Today I put on the little vintage 1950's dress that I found in Lancaster, grabbed a sparkly headband, and my little cable-knit purse and walked over to Buttermilk Channel, a belated birthday dinner. "Walked over" when it comes to Buttermilk Channel has a certain significance; two or three centuries ago, Brooklyn dairy farmers would walk with their cows over the Buttermilk Channel, a mile long strait that led to the grass growing on Governer's Island. As the restaurant's business card says, nowadays, you and your cows will have to take the ferry. A nice touch on a day when CKT sent me Crossing Brooklyn Ferry and I thought about the words of that poem written in the metal railing down at the Fulton Ferry Landing. The modern day walk to this restaurant was just as charming as the real thing might have been. I don't know that I've ever walked that far down Court Street--almost to Red Hook--and tonight, at around 35 degrees and with Christmas lights abounding, it was a little like a fairy tale. And Buttermilk Channel is a pretty special place--it feels good and happy there, and everyone eating and working there seemed equally pleased to be there. And I got numerous compliments on my coat and dress--I wonder if the bloggers that be tipped them off.
As it turned out, the Sunday night special of a roasted chicken for two was more something I liked the idea of, rather than the practice of. It was enough that it was there. We started with a few oysters, accompanied by a pomegranate mignionette, and shared the turnip and apple soup, which tasted best when the spoonful included some deliciously smokey bacon. I had the duck meatloaf, with roasted parsnips and an onion ring, and completed my happiness with the cookie plate--raspberry thumbprints, brownies, and salted peanut butter delicacies. Look, I could try to write about my entree's sweaty exuberance, its bold texture, but I think I'd rather save my lyricism for MAYG. How about this: it was all really good. Real good. This is probably when Helen would award a grade but I'm more Sadie Lou than she--I just can't. I can say that I wish I could go back again and again. That "The Second Line " cocktail with Johnny Walker Black, Lillet Blanc, Absinthe, and bitters was one of the better concoctions I've tried. The bathroom was beautiful and had framed Brooklyn-centric art on the walls. The waitress wore a tiny necklace with a little gold wishbone as a pendant. I drew pictures on the brown kraft paper on the table.