Checking in with NYC at S&P

There are friends who you’ve never seen for years, but upon reuniting, you pick back up right where you left off. When you walk into S&P, you feel like you just saw that friend again. Even when the place is one you’ve never stepped foot in, you might know that a spot has a serious promise from the buzz of the diners and the smiles on the line. You wait behind the extended counter, spying glances at the different orders leaving the massive, lean kitchen. I snatch a paper menu, the only kind they have, and scan the dishes, eager to see what this place is.

Some bites bear the names of regulars who, through sheer determination and hunger, have carved their name into the constitution of their beloved establishment like grease-filled Ozymandias. Other dishes are fossils that you would see in a technicolor comedy from the 1960s, like the cantaloupe with cottage cheese, which seems to drip a certain neon vitality that only a sweater-clad raisin of an elderly regular (whose name was likely on the menu) would truly ever want. Despite my short attention span, the 15-minute wait flew by through minorly manic conversation and darting glances as the various signs hung up around the restaurant, almost in a curated manner. 

I sit at my table- tight packed - almost rubbing elbows with my fellow diners. Across the pantheon of beautiful diner classics, I see an assortment of burgers with a tantalizing combination of cheeses, meats, and sauces. After interrogating the server, I finally decided on the Dinkelburger. The vast pit in my stomach growled, and I was chomping at the bit with my starvation. The service read my mind, delivering a plate with a steaming burger within a few minutes. A shameful glance at my dining partner was enough apology before I started taking voracious bites. The flood of savory liquor that burst out was a revelation, compelling me to take wild chunks out of the burger.

Halfway through my meal, I had to step back and assess what I was eating. It was a golden, slightly sweet bun with a pickle quartet, a perfect medium-rare patty, and a nicely melted slice of Munster in a covering of mustard and mayo. To top this burger off, this entire production was a slice of pastrami. Laid over the top as a crowning achievement. This production came together in a smoky, pointed symphony of mouthwatering delight as your headache finally begins to evaporate. 

For every superhero dish, there is a sidekick, and of course, S&P has a wonderful friend in the rotund, puffy french fries served salted in a bowl. Much like potato chips, which are the product of fries cut too thin, these fries are ruffles cut too thick. Their tender, salted, and puffed-up texture is something amazing to behold. In an almost indignant manner, you ask yourself why you haven’t had this joy at other restaurants. 

Regardless, the conversation with your friend continues as your stomach fills. You snatch a cheeky bite of your proud New Jerseyite friend’s Taylor Ham Egg and Cheese; just to try it. It, too, is a salty-savory breakfast classic. A welcome standby that takes you across the Hudson with each springy, processed, creamy bite. It took me back to the early mornings before football practice and ski trips to the Poconos. For someone who misses home but can’t take the schlep on NJ Transit, this dish can warm the heart of even the most disheveled diner. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what I had to complement one week’s worth of sodium. Like the remainder of the menu, the beverages listed had peculiar, regional origins, such as the New England staple of coffee milk. It had a burnt caramel taste, suitable for a sweet tooth, but otherwise, a forgettable novelty that its fellow heavy hitters drowned out, contrary to my roommates’ high praise of the drink. In spite of the controversy that erupted from my opinion, all present were in agreement about the splendid Chocolate Milkshake. A thick, addictive mix that slides up the straw and dissolves in the mouth into a velvet sheet. Taking the spoon and digging in, I lit up with the sweet, fatty emulsion made with a machine that mirrors a cast iron, only getting better with age. 

S&P Lunch has a unique inspiration that few restaurants do. It does the impossible, capturing lightning in a bottle of a perfect diner. I will wait in any line, rain or shine, to sit in a corner and sip a coffee here. If you live here or simply want to join in on the fun, take a seat at a table or a counter while you eavesdrop on the heartbeat of New York

5 Spoons