip!

Living up to the name

On the advice of one of my loyal readers, I'm going to stay away from politics for the next week and stick to food and movie stuff.

First up, hot-shit chef, Zak Pelaccio, (of 5 Ninth and Fatty Crab fame) has opened his new restaurant in South Williamsburg, Fatty 'Cue, after a two year long wait.

The idea behind the restaurant is that the food is barbecue -- but with a Malaysian twist. (I believe Pelaccio spent some time in Asia studying cooking.) It's not quite as heavy as your standard BBQ fare -- but it's not quite Malaysian, either. (Yet it's certainly fattening enough to live up to the name.)

I'm usually a little wary of these sorts of hybrids; when you order a piece of brisket, you'd hope that a chef would have sense enough to not mess with one of the good lord's most perfect chunks of beef. And while I concede that barbecue brisket can reduce a grown man to sobs of regret when his plate is empty ("How could I?! How could I?!") -- the sobs are mixed with those of joy. The unadorned barbecue brisket, with all its richness and meatiness, beats the hell out of whatever newfangled sauce some smartass chef can smear alongside.

So it was a great relief to find that whatever Malaysian flourishes Pelaccio has given his food is subtle enough so that you barely notice it.

The Wagyu brisket is well marbled and comes with chili jam and three warm little buns, so that you can make a little brisket sandwich for yourself. (Like you would make if you were eating Peking Duck.)

It was, quite simply, delicious. (I have a special weakness for those little Peking duck sandwiches, so I might not be the best person to trust on this.)

The other meat heavy dish that my friend and I sampled were lamb ribs, which came with a white dipping sauce made out of white wine brine, garlic and lemon emulsion and cincalok (don't feel bad for not knowing that one. I had to look it up, too.) The sauce had a yogurt-like texture, and the dish tasted almost more Indian than Malaysian.

My only real quibble with it is that the lamb ribs were at least 50 percent fat. Maybe that's just the way they are, but I had to leave more than half of my ribs uneaten.

But, what I did taste was very, very good.

However, Fatty 'Cue is not entirely meat.

My dining companion and I tried an extremely respectable bowl of noodles with scallions and chili. And we also had a seafood sausage -- a white colored tube of shellfish, packed with ground up shrimp and scallop, and resting in a puddle of green curry.

It might have been better than the brisket. (I licked my plate.)

Moreover, the menu has some excellent drinks: The housemade beer is as good as any ale on the market, and if you can get past the horrible name, the "Forplay Cock Tail", which consists of aperol, yuzu, prosecco, mezcal and smoked grapefruit is extremely delicious. (But at $10 a pop, it goddamn better be!)

And this brings us to my only real quibble with the restaurant: It ain't cheap.

The menu looks reasonably priced, but all the dishes are small. Two dishes really aren't enough to satisfy a normal person. And the drinks are outrageously expensive. By the end of the evening, our bill had come to $80, not including tip -- which is a hell of a lot for barbecue for two.

Which makes me sort of glad that Fatty 'Cue is in a little corner of South Williamsburg, with only the J/M/Z line nearby. Otherwise, I'm sure a weak-willed man such as myself would go there every night -- and wind up broke and fat. But probably happy.

Late notice, but...

Any red blooded American schlub worth his salt should know, love and respect the chicken wing.

I know I do.

And today, Feb. 13, at 3 p.m., the bar Red Star in Greenpoint (at 37 Greenpoint Ave.) is having their Best Wings in Brooklyn competition.

And possibly the best part is wings are free, and there is no cover.

It absolutely kills me that I will not be able to make it. (Family obligations. And, besides, I'm dieting.) But I urge my fellow schlubs to down some wings and beer for your pal, Max.

BTW: The New Yorker's great Calvin Trillin has a terrific history of the buffalo wing here.

Fanning the flames

For New Years Eve this year, I dined at a little Williamsburg eatery, Fanny, with a friend of mine.

"Should I get the steak frites," I asked my dining companion, "or should I be good and have the roast chicken?"

"Having tasted the roast chicken," my friend said, "I can tell you one thing: It ain't healthier. They use, like, a stick of butter."

That was enough -- I was sold.

And, indeed, the chicken tasted far too rich and delicious to be considered in any way "good" for your health. It was poison. But you'd die with a smile on your face. (Roast chicken is one of those dishes that for me calls up a Proustian memory of my youth. There are very, very few things I enjoy more.)

The skin (which, for the most part, I cut away) was perfectly crispy, the meat was tender and moist. And it came with spinach and mushrooms which also tasted like they were drenched in butter.

It was truly spectacular.

My friend had the scallops -- two plump mollusks over a cream sauce (which wasn't on the regular menu) which I got only a small taste of. (She wasn't about to give up those suckers.) But having just had a small nibble, I can attest they were also delish.

And the prices are extremely reasonable (my chicken was $16 -- I think the scallops were $20.)

All in all, this schlub gives Fanny a nice pat, uh... on the head.

Get your Motorino running...

I would advise getting one's tush immediately in gear and heading to the new pizza restaurant in Williamsburg called Motorino as soon as one can.

It is, in a word, fabulous.

I went with a couple of friends last weekend and just about everything we ate was delicious. As good as any pizza I can think of in New York -- with one or two exceptions. (Which is very high praise coming from a pizza snob like me.)

