Barbecue Commandment No. 3: Thou shalt keep it under 250 degrees.
Barbecue Commandment No. 57: Thy bullhorns must be displayed prominently over thy doorframe for maximum barbecue credibility...
Today, we’ve got a new believer for you.
Step to the BBQ altar that is Ducks Eatery, a visionary house of mason-jarred cocktails and food that’s been cooking since the dawn of this morning, in previews now and opening Tuesday in the East Village.
You may remember when this place was but a wee Korean taco stand in the back of a ping-pong joint in Flatiron (as so many of the great ones started). It’s evolved.
Now it’s a place you just walk in and think, “Whoa, a smokehouse.” Just weathered lumber, simple bar stools, a chalkboard menu and a brick wall housing the low-and-slow rapture. You’re bringing anyone here who you’re cool with witnessing you having intimate feelings about the tenderness of a piece of apricot-glazed brisket. Brisket that’s been slow-cooking for 15 hours.
And that’s about as straightforward as it gets. For instance, there’s beef jerky. But it’s been cured in squid ink. Your cherrystone clams: they’ve got ham in them. The trail mix—actually, the trail mix is pretty standard... in an alternate world of childlike wonder where trail mix has bacon and Cocoa Krispies.
We could easily see you just pouring that into a bowl with some milk.
Barbecue Commandment No. 57: Thy bullhorns must be displayed prominently over thy doorframe for maximum barbecue credibility...
Today, we’ve got a new believer for you.
Step to the BBQ altar that is Ducks Eatery, a visionary house of mason-jarred cocktails and food that’s been cooking since the dawn of this morning, in previews now and opening Tuesday in the East Village.
You may remember when this place was but a wee Korean taco stand in the back of a ping-pong joint in Flatiron (as so many of the great ones started). It’s evolved.
Now it’s a place you just walk in and think, “Whoa, a smokehouse.” Just weathered lumber, simple bar stools, a chalkboard menu and a brick wall housing the low-and-slow rapture. You’re bringing anyone here who you’re cool with witnessing you having intimate feelings about the tenderness of a piece of apricot-glazed brisket. Brisket that’s been slow-cooking for 15 hours.
And that’s about as straightforward as it gets. For instance, there’s beef jerky. But it’s been cured in squid ink. Your cherrystone clams: they’ve got ham in them. The trail mix—actually, the trail mix is pretty standard... in an alternate world of childlike wonder where trail mix has bacon and Cocoa Krispies.
We could easily see you just pouring that into a bowl with some milk.
