The Ocean Hill restaurant Badaboom (421 Bainbridge St.) recently posed a thought experiment to their Instagram followers. They invited customers to a special dinner with a post stating: “Pay what you feel is fair for our half chicken on Tuesday, April 14.” Followers attuned to a current social media imbroglio knew exactly what this meant. 

Food influencer Mike J. Chau made an Instagram post documenting his visit to Gigi’s (138 Franklin St.), a new wine bar and rotisserie chicken restaurant in Greenpoint. Gigi’s keeps things concise, with a menu of basically just chicken and a few sides. Instagram users flooded Chau’s comment section, balking at the $40 price tag for just a half portion. They clowned on the bread and butter ($8) and ridiculed the rice ($10). 

“This post made me cancel my reservation,” one Instagram user wrote.

“Computer, drop a nuke on Greenpoint,” said another. 

The discourse escalated further after inveterate shitposter (and neighboring city council member) Chi Ossé weighed in, posting an image that read “$40 half chicken at wine bar? Really?” In the comment section, he directed followers to The Fly (549 Classon Ave.), a Bed-Stuy restaurant in his district with a similar concept, which prices its half chicken at a more wallet-friendly $19. (Ossé is a noted man of the people: see here for him being arrested for fighting against alleged deed theft in Brooklyn).

Gigi’s prices clearly touched a nerve, especially in a neighborhood long-reckoning with gentrification, where the goldendoodles shit freely on city sidewalks, and skyrocketing rents displace artists and beloved small businesses and replace them with Paris Baguette. Meanwhile, a toxic sludge of industrial solvents and leftover oil spillage churns underneath, as fossil fuel companies fight tooth-and-nail to absolve themselves of the responsibility of cleaning it up. Debates about the dreaded transplant frequently roil local social media channels, which tends to inelegantly define “transplant” as “anyone who arrived after me.”

In 2005, then-mayor Michael Bloomberg ushered in an era of massive residential development through the controversial Greenpoint-Williamsburg rezoning. The North Brooklyn area has seen its stock rise steadily over the past two decades, as neighborhoods continue to attract well-to-do white collar workers who think of themselves as “creatives.” Or, as one New York writer put it, the Murray Hill-ification of Greenpoint.

The sea change reached a fever pitch post-pandemic, with rents jumping 50% from 2020 to 2024, and shiny high-rise buildings multiplying like fungi along the East River. Of course, I might have fallen into the aforementioned transplant trap, as I moved to Greenpoint in 2018, well past the point of post-hipster invasion, but slightly before the former Pencil Factory turned into a destination for Gen Z girlies dancing on tables. Still, I can’t help but pine for the Greenpoint I first encountered, which maybe, just maybe, was actually a little bit more charming.

Working for the neighborhood’s largest news site, I grapple with that crossroads every day. A chicken-egg situation: am I responsible for the influx of wine bars because I write about them all the time? Or I am writing about them all the time because people clamor for them? The answer is likely a little bit of both. 

Here’s one thing I can say for certain: almost unanimously, whether in a press release or social media copy, many new restaurants here express a desire to become “a neighborhood spot,” the kind of place where you can stop by after work for a glass of wine or a full dinner. That’s understandable. No one wants to be the asshole slinging plates of wagyu beef on a bed of fermented kelp and not evince some humility. Everyone would like to think their restaurant easily embeds itself into the fabric of the community. But neighborhood spots are like nicknames—you can’t choose it for yourself, it has to be bestowed upon you. And just who gets the honor of bestowal morphs as new residents move in and warp the vibe of the neighborhood. In the case of Gigi’s, whose website indeed boasts that self-affixed label, it appears to have hit a level of local fatigue. The age of the wine bar might be starting to crack. 

With their petite portions and offbeat ingredients, wine bars (also interchangeable with small plates-style restaurants) make easy fodder for mockery. But their presence in a neighborhood is not inherently symptomatic of a greater societal ill. Running a restaurant requires the same creativity, commitment, and precision as any art form. Not every art form is right for every person (lest I get Chalamet-ed, I should mention here that you really should take advantage of some of the reduced ticket programs in New York City before judging an art form is not for you). Wine bars, and restaurants that strive to innovate and push the limits of cooking, drive trends at more moderately-priced places. Like the famous cerulean sweater in The Devil Wears Prada, an ingredient like Maldon salt or trout roe might start at the Michelin level before trickling down to your local bar-with-food joint. I’ve had some incredible meals at a small plates wine bar. I’ve also had some meals that were so mid that I should be forced to don a dunce cap and be paraded around town so passersby can jeer at me for my poor financial decisions. 

Restaurants also face the same turbulent economic headwinds as their customers. Last year, I spent a few weeks reporting on Greenpoint’s local restaurant scene, and why so many beloved spots were closing, seemingly all at once. Running a restaurant always incurs economic risk. However, in 2026, the math that barely added up in the first place strains further under the weight of so many ballooning costs. The COVID-19 pandemic decimated the industry in 2020. The restaurants able to survive emerged into a world of inflation, tariffs, rents, and exorbitant insurance premiums, cratering their already low coffers. COVID-19 also forced workplaces of all stripes to reckon with work-life balance and the ethics of office culture. For some restaurants, the high prices on their menus entail better wages and benefits for staff. We’d prefer restaurants to reflect our values, but have trouble grappling with what that means for our wallets. 

