Frankie Gets Baked

After the Palm House, and inspired by my father's driving, we decided to road-trip Brooklyn. The weather progressively lifted until it became a beautiful springy day. We traveled through the gentrifying wilds of DUMBO until we landed in Carroll Gardens. Our mission was to try Frankie's Spuntino, a hip Italian "snackery" with a carriage house that might be an option for the rehearsal dinner. The restaurant itself was warm and smelled delicious, and the interior was inviting and cozy. I would love to base a kitchen renovation off of this space. It had that quintessential "Brooklyn" vibe with exposed brick walls, a pressed tin ceiling, and filament light bulbs. The food was modestly priced and expertly prepared.







They use the red machine to slice bacon by hand to order. (Mom and I shared a BLT and they cut the bacon just before we got the sandwich.) This was a pretty image with the dishwashing steam in the background. Can you find Waldo in this picture?



This is one of those photos that while I can understand the subjects' objection to it on the basis of flattery, as a photographer, it is just such a darn interesting moment.

The carriage house is through the restaurant and down a small stairway to the back garden. One of the neat things was the view of the elevated subway, which you cannot see in these pictures. The space was really beautiful, with windows that could be opened up such that the space was fully continuous with the outside garden. We spoke with the manager of the restaurant, who sent us information about private parties in the space. While the party menus sounded delicious, the beverage options were priced oddly on the high side. And so the rehearsal dinner search will continue...







Further inspired by Dad's driving, we made our way down to Baked NYC in Red Hook, the scene of my 27th birthday. This time we ordered a grasshopper bar and a slice of hazelnut cake, neither of which we were thrilled about. Tom ordered the sweet and salty cupcake (a chocolate/caramel/sea salt confection), which was divine.






As we stood in front of the organic tote bags and hipster coffee mugs for sale, Tom remarked that it was like all of Brooklyn had been marketed to him. We looked like everyone on the street - young, white, puma-wearing, mutton chop-sporting urbanites with $3 lattes and pricey cakes. His reaction surprised me, but he's right, that Tom-of-mine. Brooklyn has become a parody, like a theme park for rich twenty-something artists. Long live Brooklynworld, USA.