AKA “The Day I Ate Too Much”
Two weekends ago Donny and I met up at Red Hook with our friend Steph. What followed is a pretty good example of what happens to me when I let my food obsessions get the better of me — and by the end of the day I was in an uncomfortable food coma. If you judge me, dear reader, do not judge me too harshly, for I have paid a heavy price for my gluttony.
I arrived at the ball field a little early, so I scoped out the trucks so I could plan my eating. I noticed one of the trucks had pacaya, a root vegetable battered and deep fried that I had only seen once before, on my first ever visit to the ball field. I also noticed that one of the trucks had vegetarian tacos, so I kept that knowledge in the back of my mind, just in case. Donny & Steph arrived, and we began to choose our foods.
The pacaya was much more bitter than I remembered, but it was still pretty good. I especially enjoyed the tortillas underneath, which had soaked up all of the leftover sauces and salsas by the time I got down to them. I only gave myself a few minutes before going for the vegetarian tacos.
As they were only $2.50 each I went ahead and got two of them. Unlike some of the other vendors who pile up zucchini and/or mushrooms on their vegetarian fare, these were refreshingly simple and delicious. Beans, cheese, salsa, some fresh veggies on doubled-up tortillas. Not pictured is the best thing I consumed all day — pineapple water (“Not juice,” the guy corrected me). Sweet and tart with chunks of pineapple floating in it, I was willing to call it whatever he wanted.
By this point I’d consumed enough food to bring down an angry hippo, but we decided to head over to a bar called the Ice House, where Donny & Steph had been previously. Steph especially praised the onion rings as some of the best she’d ever had. I was intrigued, particularly because Ice House is on the same stretch of Van Brunt St as several other foodie destinations.
Walking through Red Hook when the weather is nice is one of my favorite things to do in the city. On the way we passed by some interesting things:
The Red Hook Community Farm…
And even more intriguing, the Truck Farm! It’s a pick-up truck with the bed filled with soil, and plants growing in it. Our minds were practically blown by the awesomeness of it.
We arrived at the Ice House to find that most of their patio had been reserved by a “White Trash Baby Shower.” Seriously. We still managed to find a few seats in the sun and ordered some beers — we were still too full to admit we were going to order onion rings. That only lasted about half an hour.
When the onion rings arrived Donny & Steph looked disappointed. THey weren’t the same onion rings they’d been served before at the Ice House. They were fine, nothing special, though they paired wonderfully with the barbecue sauce that came as one of the condiments (presented in an empty Corona 6-pack box).
After spending some more time nursing our drinks, we split up. Steph had a party to attend; Donny and I had plans to meet up in Park Slope with our friend Anh to see UP. The movie was great, of course, though I thought the 3-D was unnecessary and I enjoyed it more when I took off the 3-D glasses. After the movie we decided to grab some food. Why? I can’t answer that question. We settled on Anthony’s because it was close and none of us had ever been there.
We seemed to all agree that pizza was the way to go, so instead of each ordering individual pies we got the House Pie, with mushrooms on it. At $16 (plus $2 for the shrooms) it made the most sense, economically speaking, to split three ways. It came out of the kitchen quite quickly (unintended alliteration!), and we dove in. It was fine, nothing really special. Certainly not destination pizza. If someone suggested eating there I wouldn’t actively discourage it, but I can’t say it was great pizza. Still, we ate the whole thing — two full slices each and then the remaining two slices split three ways.
At this point I was going into that food coma I mentioned, and so I knew I had to call it quits. I said my goodbyes and returned home to rub my belly to soothe it. It didn’t work particularly well. “Never again,” I promised myself, though I don’t think I believed me.
Ice House — 318 Van Brunt St, Brooklyn
Anthony’s — 426 A 7th Ave, Brooklyn