Taking a Bite of the Past at Joe Jr's

Some establishments have bones to them. A sense that so much life has been lived in the walls of this diner. You feel like the alternating mirror and wooden finish that create an amphitheater around the diner have observed the moments in life, big and small. Friends reliving the previous night over their chosen tonic of greasy food, couples young and old in smooth or rocky places, lonesome intellectuals who reminisce over a pond of black coffee. Nothing feels more like a timeless New York City spot than Joe Jr's. You feel as if it arrived straight from the 40s, never closing to install new things like the leaf shape fans or milkshake machines but that a server merely strapped on the electrician’s belt to help during service. Every era has inadvertent relics, from the Powerball ad from the 90s to the ancient cash register and the almighty display case of pies that look like they were taken from a LIFE magazine ad in 1963. The din of the restaurant feels like the echoes of a million conversations still reverberate in the storied walls.

The servers are nearly as tenured as the restaurant itself, weaning all-white getups and rocking the gritty baritone that can pierce through the noise of a griddle and hubbub that seems unavoidable on a rainy Sunday brunchtime rush. They barely talk when beckoning you over to take your seat or dropping off your order. You must be direct, or they’ll walk away if you chew on your words for too long. I go for the classics: a Western Omlet with Cheese, one chocolate and banana pancake, and a steaming cup of black coffee. My more sane diners decided on a waffle and turkey club sandwich. With the orders whisked away, we excitedly awaited our dishes to reach our table. 

As the pile of plates started to roll off the griddle, we dug into the sweet treats to start. I’ve enjoyed pancakes before, but no pancakes have layered the pillowy texture with custardy caramelized bananas interspersed with the crunch of melted chocolate chips crisped up on the seasoned flattop. B&H had delicious pancakes, but I’ve been thinking of these flapjacks from Joe Jr for weeks. On the other end of the spectrum, we found a mummy of a waffle that had been interred in its iron for much too long. It was just shy of being burnt but was old enough that the pat of cold butter caused severe damage to the arid crust. 

My heart was breaking, anxiety crawling up my throat like a chunder; I began worrying that this spiral would continue. Sipping the murky brown cup of coffee to cool my nerves, the keystone of the meal arrived. The western omelet is filled with melted cheese, and all the cubed peppers, onion, and ham are cooked to take away the crunch but not lose all texture. A cut piece of the omelet paired with a delicate, charred, paprika-bathed side of hash browns make it a revival of tired taste buds. It sets the level for diner food going ahead, and the quality is why I keep coming back to this spot. I leave feeling happy and complete, which is more than I can say about the many diners of New York City.

I love Joe Jr, not because the food is particularly fabulous, but because it’s a time capsule. You could be a GI coming off the boat in New York in the 40s, a Stockbroker in the 80s, or a messy 20-something with nothing figured out right, but you will be sure to sit on the same octogenarian seat—chewing into a burger that seems to resist being anything less done than medium well, still dripping grease. The same chaotic weekend ritual at Joe Jr is what keeps the crowd of regulars coming back, day after day. It is where you return to regale your friends and console your companions, in company and without. Joe Jr’s is a home for New Yorkers, old and new, and I'll love it as long as I live here.  

3 out of 5 Spoons