Sometimes, you need to escape Manhattan's high-rises and small plates, to a place where the rises are low, and the portions are so enormous, finishing them will shame your ancestors: Two Toms.
Serving Park Slope for 50ish years, this Italian joint is required eating for anyone who dreams of submerging their penis in a sea of their own crotchfat (crat). The red-and-white-tableclothed spot has no menu -- offerings change daily, and when you walk in, the host/waiter/busboy/busman will simply tell you what's available. Three courses is the norm, but unlike Manhattan's micro-servings, the helpings here are overwhelming -- so plan on sharing antipasto (suggested dish: baked clams) and pasta (shrimp fra diavolo or manicotti) plates with your boys. Survive the starters, and it's on to the meat: jaw-wrecking three-inch-thick chops of steak/pork. As for drinks, instead of overly-inventive/underly-potent cocktails, you get wine carafes and two self-serve beer coolers -- they always mysteriously know how many you've taken, so if you're going to lie, be prepared to crunch down a glassy dessert called The Evidence.
2Ts is often reserved for private parties involving policemen, firemen, and other -men for whom expanding waistlines augment their ability to command respect -- so definitely call ahead. Otherwise, you'll cruise all the way out there, and get no Tom at all.