You’re walking down a quiet, leafy stretch of Greene Avenue in Clinton Hill. It’s 2015. You see a warm glow spilling out from a renovated brownstone. Inside, there's no pretension, just a massive slab of white marble, some whitewashed brick, and the smell of roasting chicken. This was The Finch Brooklyn, a place that managed to pull off the impossible: winning a Michelin star within ten months of opening without actually trying to be a "Michelin" restaurant.
It was the kind of spot where you could show up in a hoodie on a Tuesday for a salad and a glass of Gamay, or drop a few hundred on a full-blown tasting menu for an anniversary. Honestly, that duality is what made it special. But then, in the summer of 2020, it vanished.
If you're wondering what happened to your favorite neighborhood bistro or why the "Swiss Chard Lasagna" isn't in your life anymore, you aren't alone. The story of The Finch isn't just about a restaurant closing; it’s about the brutal reality of running a "soulful" business in New York City.
The Meteoric Rise of Gabe McMackin’s Labor of Love
Chef Gabe McMackin didn't come out of nowhere. He had the pedigree—stints at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, Gramercy Tavern, and Roberta’s. He even worked as a corporate chef for Martha Stewart. When he opened The Finch in 2014, he wasn't looking for global domination. He wanted a neighborhood joint.
Basically, he took a 120-year-old brownstone that had previously been a tattoo parlor and a deli and turned it into a 70-seat sanctuary.
Then the 2016 Michelin Guide dropped.
Suddenly, this under-the-radar Brooklyn bistro was standing alongside the giants of Manhattan. It was a "major get," as the press called it. McMackin himself was famously surprised. He told Grub Street at the time that he was worried about alienating the "bedrock" customers—the folks who came in on Wednesday nights—because of the new "destination" status.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Menu
People hear "Michelin star" and think tiny portions of foam and tweezers. The Finch was the opposite. It was seasonal American food that actually tasted like the ingredients it was made from.
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You’ve probably heard people rave about the Squid Ink Tagliatelle. It was a staple: peekytoe crab, saffron, lemon, and basil. It wasn't flashy; it was just perfectly balanced. But the real cult favorite? The Swiss Chard Lasagna.
There was no pasta in it. None. It was just layers of chard and cheese, and it was somehow better than any carb-heavy version you've ever had.
McMackin’s philosophy was simple: "Let a strawberry taste like a strawberry." It sounds like a cliché, but in a city where every dish is often over-engineered to be Instagrammable, that restraint was radical.
The Quiet End: Why It Actually Closed
When The Finch announced its permanent closure in June 2020, most people blamed the pandemic. While the COVID-19 lockdowns were the final blow, they weren't the only reason.
In a candid phone interview with Eater, McMackin admitted that they had been "fighting against the end" for a while. It wasn't just the economy; it was a "struggling host relationship" (landlord issues, basically) and the sheer exhaustion of trying to sustain a high-level independent restaurant in a city where the margins are razor-thin.
He put it beautifully and tragically: "We can no longer sustain that effort. It’s time for us to be still."
Where is Gabe McMackin now?
If you're missing that specific Finch vibe, you have to head north. McMackin didn't quit the industry; he just changed the scenery.
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- Troutbeck (Amenia, NY): McMackin took over the culinary program at this historic estate. It’s a design hotel with serious literary history (Mark Twain and Hemingway stayed there). The food there follows the same "simple but surprising" ethos that won him the star in Brooklyn.
- The Pink House (West Cornwall, CT): More recently, McMackin returned to his roots in Connecticut to open the Restaurant at The Pink House. It’s a casual, seasonal spot right by the Housatonic River.
It seems he found that "balanced lifestyle" he mentioned in interviews years ago—the one that’s nearly impossible to achieve while running a Michelin-starred kitchen in Clinton Hill.
The Legacy of a Neighborhood Anchor
The Finch mattered because it proved you didn't need a corporate backing or a $5 million build-out to be world-class. It was a "heart and soul" project funded by family and friends.
It also helped define the "Brooklyn style" of fine dining: high-end ingredients served on bare wood tables by people who actually knew your name. It wasn't about the white tablecloths; it was about the hospitality.
Actionable Insights for the Displaced Finch Fan:
- Visit Troutbeck: If you're in NYC, it’s about a two-hour trip on the Metro-North Harlem Line to Wassaic. It’s the closest you’ll get to the original Finch magic.
- Look for the Alumni: Many of the staff from The Finch moved on to other major Brooklyn players like Olmsted or Fausto. Keep an eye on the "not-pizza" sections of menus—that's often where the McMackin influence hides.
- Support Independent "Brownstone" Spots: Restaurants like Place des Fêtes or Locanda Vini & Olii carry that same neighborhood-first energy that The Finch pioneered.
The Finch might be gone, but it changed how we think about "fancy" food in Brooklyn. It wasn't a cage; it was a place that let the ingredients fly.