Cheyenne Diner to Float on Down to Red Hook?

There is news on the Cheyenne Diner, the midtown diner that, eight months ago, was said to be relocating to Red Hook, and yet still sits on 33rd Street and Ninth. From Chelsea Now:

Preservationists cheered when Cheyenne property owner George Papas negotiated last April to sell the 68-year-old diner to Michael O’Connell, a Red Hook construction manager who agreed to restore the restaurant intact as part of the deal to bring it to the Brooklyn waterfront. But plans to move the more-than-100-foot-long structure in two parts dissolved after it proved too large to travel across the Manhattan Bridge, leaving a final option of floating it by barge through the New York Harbor to its destination in Red Hook.

The alternative is a daunting one: The job entails transporting the diner to a pier on the Hudson River, loading it onto a barge via crane, towing the barge with a tugboat, and using another crane to lift it back onto land.

“We’re going to see what the financial feasibility is of moving it that way,” O’Connell told Chelsea Now this week, noting that the job was put out to bid a few weeks back, with no responses so far. “If not, we’ll just scrap the whole idea of moving it.”

Doesn't sound promising to me. "Financial feasibility" is developer-speak for "I don't want to spend a lot of money."

P&G to Remain Open One More Month

P&G Cafe, the 66-year-old tavern at 73rd and Amsterdam, was to have closed tonight, New Year's Eve. But word comes that it will stay open until Jan. 31. A call to the place confirmed this. (Sorry for the earlier misinformation.) The owner is still working on his projected relocation.

As for the sign, there's still no guarantee that it will follow the owner or be preserved. Hello, Museum of the City of New York? Hello, Smithsonian? Hello, MoMA? This sign is art. It's a cultural icon. It's a relic, as sure as an arrowhead. Save it!

As for the greedy landlord that has put P&G in this terrible position by kicking them to the curb, may you, your children, and your grandchildren have no luck in 2009 and beyond. May you invest all the money you get from your new tenant with someone like Bernie Madoff. May St. Peter's first question for you be, "Why did you do that to P&G?"

Lehrer Listerners Care

I just finished doing my segment on "The Brian Lehrer Show" about my end of the year "Bring Out Your Dead" list. You can find a podcast of it here. It was great fun, if talking about such a mournful topic can be called fun. There's something about the calm, warm, ever-so-slightly wry timber of Lehrer's voice. I've always been mesmerized by it. I guess that's why he has a thriving radio career.

Anyway, I'm glad to see the topic was a lively one with New Yorkers. Lehrer quoted from many of the e-mails (99 so far) that poured in from listeners while the segment was going on. Among the deceased institutions that people mentioned: Florent, Five Roses Pizza, Chez Laurence, Sucelt coffee shop, Jerry's, Love Saves the Day, Maya Schaper Cheese & Antiques, Chez Brigette, the Donnell Library, and more. Many mentioned places that had actually closed in 2006 or 2007, but time zips by quickly these days. And then there's that caller who eulogized his favorite strip club in Williamsburg. Unless it was 100 years old, I'm not sure if that counts.

One thing I wish I had mentioned during the interview: P&G Cafe, the last great tavern on the Upper West Side, closes tonight. Go!

Matchbooks of the Lost City: The Recently Deceased

Marion's, died on the Bowery this year.


A Florent matchbook from way back when. I mean the late '80s.


The Old Minetta Tavern. Not the one McNally is going to reopen soon.

The Mystery of The Diplomat

An anonymous reader yesterday posted a comment on an item I ran back in August about the old Magic Touch sign in Carroll Gardens. He was responding to some information I had collected that insinuated that "girls" could be procured at the long-gone restaurant. He objected:

The Magic Touch was an Italian restaurant and bar owned by a man named Mike Maluso. The establishment featured live music nightly, and pretty good veal and pasta. While it was very popular with the boys, as was Monte's Venetian Room on Carroll Street and the Diplomat on 3rd Avenue, it was in no way a place where prostitutes could be found or any nonsense like that would be tolerated.

Mmm. Veal and pasta. But The Diplomat? I know Monte's well, but have never heard of the supposedly once-popular The Diplomat on Third Avenue. Anyone know anything about this forgotten hangout?

Lost City to on "Brian Lehrer Show" Wednesday, Dec. 31

Lost City will be interviewed on the estimable "The Brian Lehrer Show" tomorrow, Wednesday, Dec. 31, at 10 AM. The subject will be my recent "Bring Out Your Dead" article, about the New York City landmarks lost during the last 12 months. So tune in!

NYU to Squash Another Short Building on WSP

NYU hates every building bordering Washington Square Park that it doesn't own. (It's their park, you know!) One that it particularly hates is the squat, '60-style church at 58 Washington Square South, known as the Catholic Center at New York University. The university has been trying to be the thing since the '90s.

Now, it has finally succeeded. The Archdiocese of New York gave NYU the go-ahead to buy the church for $25 million. NYU will build a seven-story building there, which will perfectly destroy what remains of the view of the Washington Square Arch looking down Fifth Avenue. NYU spokesperson John Beckman said the site would not be used for dormitories. "The site will be used for multi-faith and academic purposes, and there will continue to be a Catholic presence there," he told the Real Deal. "It will not be used for student housing."

Market Diner Back in Business

Reports that the old Market Diner was going to be resurrected always seemed to good to be true. Turns out they were good and true.

The Urbanite reports that the Hell's Kitchen diner, on 43rd and 11th Avenue, was back in business earlier this month:

The 1962 diner’s exterior, with its zig-zag roof in the Googie architectural style, will be surrounded by outdoor seating for up to a 100 people in warmer weather...
The indoor changes created a more natural and modern look, an owner has said. The decor was set to feature a rock sculpture and wooden furnishings, which reviewers on yelp have said makes it feel like it rocketed out of a Jetson's episode.

The eatery, at West 43rd Street and 11th Avenue, also is supposed to feature a bar that will sell frozen drinks. The Market also added a couple of non-diner items to its classic American fare, such as spring rolls.

The Tsinias family, which leases the diner from Moinian Group, has been in the diner business for almost 35 years and owns the Cosmic Diner, which moved to West 52nd Street and Eighth Avenue after many years in Columbus Circle.

Matchbooks of the Lost City

A couple weeks ago, I descended into my cellar to retrieve some Christmas decorations. While there, I stumbled upon a dusty old plastic bag filled with matchbooks. When I was younger, I used to grab a matchbook at every restaurant and bar I patronized. When I came home, I'd toss it in an old coffee can or Ball jar. After a while, these souvenirs accumulated and became a nuisance. I packed the collection up at some point and banished it to the basement.

Some years have passed since then. The evidence is in the matchbooks. Many belong to restaurants long gone, some famous, some not. Many I have written about on this very blog.

I'll return to the collection from time to time in the future, but for now here are a few that immediately caught my eye.


The Second Avenue Deli, back when it was actually on Second Avenue.


Barrymore's, former actors hangout on W. 45th Street, torn down in 2006.


The Moondance Diner, the Soho landmark that was famously evicted and then carted off to some one-horse town in Wyoming.


EL Teddy's, onetime popular Tribeca eatery and watering hole.

A View of the Midtown Skyline from Apple's Subterranean Fifth Avenue Store

Least Favorite Christmas Display: Henri Bendel

Maybe it's the blue greyhound. Maybe I just don't mix mouse orchestras. Or perhaps it's just everything about Henri Bendel's holiday window display this year that's repellent. I always thought Bendel a classy sort of store. Red neon and green-clad divas playing royal dress-up and riding purple ostriches just doesn't seem like the right image for the luxury shop. Or any shop.

Watch Your Head!

