170 Wythe @ N. 7th
I can't believe I finally went and ate here. It had received decent reviews, but I was really reluctant to go, as it seemed to symbolize to me all of the bad parts of gentrification that have come to Williamsburg in the past 6 or 7 years. Located in the former home of a Polish bakery, the outside of the building has all these clever Brooklyn-themed signs that made me think of Bennigans/TGI Friday's/any chain restaurant that decorates with pointless signs and kitschy chotchkes. (Boy I like those two words together...kitschy chotchkes! kitschy chotchkes!) Unfair, sure, but I simply assumed I would hate it.
Long story short - I had brunch here today with Helen and it was pretty good, even taking into account that brunch is the worst meal to judge a restaurant on. The interior is HUGE, with a weird mix of tons of hanging plants and historical artifacts from Ye Olde Willamsburgh days in a skylight-lit room. The historical stuff in the decor was actually interesting but cracked me up, making me feel like I was in a Williamsburg tourist trap (has it really come to that?). If Mark Twain or George Washington had set foot anywhere near Brooklyn, there would have been a historical marker. The menu is a standard yet interesting mix of panini/pizza/benedicts/ flavored waffles & pancakes, and the pricey $12 brunch price for most of these items includes one alcoholic drink. Service was friendly and attentive, surprising me again by providing something other than contemptuous hipster staff. I think I may go again and be forced to admit my reverse snobbery was unwarranted.
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2 comments:
never made it there, either. mostly out of spite, but that has always been a good enough reason for you or me. and also would rather give my business to the crazy sardinians across the street.
did i mention i ran into hitler joe hupalo a few months ago and he told me the sad news; mama is gone. she was the only good one.
let's see if you get this one.
Love the Sardinians at D.O.C. myself. Hitler Joe...I wonder if he and Peytr are fighting over that $400 apartment or if one of them finally gets to live alone at the age of 45. RIP Mama.
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