There is nothing quite like Diner. In all my travels I have yet to find its equal. That may sound like hyperbole, but I assure you it is not. I'm sitting there now, writing this review on their white parchment table-setting, cramped in one of their tiny booths to the right of the door. It's dusk and the lone candle on our off-kilter table flickers as I write these words.
The space is smaller than you would expect, ill-fitted for the amount of people it sees every night. Waits can be long. Andrew Tarlow, the owner of Diner and a slew of other Billyburg mainstays, took to the crazed idea of cramming his first venture into an old 1920's metal dining car--hence the name, the food itself bears little resemblance to your typical diner fare.
The exterior recently gained a facelift with new wood and a fresh coat of red paint but the inside still has that wonderful patina of decades long past. The floor slopes, bar stools wobble, tables slant. The bathrooms are so small one can barely turn around, and if you're sitting on the end of a booth you are sure to be jostled by the waiters and other patrons. The staff are often surly, and quite probably still hungover from the night before, serving your meal with a mixture of apathy and disdain. These may sound like slights but they add to the charm and endear the place all the more. It's the masochist in me, I guess.
Of course these musings will have to be transcribed and, knowing me, revised, but the sentiment contained herein will remain the same. It speaks through the spilt beer and stains of ketchup, the oil spots from dropped fries and succulent hamburgers cooked to perfection. All remnants of a meal savored and long remembered.
There aren't a variety of choices for their burgers, just grass-fed beef on a warm challah roll with a leaf of lettuce and pickled onions on the side. You can add cheese if you're so inclined. There's your choice, would you like a cheeseburger or a hamburger?
Each time I order it I think it cannot possibly be as good as the last--having the handicap of the present and lacking the rosy-tint bestowed upon a memory--and, yet, every time it lives up to that memory. The tenderness of the beef, the freshness of the bun, the saltiness and the crunch of the fries.
There are other menu items that change with the season and the waiter recounting them tries her best to steer you away from the goal, tries to tempt you with other fare. Sometimes she succeeds. Everything I have ever ordered was superb, but few compare to the magnificence of that burger.
Except for the Prime Rib. When I state that I want their Prime Rib to be the last meal I ever eat, I mean just that. It came perfectly seasoned with a light char on the outside and the middle cooked to a medium-rare nonpareil and when you cut a piece and placed it in your mouth it practically melted. It was paired with a watercress salad in a light lemon-vinaigrette with just the hint of cracked black pepper and when finished with a lush Côtes-du-Rhône, rolling over your tongue, marrying the flavors...well, the sensation is not suitable to print.
The three played upon each other as great musicians might play upon each other, elevating one another to the point of sublimity. Again, you may think hyperbole but you would be mistaken. The words I use are a paltry shadow of the rapture that was that meal. But, alas, a ninety-two dollar cut of steak and a very expensive bottle of wine are not an everyday occurrence. They are saved for those special occasions. Last meals.
And so it's the burger that draws you back time after time. That and the dream of the perfect steak. Sitting at home now, days later, finishing this review, I am longing for them again. It is these two things which unequivocally state, this is the best there is. read more