The open, running, ceiling fan, just inches from your head, on the MTA's "Nostalgia Train."

Next Stop: 1932

The "Nostalgia Train," the MTA's rolling museum Christmas present to the public, ran every Sunday of December. For whatever reason, my attempts to ride it were thwarted until the very last day, Dec. 28. I convinced my son it would be fun, and off we went to the 2nd Avenue stop of the V line to catch the 11:30 AM arrival.


The Nostalgia Train is actually a string of disassociated cars, each from a different era. You can choose to ride in a car from the 1920s or the 1960s, or anytime in between. Pick your period. The cars were crowded, and train geeks were in abundant supply, armed with unkempt hair, large bellies and cameras of all types. You can see a couple of these seldom-seen specimens below, staking out the train at the 53rd/Fifth Avenue stop. The chance to ride this train is like manna to these guys. Christmas comes a distant second.


The connecting doors between each car remain open during the trip, so you need not limit yourself to one style of subway during your ride. Many people walked up and down the train as it ran its course from 2nd Avenue to Queenboro Plaza. I was tempted by this option myself. But I also wanted to experience the train as a commuter of days gone by would have, so I took a seat in an attractive dark green metal number. I was told it was an R4 model, and was in use in 1932.




The interior was painted public-restroom green. There were open ceiling fans. The floor was a deep burgundy color, the ceiling off-white. The space above the window was lined with time-specific adds, including many bids for war bonds. With its muted colors, and hushed lighting, the car had a homey, cozy feeling. I fell in love with the seat covers, a sturdy plastic weave of dark yellow and dark green. These pictures don't do it justice. It was attractive and quite comfortable.



The sounds of the trains are quite different from what we're used to. There is a rolling, churning acceleration as the train starts and picks up speed; it grows into a roar so load that it is actually impossible to carry on a conversation while the car is in motion. Many people covered their ears, but I found the sound quite appealing. It was a genuine train sound, not screechy or mechanized. The lighting frequently cuts out for seconds at a time, enriching the atmosphere of the journey. My son found the brief blackouts quite exciting.

Among the cars we did not choose to ride was the one below, a more modern number with blue floors, sleeker metal "straps" and enclosed fans (no doubt installed after someone got a free haircut from the open fans).





I also did not select the car below, because of the glare of the bare lightbulbs.


This particular light fixture I liked very much, however. It's stylish details like this that make the old cars so inviting.

Piccolo Cafe Is Real, Not Fake

For more than a year, there have been indications that a cafe was opening in a storefront on Columbia Street in Brooklyn, near Sackett Street. A sign in the window said "Piccolo Cafe Coming Soon." But when I talked to people who came in or out of the space, they said the sign was kind of a joke: there was no cafe opening in the space. OK. Weird, but OK.

But lately an awning appeared, saying Piccolo Cafe. Still, nothing was going on inside. Maybe the joke was just getting bigger. When placards advertising breakfast and lunch specials started showing up, however, I thought that maybe a cafe was actually going to open. Signs of a counter and stools inside cinched it.

Funny time to be opening a new restaurant. But the place seems to have taken the pulse of the times. $3 for breakfast. $3 for lunch. I can deal with those prices.

Merry Christmas!

The tree at Borough Hall in downtown Brooklyn.

Merry Christmas to all!

Tudor Touch Up

A few months ago I wrote about the above building on Court Street in downtown Brooklyn, once the home of two ambitious partners in architecture, now just an oddball structure in the middle of a cruddy-looking block. The thin, Tudor whatsit always looked a little dingy down-at-heel. But it seems like the landlord gave the old thing a touch up recently, slathering on what must be its first new coat of paint in decades. The painter took enough care to once again accentuate the brown touches meant to signify timber and bits of wood showing through the plaster. But he also covered up a lot of the detail, as you can see from the pictures on my previous post. And of course it doesn't look anywhere near as good as it did when the address was first built. Sigh. Maybe in 50 years some enterprising person will strip everything off and discover the interesting building within.

Dullsville

The renovation of quaint No. 4 Verandah Place, a delightful mews bordering Cobble Hill Park in the heart of Cobble Hill, has been going on for some time, at a snail's pace. Recently they replaced the door. The old, weather-beaten portal with its odd window design was always a favorite of mine. I find the gray metal replacement rather lackluster. Certainly it's safer, sturdier. Not much else, though.

These little lost details accumulate, you know. And before you know it, charm goes out the window.

I'm Charmed

Want to get a slice at the vaunted, publicity-magnet pizzeria Artichoke, and not face the horrendous lines you've read about on the web? Find out when I go, and shadow me.

I don't know what I'm doing right, but I have been to Artichoke four times since it opened on 14th Street and I have never encountered a line. I have never even waited more than a minute. Each time, I've marched right in, ordered my slice, and left, contented and anger-free. I've tried every slice and loved them all—the artichoke-spinach and crab slices most of all. Don't hate me; I'm not doing it on purpose. There's just a little pizza angel on my shoulder.

Noticed a new piece of decor on today's visit: a leg lamp that is a dead ringer for the notoriously ugly lamp the Old Man wins in a newspaper contest in the yuletide classic "A Christmas Story." I assumed it was a special addition for the holidays. But no. The owner of Artichoke has never heard of the movie in question, or seen it. He doesn't know what people are talking about when they mention it, and they apparently mention it a lot.

Artichoke is a funny place.

That's Mr. Louis to You

It's always seemed appropriate and correct to me that there was a shoe shine and repair shop in one of the street-level storefronts of the Empire State Building. It's a classic New York skyscraper and shoe repair is a classic Gotham line of work.

Louis Shoe Rebuilders is, by my estimation, the oldest surviving business among the ground-floor stores in the Empire State. It's outlived lunch counters and various other holdouts over the years. But there's a funny thing about Louis' that I didn't notice until a recent visit. It was established in 1921. That's ten years before the Empire State was completed. So the old structure can call Louis Daddy.

Makes me wonder, however, where Louis was before it took up space in the Empire State.

What Bloomberg Wants for the Eight Days of Hanukkah

1. A third term.
2. For people to forget how he was able to run for a third term.
3. For Christine Quinn to stop dropping by the house at all hours "just to talk" and check what's in the fridge.
4. A Lexington Avenue subway spur leading straight to his Upper East Side townhouse.
5. A musical about his mayoralty, like LaGuardia and Koch got.
6. An invitation to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom.
7. To become a Democrat again, now that the Republican and Independent things aren't working for him.
8. A five-leaf clover.
9. "What do you mean there are only eight days to Hanukkah? Can't City Council do something about that?"

Brooklyn's Bike Shop Moving

The Bike Shop, which only a few years ago moved from Smith Street to a storefront on Union near Hicks, is moving again. It's new home will be on Court Street near Nelson.

The change is not unexpected. The building The Bike Shop is in has had a "For Sale" sign on it for months. Guess someone bought it and wanted them out. I'm glad they're staying in the neighborhood. It's an expert shop, and they can repair almost anything. If it's a small job, they often do it for free. I bought my old black, British Rudge bike from them and I've never regretted it.

Sullen and Spoiled for Christmas

The Lord & Taylor Christmas window displays are a bit schizophrenic this year. Half of the windows are delightful, depicting a variety of classic yuletide scenes, mainly from days gone by. The other half, however, are contemporary peeks into lives of luxury, featuring a cast of willowy, sullen ice beauties who look like they won't be satisfied by any gift they might get, and don't consider it part of the bargain that they should say "Thank you." The lady above appears to be gazing out the window in search of an elusive gold-plated UPS truck. Ms. Thing below, meanwhile, is sitting on a love seat, but I doubt she'll be making room on it for anybody else.

