In a neighborhood of maple-colored town houses, there is a maple egg cream. It’s the fall special at the Brooklyn Farmacy, an old-fashioned soda fountain in a refurbished pharmacy in Carroll Gardens. The waiter behind the counter has hair the color of the pumpkins that sit on the steps of the neighborhood brownstones. He grabs an old-fashioned soda fountain glass and fills it with milk. Then he adds seltzer, and the soda machine whirrs loudly. He adds a few squirts of maple syrup and then stirs, the long spoon clinking against the shiny ribbed glass. A frothy Brooklyn classic.
As he makes the egg cream, a tyke decked out in a black and white striped jumper brings a silver ice cream dish up to her mouth and slurps the melted remains. It’s early evening, and business is slow. Saxophone music plays in the background, almost drowning out the whirring sounds of the soda machine.
“Who’s playing?” asks a waitress, who sports a white cap with red trim that’s reminiscent of the ones nurses used to wear.
“Wynton Marsalis,” says the red-headed waiter.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She turns to another colleague who is sitting at the counter. He has black curly hair, a handlebar mustache and thick glasses.
“I mean, it’s a cheesy instrument,” he replies in a deadpan voice.
The servers keep gabbing, and the conversation turns a little nutty.
“Almonds are a privileged food,” the waitress states.
“I thought almonds were less in fat and high in protein,” says the red-headed waiter.
“That’s just almond industry propaganda,” the mustached man sighs.
Two beaming folks walk in—one sporting a leather jacket and the other sporting a mohawk. They walk around as if they are at a museum, picking up the local goods on sale and admiring the old prescription bottles on display in the back of the Farmacy.
“Can we sit anywhere?” one of them asks the red-headed waiter.
“I mean, anywhere within reason,” the waiter chuckles.
“Ugh, I mean what IS reason?” the man exclaimed. “Reason is SO subjective.”
They plop down at a table next to a row of filing drawers that are chock full of over-the-counter medicines, jars of chocolate sauce, and maraschino cherries.
The waitress hands them menus and says, “One time I said sit anywhere, and the guy was like, okay, well, I’m going to walk across the street and have a sandwich.”
Everyone laughs. On a brisk fall evening, patrons at the Farmacy get a dose of something sweet and a dose of attitude.
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