Henry Public


When I step into Henry Public, I picture myself as a working girl in the 40s, celebrating the end of an arduous work week with a cocktail and a good meal.  The old time bar/restaurant on the border of Cobble Hill and Brooklyn Heights is transportive in looks – wood and glass cabinets filled with books, marble top tables, and enameled metal panel walls – and immersive in experience.  Happy days are here again.

I start with a well-tended drink, something to make me feel rewarded and special for working at the factory as I do, like the Two Cent Fancy, a champagne cocktail with a little tarragon.  My favorite meal is the salad –  a crispy, creamy treat with slivers of apple and radish, dusted with crushed smoked apples – and the bone marrow on toast.  The Depression may be over, but I still haven’t lost the taste.  There are a few well-executed hamburgers and sandwiches on the brief menu, all served with perfect french fries.  The only dessert – meant to be shared with my fellow workers – is the enigmatic Wilkinsons, a donut like golf ball of dough that isn’t deep fried, but fashioned in a special Norwegian pan, and then dipped in a boozy, bourbon caramel sauce.  My weekly pittance goes far here, so much so that in the reality of the recession, I can afford to come here any time.

Henry Public

329 Henry Street, between Atlantic Avenue and Pacific Streets

Cobble Hill, Brooklyn

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