New York Magazine - USA (2019-12-23)

december 23, 2019–january 5, 2020 | new york 65

Forget ketchup: Dip the

fr ies in the sauce,

which combines re duced

chicken-and-veal jus

and a sprightly salsa verde.

Just like Balthazar’s, the

fries are a quarter-inch

thick, twice-fried in peanut

oil, and, once a plateful is

placed before you,

impossible to stop eating

until they disappear.

The chickens are

raised upstate

on a diet that

includes marigolds,

which results,

says Leiber, in

“a lovely layer of

yellow fat that

kind of reminds

me of duck.”

PHOTOGRAPH: SCOTT HEINS FOR NEW YORK MAGA

ZINE

the dish

Grilled Chicken and Fries

Some chefs nod to their role models and mentors by adding a tribute

dish to their menus. Jake Leiber and Aidan O’Neal, of the new

Le Crocodile brasserie in Williamsburg, have pulled off the neat trick

of squeezing two tributes onto one plate. Pictured is not just a grilled

half-chicken but a grilled half-chicken done up in the style made

famous by Jonathan Waxman, first at Michael’s in Santa Monica,

then at Jams on the Upper East Side, and most recently at Barbuto

in the West Village. To go with the bird are French fries inspired by

the iconic frites of Balthazar, the gold standard of spud-dom. How

close to the original models do these fries and this chicken come?

Well, to master the fries, O’Neal went as straight to the source as

possible, consulting his former M. Wells colleague and current

Frenchette chef de cuisine Jeff Teller, who learned

the technique from bosses (and Balthazar opening

chefs) Riad Nasr and Lee Hanson. And Leiber not

only cooked chicken at Barbuto for seven years, he

also happens to be Waxman’s godson. r.r. & r.p.

chickpeas, for instance—leading to rapid

disintegration. Also the bread isn’t always

hot off the saj, and even when it is, by the

time you’ve walked it to the checkout line

to pay before finding a seat, it invariably

ends up cold. You’re better off ordering your

salmon or chickpeas over freekeh.

But salvation comes in the form of a less

heralded flatbread—the thicker, puffier

za’atar pita baked on a regular flat griddle.

Hot, zesty, and slathered with spices, it

makes a nice accompaniment to a side of

hummus or crisp falafel. Wash it down with

a glass of Lebanese rosé at the bar, and on

your way out, grab some super-savory

Turkish pistachios, freshly roasted at the

Sahadi’s plant a couple of blocks away.

Di Palo’s has spent the past century on the

Little Italy block where it was born, orbiting

the intersection of Mott and Grand Streets.

This September, next door to the store, the

family opened C. Di Palo (151–153 Mott St.,

nr. Grand St.; 646-476-2014), a wine bar

named for Concetta, grandmother of sibling

owners Lou, Sal, and Marie, and entrusted

the fifth generation (Lou’s and Marie’s

children) to run it.

Like Di Palo’s itself, the bar evokes

another era through fixtures like Carrara-

marble counters, a tin ceiling, and redwood

panels salvaged from a nearby water tower.

The menu too is a throwback, focusing on

imported salumi and cheeses served on

wooden boards or tucked between bread

and warmed on a panini press—the sort

of Italian-wine-bar fare that was all the

go circa 2002. But just like the shop from

which it sprang, the bar is intended to

celebrate (and plug) the traditional foods

of the family’s ancestral homeland, and

it manages to do so with the simplest of

equipment and a minimum of fuss.

The joy of shopping at Di Palo’s is in

bantering with the resident family members

as they ply you with samples, oblivious to

the increasingly antsy mob behind you.

At the wine bar, you’re eating the same

products, only sitting down with a nice glass

of Lambrusco selected by Lou’s son Sam,

who runs the enoteca around the corner.

To honor the shop’s roots as a latteria, start

with the fresh mozzarella or burratina,

then move on to an ample panino like the

Piccante, which combines hot soppressata

with Pecorino and marinated eggplant.

Different cheeses and breads than those

advertised sometimes make their way

onto your plate, and the bar operates on

(leisurely) Di Palo time. But what’s the

rush? Here you won’t find any numbers to

take, but there’s a full cellar to work your

way through while you wait.