I'm thinking this display was mapped out sometime last summer, because these chilly heiresses with their air of haughty entitlement strike a discordant note in the current economic environment. Then again, maybe they just got a call from Bernie Madoff's office and have learned that their fortunes have melted with the snow. I'd be sullen, too, after getting that news.

Snowy Brooklyn

Some images from Friday's snow storm.

Merry Christmas, Rat Squirrel House!

Your bricks are red. Your shed is green. You aren't what you used to be.

You're just like Christmas!

Will Santa bring Rat-Squirrel-House Lady (I know you're in there, Arlene!) what she's asked for—a new roof, a third-story window that closes, rat traps, for the DOB to get off her back? Will he brave that chimney, the most unstable flue this side of Chumley's? Or is she on his naughty list?

A new spate of complaints were issued against the address and Dec. 5, but, still, not much has changed at 149 Kane Street in Brooklyn since last winter, when a flurry of activity and news stories resulted in several visits from the DOB and the installation of a protective shed. Nothing's been fixed or mended on the landmarked building. And the owner, while obeying a vacate order for a short bit, moved back into the haunted wreck shortly after. The vacate notice on the front door was ripped down months ago. Rat, squirrels and pigeons, meanwhile, have made themselves pretty scarce. Maybe the dump is even too run down for them.

I'm almost tempted to hang a wreath on her door.

Community Garden Christmas Tree

Saw this fir inside a small community garden on Columbia Street. Nice bit of semi-public cheer. I think that did a good job with it.

Revere Sugar Refinery Remembered in Oil

The House of Pizza and Calzone has made some additional changes since they revamped their home a few months back. Some changes are lamentable: two flat-screen TVs that are always on. Others are kind of nice, including some crude oil painting depicting local Brooklyn scenes.

The biggest canvas is in the back room. It capture a section of the Red Hook waterfront, including the now vanished, conical Revere Sugar Refinery. Nice to see that structure live on in art.

Does That Mean New York Is Heaven?

One of my all-time favorite mangled New York signs. Eternal life in New York? Doesn't sound to bad.

On a lonely span of 37th Avenue in Woodside, Queens.

The Orange Hut

If I ever became a filmmaker and decided to shoot a movie in New York, one of the locations I'd exploit would be the Orange Hut in Woodside, Queens. There's something so ineffably Gothamish about this odd, squat little hamburger joint, hunkered down near the V subway station at the the corner of Broadway and Northern Blvd. It is an island of worn whimsy in a sea of ugly auto dealerships and big box stores.


It's a breakfast and lunch place only; shuts up tighter than a drum after 2 PM. Prices are rock-bottom cheap, though the plastic menu boards on the wall above the counter— patchworks of erasures and masking tape—betray the truth that costs have inched up a bit in recent years. Still, you can get a Coke, cheeseburger and fries for five bucks flat.


An L-shaped row of stools, plus some scattered stools near the window, constitute the only seating. The curvature of the windows and a string of yellow plastic signs, advertising what can be had inside, make for interesting viewing for the passerby. Of course, if the place only had that big orange block on top of the roof, it would still be worth looking at. I'm not sure why the owners settled on the color of orange. Certainly, oranges don't play a big culinary role inside.


The Orange Hut's previous life as a White Tower restaurant has been documented. I'd be curious as to whether the old White Tower signage lurks under the current orange awning. As it is, only a walk around to the white, castle-like back of the eatery provides a hint of what the place must have looked like in the old days.

Big Cup, Big Cone

In Chinatown, above, and Borough Park, below. These guys should get together.

Not Quite Crapitecture

This almost-complete apartment building on Columbia and Summit Streets in Brooklyn ain't gonna win the architect the Pritzker Prize, but it's not wholly hateful, either, at least by today's standards. (I'm sure Queens Crap will disagree with me.) Why? It's partly the rough-hewn quality of the dark brown brick work, partly the arched windows. But mainly it's that clock.

Can anyone recall a piece of recent crapitecture that featured an ornamental public clock such as that? There's absolutely no reason why, in these selfish times, a developer should want or need to add a detail like that to any building. Such touches are of another, more civic-minded century, when builders cared about the thing they built and what the people thought of them. Putting a clock up there doesn't pay the builder a single penny extra. It's a wholly altruistic gesture. Or, looking at it more cynically (I can't help myself), a convincing attempt at appearing altruistic.

Either way, I don't care. I can now walk down Columbia without a watch and know the time of day.

Degraw Delight Back Then

A reader asked for me to post a photo of how the building at the corner of Degraw and Henry in Cobble Hill used to look. Here it is in 1927. Compare and contrast to the renovation.

A Good Sign: Joseph Gutman Associates

In Chelsea. A good place to find sewing machine parts and supplies. And maybe the Maltese Falcon.

Degraw Delight

I've commented before on the lovely job the new owners of the building at the northeast corner of Degraw and Henry are doing with a former Cobble Hill eyesore. Their work continues to exceed all expectations, proceeding at a glacial pace, but getting it right. The most recent addition was that quasi-Grecian green portico up front. The brick work, the railings, the windows, it's all such fine work, with great attention to detail. The Rankins or Luquers of Pierrponts could travel forward in time from the 19th century, move in and feel right at home.

Christmas Eulogy

My son and I were trimming our Christmas tree yesterday when, at some point during the ornament hanging, I looked down at the collection of odd boxes in which the ornaments were stored and saw: Marshall Field's.

My God, I thought. That's closed. It was open for so much of my life. And now it's closed. I once bought Christmas trimmings there. I've outlived it.

I am so old, I thought. I have shopped in department stores that have ceased to exist. I have passed through the aisles of Marshall Field's, Carson Pirie Scott, B. Altman, Stern's. I don't know if I ever went to Gimbel's before it went kaput. Probably, maybe, as a teenager. I remind myself of my Wisconsin aunts, who used to regale me with tales of their long-ago visits to Milwaukee-based, one-time-powerhouse stores like Schuster's and T.A. Chapman's.

Bring Out Your Dead!: 2008

The Bush-era economy nose-dived into reality this fall, but not quickly enough to prevent the massive history-eraser of the Bloomberg-DOB-Developer Cabal from wiping out a good many irreplaceable landmarks, architectural and cultural treasures and just-plain-special places. Of course, while the financial downturn will slow the progress of the feckless Department of Building, criminally negligent Landmarks Commission and rapacious developers (who, God willing, invested heavily in Wall Street), it presents a new danger to the City's heritage. Great old businesses and institutions may now go under for the oldest reason in the book: trade is bad.

So, without further delay, and with a lump in our throat and a tear in our eye, here are the gems that, since Jan. 1, 2008, New York City has lost (for previous annual Bring Out Your Dead tallies, check here for 2007 and here for 2006):

