Yes, it was time for lunch. I had it all perfectly planned. I was working on 45^th Street and 6^th Avenue. I was going to get something from the Daisy May BBQ cart. If Daisy May wasn’t around, I’d get a falafel from Moishe’s on the corner. As I made my way out of the building, I saw the Rickshaw Dumpling truck and the treats truck. Okay, fuck the treats truck. I wasn’t eating cookies for lunch. I had to stay focused; Daisy May, Moishe’s or bust. So after walking down 6^th Avenue and arguing with myself on the way to 46^th Street, I made a quick U-turn and headed back over to the Rickshaw Dumpling truck. Even though I had read that Anita Lo was no longer affiliated with them, I had to check things out for myself. I think in my past life I was a dumpling and that’s why my love for them goes so deep. 

There was a he & she dude-bro in the truck. Awesome, nothing says authentic like two hipsters serving you dumplings out of a truck in midtown Manhattan, welcome to the NEW New York. The female dude-bro quickly, and bubbly, asked me what I’d like. Looking at the blackboard I quickly yelled out “the pork & Chinese chive dumpling". Six dumplings for $6, what a bargain. I was handed a small Chinese food container, sealed with the Rickshaw Dumpling logo.  I grabbed a pair of chopsticks, some napkins and I was off.

As I got back upstairs to tear into the dumplings, I realized I lost a chopstick in transit, great. I should of went stereotypical whiteboy and just used a fork, like my brother does. I went straight gutter on these dumplings and ate them by hand. Unfortunately, it tasted like they came from a gutter; one that held run off from a melted dirty, yellow mountain of snow. Soggy, with a heavy taste of chives, these dumplings sucked! The skin on them was awful and mushy. I thought the dipping sauce would make them a little better but they actually made them a lot worse. I’ve had dumplings in the hood and when I say hood I don't mean the gentrified section of buschwick, that were better than these pieces of crap. 

It just goes to show, when you have a plan for lunch, stick to it; or you’ll be eating the equivalent of white dog shit.


RickShaw Dumpling truck  
New York City 
www.rickshawdumplings.com

 For me, there are two types of pizza places: there’s what I like to call the “new age pizza”. People who study under master pizzaiola's, who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on brick ovens built by master oven builders from Italy and then open a pizza place just because it's "trendy". I must of been in the bathroom when pizza became a trend in new york city. I consider the makers of new age pizza as the hype beast's of the culinary world (definition of a hype beast).

And then there are the local pizza joints, where I don’t have to wait hours or weeks for a reservation, where I don’t have to wait on line with smelly hipsters and stupid tourists for a $5 slice of regular pizza because the assholes picked up the latest edition of frommers or even worse read it on Yelp. The local pizza joint is a place where I can walk to and get a slice with no hassle, where the pizza is always on point and when I walk into the place, the guy behind the counter knows exactly what I want. La Casa Bella is one of those places.

La Casa Bella is located on the corner of 26^th and Cropsey Avenues in Bensonhurst. Established in the early 90’s, it’s the perfect mom and pop pizza joint. The owner mans the counter while his wife is one of the waitress. My brother and I decided to pop in for dinner one night. Luckily it was a Tuesday because any given Friday, Saturday and Sunday you will be waiting a good hour or so for a table. 

 

As you walk into La Casa Bella you notice the old school charm: dim lighting with copper plated ceilings, wooden tables and chairs, and a long counter with all the pizza. In addition to pizza, La Casa Bella also serves a full menu of Italian food. My brother and I ordered two vodka slices ($3.95 each, I think), one order of fried calamari ($10.95) and we both decided to get the chicken Parmesan ($12.95).

Whenever I go to La Casa Bella, I start off my meal with a vodka slice which, honestly, I believe is the best vodka slice in Brooklyn. If it was humanly and socially acceptable to have sex and marry this slice of pizza, I would. And yes, there are about five other pizza shops that make vodka slices, but none can come near the one at La Casa Bella. A thin, crunchy, chewy dough, topped with a creamy, garlicky, tomato vodka sauce, which is then topped off with fresh mozzarella and a mix of basil and parsley with a sesame seed crust can honestly be the key factor in bringing world peace.

Next up was the fried calamari; perfectly tender pieces of calamari, fried to perfection and served with a hot or a sweet sauce. 

