25 July 2010

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Frost?"


For my third post-blog "Who Goes There?" I went to a Williamsburg Italian mainstay, Frost. Most old Italian restaurants have Italian-sounding names like Gino and Bamonte's. Frost, on the face of it, sounds like the name of a cool, modern joint. Until you realized they just named the place after the street it's on, Frost Street.

On another note, I've added former "Who Goes There?" subject Fedora to the "Recently Lost Landmarks" tally. It closed on July 25. I tried to make it, but couldn't. Some friends were leaving town that night and it was my duty (and pleasure) to wish them well and say goodbye.


Who Goes There? Frost
Eating at Frost, the 59-year-old Italian survivor on a residential intersection of eastern Williamsburg, is sort of like eating at someone's house, the kind of home where the father won't turn off the television during the meal. The single dining room is boxy and open; there's no hiding from anybody. And, as if you were in a bar, there's a TV set perched near the ceiling by the kitchen. The soundtracks of sitcoms and commercial jingles fill in for the missing muzak. The large parties settle into their seats and hash over talk about family, friends and the neighborhood. One foursome grilled an embarrassed young lady about her college choices. Another teenager ate his entire meal with his Yankees cap on. The only suit jackets or ties in sight were on the waiters.

15 July 2010

Greenwich Village Classic Fedora to Close



The deaths of giants will not let me rest. Last week, I felt compelled to report on the demise of 107-year-old Carmine's. This week, it's Fedora, the ineffable living museum of mid-century Village life.

This is not surprising. Not because fancy restaurateurs have been circling the place like vultures for months. But because proprietress Fedora Donato is 90 years old and it's always been clear she had no successor to take over. The lucky inheritor of the cozy basement space—so redolent of memories of cheap, bohemian, Italian feasts of the post-War period—is Gabe Stulman of Joseph Leonard. (We can thank our lucky stars it wasn't Graydon Carter, I suppose.) He has signed the lease, and Fedora will serve her last lasagna on July 25. Then the place will under a renovation, no doubt scrubbing from the walls every bit of raffish charm. 

Stulman says he means to retain many of the interior's design aspects and the name of the place. And, like McNally's conversion of the Minetta Tavern, the result may be very nice indeed, even if Stulman intends it to be a "casual elegant supper club." (Uh! Was Fedora every any of those things, besides casual?) But it won't be Fedora. How could it? Fedora won't be there. And the lady was always the heart of the eatery. 

But I guess we can be thankful the old bar will remain. And maybe the telephone booth. And the great neon sign.

One weird note: the new Fedora will stay open until 4 AM, every night. Interesting.

Fedora was my second "Who Goes There?" column. I may pay one last visit before it goes.

09 July 2010

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Wo Hop?"



As stated before, I'm still doing the "Who Goes There?" columns for Eater. Here's the latest:

Who Goes There? Wo Hop
The first time I ever went to Wo Hop, the 72-year-old Chinatown restaurant, I was chastised by readers as having gone to the "wrong" Wo Hop. There are two spaces on Mott Street, you see, a roomy ground-level restaurant at 15 Mott, visible from the street, and a harder-to-spot basement place down a long flight of stairs at 17 Mott. (Chinatown must have more mysterious subterranean eateries and businesses than any other neighborhood in New York.) The upstairs joint is for tourists and suckers, and the food stinks, I was told. Go downstairs for the real experience.

06 July 2010

Seaport Restaurant Carmine's Closes After 107 Years



I said when I discontinued Lost City a couple weeks ago that I might occasionally post when a significant New York landmark fell. The closing of Carmine's, the oldest restaurant in the South Street Seaport district, seems to merit a mention.

It closed on June 30, after 107 years in business. The landlord wanted more money. Same old story.

Carmine's at the Seaport, located on Beekman Street, was one of the few remnants left of the old, rough, Fulton Fish Market seaport, the streets that Joseph Mitchell walked in his day. I ate there a couple times. The food was standard red-sauce stuff. The decor was priceless, a dusty nautical theme, wooden bar, wooden booths, falling apart. It had its regulars and its lifer waitresses. I remember reading an article about the gruff, big-hearted owner, who would lend money to his employees when they needed it and drive them home. It had a soul and a life. I had planned to make it a "Who Goes There?" subject this summer. No more.

25 June 2010

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Quatorze Bis?"


I said in my farewell to the blogging life two weeks ago that I would continue to write the "Who Goes There?" column for Eater. Well, I meant what I said, and a said what I meant. And I'll post links to the column here every fortnight, as the columns go up. I went to the well-heeled French bistro Quatorze Bis this week. Unfortunately, it kinda reminded me of a lot of the reasons I shut Lost City down. Here's the link.