Gone, Baby, Gone

Pozzo Pastry Shop, WWII-era Hell's Kitchen bakery.
Fazil’s Times Square Studio, legendary hoofer's hall in Times Square. Honi Childs, Gregory Hinds, Savion Glover, Alvin Ailey, Bill Irwin, Charles Cook, the Nicholas Brothers, Fred and Adele Astaire, Judy Garland and Gene Kelly all practiced their footwork there.
Cafe La Fortuna, one of the last independent cafes on the UWS, and a John and Yoko hangout.
Armando's, aged Brooklyn Heights restaurant and Dodgers haunt.
Ridgewood Theatre, Thomas W. Lamb structure, closed after 92 straight years.
Chez Laurence, old Murray Hill French bistro.
Montrachet, upscale restaurant that opened up eating scene in Tribeca.
Quality Meat Market, landmark Polish butcher in Williamsburg.
Le Figaro Cafe, holdout from heady literary and folkie days of Greenwich Village.
Cafe Mozart, civilized cafe in Lincoln Center area.
Florent, legendary, beloved Meat Packing District eatery, forced out by landlord, who opened her own diner there, only to see it close almost immediately.
M&G Diner, one of a kind Harlem chicken and waffle joint.
Nikos Magazine & Smoke Shop, classic Village newsstand.
Lehman Brothers, 158-year-old Wall Street institution felled by own greed.
Yankee Stadium (the real one)
Shea Stadium
Long Island Restaurant, never really officially announced as dead, but, after being shuttered for 16 months, you pretty much figure it's gone.
The New York Sun, not old, though the notion of a daily newspaper is an old one, and how many do we have left when it comes down to it?
The Donut House, because, I'm sorry, the new coffee shop that replaced it just isn't the same.
The Green Church of Bay Ridge, perhaps the single most grievous architectural loss of the year.
Astroland, after years of pain and worry, finally torn down and shipped away.
Five Roses Pizza
Chez Brigette
Cafe Madeleine
The Donnell Library


Endangered Landmarks

Cheyenne Diner, closed in midtown, and hopes to reopen in Red Hook, but no movement yet.
Tin Pan Alley, a strip of historic buildings on W. 28th Street on the block.
P&G Cafe, said to have found a new home further uptown in the UWS, but, as as Dec. 31, the original will be history.
Most of Long Island College Hospital


And These Were Landmarked or Saved

Red Hook Pool
I.M. Pei's Silver Towers
St. Savior's Church of Maspeth
Webster Hall
Jamaica Savings Bank
Congregation Tifereth Israel in Queens
(Many more, but those were the highlights for me)

Some Stuff That's Interesting

Gosh, the above buildings really do remind you of Tuscany, don't they? [Brownstoner]

Remembering Leshko's [EV Grieve]

Bloomberg, the Billionaire, owes us money, plus has sense of self-knowledge. [Queens Crap]

The Astroland Rocket is in danger, like the rest of Coney Island. [Kinetic Carnival]

The Bowery Boys went to Dyker Heights, past and present. [Bowery Boys]

Old White Horse Inn, New White Horse Inn. [Ephemeral New York]

They've got snow in Wisconsin. Why not here? [Lakemichiglog]

Chez Laurence Still Really, Really Closed

Chez Laurence, the throwback of a Murray Hill bistro that closed last April, remains as shuttered as a Roman palazzo. Super boarded-up. Can't see anything inside. No activity of any kind, and a nearby doorman knew of no new restaurant that was going to take up the space.

I miss this place. It was so much of another time. Another world, really. The French owners didn't give a fig for modern times. They did things in the slow, sometimes gracious, sometimes irritable way French bistros have always done things. They made their own pastries, which were pretty good, and took care with ordinary dishes like tuna salad. Plus old-school classics like cassoulet that you wouldn't expect from a place that basically looked like a tricked-out diner. Cuisine bourgeoise, as they say. The prices were fair and you could linger forever. No patron ever felt out of place or not good enough for the restaurant. Ah, me.

Empire State Building Last Night

Snow, and Buildings, of Years Gone By

I had hoped it might snow over the night. Then I had hoped it might snow today. So far, my hopes have been dashed. So, to comfort myself, I am posting this inviting image of some flakes-clad buildings on Bond and Carroll Streets.

The image was sent to me recently by a reader who was tossing out some old photos and couldn't bear to completely dump this one, so she sent it to me. Here's what she wrote of the interesting set of old structures:

This is pre-construction bond&carroll street (2003). 346 bond, the roll-gated building, used to be a hansom carriage repair shop complete with a filled-in gutter for drainage of horse manure. It was huge on the inside with multiple skylights and on the left wall, you could see where they bricked up the entrance to the building next door which I THINK might have been the actual stable house. At the time this photo was taken, it was a motorcycle repair shop (the shop’s owner grandfathered the repair shop thing in to make the business legal). The building next to it with the windows had a family living in it. On the other side was a metalworking shop of some sort.

As she indicated, these buildings are now gone. I remember them quite well, having passed the corner many times.

Lost City Ask "Who Goes to Ralph's Ristorante Italiano?"

Usually, I am pleasantly surprised by the restaurants I visit for my regular Eater feature "Who Goes There?" Almost always, I find something to like and am glad I passed through their door. I have to admit, however, that Ralph's Ristorante Italiano left me unmoved. I searched in vain for something that made it seem special, a reason it had lasted 52 years. A signature dish, a colorful veteran waiter, ancient decor, an eccentric service tradition. But nothing. I hope it sticks around, since it seems to have a special place in the hearts of some regulars, but I doubt I'll be back.

Here's my article:

Ralph’s Ristorante Italiano, on a rather lonely corner of Ninth Avenue and 56th Street, may be the most anonymous of Manhattan culinary holdouts. Only the awning announcement of “Since 1956” betrays that the joint is more than a half century old. Inside, the eatery’s decor avoids distinction like the plague: Paper cut to fit on top of linen tablecloths, the unusual awful oil paintings of obscure foreign locales, a small bar in back, acoustical ceiling tiles.

Yet, in the course of an hour on a recent sleepy, rainy, Thursday evening, nine parties happily trooped in for dinner. Some were regulars from the immediate area (including one aged solider called “Capitano” by the staff), some were theater ticket-holders, and quite a few had never been there before. The place does business, so much so that it also has regular lunch hours. (A $10.95 lunch special includes entrée plus soup or salad.)

Don’t look for Ralph. When I asked after him, a waiter chuckled, “Yeah, maybe in a glass coffin in the back.” The restaurant has changed hands a few times since its foundation. It’s also changed its look significantly. Ralph’s used to be a sandwich place, with booths and a big take-out business; an old-fashioned Italian lunch place. People would order subs and then hang out all afternoon chewing the fat. Apparently, former Fordham students still come in from time to time and reminisce about the old days.

Just thinking about that bygone Ralph’s, I missed it, and wished I could go there instead of the current incarnation. I chose the special parpadelle with shitake mushrooms and shrimp because it was made with homemade pasta and seemed a cut above the other traditional Italian dishes on offer. I also chose it because every time I pointed to something else on the menu and asked the waiter’s opinion, he responded “Meh.” The pasta was good, but it was bookended by a barely acceptable glass of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and the first utterly undrinkable espresso I have encountered in years.

I may be wrong in my assessment of the food. Two men in their late 40s, who said they’d been coming for years, attested that “everything is good.” Maybe so. One thing’s for sure: the prices are reasonable, with entrées never breaking the $15 ceiling. And the soup bowls are big enough to take a bath in.
—Brooks of Sheffield

A Good Sign: Holtzman & Paris Meats & Poultry and Paskesz' Kosher Candies

Actually two. But they are side by side on 13th Avenue in Borough Park, Brooklyn, so I put them together. To me, they look like they might have been made by the same sign company around the same time.

How to Talk Non-Stop Without Really Trying

There are certain people who never run out of conversation. They fall into two groups: the Endless Fonts of witty and thoughtful banter who, no matter how long they gabble on, never lose their steam or your interest; and the Dead-Air Fillers who will ramble on about any and all inane matters just to ward off the dreaded radio silence. Sadly, this last specimen is the more prevalent.

The Endless Fonts have always amazed me. I don't know how they do it. Call them raconteurs, conversationalists, whatever, they are artists of a sort. They have my admiration. The Dead-Air Fillers, meanwhile, tire me out rather quickly. Using a lot of words to express nothing exasperates me. I shut my brain off and just pretend to listen. For this reason I have never really examined why they talk so much; I'm too busy loudly wondering "Why do they talk so much?"

