VittlesVamp

A Sign In Brooklyn

This beauty caught my eye the other day, as I strolled down Smith Street. I hoped it was a sign of good things to come. Good juicy, tender, barbecued meat in particular.

Regrettably though, the early reviews of the sign's owner - the oddly named BBQ spot Since 1963 - have been lackluster to say the least.

Still, anyplace with the fine sense to put a sign such as this at their front door can't be all bad. I might just need to taste the place's Pulled Pork Sandwich or St. Louis-Style Pork Ribs to see for myself.

The Definitive Tuna Melt On Rye

After Anthony Bourdain kvelled about Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop on a "Disappearing New York" episode of his Travel Channel series, I wasn't too impressed. This old-time sandwich counter shop was definitely the real deal -- happily vintage and grungy -- but the bill of fare was antique as well.

What can I say? I have tremendous respect for Egg Creams, Lime Rickeys and alike, but I didn't know what to think of a menu that offered options like a Can of Sardines and Hebrew National Knockwurst with Beans.

I decided to just think better of it when I finally found myself crossing Eisenberg's threshold and made the decision to stick to the name of the game -- sandwiches.

Ultimately, it was a very good call, as evidenced by the childhood classic seen above served with the obligatory slices of pickle. This wasn't just any old Tuna Melt on Rye. This was the quintessential Tuna Melt on Rye. One bite into this simple, straightforward sandwich featuring a kid-friendly "no celery or herbs here" creamy tuna salad with rich melty American Cheese and I was transported to Mama Vamp's kitchen on a school snow day. All I needed was some Tomato Soup to make the picture complete.

Guess next time I hit Eisenberg's a bowl of their Tomato Soup will have to be ordered. I can only hope it's as good as my Mom's -- straight out of the Campbell's can.

Brooklyn 'Za

I have no patience. When I pass by the lines snaking out of DUMBO's famous Grimaldi's Pizzeria, I just keep on walking.

Their 'za is wonderful -- but my time is worth more than a slice or even a whole pie.

So, I was hopeful when Ignazio's opened its doors to offer a bit of brick-oven competition. And, as it happens, I wandered in one day with a friend and her two-year old daughter, famished and in need of a respite.

At that moment Iganzio's was perfect.

There were seats available. It had air conditioning. And, most importantly, the little girl -- mesmerized by the live jazz band -- ceased whining.

By the time the pizza arrived, we attacked. It seemed to be one of the most glorious pizzas I'd ever devoured. I promised that I would be back. Back soon.

Plus, besides the lack of lines, they had a serious advantage over Grimaldi's: delivery.

I kept thinking about that pie. I finally succumbed to its memory one evening with a pal in from out of town. Sitting in my apartment with a salad and the requisite bottle of vino, I called and placed an order.

Above is a snapshot of the pretty pie we received 20 minutes later, scattered with fresh basil and bubbly cheese.

It looked good. It tasted good. But just good. Not great. Clearly the mind has a way of playing tricks on you. Even on your tastebuds.

Nonetheless, I live in Brooklyn. I demand great when it comes to my pizza, beer, bagels and much, much more.

Suddenly that line at Grimaldi's isn't looking so long after all.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I Love You Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the big day. The day that the 50 Henry Wine Bar re-opens in Brooklyn Heights, under new leadership from the folks behind the Henry's End Restaurant and the neighborhood food market Cranberry's. Word on the street is that the wine list will be impressive and the menu tempting.

But, the real draw: They are planning to be open morning, noon and night.

Goodness knows, if they're serving wine throughout, they'll be extremely busy and I'll be a devoted regular.

We All Scream For Torres 'Scream

Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow, legendary pastry chef and chocolate god Jacques Torres will finally be opening his first ice cream parlor.

Walking through the cobblestone streets of DUMBO, Brooklyn today, I couldn't help but notice his team hard at work putting the cherry on top of the sundae (so to speak) -- painting an ice cream cone mural on the wall and such.

I snapped a quick pic of them putting the finishing touches on the place. (See pic above.)

And for the record, how can you not LOVE an ice cream parlor with its own crystal chandelier???

Po' Boy Rich

New Orleans has been on mind. Planning a Bayou-inspired fete has made me long for a Sazerac, a Dixieland Brass Band, Beignets and men in searsucker suits.

Walking along Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue, I made do with a late lunch at Boerum Hill's Cajun/Creole cafe Stan's Place. It was the bar's lineup of Abita Brewery beauties that first caught my eye. I didn't resist their siren's call, ordering up a chocolatey brown Abita Turbodog as I perused the menu.

Within seconds, I knew what I wanted to complete the faux French Quarter fantasy: a Half-n-Half...

...a traditional Po'Boy sandwich on crisp, buttered French bread, graced side-by-side with lightly fried, succulent jumbo shrimp and equally fine fried oysters, slathered in a creamy kick of remoulade sauce. It also featured slices of ripe red tomato and shaved iceberg lettuce, in a whimsical attempt at providing one of the recommended daily servings of fruits and vegetables.

