Review: Freemans

We piled our hair on top of our head, slid a pair of frameless glasses onto our nose, and headed to New York’s own little slice of Alaska, Freemans – a restaurant with wide-plank wooden floors, candlelight and stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls. It’s at the end of Freeman Alley, off Rivington between the Bowery and Chrystie.

The restaurant, you know, serves some good ole, hearty American food, lots of cow, lamb, and rabbit, killed by workin’ folks in the real America and brought to this liberal, latte-sippin’ city. You know, the folks who were waitin’ by the small crowded bar to be seated (and there were a heckuva a lot of ‘em), they sure didn’t look like the kind of folks we’re used to seein’. They were wearin’ jeans, but they were so skinny they couldn’t hardly move in ‘em. When Joe and us are hangin’ out, sure he wears jeans, but gosh darn it, he can bag a moose in those jeans. That creative guy behind Freemans, though, now that guy looks like an Alaska maverick.

Speakin’ of Joe, we shot-gunned a six pack of Bud before we headed downtown, so, you know, we were a bit blitzed when we arrived. The restaurant doesn’t normally take reservations for parties of less than six folks, but we didn’t have to wait like those elites at the bar. Secret Service called ahead and arranged it all for us. And thank the Lord above for that, because some of those folks were standin’ there for more than an hour.

The menu was real mavericky. There was fish, but it wasn’t salmon; it was wild-striped bass with soft chunks of eggplant, tomatoes, tangy olives and hints of fennel. There was lamb, but it wasn’t a grilled chop; it was cooked until fork-tender, in a hearty stew, chocked full of winter vegetables and seasoned with a bit of mint. And there was mac ‘n cheese, but it wasn’t an orange side dish; it was a stomach fillin’ main course, made with three rich and gooey cheeses. (No mooseburgers) Clearly those tax lovin’ blue staters, who just like to make the whole world so complicated, had designed this menu. We were ill about it at first, until we tried those fancy dishes. Those dishes were darn good. They soaked up that beer real well.

We’re not pointin’ fingers, but in the starters, we noticed the restaurant was tryin’ to promote Barack Obama. They were servin’ “Devils on Horseback.” We had to try ‘em so we could see what we were up against this last month. You know, turns out, they didn’t have anythin’ to do with Obama; they were sugary prunes, stuffed with a blue cheese with just a bit of bite, and wrapped in crispy bacon. The artichoke dip was, you betch’ya, the best gosh darn dip we’ve ever had. Our family loves dips; we serve that onion dip from a packet after every snowmobile race. This artichoke dip, though, this stuff was good, and you didn’t haveta to be a maverick takin’ shots all your life to realize that. Creamy and sweet, when you piled it on top of your little piece of toast, a thin strand of Parmesan cheese stretched all the way from the dip to the toast. Mmmmmm, it sure was good.

We’d brave this liberal lovin’ place any time for that homey, dead animal ambiance and hearty food. We even told the waitress we’d hunt some moose from helicopters and bring’em the meat for their winter menu. We winked at the waitress, hopin’ to get our meal for free. It didn’t work. But we also winked at the hostess on the way out, and we’re pretty sure the next time we come here, we won’t have to wait.

Comments

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Perkins' daughter and his son Edward W. Freemans remodeled house in 1933. They give it the great maestro Arturo Toscanini in the years 1942-45, and 1950-56 years, heads the British delegation to the UN Sir Gleduinu Jebb and Pearson to Sir Dixon.

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