I’ve been to the Manhattan location several times bringing loved ones, hated enemies, and everyone in between. I’m gonna go back to the LES spot whether for the basement hallway, the hip bar-pit seats in the back, or the obnoxiously on-point music choices. Oh right and the reason people eat in particular restaurants – the food. Far and away my favorite fusion execution in the city, Mission Chinese earns its repeat visits.

For some, part of the appeal of the experience at Mission Chinese’s is its casual disregard for typical restaurant service trappings. While the basics are present there is little deference to the body and verbal language present in finer dining (or even places priced comparably). None of this bothers me a bunch, but it can come off as inattentive or at worst frigid.

This coldness is reflected in the Bushwick location. The skeletal ceiling, the schoolroom seating, and the color-changing lights contribute to a lack of warmth felt right through the meal. This isn’t your snug Brooklyn haunt, or your over-attentive lamp-lit Manhattan steakhouse. Instead this feels like a pop-up gone permanent. I guess I understand: it’s cool, it’s hip, it’s cheap. If minimalism is Brooklyn’s answer to the opulence of Manhattan’s mainstays, Mission Chinese is the obnoxious groundbreaking artist in his ex-factory apartment. Not to mention: almost everything is gray cement. It’s not just the dividers but also tables, the floor, all of the wall accents; it feels like a jailhouse cafeteria lit by techno enthusiasts. The entrances aren’t guarded but nonetheless I felt trapped inside with a cadre of Bushwick’s finest fashion offenders. Clientele isn’t necessarily a planned dynamic of a restaurant but it’d be a reason for me to avoid Mission Chinese.

HOWEVER all of this protest is little more than a token gesture. All of the above is a feeble sandbank lain to shore up my credibility in the face of the Hurricane Irrational-Strength-Love-For-All-Food-At-Mission-Chinese.

The Bushwick location is new and hence the food is still on par. The menu isn’t exactly the same as the Manhattan location; it seems to lack several of the more expensive options and a couple items differ. Or I missed a menu update. Either way, I’m as pleased with the food as I’ve ever been with the original location.

The seared oil rice cakes with smokey bacon took the night. The cakes were chewy and sweet, the tofu skins refreshing and bright, the bacon insanely smokey and pleasing in spite of how little there was in the dish. The bitter melon was the only disappointment in both the bacon dish and the lackluster margarita. Bitter melon’s crazy flavor, normally amazing for savory contrast and depth, was instead so muted as to be not worth mentioning or including in neither the dish nor the drink.

The peanut noodles were almost as delicious as usual, though this time too heavily sauced. Their sweetness still rang with bright lemony herbs. The eggplant too ran the gamut from deep chili and sweet (if under seasoned) eggplant to light and citrusy betel leaves. Bouncing between the dishes yielded highly complimentary fruits – peanut noodle savory bites were elevated by smokey bacon bites, eggplant sweetness was cut by sichuan pickle smoke and funk.

Those fucking water pickles. This is the icy bowl that lit up Bowien’s cuisine for me, this crazy fusion of (essentially Mexican) flavors. Super smokey habañero oil, deeply savory toasted caraway, salty funky pickles; I’ve not encountered a dish (a side dish!) that hit all the buttons and brought me back every time. Literally at every visit. They make my mouth water and pucker simultaneously just thinking about them. Consistently it is my favorite dish, in spite of that time Eater embarrassed themselves spotlighting the dish.

The only disappointment in the new location’s menu would be the drinks. Neither the margarita nor the General Tso’s Sour brought anything new to the table in spite of their eclectic billing. On a menu with such excellent food, there’s no room for an adequate margarita and a whiskey sour with sesame seeds. So, to round out the night my companion and I went to the nearby Jupiter Disco. Science fiction interior design, loud techno, and cocktails worth their price. The Amethyst Sour and the Lil’ Zippy outperformed the evening’s first drinks by a mile, leaving me confident in the craft of the rest of their eclectic menu.

Mission Chinese Bushwick is a perfectly neighborhood appropriate version of an excellent repertoire. I’m going back but let’s be honest, only because it’s closer. But hey, there’s always another place for scratching that atmosphere itch and none of those places serve genuinely intriguing Chinese fusion.

Momos are described most basically as Himalayan soup dumplings. The spices aren’t the same, the meats are chicken beef or veggie (as opposed to my favorites which are pork and crab) but we’re still talking soup dumplings.

I’ve only had Momo from the cart off the Myrtle-Wyckoff L and let me tell you I’m not certain if this is the place to get your Momos on. After the first time I went, I hoped dearly a repeat would give them a chance to prove themselves but unfortunately all two experiences were all too similar.