Fruits and vegetables be damned, this is a first-rate meal fit for a Mardi Gras King. Be-'wich-ing if I do say so myself. (Said magnificent sandwich, pictured above, if you don't believe me!)

Next time I hit Stan's Place though, I may be tempted to try the Chicken Etoufee or Shrimp Monica and check out the Dessert Menu too. After all, I never did take care of that craving for Beignets. All I'll need then is a Sazerac, Brass Band and those gents in searsucker...

Chelsea Market: Friedmans

Friedmans Lunch seems so earnest. They REALLY want to be a Lower East Side Deli. Instead, they are a decidedly non-Kosher, cosmopolitan, West Chelsea riff on a Lower East Side Deli.

In other words: They may sell Matzoh Ball Soup and Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda, but the menu also includes a Caribbean Grilled Chicken Salad and a BLT with the A-list additions of Avocado and Aioli.

It was all very perplexing when I stepped up to the counter to order some lunch.

Do I go Jew or urban hipster American?

Tough call.

I finally decided to land somewhere in-between, requesting Friedman's Roast Turkey and Pastrami Sandwich with Coleslaw, house made Potato Chips and Russian Dressing on Rye. It was a variation on the standard Turkey or Pastrami "Special" Sandwich, but the inclusion of crunched up Potato Chips was a 21st century crisp twist.

Seen above in all its glory, I hafta say that this sandwich is a derivative that is plain delicious. It is so wrong, but it is SO right. Indisputably a decadent, deep fried snack food-endorsing mutation of a classic, but a newfound classic in its own right too. This is one lip-smacking, crunchy, juicy, meaty meal jammed smack-dab between two slices of bread.

I may never want to attempt Friedman's Brown Rice Bowl with Tofu or Quinoa Salad with Dried Cherries, Pine Nuts and Fennel, but I'll definitely be back for seconds on its Roast Turkey and Pastrami Sandwich -- after a few trips to the gym.

Per Se'ed

So, I come home from Napa without stepping foot into a Thomas Keller wine country restaurant, only to head straight to Per Se.

A Culinary Insiders event, I couldn't resist the notion of a private Champagne and appetizer session, plus a tour of Per Se's legendarily pristine kitchen.

For this, I was even willing to brave the mall that is the Time Warner Center.

I was quite right to do so.

If for no other reason: Unlimited access to Coronets with Salmon Tartare, Sweet Onion and Creme Fraiche.

And, just to push it over the edge: Access to Chef Keller as well, who graciously signed a French Laundry Cookbook to "The Vamp" and then summarily admonished my concept of riffing on his infamous Coronets with a Savory Miniature Cone filled with Slow-Roasted Tomato, Fresh Ricotta and Julienned Basil, topped with a small, meltingly lovely Veal Meatball.

Oh, well.

I still might make them despite Chef Keller's warnings. But, at least I'll do so with a signed copy of his cookbook at my side.

Brunch So Hip It Hurt

Antlers, antlers and more antlers. Taxidermy behind glass. Stuffed animal heads. Worn mirrors mounted askew. A pint glass jam-packed with dark purple cala lilies, so dark that they're just this side of black.

Of course I'm talking about Freeman's Alley, one of the most popular places in New York to see hipsters in their natural habitat. (Obligatory hard-to-find entrance pictured above).

Sitting with a very stylish Southern gentleman friend across the table, brunch drinks at our side, we spotted all the urban bohemian Sunday standards: frayed skinny jeans falling off a cast of entitled men and women, vintage plaid shirts, wildly expensive sunglasses, pairs and pairs of worn Chuck Taylors, a handful of unfortunate bow ties, a series of ratty t-shirts emblazoned with irony, a blur of hats, distressed thrift store dresses, artful tattoos, and the occasional hoodie graced with a Paul Frank monkey.

Not exactly an appetizing environment. Yet, the menu ultimately drew me in. Our shared app of Artichoke Dip was a bubbly, decadent, gooey mess of fat-filled goodness. It made my entree of Poached Eggs with Grilled Tomato and Cheese Grits practically pointless. After a bite or two, it was. But, that said, the bite or two was marvelous.

Then again, everything tastes better surrounded by antlers, taxidermy, stuffed animal heads and hipsters. Doesn't it?

Chelsea Market: Chelsea Thai Wholesale Part Deux

After a mountainous serving of insipid Pad Thai few weeks ago, I almost gave up on Chelsea Thai Wholesale. But tender-hearted foodie that I am, the line of efficient wok-happy cooks in the back inspired me to return.

So, I did.

This time around I strayed from the regular menu and ordered up a special, promising chicken and vegetables in a peanut sauce tinged with chili peppers.

Unfortunately, what I got was a mound of nicely sauteed veggies mixed with overcooked white meat, the texture of styrofoam. Served over a heap of white rice, it was coated in a drab sauce, vaguely hinting at peanut and utterly devoid of spicy heat.

Clearly, Thai food is not really this spot's strong suit. Is it possible that those dexterous looking Asian cooks are really imports from Nebraska?