Fette Sau

Fette Sau

Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don’t eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain’t Jewish, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals.  I don’t eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Yeah, but bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
– A conversation from Pulp Fiction

This week, for my departing colleague’s farewell dinner, he took our team to Fette Sau, which Zagat voted the best BBQ in New York City.  I can hear people in Kansas City and Texas giggling, but Fette Sau was exceptional.

With a rolling loading bay door for its entrance, and rows of picnic tables, Fette Sau resembles a garage more than it does a New York restaurant.  Their “less is more” attitude is obvious.  For convenience, the food is served on metal trays and paper plates, and the beer is served in glass gallons and mason jars.  The food is prepared behind the counter, and we watched while one of the cooks cut slabs of pork that were thrown onto a simple wooden table (see the sketch above).

At Fette Sau, they focus on three things: BBQ, whiskey, and beer (the cider was pretty darn good too).  I tried brisket, pork shoulder, sausage, and a variety of BBQ sauces, including a spicy one that I was tempted to slip into my coat pocket, it was so good.  Unfortunately, they were out of the Berkshire Belly (bacon), which my colleague assured me was worth the flight back from San Francisco.

So if you are in New York, and are deciding on which of the countless restaurants to try, skip the white table cloths and cabernet, take the Subway to Brooklyn, and visit Fette Sau.  Because Vincent is right: pork tastes gooood.

P.S. We’ll miss you, Andy.

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