one.three.twelve: Franny’s

Located at 295 Flatbush Avenue, Franny’s is very popular, so by Saturday at 6:30 the place was already packed.  The friendly hostess told us we’d have to wait 45 minutes for a table, but either the time flew because the place was cozy and the vibe was friendly or we actually only waited around 20 minutes.

Everything you need to know about it can be found on their helpful website. One quirk that might be overlooked is that during the week the restaurant doesn’t open until 5:30.

What we drank

Karen: 2008 Valle dell’ Acate Nero d’Avola Case Ibidini Sicilia
Joan: 2008 Bisson Prosecco dei Colli Trevigiani Liguria
Tricia: Villa di Corlo Lambrusco Grasparossa di Castelvetro Amabile
Emilia Romagna

What we ate

Appetizers

Crostino of Wood-Roasted Pancetta & Herb Butter
Controne Bean Salad with Pancetta and Radicchio

Pie
Tomato, Garlic, Oregano and Parmigiano Reggiano
Tomato, Buffalo Mozzarella and Meatball

Pizza Fact

More pizza is consumed during the week of the Super Bowl than any other time of the year.

The reviews

Karen
I often find that high expectations of any experience tend to dampen it, so I was worried about going to Franny’s, about which I’d heard so many raves.  Happily, I need not have worried — this pizza definitely lived up to its reputation.  The 10-to-12-inch pie was a nice size for sharing and we ordered two, though I was so hungry that initially I thought we should each order our own!  The thin, brick oven crust was wonderful — just charred enough for me and crisp around the edges, yet still tender and chewy throughout.  The toppings delivered on taste, yet were delicate enough to match the texture and flavor of the crust.  My favorite was the little meatballs, which tasted fresh and meaty without being overwhelming.  Along with our (tiny) starters, I felt satisfied afterward but not stuffed, as overly greasy or doughy pies can make you feel.  What I realized, however, is that I do think of pizza (as) a robust food, with vibrant colors, textures and tastes — so while I appreciated the subtlety here, I would have liked just a little more of everything: more sauce, more cheese, more herbs, and just more flavor overall.  It was definitely worth waiting for and I would go back in a heartbeat.  All I’d ask for from my compatriots next time is a gentle reminder that I might want to consider whether that second glass of Nero D’Avola would really be in my best interests!

Joan
Having been to Franny’s previously, my expectations were realistically optimistic. The excursion started out auspiciously…..we got a parking space right in front of the restaurant and our wait was shorter than first announced by the hostess. The appetizers were tasty but small and pricy. If we had understood the most basic Italian, we would have realized that our order of crostino was singular for crostini. Really, Franny’s….$5 (or maybe $6) for a slice of toast that was NOT topped with truffles, caviar or precious gems?  Fortunately, the pies were large enough to satisfy our appetites. While I enjoyed both pies, surprisingly (to me) I preferred the one topped with parmigiano reggiano since I’m usually a mozzarella type of gal. Franny’s pies are a little sparse on sauce and toppings but everything is so flavorful that each bite is a treat, including the delicious and perfectly-charred crust. It was a wonderful start to our year-long odyssey.

Tricia
The service here is excellent, and in a busy pizza place, good service is especially important.I wasn’t crazy about the Lambrusco I ordered as it didn’t have the full body I’ve enjoyed when I’ve ordered the wine elsewhere.  I was not at all impressed with the crostino appetizer we ordered.  The pancetta was decent but the preparation wasn’t interesting, and, for the size, it was way overpriced.  I liked the Controne Bean Salad with Pancetta and Radicchio quite a bit and would have happily made a meal of it with a side green salad.  Now to the pizza!  For my taste, I found the crust just a wee bit too thin.  I could do without the charred taste, but it wasn’t a detractor for me.  Both pizzas were good, but I preferred the smoky flavor of the buffalo mozzarella over the tanginess of the cheese in the Parmigiano Reggiano pizza.  The paper thin slices of garlic on the Parmigiano Reggiano pie added a nice zing, but I think the mini meatballs won me over.  A slightly thicker crust would have made a big difference, but I liked that the balance of cheese and sauce meant I could actually taste everything on each slice.  And after dinner I had plenty of room for chocolate cake from a neighborhood place about a block away.

one. three. twelve: a year of Brooklyn pizza

There are few things I like more than visiting with girlfriends over food. Visiting with guyfriends over food is fun too, but it’s just not the same thing. Of all the different kinds of food I like, pizza is near the top of the list. Also near the top of my list are Joan and Karen—two New Yorkers who have helped make my new neighborhood feel like home. After a Saturday listening to the two of them talk about pizza, I realized I had two specialists who share my love of pizza and that I truly live in New York’s pizza borough.

