Metta

Wandering around Fort Greene on a fall evening is like floating through a Brooklyn dream. Majestic brownstones line the sides of the quiet roads, kids scoot home with parents hurrying along side, flowers fill the front gardens and climb over front doors, and trees line the sidewalks. It's picturesque. When you then round the corner and find a glass-fronted, plant-surrounded, bustling restaurant, you should definitely go in. Hopefully the restaurant you walked into is called Metta.

The main focus of this restaurant? The open wood fire. It warms the room (both atmospherically and temperature-wise), is the source of much of its attention, and dominates the menu. In a good way. The executive chef, Noberto Piattoni, hails from Argentina, where he spent time learning the magic of cooking over fire with the food world’s fire god, Francis Mallman.

The menu features a showstopper steak cooked on the wood-fired grill and served with an addictive chimichurri. I'll now never want to each chicken that's not cooked over a fire. And I'll need to build a fire before I next try to cook mackerel. But that was only the mains. We started with crispy, crunchy schmaltz potatoes (aka marathon runner's heaven), and charred flatbread with tzatziki. Then we worked our way through the farmers' market with the small plates: tonnato with market vegetables, charred fairytale eggplant, and a salad of peach, rye berries, charred tomato, tomatillo and crème fraîche.

We were pretty overwhelmed by char by this point. We loved it, but charred sweet potato wasn't the dessert we were craving. So back we went to Van Leeuwen for ice cream, because that's our routine these days.

Metta, 197 Adelphi Street, Brooklyn, NY 11205.

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The Good Egg

It's rare that I'm willing to wait more than five minutes for breakfast. Let alone an hour and a half. Especially when that hour and a half means I could be late for a flight. But when we'd finally found an opportunity on an all too rare trip back home to visit The Good Egg, the flight and my rumbling tummy were going to have to be a little patient.

After a walk round Abney Park Cemetery, we soon returned for coffees on the bench outside, and finally a table was ready. Once you're inside with a second cup of coffee in hand, and a slice of babka to nibble on, it's clear why everyone's so unwilling to give up their precious seat on a Sunday morning. 

As New Yorkers, we're spoilt for babka options. With Breads being the hands-down favorite in this city, it was with slight trepidation that we tried our first slice of British babka. Thankfully Oded, The Good Egg's chief babka chef, who has Ottolenghi on his list of "people who trained me and taught me magic," knows how to make the perfect twisted, chocolate-filled, yeasted bread. 

Rumbling stomaches had been silenced with this perfect chocolate breakfast, so now it was time to figure out how we could order as much of the menu as possible. A return trip sadly isn't going to happen in the near future, so the choosing pressure was on. I opted for a classic: shakshuka. With fried halloumi. Because when adding fried halloumi to your breakfast is an option, why would you say no?

Other highlights from our table overflowing with food were the Iraqi aubergine pita with eggs (see top), and the house beef salami hash. Everything was packed full of flavor, ridiculously more-ish, and if I lived nearby, I'd be here every weekend.

The Good Egg have been on an amazing journey, which has been so fun to watch (from afar) over the last couple of years. Joel and the team have created such a buzzy, tasty place. I'm so grateful I finally got a chance to brunch at this top spot, and Londoners, you better get yourselves there ASAP. I promise it's worth the wait.

The Good Egg, 93 Stoke Newington Church Street, London N16 0AS.

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Sardine

Our penultimate night on our trip back home, we unexpectedly managed to get both our families together. Where can you find a table for nine people at short notice for a Friday night in London? I thought we were on to an impossible task, but somehow, by some lucky occurrence, perfectly-located (for us, not for the rest of the world. Its location behind the McDonald's on City Road, is actually a little upsetting) Sardine had space for us all.

On this beautiful summer day, Sardine provided the perfect opportunity to imagine we were all on holiday in the South of France, rather than by City Road. I imagine that on less gorgeous summer days, stepping into tiled, sleek Sardine would be a welcome escape from this typically grey, drizzly city.