The cart is typical. A lady in the cart asks you what filling you want. You watch her pluck them from the baskets of the large metal steamtowers. She places eight momos in a low rectangular styrofoam container. She’ll give you two sauces if you ask for them –  one white, one red. Now before we get to taste let’s just note: this is eight solid dumplings for FIVE DOLLARS! And they are delivered in a minute, tops! Holy shit! This is a steal! Even if they’re garbage you’re not poorly off. Sadly, the convenience of the experience comes at expense of the quality of the product.

Twice now, I have watched dumplings come from steamtowers that had been untouched for an unknown amount of time. (How long does it take to steam a dumpling? How long do they stay nice?) Twice I have watched two separate ladies take over-steamed dumplings and drop their shredded husks into my styrofoam dish. (Are these supposed to be soup dumplings? Does shaggy soggy dough make them tastier?) Twice I have taken the strangely ranchy white sauce and grossly fermented red sauce with a smile only to throw them out immediately after tasting them. Twice I have eaten dumplings whose skin has dried to tackiness in the ten minutes it took me to reach my destination. And twice I’ve chewed through perfectly-seasoned, overcooked, dry dumpling meat in meticulous dumpling shapes that were thoughtlessly dumpling murdered.

It’s sad to see. In my time I’ve made enough food to know the difference between preparation and execution. I can tell when someone made a good product and just fucked it up at the last moment. And that’s what it feels like at the Momo cart. The delivered product falls short of their preparation’s potential  – probably because it sucks to be in a cart for an entire day. (As a dumpling and as a person.) When you don’t like your job it’s hard to do it well and even people who DO like their jobs still make mistakes. Typically they fix them but these are the lessons I’m still learning about the business model of cart Momo.

I’m going back to this Momo cart. It’s cheap enough and fast enough to make it worth playing the odds. I’m certain too that when it all comes up on Black 27 I’ll be there, grinning in victory, having spent the best five bucks anyone’s ever spent on that side of the Wyckoff Ave Plaza.

P.S.: I went back a third time and had the chicken. Tighter dumplings, no failures, boring flavors. They were dry enough they begged for the ranch and hot sauces. It’s true what they say; beef dumplings might soar but chicken dumplings don’t get sucked into jet engines.

Appearances aren’t everything. However, in my Bushwick experiences there is a certain authenticity to dingy, kitschy, or otherwise poorly designed dining rooms. I feel, in their presentation I can ascertain an establishment’s priorities. Generously or not I always assume it’s the food when the floors aren’t well mopped or the ceiling is covered in cheap paper decorations.

Klom Klorm’s decor is alarmingly standard for a place purported to have excellent Thai food. Hardwood floors, a well-polished bar, an abundance of plastic plantery, a plethora of exposed brick – it all makes me nervous. They say you can’t polish a turd but that hasn’t stopped some establishments from trying. Still, having heard good things I was determined.

The food lands just a hair above the compromise zone. None of the items we ordered had the authenticity of plain-ass steamed dumplings from Chinatown or the rustic appeal of braised tongue tacos on fresh tortillas with radish and lime. For all my reticence, the polish didn’t detract too heavily from the flavors. The fried spring roll appetizer on the lunch menu is forgettable but the grilled pork sausage was sweet and pleasantly toothsome. Its sauce was also excellent, a mix of spicy and peanut flavors.

Our lunch special, khao soi beef, was decent. I’ve made better khao soi sauce in massive quantities so it was hard to be impressed with the saucy bowl as it was presented. The ball of fried noodles could have taken a bit of salt, inside and out. But the noodles in the sauce were fantastic – thin but still firm and tasty in the sauce. My companion enjoyed the boiled squishiness of the beef and the fried noodle ball. The dish as a whole took kindly to fish sauce and pickled peppers, two parts of a table-side seasoning quartet.

My takeaway: I’d go back. It doesn’t pop like anything I’ve had in Queens or for that matter the Michelin-starred places of the Lower East Side – and that’s for the same price. But it’s in my neighborhood. That counts for something, right?

 

On a helpful word from a little bird I wandered onto Knickerbocker Street.  Saturdays on Knickerbocker are bumpin’ in Bushwick – it’s already one of the most trafficked streets with its abundance of retail locations. This makes it prime corner real-estate for street food vendors and cheap eats on the go.

First bite: Chicken Kebab

It’s everything you’d expect. $3.50 for a stick of marinated grilled chicken thigh. The spices are indeterminable, the salt is on point, the char is bitter and the meat isn’t overly chewy.

Second bite: Queso Empanada and Sorrullo

 

The Sorrullo is a rolled up sweet corn cake with salty cheese. You’ve had one maiz con queso, you’ve had them all. $1.50.