It seemed a great and tasty idea to get to know the borough through its pizza places, so we’ve come up with a plan: 2010 will be the year of Brooklyn Pizza.
Our mission is simple: one borough, three women, twelve pizza joints.

Once a month, we’re going to head out into Brooklyn and decide the difference between pizza worth the wait and pizza that is best forgotten.

My partners in pizza (sorry, couldn’t resist) know Brooklyn. As you can see from their mini pizzaographies (really, sorry, just couldn’t resist), they know from a slice.

The Trio

Karen
I’m a Yoga teacher, social worker and native New Yorker who can remember eating pizza when it was 40 cents a slice! (My elementary school years.) I love the whole gestalt of a good pizza and the flavor of the sauce is key — I’m also not a fan of an overwhelming amount of cheese — but when I think of what I like best the thing that comes to mind first is the crust, I like it well done and crisp. Especially with the brick oven pizza, that nice char is essential!

Joan
I was born and raised in Bklyn and pizza is my favorite food. I ate it everyday for lunch in the 7th and 8th grade (no kidding!) and it’s still the default option when I can’t make up my mind about a meal. But not just any pizza, as I learned by living in the SF Bay area for 8 years. Pineapple and ham toppping? I think not! The ideal slice has thin crust (preferably slightly charred), savory sauce with a hint of oregano and garlic, thin layer of whole milk mozzarella….your basic margherita pizza. I’m looking forward to the 12-month pizza adventure.

Tricia
I moved to Brooklyn this summer and am currently working on two books. I’m a bit of a pizza neophyte. I know when pizza is good, but I don’t have strong opinions about things like crust and cheese. I’ve recently started to appreciate a thinner crust, and I do know that my favorite pizzas have fresh herbs on them and a sauce that’s not too tangy. And,  apropos of nothing, I am the tallest of the trio. When I have on heels I feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. This may matter down the road.

How to get a gun without really trying

This is truly chilling:

I don’t even eat oatmeal

ever.

I have nothing against it, but it’s just not part of my daily diet. When I hear about it, it sounds good, and the people I know who eat it seem happier and healthier than the people who don’t, but it’s such an ugly food (regardless of the amount of cinnamon and raisins used to decorate it), that I’ve never given it a try.

The closest thing to oatmeal that I’ve eaten is Cream of Wheat. I used to eat it as a little person. In fact, I developed a strange obsession with it, an obsession so strange that a doctor once wrote the following in my medical records: “Mother concerned. Child refuses to eat anything except for oatmeal and grape Kool-aid.”

Cream of Wheat. Not oatmeal.

So, when the lady who works behind the counter of one of my favorite cafes looked me straight in the eye and said, “Oatmeal!” I had no idea what she meant. I hadn’t ordered oatmeal. I had ordered a small, skim milk cappuccino, and was enjoying it while reading an obscure novel by an even more obscure novelist. No oatmeal.

I was able to break away from her oddly intense stare and get back to my book, but she kept saying at me: Oatmeal! Oatmeal! OATMEAL! Then she exchanged “oatmeal” with another word that, given the circumstance, I found quite puzzling: “Mecca. Mecca. MEEEEECCA!”

It occurred to me, only in passing, that I might be part of some hidden camera caper. Or, I thought, perhaps I was being hazed. I’ve only lived her a few months, so I’m still learning about the place. Perhaps shouting random nouns at the new girl is part of what it means to live in Clinton Hill.

Oatmeal!
Mecca
Oatmeal
Oatmeal
MECCA!

Mecca? Was this a special kind of Islamic oatmeal? Was it a password?

Or a safe word?

The cafe was not busy and hadn’t been since I arrived, so the shouting of these two words was a bit jarring. Oatmeal. Mecca. Oatmeal.

People began to stare at me. I started to get nervous and thought that maybe I should say something as my continuing to read seemed to be driving the woman behind the counter into a kind of frenzy.

Then a woman walked in.
A moment of silence.
Counterlady says, “Mecca. Oatmeal” once more, and it all becomes clear.

It made perfect sense because we looked exactly like–despite a 50 pound weight difference, a difference in shirts (her was white while mine was red with NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND emblazoned on the front), a difference in pants (style, color, fit), and a difference in head gear (a brightly colored scarf vs….nothing). It made perfect sense, despite the fact that I hadn’t responded to the Oatmeal/Mecca chant. And I wear glasses. And the other woman didn’t.