As there were so many of us we were on a set-ish menu. Shorter than the normal one, but there were still choices. We started with the prettiest array of appetizers to fight over amongst ourselves. There were plenty for everyone, but we're a greedy lot, so fight we did. Colorful crudités with a garlicy, rich anchoïade (see the photo above!); delicate slices of Jésus Basque salami; salty, satisfying more-ish brandade toast.

We were then split between ajo blanco & melon and chicken liver parfait. If you like chicken liver parfait, that was great. I don't love it, but I did love the bowl of creamy, satisfying chilled gazpacho-y soup, with sweet chunks of melon dotted around the center.

By this point, we'd all fallen in love with Sardine. We were sipping on carafes of the wine 'on tap' (both the white and red were elegant, dangerously drink-able, and a perfect match for the simple yet perfected food) and our loud voices echoed round the space.

Everything continued to get better and better. The options for mains were rabbit Leg, borlotti beans, rocket & mustard, i.e. hearty comfort food, brightened by greens and tangy mustard. Cod, clams & saffron stew, courgette & anchovy toast may not have been beautiful, but was the ideal fish stew: bright, messy, and full of seaside dreams. Girolles, grilled polenta, rainbow chard & crème fraîche was earthy, with a total array of textures: crispy polenta, soft mushrooms, almost crunchy chard, and velvety crème fraîche.

And yes, you better believe that after all that we had dessert. Yes, we were already full, but there'd been a beautiful apricot & brown butter tart sitting on the counter of the open kitchen staring at me all night, so everyone needed a slice. It was perfect. Yes. Totally, utterly, completely perfect.

Sardine, 15 Micawber Street, London, N1 7TB

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Olmsted

I'm not sure where time goes in this city. Days turn into weeks turn into months. Hence the lack of love this blog gets, and the time it took us to finally eat at Olmsted.

Pete Wells gave this farm-to-table style restaurant in Prospect Heights two of his sought-after golden stars almost a year ago. Since then, there's been a webcam on the restaurant's site so you can see how long the queue is. This, as you can understand, is partly why it took us so long to dare to try to eat there.

B's birthday was finally the time to tackle the line. We got there early. The wait? An hour. It may sound like a while, but it was only 6pm, so really it worked out in our favor. We wandered over to the Bearded Lady for a drink, and came back to take the two vacant seats at the bar.

Two glasses of bubbly were ordered. We spent the next five minutes admiring the beautiful details of the space. From the colorful water glasses, to the menu folded like a letter, to the beautiful light streaming in through the windows.

When you have such high expectations from a place, both as a result of the critics' reviews, the popularity, and friends' recommendations, it can often end up being underwhelming. But Olmsted honestly did live up to the hype. The food was bright, delicate, original, and oh so pretty.

Snap pea sushi used snap peas instead of rice, with thinly sliced fish placed on top, adorned with a slither of lemon, and splattered with a zingy, refreshing dressing.

Fried pickles was a bowl filled with lightly-battered, warm, crunchy, tangy fiddlehead ferns.

If I could have the B.L.T. bowl for lunch every day, I would. Delicate salad leaves, baby tomatoes, and squares of pork belly hid underneath a salty, shattering parmesan frico hat.

Then came the dishes of many parts. First the English Pea Falafel: a pile of falafel balls on pea shoots, fluffy peata bread, bright cardamom labneh, and fresh mint. Perfect early summertime flavors.

The pastrami tray was a stark contrast to the other dishes. Everything was still pretty and delicate, but the flavors took a dramatic change of course with mustard coated pastrami, sweet cornbread, creamy potato salad, and crisp slaw. Who'd have thought that serving American barbecue in adorable portions on a pretty plate would actually work out? There's some sort of magic going on in the Olmsted kitchen.

Be sure to ask if you can have dessert outside. The backyard is a gardener's haven, and home to the most adorable pet quails. On this hot summer's evening, this is perhaps the most romantic place in Brooklyn: fireflies dart through the fairylight-strewn space, couples sip on tea, eat soft-serve cherry ice cream and lavender honey froyo, and hope the night will never end.

