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.