Andrew Napolitano

There’s a certain kind of magic that happens when a restaurant gets intimacy right. Not just intimacy in scale—though Be Pasta is certainly cozy—but in spirit. I felt it the moment I stepped through the door for Be Pasta’s grand opening, accompanied by my mother—the original source of my love for food. Her kitchen was where my earliest culinary revelations unfolded, and she showed me that when food is made with curiosity and care, it transcends nourishment and becomes a kind of storytelling. I’m happy to say that the folks at Be Pasta speak that same language. 

The space itself is small, but absolutely lovely: a single room that draws the eye directly toward the kitchen, where pasta dough is floured and folded by hand, visible behind a counter scattered with beautiful half-constructed dishes and glinting copper overhead lights. It’s a subtle act of transparency, of theater without performance. Patrons get to sip their wine while peeking into the workshop—no mirrors, no pretense, just some of the wildest pasta dishes made by people who know exactly what they’re doing. The rustic white-brick walls are decorated in an eclectic mix of Italian art, chalkboards, and even a vintage punch card machine.

Monia and Alessandro, the husband-and-wife team behind this new venture have already earned the neighborhood’s affection and esteem with their first restaurant, Terre BK, known for homemade pasta and a love affair with natural wines. Be Pasta is clearly an evolution of that passion—a slightly more playful, deeply personal project that feels as much like a dinner party as it does a dinner service.

My mother and I began with a bottle of 2022 Podere Pradarolo, a skin-contact wine from Parma that danced with floral perfume notes and finished with a whisper of rosewater. It was dynamic in the best way—structural but friendly, a wine that shapeshifted as we moved from course to course, somehow always finding the right note.

The menu at Be Pasta reads like a collection of Italian idioms, each dish named with a turn of phrase, hinting at something poetic or curious underneath. First to arrive: “The Goats and the Cabbages.” What came to the table were Brussels sprouts, blanched and bright, standing upright like little green boats. Each carried a tiny arrangement of fragola carpaccio, anchovies, capers, and a delicate drizzle of basil oil. The crunch was immediate, the flavor gently briny and herbaceous. It was one of those dishes that teaches your palate to listen closely.

Then: “To Go to Bed with the Chickens.” A plate of busiate—durum wheat pasta coiled tightly like a corkscrew—nestled into a ragu that tasted like a medieval love triangle: goose, chicken, and rabbit, all slowly stewed into harmony. The sauce was rich but not overbearing, clinging to the ridges of the pasta like it was meant to live there.

My personal favorite came next: “To Buy in a Closed Box.” Mezzi paccheri, those fat, short tubes that almost beg to be over-sauced, instead came dressed with elegance—a sauce of clams and celery root puree, crowned with peas so fresh they might’ve been picked outside the kitchen window. The name of the dish caught me, so I asked. Monia smiled and explained: in Italian, “to buy in a closed box” means to purchase something sight unseen—because your trust in the quality is so absolute, you don’t need to check inside. An ideal metaphor for this restaurant, really. You could close your eyes, point at anything on the menu, and be rewarded.

For dessert: “To Be at the Fruit.” A deconstructed caramelized pasta tart, filled with sweet Chantilly cream and paired with seasonal fruit. The crisped pasta shell, delicate and ridged, reminded me of a sfogliatella—that iconic Neapolitan pastry that shatters into a hundred flakes the moment you bite in. It was a sweet little miracle that reimagined pasta as dessert, without losing the soul of either.

But what truly elevates Be Pasta beyond the sum of its ingredients is the warmth that flows from the staff like a second wine pairing. Our host was generous and genuine, and not in that rehearsed hospitality school way. She spoke about the dishes with pride, joked with my mother like an old friend, and explained the idiomatic menu with the kind of detail only someone deeply involved would know. Executive Chef Andrea’s hand is unmistakable in every plate—there’s control without rigidity, a balance between creativity and comfort that’s as rare as it is welcome.

Be Pasta doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to. It hums along like a well-loved song, one you don’t mind hearing again and again. Be Pasta is the kind of palace you take a first date to (they will remember dinner, even if they don’t remember you!).  Be Pasta is the kind of place where you take your wife on a temperate summer evening just to celebrate being alive together. Be Pasta is the kind of palace you take your mom to show off, when she comes to visit you in Brooklyn.