Olmsted, 659 Vanderbilt Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11238

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Portland Snapshots

Portland favs:

Ava Gene's

Salt and Straw

Mount Hood Hikes

Running up Mount Tabor

Stumptown

Voodoo Doughnuts

Blue Star Doughnuts

Japanese Garden

Tabor Bread

Walk to the top of Kings Heights

Neighborhood: SE Hawthorne

Alder & Co

Powell's Books

Poler Stuff

Pok Pok

Kure Juice Bar

Namu

Lardo

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Ava Gene's

We've found our new favorite neighborhood restaurant. Unfortunately it's not in our neighborhood. Or city. Or state. It's a five hour flight away, over in Portland. I'm still not sure what to do about this situation: if a move to Portland were possible, that would be best. Hey, Ava Gene's, fancy moving over to New York, and bringing the Portland lifestyle with you? And maybe some of those mountains too?

Of the four nights we spent in Portland, two were spent at Ava Gene's. This wasn't intentional. But it was a happy accident. By our second visit, we'd befriended the waiter and felt more like locals than we've managed to achieve anywhere other than Van Leeuwen in 2 years in Brooklyn.

When a restaurant tells you that "our story can be told through our pasta," the executive chef has just written a beautiful, uber-seasonal, vegetable-forward cookbook, and it's located in your dream Portland neighborhood, you can be pretty sure you're walking into a great meal. When Bon Appétit won't stop shouting about it, you can be pretty sure it's going to be wonderful. And after the first sip of a Negroni Sbagliato, we were head-over-heels in love.

On both visits we shared as many antipasti, giardini (veggie-centric salady things), and primi (pasta!) as we could manage. All the pasta is milled, rolled, and cut in house. This could lead to the claggiest, most indigestible pasta in the world. Obviously, it doesn't. It makes some of the best.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that we loved every single thing. Huge plates of greens, radishes with tonnato, pane with borlotti beans and rosemary, and bruschetta piled high with favas and English peas filled the table with color and bright flavors. Linguine with clams, Sunday's special sugo, agnolotti pillows which burst like magical candy, and charred spiced chicken combined the most spectacular pasta with the freshest Portland ingredients, and made for four very happy, greedy people.

We'd started dreaming of a future in Portland as soon as we arrived, and Ava Gene's made the return to this big, tough, sweaty East coast city 100% harder.

Ava Gene's, 3377 SE Division St, Portland, OR 97202.

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Ba Xuyên

Ever since I visited Vietnam, and then worked round the corner from London's Kêu, I have been obsessed with bánh mì.  Something about that crunchy on the outside, soft in the middle baguette, the rich, roasted meat, the tangy, lightly-pickled veggies, and the hot, hot chili has me oooh-ing and aaaah-ing after every bite.

New York Sunday afternoons are best spent exploring a far-flung neighborhood, hunting out a niche meal. We've done this with baklava, whiskey, fried chicken, barbecue, and, of course, dumplings, to name a few. Bánh mì was next on the list.

A sunny day on the top of Sunset Park has the most magnificent views of Manhattan. Once you've climbed to the top, soaked up the blue skies, the seemingly endless sprawling city, and given your legs a break, it's high time for lunch. Stroll down the other side of the hill, into the residential streets of Sunset Park, and keep winding until you arrive at Ba Xuyên.

Pick a bánh mì from the pictures at the front, and in anywhere between five and 20 minutes you'll have a giant sandwich in your hands. Crisp, crumbling baguette crust spills all over your lap when you bite into it. It gives way to the soft white bread, and underneath that, you'll find roughly chopped, deeply flavored meat, sweet, lightly pickled julienned veggies, bunches of fresh cilantro, and the occasional spicy chili pepper. It's rich, satisfying, and immensely craveable. The combination ingredients, and crazy affordable price, makes it well worth trekking to Sunset Park for your Sunday lunch.

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Lucali

Naming the best pizza in New York will lead to an argument. It's inevitable. I think even I have named at least three pizza restaurants the best in the city, and now I'm back to add a fourth to that list.

Lucali is famous for its wait, the occasional visits from Beyoncé, the fact that the owner and chef had never actually been to Italy when he opened this place, and, of course, its pizza.