I know what you’re thinking, “Tricia, the cafe was busy.” It wasn’t. Not at all.

And I don’t eat oatmeal…ever

On the Nose: David Brooks

I cannot believe I am quoting David Brooks, but I think his bromance with Obama has been very good for him. In his column he reminds us of how little power those big, bad, right-wing blowhards actually have. The heart of the column:

So what is the theme of our history lesson? It is a story of remarkable volume and utter weakness. It is the story of media mavens who claim to represent a hidden majority but who in fact represent a mere niche — even in the Republican Party. It is a story as old as “The Wizard of Oz,” of grand illusions and small men behind the curtain.

Read this and pass it on…

Smart, insightful, and heartbreaking at once:

The Recession’s Racial Divide
By Barbara Ehrenreich and Dedrick Muhammad

WHAT do you get when you combine the worst economic downturn since the Depression with the first black president? A surge of white racial resentment, loosely disguised as a populist revolt. An article on the Fox News Web site has put forth the theory that health reform is a stealth version of reparations for slavery: whites will foot the bill and, by some undisclosed mechanism, blacks will get all the care. President Obama, in such fantasies, is a dictator and, in one image circulated among the anti-tax, anti-health reform “tea parties,” he is depicted as a befeathered African witch doctor with little tusks coming out of his nostrils. When you’re going down, as the white middle class has been doing for several years now, it’s all too easy to imagine that it’s because someone else is climbing up over your back.

The whole column is worth reading…and passing on…especially in any circle frequented by so-called independents.

A Poem for the First Day of School

I’m not cranky about the new term staring…nope not me. Not even a little bit. Not. at. all.

Did I Miss Anything?
by Tom Wayman (b. 1945)
(thanks to my friend luna for sharing!)

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human experience
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered

but it was one place

And you weren’t here

On the Nose: Jena Bush’s New Job

Glenn Greenwald over at Salon makes a lot of sense (I found his commentary while reading The New York Times online):

They should convene a panel for the next “Meet the Press” with Jenna Bush Hager, Luke Russert, Liz Cheney, Megan McCain and Jonah Goldberg, and they should have Chris Wallace moderate it. They can all bash affirmative action and talk about how vitally important it is that the U.S. remain a Great Meritocracy because it’s really unfair for anything other than merit to determine position and employment. They can interview Lisa Murkowski, Evan Bayh, Jeb Bush, Bob Casey, Mark Pryor, Jay Rockefeller, Dan Lipinksi, and Harold Ford, Jr. about personal responsibility and the virtues of self-sufficiency. Bill Kristol, Tucker Carlson and John Podhoretz can provide moving commentary on how America is so special because all that matters is merit, not who you know or where you come from. There’s a virtually endless list of politically well-placed guests equally qualified to talk on such matters. . . .

All of the above-listed people are examples of America’s Great Meritocracy, having achieved what they have solely on the basis of their talent, skill and hard work — The American Way. By contrast, Sonia Sotomayor — who grew up in a Puerto Rican family in Bronx housing projects; whose father had a third-grade education, did not speak English and died when she was 9; whose mother worked as a telephone operator and a nurse; and who then became valedictorian of her high school, summa cum laude at Princeton, a graduate of Yale Law School, and ultimately a Supreme Court Justice — is someone who had a whole litany of unfair advantages handed to her and is the poster child for un-American, merit-less advancement.

A poem for the last day of August

Packing and unpacking always unearths “stuff”—stuff you forgot you had and feel happy to see again, stuff you meant to throw away, stuff you thought you’d thrown away, stuff you should have thrown away, stuff that reveals you have an inordinate amount of drinking glasses and cloth napkins.

Among the stuff I found in my recent move was a poem given to me by my friend Megan in my birthday card last year. It was a tough milestone birthday that I dreaded for a full year and a half, but this poem helped give me a wee bit of perspective:

A Lady Who Thinks She is Thirty

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What’s a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then–
How old is Spring, Miranda?

Ogden Nash

Hypocrisy on Film: The Grand Old Party on Medicare

For all that the press gleefully reports on how the leaders in the party of “family values” fail to live up to the standards they regularly hold others to, it’s this kind of hypocrisy that makes my blood boil. Preying on the fears of the elderly by claiming Obama’s health care plan will destroy Medicare is evil; preying on those fears as the party that has been trying to end Medicare for years is evil and disgusting.

The good folks over at Talking Points Memo have compiled the GOP, in its own words, on the subject.