Be Pasta

447 1st Street

Although the menu features a contentious rivalry of hot dog styles, Dog Day Afternoon offers a selection to satisfy even the vegan in the bunch. The restaurant’s decor and atmosphere welcomes film buffs, gamers, and hot dog fanatics alike to enjoy the classic hand-held meal together under the same roof.

Hide out from that Sirius summer heat, with some of the best franks in Brooklyn. What is a dog day afternoon exactly? We have all heard the expression, and most of the people reading this article will be familiar with the critically acclaimed 1975 film starring Al Pacino. Anybody who has lived through a summer in New York City has experience coping with the ‘dog days’ of summer, but where do we get the expression?  

Well it might surprise readers to learn that the expression originates in ancient Greece and Rome, where it was believed that in late July, Sirius’ rise in the sky alongside our sun contributed to the blistering temperatures seen in the northern hemisphere. Sirius being the astrological dog star, this period from Late July through mid August became known as the “dog days of summer’, a time for humans and canines alike to favor stillness and lethargy in merciful shade, far away from the ire of Sirius and our own beaming sun.

 And what memories do those sweltering city summer afternoons conjure up? Perhaps images of open fire hydrants, whose white jets of cool water quench the cast-iron heat of our neighborhood asphalt. Or the scent of a thousand charcoal grills wafting through the lush and shaded paths of Prospect Parks. For this writer, nothing pairs better with memories of hose water and the heat-advisory than an all-american hot dog and a cold beer.

And so for my article this summer, we move away from the formality of full service sit-down French bistros, and embrace a Brooklyn institution perhaps older than most of this Boroughs restaurants, the humble and ever versatile hot dog, and what I believe to be our neighborhoods latest and greatest purveyor: Dog Day Afternoon.

Situated between Prospect Ave and 17th Street, right off Prospect Park West, the small-yet-mighty storefront has been serving a variety of top-notch dogs to the residents of Park Slope and Windsor terrace since they opened in August of 2021.

I was first turned on to this spot last summer by a good friend of mine who had recently fallen in love with their Chicago dogs, and insisted on bringing me along to pick a few up for a movie night. Since then, my friend and I have been eating at Dog Day Afternoon with enthusiastic regularity.

 The storefront is small, but I would stop short of calling it ‘unassuming.’ On the contrary, the place is dripping with a unique and eclectic style that almost contradicts its size and spartan construction, inviting pick-up customers to linger and take in the vibes. And that vibe is good.

The walls of the shop are adorned with all kinds of NYC cinema classics; Dog Day Afternoon is there of course, right alongside another Brooklyn-classic, Do the Right thing. Ghostbusters, Rosemarys Baby, and a healthy dose of comic-book-chic transport patrons to a particular time and place.

 As a matter of fact, the first time I walked into Dog Day afternoon on a warm late summer evening, I felt the unique sensation that I had just stepped back in time, to a place and time in the city’s history not long before I was born. Despite having existed here for only three short years, there is an undeniable air of authenticity to the shop that makes one feel as if it has existed here for decades, and that it may well exist for decades to come.

On my most recent visit, I caught Jay of the owners, and I asked him about the inspiration for their establishment. The answer he gave me was equally authentic, unpretentious, and proudly matter-of-fact. “We decided we wanted to open up a hot dog shop, and I wanted it to have free games and just a good vibe.” That’s it. No grandiose marketing-heavy soliloquies common in the culinary business world. Just a good old fashioned vision, well-executed and expertly operated.

Jay and his partner Joe both worked together in the food service industry for a number of years, and when COVID-19 hit, they saw how badly restaurants and food industry workers were affected by the economic uncertainty. The experience left an understandable impression on them, and inspired them to take destiny into their own hands.

Their vision was to build something small and dynamic, with a lean-run operation and a focus on culinary specialization. Joe, who is from Chicago originally, had grown disappointed in New York’s lack of options for those partial to the Chicago Style dog, and so their idea for a dedicated neighborhood Hot Dog Shop was born.

