Bar Toto

Bar Toto, we're not in Manhattan anymore.

For many Manhattanites the idea of jaunting over the rails to Brooklyn is terrifying. Akin to a mystical voyage over which we have little or no control, the duration of which is unascertainable.

I bring a book. Like War and Peace. I expect its completion by journey's end.

Certain things can bring even the most stalwart Manhattan-centric to Brooklyn however. Most often, it's to do with the dizzying pull of love for someone across the mysterious bridge. Else, the trek is unacceptable. Oz is a cold place, and full of danger.

I found myself, after an hour (?) long ride, in an unfamiliar land. Large patches of sky. Low huddled buildings. Foreign accents unaccompanied by a cab. Stillness. Were it not for the warm grasp of a loved one's hand I might have gone mad altogether.

Walking along Sixth Avenue we hadn't any idea where we'd eat. Only that both of us were getting hungry. There'd been some discussion of a meal at a Chinese restaurant nearby. We walked on when we glimpsed two sad gum-stuck tables through the grimy window.

There was a pub that seemed like a possibility. Near deserted, it promised little cheer or food.

An unexpected rendezvous with a acquaintance produced a pin on the map to head for. A bistro-ish sort of place with Italian overtones. Bar Toto.

We made way for the new destination. Passed a multitude of doctors offices, dentists, and hair salons trapped in 1983. We don't need time machines in the modern age. We have Brooklyn (and Queens). Yet, despite my wry sense of fun there too on offer in the borough is a sense of home. A quaintness even. A reminder of the suburbia from whence so many of us originally came.

The umbrellas of Bar Toto's outdoor patio came into view. We zipped up our hoodies a little higher and took seats outside. Everything was brushed with a bit of gold, washed in the glow of lights from the inside bar. Service was on the rushed side, but not rude. Chatter bouncing off the tin ceiling and flowing out the door added something of a European feel to the experience. Car drove by blasting Michael Jackson. Appreciated.

Perusing the menu was a delight. Prices were reasonable. Grilled pizzas, pasta, and short ribs to name but a few items. I settled on Chicken Cutlet Parmigiana, leaning further on my sentimental sense of home. Dinners out with family at local restaurants. Comfort food. When it arrived, it was everything I'd hoped it would be. Simply prepared with breaded chicken and ample cheese. Not overflowing. Not meager.

To accompany I selected a beer I'd never heard of: Ommegang Rare VOS. A pleasant surprise with a darker hue, and a taste on the bitter side. Perfect for fall. Also offered on tap is the elusive Peroni, an Italian beer.

Michael Jackson made a second pass. Several more people from the block joined the patio. Laughter. Shots ordered. Baby carriages passed in juxtaposition. Gaggles of friends babbled and disappeared up the tree lined street beyond. All was polished off with a (decaf) espresso. I'm embarrassed for the qualification. Caffeine keeps me awake.

Dinner finished, we walked off too, towards the subway. I boarded alone. Pulled out War and Peace, and smiled as the train left the station. Back to Manhattan, like waking from a dream.

Have courage, take heart, and think outside the boundaries of our fair city. You'll be surprised what's out there. Somewhere, over the bridge.

INFO:
Bar Toto
411 11TH Street (at 6TH Avenue)
Brooklyn
718.768.4698
www.bartoto.com