I FUCKING LOVE chicken Parmesan!  This is one of the very few dishes I could eat every day and La Casa Bella makes one of, if not the best, plates of chicken parmesan I’ve ever had. Thinly sliced pieces of chicken, deep fried, extra crispy, placed on a bed of La Casa Bella’s great tomato sauce, and topped with fresh mozzarella. The portion is huge. I usually eat half of it, but this time it was so good I kept eating until it hurt. 

The bill came to $50.

If you were confused with what I meant by local pizza joints, I’m sure after reading this you’ll understand and if you don’t, well, then you’re an asshole. In south Brooklyn, pizza has taken a nose dive in the taste category, with the new ownership of the pizza section at L&B by people who have no business making pizza, even though it’s the same recipe and because of Totonno’s, which is over rated, overpriced and over the hill. I’m happy to say La Casa Bella has kept its consistency over the past 18 years and if anything has gotten better over time. That's why this will always be my favorite local pizza joint. 

La Casa Bella 
2579 Cropsey Avenue Brooklyn NY 
(718) 449-0200
www.LaCasaBellaMenu.com 

After my minor orgasm at Fatty ‘Cue, I felt the need to check-out the Fatty Crews’ original place, Fatty Crab.  I thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone and go there on a second date with this girl I met recently. Yes, there is a Fatty joint stigmata with me and dates. But worst comes to worst I'd go back to sitting on my couch and eating pizza on Saturday nights.  

Fatty Crab is located at 643 Hudson and, of course, I walked right by it, even though they had a bright red awning with “Fatty Crab” written in bright yellow letters.  The space was small and dimly lit, the walls painted a dark red, with a glow from the bar and kitchen shining through. The scene in this place was mellow and calm, which means I was getting laid after dinner. Chatter filled the room but was drowned out by Kanye West’s “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” in the back ground.  Any place that plays hip-hop is a place I’d be more than happy to eat at and when I say hip-hop, I don’t mean Ludacris featuring Justin Bieber.

We sat down and the clipboards (menus) were handed to us. Everything looked so damn good we couldn’t figure out what to get, so we started off with ordering drinks. I had the Fatty Sour (bourbon, Pedro Ximenez sherry and fresh sour bitters.) It was fresh and sour, but something was missing. It definitely wasn’t the ‘Cue. 

So we finally decided on what to order, and here it goes: the quail egg shooters ($7), charred squid ($14), chicken claypot ($16) and, of course, the chili crab (market price, $48). We wanted the Wonton Mee, but they ran out. I was kind of hesitant about the crab because, let’s face it, eating anything in a shell is work and if I wanted to work for my food I’d get a job at the Food Network. 

First to come out were the egg shooters: 6 quail eggs lined up on a quail egg holder, which I did not even know existed. The waiter warned us that the quail eggs were a little spicy, so I tried one with caution. Nothing. Tasted like dry fish with no spice. Fucking liar. So I reached for the next quail egg and h-o-l-y fuck was it spicy. The mixture of the dried fish was good, but the spice overpowered the whole egg to the point where I was dying for the burning feeling to go away. 

Next is the charred squid salad, which consisted of broccoli, herbs, lemon juice and squid. Honestly, I couldn’t find any squid. Maybe this girl scarfed them down while I wasn’t looking. I think I had one piece, which was really good. It was perfectly cooked and tender, although the broccoli and herbs had my palate more confused than a hipster at the Ed Hardy store. There were too many things going on at once to really nail down a flavor. I’m glad that at least the Fatty Crew hasn’t fallen prey to the word “calamari” because, honestly, if I saw the word calamari in an Asian restaurant, I would walk out and proceed to curse them on twitter. 

Next up was the Clay pot, perfection served in a wooden bowl. Perfectly cooked chicken, with tender tofu in a thick soupy broth with scallions and chives. My date and I were utterly amazed and both agreed this was the dish of the night.

Finally, the chili crabs. I have to the say, the presentation was beautiful. Perfectly cooked red crabs, stuffed into a bowl with thick-cut toast and herbs, and immersed in a pool of chili sauce. Like I said earlier, I hate fighting for my food. The crab was cooked well but, honestly, the show stopper was the chili sauce. WOW! I’ve seriously never tasted a chili sauce like this before. Ever! It was spicy, it was sweet… it was good.