But faced with one such gabber the other day at the Tea Lounge in Cobble Hill, I decided to change my tack. She was not five feet away from me, and wouldn't shut up for two straight hours, so I decided to quietly study her conversation as best as I could and crack to secret to ceaseless yammering. Me? I've couldn't do it if I tried. I'll sometimes indulge in bursts of talk that will last 10 or 15 tight minutes, but mainly I lean to the laconic side. I have plenty of interesting thoughts, arriving by the minute, every minute; I just don't flatter myself that they're worth bothering another soul with. (It will come as no surprise to you that I hate talking on the phone for more than 30 seconds.)

Anyway, our Dead-Air Filler was a mother in her early 30s. Her attentive friend was another mother, with a striking resemblance Ellen DeGeneres. The talk was mainly of their kids and the kids' schooling and care. Typical Tea Lounge topics. The mother easily held up 90% of the conversation, and I am not exaggerating when I say that at no time did a full second of silence pass between one of her sentences and another. This lady could pack seven words into an instant.

Monitoring her, I came up with a sort of template for those who aspired to be Dead-Air Fillers. I'm not trying to be too judgmental here, though I admit these particular humans do get on my nerves if I'm exposed to them for too long. But there's no law against talking, and it's a positive social activity when all is said and done. So here we are, four rules to live by.

NOTHING IS UNIMPORTANT. If you wish to break chatting records, you must become comfortable with the idea that nothing is unimportant. Everything you think, everything that happens to you, and everything you think about the things that happen to you, is worth talking about. A gabber must never worry about boring the listener with what might be deemed as slight, mundane or insignificant details of one's life. Let it all fly! What you had for breakfast; how you ate it; who cooked it; what spoon you used; what coffee brand you prefer. Mention it all, and with an air that ever circumstance is potentially of great moment and might interest an eavesdropping biographer. Mothers are particularly good at this (fathers, too, but not as much); there's rarely anything that Junior does or says that isn't worthy of a short verbal essay.

REPETITION IS A VIRTUE: To successfully fill up every minute, you must not be afraid of repeating yourself. Redundancy is not the mark of a bore if you execute it creatively. Don't say the same sentence three times back to back, of course. But come back to it at various points in the monologue, and always vary the wording slightly, while keeping the thought basically the same. Hey: maybe your friend didn't hear it the first few times!

BE LOQUACIOUS: This goes without saying, of course. The talented Dead-Air Filler will know how to say in 100 words what would take an average person 10. Throw in those clauses, those parentheticals and footnotes. The greatest orators of time were long-winded, and so should you be. If you talk like Jack Webb, your coffee klatch will be over in 20 minutes.

STAY ANIMATED: If you want your audience to be rapt by what you're saying, you can never look bored yourself. Your face must be alive with interest and curiosity. Act as if you've never heard or thought of the stuff that's pouring out of your mouth. It's all new news! Think of the stage performer. When the actors look as if they're have a ball up there, the ticketholders are all the more delighted. And laughing helps. You're not talking, but you're still making noise, and it's hard not to pay attention to laughter.

Some Holiday Advice

The modern yuletide is a holiday in paradoxical stranglehold. A person, we are told, is supposed to embrace Christmas as a time to reconnect with friends and family, illustrate personal affection through the exchange of gifts, eat, drink and be merry and generally enjoy life. Or simply recognize that life should be enjoyed.

However, the smothering effect Dec. 25 has on society has made it nearly impossible to actually enjoy the holiday. In December, everything accelerates. Work schedules are compressed and overloaded in order to both meet the demands of seasonal business (store sales, big year-end magazine issues, holiday travel) and to clear time to actually take a few days off around Christmas. The result is that we're all driven nearly crazy and massively distracted right up until Christmas Eve itself. We have twice the amount of work to do: shopping must be completed, decorations have to be put out, menus must be planned and prepared for, deadlines must be met by Dec. 23 or before. We race through December at a breakneck pace in order to sieze the maybe 24 hours of rest and recreation at the month's finish line.

This is no way to enjoy the season.

And so, a bit of advice for whoever wants to take it. In recent years, I've taken care to set aside a slow day sometime in December, a day off in which I divest myself of all pressing concerns and actually do some of the pleasing, diverting activities you're supposed to do during this time of year. This could be ice-skating at Bryant Park; leisurely taking in the window displays at Lord & Taylor and Saks'; stopping for a good long gander at the Rockefeller Center tree; strolling down Fifth Avenue with no particular shopping goals in mind; or reserving time to visit Dyker Heights and eyeball the neighborhood's outrageous domestic light shows.

Sit down and watch that old tape of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" or "A Charlie Brown Christmas." Or just meet a friend for a very long lunch at an appropriately festive eatery and enjoy yourselves over a glass or two of something (Hot Chocolate, Hot Toddy, whatever). Just don't let the season get away. Look at the calendar and plan you day now! I mean it. Life will not stop for you. It never will. You have to stop it, if a moment of peace is going to happen at all.

No More Shops Around the Corner in the New NYC

The cute little Upper West Side cheese and antique shop that posed as bookseller Meg Ryan's "Shop Around the Corner" in the 1998 romantic comedy "You've Got Mail" is closing for good.

You see the symbolism, don't you?

Minetta, Under Cover

Here's the Minetta Tavern, as it currently looks.

Whatever changes Keith McNally is making under there, I hope they're well-considered.

You Can't Find Me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!

Last weekend, when my family and some friends visited the New York Botanical Garden to see the Holiday Train Show, the tickets also gained us entrance to something called the Gingerbread Adventure. In my mind I pictured a wonderful of gingerbread architecture: houses, bridges and tunnels one could wander about, with actors dressed as gingerbread people cavorting at every turn.

But upon entering the Everett Children's Adventure Center—the location of said Gingerbread Adventure—there was not a speck of nutmeg-scented dough to be found. Just the usual educational displays that are there year-round. Only after reaching the visitor center was anything related to holiday baking located, and that a plastic playhouse made to look as if it were made of gingerbread. I began to think that was it, and suspected false advertising of the rankest kind.

But there was more. Not much more. But more. Inside the center was a small room dedicated to elaborate gingerbread houses, commissioned from bakers in the New York area. The above barn was by Liv and Kaye Hansen of Riviera Bakehouse in Ardsley, NY.
The very basic, boxy house below was courtesy of James Evalgelos of, ahem, Whole Foods Market, which, I imagine, was trying to curry some local favor by participating in this display.



The whimsical kitchen below, complete with appliances and miniature baked goods, was the work of Jill Adams of The Cake Studio in Brooklyn.


Also of Brooklyn was MarkJoseph cakes, whose Mark and Leslie Randazzo made this nifty firehouse. Like the tiled roof and icing icicles.


But getting all the oohs and aahs from the crowd was this grand ballroom. The gingerbread dancers inside spin around on a turntable. Nothing works an audience like a turntable. The ballroom came from the room's most famous presenter, Balthazar Bakery. Pastry chef Mark Tasker did the work.

A Good Sign: Crown Restaurant

This Borough Park lulu is perhaps one of the top 20 best signs in the City. It has dignity (the deep blue color), whimsy (the crown shape), style (the circular letters spelling "Crown") and culture (two languages). Too bad the neon's shot.

The old deli has contemporary resonance, too. It's owned by the powerful orthodox Jewish family and kosher meat kings, the Rubashkins, currently embroiled in various financial, legal and moral scandals. Hope it all doesn't bring down the old Crown and its beautiful sign.

Look Down

Want to know what business you're dealing with in Little Italy? Look down.

