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Eaten, Barely Blogged: A Week of Fry-Days

Sel de Mer: Brooklyn Star is only a block or so from where I had gotten my haircut, but pig’s tails, sweetbreads and tripe chili didn’t mesh with the meatless Friday season I’m not taking part in but sympathetic to. Traif’s bacon doughnuts have been on radar sine I first heard about them, but no. We’d already missed Maison Premiere’s happy hour, so another time. I figured restaurants near the Graham stop would be safer on a Friday night, which wasn’t true at all. After 25 minutes or so at Mother’s across the street, a table was ready. Four oysters (I’ve already forgotten which west coasts and which east coasts were being served) and simple moules marinière and frites were eventually consumed.

Carroll Gardens Classic Diner: First, I realized that I eat at pubs way more than I had thought. Now, I’ve gone and patronized a diner twice in two weeks where if asked, I would estimate I eat a diner maybe one-to-two times a year maximum. This was far from my first choice, but the pickings are extremely slim at 3am in the Carroll Gardens/Cobble Hill/Boerum Hill area (BoCoCa really does save typing, but ugh). Bar Tabac was winding down and Domino’s and this 24-hour diner were it. After seeing a 10:20pm showing of Win Win, I checked out newish beer bar, Local 61 and sadly, they stop serving food at 11pm, so I just got drunker and hungrier and ended up eating fries (semi-steak fries, no less) for the second time in two nights (I would eat fries every night—the only thing stopping me is my stern, rational brain that becomes more permissive after a few drinks). The last, and only other time, I’ve eaten at this diner I was dismayed by my monte cristo being served open-faced and assumed it was peculiar to this sandwich that’s always mangled in NYC. This time, I ordered a reuben…and same thing! Two slices of rye side-by-side, topped with sauerkraut, pastrami and a broiled skin of swiss cheese encasing the whole sprawling affair, thousand island dressing served on the side. I like my sandwiches assembled.

Waterfalls: I never see this Atlantic Avenue restaurant that I think is Syrian (despite the generic Middle Eastern qualifier) crowded. We were the only diners after work on a Thursday, though the woman at the cash register answered the phone steadily and the delivery guy was getting a workout. Mouhamarah, the red pepper and ground walnut dip, to start and Lamb schawarma platter with babaghanouj, rice and salad and warm pita that’s practically pizza-sized. They also serve pizza but do not call it pitza like at Zaytoons.

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