Deep in Carroll Gardens, this restaurant is packed full of locals, Manhattanites who've journeyed here for the (maybe) best pizza in NYC, and a couple of in-the-know tourists, every night of the week. Get there early, and be prepared to disappear for a while to wait. On our first visit the wait was around four hours (I'm not exaggerating). The second, it was closer to two. So make sure you have a pre-dinner drinks option planned before you go. We're fans of August Laura, which is only a couple of blocks away.

You could also use this time to go and select your wine to drink with dinner. Lucali is entirely BYO. If you forget, you'll be having Pepsi. So don't do that.

When you do get inside, it's obvious why everyone is happy to spend so long waiting to walk over the guarded threshold. Tables are spaced out through the front half of the room. The back half is taken up by an expansive kitchen space. The lights are dimmed to that perfect this-is-romantic-but-I-can-still-see-you level, wood furniture adds a hint of traditional Italian trattoria, and everyone is talking, whispering, laughing, sipping, and eating slice after slice of pizza.

There's not really a menu. Someone will recite the toppings to you as they open your wine, and the rest is up to you. Select the toppings and the size of pizza. As a general rule, one large pizza between two fairly hungry people is ideal. I'll let you pick your own toppings. Our favorite has to be simply as it comes, topped with all the basil and garlic the kitchen has on hand.

Start pouring the wine, and sip away until your crisp, thin, sizzling pizza arrives on its pedestal. Fold each slice and eat. I guarantee you'll declare this to be the best pizza you've ever had in the city. It's probably true.

Lucali, 575 Henry Street, Brooklyn, NY 11231.

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Freek's Mill

Freek's Mill isn't the kind of restaurant you stumble across on a Friday evening. While an evening stroll through Gowanus may not have been top of my parents to-do list on their most recent visit, eating at Freek's Mill with them was top of mine.

Pass the disused cars, parking lots, and empty warehouses, and you'll find a glowing haven, with a beautiful logo painted on the side, sitting on the corner of this cobbled Brooklyn road. Inside, tables line the walls, a counter wraps round the front windows, a bar glimmers, and the sounds of an open kitchen travel through from the next room.

This restaurant isn't for the selfish. The menu of sharing plates has to be split amongst you all: the rich, deep flavors of each dish make a few mouthfuls of each perfect, but eating the entire serving of it alone would be a challenge. An umami-party like this one requires good friends, plenty of funky wine, and a couple of hours to really take in the wide range of dishes presented to you.

Tuscan kale with honey crisp apples, Marcona almonds, and Beechers cheddar. Yet another competitor for top kale salad. How are there quite so many spectacular kale salads in this city? It's amazing.

Charred radicchio with straciatella and candied walnuts. Sweet enough to absorb the leaves' bitter flavor, with the creamy fresh cheese bringing rich comfort.

Montauk scallop crudo with pickled persimmon, cilantro, and crème fraîche. Refreshing, zingy, sweet, creamy: balancing magic.

Roasted beets with chickpeas, speck, and soft boiled egg. The prettiest comfort food.

Octopus with peewee potatoes and chorizo vinaigrette. No chewiness on this giant octopus tentacle. Smoky potatoes and paprika-heavy vinaigrette bought a hint of Spain to the table. And alongside that we devoured Brussels sprouts with apple-maple butter and bacon. All sprouts should be eaten like this forever and ever.

Pappardelle with rabbit ragu, guanciale, and wild nettles felt a little strange sitting amongst the other heavily flavored dishes, but in itself was an example of perfect pasta. If you needed proof that the Freek's Mill team can cook, this is is.

We were warned when we ordered roasted pork jowl with smashed cucumbers, cashews, and cilantro, that the joy of this dish was in the fat. This fatty meat was tender, and, drenched in Szechuan-inspired flavors, it was beautifully more-ish. But yes, the joy was in the fat.

We found dessert round the corner at Ample Hills (because you can't be that close to ice cream heaven and not visit). The perfect food-filled Friday night. In Gowanus. Sometimes Brooklyn really does seem magical.

Freek's Mill, 285 Nevins Street, Brooklyn, NY 11217.

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