Brooklyn Star Gazing
It was the more-than-century-old wood brick oven that led Joaquin Baca, co-founder of the Momofuku empire, to chose the diminutive space on a lightly trafficked stretch of Havemeyer Street for his new Southern restaurant, Brooklyn Star. And indeed, framed alluringly in the exposed kitchen like the altar in a Gothic cathedral, diners and chef alike seem eager to worship at it. But while the oven grants distinctive flair to these modern takes on Dixie staples, Baca has said that it is also an ‚”organic machine,” with hot spots and cold areas, and requires some finesse. The same could be said of Brooklyn Star itself. The menu, divided between small and big plates, with oddly overlapping price ranges, offers plenty of eye-catching choices and seems affordable, on average. But a meal comprised of only the intriguing, buzzed-about (and, yes, most expensive) dishes, can still cost you, and will pass over some of the more subtle standouts.
The wood-paneled room is comfortable without being overly adorned, and the slate-topped central table feels solid enough to split some extra firewood on. Water arrives in requisite mason jars, as does unsweetened iced tea (not being a Southerner, I prefer this to the saccharine variety). First out was a half dozen raw New Brunswick oysters ($18) served with a thin ketchup-based barbeque sauce with brown sugar, vinegar, and garlic. (By the way, when exactly did oysters become mandatory for new Brooklyn restaurants?) The sauce is good enough to drink, but served sans spoon and being only about as thick as the water in the bivalves themselves–you may have to. A dining companion also described one oyster as ‚”fishy,” not a compliment to shellfish. Next, after a decent wait, was the cornbread with bacon and jalapenos ($4). It was nicely charred in the oven, but something of a layer cake: lighter than average on top, and so decadently buttered on bottom, that you may as well forego the added ingredients altogether as you won’t taste them. At this point, with a crowded, if not capacity, room and a kitchen that’s still working out the kinks, iron skillets arrived en masse, ready to singe any errant fingers, and requiring some frenzied consumption just to clear space. The mac and cheese ($9), with bacon (of course), a layer of b√©chemal, and a golden crust, drew envious stares and, surprisingly light, rivals Dumont’s for best in the neighborhood, if not beyond. However, the fried pigtails ($11), too interesting to pass up, were unpleasantly, if unavoidably, greasy and tasted like mere chicken wings, with extra bones. Much better was the accompanying ear of corn, first pickled, then fried; it’s sweet, acidic taste cuts through pig fat better than the American Flag-labeled wet naps.
This side-besting-the-main phenomenon repeated itself with the whole roasted trout with creamed corn ($21). Cooked flawlessly, the fish tasted smoky without being dried out, and was described by one of Baca’s fellow Texans seated nearby as ‚”perfect.” One might question the forest floor of herbs baked inside, neither obviously edible, nor inedible, but no matter, because at this point you’ve discovered the delectable creamed corn, flecked with hunks of actually smoked trout, and single-handedly ensuring a second visit. The secret? ‚”Lots of butter, cream, and really good corn,” said the waiter. Who knew? I had expected the night’s standout to be the ballyhooed Dr. Pepper ribs ($16), but though they fall off they bone, the sweeter-than-average sauce is more novelty than signature dish. I would happily have foregone this one last pig course for some sort of vegetation in the less ostentatious small dishes. The summer squash casserole, at half the price, would be my choice.
The upside is that Baca, trained in rapidly shifting Momofuku menus, will learn to push these highlights and weed out dishes that are better on paper than plates. If not, repeat customers will do so for him by ordering carefully, in terms of taste and cost. Other kinks–only two servers, one doubling as host, and a small kitchen staff handling a new menu; too-narrow aisles requiring constant chair shifting and back bumping–are also fixable. And once the beer license comes through (‚”I can’t wait,” said our waiter, as if reading our too-sober minds) tables empty by 9pm won’t remain so. In fact, the one dessert on offer, local strawberries dipped in corn bread batter, deep fried, and served with honey and vanilla ice cream ($5), was an enticing (though delayed) coda. Split down the middle, they resembled small, sugary avocado halves and hinted at how much affordable fun Baca could have with this place. For those looking to share in his revelry, just make sure you don’t leave without having the creamed corn. It’s about time the lowly school lunch staple had its day in the sun.
