From the outside, the two-month-old Brooklyn Public House resembles yet another old-timey cocktail den—a trend that jumped the shark sometime around New Year's (is Applebee's serving Old Fashioneds yet?) and has likely thrown more than a few longtime Clinton Hillers into a sconce-smashing rage. But BPH is not what it seems. Linger and you'll get a sense that owners Kevin O'Lunney and Jerry Rooney really wanted to open an Irish pub and mount a soccer-blaring flat screen, but reluctantly put up last-minute granny wallpaper instead. There might be a stylized antique façade, but in spirit think fish, chips and a total lack of trendy parlor elitism.
The digs: Management declined our picture request, claiming prematurity; but, we assure you, the place looks good—we imagine most Brooklyn bar owners would give a limb to claim occupancy in what was once a mid-19th-century candy store. (Bonus vintage cred: Ancient candy wrappers and measuring scales were discovered while renovating.) The tin ceiling is original, the tables are made with salvaged wood from the original floors, and—yes—there are sconces. Lots of them. Anonymous oil portraits hang next to assorted old stuff (i.e., radios), and we swear BPH has the same ceiling lights as Buttermilk Channel (where is this olden hardware store from which all Brooklyn bar and restaurant owners seem to shop?).
The crowd: A friendly Fort Greene/Clinton Hill hodge podge: graying bar hogs, pre- and post-stroller couples, and the requisite black-framed indie set. Overall, less starched than Smith Street, less self-conscious than Bedford.
The drinks: With 24 taps (from $4 to $6) and an ever-expanding bottle collection, beer is the big draw. The list has a few clunkers that wouldn't fly at a "beer bar" (save a tap and lose the Woodchuck Cider!), but most are decent if not outstanding, like Stone Levitation, Victory Old Horizontal Barleywine and Belhaven Twisted Thistle IPA. There's also $3 Budweiser for humility's sake. BPH stocks an extensive—and growing—spirits list; bourbons and single malts are the menu's highlight, but anything goes. Well drinks run $6 to $7 and O'Lunney is planning a handful of house cocktails—although, referring to quaint old-fashioned creations in puny glasses, he barks, "I'm not against it...but it kind of pisses me off."
The food: Phew, full-sized food! Not a small plate in sight. In recent weeks the menu has been scattered, cycling through pizzas and pot pies before settling on a short list of pub-dishes-meet-elevated-TGI-Fridays. The fried haddock and chips ($14) is nicely crisp, the juicy burger ($10) is towering (it's stacked with onion rings), and the bacon-wrapped hot dog with cheese ($6.50) is just outstanding—greasy bar-food perfection. Avoid the chicken nachos because they cost $14 and are, I repeat, chicken nachos.
The bottom line: BPH is thematically strained. We worry it might be too precious for the pub crowd and too pubby for the cocktail crew. But we like it. A lot, in fact. It's a top-shelf neighborhood bar with a good burger, great beer and honest intentions—it just happens to have your Great Aunt Gladys's taste in light fixtures. O'Lunney concludes, "I know I'm doing something right because my dad is comfortable here." We wholeheartedly agree: There is no better bar gauge than dad-approval.
The net result: what people are saying online:
[Thrillist]: "Injecting boozy vibrance into the tetanus-y splinters of a dilapidated 19th Century candy store now totally retrofitted with reclaimed wood wainscoting and old monastery benches, BP's a skinny gastropub.."
[Yelp]: "nice to finally have a real 'pub' like place in the neighborhood and not the sketchy or typical bar of the area"
[Paper Mag]: "the space has been lovingly restored into a Victorian-inspired inn, complete with the found accessories, gold damask wallpaper, and a spooky tin type portrait hanging on the wall."
[TONY]: "Take a trip through history at this old-timey gastropub, appropriately decorated with antique wallpaper and salvaged mirrors."
Brooklyn Public House
247 DeKalb Ave. at Vanderbilt Ave.
347-227-8976
Photo by Sam Horine
