I suffered high winds and semi-frozen rain on what's normally a leisurely walk from Nassau Avenue to Huron Street in Greenpoint Saturday night. Neither the sniffles nor my least favorite sensation, wet socks, could deter me from my bash. "I'm going to pretend I'm not freezing my ass off right now," I said to my companion. "Margaritas," he replied.
The odd sight of a rope and bouncer marked our quarry: Mexican joint Papacitos. It looked crowded; we didn't care. Inside, we were transported, if not to Mexico, to a happier version of the grey city we inhabit. A mariachi band played, tequila flowed and owner Cody Utzman led a conga line. This was a homecoming fiesta for the tattooed foodie; he'd just been in Mexico copping culinary knowledge to make his taqueria even tastier. Also, after many dry months, the bar was open and people were making good use of it.
"Enjoy," Rick, our dreamy and mustachioed waiter, commanded as he set down our plates. My nachos may have been vegan, but the men were 100% toothsome, hearty meat.
The waitstaff and cooks kicked up quite a ruckus as they stomped and clapped in the aisles, but when Utzman took the mic after high fiving everyone on the way up, the crowd hushed. "I wanna thank everyone for comin' out tonight," he announced, to cheers. "Every single night, Papacitos will be serving you food and drinks ‘til 4 a.m.!" (cheers) "How about this band?!" (cheers)
Literally and figuratively, Utzman owned the place. He was giving out chicken molé for people to taste, but it seemed folks really wanted a bite of him. He roared with laughter. He pounded tequila from the bottle. Multiple blondes tried to touch his ass. It was like some benevolent god of Mexican food had come down to Brooklyn to bring us $1 tacos and sire demi-gods with mortal women.
"I'm lovin' it," Utzman told me when he had a moment. Ever the masochist where spice is concerned, I asked if he'd brought back any scorching sauce from Mexico (the sauces currently on offer provide flavor, but little heat). "Your challenge has been met," he replied. "There's some stuff I bought in Mexico City...I put a few drops on my burrito and the base of my spine tingled." Sounds promising!
Utzman then dished on plans to add a French bar tabac to his roster of Greenpoint hotspots, which currently includes Papacitos and the Brooklyn Standard Bodega. "It's supposed to be a secret," he said, flashing a grin.
Rumor has it Utzman's charm was not enough to keep the peace into the wee hours, when a man drunk on hubris and Tecates took a swing at him but was quickly ejected. When reached for comment, he dismissed it as "just some drunk asshole, no big deal," declining to discuss it further.
The odd sight of a rope and bouncer marked our quarry: Mexican joint Papacitos. It looked crowded; we didn't care. Inside, we were transported, if not to Mexico, to a happier version of the grey city we inhabit. A mariachi band played, tequila flowed and owner Cody Utzman led a conga line. This was a homecoming fiesta for the tattooed foodie; he'd just been in Mexico copping culinary knowledge to make his taqueria even tastier. Also, after many dry months, the bar was open and people were making good use of it.
"Enjoy," Rick, our dreamy and mustachioed waiter, commanded as he set down our plates. My nachos may have been vegan, but the men were 100% toothsome, hearty meat.
The waitstaff and cooks kicked up quite a ruckus as they stomped and clapped in the aisles, but when Utzman took the mic after high fiving everyone on the way up, the crowd hushed. "I wanna thank everyone for comin' out tonight," he announced, to cheers. "Every single night, Papacitos will be serving you food and drinks ‘til 4 a.m.!" (cheers) "How about this band?!" (cheers)
Literally and figuratively, Utzman owned the place. He was giving out chicken molé for people to taste, but it seemed folks really wanted a bite of him. He roared with laughter. He pounded tequila from the bottle. Multiple blondes tried to touch his ass. It was like some benevolent god of Mexican food had come down to Brooklyn to bring us $1 tacos and sire demi-gods with mortal women.
"I'm lovin' it," Utzman told me when he had a moment. Ever the masochist where spice is concerned, I asked if he'd brought back any scorching sauce from Mexico (the sauces currently on offer provide flavor, but little heat). "Your challenge has been met," he replied. "There's some stuff I bought in Mexico City...I put a few drops on my burrito and the base of my spine tingled." Sounds promising!
Utzman then dished on plans to add a French bar tabac to his roster of Greenpoint hotspots, which currently includes Papacitos and the Brooklyn Standard Bodega. "It's supposed to be a secret," he said, flashing a grin.
Rumor has it Utzman's charm was not enough to keep the peace into the wee hours, when a man drunk on hubris and Tecates took a swing at him but was quickly ejected. When reached for comment, he dismissed it as "just some drunk asshole, no big deal," declining to discuss it further.
