Walk into Roll and Roaster in Brooklyn and the first thing you’ll notice isn't the smell of the beef. It’s the yellow. That specific, nostalgic, 1970s-basement yellow that blankets the menu boards and the booths. It feels like a time capsule because, honestly, it is.
Since 1970, this spot on Emmons Avenue has been thumbing its nose at the artisanal, small-batch, deconstructed nonsense that has taken over the rest of the borough. People don't come here for a "culinary experience." They come because they’re hungry and they want a roast beef sandwich that hasn't changed since Nixon was in office. If you grew up in Sheepshead Bay, this place is basically your kitchen.
What makes Roll and Roaster Brooklyn actually different?
Most people think a roast beef sandwich is just meat on bread. At Roll and Roaster Brooklyn, it’s a specific engineering feat. They thin-slice the beef—it’s always rare to medium-rare—and pile it onto a kaiser roll that has been baked in-house. That’s the secret. Most places buy their rolls from a massive industrial bakery. Here, the bread is soft enough to absorb the jus but sturdy enough not to fall apart when you inevitably douse it in "Cheez."
And let’s talk about that Cheez.
It’s not Gruyère. It’s not aged cheddar from a farm in Vermont. It’s that gooey, bright orange liquid gold that comes out of a tap. You can get it on your sandwich, your fries, or even your baked potato. It’s glorious. You can tell yourself it’s processed, but after one bite of a roast beef with "cheez and onions," you won't care. The onions are key too; they aren't caramelized into a jam—they’re just soft, slightly sweet, and messy.
The weirdly diverse menu that shouldn't work
Usually, if a restaurant tries to do everything, they do everything poorly. Roll and Roaster is the exception. Where else can you get a high-quality roast beef sandwich, a surprisingly decent thin-crust pizza, and a bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne?
Yes, they serve champagne.
It’s a local legend that if you’re celebrating a birthday or an anniversary, you go to the counter, order your beef sandwiches, and ask for a bottle of bubbly. They give it to you in an ice bucket. There’s something incredibly Brooklyn about eating a $10 sandwich while sipping Moët out of plastic cups. It’s a flex that predates Instagram by forty years.
The Fries and the Shakes
You have to get the fries. They’re cottage fries—round, scalloped slices of potato that are fried until the edges are crispy and the centers are fluffy. They are the superior vessel for the aforementioned cheese sauce. Then there are the shakes. They’re thick. Not "I need a spoon" thick, but "I’m going to burst a lung using this straw" thick. The black and white shake is the standard, a perfect middle ground for the indecisive.
Why the "Fast Food" label is a lie
If you call Roll and Roaster "fast food," locals might look at you funny. While the service is quick, the operation is closer to a high-volume scratch kitchen. They roast the beef whole. They bake the rolls constantly. They even make their own lemonade and iced tea, which, by the way, is actually brewed, not just syrup mixed with water.
The efficiency of the place is legendary. You stand in line, you order at the window, you get a number, and then you watch the "Next Number" board like it’s the Powerball drawing. When your number hits, you grab your tray and hunt for a booth. It’s chaotic during the weekend rush, but it’s a controlled chaos that only a New Yorker can truly appreciate.
The Emmons Avenue Vibe
Location matters. Being right on the water in Sheepshead Bay gives Roll and Roaster a different energy than a shop in Williamsburg or Bushwick. You have the salty air from the bay, the fishing boats docked across the street, and a mix of people that represents the real Brooklyn. You’ll see guys in tracksuits who have been eating here for 50 years sitting next to teenagers who just discovered the place on TikTok. It’s one of the few truly democratic spaces left in the city.
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Common misconceptions about the beef
A lot of newcomers expect a "French Dip" style sandwich. That’s not quite right. While the beef is juicy, it’s not submerged in a vat of salty broth. It’s more about the natural flavor of the roast. If you want it wetter, you have to ask for extra gravy. Also, some people complain that the beef is "too rare."
Look, if you want well-done, gray, leathery meat, go to a supermarket deli. Roll and Roaster serves it pink because that’s where the flavor is. It’s tender. It melts. If you’re squeamish about a little pink in your roast beef, you’re missing the point of the entire institution.
How to order like a regular
Don't stand at the window and hem and haw. The line moves fast.
- The Classic: Roast beef on a kaiser roll, "cheez" and onions.
- The Sides: Cottage fries (with cheez) and maybe the corn on the cob if it’s in season.
- The Drink: Orange shake or a lemonade.
- The Pro Move: If you're with a group, someone scouts the booth while the other person waits for the number.
There’s also the "baked potato" option, which is surprisingly popular. They open it up and stuff it with whatever you want. It’s a meal in itself. And don't forget the apple pie for dessert. It’s served warm, and yes, you can get a slice of American cheese melted on top if you’re feeling particularly old-school.
The survival of an icon
In a city where historic restaurants close every week due to rent hikes or changing tastes, Roll and Roaster’s longevity is a minor miracle. It’s stayed in the family. It hasn't franchised out into a soulless chain. It hasn't tried to "modernize" the menu with avocado toast or kale salads.
They know what they are.
They are a roast beef house. They are a community hub. They are a reminder that some things were actually better in 1970. Whether you’re driving down from the city or you live three blocks away, that first bite of a warm roll hitting the cold cheese and the tender beef is a core Brooklyn memory.
What to do after your meal
Once you’re done and you’ve cleaned up your tray—because you’re a polite human being—walk across the street. Take a stroll along the wooden piers of Sheepshead Bay. Watch the swans. Look at the fishing boats coming in with the day's catch. It’s the perfect way to digest a heavy meal and soak in a part of Brooklyn that hasn't been completely sterilized by glass towers and luxury condos.
If you're planning a visit, keep in mind that parking in Sheepshead Bay is a nightmare, especially on weekends. There is a small lot, but it’s usually full. Your best bet is to look for street parking a few blocks away or take the B or Q train to the Sheepshead Bay station and walk the ten minutes down to the water. It’s worth the trek. Every single time.
Next Steps for Your Visit
Check the "Next Number" board frequently once you’ve ordered; the kitchen works faster than you’d expect. If you are visiting during peak hours (Friday nights or Sunday afternoons), send one person to secure a table immediately while the other waits in line. For the best experience, bring cash, although they do accept cards, and make sure to try the house-made gravy on the side for dipping your cottage fries.