BY MICHELLE WAHLERS
The calendar boasts it is spring, but I would argue otherwise. I decided to use the chilly weather as an excuse to try Post Office, a whiskey bar located under the Williamsburg Bridge. I met friends and got a table in the middle of the dimly lit, narrow bar. The bartender was willing to help an amateur (me) with the very extensive whiskey, Bourbon and rye list. I decided on the Buffalo Trace on the rocks, and my boyfriend got the Kentucky Vintage, neat. The Buffalo Trace was smooth and had “butterscotchy” tones. The Kentucky Vintage knocked me off my feet and put some hair on my chest with it’s musky, smoky flavor. I preferred the former. The other two guests with us both got Manhattans which were mahogany colored and garnished with a single cherry.
The Post Office’s decor is lovely, vintage and very personal. Above us hung a chandelier, each bulb burning soft. On the tables were candles, which had the habit of blowing out when we moved in to talk to each other. The music playing was a complete throwback, think Buddy Holly and Bobby Darin. The wallpaper was the Eagle Insignia, but I like to think that the true mascot for the place is Charles Bukowksi, whose portrait was hanging above the bar. As a fan girl, I was thrilled.
The menu was scarce, but we all knew what we were getting into. The place is a bar first and this becomes blatantly obvious when you realize the kitchen is about the size of a broom closet and that you can see right into it. I always marvel at kitchens that are so exposed to the public, confidence must run deep. We ordered oysters, deviled eggs, the pickle plate, a grilled cheese with bacon, the pulled pork sandwich and the last filet mignon. (Essentially the entire menu.) As soon as our waiter told me there was only one left I made it a point to reserve it. The food did not arrive promptly, but the service was always assuring us of its whereabouts and re-filling drinks. This is not a place to go for a quick bite, but it never presents itself as such. It promotes leisure and contemplation.
Of all the food we ordered, I have to say the deviled eggs were my favorite. That doesn’t even seem fair when steak is in the equation, but like I said this place is a bar that happens to serve food, not the other way around. Also I have an affinity to deviled eggs and these were made damn near perfectly. The pickle plate was a fun way to begin the meal, with pickled peaches, beets, mushrooms, blackberries and peppers. (Trust me, somehow this all works together.) The filet mignon was rare but a bit too tough, but the bed of mashed potatoes it was lying on was delicious, swimming in bacon gravy. The grilled cheese was cooked perfectly; the bacon to cheese ration was 50:50 (which to me, is perfect!). The pulled pork sandwich was packed with freshly made coleslaw and thinly shredded pork on a dark toasted bun.
When our plates were cleared and we were warm and full, the place seemed to be gaining real momentum. A small line formed (no doubt waiting for our table), and we started heading out, although I could have stayed for much longer. The mood was kind and calm, but with a healthy appreciation for the devious, as the portrait above the bar would suggest.