These men are clearly not Amish. They fucking love the technology, as we all should.
I was graciously invited to another Kim Ricketts Book Event,


Two Frankies' Grandma Hangs Out With Jerry Garcia at the Corson Building

These men are clearly not Amish. They fucking love the technology, as we all should.
I was graciously invited to another Kim Ricketts Book Event, but this time I jumped at the chance to attend because the event was going to be held at the Corson Building. It didn't matter that I had no idea who Frank Castronovo and Frank Falcinelli were, because the Corson Building is always so overwhelmingly delicious; it's like a culinary hit of DMT. And by that I mean that it's as tasty as a tiny dog in a sweater is cute.

So it turns out that the two aforementioned Frankies--Frank Castronovo and Frank Falcinelli--are Brooklyn restaurateurs. They grew up together, then parted ways, only to be reunited by chance years later. In 2004 they opened Frankies Spuntino, a neighborhood hangout with simple food, expertly prepared.

But I didn't know any of this shit. All I knew about the two Frankies was what I could pick up from this photo of them. They looked like a couple of bearded dudes with stringy hair and hats, like some Amish motherfuckers, but without the itchy shirts.

Once everyone arrived at the Corson Building and had had their prerequisite glass of wine, the two Frankies unceremoniously stood up to talk about their new cookbook, The Frankies Spuntino Kitchen Companion & Cooking Manual. I discovered that Frank Falcinelli doesn't look Amish anymore; he'd cut his hair, apparently in order to run the NYC Marathon. But like Hercules, or Samson, or Metallica, Falcinelli's performance must have also been tied to the length of his hair. "I finished right in front of the sanitation trucks," he told us.

Frank Castronovo, on the other hand, still looked like a guy who followed the Grateful Dead, which is no coincidence. "The feel of our restaurant," Castronovo explained, "is that grandma is hanging out with Jerry Garcia. I think Jerry would love hanging out with my grandma." I don't know how old Frank Castronovo's grandmother is, but he isn't that young. Something tells me his grandma probably already IS hanging out with Jerry Garcia.

The Frankies finished their brief Q&A session, and the food came out. The food, as expected at the Corson Building, was rad. I've heard some people complaining about the Corson Building, but those people are such voluminous fappy buttholes, they must have been Mike Tyson's cell mate. The Corson Building rules, and don't you ever fucking forget it. They brought out plate after plate of delicacies as deceptively simple as a Chinese finger trap, and probably much easier to remove your cock from.

A massive platter sported Dungeness crab legs that had been parboiled, then blasted in the Corson Building's resident pizza oven to perfume the legs with a sturdy smoked finish. Whole spotted prawns were given similar treatment, first sautéed with crushed garlic cloves, then baked briefly. These were fucking killer: tender and juicy and not overcooked.

An antipasti platter was overflowing with a bunch of deliciousness: grilled baby carrots and broccoli and asparagus and onions, appealingly charred and tarted up with a perfectly cantilevered vinaigrette. A huge schlong of Italian sausage lay coiled on another plate, peppery and juicy and nestled next to a pile of sautéed porcini mushrooms. And a nearby mound of pasta, handmade fettuccine with fava beans and bread crumbs in a light tomato sauce, was so fucking good I would risk sabotaging the Super Bowl by parachuting into the halftime show if I could eat that pasta again.

After dinner the Frankies circulated amongst the crowd. Both of these motherfuckers are affable and easily approached. I asked Frank Falcinelli why he gave up his classical French training to set up a neighborhood Italian joint. He was blunt: "It's grueling," Falcinelli told me. "If you're a prodigy, you might start as a chef at 22. By 32 you'll be ready to retire. You can't sprint for 10 years." Falcinelli then went on to discuss some awesome sordid topics with me, which he unfortunately refused to allow me to quote for the record, but rest assured our conversation was badass.

I love these fucking guys. Luckily for us, the Frankies have partnered with Stumptown Coffee's Duane Sorensen to bring a new restaurant to Portland. It would be nice if they were opening a shop here. I can understand not wanting to go all the way across the country, but if you can't be bothered to make a quick jaunt down to the Rose City to check out Frankies Spuntino, you're a loser and I hate you.

Rating: 9 hits of DMT out of 10

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