Gwynnett St

We went to Gwynnett St to celebrate a marriage. As it happens, we were celebrating our marriage, but we might have been celebrating the marriage of simplicity and sophistication, of idea and execution, of exciting, delicious food and reasonable prices. Much has been mentioned already about just how gosh darn good this Williamsburg restaurant is, and all of it is true. The whisky soda bread, whose fumes are enough to get you tipsy, is worth the price of admission alone. Don't even think about not getting this.

But one cannot live on bread alone. So we got the pretty-much-life-changing duck breast with wild rice, bell peppers, and gooseberries too, along with an asparagus soup, rendered extra-flavorful via tarragon and an egg yolk. Our vision-in-green scallops had a sauce made from stinging needles; along with the mushrooms and edamame, this helped the dish reside in that liminal place where sea meets land, and both benefit. The desserts evidenced whimsy (coconut snow atop coconut panna cotta, a ganache roll of milk chocolate), and not much else, so perhaps you might start with two orders of that bread.