Perhaps nowhere else in the City is there a greater concentration of tiled doorsteps, spelling out the names of the stores you're about to enter, than the block of Grand Street between Mulberry and Mott. It's a nice tradition, one in which the merchant illustrates their pride in their trade, while simultaneously beautifying the space outside his shop. Too bad it's passed out of use.

Last Trace of Longchamps Disappears

Good Longchamps news is quickly followed by bad Longchamps news here at Lost City. (Only here is there such a thing as "Longchamps news.")

Just hours after I posted about my new treasured possession—a genuine Longchamps credit card—reader David Freedland writes in to say that the last visible remnant of the one-time prominent chain of classy restaurants has disappeared from Manhattan.

Back in May 2007, I wrote about a remaining Longchamps sign lingering over a building at Madison and 49th—a former location. It hung there for many years after the restaurant it advertised vanished. Now David informs us that the sign has finally been taken down.

Since first spotting that relic, I have learned that the sign's lettering is a "form of eccentric typography known as the Emphatic Inserted Italic—italic letters placed among or alongside roman letters for emphasis or effect."

And the sign was apparently even more historic than I assumed. It was erected in the 1930s sometime and was for a time the only neon sign on Madison Avenue.

The first Longchamps opened in New York in 1919. It took its name from the racetrack in Paris' Bois de Boulogne. Specialties included oxtail soup, crabmeat a la Dewey, Nesselrode pie and baked apple. (Would love to know if they published a cookbook.)

I repost here a snippet I previously communicated about designer Winold Reiss, who created many of the stylish Longchamps locations:

The exterior of Reiss's 1941 design proposal for a new bar and roof garden at the 49th Street and Madison Avenue Longchamps displays the chain's trademark vermillion coloring and lettering, including the falling "S," while the undulating lines that enliven its canopy and bronze wall panels recall the early borders of the M.A.C. The entire effect is not dissimilar to that of the Barricini candy box already illustrated: the name or sign identifying the product or establishment has been completely integrated into its design; the façade has become a sign rather than simply providing a place for one.

Look here for some of the murals that once adorned various Longchamps.

Longchamps filed for bankrupcy in 1975. It took 33 years to take down that sign.

(Photo courtesy of reader Meccows.)

Who's Luquer?

Not just a guy with a street named after him in South Brooklyn, that's who.

He was a big deal. A rich and pious dude with a lot of moolah who owned much of the 12th Ward. So tells a big gold plaque just inside the door of Cobble Hill's Christ Church. Nicholas Luquer (1810-1864) donated the land on which the Richard Upjohn church was erected.

Sarah Luquer, the daughter of Nicholas and his wife Sarah, lived at 618 Henry Street, a house built on what was the Luquer farm. She lived there all her life and died in 1898. Funeral services were held at Christ Church. There were apparently many Nicholases after the original. The family had a mill at the corner of Hicks and Huntington. The original Nick's grandson Nick was described as "a thin, French-looking man [who] raised oysters of extraordinary size and delicacy." (The original family name was L'Escuyer; they arrived from Paris in 1658.) The mill was used for grinding grain used in the Pierrepont family (into which the Luquers married) distillery nearby.

Wonder if there are Luquers still around somewhere? Are they still rich? Still hard to pronounce?

The Mad Santa Painter Strikes

A holiday window painter is being hired with reckless abandon by businesses along Columbia and Unions Streets in Brooklyn.

Over the past couple weeks, large elaborate Christmas-themed murals have appeared on four separate store windows. The work is obviously that of the same artist, who favors a chubby-cheeked Santa with a droopy moustache and an inadvertent tendency to expose his ample midsection. Above is the painting adorning Dub Pies on Columbia Street. Below is the House of Pizza and Calzone.


This is the Columbia Street Supermarket at the corner of President and Columbia. It is the most elaborate of the artworks. I caught the painter in the act of creation here. A young man of about 30 in a wool cap. Probably making some extra holiday money, and why not?


And here is the painting on the Coffee Den, at Union and Hicks. The artist mixes it up a bit here, going for Rudolph instead of St. Nick. I particularly like the Brooklyn-centric skyline in the back and the fact that Rudolph is bringing home a clay bottle of moonshine.

Longchamps Puts It on Account

This is an enormously cool thing. One of the coolest I have ever possessed.

It is a Longchamps credit card. For 1957, to be exact.

A few weeks back, a reader residing in Florida wrote to me, saying that she had been rummaging through her father's things and had found the card. She offered to send it to me and I readily accepted.

I was not even aware that Longchamps gave out credit cards. The card makes me think of the era of "Executive Suite" and "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit," more genteel times when a person could sign for lunch or dinner and worry about the messy matter of paying later. "Please show card and sign check with your Name and Account No.," it reads. "All liquor charges subject to local laws."

The back of the card lists all the Longchamps locations, most on the East Side or near intersections of import (Grand Central, City Hall, Times Square, the Empire State Building). The one near 59th and Madison was open all night Fridays and Saturdays. Locations in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.

Our cardholder lived on Webb Avenue in the Fordham section of The Bronx, walking distance from the Metro North Hudson River line. An easy commute into the big city.

All Aboard!

A little more from the New York Botanical Garden's annual Holiday Train Show.

Meat Pies and Mitres

The pastor at Cobble Hill's Christ Church has a thing for Myers of Keswick's English meat pies. And therefore I have a thing for the Richard Upjohn-designed church's annual Medieval Holiday Fair.

Every year the reverend drives into Manhattan and buys a couple hundred assorted meat pies from Myers of Keswick on Hudson Street, and then sells them at a slight profit. In doing so, he provides his church with perhaps the finest holiday eats layout of any church fair in Brooklyn (though the Danish Seaman's Church in Brooklyn Heights might be a close runner-up). There is also homemade chili, homemade empanadas, Brooklyn Brewery beers, and a lot of fine baked goods. No three-bean salad or jello molds for this congregation.




This year I went for a Beef and Onion Pie and Pork Pie with mustard. Two of these dense delicacies are about all I can handle at one sitting.



There are also craft tables selling various folksy items—nothing as exciting as the food offering. The second-best thing about the fair is that they show animated holiday classics like "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "Frosty the Snowman," and "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" on a slide screen. Kids gather underneath for a schedule that runs about six hours long. There are also regular readings of "A Visit From St. Nicholas." Santa himself makes an appearance in typical English-style garb, red mitre and all.

The Inexplicably Sophisticated Duane Reade in Soho

No Duane Reade has any right to look as dignified as this Soho branch does.

I understand that local landmark district strictures probably kept the drug store chain's signage discreet and understated, and that the nature of the cast-iron architecture itself lends a certain gravitas to the business.

But whose idea was it to emblazon an entire wall with an Anthony Trollope quote? And the snappy white font against the bare-brick wall is unbearably smart. Does this branch has a super-urbane manager or something?

A Visit to the Holiday Train Show

I went to the New York Botanical Garden's annual Holiday Train Show for the first time this year—something I've long wanted to do. I always expected that the model trains would simply pass through a kind of fairytale village, albeit on a very large scale. I had no idea that the buildings in question were near exact replicas of New York City and New York State landmarks. Everything from Grand Central and the Empire State to Brooklyn brownstones and the Old Stone House, all jumbling up in some condensed, highly forested version of the metropolis. The Brooklyn, George Washington, Manhattan and Hell Gate bridges tower above.



As this Dec. 5 New York Times article indicates, all the structures are made from organic materials—things that might be found in a botanical garden. Among them: elm bark, alder cones, cloves, gourds, date vines, acorns, palm leaves, grasses, black locust shelf fungi, willow, canella berries, pine bark, walnut shells, okra pods, bamboo, cedar bark, oak, hickory, black walnut, eastern red cedar, sugar-pine-cone scales. They are created by landscape designer Paul Busse, and include famous mansions further upstate.



