What I Ordered
Review By: Eric Hoover –
“Welcome home” is the first thing Julia said when I walked through the bar’s front door. It was good to hear.
A few years ago, the day I moved to Morgan Ave. in Brooklyn was also a big night at Greenpoint Heights, at the time known under its old name ‘Onyx Café.’ It was a Wednesday and my pal Matt was tending bar. After unloading my worldly possessions into a railroad style 2-bedroom with the roommate’s help, I needed a drink. Several drinks. Folks from all over neighboring boroughs biked in to chug Miller High Life and socialize. It became a regular summer spot for us each week. Between Wednesday night specials, karaoke, and Walking Dead / Breaking Bad / Mad Men viewing parties, this spot (once known for Polish locals fist-fighting and wet t-shirt contests) became a gastropub gem with delicious food.
I celebrated my 30th here, met and left girls in the backyard patio, and drank my sorrows away when I became unemployed. All this over two years before leaving Brooklyn. With every NY visit I try my damnedest to stop by. As mentioned in the article summary, I’m probably a little biased.
Ok, enough sentimentality. Let’s get to the grub.
Cold brewed iced coffee and a Nut Brown Lager from Kelso offers the perfect opening to a Sunday afternoon. These drinks are required after one has trekked all the way over from the West Side in 80-degree weather. It was also 2pm and my stomach growled like baby dragons from Game of Thrones.
Now as some of you may know I have a thing for steak & eggs, so discovering a NY strip steak on the menu caught my attention. Along with it came steak seasoned fries, those thick cut ones like Wendy’s used to produce, peppery green beans, and smooth scrambled eggs (offered sunny-side up on the menu). Whatever this strip steak was marinated in, if not its own juices, made every bite savory. The whole dish popped with a mix of seasoning and natural flavors. Ever want more of a meal, even when no longer hungry, after finishing? Yeah, it was kinda like that.
Actually, that’s the perfect metaphor; whenever I’m in the old neighborhood, I feel I need to keep coming back for more.