Fedora's is run by a little old lady named Fedora Dorato, who lives above the basement restaurant on W. 4th Street in the Village. It's been there since at least the 1950s. A stuck-in-time, red-sauce sort of place, and a reminder of another kind of Greenwich Village where food was perhaps not as good, but plentiful and cheap. I imagine Fedora fed a lot of starving artists in its heyday. The menu is a kind of backward charmer, reminding the eater that Fedora doesn't take credit cards, you have to order a minimum of $5, and that Fedora is "comfortably air-conditioned"—surely a major draw in 1957.
The sign speaks for itself. And, unlike other city signs of this vintage, every letter is in working order. Nice going, Mrs. Dorato.