Protecting this otherwise nondescript Uni-Sex Salon on a sidestreet in Midwood is a cement eagle, wings spread, ready to strike. If the bird doesn't do the job, on the side is a lion, and two other large cats, their mouths painted blood-red.
(Sorry about the utter lousiness of these photos. Lost City's official camera has crashed, its camera-brain dead. Until it is replaced, I am resorting to cell-phone photos.)
One of the weirdest, most stubborn mercantile conundrums in New York City is finally showing some signs of life. After ten long years of standing dormant at the otherwise busy corner of Henry and Sackett Streets, the Vermont Market and Pharmacy was buzzing with life Saturday, May 30. The front door was open for the first time since the Clinton Administration, people were moving in and out, and piles of dusty junk were being removed from the interior.
A little history first: The Vermont Market and Pharmacy, a folksy store that sold apple butter, maple syrup, organic products and such stuff, opened for business in 1996. A couple years later it closed, and that was that. No new store moved in, and the counters and shelving and merchandise inside just sat there, gathering cobwebs. The mystery grew so big that the New York Times dispatched a reporter a year ago to dig up the back story. The paper found out that the store and building's owner, Mark Stein, is a bit of a recluse who walks in the the street, and comes and goes during the night; that his father bought the building from some gun-runners; and that he was either unable or unwilling to let go of the property, even though he wasn't doing anything with it himself.
He told the Times he was thinking of opening the store back up, but was vague about his plans.
Well that plan seems to be underway now. I stopped and spoke to one of the young men working to clean out the space. He said the place was going to reopen soon as a kind of half-store, half-soda fountain. They would serve old-fashioned fountain-type sodas "using local, natural flavorings," egg creams, a variety of "tinctures" and teas. There is to be a kind of informal opening in late June, even though things would not be fully up and running by then.
As for Stein, the man said they had leased the space from him, but were kind of vague on whether he was or was not involved in the whole project. Whatever the nature of the enterprise, it sure seems to be happening in a hurry. I hope it really is a soda fountain. I could use a steady place to get a malted.
Machiavelli never had the chutzpah displayed regularly by NYU and Columbia, the two universities that basically own this town and, wearing a mask of virtue and higher learning, raze culture wherever they go in the name of profit.
Columbia's latest crime: the stomping of a neighborhood book store which has served Morningside Heights for 50 years. Columbia is landlord to Morningside Bookshop. Owners Peter Soter and his wife, Amelia Linden, have been forced to close, as they owe $158,000 in back rent.
Now $158,000 is not nothing—to a small book shop. It is, however, next to nothing to a money-making behemoth like Columbia. A spokesman for Columbia said, "We did everything we could to help them." But is that actually honest? In recent years, through an abuse of eminent domain, the City has helped claim for the university millions upon millions of dollars worth of property. In exchange, couldn't the school give a little something back to the community? How about forgiving that rent? How about not charging them so high a monthly rent in the first place? About 50 neighbors also have offered Mr. Soter at least $68,000 in unsolicited donations to help pay the rent to keep the store open. But Columbia can't do anything in terms of money?
Right.
One of the best things about Jackson Heights, Queens, is the Eagle Theatre, an old single-screen movie theatre that, for many years, has been devoted to Bollywood films. The film house caters to the surrounding Indian population, but is popular with people of all cultures in the area.
Now, we learn from the AP, via Queens Crap, that the film industry strike in India has felled the good old Eagle. The Eagle traffics in first-run films, and the seven-year-old strike has played havoc with its schedule. The AP says the theatre is expected to reopen as soon as the strike in India ends.
Doesn't it seem sometimes that the mad desire for money brings to end all good things?
Mayor Michael Bloomberg spent much of Friday wishing he hadn't called New York Observer reporter Azi Paybarah "a disgrace," simply because he asked the Mayor a question about term limits.
What's left of old media circled the wagons around Paybarah, as if to say, "Hey, who YOU calling a disgrace." Writing up the incident were the New York Times, Newsday, the AP, The Daily News.
Of course, old, testy, shoot-now-ask-questions-later Bloomberg was forced to deliver an insincere apology later. This one, however, was delivered by proxy. A spokesman for the mayor, Stu Loeser said: "The mayor asked me to pass along his apologies to Azi for the comment after the press conference, which I did." Oh yeah, Stu. He's as good as Mike, right?
So, a quick poll. After having called reporters "a disgrace," and their questions "ridiculous" and "a waste," when epithet will our Mayor use against a reporter next? "Son of a bitch," "Bastard," "So's your Old Man" or "I know you are, but what am I?"
