At El Mezón, shiny tables and flowers in vases, not to mention Courvoisier and lobster. — Photos by Scarlett Lindeman

Today, it is easier to find a decent Cuban sandwich or a pair of neon Nike dunks on Knickerbocker Avenue than the contraband of years past.  Twenty years ago the stretch near Maria Hernandez Park was nicknamed "The Well" for its unending supply of drugs.  For the most part, Knickerbocker has shed its skeezy past, becoming a thoroughfare for new business and Sunday afternoon strolling. Newly opened on the block is El Mezón, a three-week-old Dominican restaurant, full of gleaming lacquered surfaces, its tables graced with single flowers tucked into small vases.

	El Mezón 221 Knickerbocker Avenue (Between Jefferson and Troutman) 347-787-7772 Most dishes: $6-25
	Mangú and assorted sides, and a morir soñando to wash it all down.

Seafood is the restaurant’s specialty, supported by requisite Caribbean fare like mofongo, a plantain and pork-skin mash, and pernil, slow-roasted pork. There is lobster cooked in any style, asopao de camarones, a shrimpy soupy rice, and even a dozen clams served raw on the half shell with lemon. Prices signify their aim — a few more dollars on each item than is typical shows that El Mezón is, perhaps, a bit more ambitious about the type of guest it attracts. With forty-dollar platters of paella marinera and a full bar featuring the likes of Courvoisier and Johnny Walker Black, nighttime is El Mezón’s hour.  In the early afternoon the scene is quieter. Construction workers stroll in for chicken and rice plates and waitresses fold menus with MTV 3 on the flat-screen.

Come even earlier for a Dominican breakfast. You will inevitably land on a pile of larded-up smashed green plantains, known as mangú. The starchy Dominican equivalent to grits, mangu is mostly a carrier for protein-intensive sides — griddled slices of salami, ham, eggs, and salty planks of toasted white cheese. If green plantains aren’t your thing, you can also transport the fried stuff with yuca; guineos, vinegary green bananas; or mashed potatoes.

I found El Mezón’s mangú to be a bit of a grease bomb, bland and leaking liquefied fat. A tamarind or papaya juice could have washed it down; unfortunately, their juicer is not yet up and running.  It will have to be a morir soñando, "to die dreaming," a Caribbean drink that tastes like a Creamsicle. It’s a heavenly beverage, a greater sum of its two parts — sugared milk and orange juice that’s squirted with lime, whipped into a froth with ice, and poured, cold, to cut through lunch.