A number of buildings were new this year, such as the old Merchant's House of Greenwich Village, seen above, and the Rose Center for Earth and Space, below.



No landmark was too big or too small for commemoration. Above is St. Patrick's Cathedral. And here is the Little Red Lighthouse.



The show also has, somewhat eerily, several buildings that don't exist anymore, including the below theatre, once on 46th Street, and a Fifth Avenue mansion (further below) that was torn down in the 20s. There also are a few bygone Coney Island artifacts.

Costa Del Sol to Be Supplanted by Palazzo de Nouveau

The fake Spanish ambiance of the old Costa del Sol restaurant, at the corner of Ninth Avenue and 50th, is to be replaced by the fake Italian ambiance of Terraza Toscana.

Pictures of the new eatery were posted on the plywood wall surrounding the plot, where workers were busy, busy, busy. Costa del Sol was never anything to gaze at, but this new joint looks like the owners took design tips from the late Mama Leone's. It's Noveau Italiano at its cheesiest. Earth-toned walls, chandeliers a-plenty, white tablecloths and salmon-colored chairs. I'd like to know who it was, decades ago, that decided this particular design scheme telegraphed classy, Old-World charm. Because, you know, it doesn't. It's more like my great aunt's too-clean, too-lacquered living room, writ large.

The Only Shiny Yellow Metal Building in New York

Just my guess. But I think it's a safe bet. On Grand Street in Chinatown.

Don't Fade Away

13th Avenue, Borough Park—home of the faded, hand-painted sign.

The one above says "Becky's," in case you can't read it.

Brach's, below, appears to have stolen Sym's slogan.

The Coat Gallery

The Coat Gallery of 13th Avenue in Brooklyn has a swingin', mod, '60s look not seen very often in New York anymore. The large, oval front windown, bisected by the over glass of the door, just kind of, you know, blows my mind. And the sign's an oval, too! No harsh corners at this corner business.

Carroll Gardens Get a Little More Christmas Spirit

Last year, I blogged briefly about my disappointment with the Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill holiday lights displays. Whereas in the past, Court Street was fairly strewn with decorations, in 2008 the street bore only two strings of lights—both on the block between Union and President.

Things have improved a little this season. There are what looks to be a total of four strings of lights (maybe five), hung at wide intervals between 1st Street at the south end of Court and maybe Congress at the north. (The one above is at Court and Union. If you squint, you can see the string at DeGraw.) Still pretty skimpy, but a better showing. And the lights appear to be brand new.

Maybe next year it'll double again and we'll get eight strings!

Pants, Shirts, Shirts, Pants

Pants. Shirts. Everyone needs them. You'll find them at Wallach's of 13th Avenue, in Borough Park. Also jackets. And, yes, slacks.

Pizza Too Expensive, Says Pizza Man

It was something I never expected to hear.

Walking down Essex Street around 10 PM, hungry, I stopped into the decades-old Roma Pizza at the corner of Delancey. I ordered a slice of pepperoni and bacon.

The man behind the counter was having a friendly argument with a hipster customer who was blithely gnawing on a plain slice. He was complaining about a rent hike of some sort, and bitterly blaming the landlord and Mayor Bloomberg for his plight. "Since 1964, I been here," he said. He seemed to be the proprietor of Roma Pizza. Who's the landlord, the hipster and I asked. "I don't know who owns it. He's friends with Bloomberg. He's got big connections. It's crazy."

He then gave me my slice on a place. "Four dollars!" he said. "Four dollars I charge for that slice! It's not right. Too much!" I was stunned. Was he actually admitting that pizza has become too expensive? I mean, everyone knows how flour and cheese and everything has gone up in price, and slices aren't the cheap meals they used to be. But a pizza guy saying it?

Of course, he was really lamenting that economic circumstances had forced him to charge more for his pizza than he would have liked. "Hey, I'm happy to pay it," said the hipster. The owner waved him off. "It's too much!"

I left. The slice, by the way, was excellent.

Mazzola Bakery Christmas Tree Watch: Night Scene

Here's how the Mazzola Bakery 2008 Christmas Tree, at the Brooklyn corner of Henry and Union, looked it's first night on the job.

East Broadway Rats Are Some Tough Rats

Behold, the rats of the East Broadway F line subway station!

They are tough. They are bold. They don't give an F who you are. furtive around down on the tracks for them. This is their subway platform and you're just a guest.

I stood not 10 feet away from these two rats for a good five minutes. They barely budged. I stared at them. I moved towards them. I took pictures of them. (Obviously.) They did not flinch. They are the baddest rats I've even met in New York.

Some Stuff That's Interesting

J.J. Byrne Park is no more. [City Room]

Not for Tourists' NYC first edition liked a lot of places that just aren't there anymore. [EV Grieve]

Some pretty little house numbers. [Forgotten NY]

The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree gets lit tonight. Hey, it's not Mazzola Bakery Christmas Tree, but we'll take it. [Gothamist]

It's Caffe Reggio. And why not? [Greenwich Village Daily Photo]

The New York Post, after encouraging Bloomberg to go for a third term, now doesn't like him so much. "When Mayor Bloomberg deployed his vast personal and political power to overturn the term limits law, he began to demystify the public relations image he had purchased at considerable expense.vIt was only then that New Yorkers began to recognize the danger of making Gotham's wealthiest man its chief executive." I realized that back in 2001. [New York Post]

A Good Sign: The Brooklyn Diner

The Brooklyn Diner, just off Times Square. It's a newish place, but with this jazzy signage, it would have fit right into a 1945 newsreel of New York.

O, Credit Card, O, Credit Card

We as a City just get more modern and sophisticated and just plain swinging with every year. Now, the old Tannenbaum can be had with a swipe of plastic.

The Mysterious Pacifier Trees of Borough Park

Whomever can solve this mystery will win a free Lost City t-shirt (whenever I actually possess such garments, which will probably be never).

Outside 1450 48th Street, in an apartment building called The Plymouth, there are two bare trees on either side of the walkway leading to the entrance. Their branches are utterly loaded with used, discarded pacifiers.

There are easily a couple hundred or the plastic things, in every shade of the rainbow. They are hung on the limbs by their circular handles. Passing by, I at first thought the trees were in flower. Then I thought they were strewn with garbage, debris that has been tossed by the wind and had gotten caught in the branches. Then I didn't know what to think.


What is the explanation behind this piece of peculiar, environmental ad-hoc art? A few possible scenarios:

*The residents of 1450 are mainly child-proud parents, and every time a new kid is born a pacifier goes on the tree to signify the birth.

*The residents of 1450 are parenting activists who are violently opposed the the antiquated forms of child-rearing that are represented by the pacifier. They show their disdain for pacifiers by hanging them out to rot.

*The residents of 1450 are lazy and couldn't make it all the way to the curb to throw out their used pacifiers.

*The residents of 1450 were the subject an odd Halloween prank, and no one has bothered to undo the mischief yet.

*The residents of 1450 belong to as-yet-undiscovered cult that employs used pacifiers as a way of warding off evil spirits.

*Some parent in 1450 has a kid involved in a very unusual school project.

*Pacifier Trees are urban vandalism's new Sneakers-Tied-Together-and-Thrown-Over-a-Telephone-Wire.

*Aliens.

Mazzola Bakery Christmas Tree Watch: It's Done!

Well, that didn't take long!

Just yesterday I started staking out Mazzola's Bakery at Henry and Union Streets in Carroll Gardens, watching for them to hoist up their annual floating Christmas tree.

