Old John's Diner
It’s actually very chic to eat a patty melt before going to the opera.
Today, I inhaled a burrito and a quesadilla at Los Burritos Juarez so fast that my stomach hurt after (I only have my own greed to blame), and then cried my eyes out at a late-afternoon showing of Project Hail Mary… all the makings of a good Sunday. A full write-up of Los Burritos Juarez’s fabled tortillas is coming soon (perhaps), and a review of Project Hail Mary can be found on my dear friend Aiden Herrod’s Substack here. I’ve had a weird, emotional roller coaster of a weekend, but in the most minor ways. My life, at its core, is chugging along just fine.
On Saturday night, Viraj and I went to the Met Opera to see Madama Butterfly. As long as I can remember, I’ve always loved opera—it’s my father’s influence, who would play his favorite operas at home from his vast collection of CDs and records. Going to the opera in San Francisco was a ritual that we shared and I loved, especially when I was getting a few more wears out of my latest winter formal dress. (If it’s not about the food, then it’s almost always about the clothes with me…)
Recently, I saw Carmen at the Met alone. Curled up in my dress and heels in the Grand Tier, I was suddenly overcome by emotion when I realized that I was now one of those adults I used to see at the opera, grown-ups who actually belonged in a space like this, instead of teenaged me, wobbling along in heels stolen from my mother.
With my father, our trips to the opera started at Max’s Opera Cafe, eating something obnoxious like a large slice of chocolate cake in our finest opera garb. And sure, the fact that Tatiana is located steps away from the Met Opera House in Lincoln Center suggests that perhaps we should be dining at one of the best restaurants in New York City to complement the exceedingly fancy activity that is going to opera. But, I’ve also always been inexplicably drawn to the Americana of a diner, and something about going dressed to the nines just makes sense.
One year ago to the day, my friend Nath and I met at Old John’s Diner prior to seeing La Bohème and giggling the entire time at the ridiculousness of it all, trying not to get crumbs and grease and sauce on our fancy, fancy outfits. And though I had been to Old John’s Diner before—it’s a great place to go pre- or post-movie at the Lincoln Square AMC—the ritual was established at that specific moment.
Getting to dinner on Saturday was a complete comedy of errors. Buzzing with enthusiasm, we got ready too fast, and then made up for that by spending too much time sitting on our phones afterward. We took the subway in an attempt to avoid traffic, only to end up on an express train that was inexplicably stopping at every local stop except for the one we needed, and then transferred to a local train that skipped our stop unannounced. I was consumed by nerves, and on the way, Viraj and I schemed how we would optimize our ordering to have the most efficient meal.
I cut it very close for reservations frequently (ugh, I’m working on it!), but this was the worst it’s ever been… and the universe (public transit) had really conspired against us this time. I was nervous and calling nearby restaurants to try to find a back-up, but fortunately (for us) we caught Old John’s during a particularly busy time, and in the chaos, Viraj was able to secure us a table.
I had been thinking all week about a good martini—I had a subpar one earlier in the week—and the only drink better, in my mind, is a vesper. As an enjoyer of vespers, I concede that there’s a jet-fuel-like quality to them that makes it hard to tell at times if any one version is better than others. But, my vesper was wonderful, and Viraj’s gimlet came with a beautiful, frothy layer of foam. Maybe Old John’s knows a thing or two about cocktails.
We ordered as soon as we sat down, and I panicked and went off of instinct, our meticulous planning out the window. I think I’ve only ever eaten a patty melt at Old John’s, and that’s because there’s no better item to order. I had intended to branch out this time, but old habits die hard. With a thick beef patty rivaled only by the fluffy challah that has the most delicate exterior crispness from the grill, you’ve never had a patty melt like this one before.
Viraj ordered the cavatelli duck ragu—which has a beautiful wine sauce and grand marnier demi-glace that generously coats each pasta without being overwhelming. But, I was too distracted by my sandwich to pay much attention. Last week at work, I was talking to my coworkers about foods that require forward momentum to eat. Burritos are a great example of this phenomenon: it’s hard to stop half-way, they just kind of… fall apart if you pause for too long. It’s true of many sandwich-like objects as well, like patty melts.
Well, once I had finally come out of my beef-and-onion-and-cheddar-induced haze, I couldn’t help but notice Viraj eyeing the other half. A negotiation followed, and I walked away with half of his pasta, which he had barely made a dent in. I ate my patty melt so fast that Joey Chestnut would be proud. And as I delicately ate the pasta, ladylike, it was my turn to watch in wonder as Viraj ate the other half of the patty melt: gulped… scarfed… attacked… would all be appropriate words, actually.
“Do you think I chewed? I don’t remember chewing at all,” Viraj said, and I dissolved into a fit of vesper-induced giggles.
I also need to mention that Old John’s has an amazing fresh mint chocolate chip ice cream, which does indeed taste just like chewing on a mint leaf. It’s great on their warm brownie, which comes in the cast iron skillet it’s baked in.
… But go get the patty melt. Just don’t let the greed get to your head (stomach?), and please remember to chew.
Bite It!
Book Old John’s on Resy here. It’s not a place where you necessarily need a reservation, but I’d recommend one if you’re trying to catch a show after. Brunch is walk-ins only!