Passionate About Restaurants

Brooklyn Rocks!

Rock Critic Ira Robbins explores the dining scene in Brooklyn.

By Ira Robbins

In restaurants, as in rock, ambition is the variable against which success must be measured. The Ramones and the Shins had different goals for their music, but each nailed it. So while I've been mesmerized by the exquisite tastes and superlative service at Chanterelle, I've also sniffed my way to BBQ counters in Mississippi, expecting (and getting) nothing in the way of ambience, comfort, style, charm or even rigid plates and still departing equally content and exhilarated. Each, in its own way, has done what it set out to do, and done it brilliantly.

To eat out with a critical sensibility, to find true greatness in the dining experience, is to appreciate a variety of factors, food only being one, as well as the sensation of welcome and comfort. At least in the U.S., haughty intimidation is no longer acceptable; consideration and artistry are the norm. Fine dining has displaced other pricey entertainments for hungry urbanites, and mise en scene, from presentation of dishes to the manner of serving, has become crucial, no less calibrated and scripted than a Broadway show. Menus challenge, cajole and obfuscate with literary ambition; food arrives dressed to the nines; the ideal of inconspicuous wait staff has given way to concierge-like attention. All of it counts.

We seek places where we belong. The first time my wife Kub and I wandered into The Grocery, which had just taken over a Smith Street storefront from a homey tagine spot, we fell in love. From the bare walls to the exotic fruit left as a conversation piece-cum-ornament on each table to the exceptionally tasty food, it all felt right. Not at-home right, but eating-out right. When the owner-chefs Sharon Pachter and Charles Kiely, who were clearly serious about their work, flattered us with neighborly friendliness, we knew we would invite ourselves over for dinner as often as we could afford it.

A few years later, across the street, we had a similar response to the warm and charming vibe of Chestnut, with one major exception: we never enjoyed the food, which sacrificed pleasing culinary sense to dubious imaginings, the only one of which I can recall was oatmeal pancakes, a lumpy disc with the cohesion of, well, oatmeal. Further down that wayward path, there used to be a brunch place on Warren Street that reeked -- in a good way -- of Gallic authenticity but was so slack in its kitchen duties that Kub dubbed it BYOF--Bring Your Own Food. We would have put up with a lot, but it's hard when a place misses the basics.

Dressler in Williamsburg has the artistry of a seriously great restaurant, with perfectly prepared and balanced dishes (try the monkfish in bacon) and an informal environment that gives it a local feel. So do Blue Ribbon Sushi in Park Slope, Henry's End in Brooklyn Heights and the wildly inconsistent Lunetta on Smith. They may be, in essence, neighborhood joints, but their substantial achievements - food and beyond - are on their own terms, and that makes them just as pleasurable and worthwhile to me as Jean-Georges.

Ira Robbins is a writer, editor and amateur cook who lives in Brooklyn. He is the editor of TrouserPress.com and is completing a novel about '60s revolutionaries.