I had a chance to visit Bernie’s Restaurant in Brooklyn. I had heard that there was usually a long wait to enter the establishment, but there was no line when we arrived, and we were seated immediately. I decided to order the cheeseburger with a Budweiser. First, I tried the eggplant parmesan from my dining compatriot. It was great with portions properly measured, cheese cooked as anticipated, and seasoned to expectations. Then, turning to my own meal, I took a bite of the burger, which was reminiscent of a cheeseburger from a deli I would stop at on the way back from high school. A near-perfect copy that I have not experienced with many other burgers. Though of course, the deli sold it for less than half the price. Between my nostalgia and sips of Bud, I was able to ascertain that the burger was better than mid. It was even great. I was particularly fond of the way my old deli would make its burger with the crisp shredded lettuce, warm, soft but not chewy bun, plump but not overly thick patties, thinly sliced tomato, and an absolutely adequate dose of cheese. This was exactly that, and the side of fries was exactly as they should be.
Looking beyond the food, it becomes clear that, while the nostalgic deli connection may be coincidental, nostalgia is a major factor in the Bernie’s experience. The decorations, from the plaid tablecloths covered with paper, to the crayons which complement your tablecloth, to the frosted mugs containing the beer, are intentionally arranged to evoke a classic American restaurant. It feels as though you have accidentally wandered onto a movie set showcasing the golden age of American dining, however, here there is no main character, and there are no cameras. You become a background character in a play with no plot. The purpose of such a show is to roleplay an experience that has been sterility injected into the neighborhood, which at one point could spontaneously produce this very experience. Your purchase here buys more than a burger. At Bernie’s you are sold an idealized memory of American consumerism, neatly packaged in a palatable takeout container, complete with a check that exceeds $100.
In fact, this price point is precisely what elevates the experience to farce. The check functions similarly to a typical restaurant's check, marking the end of the experience. Here, the curtain call reveals the true message: “What you want is gone, you have just bought a fantasy.” You leave asking yourself did I really just pay $24.95 for a cheeseburger?
This review is different from other reviews in this blog, but to keep consistency, here are the rankings:
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