That empanada though? Shit was heavenly. I’ve had my share of crusty or tough empanadas (I’m looking at you Rico Chimi) and it’s a love-hate affair. Typically, the greatest praise I can heap on the little bundles of chicken and cheese is their late-night availability and the copious amount of pink sauce I squeeze into them.

This beauty redefined my expectations. The crust was light and cohesive and just chewy enough to be a pleasure. The melted cheese inside was a perfectly salty ball of milky joy. Top that with the herby salsa verde (perfectly emulsified) and the pink salsa (ketchup and mayo) and you’re in for a ride. $2.00?!  For a whole empanada!? Get the fuck outta here, I’d pay double for how good this one was.

Third bite: Vegetable Morcilla

I’ll be frank, this was the most confusing thing I had all day.  Shit it’s the most confusing thing I’ve eaten in MONTHS. Morcilla is blood sausage, whoever you ask. I’ve only had the morcilla at La Isla Cuchifritos and it’s a heavily spiced affair of blood mixed with rice and packed into a tight casing. It’s delicious same-day, next-day, next-week – but the trick is that it’s made of blood. So when I see “veggie” morcilla I’m intrigued, if confused. Is it for vegetarians? Is it for health-conscious meat freaks? Does it work to exchange starchy rice for ANY kind of vegetable?

I received the beast chopped into four pieces with a potato and “hot sauce” which seems like a less-flavorful leche de tigre (Peruvian marinade for ceviches and sauce in its own right).

No blood. No color of blood. But an animal casing?  I dunno man, it was an underseasoned, greasy, soft, vegetable sausage. The sauce wasn’t salty or limey enough to save it and while the potato was tasty it had the same flavor range as the sausage. In fact, there was little indication the vegetables INSIDE the sausage were grilled at all. It was lacking. It was a confounding journey for $4.00. I didn’t make it to the end.

 

2/3?  Like Meatloaf said, “get outside and into Bushwick’s deeper corners before the promised Wintry avalanche descends upon on us”.  There’ll be plenty of time to slurp up ramen in the coming months. Take advantage of the fun carty offerings while they’re still around.

Little Mo is casual in the way of many Brooklyn eateries; open seating, counter service, sassy and chatty British girl who’s been there all of two weeks taking your order. The unique pieces are on the wall of Instax photos of patrons (?), the giant wooden sliding door, and the alcohol selection (no Mexican beers and expensive wines). Still, these casual-seeming choices come together to be quite the cohesive experience.

A Vietnamese eatery, Mo does the staples you’d expect – shrimp spring rolls ($8), pork bao ($8), pho ($10-13), and bahn mi that can be rice/vermicelli bowls ($11-$13). With few surprises in the menu much of their standout qualities show up in the execution. That said, this author and his date are not experts in Vietnamese food (sorry Gerald). In that vein this meal was taken not for its authenticity to the Vietnamese way but simply on the grounds of the engaged eater.

The verdict is that another visit is in order.

The first mistake made was to have come in on a weekday. The truest test and indeed only authentic comparison I could make, the beef pho, is available on weekends. The marrow add-ons ($3) are also weekend-exclusive.

Our second denial came in the form of the shrimp spring rolls. Veggie options aren’t my bag, as good as peanut sauce is on all things. However this is an excellent reason to return.

Our spritely counterperson turned us from the spring rolls to the pork bao and definitely salvaged the day. The pork bao was exquisite: soft, light, juicy, and bursting with delicious sauces. The fish-sauce caramel on the wings was phenomenal. Thick enough to be crunchy around the perfectly cooked chicken, we delighted in peeling the cooled pieces from their paper.

As well curated as the atmosphere and small plates were, it unfortunately set us up for disappointment in our main dish.

The shortrib was the best among the pork cutlet and the chicken and as far as the protein itself the choice was justified. However the choice of vermicelli noodles beneath proved lackluster. Lightly picked carrots and daikon, the couple sprigs of cilantro, the insufficient smattering of basil and mint, and crispy shallots became disparate islands in a starchy sea. While the overall lightness was welcome it seemed that no one bite could contain more than one added flavor to the lightly seasoned noodles. The sauce that came with them was sure was good but it sure wasn’t strong. A larger portion would have been welcome. Supplementing with the provided hoisin and sriracha felt like cheating the subtler flavors.

But hot-damn, would I go back for another shot at the bao and shrimp spring rolls (they were out on the first visit)? You bet your pho-king ass I would. Those wings were sublime and the lady dug those bao well enough I’d get an extra order next time. If the beef pho is as good as the rest of the detail-work, Little Mo’s going to see a little more of me than they’d like.

Regrets: vermicelli noodles, not being present on the weekend

Cost: $25 each for a fair helping of the menu. Can be done cheaper but definitely to the detriment of the experience

Two of these things exceeded expectations; the odd-man-out hit em right on the head.

