My fiance was born and raised in Brooklyn. But he is the first one to proclaim how our (formerly his) Cobble Hill apartment is so vastly different from the outer Brooklyn of his youth, which resembled less desirable suburban towns rather than funky urban enclaves. Still, his Brooklyn pride runs deep. And, as they say, you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but…you know the rest of the story. So, when I glow with glee over Manhattan transfers, claiming how so many of Brooklyn’s finest institutions first began just west of us, I am met with accusations of not recognizing the outer borough’s sheer wonder in its own right. And he has some good points, but I like to think that Brooklyn Fish Camp, Joe’s Pizza, Cube 63 and Frankie’s give me a few points as well.
Well, we could volley with the ‘whose borough is better game’ all day, ad infinitum, or we could spend a little time talking about one such migration that I would visit even if it settled a third time in Staten Island (well, that was slightly hyperbolic but still…). I’m choosing the latter.
We ate at Po last week, and I can’t seem to get the computer to put the little accent over the ‘o’, so please excuse this glaring omission. As many of you probably know, Po began on Cornelia Street in the West Village (which happens to be the shortest street in Manhattan), dishing out delicious, moderately priced Northern Italian cuisine. Now, in the tradition of borough hopping, Po Brooklyn has so graciously arrived on our doorstep, festooning the already well-decorated Smith Street. Yum.
Really, yum. Do: go early or call for a table. Try to sit in the window. Though we were virtually on top of our neighbors, it made for a lovely evening of chatting and dining, much in the spirit of our friendly, family oriented neighborhood (the couple next to us was our parents’ age; they told us that, after visiting with their daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren, they go out on the town before heading back to New Jersey- one for the Brooklyn team, my fiancé shouts from the stands!).
The portabella salad was lovely-a beautifully marinated mushroom with deliciously fresh greens. The goat cheese starter was less memorable but that’s ok because the cod and tagliarini were a fight to the death-meaning that we fought over every last bite on the plate. True, it’s hard to do anything bad with truffles, and who would want to, but it wasn’t just the pasta with white truffle oil that danced in our mouths. The cod was flaky and…yum. I’m out of descriptors. Go there and it will be yums all around.
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