Bernie's
Pendant lights and frosty pints — everyone wants to eat at Bernie's
At the absolute simplest level, a restaurant is one-half concept and one-half execution. A good vision is nothing without excellent delivery — how that vision is brought to life. A shitty idea, even when executed to perfection, is still a shitty idea.
Some concepts are daring. Bridges, for example, is a place that can’t be explained in one succinct sentence, nor pinned to a singular genre. The food is creative. The design is one-of-one. It’s a restaurant that challenges itself on both concept and execution — swinging for the fences, sometimes missing (see: smoked uni dumplings), but pushing the limits nonetheless. They know they’re not for everyone, and they’re okay with that. Because for those who love it, they really love it. There’s an exciting feeling that comes with being in a restaurant that’s taking big risks.
On the opposite end of the spectrum sits Bernie’s — quite literally, the safest concept imaginable.
Bernie’s is the lawful-good, nostalgia-inducing neighborhood restaurant that everyone loves to love. They serve dishes you’ve had before, in a space that feels like you’ve been there before (even if you haven’t). It almost feels like cheating — carting out a menu of crowd-pleasers in a dimly lit, oak-wood and red-vinyl-clad room that feels like an early-2000s Pizza Hut got frisky with a suburban steakhouse.
But complicated or simple, novel or done-to-death, a restaurant still needs to execute — and Bernie’s does.
Day in and out, Bernie’s delivers on its promises: Craveable food, a great atmosphere, and service that's welcoming to everyone. It’s not innovation that has catapulted Bernie’s to neighborhood-institution status — it’s dependability.
Positioned prominently on a bustling corner of McCarren Park where Williamsburg fades into Greenpoint, Bernie’s tends to feel like the center of the universe — or at the very least, the center of North Brooklyn. The lighthearted chaos of adult summer camp envelops the surrounding blocks — zyns being lipped, cowgirl boots being worn, and Kona Big Waves being guzzled. But anyone attributing Bernie’s popularity to its prime location alone is selling it way too short.
My first experience at Bernie’s didn’t go so well. On an abysmally rainy Saturday night, I rolled up around 6:00 pm. Soaked to my core, I was quickly steered right back into the storm, “list’s full for the night.” My spirits, already low, sank to an irrecoverable level. I thought to myself, What restaurant is done taking names by 6? Even on the shittiest of days — when foot traffic was nonexistent — Bernie’s was in demand. As I sat at Five Leaves eating what can only be described as a fallback burger, I couldn’t get Bernie’s off my mind.
Honestly, I was hesitant to try again. Making Bernie’s happen felt like a to-do, and I questioned if it was worth the effort and coordination for something often described as “upscale Applebee’s.” It’s a walk-in-only affair, which, in this case, means queues form before their doors open, and the waitlist often curls like a Walgreens receipt. But I’m glad I eventually did.
As much as the process of getting a table initially frustrated me, it’s ultimately part of what makes Bernie’s special. This egalitarian approach — even if it’s a pain in the ass — ensures Bernie’s remains a decidedly neighborhoody hang. It’s not overrun by tourists checking off spots on their NYC restaurant bingo card — au contraire! It’s a brilliant microcosm of Brooklyn life: stroller-pushing parents out on the town, lads fueling up before a night of dancing at Good Room, late-20s birthday celebrations, spicy fourth dates, slow-pitch softball postgame libations.
When my curiosity finally won out, my dear friend Mitch — a loyal Williamsburg resident and Bernie’s veteran — made everything easier. He took care of business — strategically finishing his evening run at Driggs and Lorimer, and adding our name to the list. 90 minutes later, we were ready to rumble.
There’s an intoxicating energy that wraps around you as soon as you walk through the door at Bernie’s. It’s excitement, verging on giddiness — and it injects a pep in your step. As we were guided down the right-side corridor toward our table, we passed a group of friends tightly huddled beneath the warm glow of pendant lighting. There was a couple snuggled into a cozy corner booth, on the verge of making out. And one table over, a wholesome family get-together — grandma and grandpa included.
We slid into our seats, and a mug was placed in front of me that was so frosty, I had a flashback to those Coors Light silver bullet commercials. But it was Budweiser in this glass — colder and crisper than you knew it could be. Tom Petty was on the speakers, playing the guitar like he does. The table was adorned with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, and a blank sheet of paper was placed atop, meant to be drawn on with a fresh pack of crayons. Bernie’s started to make sense. So much sense that everything that followed, culinarily, hardly mattered. Everyone in that room — everyone seeking out Bernie’s — was chasing a feeling.