For those New Yorkers unfamiliar with the Chicago style, a Chicago dog features an all-beef frank (Vienna Beef in the case of Dog Day Afternoon), on a poppy seed bun topped with mustard, pickle relish, diced white onion, tomato slices, dill pickle, pickled peppers and celery salt. The presentation is lavish, by hot-dog standards, a feast for the eyes as much as for the senses. 

As a proud New York-style food fan, I have to admit the Chicago dog is quite delicious, and a very welcome addition to our proud neighborhood (even IF I still narrowly prefer their New york style dog myself).

For the Spring edition of the paper, I am featuring the bright, crisp, sweet and tangy flavors of Vietnam, and my favorite neighborhood Pho spot, Ha Noi.

Nestled on the bustling southeast corner of 7th Avenue and 9th Street in central Park Slope, Ha Noi’s humble and understated facade on the ground floor of a townhouse, conceals a gem of authentic Vietnamese cooking.

Upon entering Ha Noi, guests are treated to a beautiful interior of dark exposed brick, and east asian wood decor. The ceiling, framed by sturdy wood and thick knotted rope evokes  nautical theme, as if one has just found themself entering the captain’s cabin of some 18th century galley ship. The vibe is cozy and inviting, and on most nights, patrons will find Ha Noi filled with locals, families, friends and couples on dates, quietly and cheerfully chatting over their steaming bowls of Pho and fried dumplings.

The scent of those rich soup stocks saturate the air, and the aromas married with the scent of plum sauce and fresh basil set the mood and stimulate the appetite immediately.

I first stumbled into Ha Noi on an unseasonably cool late spring evening in 2017. My wife and I had only just moved to the neighborhood a few months earlier, and in early May I had caught an absolutely terrible cold. I have thankfullynot experienced the like since, as it left me feeling like death for two straight weeks. 

At the end of my second week of this super-cold, I was so stir crazy and miserable that I decided I needed to overcome my fatigue and go for a walk with my wife. Half way up 9th street, we were bombarded by the aroma of warm meaty soup broth, and decided to poke our heads inside to find the source of the smell. So yes, ignorant of social-distancing courtesies, we sat down at a small table in the back of Ha Noi and ordered 2 bowls of the chicken curry pho.

The phrase “Chicken soup for the soul” comes to mind, but that falls short of describing the experience that that first bowl of Pho was for me at such a low point in my well-being. Each spoonful of creamy, unctuous, spicy curry broth gave me hope. I found myself staring down into the bowl, dazzled by the way the oils danced with the rice noodles and the tender chunks of white meat chicken. That bowl of soup, whether by coincidence, or by some deeper older kind of medicine, healed me that day. Two weeks of misery, fatigue, fever and chills abated that very night, and I will forever remember Han Noi for that perfectly timed bowl of soup. 

The phrase “Chicken soup for the soul” comes to mind, but that falls short of describing the experience that that first bowl of Pho was for me at such a low point in my well-being. Each spoonful of creamy, unctuous, spicy curry broth gave me hope. I found myself staring down into the bowl, dazzled by the way the oils danced with the rice noodles and the tender chunks of white meat chicken. That bowl of soup, whether by coincidence, or by some deeper older kind of medicine, healed me that day. Two weeks of misery, fatigue, fever and chills abated that very night, and I will forever remember Han Noi for that perfectly timed bowl of soup. 

And thus, like many of you reading this article, we came to love Ha Noi as our go-to place for Pho in the neighborhood.

But that’s enough about my personal experience with one magican bowl of soup. What else does Ha Noi do well? My wife’s personal favorite is the Pho Combination Special, featuring vermicelli noodles in a beef broth, beef balls, brisket, rare steak, tendons and tripe, served with a generous bundle of basil leaves, sliced jalapeno, bean sprouts, lime wedge, and hoisin sauce. 

For starters you can never go wrong with their fried pork dumplings, served with a crispy laced bottom, also known as a dumpling skirt, which is achieved by adding a thin salt-flour batter to the bottom of the pan as they fry. If you have a slightly more adventurous taste I would strongly recommend the frog legs. They are served alongside sweet onion slices, sauteed with lettuce in french butter. These tender morsels are fried to perfection and the meat is succulent, more tender than chicken wings, with a subtle sweetness.

