Cafe Luluc

Cafe Luluc, Smith St. between Baltic and Butler Sts.

I've dined here alone quite a bit, dear reader(s), and it should be a surprise for all of us that I haven't written about this establishment sooner. It's quite a treat.

Cafe Luluc - which I could have sworn was Cafe Lulu with a small registered trademark symbol next to it, it's not, it's a smaller font "c", strange - is a French? bistro that plays Latin? music. I think. Something like that. It's fucking super cute, with bottles of wine lining the banquettes, and newspapers and magazines lining the walls.

I went in last night after work, around 11:15 craving something I have had there an earlier time - Mussels Poulette. The dish is mussels steamed in a tarragon cream sauce with bacon, celery and leeks. They call this dish an appetizer. It's enormous. Based on my previous experience, I ordered just the Mussels and a side of French Fries. I was feeling for a drink, because I had just gotten off of work and it's a job I don't care for, so I ordered a glass of rose wine. The menu just offers white, red, or rose wine, with no indicator as to the producer. The server asked if I wanted "regular or sparkling." Um, fucking duh, I get real queer for sparkling rose, so pour it up my dear man.

The wine came, it was kinda flat. I didn't care too much to change it. The food came and I jizzed in my pants. Now, call me a rube, but when I order shellfish, I kinda like to get the shells out of the way first. Like all of them. Just five minutes of work and then uninterrupted heaven. And that's what I did. And I took handfuls of French Fries and threw 'em in the sauce. I killed that dish. Absolutely killed it.

The bill came out to 24 bucks or so. It's a cash only joint, so I left 30, got on my bike with a heavy grin, and peddled my satiated self back home.

Another satisfying meal enjoyed, all alone.

Vinny's of Carroll Gardens, Smith St. between Union and Sackett Sts.

This restaurant and "luncheonette" is one of the last stalwarts of an older Carroll Gardens and the Italian population that shaped it. The people are friendly, and some of the waitresses, I would say, are downright brassy, but in the best possible way.

I often order food to go here. They have a lunch counter with various Italian things sitting in metal trays over barely boiling water. They got the fried chicken cutlets, the pasta marinara, the eggplant parmigiana, you know, all that Italian stuff.

I like the guys behind the counter. After the third or forth time I ordered some food to go for lunch, one of them said, "what, you don't work?" Because I, unlike most adults my age, have been riding this "barely employed" line for a number of years, making do with a couple of night jobs and acting work. I smiled and said "barely," and they laughed, and I told them I was an actor. The following time I came in, the same guy said, "hey, Mr. New York Times!" He had apparently seen the commercial and after knowing I was an actor, they understood why I show up in their restaurant between 2 and 4pm with bedhead.

Today, a brassy waitress smiled and told me to sit wherever I like. I chose a booth, and ordered what I usually order - Penne Pasta with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe. Being as it was the middle of the day, I ordered a Diet Pepsi. They bring it in the plastic bottle with a glass of ice.

The food came, she brought some bread, it was very tasty, though they sometimes leave a generous amount of pasta water in the bottom of the bowl, so if you don't eat quickly enough, you're left with soggy pasta. They leave whole chunks of garlic sitting on top of the broccoli. I fucking love garlic. Between garlic and sex, I would actually choose both, though it never seems to work out that way.

I have no idea what it cost. Maybe 16 bucks? I threw down a 20 and made my way to the door. A warm smile and a "see ya later!" as I left the restaurant.

This luncheonette has a special place in my heart. It reminds me of back home. Where customer service wasn't discussed in meetings with the management. They're happy I'm spending money. And I'm happy with garlic and sausage and no-nonsense attitudes and diet pepsi in a plastic bottle.

Another meal enjoyed, all alone.

Prime Meats

Prime Meats, on Court St. at Luquer St.

My dear followers, if any of you exist, my apologies for such a lapse of time. Please don't take it to mean I haven't been eating out alone. I have been. I was just waiting for a nice experience to ruminate on. And here we are.