In response the blogosphere furor yesterday about the Pearl Street Theatre leaving its longtime home at Theatre 80 in the East Village, leaving the fate of the theatre seemingly in doubt, the son of the owner sent me this message. (I notice he sent to same one to EV Grieve, who broke the story. No doubt he sent it to many.)
Be assured that the Otway family still owns and runs Theater 80. My mother is well and sends her dearest regards to all.
When we came to Saint Marks Place in 1964, there was not a tree on the block. My father planted the first three trees on this now tree lined promenade. At the age of eleven, I dug out the auditorium with my father and helped pour the concrete. We are not going anywhere. We helped to build this neighborhood one business at a time, and it can be lost one building at a time. We have held out against times when those who are tearing down the neighborhood seem to be winning. But, like many others, we intend to keep the East Village a vibrant arts community.
I am at a loss to understand the quote from Shepard Sobel that he is “… disappointed the East Village is losing a theatrical venue to commercial enterprise..." Theatre 80 has been the jewel of the off-broadway theaters since my father built it, and we opened in the mid 1960s.
Our theater saw the opening of "You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown", was the home of the Manhattan Festival Ballet, and was the first full time film revival house. For many years Noche Flamenca has performed to sold out audiences.
I have no idea the meaning or source of this information. As managing agent for the Otway family, owners of Theatre 80, I state categorically, we intend to remain a theater. We have turned down offers for other uses of this theater which would destroy the auditorium.
Please be assured that we welcome offers from theater companies to lease this theater. I can be reached by email at LorcanOtway@Gmail.com
Best regards
Lorcan Otway
Theatre 80
H&H Bagels, seized by the Feds for non-payment of taxes this morning, was back in business this afternoon.
Seems the tax thing was serious business. H&H owes the USA $100,000 in back taxes and has racked up many tax warrants and leins.
So, what happened? Did they just pull $100,000 out a sack and hand it over the IRS? H&H isn't talking. And the IRS is still wading through paperwork. High drama, folks!
This fine, incisive article from Gotham Gazette has already been highlighted by Queens Crap, but it deserves as much exposure as possible. The author teaches urban affairs and planning, is director of the Hunter College Center for Community Planning and Development and co-editor of Progressive Planning Magazine. Here's the lead, but do yourself a favor and go read the entire piece.
Zoning Without
By Tom Angotti
Amanda Burden, chairperson of the New York City Planning Commission, boasts that since 2002, the city has completed a record 94 rezonings, creating the most sweeping revision of land use regulations throughout the city's five boroughs since the Zoning Resolution was rewritten in 1961. This massive rezoning effort supports the development priorities of Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who in 2007 introduced PlaNYC2030, a long-term plan to incorporate almost 1 million more residents by the year 2030.
The city's rezoning frenzy, though, highlights two fundamental problems with its approach to our neighborhoods. One is that the zoning is not based on any comprehensive review of community needs and priorities or any long-range planning. In other words, it's zoning without a plan.
The second and related problem is that, while the rezonings mainly create short-term opportunities for real estate development in neighborhoods where there is intense speculation, the city's planners falsely promote them as being aimed at preservation. In the endless succession of community meetings that go into the rezonings, the city's experts offer colorful slide presentations and discourses on technical details in an effort -- often successful -- to obscure matters. In fact, though, these rezonings are scams.
Sweet Mother of God, how can these things happen?!
Eater reports that the Tax Man has laid a knock-out punch on iconic Upper West Side institution H&H Bagels!!
At 10:15 am an official was posting a 'property seized for lack of payment of taxes' sign...bagels were piled high inside, employees inside, but store was closed by officials." A call to the main office confirms that not just one but both locations (the second is on West 46th St.) were shut down and they have "no idea" when they'll open again, but they're hoping to have it all smoothed out by this afternoon.
Up for consideration before the Landmark Preservation Commission on June 2 will be none other that 125-131 Chambers Street, a hiding-in-plain-sight landmark that I wrote about only a couple weeks ago.
Now known at the Cosmopolitan Hotel, the white boxy building once bore that name Hotel Bond. But that's not the point. The point is this address has been a hotel since the 1860s, making it the oldest ongoing, extant hotel building in the city. Which is something.
The owners aren't up to anything heinous. But they are proposing that be allowed to "modify the entrance and construct a rooftop bulkhead." They also want to demolish neighboring 101 West Broadway, a nothing-special, two-story building, and erect a six-story replacement. None of this sounds too horrible, and doubtless 125-131 Chambers has been altered plenty in its 150-year-old life.
The LPC description of the structure is interesting, though, intimating that the building is older than previously thought. It was originally built in 1844-45, with additions built in 1852-53, 1867-68 and 1869.
