I remember when the only reason to visit Smith Street was to get to the "F" line or buy crack cocaine. All of that changed when the restaurant/boutique renaissance hit the once dismal Brooklyn strip. The pioneer that started it all was Patois, a well-priced, well-heeled French bistro helmed by Chef Alan Harding.
A table at Patois quickly became a coveted commodity - especially considering they didn't take reservations for parties smaller than six. And, I was one of the hungry Brooklynites happy to wait for up to 90 minutes for a seat at the restaurant. Why? Charming atmosphere, capable and friendly service, kind prices and, most of all, delicious bistro fare.
But, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, Smith Street became a magnet for hip and trendy trattorias and taverns. Pretty soon Patois was overshadowed by its neighbors - and soon after Harding and his partners sold the restaurant. I would still return from time to time, and although the bloom was off the rose, it was still a lovely dining experience. Admittedly, however, with so much culinary competition in the area, I haven't passed through its doors in at least a year.
That all changed on Friday night. The service was still serviceable, the room was still cozy, the price was still nice - but food was middling at best, verging on feh. I knew that something was off when a friend and I dug into an appetizer of flavor-challenged House-Smoked Trout with an odd, slightly sweet, warm toss of sweet potatoes and several, even odder, dollops of seriously strong wasabi mayo. Huh? If your going to be daring you better be Wylie Dufresne. This mixture just didn't cut it. Wylie has nothing to worry about.
My entree of Coq au Vin wasn't as disconcerting, but was very dry and stringy - and oddly sweet as well. A dessert of bland Apple Strudel atop a cream inflicted with so much alcohol, it should've been on the rocks, capped the evening off with little fanfair.
Not only was the bloom of the rose - the rose was officially wilted.
But, on a positive note, when New York City closes a gourmet door, another one always opens. In this case, for me, it was the revelation that Nolita's Porcupine might be an out-n-out winner, when I followed up a birthday dinner a couple months back with a brunch on Saturday with a gal pal. The room was warm and comfortable, the service the same, the price was right - and the food was sublime. (Splitting their hearty Leg of Lamb Sandwich and vanilla-scented, custardy French Toast with Almonds and Apricots is a perfect combo, if you want to experience the savory and sweet sides of the spectrum.)
And so, as I mourn a loss, I celebrate a new fave find. Ain't New York grand?
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