Is The Commodore the Best Restaurant in the Known Universe?

All photos courtesy of J Lee.

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York, America, Earth. The center of the universe, or it was. A bar called The Commodore opened in 2010, on the corner of Havemeyer and Metropolitan. It came to a neighborhood that would come to redefine American cuisine (Diner, Marlow, Saltie, St. Anselm, Brooklyn Star, Pies and Thighs, The Four Fucking Horsemen), bearing piña coladas, nachos, and a burger with a cocktail umbrella planted like a flag.

I turned 21 in 2010 (I’m not scared to date myself), and a piña colada tastes pretty damn good when you’re a bubble-tea-addicted manchild. A menu of fried chicken and fish, biscuits, burgers, nachos, and a salad made of pickles and cheese is a dream come true for a young man with no parental guidance, cheap rent, and a fast metabolism. I felt they’d made a place just for me, and they had.

Fifteen years later, I’ve cut down my bubble tea consumption, my rent’s not quite as cheap, there’s a second location of The Commodore in Alphabet City, the universe has no center, but a piña colada still tastes pretty damn good on a late Sunday afternoon as the sun’s beginning to set. The piña at The Commodore is called “The Commodore.” It’s icy, blended, and served in a curvy plastic hurricane glass that’s often a little scuffed from being run through the dishwasher a couple hundred times. It’s crowned with a maraschino cherry, a pineapple slice, and, very importantly, topped with a little shot of amaretto. Such a treat. Even more importantly, it’s $12. When they opened in 2010, the piña colada cost $8, but I’m not complaining. In 2025, a $12 cocktail (all of their house cocktails are $12, even martinis) in New York City feels like radical generosity. A lot of what they do at The Commodore feels radically generous, or at least it doesn’t feel radically expensive, like so much of New York these days.

The Commodore is a dive bar, or it’s at least pretending to be one. It’s wood-clad and ’70s-tinged, there’s a jukebox, and a big fiberglass fish on the wall. It’s really a shame you can’t smoke cigarettes indoors, because The Commodore would be a great place to smoke a cig. It looks like it would smell like cigarettes. It’s shitty in the most perfect way. But the thing is, it’s been the exact same level of shitty since the day it opened.

In the bathroom there’s no mirror, just a long-since-smashed hand mirror on a chain that’s there for nefarious purposes beyond looking at yourself, and there’s always one single square of toilet paper on the ground. The booths feel well-worn and comfortable. There’s the slight, ever-present, and pleasantly Proustian scent of fryer oil and cleaning product hanging in the air. The way it’s been maintained is impressive. It goes beyond commitment to the bit. It’s high art. The Commodore has always felt like it will always be there, and it always will be.

The Commodore burger gives you everything you want from a burger, if what you want is a ground beef patty, not too thin, a slice of tomato, some shredded lettuce, and cheese. You have to get it with cheese. The ideal bar burger. It’s the perfect size to hold comfortably with one hand, as a bar burger should be. Your other hand should be occupied with a piña colada, a beer, your phone, or helping you loudly tell a very annoying story. If you’re drunk enough, you can easily eat two, but one is the perfect amount to feel like you’ve done something good for yourself. You haven’t gorged. Instead, you’ll gorge yourself on their fries, which are also perfect.

And although there’s already cheese on your burger and cheese on your nachos (which you most certainly ordered), you might need a side of cheese to go along with your fries. At The Commodore, they call cheese “queso.” Queso is the glue that holds The Commodore together, and what a delicious glue it is.

All nachos are not created equal. Most nachos are fun, but not all nachos are great. The “Cadillac Nachos” at The Commodore are great. They’re one of the best things you can eat in New York City. Topped with queso, jalapeños, pintos, three salsas, tomato, onion, and sour cream, they’re a real high-wire balancing act, a masterclass in excess and restraint, push and pull, yin and yang. A symphony of flavor and texture.

Nachos often leave you searching, digging through soggy chips for that next blissful bite. There’s a certain anxiety that comes with nachos. You’re sick with envy as you watch your greedy friend take that fully loaded bite you’d been eyeing but were too polite to grab. The Cadillac Nachos manage to give you everything you want in each and every bite. Compared to the chaos of regular nachos, there’s an almost zen quality to the Cadillac Nachos. Sell the house, sell the car, sell the kids, you have everything you’ve ever wanted. These are the best nachos you’ll ever put in your mouth. With each bite, you’re one step closer to enlightenment.

You’ve already eaten a burger and fries and nachos and three piña coladas and 400ml of queso, but now I’m here to tell you that the hot chicken sandwich is incredible, and somehow (IMHO), the hot fish sandwich is even better. They’re both perfect, and you need to eat them. Maybe not today. It’s okay, you’ll get them next time. And you need to get the Green Salad: shredded lettuce, parsley, green onions, and white cheddar. This is a salad far greater than the sum of its parts. It is a complete and utter delight, just like everything else at The Commodore. And next time, get a slice of key lime pie.

There’s something to be said about a restaurant or bar that gives you everything you want, where everything is great and nothing is bad. At The Commodore, they’ve been doing this for 15 years, seven days a week, until 4 a.m. Almost more impressive is that the new East Village location also rocks. The food is the same, the drinks are the same, the quality is the same. It’s all exactly the same, but with a nicer bathroom. They deserve a James Beard American Classic Award. They deserve a Pulitzer Prize. An Olympic gold medal. EGOT The Commodore. They’ve been running a super marathon through the Mojave Desert while juggling and wearing a really cool outfit, and they’re not even sweating.

I once looked at an apartment in Williamsburg. In her pitch, the agent told me that Williamsburg is the best neighborhood in New York, and that New York is the best city in America, and America is the best country in the world, so therefore, Williamsburg is the best neighborhood in the world. I couldn’t argue with her logic, and maybe I still can’t.

There’s a case to be made that The Commodore is the best bar in New York, but let’s take it one step further. Why not? Let’s have some fun. Could it be that The Commodore is the best restaurant in New York? Nachos, burgers, fried chicken, and fried fish sandwiches are all some of the best foods, and The Commodore excels at all of them, with some of the best examples around. I’d say they have the most unassailable menu in the entire city. Everything is good. It’s all incredibly consistent. The price is right, there’s a jukebox, and the vibe is always great. The case is strong. If you hate it, then you’re simply a hater.

So let’s zoom out. If The Commodore is the best restaurant in New York, and New York is the best city in America, and America is the best country in the world (no, it’s not… maybe it is), could we maybe say that The Commodore is the best restaurant in the world? In the known universe? Do aliens eat queso? Sure. Why the hell not?

I love a sloppy argument and shaky logic almost as much as I love the nachos at The Commodore