12 June 2010

Goodbye to All That


Dear Readers:

I am ending Lost City. Most of the City is lost after all—the good parts, anyway—so you could say the course of history has put me out of a job. Ironically, the kinds of news that fills up a jeremiad like this will, if too constant and voluminous, eventually puts the enterprise out of business. It's like writing a volcano report from Pompeii; you know the communiques are going to end sometime.

I began the blog because I was incensed and alarmed at what the city was becoming. It was losing its grit, its fabric, its very character. It was losing its New York-ness, and gaining nothing but Subway franchises and luxury condos. Since none of my editors would let me write about it, I became my own editor. I was gratified to soon find that there were a lot of people out there who felt the way I did. And it wasn't too long before there were other bloggers who took on a similar mission, like Jeremiah Moss at Vanishing New York and EV Grieve at the blog of the same name. Taken together, we made for quite a few howls in the wilderness. And, tragically, we never ran out of things to report.

But, in the end, they were just howls, as ineffective at Lear's on the heath. I wrote thousands of words, and posted hundreds of pictures for four-and-a-half years—nearly 3,000 posts, all told. None of them made any difference. Not really. The press paid a little attention to our windmill-tilting, but City Hall never did. The City continued on its inexorable march to glossy mediocrity. Bloomberg, the billionaire, city planner Amanda Burden, the millionaire, and their cabal of equally wealthy real estate and Wall Street pals forged ahead and got the metropolis they wanted all along: homogenous, anodyne, whitewashed, suburban, toothless, chain-store-ridden, ordinary, exclusive and terribly, terribly expensive. A town for tourists and the upper 2%. He took a world-class capital of culture, individuality and independent endeavor and turned it into the smoothest, first-class, gated community Houston ever saw. Walk down Broadway on the Upper West Side, Sixth Avenue in Chelsea, Third Avenue in Yorkville—or look at the gaping hole of Atlantic Yards—and you will see the administration's legacy.

It is still inconceivable to me that New York could have (and elect, and "elect") a mayor who witnessed the extinction of such irreplaceable city landmarks—Chumley's, Gino, Gage & Tollner, Cafe Des Artistes, Manny's, Astroland, The Green Church, Cedar Tavern, Gertel's Bakery, CBGB's, Yankee Stadium, Shea Stadium and countless other institutions—and never uttered a peep. No comment, no stump speech, no recognition of what was passing into history on his watch. Not even lip service. He stood by and watched Coney Island, one of the most iconic neighborhoods in New York, utterly destroyed. He never saw the value of what was vanishing.

I'm proud of Lost City. As a writer, it's the purest and most idealistic thing I've ever done. It may not have saved a single building, or prevented a single piece of luxury crapitecture. But I know it occasionally caused discomfort to the powers that be, and that it alerted some readers to a few of the City's treasures. For that alone, it was worth it.

Still the blog has always taken a vast amount of time, hours upon hours each week, and it doesn't pay any bills. I'm tired and discouraged, and I don't relish hanging around just to record the last few living landmarks as they fall in this barren forest, making no sound that the City Fathers can hear. Nor do I much enjoy scouring the street looking for vestiges of the city I loved, vestiges that are harder and harder to find. Our "third-term" mayor has three more years to go; he's not going to ever see the light and things aren't going to get better.

I will use the time I put into Lost City on more lucrative ventures. It makes me sad to say that, but it's an imperative. I moved into Carroll Gardens 16 years ago. It was affordable, middle-class and wonderfully diverse. But it has been cruelly proved to me over and over in recent years that, today, I would not have a hope in hell of entering it without an annual net worth of $200,000 and a sterling credit rating. Like so many areas in New York that were once open to people of all incomes, races and professions, it has been "monetized."

I will also start reading books again, something that's been very hard to do the past five years. There was always an urgent item to post.

I will continue to write the "Who Goes There?" column for Eater, which runs every couple weeks, as I enjoy the series (even as the eateries quickly fold in my wake). I will also leave Lost City here floating in cyberspace for whoever wants to take a painful trip down the potholed memory lane of the City's inexorable losses. I may post an occasional item citing a particularly grievous loss to the burg.