On the menu at

Le Crocodile; $29;

80 Wythe Ave., at

N. 11th St.,

Williamsburg;

718-460-8004

PHOTOGRAPH: LIZ CLAYMAN FOR NEW YORK MAGAZINE

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2619STR_Food12_lay [Print]_36348074.indd 65 12/13/19 3:39 PM

december23,2019–january5, 2020 | newyork 65

Forgetketchup:Dipthe

fr iesinthesauce,

whichcombinesre duced

chicken-and-vealjus

anda sprightlysalsaverde.

JustlikeBalthaz

friesare a quarte

thi eanut

oil efulis

placedbefore you,

impossibletostopeating

untiltheydisappear.

Thechickensare

raised upstate

ona dietthat

includesmarigolds,

whichresults,

saysLeiber, in

“alovelylayerof

yellowfatthat

kindofreminds

meofduck.”

the dish

Grilled Chicken and Fries

Some chefs nod to their role models and mentors by adding a tribute

dish to their menus. Jake Leiber and Aidan O’Neal, of the new

Le Crocodile brasserie in Williamsburg, have pulled off the neat trick

of squeezing two tributes onto one plate. Pictured is not just a grilled

half-chicken but a grilled half-chicken done up in the style made

famous by Jonathan Waxman, first at Michael’s in Santa Monica,

thenatJamsontheUpperEast Side,andmost recentlyat Barbuto

in the West Village. To go with the bird are French fries inspired by

the iconic frites of Balthazar, the gold standard of spud-dom. How

close to the original models do these fries and this chicken come?

Well, to master the fries, O’Neal went as straight to the source as

possible, consulting his former M. Wells colleague and current

Frenchette chef de cuisine Jeff Teller, who learned

the technique from bosses (and Balthazar opening

chefs) Riad Nasr and Lee Hanson. And Leibernot

only cooked chicken at Barbuto for seven years,he

also happens to be Waxman’s godson. r.r.& r.p.

chickpeas, for instance—leading to rapid

disintegration. Also the bread isn’t always

hot off the saj, and even when it is, by the

time you’ve walked it to the checkout line

to pay before finding a seat, it invariably

ends up cold. You’re better off ordering your

salmon or chickpeas over freekeh.

But salvation comes in the form of a less

heralded flatbread—the thicker, puffier

za’atar pita baked on a regular flat griddle.

Hot,zesty,andslatheredwithspices,it

makes a nice accompaniment to a side of

hummus or crisp falafel. Wash it down with

a glassofLebaneseroséat thebar, and on

your way out, grab some super-savory

Turkish pistachios, freshly roasted at the

Sahadi’s plant a couple of blocks away.

Di Palo’s has spent the past century on the

Little Italy block where it was born,orbiting

the intersection of Mott and GrandStreets.

This September, next door to the store, the

family opened C. Di Palo (151–153 Mott St.,

nr. Grand St.; 646-476-2014), a wine bar

named for Concetta, grandmother of sibling

owners Lou, Sal, and Marie, and entrusted

the fifth generation (Lou’s andMarie’s

children) to run it.

Like Di Palo’s itself, the barevokes

another era through fixtures like Carrara-

marble counters, a tin ceiling, and redwood

panels salvaged from a nearby water tower.

The menu too is a throwback, focusing on

imported salumi and cheeses served on

wooden boards or tucked between bread

and warmed on a panini press—the sort

of Italian-wine-bar fare that was all the

go circa 2002. But just like the shop from

which it sprang, the bar is intended to

celebrate (and plug) the traditional foods

of the family’s ancestral homeland, and

it manages to do so with the simplest of

equipment and a minimum of fuss.

The joy of shopping at Di Palo’s is in

bantering with the resident family members

as they ply you with samples, oblivious to

the increasingly antsy mob behind you.

At the wine bar, you’re eating the same

products, only sitting down with a nice glass

of Lambrusco selected by Lou’s son Sam,

who runs the enoteca around thecorner.

To honor the shop’s roots as a latteria, start

with the fresh mozzarella or burratina,

then move on to an ample paninolike the

Piccante, which combines hot soppressata

with Pecorino and marinated eggplant.

Different cheeses and breads than those

advertised sometimes make their way

onto your plate, and the bar operates on

(leisurely) Di Palo time. But what’s the

rush? Here you won’t find any numbers to

take, but there’s a full cellar to work your

way through while you wait.

On the menu at

Le Crocodile; $29;

80 Wythe Ave., at

N. 11th St.,

Williamsburg;

718-460-8004

PHOTOGRAPH: LIZ CLAYMAN FOR NEW YORK MAGAZINE