On this most Brooklyn of streets—one of those blocks in the Heights that looks dreamt up by Auden, or perhaps Dunham—there could be no Manhattan. “We’re out of sweet vermouth,” the waitress explained. “How about an Old-Fashioned?” (Another thing missing from the drinks offerings: anything approaching a gimmick.) It’s impossible to stay mad at Iris Café Store #9, which feels like the best-kept secret in a neighborhood that’s known less for its interesting dining than for its streets named after fruits. The restaurant, an old storefront done up with Edison bulbs and fresh flowers in the window, started as a breakfast joint, famous for its exceptionally sticky buns and rustic feel. For the past year, locals have been wandering in after work to enjoy a modest but lovely dinner service that’s conversant in the clichés of the borough—think kale croquettes—but never succumbs to them.
You will have by now guessed the basics: a menu that changes frequently, a kitchen that encourages sharing. But you might not have predicted that the obligatory tomato-and-burrata appetizer is served on miniature scallion pancakes, resulting in a deeply satisfying mix of temperatures (room temperature, cool, straight out of the deep fryer) and textures (juicy, smooth, crunchy). Similarly, those kale croquettes take the “Put an egg on it” routine, by now familiar to all who have eaten at farm-to-table establishments, to the next level, because the egg yolk is cured, and then in its dehydrated state grated on top. Those little golden specks somehow work to intensify the flavors of what could taste like spanakopita into something vaguely umami, like a memory of miso.
These are not party tricks but signs of an imaginative mind. The chef Joey Scalabrino seems determined to upend expectations. (A recent feature on eater.com spoofed trendy restaurant menu items: “truffle oil-tainted mashed potatoes,” “an unconventional riff on brussels sprouts,” “tarted-up pork belly.”) Yes, there’s an octopus dish, served with what is described as “really good olive oil,” but the trace of Meyer lemon, easily abused in excess, elevates the traditional preparation. (On another night, slivers of plum brought acidity.) Or take the roast chicken, an exercise in symmetry, two elegant fingers, seared so they develop an impressive crust, with a flourish of green garlic spiralled across the plate.
We could talk about what, exactly, is in the tangy, lemony sauce that accompanies the ribbons of summer squash dusted with crushed pistachios (avocado and Greek yogurt). Or about the charming way two different desserts—a tiramisu and an Earl Gray crème brûlée—came with raspberries on top, as though the kitchen couldn’t resist a reminder that this was the height of summer. When you’re eating, you won’t much care about the why. Sort of like how the Old-Fashioned will do just fine, thanks. ♦
Open daily for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Entrées $16-$32.
