Heads up before you read this review and realize I don't mention the food that extensively: I ate beforehand, so I didn't really eat here. I just had a leeeetle bit. I'd recommend another review for the full food rundown. The 4 stars is based more on the fact that from what little I experienced, I'd definitely come back to fully get down with meat by the pound(s).
Fette Sau was where I met up with Brooklyn Beer Crawl Yelpers. It was their third stop of the day. I had some catching up to do in the drinking department.
After some wandering, the pink neon Fette Sau sign beckons, kind of like that bar sign in Mr. Destiny (...Jim Belushi movie? Too obscure/random a reference?), and outside Craig N. and Molly C. are smokin' and cheery.
Besides these two fine specimens, outside of Fette Sau ain't much to look at -- basically a lot of concrete/pavement. There are some tables out, presumably for summer dining, but it's barren 'cause it's colder than a witch's tit.
Stopping to chat, I learn very quickly that Craig is intoxicated, quite full, and feeling quite generous with his leftovers, which are just begging to be taken advantage of. I hurry through the doors before he changes his mind.
Inside, Fette Sau is kind of like a pub, but also industrial at the same time -- garage-like, as others have noted. I see that my fellow Yelpers have commandeered one of the long communal pic-a-nic tables. I seem to have caught the aftermath of the carnage, as it's not as rowdy as I would've thought; everybody seems to have settled into a beer/meat induced stupor.
Except Oriana. She's babbling about getting more sausage. Can't get her fill of it, apparently. Jon S. chronicled some pretty good quotes that may or may not be attributable to Lady O.
Anywhoo, I go to order a beer from the bar, and there's a bunch of stuff on tap I've never tried. This is always exciting. I ask for a suggestion, and the bartender makes a pretty good one.
Sitting back down and stealing a rib from Craig's tray, it's pretty tasty, and comes off the bone just the way it ought to. It's been a while since I've had some good BBQ, and so Fette Sau stirs up some finger-lickin' memories.
Craig and Molly come in and I try Craig's drink -- a bourbon stout. I know that I love stouts. But I sure don't know what a bourbon stout is -- I mean, I know bourbon, I know stout, but their powers combined? Color me clueless. Whatever the bastard is, it's potent (9.0% alcohol?), and that's a winner in my books. I think we can deduce that I loved this drink, but I played it cool and we passed it around. Nobody else wanted to kill it, so I got to. I was pleased.
Later at the insistence of Molly C. (whom Craig was now resting his head on, a sign of things to come), I tried the baked beans -- and whaddya know, the broad's onto something; little bits of pulled pork mixed in definitely add to the flavor. Meat is always a welcome addition, and I particularly enjoy when it's a surprise, since it's only the best surprise ever. Sneaky meat.
Anyways, Fette Sau fills up and is obviously pretty popular for good reason. If you have a big group, do what the Yelpers did -- get there early, eat your stuff, digest, then turn over the real estate.
Likewise, you can make like me and get there late to pilfer the leftovers from near comatose patrons. Ain't no shame in scavenging. Thanks Craig! read more