hearthstrung

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.

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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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