Today, around 3 PM, two old guys shouting in Italian ("Gira!" "Tirare!") and two young guys answering in Spanish, started on the job. Ropes were tied to street lamps and small, earth-bound trees. Cords came whipping out of windows, furnishing electricity. Men with ropes on the roof took orders from men with ropes on the ground. Ladders went up. Crowds gathered. There's a big rainbow star on the top of the tree, a big red ribbon on the bottom. By 3:30 PM, it was done.

And the holiday season officially begins in South Brooklyn.

A Good Sign: Paul's Fruit and Grocery

Not just a nice sign, but a nice storefront altogether on Paul's Fruit and Grocery on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn.

Some Stuff That's Interesting

Astroland is in a sad place. [Curbed]

A lot of restaurants are closing, some of them quite good. [Eater]

More coverage of the Landmarks v. Development issue in the Times. [New York Times]

There are cool signs outside New York, too. [Greenwich Village Daily Photo]

Morrisania Library is 100 Years Old. Enjoy it before the City sells it to a developer! [City Room]

Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Miele Pharmacy

Now, this is a real find. I had no idea it existed. By pure chance, the other day I passed by the corner of 15th Avenue and 42nd Street the other day and saw an old Pharmacy sign. Big deal. I've seen a hundred like them. While old-fashioned pharmacy signs often hang around, evoking times gone by, pharmacy interiors are regularly updated and sterilized, leaving little taint of the past.

No so with this treasure, which the owner said has opened before 1900 and is the oldest pharmacy in Borough Park (the current owners have been there 40 years). Everything was as it must have been 60, 70 years ago. Wooden shelves lines the walls, climbing up to the ceiling. A rolling ladder hung on one set of shelving. The ceiling was tin, the floor was tile. A coin-operated scale stood near the door. A couple low shelving units punctuated the floor layout. There was one of those sloping wooden racks that hold greeting cards. The owner stood behind a long wooden counter near the back, little wire racks of gum and mints next to him, behind him another wall of shelves holding prescriptions and such.


Then I turned around and, lo and behold! Not one, but two wooden phone booths! Holy moly! The motherload. And in a pharmacy. I think that's a first for Lost City. Past wooden phone booth sightings have been in restaurants, bars and hotels only. And I had come just in time: the owner said the last remaining operating booth had just gone kaput; neither of them worked anymore and he was going to put them up for sale. A shame.


The shelves were loosely stocked; there was very little to buy. I wondered how the place stayed in business. (Copious local prescriptions?) If they must sell the booths, I hope they get a pretty penny for them, and that they sell them to someone who will restore and use them in another business.

Weird Mystery Building Now Has Scaffolding

The Vermont Market and Pharmacy—ghost store of Carroll Gardens, mysteriously shuttered and cluttered since the late '90s—has become enough of a subject of fascination for locals and visitors alike that it was the subject of a piece of detective work in the the New York Times last July.

The article uncovered that the store and building's owner, Mark Stein, is a bit of a nut, "a recluse who wears suspenders and prefers walking in the street, a genius with a deep knowledge of homeopathic remedies who had some sort of position at a local university, and a property owner stuck with a valuable building he is either unable or unwilling to sell." Stein's father bought the building from the previous owners, some gun-running pharmacists.

But it just sits there, crammed with antique and modern bric-a-brac—scales and boxes and vials and junk. Barely a bit of the fine old tile floor can be seen. The "Les Miz"-like etching of a waif's head in the window spooks me every time I walk by.

And now there's another wrinkle. Scaffolding has been erected around the building. According the Department of Building website, there have been a number of complaints against Stein over the past year. One from October reads: "CALLER STS THE STRUCTURE OF THE BUILDING IS VERY UNSAFE INTHE BASEMENT THE OUTSIDE WALL IS CRUMBLING IN THE BASEMENT, AND THEFOUNDATION IS UNSAFE , SECOND COMPLAINT." There are also regular charges that the boiler doesn't work.

Recently, the DOB issued a violation, charging, "FAILURE TO MAINTAIN BLDG WALLS. ON SACKETT ST SIDE EXTERIOR WALL ON 2ND FLOOR LEVEL BY THE FIRE ESCAPE HAS APPROX 3" WIDE CRACKS & 4' LONG.ALSO 4TH FL OVER WINDOW HAS APPROX 1" CRACK."

Is this how business would be conducted in Vermont? Maybe Stein should go into group counseling with the Rat-Squirrel House lady.

Mazzola Bakery Christmas Tree Watch

It's December 1. Time for businesses and communities to haul out the Christmas decorations and brighten our days. Everyone from Macy's to your local deli will have something to offer. But perhaps my favorite holiday decoration in all of New York City is the Mazzola Bakery Christmas Tree, at the corner of Henry and Union in the heart of Carroll Gardens.

Big deal, a Christmas tree, you say. Ah, but you don't understand. This tree stands not on the sidewalk, but one story above the heads of passersby. The trunk is shaved down and snugly stuffed into a metal holder that is bolted to the corner of the brick building, about ten feet off the ground. (You can see the brown brace dead center in the photo above.) The tree is then tied to various posts and poles around it, to steady the fir, and then decorated with lights. This has been going on annually for as long as I can remember.

Placed at such a height, the tree acts as a kind of holiday beacon of joy and delight for people blocks away, in every direction. Seen in the snow, it is quite magical. It is both simple and fantastic.

The folks at Mazzola always tend to take their sweet time getting the tree up. (It takes a lot of doing.) As of today, no preparations are visible. Lost City will keep an eye on the situation as it progresses, because it's fun for me and I have nothing better to do. Well, actually, I have plenty to do. Too much, in fact. But I enjoy this sort of fun makework assignment much better.

Some Stuff That's Interesting

Some interesting shots of the Empire State Building. [Restless]

Ben's Deli of Bayside in trouble. [Queens Crap]

Five Roses Pizza in the East Village is closing Dec. 6. I used to eat there. Nice place. Always liked the name. A rent hike, natch. [JVNY via Slice]

Some nice pictures of wrapped-up Christmas trees. [EV Grieve]

And more nice pictures, this time of the Dublin House Tap Room. [Greenwich Village Daily Photo]

You can go see and board the tanker Mary Whalen in the Atlantic Basin on Dec. 6. [Portside Mary Whalen]

Art Flowers, Artful Display

There's something special about this 13th Avenue flower shop in Borough Park, and it's not the facade or sign—though both are those are special, as is the name of the place, Art Flower.


No, it's the window display, the like of which you won't find anywhere else in New York City. Not content to work with mere Barbie and Ken mannequins, the owners have recreated a genuine Orthodox Jewish wedding. The ceremonial garb is quite authentic looking, and the details are impressive—the glass and bottle of wine, the chuppah, the wedding contract, the sidelocks. The men are wearing the long frock-coat garments called bekishes, and shtreimels, the distinctive flat fur donuts that serve as hats on special occasions.

About the sunglasses worn by one attendant, I think he just wants to be cool.

Tin Pan Alley Buildings Off the Block, Maybe

The New York Observer has a piece on the endangered row of former Tin Pan Alley buildings on W. 28th Street, saying the block of properties is now off the market:

As public opinion moves further against the plan and the economy plunges deeper into recession, a deal is looking increasingly unlikely. The five, mixed-use contiguous properties would yield over 111,000-square feet of “prime Chelsea Property” after demolition, according to the listing that first appeared on the real estate Web site LoopNet in the early fall, along with renderings of a 16-story residential building with 24 retail spaces proposed for the site. Though it remains up, the site says the “property is no longer available.”

This seems to echo an earlier report by the AP. It would be nice to know for sure. Unfortunately, the Coldwell Banker agent marketing the buildings did not respond to a request from the Observer for comment, and Jo-Fra Properties could not be reached. Seems like they can never be reached.