People like me to pick the place. They trust me. I trust me. Or at least I did. But these are bizarro times. My intuition is jumbled and my radar has interference. But in my defense, the parameters have changed. I cannot simply follow the chef. It's wintery out, menus are truncated. So for now, I have new qualifiers: a sturdy outdoor construct, turbo-force heaters, an expansive all-day menu (I don't want just soup and sandwich options), and flexible hours (read [again] all-day). Lunner has never been so popular. My focus on who is preparing the food has blurred... as has, maybe, my discerning palate.
Baby Brasa hit all those pandemic-criteria, and was centrally coated for me and my tablemates . Our server was bubbly and prompt; that said, there was only one other party to attend to. But she seemed happy for the business, as much as the restaurant itself was. We were in no hurry: time has taken on a different significance during Covid Times, but we were efficiently served menus and beverages.
We started off with some easy apps: a sesame-flecked tuna tartare bedded in zesty guacamole and served with colorful tortilla chips. Baby Brasa is theoretically Peruvian, but it throws in a lot of disco-fry type crowd-pleasers- whether this is a pandemic concession or will persist beyond, who knows. For now, it has a wide enough array of options on the menu to suit pretty much any hankering or diet, but none of what we ordered reached any accolade higher than "tasty." Which isn't a bad thing, nowadays. Anything that I didn't have to prepare with my own hands and presents itself as palatable is a plus. Plus, it's a fun spot. The New York Times included it in an article early on for it's impressive outdoor set up, huge blow-up pink flamingo included. He wasn't there upon our visit, but the build-out onto 7th Avenue was very comfortable: tons of elbow room and toasty warm. So a cool tartare and the signature Baby Brasa salad
wasn't a conflict to order: the salad had nice crunchy bits of fried sweet potato, warm marinated artichoke and roasted brussels, the latter of which had a dubious texture, hinting that they may have come from frozen. This would be kind of hard to fault, though, given the unpredictable and volatile situation we're dealing with, where perishable ingredients are a scary and uncertain investment. That said, I love brussels sprouts, and these were edible, I guess, but forgettable. In fact, everything we ordered had a grab-and-go quality at best. Tasty
enough, I suppose, but lacking any cheffy finesse. Almost everything was just a smidge overcooked, resulting in a bit of mushy texture to the brussels sprouts to a distinct rubbery chew on my flounder. The wild-caught fish was pan-seared about time and a half too long, which was tragic because the seasoning was pleasant and it had a nice Peruvian flair with its molded hemisphere of white rice, yucca fries with rocoto aioli (a red pepper mayonnaise) and (not enough) salsa criollo.
Grilled salmon was more successful, bathed in a fruity passionfruit reduction that had a nice zip to it. Served with a choice of rice or yucca fries (I'm not sure why I got both), but while the rice is better to sop up the sauce, the yucca fries are more fun and more Peruvian. You could always throw in a side of either/or, but at prices hovering towards the $30 mark, that's gonna be your and your budget's call.
Wrapping things up, I can't fathom why I acquiesced to ordering a tiramisu in a South American restaurant, number one because I don't really like tiramisu, and number two, yeah... it's Italian. But it was serviceable, not too rummy and a nice balance of cocoa and Chantilly. Alfajores would have been the most authentic choice, but at least a tres leches would've qualified at least linguistically. So yeah, I'm out of practice. Maybe Baby Brasa was a good starting point to get my taste buds back up and running again: we're on our way out of this mess, and the restaurant community is the toughest and most resilient group around. More to explore, hopefully soon, and back to following the guys who really know what they're doing.
enough, I suppose, but lacking any cheffy finesse. Almost everything was just a smidge overcooked, resulting in a bit of mushy texture to the brussels sprouts to a distinct rubbery chew on my flounder. The wild-caught fish was pan-seared about time and a half too long, which was tragic because the seasoning was pleasant and it had a nice Peruvian flair with its molded hemisphere of white rice, yucca fries with rocoto aioli (a red pepper mayonnaise) and (not enough) salsa criollo. 
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