I mostly don't like food writing. I read it, because I'm interested in it, but like the old saying about music writing goes, writing about food is like
Still, I'm compelled to try it, because why the fuck not; I'm posting this on a blog I forgot I had, which I doubt is read by anyone at all. Hell, it's the least popular of my three personal blogs, and that's saying something because one of those is defunct and the other gets about five updates a year. Okay, so: I went to this place last night called Do or Dine, which, believe it or not, is only one of several "ugh" moments involved with this place. That's not to say that I didn't like it--just the opposite, actually, but it has some problems and I think those problems are interesting in a way that's bigger than the restaurant or the food they serve.
So, Do or Dine. The name is a pun on the nickname/slogan for the neighborhood the restaurant marginally falls into, Bed-Stuy. That name is a problem. Bed-Stuy is gentrifying, yes, though not as fast as many other neighborhoods in the city. Historically, it's been one of the most feared and dangerous neighborhoods in what historically was a fairly dangerous borough in a fairly dangerous city. New York City is no longer dangerous, and Brooklyn is something entirely different than it was even twenty years ago, and as go the city and the borough goes the neighborhood. Bed-Stuy isn't so much being gentrified as being shrunk, more blocks swallowed every year by the hungry neighborhoods of Clinton Hill to the west and Bushwick to the north. The "Do or Die Bed-Stuy" that the Notorious BIG rapped about? That's the heart of Clinton Hill now, a neighborhood that for now is pleasantly diverse and very safe. Bed-Stuy is still Bed-Stuy in large chunks, but near its borders, there are oases for white people--between the West African markets and the fried chicken joints (which sounds like a racist stereotype but really is not), a place like Do or Dine can pop up, entirely pleased with itself for being where it is.
The restaurant subscribes to that curious and misguided notion that it is cool to move into a space and retain the awning and signage used by whatever the space was prior to the restaurant moving in. A few blocks further into Clinton Hill, a decent but not exceptional northern Italian spot called Locanda Vini e Olii resides in a beautiful old Brooklyn pharmacy. The restaurant is branded with a huge LEWIS DRUG sign outside, with no accompanying sign to let diners know that um this place is actually serving wild boar meatballs and not bottles of quinine. Do or Dine is the same, marked by a loud red-and-yellow awning proclaiming it as a "West Indian-American Restaurant" of the sort that serves curries in steamer trays and litters that section of Bed-Stuy. In tiny, misaligned letters--like, an inch tall, maybe--under that proclamation, it reads "Do or Dine." Underneath the awning is a carpet or wall hanging or something that reads "Do or Dine" in much bigger, albeit less legible, letters, which you cannot see unless you are standing directly underneath the awning and thus within three feet of the restaurant's front door. This is annoying. I asked our server about it, and I'm pretty sure he thought I was complimenting the awning, which I wasn't, because it's annoying. It's a weird kind of false authenticity, like the name Do or Dine itself, like a white kid bragging about living in Bed-Stuy rather than acknowledging that he lives there because it's cheap.
Do or Dine does not belong in that neighborhood, which is of course not to say that it shouldn't be there; it serves other people like its servers, or like me, to be honest, of which there are a growing number nearby, and it makes some very good food, and I don't begrudge it being there even a little. Any location in which a restaurant can survive is a location in which that restaurant should be. But I don't much like the boasting, the idea that it's cool to live or work in Bed-Stuy. Mostly, I feel uncomfortable with gentrification: I don't know why, but I feel like if I have to participate in the process, the least I can do is refrain from flaunting it. It seems more respectful, somehow. But regardless, this whole idea of race and economics and gentrification is way too big and too sensitive an idea for me to write about, especially at 2AM while slightly drunk. Not that I'd be capable of writing about it at other times, but, you know.
Oh, the food. The food's pretty good. The small plates are mostly very good; the foie gras doughnut with apricot marmalade is excellent, as are the deep-fried deviled eggs with culantro (sic) and bacon, and the lamb belly with cumin and lime. The octopus tacos suck, as all tacos in New York are contractually obligated to do. The beef tartare was laced with some kind of mayo or creme fraiche or something and was creamier and milder than I like, and could have used more croutons, but tasted fine. Curiously, the entrees were mostly not good. The salmon was not only boring but also badly overcooked and dry--a hard thing to do with salmon. It was served with tomatoes and olives and smashed potatoes, which, snore. The beef was fine but dull. The duck with kiwi and fennel (a friend of mine, unaware apparently that the New Zealand bird known as the kiwi is both not a duck and severely endangered, stated he was looking forward to eating some "kiwi breast." Mockery ensued.) is pretty good, but the way to eat at Do or Dine is to order basically every small plate that looks appealing and share them, and drink beer.
The place is nicely cheap, and (thank god) BYOB. At my meal there, I paired, well, everything I ate with a giant, two-dollar can of Yuengling, which I highly recommend. Beer would be better than wine here, I think. The space is nice; there's a fair-sized outdoor area hung with Christmas lights, which is preferable if the weather makes it preferable. Service was attentive and honest--the server admitted the entrees are not the restaurant's strong point, which is very true, and nice to know. For maybe six small plates and three entrees, split between five people, the meal came out to $30 a person, including tip, which I think was about half what we had been expecting.
I'll probably go back. It's two long blocks from my apartment, and the food is sometimes great, and I am easily swayed by offers of BYOB. But I will also probably roll my eyes a little, or point out to any guests that I do not think the misleading awning is cool.
Image via Brownstoner
