Sunday Brunch: Faro

Faro restaurant occupies an airy, expansive, room in Bushwick, just off the Jefferson L train. Though a newcomer to the scene, Faro has collected quite a few accolades during its short but influential run: it was touted one of New York City’s best restaurants of the year by Eater NY, had a dish featured in TimeOut New York as one of the city’s 100 best, and even got a nod from the coveted Michelin Guide. I also have a good friend who works their brunch shift, and promised me free treats. So, it was only right that I make the trip.

After a rough night out, my friend and I finally made our way out of bed and arrived at the restaurant at a cold 4:00 p.m. A solid start to the day.

We reviewed the menu, which features seasonal ingredients, meats butchered and cured on the premises, and pastas made from scratch with grains sourced from upstate New York and milled in house. Damn. Reading through the extravagant menu items, I wanted to order every single thing and sit at that table stuffing my face for the rest of my life.

But first, coffee.

We chose the Gnudi, with crab, cauliflower, and capers. As well as the Scampi Chittara, with shrimp, garlic and white wine.

The Gnudi were like little cheese pasta dumplings, made with ricotta and Parmesean. The sauce, a creamy crab concoction, added a depth of flavor which left me nearly licking the bowl clean.

The Scampi came with three jumbo shrimp, heads still attached. It was clear that the pasta was homemade, and the rest of the dish’s flavors were delicate enough to highlight that. We sucked the shrimp heads clean, and finished every last bite.

As promised, our meal came with perks; we received an order of the Local Grain Porridge, with leek, bacon bits, and a poached egg, on the house. Faro’s porridge was the dish featured in TimeOut as one of NYC’s 100 best, and I can absolutely see why. The flavors were subtle and balanced; it was super savory and filling, with a hint of salt and crunch from the bacon bits. Perfection.

My only complaint doesn’t pertain to the restaurant at all; instead I lament the limits of my little belly, which could not be pushed to order every last dish as I had hoped. I suppose I’ll just have to return, time and time again, until no taste is left unexplored. Oh well, I think I can swing it.