The Snail and the Shape of a Neighborhood Restaurant

On most evenings, The Snail announces itself before you even step inside. A small crowd gathers out front, checking the wait, deciding whether to stay. Inside, martinis are poured cold, classic dishes that read as familiar wow the crowd, and desserts land unapologetically rich. One year since opening in Greenpoint, the restaurant has become known not just for its food, but for the patience it asks of those who want a table.

I met Austin Baker and Cristy-Lucie Alvarado, the couple behind The Snail, in Fort Greene on a Tuesday autumn afternoon, one of those days when the air feels crisp and the sunlight still slips easily through the trees. It was just past four, the brief lull between school pickups and dinner plans. Their son, Nino, was at Spanish lessons and they had an hour to themselves. We sat at a neighborhood restaurant they knew well, sharing oysters as the conversation unfolded. Sitting there, so near to their home and daily life, it struck me that this was exactly the type of moment they imagined when they had first started talking about opening a restaurant of their own.

From the beginning, their pull toward a neighborhood restaurant originated from a few overlapping places. Austin and Cristy wanted to cook food they liked, and food their friends liked, without having to explain it or dress it up. They wanted something simple and nearby, something they could work on while raising Nino without disappearing into it. After living through the pandemic, they watched how neighborhood restaurants functioned as quiet pillars of support, holding people together through consistency and community. Those were the places that endured because people kept coming back.

When Austin and Cristy moved back to New York, the Fort Greene area was where they settled as a family, and where they had hoped the restaurant would live, too. They imagined a place close enough to walk to, close enough to fold easily into their daily routines. They searched for a long time. A year passed, then more waiting, but the right space never quite appeared.

Eventually, the couple landed with the perfect spot in Greenpoint, right off of McCarren Park, where The Snail opened quietly in late November of 2024. Located on the first floor of a residential building, the restaurant opened with a building party, welcoming all neighbors to a fun local soft opening night. The team eased into service, learning the ins and outs. The first few weeks were calm, even slow.

Then, one Wednesday night in January (typically a slow month for restaurants in the city), everything changed. The dining room was buzzing. The bar was packed. The team was slammed, running around everywhere. When they finally got a chance to ask guests how they’d heard about The Snail, the response arrived again and again, casual, almost offhand: TikTok.

Austin and Cristy explained that they hadn’t been in a rush for attention. There was no PR push, no early courting of buzz. The only intentional outreach they’d done was local, letting neighbors know they were there. The videos traveled anyway. Lines followed. And with the lines came a question that started hovering around the restaurant, sometimes spoken aloud, other times implied: Is it worth the wait?

The couple admitted they never quite knew how to answer it. “We don’t think any food is worth waiting three hours for,” Austin said, plainly. They were grateful for the interest of course, but uneasy with what the question seemed to compress. When a restaurant becomes something to endure, an experience to justify through time spent in line and reviews posted afterwards, it tends to drift away from the people who live in its proximity. The concern wasn’t about being busy. It was about who the restaurant would end up being for.

So they stayed true to the original plan. There are still no reservations (only recently did they roll out reservations on Resy for parties of 7 or more). Instead of advertising the long wait lines as a marker of demand, Austin and Cristy expanded their hours. Brunch runs until 3 pm, and between 3 pm and 5 pm the menu loosens into offering the raw bar and some snack items to segue into dinner, easing the pace for both the kitchen and the room. It’s a small adjustment, almost easy to miss, but one that reflects a preference for accessibility over exclusivity.

That steadiness carries through the food. The menu is anchored in dishes people already understand: shrimp cocktail, caesar salad, steak frites, and a burger. A shrimp cocktail leads the cold section, crafted with blue shrimp that are cooked shell-on, brined, peeled, and adjusted over time. Austin shared that they’ve changed the process more than once, tweaking small details until the final version felt consistently right. It’s a dish that looks simple until you realize how much attention it demands.

Pastry at The Snail feels especially personal. For Cristy, these desserts long predate the restaurant itself: a date cake inspired by Moto, a local favorite the couple loved before it closed; sundaes they used to make at home, finished with marcona almonds they’d snack on after service. And if you’re lucky, there might even be a birthday cake on the menu — vanilla with strawberry frosting and a perfectly generous scattering of sprinkles — the same one she makes each year for Nino. Each bite of dessert is full of nostalgia and indulgence. “We’re here to feed you,” Cristy said, beaming.

The care also shows up in small, human moments. One night, a woman sitting at the bar lifted the bowl of citrus, turned it over, and smiled. It was her own work — a piece by Virginia Sin, whose ceramics Cristy has long admired. There are also a few Virginia Sin hooks throughout the restaurant. Austin and Cristy still laugh when they tell the story. Not long after, The Snail hosted its first private event, celebrating the reissue of Sin’s very first piece, the Porcelain Paper Plate. In its own way, the restaurant became a place where people recognize one another, feel welcome, and return to.

Austin is at The Snail most days. And while Cristy isn’t always there in person, her presence is felt in the decadent desserts, that are both family and guest favorites, in the objects, in the menu designs…the list goes on. Both Austin and Cristy understand The Snail as something that sprouted from their shared lives in hospitality, learning alongside one another and figuring out when to push and when to take a step back. Still clear-eyed about the pressure of running a restaurant, they recognize how it’s strengthened their partnership over time.

Cristy and Austin shared a bit about what it means to raise a child alongside The Snail. For them, family life has always extended into the restaurant, even before starting their own restaurant. Back when Austin was the chef at Saraghina Pizzeria, Austin would often take Nino into the kitchen to say “Hi” to everyone. From then on, Nino became a natural when entering restaurants, just like any other child might feel when they step foot onto the playground. One time, Cristy and Nino were eating at Leo. When the staff there forgot to bring them an extra spoon, Nino made his way into the kitchen to ask for it himself, just like he would growing up with his dad as the chef. It’s normal to wander into your second home and look for a spoon, right? Nino agrees. However, he was firmly asked out.

They still live this way at The Snail. Family and restaurant life remain intertwined, with Nino growing up alongside the restaurant, and naturally befriending everyone there.

The staff carries that same ease forward. A pump-up song plays before every shift, a small ritual that sets the tone for service. Many team members have worked together before, and it shows in the way service moves in harmony. Care extends not only between coworkers, but toward every guest who walks through the door. Everyone wants you to have a good time and it shows.

The Snail exists in a city where restaurants are often consumed through bright flashes and quick verdicts, reduced to must-orders and numeric ratings meant to stand in for experience. I’m not immune to it. I’ve waited in lines. I’ve scrolled through apps, judging restaurants by a single Beli review or Google score. But sitting with Austin and Cristy was a reminder of how much that way of eating misses. The Snail is meant to be folded into daily life, a place you return to without occasion, carrying the comfort of returning somewhere that already knows how to take care of you.