It’s been a splendid month of tastes, many now taking place beyond the four walls of my own Brooklyn kitchen. From the summer’s first lobster roll at Captain Scott’s Lobster Dock in New London, Connecticut, to the exquisite cuisine of Persia by way of Brooklyn’s Sofreh; from the gorgeous beet, fennel and goat cheese salad at Trattoria Bianca (in the New Yorker Hotel), to the four-course tasting dinner on the patio at Claro; from a stalwart tuna salad on seeded rye at the New Amity on Madison Avenue, to the fabulous aged burger with bacon jam and taleggio at Tribeca’s Kitchen, many restaurants are humming. Loudly. Add to that, the cacaphony at home. From a bag full of voluptuous heirloom tomatoes from Saturday’s farmer’s market (um, $18 worth), sliced thick and drizzled with my friend’s organic olive oil (by way of Los Olivos, California and her amazing company, Global Gardens), to the always-fun whirl of pesto made entirely from the basil on my windowsill; from roasted cod and buttery corn consumed in our flowering backyard, to the ripe flesh of succulent nectarines (from Coney Island Avenue where good fruit is both a luxury and commodity), our chins have been sticky with the juice of summer.
Tostada de esquites (heirloom corn, bottarga, queso fresco)
But first, Claro. Located on Third Avenue off Union Street in Brooklyn (an exuberant 15-minute downhill walk from our house), this early-on trendy dining spot, boasting the authentic flavors (and ingredients) from Oaxaca, both surprised and surpassed a memory of a pre-Covid meal there long ago. First time around, their menu was prickly and oddball, so there was nothing I really cared to eat or drink; except for the freshly-made charcoal blue-gray tortillas, and anything that sounded remotely bug-free. The menu, with its cricket vinaigrette and challenging wine list, had me order, instead, a large glass of tequila (my first) on the rocks (lime wedge on the side). My husband told me I never stopped talking. (Wine does not have that affect on me). Although I love the word “claro” and recently used it in a poem, I never had the urge to return.
Aguachile (scallops, melon, serrano)
But our friend, the food journalist from Newsday, was eager to try it and we’re so glad we did. Sitting outside at a wonderful stone bar overlooking a towering kitchen window, we pretended we just landed in Mexico. The food was mostly exceptional (and even worth its $72 prix fixe, four-course meal). In fact, the first courses (we each tried something different) would together have created one of the best meals I’ve had all year: Aguachile (scallops, galia melon, serrano); Tostada de esquites (heirloom corn, bottarga, queso fresco, chintextle); and Tosdada de Tuna (Montauk yellowfin, salsa negra, puffed amaranth) were sensational. Mole rojo with pork cheeks and pea shoots, and mole negro with pekin duck, potato and spring onion were also excellent and although complex, were a tad sweet. Full to the brim, after our last bites of churros and arroz con leche, we welcomed the walk (uphill) back home, clutching chocolate bars given to us by Shari, the seriously experienced and brilliant host, who explained the micro-batch collaboration between La Rifa and Claro BK (#elchocolaterifa). Recommended with a shot of mescal (their list is extensive).
And then there’s Sofreh. One of my very favorite places to dine in New York, with extraordinary tastes that linger still, deserves a blog post of its own. Coming soon.