Sometimes I wish I lived in the foodie heaven of NYC. My waistline, however, reminds me I never should.
On this stop-over (back from Utah skiing on our way to Sweden), we had decided on dinner at the nearby Williamsburg Fatty ‘cue for their “meat hipster” attractiveness (just learned that word – must be the backlash to “hipster vegan”). On arrival we found the place closed for renovations. #Fail. While considering our options, Steve, Chef de Cuisine (and Pitmaster!) at the Williamsburg branch emerged from the BBQ wafts of the alleyway. By the time he had told us all about their local chops, home smoked at the back of the house or cooked for hours, with herbs and spices grown on a nearby Brooklyn rooftop, we were salivating. Sensing our disappointment at the closed restaurant, Steve, a sweetheart and true PR genius called us a car and footed the bill for the trip over to the West Village location. He didn’t know he was talking to a journalist either – that’s service!
At Fatty ‘cue on Carmine St, the staff was relaxed, hip, in a genuinely good mood and happy to welcome us. One of our friends, who is an architect, was impressed by the interior design which he said “reflected the asian/southern BBQ cross-kitchen”.
Our appetite was wetted with a shot of bourbon and a home-made pickleback. (For those of you, like me, who are not too familiar with picklebacks, it’s a chaser made from pickle juice. This one was house-made, with briney flavors perfectly balanced by the fresh flavors of ginger, citrus, pepper and rice vinegar.) After a couple of starters – a mild cheese and chillies platter and an ok chicken-aubergine salad, we went for the kill: juicy, fat-dripping, finger-lickin’ Heritage Pork Ribs. Cajsa was dipping her ribs in the delicious juices and gnawing the bones. It was THAT good!
I never caught the name of our waitress (an angel!), but had a nice chat with the manager, Scott, who fit right in to the place with his scruffy beard and relaxed t-shirt. He told us about their views on buying as sustainable ingredients as they can, specifically focusing on local meats from small producers. While talking, I nearly missed the scrumptious ice-cream sundae served in a mason jar. Someone else at the table had found a spoon, and it was going fast…
For being a quick night out on our last day on this trip, it sure turned out to be a nice one. Though I must admit, as my head is hitting the pillow, that my fingers smell quite distinctively of smokey, fish-sauce-tinged fatty goodness. Reminding me I need to go back on that diet come morning.