All that a deluded, somewhat delirious knight of the road and his loyal sidekick Sancho sometimes require is comfort. When I say delirious I mean hung over. The last time we were at the Brooklyn cafe was at the fag-end of the morning-after-the-night-before. Sancho and I were discussing our needs for vittles with the waiter, who claimed to own, as I vaguely recall, some sort of legendary bulldog which could drink, as I remember being assured, copious Jack Daniels & Cokes with no visible side effects. I can’t.
This time I was alone and felt that a review of the Brooklyn Cafe was fair game. On with the show.
The Brooklyn Cafe has extraordinarily friendly staff, even by Glaswegian standards. I was welcomed as an old friend, enquired after by two other members of staff whilst a third suggested and then brought two additional kinds of spicy ketchup to me to garner my opinion thereof. She also offered a mini sauce carry-out for my favourite. It was the spiciest garlic one.
I sank gratefully into the interior, which is a sort of cafe hybrid of the cabin of a eighteenth century clipper, a farmhouse kitchen and the hall of a small castle. There are flagged floors, bare stone walls, a mezzanine deck, boxed-in original beams, wooden booth/cabin dividers and tables with natural edges in the Café Gandolfi style. The colour scheme is puce and black. You just don’t see an interior that has evolved like this that often.
All such combined to make a pleasing spot for one to linger and peruse the menu, which is Italian-American diner-style dishes before that style was usurped by filthy corporate upstarts such as Frannie & Benito. Or some name like that, who are anyway not real. Unlike the Brooklyn Cafe which goes back to 1931 with great Neorealist photographs of the cafe and its customers on the walls to prove it.
The menu was spot on: heavy with carbs, dairy, protein, fat and flavour. Bagels, grilled cheese sandwiches, pancakes and French toast. It’s not subtle. This is a place to get well-fed, not small-plated. There, a new hyphenated verb for you, loyal reader.
The coffee is an old-fashioned, Italian-style roast. Dark, strong, unsophisticated but effective. Coupled with a great grilled cheese Marinara, chunky fries and the aforementioned triple sauce selection this was £18.50 well spent.
They have an ice cream counter too but I couldn’t justify strolling around Queen’s Park with a cone due to economic necessity: I had van-tasks to complete. Next time I will.
Inside the Brooklyn Cafe, Kool and the Gang were on the stereo and all was right with my small part of the world.
If you want kindness, comfort food, a place to relax and pass the time Brooklyn is the place for you. What’s not to like, as they may say in Brooklyn. They probably do.
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