Going to Bernie’s means you’re gonna let your hair down. It means you’re gonna scribble scrabble all over that tablecloth (Mitch drew a stick figure of me getting plowed by a bus; Sam produced a very tactical “cool S”). It means that after martini number two hits your nervous system, you’re gonna say something you’ve been needing to get off your chest — because in this here sanctuary, everyone’s free to speak their truth. Bernie’s is where you go when you want to dial down the seriousness of life a few notches — when you need a release from the trials, tribulations, and stressors of the daily grind.
Bernie’s opened in 2018 and has only made modest adjustments to the menu since (IN: chicken parm; OUT: tuna tartare). It’s not a place with a laundry list of daily specials. There isn’t a single ingredient that feels seasonal. They got their selection of salads right on opening day: House, Caesar, Wedge (I’d hypothesize the frequency at which they’re ordered is opposite from listed — the Wedge is a hit). The salads, along with grilled broccolini, are quite literally the only vegetables on the list. Even still, at least 50% of the Wedge’s net weight comes from a slab of thick-cut bacon.
Some will surely call the Bernie’s menu uninspired, boring, for simpletons. But I’d offer the opposite take. The menu at Bernie’s is inspired. Inspired by the bar food hits that we grew up on in the Midwest. It’s an all-star team, really. Quesadilla didn’t make the cut. Chicken tenders, frankly, got snubbed. But cheeseburger is there. So is baby back ribs. Mozzarella sticks wears the captain's crest — a born leader. Baked clams are a peculiar inclusion, but then again, even all-star teams need a role player.
Chicken parm is, maybe surprisingly, the best item of the bunch. Bernie’s isn’t an Italian restaurant, but they know how to bread and fry a cutlet. Tangy tomato sauce is layered on top, along with a metric shit-ton of cheese. It’s broiled ‘til the edges are crispy and the top layer is torched and bubbling. Ordering chicken parm at Applebee’s would be a 2,200-calorie death wish — frozen cutlets, sauce from a bag, and an amalgamated layer of cheese. At Bernie’s, it’s the best move you can make.
Here’s the truth, though: Across the board, the food at Bernie’s is pretty good. Never great. Bernie is a B-student. He’ll graduate and get deferred by the big state college, eventually getting in after a painstaking few months waiting it out.
But Bernie was never going to be valedictorian — he doesn’t care about grades or being the highest academic achiever. Bernie’s got personality. He’s vibrant. Well-liked. Lost his virginity Sophomore year to a real hottie. Bernie is respected by the high achievers and burnouts alike. Everyone’s happier when he’s around. There’s always a place for guys like Bernie in this world.
I reloaded on Budweiser and once again marveled at the frigid temperature. It goes down shockingly easy — concerningly easy.
With time and repeated patronage, I’ve found Bernie’s to be more accessible than that soggy first encounter. You’ll always need to wait it out for a table, but drinking a beer on the ledge adjacent to the bar is always fair game. And biding time on a sidewalk stool can sometimes be even more fun than dinner itself. It’s a classic case of needing to know the rules before you can truly enjoy the game. If you treat Bernie’s like a destination, you’ll probably be let down. But if you embrace it for what it is — a neighborhood third place — it’s impossible not to have a great time.
It might seem like Bernie’s is playing it safe. But every ounce of creative energy that could go toward innovation is being funneled into the back half of the equation: execution. Not just once, but all the time. There are no good days and bad days at Bernie’s — it’s always on, and always solid.
Sometimes, to have staying power in this city, you don’t need to be remarkable — just reliable. It doesn’t need to be the most interesting meal of your life to be one of your favorite nights. Bernie’s, dependably, has been the backdrop to many of mine — and will surely be there for many more to come.
This was a restaurant write-up from Mr. Flood’s Party. Subscribe for free and get Flood’s delivered every week. If you feel inclined, consider becoming a paid subscriber, supporting the creative process, and gaining access to Flood’s Worldwide.
I’ve tried and failed 3 times going to Bernie’s and I’m FIRED up rn that I need to get it right on the fourth time
no vinegar chicken mention? 👀