All Hail The Commodore
WHY YOU SHOULD CARE
Pretty clearly: Unless you eats, you dies.
By Eugene S. Robinson
We know, we know.
Going to eat in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, in 2013 is much less interesting than going to eat in Williamsburg in 1977, but the Commodore wasn’t there in 1977. And even if it had been, son of the South Stephen Tanner wasn’t cooking there then. Affectionately called “old drunk Steve” by some, Tanner, who was a sideman in the estimable band of heavies called Harvey Milk, cooks a heady mix of what can only be called Southern fusion. He picked up his culinary style from, by his lights, the best of the best: his mother in her kitchen.
Were the eggs good?“I remember the first meal I ever cooked,” said Tanner, mason jar full of tequila at the ready. “I woke up one morning and decided to cook eggs. I had seen them do it before and thought I could do it and so I didn’t ask. Just did it. I was 6 years old. And I was scared. Thought I might burn the house down.”
“Well, my mom and dad didn’t get mad at me, soooo … But it blew my mind, them going from eggs to a meal. And honestly cooking is the only job I have ever had and the only job I ever liked.”
And it shows. Hot sauce and hot sauces, Southern fried specialties and the best eggs you will ever taste in your entire life (an off-menu request, but just ask nicely). And this is no mean boast. The last time we were there, we went for a meal and left 18 hours later.
Yes: THAT good.