I ended the night with a Fatty Bar ($6), a candy bar sold exclusively at the Fatty Crews’ places. I had a choice between a bar with dark chocolate, roasted almonds, chili and sea salt, or a milk chocolate bar with ginger puffed rice and crisp rice. I went with the milk chocolate because I’m not really a chocolate person. The only reason I even got a bar is because of the ingredients. Wrapped in a 70’s, hippie wallpaper and gold foil, the bar was about 5” long (no, that’s not what she said.) Eh, it was a candy bar that tasted like Lo Mein. $6 down the drain. 

The bill came to $140 with tip. I’m on the fence with Fatty Crab. Yes, the food was good. Well, some of it.  The clay pot and chili sauce were good. Everything else sucked. Another thing that bothered me was the $48 price tag for crabs. Yes, they were good, but not $48 good.  Would I eat here again? Yes, the other menu items looked good. Would I pay to eat here again? No. I guess I’ll always have Fatty ‘Cue.

Fatty Crab 

643 Hudson Street

(212) 352-3590

www.fattycrab.com 

Working in Bushwick, Brooklyn, your lunch options are limited. So I’ve been skipping lunch and waiting until I get home to eat something.  I get into daily arguments with myself on what I am going to have for lunch/dinner on the drive home. One day, as I hit Atlantic Avenue, it came to me; I was going to get a sandwich from Defonte’s. I found Defonte’s by mistake. I was working on the Ikea project in Red Hook and, once again, the food options in the area were limited. Yes, there’s the Good Fork and the newly renamed Ice House, but they are never open for lunch and I hadn’t found out about the Fairway Café at the Fairway Supermarket until the day after I left Ikea. Defonte’s is located on the corner of Columbia Street Luquer, on the street level of a building painted green. They’ve occupied the space since 1922. A large white sign with red letters spell out Defonte’s and green letters spell sandwiches. Pauly D. was nowhere to be found.

Inside, a large steam table occupies one side of the shop, while refrigerators housing cold drinks take up the other. Above the steam table there are signs of the types of special sandwiches they offer. I went with the roast beef, an Italian hero roll stuffed with house-made roast beef, fresh mozzarella and thinly sliced, fried eggplant -($9.) I was feeling nostalgic so I grabbed a Stewart’s orange soda. Of course, I’m a fucking idiot and realized later that it was an orange and cream soda. FUCK! I hate cream soda, I think....  
  

I was rushing to get home in the hopes of eating a warm sandwich but, as my luck would have it, every asshole in Brooklyn was driving in front of me. There was definitely a plot against me. These motherfuckers knew I had a hot sandwich and were doing anything they could to make sure it was cold when I ate it.

I finally got home and as I took the sandwich out of the bag, I noticed it was a little small. But I was hungry and, as always, my eyes were bigger than my stomach. I picked up the sandwich it felt cold. Thanks, life. Whatever, I started to chomp away. The bread was ultra fresh and flaky, but somehow not soggy. The roast beef was medium rare and thinly sliced. The mozzarella was sliced thicker than usual, and was creamy and salty. The fried eggplant was soggy, but what should I have expected? Small hints of garlic in the roast beef and the fried coating on the eggplant were just outrageous; it was like a party in my mouth and Defonte’s was the only one invited. No homo.

So if you’re spending your day at Ikea, trying to return the book shelf you completely fucked up because you were looking at the pictures and not reading the instructions, or if you’re looking for a quick bite after you get out of the Battery Tunnel, definitely checkout Defonte’s.

Defontes 

379 Columbia Street Brooklyn, NY  

(718) 855-6982

www.defontesofbrooklyn.com

May your glass stay full of champagne and your pockets full of money. Happy New Year from devour | nyc

After months of constant harassment from a friend, I finally tried Lucali Pizza. I had been reading rave reviews about this place and had to try it out for myself. I would like you to know this was my second attempt at trying to get a table at Lucali. Our first try came three weeks earlier, on a beautiful summer night. What made it so beautiful? I was off from work that entire week. After spending some time finding a parking spot and walking over a few blocks to the restaurant, my friends and I were informed that it would be a three hour wait and that we should have called ahead. Okay, so I guess this was a dry run.



Three weeks later, we returned. And this time, with a reservation. My friend made the call and was told to come in one hour. He left his phone number and was advised he would receive a call when our table was ready. I was surprised. A spot like this, without a snobby attitude towards the customer? At Totonno’s, they basically throw the pie at you. Okay, so now I had one hour to shower, get dressed and drive to downtown Brooklyn. Did I mention I had to pick-up another friend? No way in hell were we making it there in one hour.