Finally, if you are looking for a noteworthy entree you will not regret trying the Grilled Pork Banh Hoi. This is a self-serve style wrap dish featuring woven bundles of vermicelli, tender strips of sweet braised pork, peanuts, shallots, pickled carrots and daikon. These can be wrapped in lettuce leaves to form individual wraps and dipped in a sweet and salty nuoc cham sauce. The result is a bright and crispy sort-of summer roll, with a sweet and tender, garlicky pork center.

Beyond the charm of its cuisine, it is Ha Noi’s impeccable service that sets it apart. For the seven years my wife and I have been going there to dine in, or to pick up, Ha Noi’s staff have always been professional, attentive, and kind without a single exception, and that service only adds to the hearth-and-home ambiance of the establishment.

As winter’s cold chill gradually and stubbornly eases its grip on the city, and the warm bloom of spring turns a corner, I invite my neighbors to celebrate the season with the eternal vibrancy of good authentic home cooking, at Ha Noi Vietnamese Kitchen.

There is a bias in food writing toward featuring the new, the novel, and the trendy. It is important to draw attention to established places where chefs are trying out new things, or striving to elevate and reimagine cuisine.

I could argue that this place was the first neighborhood spot that made me realize how great this borough’s culinary offerings could aspire to be. And the ONLY reason I haven’t featured them in my writing yet, is because I have been distracted by what was new around the corner instead of appreciating what was great right next door.

n featuring the new, we often neglect the consistent, the classic, the local gems that grew with the neighborhood, and maintained their commitment to quality for their long-time patrons; those places that have found success long enough and maintained it, to become “staples” of their respective neighborhoods. 

I want to feature one such neighborhood gem that really deserves our appreciation.

Olivier Bistro has been serving the neighborhood of South Slope for over a decade now (August was their 10 year Anniversary). In a city with no shortage of French “brunch spots”, Olivier stands out for its truly authentic French menu options, its comprehensive listing of European liqueurs, and its rustic old-world ambiance.

When you visit, there’s a very good chance you will find Olivier Verdier, the passionate proprietor of Olivier Bistro, walking the floor of his establishment with purpose and professionalism. He is a local and a hands-on restaurateur, who appears most at ease dining at his own table. His journey traces back to his roots in Pezenas, France, where his love affair with the culinary arts ignited at the tender age of 11. He honed his cooking skills alongside his grandmother, Rose Marie, and that familial connection to the traditions of French cooking formed the bedrock upon which Olivier built his culinary dreams.

Fuelled by a storied tapestry of flavors and techniques, passed down from his family matriarchs, Olivier ventured into culinary school, refining his craft, moved to the US, and in 2013 founded his bistro.

Reflecting on his culinary pilgrimage, Olivier reminisces, “It was an accomplishment and a dream 

of many years… I opened my bistro because I wanted to give the people of Park Slope a French experience like my grandmothers used to cook!”

And Olivier’s dedication to his country’s heritage reflects in his offerings. While the Sunday brunch can contend with the best among them, where Olivier Bistro really shines is on its dinner menu, where you will find such delicacies as Foie Gras Torchon Maison with brioche toast points and a velvety apple puree, or  Escargots de Bourgogne, served in the traditional caquelon dish, each snail luxuriating in a rich emulsification of garlic butter and its own sweet liqueur.

While most French establishments content themselves to offer the American palate the classic brunch fare (and rest assured, Oliviers does), this unassuming haunt offers its more passionate patrons some of the finest French dishes, as casually and as confidently as a local diner might serve up eggs and bacon.

I am embarrassed it has taken me so long to write about this place. This review is well-earned and long overdue. I met my (now) mother-in-law for the first time at Olivier’s back in 2015. My (now) wife and I moved in together for the first time in 2017, two doors down from their fashionable, French Flag adorned storefront.

I can recall wandering downstairs on a quiet weekday afternoon, and discovering their charcuterie menu- a tightly curated assemblage of rare cow’s milk cheeses, aged salami, sweet spiced sausage varieties, and distinguished hams. 

