It's Do or Dine at Dinner in Brooklyn

Lauren Bloomberg

Chef Justin Warner puts out inventive plates of food. Photo: Noah Fecks

          Like a catchy pop song sung by a pre-pubescent tartlet, it kept popping up wherever I went. “Have you been to Do or Dine yet?” It got stuck in my head and repeated when I wasn’t paying attention. I’d be eating a perfectly good meal at a lovely, conveniently located restaurant and there it would be. Do or Dine, Do or Dine, Do or Dine.

          So much praise has been lavished on Justin Warner and company’s Bed-Stuy restaurant that, although I had some reservations, mainly because they don’t take them, I needed to head out to Kings County to see what the hoopla was all about. I assumed it would be overwrought. Or over-thought. “Too hipster,” I announced to my friends, without knowing much about the actual restaurant of course.

          What I did know about the Danny Meyer alum and his quirky flash-in-the-pan as we drove us over the Manhattan Bridge was this: It’s far away, the food is flat-out inventive, and a disco ball pirouettes overhead. What I didn’t know, was it would be a meal that I would swoon over for days, even weeks, after. 

          Although it’s a weekday evening, the tables are filled when we arrive and we’re sent to cool our heels at the bar. I’m immediately drawn to a cocktail called the Spherical Back, a play on the whiskey-with-a-pickle-juice chaser that I’d seen on menus elsewhere but never tasted. What’s delivered is a shot of whiskey and a cup containing a slimy green, pool ball-sized orb.

 
Empy seats in the dining room are a rare occurrence. Photo: Noah Fecks

          A quick glance around the room convinces me someone might know CPR if I choke.  SO I down the whiskey and pop the ball into my mouth, looking, I imagine, somewhat like a pig with an apple in its mouth. But with some light tongue pressure the ball yields, filling my mouth with A salty sensation and washing the harsh liquor down my throat. Actually quite pleasant.

          Finally, we’re summoned to make our way over the black-and-white tiled floor to our table. There’s no debating in this duo about ordering the Foie Gras Doughnut. What arrives is a gigantic ball of fried dough stuffed with jam and an impressively smooth and silky liver mousse. I down the whole plate of fat before my husband CAN steal a second bite. As a friend once said “you may as well just paste that to your thighs.”

          According to Chef Warner, who filled in tending our table, the steak tartare served in the shape of a cow is an homage to another of the owner-partners, George McNeese. I’d be happy to eat that concoction with its oddly delicious espresso aioli daily until my over-achieving aorta gives out. Or perhaps a better way to meet my untimely death-by-fat would be through the aptly named Heart Attack – fried jalapenos oozing chevre and smoked salmon.

          Realizing that I was on an uncontrollable gluttonous tear, my husband makes sure to help himself to a few of the cheese and salsa drenched dumplings dubbed Nippon Nachos before I calm down enough to notice they’ve been dropped off at the table.

Deviled eggs get a topping of octopus. Photo: Noah Fecks

          My Pork Renderloin entree, thick coins of pink meat, is overpowered by the strange taste and texture of its wasabi-apple “gratin”, as the menu calls it. My partner’s Chicken and Woffals, fried quail over sweet waffles is more successful. But he forgets we’re committed to sharing, and seems annoyed that I keep snatching chunks of waffle from his plate. I see “Fish and Some Chips” on almost every table, a fish fried whole standing up on the plate. I regret not ordering it as well.

          Each night only one or two desserts are featured, we’re told.  To my surprise, I rather like the mango mochi balls make a clean finish after our fatty indulgance: pounded rice wrapper with a light, creamy filling.

          I even mused about having another whiskey and pickle side car under the dancing disco lights as a last hurrah before hitting the bridge home.