Starving and slightly hungover on the first snow day of the year, my roommate and I slapped the snow chains onto our boots and trudged over to that strange miniature house on W. 36th Street in Uptown to investigate the breakfast magic rumored to occur there. I was curious to find out what exactly was inside, and why people would wait patiently shoulder-to-shoulder in this tiny joint for one of its precious 20 seats to get it.
You're either in or out of Our Kitchen -- there's no waiting area. Once you open the door, you instantly become a cast member in a daily breakfast ensemble, which is filled with banter on everything from laundry to pickles, "Cheers"-like camaraderie, and grateful eaters of all ages, sizes and stripes.
Owner/cook Danny Ziegler stands sleepy-eyed at the grill, churning out perfectly cooked eggs and the best hash browns in town. We sat toward the corner, next to a few snow shovels, facing the window out onto 36th. A small TV and telephone book were stashed in the nook above us. Multicolored sheets of paper are taped to the walls touting daily specials (Nathan's hot dogs, filet of fish, cookies) and the free Wi-Fi network and password is posted in brown marker. On the counter before us were assorted condiments, including a transparent squeeze bottle filled with maple syrup and a tin cup filled with some evergreen clippings and twigs for a touch of seasonal decor.
Ziegler's grandfather had owned the place for 23 years and taught him how to cook. Joey is Danny's goateed brother, who serves up the goods wearing flip-flops, socks, basketball shorts, and a red full-tilt poker ballcap. Joey and Danny look like they could be characters out of "The Sopranos," subbing the Jersey histrionics for northern Minnesota matter-of-fact geniality. They seem like regular, hardworking, beer-drinking dudes who appear not take themselves too seriously. Breakfast, however, is a very different matter.
Everything is made from scratch. Idaho potatoes are boiled, cooled and hand-shredded to create their award-winning hash browns: tender potatoes encased in plenty of crispy golden crust. I was pleasantly surprised to find them not sopped in grease, as with so many of the other popular diners around town. I opted for the cheese omelet with hash browns and one pancake ($7.75). Eggs are (properly) cooked to order; omelets are fluffy, vegetables fresh, and coffee potent. Pancakes are dense, plate-sized, pale goldenrod wonders daubed with generous clouds of creamy, salty butter. French toast comes in egg-tastic and cinnamon-spiked slabs, and bacon strips stick together in lacquered sheaths of crispy, smoky pork essence (three slices $6.50; with a side of bacon, ham or sausage $9). I imagine the biscuits and gravy are good, too; both times I visited, they had sold out before I could try them.
It is clear that the pulse of this place relies on the almost romantic devotion of its regulars, whose snapshots and postcards appear above the counter. On the bulletin board, next to an ad for decorative radiator covers, is a touching homage to a regular named Carol Marie Angell (1935-2011) -- posthumously declared the "queen" of Our Kitchen. In a restaurant scene so chock full of innovations, it's comforting to know that places like this still -- almost defiantly -- exist. Words of wisdom for those who want to experience its unorthodox charms: Be patient, tip well, and respect the regulars.
