So I heard about this place to go to for brunch, in Dumbo. I heard about it because I walked by one day. It's on Front Street. It's not too far from the water.
I went for dinner a few weeks ago. Dinner was nice. The tacos were tasty, though a bit on the minuscule side. In addition to the tacos, I also ordered one of their special entrees for the evening, a smoked stack of ribs that were served with a gentle mix of picked vegetables, delightful. So between the ribs, the pickled vegetables, and the chips and carefully-crafted salsa, I had more than enough for dinner.
When I went for dinner we sat out back. And when I went for brunch over the weekend, at no point was there any doubt that we would sit out back again. My friend and I planned to meet at 11:30am, which seemed like a reasonable time for brunch. He arrived four minutes early. And I jumped off of the F Train at York Street, sprinted across Front street, and walked up to the place right at 11:30am. On the nose. We shook hands and headed for the door. I was hungry.
After one and knock and then a second knock it dawned on me that they may have not been open just yet. I peered in through the glass door and the host smiled and said they're closed. I tapped my watch in a signal of asking, "what time?" and she mouthed back, "Noon."
So we went down to the water, the East River, and sat, chatted, and glanced for a while at Manhattan that was just standing there calmly across the East River. The day was strangely cool for the middle of July. And after days of sun, it was nice to have an overcast morning.
Having waited out the thirty minutes, we returned to Gran Electrica. We scored a spot at the back of the garden, and on the higher level. Cars soared by above us along the Brooklyn Bridge, yet despite the bridge's grand scale, still Gran Electrica is on the ground floor of a very small building. So above the garden, one can look up and see the windows of a tiny apartment building, and think, what would it be like to live up there?
I ordered a coffee and the Chorizo Con Papas. The French Press coffee of course came quickly, and was a nice kick of caffeine and flavor for just past noon on an early Saturday afternoon. And when the Chorizo Con Papas arrived five to seven minutes later, even if only a bit, my heart leapt. The fried egg. The potatoes. The Chorizo. And the three mini tortillas to boot. I was ready!
And although the meal had a miniature look the reminded me of the dinner tacos, as I moved further and further into the meal, I was more than delighted to find out that the portion size was exactly right.
My friend (an Englishman) ordered the Chilaquiles, and though we both had a bit of trouble pronouncing the "Quiles" bit of the name, he more than enjoyed the salsa verde, sunny side up eggs, and avocado that was served at just the right temperature and pleasantly all mixed up in a bowl for him.
The music shifted between hispanic and dance hall, anc. And though the different genres may have run the risk of crashing together and creating a cacophony, the set caught the right balance between relaxation from a long week behind, and excitement for the approaching weekend ahead.
When will I go back? What are you doing next weekend?