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They weren't kidding
about that whole bridge thing. DUMBO is indeed under an overpass,
its span spreading a shadow over everything in the thin gully that
makes up Front Street, including the cool industrial brick archway
entrance of Superfine. Clearly this joint was a former smelting room,
horseshoery or power substation. Okay, while it was most likely none
of those, it's clear it was, like most things in the industrial environs
of old Brooklyn, something else before it is what it is now--mainly
places for hipsters to convene to imbibe, buy overpriced apparel or
listlessly soak in a live band. My immediate reaction to Superfine's
interior of multi-platforms, ramps and stairs was that it would be
a fun place to come at night, drink too many beers and totally bite
it on one of the Harry Potter-like moving platforms (that are sedentary
when sober, but would certainly gain momentum after several spirits).
We were in fact there for brunch, accompanied by children of various
ages and a large group of Ms. Hipster's co-workers and their significant
others. The whole journey was one of darkness and light. Light: everyone
showed up reasonably on time, and the place looked very cool. Darkness:
our reservation was only kinda-sort of honored, as they kept us waiting
for what seemed like eons and ultimately split our party at two tables.
Light; there was a pool table and a rockabilly band to help fill our
many minutes of idle time. Darkness: some freakish hipster(s) decided
that playing game after game of solo pool was somehow going to impress
someone, and we were sat right in front of the band, who played the
entire time at volumes loud enough to ripple my water and render conversation
practically impossible. Light: the lead singer of the band was a dead
ringer for John Waters. Darkness: most children, including our own,
are frightened by John Waters. Light: we were finally sat for brunch.
Darkness: the service was slow, inept, detached and dropped an entire
glass of something red on one of our co-eaters. Light: they had French
toast. Darkness: they had THAT French toast. Light: at least we were
there with our family, out in Brooklyn at a place that should have
everything going for it. Darkness: Hipster Jr. Jr. had colic and required
constant tending, while Hipster Jr. started to lose it after being
in a confined space for three hours and eating what amounted to a
French fry. And through all the darkness we could see the worst part
of all; that the place squandered its potential, like so many before
it, by trying to be too cool for school and not concentrating on the
basics like hiring competent staff, not deafening your customers and
cooking food so good that those same customers forget what a nighmarish
time they had getting through the meal. [MF]
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