Shockingly, one hour later, we arrived at Lucali. Parking was pretty simple to find this time and I had a good feeling that we would actually be eating pizza shortly. My friend gave his name to the hostess and was told we were next. Okay, time to wait. Good thing it was nice outside. Without much scenery to look at, I started to deconstruct the décor of the place. There was no sign, just a green and white awning. Next to the hostess was a chalkboard menu with the types of pizza and toppings served: A pie, $24; large calzone, $20; small calzone, $10. Toppings: portobello mushrooms, pepperoni, garlic, basil and onions. It doesn’t get any simpler than that. As I looked around I noticed Lucali did not have a gate; just a doorknob lock and a hasp with a padlock. The owner didn’t have much to worry about, what’s the worst that could happen? A bunch of hipsters get wasted off Pabst Blue Ribbon, break into the place and hang Obama posters everywhere? Maybe chain their fixed gear bikes to the front door? This place was old school and I was kind of happy it stayed that way, because I was going to vomit if I saw another Dunkin Donuts or Subway.



An hour had elapsed and I was getting hungry. I mean mirage hungry. I was reading the chalkboard and all of a sudden it turned into a calzone. As I reached my arm out to grab it and take a bite, my friend told me our table was ready. Score! I don’t know what’s better: when your table is ready at a restaurant or when the doctor finally walks into the room. As I walked in, the smell of pizza hit my nose, hard. Inside, the place was tiny; about twelve small, rustic looking wood tables, with chairs to match. In the back was a fire burning oven and a low counter on which the owner, an older Italian gentleman and some young guy made the pizza. This was a good sign. I’m tired of Mexicans making my pizza. Yes, they supply cheap labor, but at $24 a pie, the only thing I want a Mexican doing is cleaning the dirty dishes.

Our order was placed: two pies (one plain, one with half pepperoni), a calzone and a few sodas. As we waited for the food, pizza was whisked by only inches from where we sat. I was getting anxious. I had read all the reviews and heard all the raves. Over the past 15 years, pizza had taken a decline in quality; from the ingredients, to the way it was made. To get a good slice of pizza in New York City nowadays was a tough thing. The good pizzerias know they’re good, so they charge ridiculous prices. Like DiFara’s! Dom must be losing his mind at $5 a slice. If you’re charging that much at least make your own sauce and don’t get it out of a can.



Ten minutes later, our pies arrived. I quickly swooped in and grabbed a slice with pepperoni. After taking a few bites, I decided this was going to be a tough sell. The pepperoni overpowered the sauce and buffalo mozzarella. I needed a plain slice so I could judge this pizza. I reached in for seconds. After a few bites, we had a winner; a nice, thin crispy (yet chewy) crust pizza. The sauce was a little on the sweet side but gave a nice balance to the fresh basil, olive oil and buffalo mozzarella. I was chewing with a huge grin on my face, as if I just had sex with a group of Asian female porn stars, when our calzone arrived.

This calzone was huge. I’d say a foot and a half long, and it was cut into eight pieces. Served alongside was a bowl of Lucali’s homemade pizza sauce, some fresh grated cheese, a few leaves of basil and a stem of rosemary. I was pretty shocked to see cheese oozing out of the sides. Usually a calzone just has ricotta cheese. You can never have enough cheese. I grabbed a piece and threw on some sauce, grated some cheese and added basil. After a few bites, I realized I would give up women, alcohol and sleeping to have this calzone every day. Chewy and crispy, and made with buffalo mozzarella, this was a home run. The calzone was incredible.

Okay, enough is enough. I was stuffed. Two pies and a calzone, between three people, is a lot of food. I thought I would never say this, given that the place is a newcomer, but Lucali is now my number one pizza joint, putting Patsy’s (Grimaldi’s) in second place. The bill came to $73, without gratuity. The service could have been a little better, as the place is the size of a one bedroom apartment in Manhattan, but we left a healthy tip. As we walked out to get into my car, we saw the owner outside and thanked him for the great pizza. He seemed like a pretty nice guy and he apologized for not personally making one of our pies, but said he hoped we enjoyed our pizza and calzone. I was pretty shocked that he kept tabs on who received the pizza he made, considering there were two other people making pizza alongside him. He also confirmed a rumor that they would be opening another location in south Park Slope, but that place would be run by his brother.