I have enjoyed countless meals with friends and family in their establishment. In 2019 when my wife was laid off from her first job, we cushioned the blow with a visit to Olivier, and enjoyed some of the best red snapper we have ever had to date. Three months later we celebrated her new job with another meal there featuring their Moules Frites, a harmonious marriage of plump mussels steeped in white wine, shallots, and garlic.

The first time my parents visited Brooklyn, we took them to Olivier to show off what our newfound home had to offer. 

This winter, when the bitter winds blow, and the chill sets in, I look forward to the warmth that comes from returning to where my passions first began. Sitting down to eat in that establishment that first kindled my love for the food here. I want to revisit the bar where I tasted Grand Marinier, and Ricard Aperitif for the first time. I want to make friendly conversation with Olivier, his bartenders, and those professional, knowledgeable waiters; to indulge in a rare Hanger Steak, served with pommes frites and peppercorn bearnaise. And most importantly I want to share that joy that comes from appreciating the storied classics with friends new and old.

I want my share in Olivier’s dream, to have a taste of provinciale France here in New York, and to bask in the privilege that we all have living in this city where restaurants like Olivier exist. 

I invite my neighbors and my fellow readers to join me this winter, come celebrate one of the restaurants that first kicked off our neighborhood’s ascent into culinary excellence.

In Red Hook, there is no shortage of seafood and beer in the neighborhood, and one could write an article dedicated to the various perfect ways to spend an afternoon in the dockside enclave. However, today I am not here to talk about the dives, or the crabs, or the breweries. Today I am here to talk about a burger and the tavern that makes it.

First some history:

Along Brooklyns western coast, Red Hook emerges just south of Brooklyn Bridge Park, as a storied neighborhood steeped in maritime heritage and urban transformation. Originally settled by the Dutch in the 17th century, it evolved into a bustling port, welcoming immigrants and fostering a diverse community. The 19th century marked an era of industrial growth, with shipping, manufacturing, and warehousing driving the local economy. The industrial and merchant interests that first built Red Hook, brought with them a steady supply of salty maritime men, and with them, came the demand for dockside bars and taverns. Today, Red Hook, like its parent borough, has embraced an economic resurgence, while retaining its distinctively nautical and charmingly divey character.

There is no shortage of seafood, and beer in the neighborhood, and one could write an article dedicated to the various “perfect” ways to spend an afternoon in the dockside enclave. However, today I am not here to talk about the dives, or the crabs, or the breweries. Today I am here to talk about a burger, and the tavern that makes it.

Extraordinary claims:

A few months ago, a good friend of mine from the neighborhood made a very bold claim in our local group chat. “Yesterday, I had the best burger of my entire life. Maybe the top culinary experience of my entire life.” He told us about his trip to the Red Hook Tavern and about how he was caught completely off guard by how ‘next-level’ their unassumingly named burger was.

I was skeptical. Very skeptical to be frank. As much as I love good food, I generally don’t rank hamburgers that high on my list for fine dining consideration. Burgers are great, classic, delicious, crowd pleasers for sure. But their tastes are maximalist, often topped with competing condiments and loud overwhelming flavors. And more to the point, most tavern burgers taste more or less the same to me. So the idea that this burger was maybe the best meal of my friend’s life, was shocking to me. 

Another friend of ours, who does consider himself to be a hamburger connoisseur and a casual expert on the matter, was equally intrigued, and perhaps a bit more open minded than myself. “When can we get there? Lets all try it out.”

We set a date, and planned for a lunchtime excursion into Red Hook on a temperate late summer sunday afternoon.

Now I’m going to break the fourth wall here a little bit: When I was thinking of a spot to write about for the fall issue of this fine local paper, a burger joint was not high on my list. Our editor even told me it probably was not worth going outside the bounds of the neighborhood to review a burger place. And I generally agreed with him. But given the claim my friend was making we decided that if indeed the burger won me over, we could make an exception. Deep down, I did not think the burger would win me over.

Extraordinary evidence:

Leading up to the reservation I decided to read up on the Red Hook Taverns staple tavern burger, and what I read very quickly began to change my perception of what a burger could be. The burger had been reviewed by the likes of Pete Wells, food critic for the New York TImes, There were articles featuring it in Eater, and Resy. There’s even a youtube video featuring the burger with Action Bronson. I quickly began to realize that this burger did not need my review to elevate it. All the more reason not to write about it. And yet, here I am writing about it. So what happened?