Prime Meats is a restaurant from the folks who brought us Frankie's Spuntino, two doors down on Court St. in Carroll Gardens. I had been to Frankie's thrice before, for lunch, and the food, service, and atmosphere were all fantastic. Last Monday I was in a celebrating mood - I had finished shooting my first day of the first real feature-length movie I've done, and decided upon Prime Meats as the location to enjoy a dinner. All by myself.

Now. Prime Meats is capitalizing on this New York/Brooklyn trend of speakeasy chic. With old-timey cocktails, and bartenders with ties tucked inbetween the buttons of their shirts. I haven't been drinking lately - mostly for reasons of vanity (I appear shirtless in this movie, and when I cut out the sauce I can loose a couple of lbs.) - and worried that my lack of desire to get soused would inspire a cranky attitude from my server. It didn't.

I was seated in the bar area, at what they called the communal table, which was really just an oddly long table with 6 seats. At the other end was an affable man who smiled at me when I sat, and his ladyfriend, a woman I noticed from around the neighborhood as being a drunk.

I ordered a seltzer with a splash of cranberry juice. They don't have cranberry juice. Excuse me? They had grapefruit and something else. I got the grapefruit and holy shit it was refreshing.

The food. For the first course I ordered the Sauteed Wild Mushrooms & Poached Amish Egg. The. Most. Delicious. Thing. I'veeverfuckinghad. I must have looked deranged, I had to actually tell myself to slow the fuck down and not lick the plate.

The second course was the 12oz Grilled Prime New York Strip Steak, cooked medium-rare. I should've ordered in rare. It came with a watercress salad and a chimichurri sauce, which I slathered on the beef. It was good. My breath reeked of the most intense garlic for about 3 days after. The price you pay.

When I was finished, the waitress smiled and said, I'm gonna wait a while and let you digest before I bring you the check. Or something like that. It came off as very endearing, because she's right. What's the rush? This life is long, let's just enjoy ourselves. The bill was around $35. $42 with the tip. Would I come back? Definitely. At least for the Mushrooms and Amish Egg. And perhaps again when I can tie one off. The drinks looked tasty too.

Another fancy meal enjoyed all alone.

The Fall Cafe

The Fall Cafe, on Smith St. between President and Union Sts.

Saturday coffee is better than Sunday coffee, because there aren't a ton of assholes at the coffeeshop. I had some work to do, and though I spend too many hours in front of my computer at home, she is a laptop, and work needs doing, so I dragged her to the coffeeshop around the corner for some change of scenery and a nice mug of joe.

A great thing about the Fall Cafe is the $2.50 mug of coffee that comes with two refills. It's basically asking you to hang out for a bit. And although summer prompts me to get iced coffees, Saturday was rainy. I staked out a nice table by the window, and ordered this mug, and some granola with steamed milk. The whole thing cost about $6.

Here's the thing. I didn't tip. I've worked in the food service industry for a number of years, and consider myself a generous tipper. But it's the tip jars that started appearing everywhere that has given me pause outside, what I consider, normal tip-giving establishments. Tip jars at coffeeshops, delis, laundrymats, I once saw a tip jar at a photocopy store, basically everywhere commerce is performed there seems to be a tip jar. I don't know if that's just playing on or maybe exploiting the American urge to tip a job well done OR if cheapskate employers pay their workers less and justify it by putting out a tip jar. I assume it's the former, but sometimes I get a nasty look if I don't toss my change or a buck in the jar. Yesterday at the Fall Cafe was one of those days.

No biggie. The granola was good, the coffee piping hot, it was a nice day spent watching the rain fall outside. Every other table was filled with other folks on laptops. When I worked for Starbucks for that month in college, I had to read all this corporate literature about what this "third space" is, and how coffeeshops, like bars for drunks, should be a completely enjoyable space that isn't work and isn't home, but should maintain positives of both those two environments. I think Fall Cafe does a fine job at being that third space.

Another coffee and granola enjoyed all alone.

Le Pain Quotidien

Le Pain Quotidien, Bryant Park Location, 40th St. between 5th and 6th Aves.

OK, I was in a pinch, I had been running around a bit, found myself in one of the armpits of Manhattan culinary options - the midtown fashion district area - so I stepped in from out of the rain for a midday snack, alone.

