![]() ![]() ![]() Especially hard-boiled ones.Ĭollerton’s usual method wasn’t working with the eggs Saltie plucked from the Lancaster Farm Fresh Cooperative in Pennsylvania. Also, “it’s not economically feasible” to have meat on every sandwich for such a small enterprise, according to Fidanza. They are not burdened by huge crates of tomatoes or wrestling with whole cows in the back, like they were at Diner. “This place is so small, we’re using a lot less than in the past,” Fidanza said. The Saltie ladies also decided to make their own ice cream, featuring sweet (caramel, rum raisin) and citrus (lavender and lemon balm) flavors. Instead, there are homemade drinks whipped up with ingredients like cucumbers and blueberries. There’s no bathroom for customers, and, therefore, no liquor license. A glass display case in the front displays their pies and baked goods (loaf cakes made with olive oil and ricotta, for example, and a serious blackberry tart). In the back, there’s no room for the wall of walk-in freezers that would be needed to store meat, although there are ovens that allow them to bake their own breads on site. Saltie’s sparse, sunny atmosphere befits the slogan emblazoned on their menu: “it’s a tight ship.” There’s little hanging on the walls aside from a bright blue menu. There are six white stools by a brick wall on the left, and two seats facing out onto the street to watch commuters making their way from the Lorimer L and G stop down the street. The front dining area doesn’t have room for many customers. You might miss it if you’re just strolling along Metropolitan, if you don’t happen to see the friendly, white wood-framed window with “Saltie” printed over a strip of blue glass. The space is no bigger than a small one-bedroom apartment. In part, Saltie’s menu of simple, mostly vegetarian sandwiches is a function of its cramped quarters. But the space was cozy and it was available. The BQE overpass whooshes nearby, and the City Reliquary museum and a car service kiosk serve as neighbors. ![]() It’s on Metropolian Avenue, in a somber, concrete area where trash tends to gather along a fence by one of those countless apartment loft construction sites. Within a few months, Collerton, who was a line cook at Southern soul restaurant Egg on North 5th Street, coaxed Fidanza into considering a space formerly occupied by boutique cupcake shop Cheeks. She told the Village Voice that she was looking forward to some time off and perhaps considering some kind of “ownership” of something. Not long after, Diner was luring weary Manhattan dwellers over the bridge.Īfter a decade of service, and after Diner begat Bonita, Bonita II and Marlow & Daughters, Fidanza was ready to move on. She shepherded in a “whole animal program,” changing both Diner and Marlow & Sons’ menus into more meat-focused fare and perking up the press. IN 1998, AFTER DINER AND MARLOW & SONS OWNERS Andrew Tarlow and Mark Firth gutted and refinished the 1920’s Kullman Diner nestled beneath the Williamsburg bridge, they hired Fidanza to run the kitchen. “The more we do this,” meaning creating more meatless sandwiches, “the more we realize we’re not really missing it,” Collerton said. Her short, dark hair was slicked into an Ed Grimle-esque mini-pompadour. “Or a sardine,” added Collerton, who was also hanging around the front of the shop, sitting on a squat refrigerator filled with their ice creams, and dressed in a crisp white apron and a black t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a black tattoo on her left arm. “We removed the obvious protein and put an egg in its place,” Fidanza said. The drastically reduced amount of pig going into the sandwiches was something Fidanza welcomed. Their “Romaine Dinghy” sandwich, comprised of a brick of crisp leaves between pieces of their signature, buttery focaccia bread, became blog fodder in June since it’s an $8 concoction made “almost entirely out of lettuce.” They obsess over basil, which “we put on everything,” Fidanza said, and herbs like lavender and mint. As part of their vow to stay seasonal, their star summer ingredients are of the leafy variety: lettuces and beets provided by their produce farmer Guy Jones of Blooming Hill Farm. “We have to be more like how people used to be, like when meat is harvested in the fall and winter, we use it then.”īut over time, the Saltie ladies became preoccupied with less-fleshy proteins like eggs, sardines, hummus, quinoa, and yogurt and nut spreads. “We use bacon and mortadella for special occasions,” Fidanza said, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, with streaks of gray framing her face. ![]()
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