General Store; Cafe Brasil

General Store

"Who was the greatest American rock 'n' roll band?" slurred the young drunk, elbowing the stranger on the next barstool. He and a fellow inebriate had been going at it rather loudly for a while. It wasn't even dinnertime yet, so these two must have been drinking since about noon. The one who brought the bystander into it simply could not believe that his friend saw fit to crown Lynyrd Skynyrd and not the Grateful Dead. He figured an independent judgment would settle the matter. But the randomly chosen referee was on some neither-nor shit. He looked at both men, said, "James Brown and the JBs," and went back to his own conversation before their jaws even hit the floor.

An hour after witnessing that, I sampled the food at General Store, a new traditional-American restaurant on Ave. B. Here's the connection: Since East Village culture is dominated by Middle American white people of means, I'd guessed the place would cater to such folks' idea of comfort food. And it does, with meat loaf, mashed potatoes, a roast turkey sandwich and such salads as iceberg lettuce with cheese and bacon. But unlike those rock 'n' roll drunks, the people behind General Store didn't forget about Soul when compiling America's greatest hits. The menu, which also features pressed sandwiches and artisanal cheeses, doesn't make this clear. But you can tell from just one taste of the restaurant's hot biscuits.

They're so sweet that in certain American counties they'd be classified as cupcakes. Soul-food sweetness also manifested in the carroty braising sauce of my lamb shank entree. It's the kind of sauce that gets slathered over a rack of ribs.

The African-American touch is one of several things General Store is trying to pull off. The ones that involve baking are the most successful so far. A lobster pot pie, for instance, had the markings of a signature dish: flaky crust, herb-strewn tomato broth balancing a note of seawater, succulent claw and tail meat, heartier winter root vegetables instead of potato.

An appetizer of chopped liver, on the other hand, started with questionable product and went totally awry. The pate had the consistency of toothpaste, and accompanying it with dried cranberries proved to be a lousy idea. The last thing you want with pure, mouth-coating fat is a sour tinge. If the chef doesn't know that chicken liver tastes good when it's bulked with hardboiled egg and onion, then generously salted, that's bad. If he's under the impression that his tart jelly is an improvement, that's worse.

There are a lot of kinks General Store needs to work out. Two side dishes, brussels sprouts and roasted beets, arrived undercooked. The service was awful, bordering on horrendous. The restaurant's open kitchen includes a microwave installed spacemaker-style, so it's easy for diners to see that the thing is in constant use. That made us wonder whether our lobster pot pie was a true pie served upside-down or just reheated stew with a pastry crust dropped on top. Also, the microwave emits weird smells, as microwaves always do.

Another problem is the wine list. Not the wines themselves?I can't tell you much about them, besides that they're all American. It's the list itself that's obnoxious. There are only three bottles under $30, and the same number of glasses under $8. Is this because inexpensive U.S.-produced wines aren't up to snuff? Then General Store should suspend the all-American theme and offer some decent French and Italian table wines, unless they're not interested in competing with any of the 800-or-so restaurants where New Yorkers can drink better for less.

I won't list our server's errors, because we visited during General Store's very first weekend of operation. That said, I can't imagine how, given the local job market, a restaurant might come to hire someone with as little idea of how to speak to paying customers as our waitress had. I've encountered telemarketers who were more accommodating.

After the lobster pot pie, General Store's main attraction should be its cheeses (especially once the menu is reprinted with "artisanal" spelled correctly). If you're a New York Times and/or New Yorker subscriber, the restaurant literally has cheeses you read about. And a certain daylight-hour dipsomaniac would be happy to hear that Deadheads' favorite California county steals the show: General Store's choice cheese is Cypress Grove Humboldt Fog, a mild goat cheese that makes an indelible impression in only the mildest way.

Also offered is a selection of American smoked meats, all of them versions of Italian specialties. I did not try any.

Appetizers and sandwiches are $5-$8. The American meats and cheeses are both $8 for any three or $12 for a plate of all seven. The entrees range from $10 for herb-roasted chicken to $14 for roasted cod or the lamb shank. The lobster pot pie is $15 and the only entree that doesn't come with sides. Desserts include homemade ice cream?there's a list of gourmet sundaes like "The Ricky Ricardo," with mango, coconut and dulce de leche?for $6 each.