So Le Pain Quotidien is a chain of these french places that focus on espresso drinks and "artisinal" foods. Like "rustic" chicken salad, and "farmhouse" eggs. They play very soft classical music and as I walked in I was instantly an adult. I felt an air of importance (not really), and my back straightened and I pretended I had a real job like the others seated around me - with laptops and in business attire.

There were various servers in olive green t-shirts busying themselves with the lunchtime rush, but I was soon seated at the communal table - a long table made of untreated wood with stale loaves of bread serving as holders for various menus and cards.

Three different people came up to me over the course of the meal but no one asked the same questions - so they must just be in sync. I ordered the roast beef sandwich with a caper mayo, garnished with mixed greens and cornichons. One of the servers said it's tasty and "more filling" than the avocado sandwich I also had my eye on.

The sandwich came out, and it was very small. Four thin slices of roast beef on four thin triangles of their special bread. I wondered how small the avocado sandwich must've been. It was tasty, I gave them that, and I mused over whether French people smirk and twist their moustaches whenever Americans see a "normal" portion of food and look forlorn. But, to be real, being 6'2" I need more nourishment than most. I decided to not order an entire other meal, which I honestly was capable of. I finished my English Breakfast tea, and asked for the bill.

$15.07 for everything, the tip brought it to $18.00

I'm not sure what to make of this place. I've been a couple of times, the experience always okay. No reason to go there specifically, no reason to not go. I think it's fine for a cappuccino on a rainy day.

An adequate meal enjoyed alone.

Dojo West

Dojo West located at the corner of Mercer and W. 4th Sts. in Manhattan.
*also, I figured out how to upload photos. Awesome.

I used to go to NYU, and this place was a perennial favorite. It's cheap, it's tasty, and most of the time it's pretty quick. It has been said that this place doesn't exactly put hygiene at the top of their priority list, but after 9 years, I've only noticed one crusty water cup.

Today, I had a few auditions, was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for lunch. I sat at the bar, as usual, and the friendly bartender asked why I hadn't been around - very nice to be recognized as a regular.

I knew what I wanted and ordered right away - Grilled Chicken Salad with a side of brown rice.

A positive thing Dojo is known for is their carrot ginger dressing which comes with the salad. It is a little piece of heaven on earth. The food came quickly and I dived in, slathering the salad and brown rice with the dressing. A nice midday protein punch.

A friendly guy at the bar started a conversation, he's living in the city for a few months, summer vacation - he's a schoolteacher in California. Another guy at the bar was talking loudly on his cellphone, it was busy at the Dojo but not too harried.

Within 25 minutes of walking in, I was ready for my check. $9.20 for the entire meal, $12 with tip.

I love this place for what it is, and the people both behind the bar and sitting at it tend to be very friendly. Another delicious meal enjoyed alone.

Union Smith Cafe

Union Smith Cafe, appropriately located on the corner of Smith St. and Union St.
*I gotta figure out a way to add photos. To think - my first blog! Livejournal doesn't count, and please, I was in college.

Sunday brunch, I had a hangover (thank you Brooklyn Social) and needed coffee and eggs. So I went to Union Smith Cafe. By myself.

Eggs Benedict - subbed out the homefries for french fries (something to always consider, very very few places have good homefries, whereas french fries are hard to fuck up)

It was just okay. A little bland actually. And they serve the eggs, and from what I could tell by looking at other people's plates everything else, with cantaloupe. That awful geriatric fruit. I tasted it and I was back in Clearwater, Florida with my great-grandparents, and I'm 7, and everything is teal and pink and smells like mothballs.

The coffee was served in an enormous mug - me likey. And it was scalding hot, which I have no problem with.

I sat at the bar, and the bartender was ok. I was hungover, he didn't seem to like his job, we had no desire for chitchat.

The bill was 13.86, plus 3 buck til brings the tab to 17. My rule is unless the service really sucks, 20% is the rule. And if it's a small bill, that extra dollar or so does wonders.

I'd go back and try something else. The french toast looked tasty.

Another meal enjoyed all alone.