Description
The first thing you should know about Milk, Bret Thompson’s dairy-intensive cafe in the Art Deco space that used to house Richard Tyler’s atelier, is that it doesn’t actually serve milk, at least not cold, frothy and unmodified in a glass, the way that some of the best ice cream places in Italy and Spain tend to do. (There are a few glass bottles of Broguieres in the takeout case, and ice-blended milk flavored with chocolate or bitter caramel.) I had been driving past the building site for months, fantasizing about Straus, Oberweis and Ronnybrook on tap, varietal tastings pitting Holstein against Jersey, and possibly a selection of exotic milks, like goat, sheep and buffalo. Instead, the clean, white cafe serves pastries that run the gamut from garish, Smurf-colored blue velvet cakes; crunchy pressed sandwiches — one of prosciutto, pecorino and red bliss potatoes was especially good — and house-made ice cream. When I brought three dozen Milkys into the office the other day, they drew crowds like the Pied Piper. There are ice cream cones too, of course, and milky hot chocolate. But the dish that impressed me the most was a soup of pureed farmers market cauliflower flavored with brown butter and currants, a soup at least one colleague found even more compelling than a toffee Milky. To each her own, I say.
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