Immaculate Infatuation

Oh Brooklyn. You’re so close, yet so far away. It definitely takes extra motivation to get Immaculate Infatuation to venture to BK, especially Dumbo. How anyone can live there and not go completely insane from the constant noise accompanying living under two bridges is beyond me. It makes you empathize with the troll from “The Three Billy Goats Gruff”. However, when we heard that a couple who met on the job at Freemans (one of our all-time favorite restaurants) opened Vinegar Hill House (V.H.H.) in Dumbo, we took it as a sign that it was time for Infatuation to expand out of borough. So without further ado … drum-roll please … we present our first Brooklyn review.

The first thing that will hit you when you walk into V.H.H. is the heady smell of smoldering firewood coming from the wood-burning oven in the open kitchen. V.H.H. has a more rural feel to it than Freemans, although they are definitely cut from a similar cloth. Feel like you’re eating in an eccentric friends dining room filled with vintage chotchkies and old family treasures? That’s because you are. The owners actually live in the house directly behind the restaurant and use the tree laden patio in-between for quaint garden dining. The old time vibe is cool, but they might want to look into some new outdoor furniture. We witnessed a fully plated table across from us crumble to the ground, spilling fine food and wine everywhere. It was kind of nuts.

Despite their lack of functioning furniture, the Hill House is well worth the trek to BK. It’s hip without giving off that “too cool” vibe some restaurants can have. The food is outstanding and, for a change, affordable.

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Sitting in Il Buco on a recent Tuesday night, one wouldn’t think our country was currently experiencing severe economic turmoil. The place is packed to the gills with people eating and drinking without a care in the world. Even some of the hottest restaurants have empty tables on “off” nights, but the fact that Il Buco is routinely slammed is a testament to the quality of the food and the unique character of the space. You won’t find another place in town quite like it. The restaurant’s rustic country vibe is as authentic as it gets. Originally opened as an antique store in the mid-90’s, the owners quickly realized their meal ticket wasn’t in the form of selling antique ceramic pots, it was the kitchen.

Il Buco has been a hotspot for a while now, attracting an older, celeb heavy crowd. Our girl Christina Hendricks (Joan on Mad Men) and her Infatuation approved ass got married here recently. The menu has become famous for its seasonal Mediterranean tapas and daily selection of homemade pastas, local poultry and fish entrees. We’d suggest focusing on the tapas and the pasta. Better yet, get a big group together and take advantage of Il Buco’s chef’s table or private dining room in the downstairs cellar.

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Believe it or not, people used to live in Williamsburg because it was cheaper than Manhattan, not because it was cool. Before the hipster invasion began in the late 90’s, the South side belonged to the Hasidim and Peter Luger. Sure, there were always artists, musicians and .com hopefuls living there, but it was nothing like it is today. Hipster idealism has spread through Brooklyn like wildfire since then, and the outbreak isn’t contained within the borough. It’s become a nation-wide epidemic. Rappers in tight pants and fedoras. PBR on tap in Oklahoma. Meatheads in Ray-Bans and artists like MGMT and Grizzly Bear blasting from frat house speakers around the country. This is getting ridiculous and The ‘Burg is to blame. The initial source of the breakout? Diner. That’s right, one little restaurant that opened back on new years of 1998 started a domino effect felt around the USA. Didn’t you read The Tipping Point?

Diner has been a Williamsburg institution for a decade now. Originally built out of necessity by two friends in need of a place to eat, drink and hang out – it soon became not only their home base, but every other recent settler’s home as well. It’s like the hipster Plymouth Rock. As expected, Diner takes the form of, well, a diner. It’s basically a hole in the wall, and if it weren’t for the constant crowds, you’d probably wonder how a place that looks like this stays in business. Everyone inside is most definitely cooler than you, but they don’t think they’re better than you. Both the clientele and staff are friendly, and generally seem to be enjoying themselves. There are no hard copies of the menu, your server personally writes the daily specials by hand on your table.

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You can walk by this place a thousand times and think “Eh, typical half-ass sports bar I’d never step foot into” and keep walking. Little do you know that tucked away in the back is a tropical burger oasis. That’s right, just like B.I.G. said, “if you don’t know, now you know.” Over the last four years, Royale has built up a cult following amongst lower Manhattan burger biters. You are more than welcome to enjoy your burger in the confines of the dark bar area but the real sell is the oversized outdoor garden. On nice days, the garden is bumpin’ with an eclectic east village crowd of day drinkers enjoying buckets o’ beer, plump burgers, and good tunes. Let’s talk about the burger.

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On a beautiful day when Frank is on full blast it’s like the East Village’s see and be seen answer to Pastis. Everyone at Frank is feelin’ it; “it” being life. The vibe is contagious, and you really can’t escape it. That is, if you can handle people in your personal space. Frank packs ‘em in like the L Train at 8:30am on a work day. What’s that? You don’t like my elbow in your spaghetti? Sorry about that, but there’s no other place for me to put it. I promise I showered this morning.

It’s not like the East Village blew up into this crazy culinary hotspot overnight. Where leaders succeed, others follow. Frank Prisinzano opened Frank in 1998 and quickly became a leader in the E.V. food movement, blazing the tastemaker trail and building an Italian empire along the way (Lil’ Frankies, Supper). Frank has been serving hungry hipsters in this hood for years now and doing it with their own DIY “we do it our way” attitude. The food is consistently solid, though a little underwhelming at times, but you come back regardless because it’s places like this that make the East Village one of the dopest neighborhoods in the entire world.

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