Today we’re going to give you a short Spanish lesson.
Colonia means colony.
And verde = green.
And... that’s it. You’re all set to go and get yourself some pork.
And comically overpronounce the name of Colonia Verde, a charming, sunlit Latin spot from the folks who brought you Comodo, now open in Fort Greene.
You’ve heard Comodo in SoHo referred to as “a gem.” By you. And they’re continuing the gem theme here. Which means candlelit dates and bright brunches are in your future.
Step down a short flight of stairs off Dekalb and you’ll be confronted with a row of two-tops and a pillowed wood banquette on your left, and a small copper bar on your right. This is dinner-date territory. And it’s the greatest vantage point from which to smell the slow-braised, coffee-rubbed pork shoulder (a Comodo holdover) you’ll attempt to seductively tear apart during said date.
Your other excuse for being here: brunch. And for that, bypass all the candles and bars until you hit the big glass room. The sun’s shining. The duck confit nachos and horchata-rum cocktails are flowing. And once nature begins to yield, the door to a full-on, you-won’t-find-this-sh*t-in-Manhattan backyard will fly open.
We swear that’s what they call it, too.
Colonia means colony.
And verde = green.
And... that’s it. You’re all set to go and get yourself some pork.
And comically overpronounce the name of Colonia Verde, a charming, sunlit Latin spot from the folks who brought you Comodo, now open in Fort Greene.
You’ve heard Comodo in SoHo referred to as “a gem.” By you. And they’re continuing the gem theme here. Which means candlelit dates and bright brunches are in your future.
Step down a short flight of stairs off Dekalb and you’ll be confronted with a row of two-tops and a pillowed wood banquette on your left, and a small copper bar on your right. This is dinner-date territory. And it’s the greatest vantage point from which to smell the slow-braised, coffee-rubbed pork shoulder (a Comodo holdover) you’ll attempt to seductively tear apart during said date.
Your other excuse for being here: brunch. And for that, bypass all the candles and bars until you hit the big glass room. The sun’s shining. The duck confit nachos and horchata-rum cocktails are flowing. And once nature begins to yield, the door to a full-on, you-won’t-find-this-sh*t-in-Manhattan backyard will fly open.
We swear that’s what they call it, too.