Fatty ‘Cue has been on my radar for months. A new concept in BBQ, it mixes southern style cooking technique with Asian flavors mostly Thai and Malaysian flavors, and it's pretty hard to ignore. What is also hard to ignore is the massive amount of press this place gets. Everything is covered, from videos on how they smoke their meats to how they decorate the place, a lighting fixture shaped like a pig hangs in the main dining room - these guys are serious about BBQ.

This was my second time going to Fatty ‘Cue. My first experience didn't go so well. I was on a date and ummm… let's just say I was happy the night ended quickly and I didn't have to resort to stabbing myself in the eye with a chopstick to speed things along. Fatty ‘Cue is located on South 6^th Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, not far from Peter Luger’s Steakhouse and the Williamsburg bridge. A good thing to know, for you Manhattanites who might go buck-wild one night and cross the bridge, even though it's in hipster land, I promise you won't return to Manhattan a liberal.

As my friend and I entered the place, a dude bro rocking a fedora let us know it would be a 45 minute to one hour wait. That didn't scare me because from what I can recall on that train wreck of a date, the food was the best part of the night. I was down to wait it out. So my friend and I made our way over to the bar.

Fatty ‘Cue was dimly lit with a packed bar that took up 1/4 of the space. A few tables took up another 1/4 and hipsters took over the other 1/2. They also have a main dinning room, which I didn't get to see again, where the pig light fixture hangs, maybe next time..  I ordered a drink called the ‘CUE ($9), Wrey & Nephew Rum, smoked pineapple, citrus, Tabasco sauce, Pernod and served in a tiny martini glass for my big, bruised knuckled hands to enjoy. The potent scent of citrus from waffed into my nose, my friend had a cold but even she could smell it. The drink was sweet and tangy, and left me with a minor burning sensation, it hurt so good. Bravo, Bartender.

(courtesy of always hungry)

 My Friend and I spotted a nice little nook with two bar stools for us to hang in while we wait. As we waited, any argument ensued between my friend and I, Can we just eat here? I wasn't sure, so after 15 minutes of yapping back and forth on the issue my friend took matters into her own hands and asked the dude bro with the fedora if we could eat there and, before she could finish her question, dude bro said yes. Shit, sometimes I wish I was a cute Asian girl. Life would be so much easier.

The waiter came by with two plates, some chopsticks and a bottle of tap water. No need for menu's I already knew what we were getting: The 'Cue Coriander bacon ($14), the cucumbers($6) , the noodles ($11) and the Brandt Ranch beef brisket ($21). While waiting for our food my friend and I noticed someone eating  heritage pork ribs ($12) at the bar, so we added that to our meal.

And here it comes…

The noodles were drenched in meat juices and served with a scallion and chili sauce.  I added a little hot sauce to make things interesting. The noodles were firm, the meat sauce gave it a nice flavor with a nice kick in the balls from the hot sauce a few seconds later. HOLY FUCK! These had to be the best tasting Asian noodles I’ve ever had in my life!

The cucumbers were diced up with smoked chili peppers, brown rice vinegar and topped with sesame seeds. They didn’t really play with my emotions as much as the noodles did, but they were good and fresh and had a nice crunchiness to them. I guess that’s all I can say.

The bacon had a hint of coriander and was served with toast and yellow mustard. I didn’t try the mustard but I can tell you one thing: I used to think Peter Luger’s had the best bacon, but now, Fatty ‘Cue gets my vote for best in show. Tender pieces of perfectly seasoned bacon with a perfectly fat-to-meat ratio gave me a little poke in my pants. 

(courtesy of wanderingfoodie)

 The ribs made me feel like Fred Flinstone. They were huge and tender with every bite. A little spice, a little sweet and a little Asian flavor made them perfect.

( courtesy of glenwood )

Last but not least came out the Brandt Ranch Beef Brisket - a sliced brisket, charred perfectly and served with chili jam, aioli, steamed bao buns, pickled red onion and a bone broth. I started to put together the perfect brisket bao sandwich for myself, consisting of all the sides, except the aioli, and it was perfect. The brisket was soft and juicy, and leaked as I bit into it. The chili jam gave it a little kick but cooled off at the end, as I got a hint of sweetness.

(courtesy of brigidpearson)

As the night went on, the service started to slow. It was difficult to find our waiter at times but, needless to say, when he was around he was helpful. The total came to $85 plus tip, which is damn cheap for the amount and the quality of food Fatty ‘Cue serves.

Fatty ‘Cue, I think I love you.

Fatty 'Cue
91 South 6th street, Brooklyn NY
(718) 599 - 3090
http://www.fattycue.com/