Additionally, customers forced to spend much of their paycheck on rent have less pocket money for more extraneous purchases. And these days, people drink less and order in more. The way these facts compound each other spells trouble for a restaurant’s bottom line. 

As one restaurant owner put it, “Our margins were already thin. At this point, you can see through them.”

The Gigi’s team shared a similar sentiment in a New York Times story. Owner Hugo Hivernat told the Times that the price helps compensate for benefits and paid time off. As I found out in my reporting last year, dealing with the city government’s bureaucracy also comes with additional logistical nightmares and racked-up fees.

“In addition to food and labor costs, Mr. Hivernat said he had to account for the rent he paid while waiting for permits from the Landmarks Preservation Commission, approval from the Department of Buildings and an inspection from Con Edison,” the Times reports.

So, yes, as many Instagram commenters rightfully pointed out, restaurants have a tough row to hoe. They must carefully calibrate the costs they can afford to absorb and what they can pass on to customers before they cry “uncle!” 

Having said all this, having given as much benefit of the doubt as I can possibly wring from myself, having examined the situation from all sides and avoided kneejerk social media reaction, I can now confidently say: $40 is probably too much for a half chicken, even in Greenpoint. 

Eater took a closer look into what a roast chicken in New York City goes for these days. And while $40 for a half rested somewhat in the middle of the spectrum, $77 for a whole chicken wildly outstripped most other restaurants listed. It beat Goop Kitchen. Goop, the brand synonymous with self-indulgent brittle blonde women everywhere! 

However, the numbers paint a more complicated story. As the New York Times points out, the $40 half chicken comes with a side of potatoes, while sides and sauces at the oft-invoked The Fly are sold separately. An order of half chicken with a side of potatoes and sauces ultimately comes out to $35. It’s a seemingly negligible difference, though perhaps the level of customization offered by The Fly gives diners some illusion of control. 

No matter how glossy and brined a $40 chicken, knowing that its $5 grocery store counterpart turns on a spit just blocks away could deter some of Gigi’s intended customers. Jubilee, a small grocery chain with a flagship location (145 West St.) in Greenpoint, recently earned plaudits from the neighborhood when its owner fessed up to price gouging, which he admitted was how he thought one was supposed to do business here. The community feedback prompted him to lower prices. Jubilee also sells a burger for $2.75 (more like a slider, but still!) and a $5 rotisserie chicken deal. Earlier this year, they enlisted local elementary school students to design their tote bags and will donate a portion of sales directly back to the school. They have an active social media presence. For a supermarket, Jubilee does seem to have its finger on the pulse of what the community wants.

Of course, the reason Jubilee offers a $5 chicken boils down to the fact that, quite simply, they can afford to do so. Considered “loss leaders,” stores will sell items such as rotisserie chickens or the infamous Costco hot dog for cheap in order to draw customers, hoping they’ll spend more on other products. 

A small restaurant doesn’t have that luxury, but perhaps they can try to establish goodwill in the community through other means.

Should we force any place calling itself “a neighborhood spot” to run a shift at the local food pantry? Should they have to compost food waste? Should they offer a discount night for local residents? That’s all for them and their conscience to decide, though I think restaurants should start to look inward before self-prescribing this label. At the very least, a decent happy hour wouldn’t hurt. 

Or, they could just say fuck it and abandon the pretense altogether. I recently ate at I Cavallini (284 Grand St.), a buzzy new Italian restaurant in Williamsburg. The reservation: difficult to snag. The service: polite, if a little stilted. The prices: a small fortune for a bite of tuna crostini about the size of my thumb. They probably didn’t care whether or not I’d return (that tuna crostini was amazing. I would return and pay top dollar).

I Cavallini is an offshoot from James Murphy’s The Four Horsemen (295 Grand St.), arguably the ur-text for the Brooklyn wine bar. Despite the odds, the minuscule portions and the funky, biodynamic wines, The Four Horsemen has amassed a pretty dedicated local following and emerged as something of a true—dare I say it?—neighborhood spot. By copying that playbook, keeping their head down and crafting impeccable plates of food, I Cavallini (or Gigi’s) might one day find themselves in a similar position. Certainly not for the whole neighborhood, but in its more rarefied circles. 

We need the Michelin-starred spots and the pretentious wine bars and the actually friendly wine bars and the dollar slice shops and the greasy diners and the amazing Thai places in Elmhurst. The equilibrium in a city’s restaurant ecosystem makes for a vibrant dining scene. When that equilibrium is disturbed and it becomes $40 chickens all the way down, what’s left for the average diner to enjoy? Is it too much to hope for a casual, moderately-priced restaurant to take root and thrive here? A neighborhood constantly inundated with bloviating from real estate developers and empty promises from the powers that be, Greenpoint drew a line in the sand, a small gesture to stave off the encroaching homogeneity.

The idea of a neighborhood spot means different things for different people. A restaurant won’t attract them all, but they should earn some trust before brandishing any bona fides. They can’t have their chicken and eat it too.

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Emma Davey is the managing editor of Greenpointers, a hyper-local news site covering Greenpoint and Williamsburg. Her work can also be seen in BUST Magazine, Jacobin, and Full Stop.