Pitt's is here to make us all believe in whimsy again. The follow-up from chef Jeremy Salamon, Pitt's brings a dose of levity to the dinner table, charming us with home-cooked meals served in a space that looks, feels and tastes like grandma’s (if grandma gets down with pickly things and bone marrow butters). And that fluffy pancake soufflé alone gives us—and you—every reason to make the trip to Red Hook.
The vibe: Pitt's feels like you’ve just arrived at grandma’s house, and she has definitely prepared for your visit. The good china is out, much of it proudly displayed on the walls (all of it from Salamon's grandmother, Arlene). Animal figurines—duck lamps, rooster statues in chef’s hats—play peekaboo at the counter, behind the bar and even in the bathroom. And the glass light fixtures overhead near the front look like they’ve been lifted straight from your nicest Applebee’s, though don’t count on Grandma to tell you how she got them.
But there’s a youthful streak here, too—almost as if the grandkids moved in a few months ago, bringing their speakers, cool synth beats and white paper overlays so they can doodle without ruining her good linens.
The food: Salamon spent several summers visiting his grandparents in North Carolina, and he's brought those memories here. Peanuts bob and fry in duck fat, while fried saltines—fried simply in oil—arrive married to a creamy, Gouda-y pimento cheese. The Southern staple of meatloaf is very much an option, but instead of an overcooked hockey puck of meat (sorry, Grandma), you’ll find a meatloaf pâté that comes alive with a swipe of bright parsley-and-shallot mayo.
The tuna crudo is one of the best surprises: the deep-red fish tastes like it’s been thrown through the Rocky Mountains region, picking up deliciously smoky and zippy acid notes from the tomato vinaigrette, with capers bringing all the salt. The ranch salad—its creamy buttermilk dressing stirred with a mess of dill and cilantro and chunks of funky bleu cheese—could make anyone admit they finally like salad.
The grilled young chicken is an excellent spatchcocked bird, its charred skin carrying a bit of tang from a fig leaf vinaigrette marinade. And the lamb burger also embraces acidity, letting a sharp slap of pickles cut through all that richness.
The drinks: The drinks carry a bit of that Lowcountry spin, too. In some cases, quite literally: the Low Country Daiquiri gets a sprinkle of Country Captain seasoning, while the hot and sassy! Glühwein is stirred with Pinot Noir, bourbon, apricot, currants and cloves. Beverage director Ben Hopkins—previously of Momofuku Kō and Please Don’t Tell (PDT)—also smartly nods to local institutions, including with the rye-and-añejo tequila tipple, the Red Hook Pinball Museum.
Time Out tip: The pancake soufflé is the actual cherry on top—my coworker described it as "a maple syrup flavored pudding cloud." But keep in mind this dish is now only served on weekends and takes 40 minutes to prep, so it must be ordered at the beginning of the meal. If you happen to miss the soufflé, just know that the monthly selection of pies will do you up right.