How Red Hook’s Café Kestrel Sank Its Talons Into Me

It’s the music that keeps me hopping on the B61 bus from Park Slope to Red Hook time and time again, but over the years I’ve explored the neighborhood’s many other virtues: its views of the Statue of Liberty, its off-the-wall arts centers, and its many tasty restaurants, from the dearly departed Fort Defiance (now Pitt’s) to the justly lauded Hometown BBQ and Red Hook Tavern. On a random weeknight a couple of months back, my girlfriend, Kati, suggested we go to the Tavern for its famous burger. I knew the odds of getting in the door as walk-ins were slim, and it turned out I was right — the restaurant’s host quoted us a two-and-a-half-hour wait. So, off we went up Van Brunt Street to find another bite.

We only had to go a block before we ran into Café Kestrel, a contemporary bistro with a menu offering hints of Southern European touches.

The first thing that grabbed us was just how cute it was: The storefront was tiny, a wood-framed bay window tucked into the bottom floor of a humble, three-story brick building. The dining room was compact as well, with just six tables and a modest bar, and it looked full, but we figured we’d give walking in a shot. There wasn’t a host stand (definitely no room for that) but one of the white-jacketed servers stepped away from her table to greet us. Sadly, it turned out the wait was going to be a couple of hours there as well. We thanked her and left, but were determined to return.

The next available reservations at Kestrel were two weeks out, thanks to a combination of the limited seating and some early positive press, and we were able to book an early dinner for a Saturday night — a perfect warm-up for bluegrass night at Sunny’s. The appointed evening came, and it was an absolutely frigid one in Red Hook, with the wind howling off the harbor and down Van Brunt. We arrived right as the restaurant was opening, and were seated at a two-top next to the bay window Kati and I had first peeked into.

The initial thing we noticed about the evening’s menu was that quite a few of the dishes were different from the ones on the version posted in the window. Chef-owner Dennis Spina, who earned acclaim at Roebling Tea Room before opening River Styx and later running the Metrograph Commissary, changes the menu at least once a week, and some items daily.

“I take the seasonality thing really seriously, because it just tastes better,” says Spina. “It’s easier for me to do my job if I just go with the seasons when things taste the best. It keeps things exciting for the kitchen; it keeps things exciting for the staff. It’s the funnest way to do things, and it’s also a more interesting way for people to come in a few times a week if they want.”

Speaking of fun, we also picked up on an element of playfulness: Our sever brought an amuse-bouche of popcorn, and our first starter was fried pumpkin (Kati, who loves pumpkin, was especially excited about that) with honey and paprika — a lively mix of sweet and spicy. Next came the farinata, a chickpea pancake topped with warm olives, and a delicious yellowfin tuna tartare with slivers of green radish and sumac onion and hunks of grapefruit.

Did I mention the tables, in particular the two-tops, are really close to each other? (Spina says that part of the reason for the staff’s white jackets is “because the room is so small, you want to be able to differentiate who works there and who doesn’t.”) This isn’t uncommon in New York, but at Kestrel I would argue it’s a feature, not a bug.

As Kati and I dug into our appetizers, the young couple at the table next to us, whom we soon learned were named Hank and Nora, glanced over. They were a few minutes behind us in ordering, and Hank asked what we thought of our first courses. I gave him a thumbs up, and as the meals went on, we chatted back and forth, sharing opinions on our dishes. Aside from the farinata, they got the crab cake, which was about the size of Red Hook Tavern’s burger and, according to Hank, one of the best things he’d ever eaten.

Similarly, I told them Kati’s chicken entrée, a menu staple topped with dates, capers, lemon, bountiful roasted carrots, and herbes de Provence, far exceeded my expectations. (I usually find even the best chicken entrées to be prosaic.) As a side with our entrées, we had ordered the marinated greens, a big plate of deep green and brightly purple chard, and Hank asked about it. “What the hell, let’s do it,” I said, and forked some onto his plate. When I asked him about their pork entrée, a big hunk of grilled loin blanketed in piperade, he responded in kind.

When people have asked me about Café Kestrel in the weeks since, that’s the moment I’ve returned to again and again. We smashed through a fourth wall that New York City diners rarely, if ever, break — and it felt totally natural. When we wished each other good night — them headed off to catch a screening of “Anora,” and us to Sunny’s — it felt almost as if we were splitting from a weekly standing double date.

I’m not the only one who has observed this is the vibe at Café Kestrel. The New Yorker’s Helen Rosner writes, “dinner unfolds with the easy, off-the-cuff elegance of a weeknight dinner party.” This is very much the impression that Spina and operations manager Amanda McMillan, who is also a managing director at the esteemed Williamsburg wine bar and restaurant The Four Horsemen, want to give.

“I didn’t want anything to be aggressive,” says Spina. “I didn’t want things to be complicated or overwhelming. I want things to be nice and tactile and easy and comfy.”

A few minutes after leaving the restaurant, upon arriving at Sunny’s, I mentioned to one of the bartenders we’d had dinner at Kestrel. She hadn’t been yet, and asked me how it was; before I could even reply, a guy sitting a couple of stools away started raving about it. He’d been several times already, and loved the way the menu subtly shifts. You always kind of know what you’re going to get, but the small changes keep it fresh and exciting.

“The people in the neighborhood are very excited,” Spina says. “I can’t speak for them, but I feel like [they are]. A neighborhood spot or a regular spot — I mean, that’s the highest honor you can get, is that people want to come there twice a week.”

It certainly appears that Spina is bringing home that honor, and considering that our dinner neighbors Hank and Nora had come from Crown Heights — not exactly the easiest of commutes — word about Kestrel seems to be traveling quicker than the restaurant’s namesake raptor.

Personally, I can report that Spina now has at least one more household of regulars on his hands: When I told Kati I was writing this story, her response was, “Ooh, does that mean we get to go again?”

Yes, Kati. We can go back anytime you want. Twice a week, even.

Café Kestrel is open Wednesday to Sunday from 5 to 10 p.m.

Justin Goldman is a Brooklyn-based writer covering travel, culture, food, and wine. A former editor at Hemispheres, he contributes to Condé Nast Traveler, Wine Enthusiast, the Los Angeles Times, and Eater. Follow him on Instagram. Follow Resy, too.