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| - I've been to Flat Iron a few different times under all sorts of different circumstances. The atmosphere makes it a reasonably swanky place to bring a date or have a lunch meeting. It's sort of like a slightly cooler Earl's. Hipster Earl's. Earls for people who are too cool to eat at Earl's.
The price point is similar to an Earl's. In fact, it's almost like someone said, "Let's take everything Earl's does, make it a little more hip and call it Flat Iron" - and a joyous cheer rang out.
Most recently I came by here before heading to the Opera with a cultured young lady. We were dressed to the nines.
So what do two incredibly good looking people eat when dressed to the nines? Deep fried pickles. To their credit, Flat Iron has my favorite deep fried pickles in the city because they're served really hot with a chipotle sort of dip of some kind. Hot, spicy, deep fried and delicious. The pickles were the reason we were there.
That said, you feel a little like you just stepped into some sort of cult when you go to Flat Iron. The bar glows red. A huge fireplace roars off to the side. Waitresses in their usual "black and tight" dress code do their best to smile at you like you're the best looking man that's walked in there that day. (While some might think this disingenuous/manipulative, I choose to believe I actually WAS the best looking man who walked in there that day. I was, after all, in a suit.) But by any stretch you sort of feel like Mugatu from Zoolander is about to bust out of the back, strap some sort of hypno-headphones to your head and initiate you into a snooty, martini drinking cult where everyone stares blankly ahead and gets together on weekends to watch seasons of Jersey Shore.
I hope that made sense. I doubt it, but it's 6:30 in the morning right now and I'm strung out on Vanilla Lattes.
This time I ordered a chicken sandwich of some kind. The sandwich was good - average more or less (not quite as amazing as the one you can scoop up at Kensington Pub, but FAR better than the salty monstrosity you're served up at Moxie's). For the price I paid I honestly expected a little more oomph, but it was passable.
But the sandwich was not the star of the show - and neither were the deep fried pickles (surprisingly). In fact, what stole the show was the ASTRONOMICALLY HUGE salad they served me as a "side".
If you are hungry, don't order fries with your meal. Order a salad. I have yet to come across anywhere else in the city where a "side" salad could easily constitute your entire meal. In case I am not articulating well, this thing was massive.
I asked the waitress if anyone had EVER finished their entire meal and their salad in one sitting and she said "Yes" like it wasn't a feat equivalent to scaling Everest. I'm a reasonably big dude at 5'11 and 180, and this salad kicked my ass.
So, big points for not skimping on the sides, Flat Iron.
My Opera-accompaniment had the Tiger Bowl. It smelled delicious and was big enough that she didn't finish it. Reviews seemed positive, but I didn't try it on account of the giant salad I was trying desperately to make a dent in.
I like their beers - Angry Bald Man Ale is a gooder. Their burgers are also pretty huge, so you won't go hungry.
Our server was also very pleasant and took notice of our suave apparel. She was quick on the draw and unlike many waitresses in this city, actually did her job.
I'd love to give Flat Iron a 3.5. It's not bad - sometimes it's great but it's not quite anything special. My experiences here have just been too varied to say they're consistently great, but another visit like this one and I'd be well inclined to up their score. You're moving in the right direction, Flat Iron. Don't let me down!
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