Guadalajara Del Dia 2 is a dining room and a deli counter in one. The technicolor snacks and provisions, nationalist white-green-red papel picado (“picked paper”, Puebla-born folk art), bright orange walls, and Telemundo on the large television set the tone at thoroughly casual. You can get table service in the thirty-seat dining room but it’s the same experience as ordering at the counter and picking up your drinks yourself.

I was directed to the place for the cemita and embarrassingly (or to the credit of the cemita) I haven’t eaten anything else off the menu. The cemita gets its name from the sesame seed bun used to hold the sandwich’s. It originates from the Mexican state Puebla and is an upgrade from the typical Mexican sandwich or torta. Its ingredients are typically: black beans, avocado, lettuce, tomato, queso oaxaca (string cheese), morita chiles, choice of meat, and most importantly papalo.

Brief aside on papalo: holy shit this herb is amazing. It’s turbocilantro with a concentrated cucumber chaser. It’s a mean green machine that makes cheese taste like a pungent offering from on high. It’s fragrant and luscious and its use reminds me of bitter melon – pair it with savory things and it’ll sing but by itself the American palette doesn’t get it. If your cemita doesn’t have papalo you got ripped off.

Guadalajara Del Dia 2’s cemita has papalo. The enchilada or spicy pork variant is my favorite, especially paired with a Goya guava juice. Slap on the bright – in flavor and color – green salsa or the much spicier smokier version and you’re good to go.

The second stop of the night was a salchipapas stand off Wyckoff. French fries (papas) with a hot dog (salchicha) covered in ketchup, mayonnaise, and a healthy pile of lettuce, tomato, and cabbage. Some hot sauce would have been welcome.

From the corner on which we horked our salchipapas it was a short walk to June. The bar sits on St. Nicholas Ave and is not to be confused with its placename double in Cobble Hill – they could hardly be less alike.

That translates to a very relaxed atmosphere, an accommodating if unchallenging beverage menu, and chill service. It’s a hip crowd drinking cheaply; what one expects from Bushwick. The interior isn’t quite as dressed as the rest of the neighborhood. And in spite of the amount of time it took to pay the bill, the place’s charm only persisted. I suppose I’m just a sucker for coming in second place to a smoke break.

Regrets: not eating all of GDD2’s menu, nit bringing my own hot sauce

Price: $8 cemita, $5 salchipapas, $3 genny cream ale. Were I eating by myself I’d have curled up into a ball waiting for the cramps to pass.

And that’s not a bad place to be, if you’re La Lupe.

It’s Tuesday at 1PM and La Lupe welcomes me with bright blues and reds and a quiet room. The restaurant is the size of a cafe and sports a short bar adjoined to an open kitchen.  Several couples make barely enough noise to be heard over the music. It’s nice.

Lupe’s offerings would pretty easily be classified as Mexi-cali; guacamole finds its way into the burritos, sour cream is all over the menu, and the tacos are more than three bucks each. They offer the most typical meats (chicken, tinga, carnitas, asada, pastor, chorizo, and fish with a veggie option): not the lengua or orejas or other interesting options available at many more authentic places in Bushwick. However they also don’t have the trappings of an up-and-coming hip-Mexi-plus restaurant. Nobody’s selling curried shrimp tacos or some jumped up pico de gallo with heirloom tomatoes and finger limes. This middle ground, not authentic Mexican and not New American Mexican gave me pause on my first visit. Had I made a mistake?

Turn out no; its inability to fit into one of two rigid boxes is not a detriment. The burritos, with their guacamole, cream, and cheese don’t rely solely on these fatty elements to carry the day. The carne asada and fish were both moist and well seasoned. They served canned-style jalapenos (no limes) which had the texture of their more boring brethren but were better seasoned and added the right amount of salt and vinegar between burrito bites. The salsas too, verde and rojo,  were well done. The rojo had a robust smoke and chilé profile; the verde bright with lime and cilantro. I couldn’t quite figure out the orange salsa after two tastes but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

My company and I sat for a while before realizing the place has no table service but it gave us plenty of time to look over the menu. I asked for a glass of water to accompany my beers he did not; no refills or second glass were produced or offered. The burritos were brought to us but we cleared our tables ourselves.

For such a small place they have a robust tequila selection and a good number of mezcals. I’d come back for drinking hours to see how the vibe changes.  Given its size I imagine something intimate and not too rowdy.

I’d be back if I had picky guests or a hankering for some guacamole in my burrito. However, they’re going to have a hard time winning me back considering the variety of pungent and interesting flavors available in the rest of the neighborhood, for an even better price point.

Regrets: not trying the queso fundido or the house-made chorizo

Price: $12 food, $6 beer, $10 dollar specialty liquors

Take: A date.  It’s cute in there.