Well, not to bury the lead, I had the best hamburger of my entire life at Red Hook tavern. And I want to tell you all about it.

At the heart of this masterpiece is the dry aged beef, an art that transforms meat at the molecular level. There are only a handful of steakhouses in all of New York City that offer dry aged beef. As steak is left to age in a carefully controlled setting, enzymes within the meat gently break it down, tenderizing it internally. The flavor of the meat takes on notes of nuttyness, bleu cheese, mushroom funk. The meaty flavor is elevated, sweetness and savory umami intensify greatly the longer the beef is allowed to age. The process is expensive, time consuming, even a little wasteful, as it leaves the outer layer of the meat desiccated and inedible. But culinary enthusiasts everywhere know that dry aging a steak is among the best ways to elevate its flavor potential.

Extraordinary:

We arrived as a party of eight, and were seated in the covered outside seating area, although we would each get a chance to glimpse the charmingly decorated interior, featuring turn of the century wallpaper, converted gas light fixtures, and a gorgeous mirrored cocktail bar. Everyone in the party had agreed to order the Tavern Burger as recommended. The burgers arrive perfectly medium rare, served upon a butter-toasted bun, crowned with American cheese, a slice of crisp white onion, strategically served beneath the patty to keep the lower bun dry. The plate also comes with crinkle-cut medallion fries, and a pickle on the side. In a small cup, ketchup awaits, though this burger stands alone, its fragrant meaty, just pink interior requires no condiment. So save the ketchup for the fries.

The consensus was instant and universal. I let out a chuckle. “It is. It is absolutely the best burger I have ever had.” By now I had already known it would be. I knew the second I smelled them cooking it. That unmistakable aroma of aged beef, I had only ever smelled it before in Peter Lugers Steak House. Here it was, in Red Hook, The thick mouth-watering scent pouring out into the street. My friend, the burger-expert, spoke next: “OH, no doubt. This is the best burger I’ve ever had. I’ve never had anything like it before.” We try to temper our enthusiasm if only for posterity’s sake:

“I mean I’m sure there are other burgers that can claim to be the best, but I’ve never had one as good as this.”

I joked to my friend who first turned us onto the spot: “I won’t go as far as saying it was the best culinary experience of my life. But these guys… they have made the hamburger as great as it can possibly be, and it’s right up there with the best of culinary experiences. No doubt about it.”

Our attempts to temper our enthusiasm falter as another of our guests interjects “It’s a PERFECT burger.”

“I like that they went with american cheese. A classic. It lets the meat do the talking.”

I exclaim almost drunk with newfound appreciation for the humble burger: “I can’t find ANY other place in the immediate neighborhood that does aged beef, and this place is using it as hamburger meat!”

I’m halfway finished with the burger as I speak, and I find myself already starting to miss it.

We finish up our meals, and spend the rest of the afternoon in contented bliss, listening to a live bluegrass jam band play in the backyard of Red Hook’s famous Sunny’s Bar. The burgers made our day.

A week later I’m looking for excuses to go back. I schedule another trip to the Tavern for early fall, so I can gauge my parents’ reactions to the perfect hamburger.

Even as I write this article, I am looking forward to returning in cooler weather, with more friends, perhaps to spend more time admiring the tavern’s impeccable interior. Like a converted religious zealot, I want to bring more fine-dining converts to worship at the altar of this humble burger.

As I wrap up, putting the finishing touches on the piece, my friend texts me a link to an instagram post by legendary comedian and established gourmand Eric Warheim. It’s a big photo of a perfect cross section of the Red Hook Tavern burger. The caption is profanity laced bliss. Another convert.

In the heart of Red Hook, where the past collides with the present, the Red Hook Tavern and its Dry Aged Burger are a culinary pilgrimage that transcends the ordinary. This burger is more than just a dish; it’s a love letter to meat lovers, a narrowly focused kind of perfection, and a testament to the endless pursuit of gastronomic excellence in all things.