Before I go, I'd like to thank the following fellow bloggers, who have always supported me with linkage, kind words and otherwise: Lockhart, Ben, Amanda, Elizabeth and Joey at Curbed/Eater/Racked; the folks at Gothamist; Jonathan at Brownstoner; Queens Crapper at Queens Crap; Jeremiah at Vanishing New York; EV Grieve at EV Grieve; Katia at Pardon Me for Asking; Kurt at Restless; Ken Mac at Greenwich Village Daily Photo; the folks at City Room; Kevin at Forgotten New York; and the late, great Bob Guskind of Gowanus Lounge. (If I forgot anybody, I'm sorry.) A fond thank you to the children and grandchildren of long gone New York businesses who reached out to me over the years. Some even sent me momentos from the past. I'd also like to thank the many readers who have regularly left their thoughtful, insightful and sometimes angry comments. I didn't mind people being angry. I was angry, too. Still am, though more often just mournful these days.

If anyone out there feels like quietly continuing to fight the good fight, take a look at the "Lost City List" below. Patronize those places. Let them know they're wanted and needed.

I wrote this farewell from top to bottom in one go, or, as a friend once said, "Obviously, this letter was written, not composed." I could polish it up, but I doesn't seem appropriate.

Sincerest Regards,

Brooks

The Lost City List

Inspired by recent lists of places to go posted by Eater, the New York Times and others, I've decided to post a simple tally of classic, utterly New York places worthy of your patronage. Who knows is extra business will do them good and keep them open in this economic, political and cultural moment that is so aggressively hostile to history and heritage. But it can't hurt. I've divided it into Restaurants, Bars, Stores and Bakeries (because I love bakeries, and think every neighborhood should have fresh bread). (Last updated 7/15/10.)

RESTAURANTS

Peter Luger (Williamsburg)
The Oyster Bar (Grand Central)
Four Seasons (Midtown)
Sammy Rumanian Steak House (Lower East Side)
Totonno's (Coney Island)
Di Fara's Pizzeria (Midwood)
Bamonte's (Williamsburg)
Brooks 1890 Restaurant (Long Island City)
Mario's (Arthur Avenue)
Dominick's (Arthur Avenue)
"21" Club (Midtown)
John's Pizzeria (Greenwich Village)
Fedora (Greenwich Village)
La Grenouille (Midtown)
Le Veau d'Or (Midtown East)
Sardi's (Theatre District)
Second Avenue Deli (Murray Hill)
Sarge's Deli (Murray Hill)
Stage Deli (Midtown)
Carnegie Deli (Midtown)
Smith and Wollensky (Midtown East)
John's of 12th Street (East Village)
Lanza's (East Village)
Katz's Deli (Lower East Side)
Donovan's (Woodside)
King Yum (Fresh Meadows)
Keen's Steak House (Garment District)
Heidelberg Restaurant (Yorkville)
Zum Stamtisch (Glendale)
Von Westernhagen's (Glendale)
Lombardi's Pizzeria (SoHo)
Grimaldi's (Brooklyn)
Patsy's (East Harlem)
L&B Spumoni Gardens (Bensonhurst)
Yonah Schimmel Knishery (Lower East Side)
Nom Wah Tea Parlor (Chinatown)
Wo Hop Restaurant (Chinatown)
Barbetta (Theatre District)
Sam's Pizzeria (Cobble Hill)
Ferdinando's Foccaceria (Carroll Gardens)
DeFonte's Sandwich Shop (Red Hook)
Skyview Glatt Kosher Deli (Riverdale)
Eisenberg Sandwich Shop (Flatiron)
Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden (Astoria)
Sammy's Rumanian Steak House (Lower East Side)
El Quijote (Chelsea)

Apology

Previously this week, I posted an item about a Corcoran sign tied to the outside gate of P.S. 29 in Cobble Hill. My reaction to the sign was heated and, I now see, too quick. I have since been told that the agent listed on the sign, Lucy Perry, knew nothing of its placement; that the sign was put there in error; and that it was there for only a few hours.

I hereby apologize for any discomfort I caused Lucy and for creating an unnecessary brouhaha.

11 June 2010

Von Westernhagen Restaurant, German Holdout in Glendale, Is Sold


I only just devoted a "Who Goes There?" column to it in April. And now Von Westernhagen is maybe for the drop.

Queens Crap, who was tipped off by a read who talked to the bartender, sent me the news that the restaurant had been sold. It is unclear if this marks the end for the German eatery, or if the new owners will continue the tradition. There is apparently some kind of party on June 19.

Cursed be me that I live in New York during the era in which its soul is willfully dismantled.

Lost City's looking for the exit.

Crown Chemists Paints You a Picture


These images are painted on the side wall of Crown Chemists in Astoria.


Have no idea how long they're been there.


All painted by an artist named "Berch."