Brian Freedman has a disastrous time of it at Brick American Eatery on the 1700 block of Lombard Street.
[I]t’s the food that really burrowed into my soul and elicited a deep, break-up-style depression. An order of duck nachos was a plate of—wait for it—four chips. Each was topped with a forgettable duck confit, a glop of crema, and pedestrian avocado mousse. The chips were straight from a bag and heading toward stale, and seasoned with a spice blend as electrifying as an afternoon at the DMV. There also was no perceptible acid or other sign of life in this overpriced hillock of mediocrity. Chicken fried rock shrimp were encased in a gluey carapace that was made additionally repellent by a buffalo-wing-style sauce and “Maytag aioli” whose juxtaposition of funkiness and high-toned heat did a disservice to actual Buffalo-style anything I’ve had recently.