Prism Cafe
217 W. Latimer St.
Tulsa
There are few better places in Tulsa to feel the tug-of-war between preservation and progress than the Heights district, just north of downtown. The neighborhood was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1980 as Brady Heights, a National Parks Service designation that renders the area “worthy of preservation.” It is also a federal Opportunity Zone, a program designed to attract investors and developers to the area through tax incentives. Street construction currently runs the entire y‑axis length of the largely residential strip, part of the vast north Tulsa food desert, which has far lower immediate access to grocery stores and dining establishments than the city as a whole.
All this makes schlepping a trug of freshly picked, Heights-grown produce down the street into a restaurant kitchen a worthy dream. Prism Cafe, opened in 2023, was founded on that, as stated on its crowdfunding campaign site: “Our goal is to provide a convenient option, within walking distance, for all kinds of daily needs. The cafe hopes to be a place to connect with the community on a daily or as needed basis.”
Prism Cafe’s chef and owner is also a co-caretaker of the nearby community-centered The Heights Garden on Cheyenne, open to the public and run largely by volunteers. The website says the cafe offers “hyperlocal, garden-sourced food” and an “herbal apothecary” in consideration of “how locally grown plants can be used for the body in forms outside of food.” All neighborhoods in flux would probably benefit from the heady dose of romanticism Prism Cafe is putting out into the world. The reality, like the neighborhood itself, may be a work in progress.
I don’t want to take this as far as the “Is the chicken local?” Portlandia bit, but short of a few social posts and local news pieces discussing herbs and microgreens, there’s no readily available information about the cafe’s suppliers. In fairness, it is hard — near impossible, even — to maintain farm-to-tableness in February with our weather, but that strong a mission statement implies an ethos that isn’t readily apparent to anyone walking into the cafe for the first time.
So is it a hyperlocal culinary haven-slash-herbal apothecary meeting the needs of the community? I don’t know, and since I neither live nor work in the Heights, it’s not up to me to gauge the meeting of needs. But is it a really excellent dining option in a neighborhood short on food establishments? Absolutely.
Prism Cafe’s tiny footprint and modest design tuck neatly into the neighborhood, occupying half of the still-open TW’s‑AFAB Catering storefront. While the special event offerings and weekend dinner menus vary widely and are revealed on an ongoing basis, the daytime menu is mostly sandwiches, un-precious and clearly influenced by chef Aimee Hunter’s bicoastal culinary history.
As such, we started with the ginger shot “fully dressed,” a combo of ginger juice, maple syrup, and cayenne, a common wellness tonic that tasted better here than other places I’ve had it, thanks to a generous syrup-to-ginger ratio.
I am decidedly not a sandwich enthusiast. Nothing against the medium, but it’s just not generally my favorite assemblage of carbs plus toppings. But you know what does mean something to me that is also very difficult to find in Tulsa? Mortadella.
Before I go further, I will say here that there’s a certain beloved sandwich chain known for its insane sandwich assemblage speed that I avoid simply because I think they make the sandwiches too quickly. This was the opposite of that. I was surprised by the hefty lunchtime wait until I got the sandwich. Have I ever had a sandwich so lovingly assembled? I have not. Take all the time you want, Prism Cafe.
The mortadella sandwich, served on a baguette, had a generous amount of ruffled mortadella, cornichons, pepperoncini, raw onion, and microgreens, along with a healthy dose of fat and salt via melted cheese and aioli. The bread had perfect give and structure and held it together through the last bite. Each component eaten separately was just sort of what you’d expect, some salty and some bland, some greasy and some fresh. But ratios, quantities, physical assemblage? Spot-on. No sides come with these sandwiches; they don’t need them.
We also ordered the lunch menu’s priciest option, the $18 brisket sandwich, served in a square of ciabatta so large that, halved, it looked like two $18 brisket sandwiches. Whatever image the term “brisket sandwich” conjured for you here in Oklahoma, please dispose of it. This was a tender layer of braised brisket cooked to medium, topped with melted cheese and caramelized onions and then lightened with chimichurri, sprouts, and a benevolent amount of fresh thyme, conjuring the woody herbaceousness you might associate with a roast but in a totally different format. An excellent two sandwiches sold as one sandwich. Please do not hesitate to split this one with another person or take half home, as we did. Once again, the bread did an impressively good job holding everything where it needs to be, even a few hours later.
I am very susceptible to an upsell, so even though I had no room to spare, I took a piece of coffee cake to go. On the average day, I sweeten my coffee like an unsupervised child, but this cake — buttery, dense, and with a thick, caramelized crust you could sell on its own — begs for a cup of black coffee, which is exactly what a coffee cake should do. The copious butterfat made the cinnamon linger even when the cake was gone.
While I left Prism Cafe moderately confused about the messaging, I was also thoroughly impressed by the food and wishing I lived in walking distance of that coffee cake. Did this neighborhood need a new eatery? Yes. Does this one fit the bill of what I expected? No. I would call it more a creative outlet with great intentions than a true neighborhood steward, at least for now, though new developments nearby may aid in forging those connections. (Prism Cafe is doing a special banh mi burger night to celebrate the nearby opening of listening room St. Cecilia’s, for instance.) It’s a welcome addition in any case.
Next for Becky: “I Bear The Fruit Of My Ancestors” at Belafonte, March 1.
