The Treat Ritual: Café Pedlar, Four and Twenty Blackbirds

A bike ride last summer, in late July, south through Brooklyn.

The hydrant across my street had burst. It was one of those days.

Summer heights.

Café Pedlar in Cobble Hill. A neighbourhood institution. High ceilings, Stumptown, a corner with windows.

This was a rare occurrence:

This was not:

Tangy and plump, like good raisins. A bit of rice wine, or vinegar. Lemon thyme. A balmy consistency. Toasted pecans.

And time for a read.

Onwards, south, through Gowanus.

Till Four and Twenty Blackbirds, the famous pie store.

We shared a plum and nectarine crumble with clotted cream, which was divine: not too sweet, texturally satisfying, with an absolutely killer streusel.

There are wide, rough-hewn wooden tables, with space around them. And people hang out.

The walls though: those were my favourite.

We decided judiciously that one slice was not enough between two. So we opted for the one we were fated to: Salted Honey.

Sweet, salty, floral, blossoms and a landscape of herbs distilled into a moussy, dense pâté, lightly browned on top with flakes of sea salt, all cupped in the flakiest, butteriest crust.

Yup. So freaking good. Get yourself there.

This entry was published on Monday, June 4, 2012 at 12:36 pm. It’s filed under adventures, food, general and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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