Latkes and Laughs: Visiting NYC’s Quintessential Greasy Spoon at B&H Dairy

You can enter the walls of the finest restaurants in the world, dressed to the nines with waiters trained to welcome you with a sense of superiority. With a look that can make a plant wither on the vine, they can look and make you feel like it's an obligation with their hospitality. Phones will sprout from pockets as people demand to view the next $40 carbonara or rigatoni vodka. There is a shelter from this hurricane of gold leaf. Something that hugs you in a blanket of grease and sublime food straight from the Pale of Settlement. The servers do not lie to you with mere pleasantries; they joke with you and make jokes about you. The kitchen sits behind a counter with flat tops blazing and the chefs greeting regulars as they mosey in on a weekend afternoon. In this chaos at B&H Dairy, there are merely two rules: no guns and absolutely no phones allowed.  

On a sunny day, after too much liquor the previous night, I was seated at the hole in the wall off of St Marks Place on a table adorned with plastic chairs. The diner is a window in time, back when the Ukranian village was genuinely Ukrainian. This kosher vegetarian diner is one of the last spots. It's a place where the walls are plastered with different custom dishes from their cadre of loyal customers. They rotate in and out, the entire staff knowing their names in a chaotic routine that could rival a night at the ballet. The steaming cup of coffee greets me first, a bit diluted but perfect for my fragile state. Before gulping it down, I steam my face in it; any liquid will help. We order and are greeted by a sight more grand than the Macy’s Parade on Thanksgiving as our processional arrives fresh from the flat top.

First, the griddle was delicious pillows of pierogi walled by glass-crisp fried outsides. My cavernous (and selfish) stomach gleefully greeted the hot sauce and sour cream-washed potato dumplings. The creamy insides juxtaposed fabulously with the fat of the cream, the salty acidity and minor heat of the nameless hot sauce, and the shattering skin of the fried dish. I preferred to start outside Pierogi, chomping on the crispy ridges before losing all control and stuffing the whole piece in my mouth, burning it thoroughly. But what worthy burns they were!!! 

This potato parade would not be complete without the show's star; the “NYC Food Guy” Latke Lover sandwich has a name to match the dish’s over-the-top nature. You may think there would be a need for a new protein to pile on top to cut this chance of a carb catastrophe. Despite what you may think, the sandwich was an absolute triumph, filled with molten umami that made the salty joy of a latke a treat. This provision was the peak of carb mountain, a mix of salt and grease that would tame any hangover in just a few feral bites. This sandwich defies convention, made entirely of carbohydrates. Still, the sweet challah bread plays off the salty latke with a velvety inside, accentuating a savory egg yolk blanketed in American cheese. This duo is necessary for all who walk through the hallowed entryway at B&H; no meal would be complete without it.

An underdog in the mix brought more to the table than I could have expected, and to top it all off, it was a vegetable! The bright red borscht felt like a defibrillator for someone desperately looking for hydration. Imagine a chicken soup with substantial veggies, not mealy or crisp but refreshingly a point, like a ballet dancer hitting a pirouette. It’s a dish that seems to hit your system immediately, waking you up like a hot coffee or a cold shower. Skip the Gatorade, miss the Pedialyte, and grab a cup of borscht in the Ukrainian Village instead and get on with your day a happier and healthier person. 

On any great trip, there is always a bump in the road, and the Studivarishnikies were straight from a peasant’s shack on the files on the Ukrainian plain in the worst way possible. The dish was over and undercooked and placed on an undersalted bed of boiled barley. The mushroom gravy didn’t add much of a savory punch, and the knish was serviceable but unable to save the remainder of the dish from going back largely uneaten. The main lesson we all should take is to dip your toe into the pool of explorative ‘weird’ dishes before diving in like a fully-fledged idiot (me). Despite this failure, B&H still had a few more tricks to ensure I became a regular.

Finally, we get to the classics that any diner worth its salt must probe proficiently. Soft, tender pancakes colored all over the surface with a sensational golden brown, dotted with chocolate chips, a look that a Bisquick cover wishes it could have. Sliding out the cups of butter from the plastic shows it had been fresh off the grill, with just enough time to soften the butter to a perfectly spreadable consistency; I’m not sure at all if that was their intention, but a neurotic and finicky person like me appreciated it. Spreading and topping the cakes with butter and syrup, respectively, is a ritual that allows me to see the strength of a batter. Will the cakes tear or get too saturated? Is the butter too cold and damages the outer layer? The sweet treat was delectable, stuffed as I was. It had distributed all of my favorite parts: sweet syrup, fatty butter, and decadent batter in a golden ratio. I returned to these perfectly cooked cakes, having much more than the capacity in my stomach would admit.

B&H is a place that will be carved into my weekend mornings for years to come; with friends or alone, you will feel welcome in this establishment. Whether for a stack of pancakes, a cup of borscht, or 1000 calories in a singular sandwich, I cannot wait to return to this all-time greasy spoon.  4 out of 5 Spoons.