It seems that every one of these little places we go to that is called like Fred’s or Bob or Suzie is named after the owner’s dog. I’m not sure why that is, but is seems to be a popular move. I’m relatively certain that no sane person would name a pet Deborah, so we’ll go ahead and speculate that the owner has either names the restaurant after herself, her daughter, her mother, or she for some reason has an unhealthy obsession with the movie Cannery Row (or a love for boring and benign monikers.) Whatever the case may be, Deborah doesn’t sell the place any more than calling your pub Bar A or something. The restaurant itself occupies one of those odd, narrow front-to-back spaces that only exist in Manhattan. It’s decorated in that cutesy, fresh brunchy kind of way (but modern, not country-ish) that tells you no “serious” food is going to be made here. And it is what it purports to be; a light herb chicken and pork chop comfort food kind of place that’s perfect for the neighborhood, and a decent option when you’d rather eat than dine. [MF]

43 Carmine St.