General Store also runs a retail operation. There's a broad array of baked goods and homemade jams. We liked the looks of their homemade chocolate truffles and bought a bunch for the ride home, as it was too cold outside for ice cream. Sadly, the truffles were weak.

Cafe Brasil

Cafe Brasil isn't really a Brazilian restaurant?just a good one. Its untraditional-ness is one of the funny things about it. The other is that it's on the same Hell's Kitchen block as a much more acclaimed and crowded Brazilian restaurant, Rice 'n' Beans (the two establishments are owned by the same person). Or maybe these things are funny only to me, now, because they almost deterred me from trying the place. Both have little to do with the crucial information regarding Cafe Brasil, which is that the lady there can cook.

We only really met her because of her hot sauce. Though she took our order and brought it to us, the waitress/chef was strictly business, almost brusque, until we let loose with the compliments. These were heartfelt and genuine. Her hot sauce is a mango-habanero concoction, both creamy cool and sweat-inducing, tropically fruity and electric. She said she invented it after noticing that Americans enjoy spicy food and also mangos. It's sort of like the Wright brothers saying they realized walking can hurt one's feet.

What we'd been eating with the sauce tasted special without it, too. Grilled shrimps with garlic, cilantro and wine sauce (only the "grilled" part is traditional Brazilian) was quicksilver light, with all three flavors gushing in harmony from every plump morsel. The same fragrant juice dressed the side salad, and on it tasted rather different?a neat trick that isn't executed so neatly most of the time.

A garlic, oregano and orange sauce on grilled chicken (again, not a dish you'd be likely to find in Brazil) reinforced our sense of the cook's facility with herbs and meat, not to mention fruit. Though the meat was a little bit dry, the sauce was another blazing success, and additional dimensions courtesy of the hot sauce put it way over the top.

A Cafe Brasil meal should start with fried potato croquettes (bolinho), filled with chicken, codfish or cheese. The restaurant's version hits par for the course taste-wise, but goes off the scale in terms of stickiness. If peanut butter were an 8-out-of-10, the starchy part of these croquettes would have to rate a 17 or so. I can't say I grasped the appeal, beyond that it was homey and fun to wash down with Guarana soda, the unofficial national soft drink (and stimulant) of Brazil.

For dessert there's traditional custards (coconut and caramel?also satisfying though unspectacular), as well as guava paste and cheese (goiabada), an authentic favorite that I did not sample. Instead we had some of our new friend's cookies, which were almost as unique as her hot sauce. She presented us with a to-go cup of the latter after we paid our check (which came to just under $40 for dinner for two), and I spent the next week trying it on pretty much everything. As a dip for raw vegetables it's superb. On scrambled eggs, awesome.

Cafe Brasil, 746 9th Ave. (betw. 50th & 51st Sts.), 247-5500. Closed Sundays.

Unwelcome At Clay

Late last summer I had an unpleasant experience trying to eat at Clay, a pan-Asian restaurant near Little Italy, said to be excellent. I'd been unable to make reservations because a recording on Clay's phone said they'd be closed until the very evening I wanted to visit. But the restaurant didn't reopen as promised, so I ended up face-to-face with a pulled-down metal gate. Two Saturdays ago, I tried Clay again. Afraid of getting bad information over the phone again, this time I walked in, ready to wait as long as necessary. The place appeared to be arranged for a private party. But there was no sign on the door, so I sought out a server and inquired. She told me the place was indeed hosting a party, though it was also open to other customers. But, she added, I stood no chance of being one tonight. Come back during the week, she said.

I proceeded to tell her the amusing story of the last time I tried to eat at Clay, keeping things friendly because I fully expected the woman to offer to serve me either at the bar or after her last reservation. I was under the impression that servers are trained to talk about what they can do instead of what they can't. Not in this case. Finally, I flat-out asked if I could eat at the bar. The answer was yes, punctuated with a hair-toss to imply "if you must." Naturally, I spared Clay the agony. Nice to know someone's doing so much business they can behave as if the economy's still booming.

Clay, 202 Mott St. (betw. Spring & Kenmare Sts.), 625-1105.