On sunlit South Street, nestled between an artisan pie shop and a cat clinic, sits Miles Table, “Where the Neighborhood Eats.” The door is propped open with a chalkboard sign that announces the day’s specials: pork hash, short ribs, fish tacos. Inside lies a cozy corridor where couples chat and singles type away on Macbooks over boxed salads. A mother keeps her two young children in check.
Bottles of white flowers hang on the right–hand wall, light flickers out of glass pendants, and an exposed pipe runs along the length of the ceiling. The stereo shuffles through indie rock—The Strokes, Phoenix, all the favorites. The ambience seems to scream: “Brooklynite has field day at Crate & Barrel.”
At the far end of the restaurant is the counter where we order; at our left, another chalkboard menu. A Post–it note scrawled with “½ off burgers” hangs by the register; one of the waiters replaces it with a circular sign that says the same thing but in—shocker!—chalk. If Saturdays are for the boys, then Wednesdays are for half–off burgers at Miles Table. The man behind the counter recommends the turkey burger, but we’re feeling rebellious and so we opt for the falafel burger ($10, now $5) instead.
We pick our table, and soon notice the large, black–and–white photograph of a young boy with spiky hair that hangs by the door. He wears a white double–breasted chef jacket with a cursive “Chef Miles” on the pocket. Later, our waiter tells us it’s a picture of the owner’s son. He’s maybe ten now.
He also comes with bad news—apparently, they’re out of the Tres Leches French Toast ($10) we wanted. We opt for the avocado toast ($9) instead. It arrives in short order with the falafel burger and our pork hash ($12).
The food looks cute—the dishes are clearly plated with care—but what’s the saying? All that glitters is not gold? The falafel burger is but a brick of under–seasoned garbanzo beans, though the home fries that come with the avocado toast are roasted to satisfaction. And the avocado toast, with its beautifully thin slices of avocado, with its over–easy eggs melted over arugula fronds, is slightly burnt and also slightly flavorless. Inversely, the avocado puree that’s smeared as a base for the pork hash is salty—really salty—so we sip water from the mason jars they’ve given us.
Miles Table is cute, it’s homey, it’s reasonably accessible. It is, perhaps, best described as a farmer’s market in a postmodern society. But the farm–to–table vibe shines best through the decor, not so much the food.
Adjacent from the picture of young Chef Miles is a black–and–white portrait of his baby sister, who sits in a large metal pail with a bow on her head. Her mouth is perpetually open, as if to say “You caught me!” Indeed, we’ve been caught. Roped in by the rustic glamour of Miles Table, then fed a lunch that didn’t quite meet our expectations á la 4.5 star Yelp rating. Would we try it again? Sure. Or maybe we’ll leave that part to the neighborhood.
TL;DR: Perfect for an easy weekday brunch. But don’t set your standards too high.
Location: 1620 South Street
Monday–Thursday: 8 a.m.–8:30 p.m.
Friday–Saturday: 8 a.m.–9 p.m.
Sunday: 9 a.m.–4 p.m.