It was a beautiful day today in New York, the day after Thanksgiving—sunny and around 50 degrees. I was on my way back home from a yoga client’s big bright loft with picture windows overlooking the Hudson River, pondering how happy I was that I had made certain choices in my life . . . namely to practice and teach what I love to do for a living . . . finally giving up cash jobs as a NYC bartender, which I had loved to hate, and hated to love at times, while trying to pursue other careers in my twenties and early thirties. Snapping me out of my daydreaming, I was pleased to get a call from some neighborhood friends who wanted to get brunch with me, and my husband. We gladly obliged, and soon were all piled into their car: their 1 year old baby in the car seat, and me in the passenger seat with my big pregnant belly. After the typical “where-should-we-go” conversation, we decided upon a brunch favorite, Robin des Bois, on Smith Street, in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Robin des Bois has a great menu, with French / Moroccan spin on the usual brunch items, an amazing cheese board, and a great staff. Robin des Bois, or as it is known by its regulars, “Bernard’s,” opened over 12 years ago, when Smith Street was a far cry from the restaurant row that it now is, complete with trendy boutiques, a Starbuck’s, and artisanal ice cream shops. There are many reasons to love Robin des Bois—some of them personal to me and my experience, some universal:
#1 The converted antique furniture shop atmosphere which Bernard never chose to renovate, with a fabulous gargantuan chandelier on the ceiling, and kitsch in the front display windows framed by dark paneled side walls, giving it the in-the-know-feeling for those regulars confidently striding in, versus the first-time customers hesitating out-front overheard asking: “is this a restaurant?” “I think this is the place . . .”
#2 The warm and professional bartender, Isabella, a Polish woman with a big smile, and the impeccable combination of hostess extraordinaire, and your dearest friend who is always happy to see you and serve you . . . a skill I admired to no end in her—in part because I failed at it miserably in my bar days, not being able to mask my contempt for others when I was in a bad mood.
#3 The just-right amount of un-snobby French flavor to your food—heavy on the garlic and butter, but subtly spiced and solidly flavored Southern French cuisine nonetheless—the perfect vehicle for your glass of French wine or Champagne.
#4 The fact that it had been there for over a decade, earning its keep and banking its warm vibes among a rapidly changing neighborhood and diverse demographic.
#5 Industry-insiders Monday nights. For those who were friends of Bernard’s, and worked in local bars and restaurants, Monday night was the night to congregate, enjoy the camaraderie of co-workers and other industry professionals, and to be a generously-tipping, slowly-getting-drunk customer, damn it.
As our caravan drove up to many open meter spaces on the sidewalk in front of Robin des Bois, we noticed a truck out front, and men piling the furniture from the dining room and garden inside. Surveying the scene, it didn’t even occur to us at first that Bernard could be closing. I got out of the car, and sure enough, 1 of the men on the truck, sweating and loading in the stuff, was Bernard, another his friend whom I know from the neighborhood and used to serve Guinness to. The usual greeting of a kiss on both cheeks, and still my disbelief:
“What are you guys doing?” I ask.
“Well, packing up this truck . . .” just as one of the men is approaching me quickly with a large piece of metal furniture.
“You’re not closing are you?” I ask, still trying to absorb what I was seeing.
“Well not today,” says Bernard.
I am silent. I don’t know what to say. I feel much more broken-hearted than he appears:
“Putain,” I say.
“You see there seems to be this trend of rents going up and business going down,” he says evenly. I know this . . . but but but they were always full when we went in the past. I seem to be in the way. Without much of a well-wishing, I get back in the car to inform the others. Upon announcing that they were indeed closing, everyone says,
“What?!?!”
“I can’t believe it,” “That makes me so so sad,” we all say. We begin to drive forward slowly. I roll open the window and say:
“We love you Bernard,” as we drive on.
He smiles a big smile, responding:
“okay!”
There is a bit of strange silence in the car. Not only are we disappointed that our perfect brunch choice is now dashed, but we all begin referencing all the times we have spent enjoying the restaurant for so many fun and casual occasions over the years. My friend says how that place has been an institution and how often she used to go.
So brunch must still go on. We decide on a restaurant a few blocks up which I had vowed never to return to a few years ago after lame service and so-so food. There was a spot right in front. I keep the breaking of my vow to myself, and we go in and sit for brunch. The menu items are boring. We make our selections. The french fries are good, but the main dishes are heavy and bland. The server is accommodating and good enough. I don’t know her though, and I find myself comparing the experience and the food to what I would have ordered and felt at Robin des Bois. Wah! I text message my friend who I used to go to Robin’s with all the time. Did she know it was closing? Yes, she texts, back, she had just learned of it the night before.
“Sigh,” I write, “pretty soon this neighborhood is just going to be full of fancy condos, with the suckers dwelling in them only presented with the choice of Starbucks and Chase Bank storefronts.”
“Yeah,” my friend responds.
“Yeah.”
The end of an era.
We love you Bernard! May you go on to bigger and better things, and find a fabulous home for your chandelier. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would open the bottle of Bordeaux I have on my shelf, and toast you and the era of Robin des Bois. Instead, I will dedicate my next Yoga practice to you.
