The Viennese grill Werkstatt, on a blurb widen in Prospect Park South, is a warm, infrequent pub, with metal-enamel signs in German, a charmer taken from a crawl of an aged wooden boat, and a selected Triumph motorcycle unresolved from a wall. To uninformed first-timers, it competence seem like only a quite good dilemma local, that is partial of a appeal. In fact, a owners and operator, Thomas Ferlesch, has been a heading prepare in New York given he emigrated from Austria, scarcely 4 decades ago, to run a kitchen during Vienna 79, on a Upper East Side. In his initial year there, during twenty-four, he was awarded a four-star examination by a Times. He after went on to a mythological Café des Artistes. Werkstatt is his “workshop,” he says, where he can prepare whatever he wants (specials have enclosed red coconut duck curry and Tokyo ramen), in a area nearby where he lives. He is there many days, speckled giving his mom and co-owner, Robin, a kiss, or erratic among a tables, seeking no one in particular, “Where’s my wife?” It feels like his home; a congregation are his propitious guests.
To start, sequence a large pretzel. The gooey-soft, buttery wire of blistered, browned mix arrives with yellow mustard and house-made Hungarian Liptauer cheese, embarressed with paprika. For dinner, have an unctuous, sour bratwurst or smoked Polish kielbasa, served on a heaping raise of sauerkraut and potatoes. A leek risotto with Brussels sprouts and mushrooms is creamy, grassy, and addictive. The proposal beef goulash with spätzle will make anyone with a grandparent from a Old Country cry. The Wiener, chicken, and celery-root schnitzels are crispy and moist; 4 vinegary, uninformed side salads—cucumber, tomato, cabbage, and potato, aromatic with caraway—finish any plate. Even a burger stands out, interjection to a lip-smacking bacon-onion marmalade.
For brunch, a French toast with a sour apricot stuffing is a feathery egg-flour-and-sugar cloud—a sign that Ferlesch is a singular prepare who is as skilful with beef as with pastry. (His father was a bread baker.) For dessert, try a apple strudel, a Linzer torte, or a palatschinken, an Austrian crêpe, and, when one of a accessible servers offers adult a mop of bubbling glühwein to rinse it all down, accept but hesitation. Ferlesch hereditary a art of native potency from his mother, who used to make noodles in their little unit in Vienna, “and dusty them on tip of her bed,” he pronounced recently. “She private them during night and put them behind in a morning.” Some fifty years later, Ferlesch has combined a place as honeyed as that memory. (Dishes $7-$19.) ♦