The Atlantic Antic aka Street Meat Fest '07

While my brother's bloggery tends towards obscure musical links and cool video clips I can only post about the things I know and so herewith I give you more pictures of meat I've eaten outside while drunk. The Atlantic Antic is a yearly street festival that stretches from Flatbush ave to the BQE in the Heights passing through various ethnic and cultural neighborhoods each of which is well represented by the food stalls that line the thoroughfare. Each September I run this gastronomic gauntlet with unbounded enthusiasm that borders on obsession.

This year was no different. Here's how it went:

Woke up mid-morning with a healthy hangover to the twangings of my roommate's mandolin as he prepared for a bluegrass brunch. I had a very light breakfast that doesn't merit description compared to the epicurean maelstrom to follow. Note Matty Dread's face as he bangs away on his guitar. Good morning to me!
After a rousing bluegrass session (and a preemptive gatorade) we took to the streets. The first beer was had. A banh mi was consumed to fuel the push towards Flatbush ave. My hands were still shaky at this point and I was holding a beer and a sandwich so it's a bit blurry but you get the idea. This one was chicken because I can't mess with the foie gras that comes on the "classic".
Further down the road, Jonny Bang Bang stopped here for a pig sandwich and by the time I got back from the beer place he had eaten the whole thing so I can only assume it was good. If you look closely at this picture you can see this is an entire roast pig laid out on the outdoor counter. Yah, that's the pig's head on the right. For some of you hillbillies this is no big deal but keep in mind this is on a sidewalk in Brooklyn. Thanks for saving me a bite, Jonny. You owe me $5 for the beer.
As we pushed onwards we entered the Caribbean and Creole section of town. Sammy Banjo stopped at the Jerk Center while Todd posed for me. That's his Jerk Face. I didn't try the Jerk because I was saving myself for shawarma that never arrived but Sam said it was good. More on the shawarma later.

Some rookie on our squad got a mozzarepa. Whatever, dude.

At this point we're several beers deep and the shawarma's siren song was calling me back towards the other end of the avenue so we did an about-face and followed the column of smoke rising from the middle eastern section of the fair. Once you get that side of Court Street it's halal-ville. If you can't tell by the spinach pies and baklava spilling out of every store front then surely the belly dancer and live Lebanese band should tell you. I would have taken a picture of the belly dancer but that felt skeevy so instead here is my favorite band we saw.
Jonny Bang and I chose our shawarma target by the length of the line and the fact that nobody who worked at the stand spoke English except the 12 year old kid with braces. We stood there for 15 minutes and got hungry so ate some falafel and stuffed grapeleaves while we waited.


After 15 more minutes they had served 1 shawarma and little Jonny was getting grumpy without his beer (no beer in the Muslim section) so we actually gave up and pressed on. I know, I know. I can't believe it either.

Luckily the Greeks have their own version

of shawarma and they have no problems serving it with beer. It is the mighty gyro. Note of caution: Greeks don't like it when you call their gyro a shawarma. It's a fucking gyro, man. Sorry Greek dude. The gyro was pretty awesome. No idea what kind of meat it is but it's served on nice hand baked bread with a yogurt cucumber sauce that spilled all over Tommy.

What can one do post-gyro except take a quick trip to Spain for some paella, chorizo and my perennial favorite, grilled, salted sardines? Holy crap are these good.

It's now 5pm and we've been walking, eating and drinking since noon. Outside my favorite local bar a french rock band is playing laisse tomber les filles (that one's for you, big I) and two semi-foxy girls are go-go dancing on raised platforms. The sun is painting the crowd a glowing red as the smoke from the Spanish grill rises up over us where we sit on a curb to catch our breath. Jonny Bang returns from the beer stand with another round and I decide that this year I will skip the deep fried twinkie from the British fish and chips place. That is my one regret from this year's antic.