We tried four different pizzas: The Margheritta DOC; the Pommodori; the Pugliese and the Artichoke pizza. My favorite was the Artichoke pizza, which consisted of roasted slivers of artichoke, strips of smoked pancetta, olives and parmigiano cheese.

Oy gevalt!

The pancetta (let's be honest and call it bacon) was such a genius touch. A wonderful savory pizza. Even though one could taste each of the ingredients perfectly clearly, they were all sliced very thin -- in other words, nothing was too overwhelming. You always got the sense you were eating a pizza. Just a ridiculously delicious tasing pizza.

My second favorite was the pommodori -- a pizza with baby tomatoes and more bacon, along with garlic, basil and arugula. Third place went to the Margherita with buffalo mozzarella and fourth would have to go to the Pugliese -- a pizza with broccoli, sausage and chilies. And even though the Pugliese was probably my least favorite, it was still absolutely tasty and something I would order again.

The antipasta were also very good -- we had a Tricolore salad, a bresaola (a cured meat) and a roasted artichoke dish. (The artichoke was probably my least favorite -- not that it was bad, per se, just difficult to eat. Frankly, I'd stick with the artichoke on the pizza.)

The grand total for this feast?

Eighty-seven dollars -- for five people.

The reason you should get there as soon as possible is the fact that Motorino does not yet have their liquor license. It's B.Y.O.B. until January. (Which explains why our tab was so low.)

This does lead to a few problems, however. Namely, you will be inclined to drink a bit too much. When we were there, we went through four bottles of wine (there's a pretty decent liquor store on the corner.) And when we were in a tipsy, happy state I began chatting with the owner.

"How was everything?"

"Great," I said. "Absolutely great. I gotta tell you -- it made a place like, say, Otto, look like shit."

This was perhaps a little unfair of me. I actually like Otto quite a bit (which a lot of my fellow pizza snobs see as a failing on my part). But I was a little drunk and a little prone to exaggeration.

"Really?" the owner said. "Actually, I opened Otto."

Take my house -- please!

I have two stories out in the NYP Home section today.

The first is how home owners are doing everything possible to sell their apartments -- including throwing in things like plasma screen TVs, cars and chauffeurs, and offering to loan their buyers the money to make the purchase. (?!)

Unfortunately, my favorite anecdote got cut from the story; Harry Poulakakos, who owns Adrienne's Pizza Bar and Harry's Steak among other Financial District eateries (both of which I really like) was apparently going to offer a $5,000 credit and "VIP" treatment at any of his restaurants to anyone who bought the two lofts he has on the market. (What does VIP treatment entail? Basically, being able to get a table even when they're booked.)

But when I called his broker to confirm a few of the details, the broker told me that he was apparently pulling both units off the market.

(In all honesty, I didn't quite believe the broker... my suspicion is that the broker spoke to me without Harry's permission and Harry freaked out. But I have no proof to back me up. In any event, since Harry wasn't willing to call me I took it out of the story.)

Of course, the other thing antsy sellers are doing is chopping the price on their places. And not by a little -- by a lot. Spike Lee's old studio space in Fort Greene got a $1.1 million price cut! (Which I reported in a separate story that the good people at curbed were nice enough to link to.)

Po -- fo sho!

Last night I went to the new Carroll Gardens' outpost of Po.

If you've never heard of Po, it earned fame and fortune in the early 1990s as the home of a promising young chef named Mario Batali. (And it was a hell of a lot cheaper than Mario's subsequent ventures.)

The Manhattan version was always very good even after Mario left (I mean, it's not Del Posto, but nothing else is) but the last few times I went, I thought it had seriously gone off the rails.

The bread was stale. The service lackluster. And the last time I went I saw an insect on the floor. (I left immediately.)

But I had been hearing good things about the new Brooklyn version. So when I was passing through the neighborhood and Vinny's (one of my favorite Carroll Gardens red sauce joints) was closing up, I figured, "Oh, what the hell..." and stopped in Po.

It was great!

First: Everything looked clean.

Second: My main dish was delicious. I had the orecchiette with sweet sausage and broccoli rabe -- and I licked my plate. Not too spicy and not too sweet. (My only complaint: It was drowning in sauce. Not that the sauce wasn't excellent, but it could have used a little more pasta.)

Also, they have an absolutely great warm white bean bruschetta.

The bread was fresh and the service was attentive. Keep 'em coming, Smith Street!

Blue Mmmmmarble....

Attention Brooklynites!

If you don't know about this place, Blue Marble, on Atlantic Avenue you should!

Normally, I don't go for the organic hippie-dippie sort of place like this, but I tried the mocha chip -- and my friends tried butter pecan and chocolate chip -- and we were impressed. I'd advise staying away from the cookies and baked goods and sticking with the straight ice cream. (I had one of their cookies a while back and wasn't all that impressed.)

I guess I was feeling in the ice cream mood after reading Ira Stoll's "Battle of the Scoop Sales" drama in the NY Sun last week.

Moon shot

Over the weekend I helped celebrate my friend Julie's birthday at My Moon, a place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I wasn't feeling particularly well so I abstained from any boozing. And I didn't taste any of the food. But one thing I will tell you:

It is a really nice space.

The bartender told me that it was some sort of warehouse once, and when they moved in a few years back it was filled with water tanks. They decided to chop up those tanks and turn them into booths. Plus, there was a really nice outdoor courtyard in the front.

From an architectural/design perspective, really nice. (Again, I didn't drink. But the prices were pretty inflated for Brooklyn. About what you'd expect for Manhattan.)