It's pretty clear now that Michael Bloomberg knows a good portion of the voting populace now loathe him for ramming his Tammany fist through the term limits law last fall just so he could stay sweet and powerful for another four years. The man does not like to talk about the subject, and will not answer any question concerning the matter. Which makes no sense, for how can anyone talk about Bloomberg the Candidate without talking about the term limit scandal. There is no Bloomberg the Candidate without the term limit scandal.
It's also quite clear that Bloomberg hates journalists. (Rotten little bastards: they're always asking probing questions!) When he's not browbeating disabled reporters for not moving quickly enough, he's labeling other writers "a disgrace." That's what he called PolitickerNY's Azi Paybarah, when the latter had the temerity to ask whether he had oversold the case for term limits being overturned.
It seems Bloomie was patting himself on the back recently because the city had received $32 million in federal stimulus money for job training. Appears he forgot that the reason he gave the world for needing to run for another term was that the economy was so bad that New York just needed him. Nobody else could do the job. But here's this $32 million. And Bloomberg says, of the economy, "I’m reasonably optimistic that we’ve turned the corner" on the recession.
Paybarah saw his cue, as a good reporter should. He asked, if we're so well off, what do we need you for anymore? This caused Mayor Mike to spew forth this piece of see-through sophistry: "The rationale for extending term limits is that the City Council passed it and the voters will have a chance on Nov. 3 to say what they want."
That's like a hunter holding a smoking gun saying, "The rationale for eating the deer is that it's dead."
Bloomberg then called the reporter a "disgrace." Oh, there was a disgrace in the room, but he wasn't the reporter. The reporter was a tribute to his profession. In any other reporter in town wants to prove themselves a credit to their publication and their city, they will ask Bloomberg about term limits every day until the election.
EV Grieve comes forward with the most saddening news of the day. The Pearl Theatre Company is decamping from its home in the East Village. This is not the terrible part of the news; the determined Pearl will soldier on as it always has, its next home being Stage II at City Center.
No, the upsetting part is that, for 15 years, Theatre 80 on St. Marks has been the Pearl's home. Now, the quaint former movie house is being turned over to...who knows what.
Founding Artistic Director Shepard Sobel said in a statement: "While we are disappointed the East Village is losing a theatrical venue to commercial enterprise, we are thrilled to be moving to the theatre district to usher in this exciting new era of The Pearl in this vibrant new community."
What the heck is that? Commercial enterprise? A restaurant? (Likely.) A bar? (More likely.) A Pinkberry? And why do this now, with the Recession is full swing?
The place is still owned by Florence Otway, the widow of the guy who started the space as a theatre back in 1967. Someone should ask her what's up.
St. George's Ukrainian Catholic Church on E. 7th and the back of the revolting Cooper Union Academic Building.
On a recent stroll down Coney Island Avenue (yes, I stroll down such streets), this grand four-story building at the southeast corner of Coney and Foster Avenues had me scratching my head.
Coney Island Avenue is five-mile-long thoroughfare of almost unrelenting ugliness, lined primarily with funeral homes and auto repair shop. (Fix your car. Fix your corpse!) This mansion-like structure, with its still downright beautiful roof, is entirely out of place.
Forgotten New York has previously wondered over the building, which is now filled with a variety of shops on its long ground floor. The old Coney Island and Brooklyn Railroad ran along the avenue, and FNY speculated that it might have been a roadhouse for weary travelers making the journey. It does have the look of a hotel about it. Why else have that roof with its palace-like turrets, and the fine, arched windows?
I can find no record anywhere of what this thing used to be, aside from a DOB Certificate of Occupancy from 1938 that says it had stores on the ground floor (like today) and single family residences on the two floors above. One has to imagine its life was something different around the turn of the century. Also, my hunch is the roof used to be symmetrical, with the green turrets on the south side matched by a similar pair on the north side.
Mazzola's Bakery in Carroll Gardens is mad for new looks lately. The place, which used to be dark brown, got a light cream paint job just a couple years ago. But last night, with the aid of some spotlights, workers were busy painting the place white. I assume the idea was to have the job done and the paint dry by the time they opened doors this morning.
One attraction in my neighborhood that I have never written about since beginning this blog three and a half years ago is The Secret Bakery.
That's the name my wife, my son and I gave to a small industrial bakery at 17 Carroll Street, near Van Brunt. Most days, except for Saturday, the roller shutter would go up on the plain brick building and the smell of bread baking would waft onto the street. It wasn't open Saturdays because the facility was kosher, producing the gourmet, kosher line of bread products called Healthy Delites.
I never blogged about it, because I didn't want to advertise—and thus, spoil—a neighborhood oddity that gave such pleasure to my family. You see, fairly often, when we felt sure The Secret Bakery was open, we would stroll over and stick our head inside the deep, narrow brick building. The Spanish-speaking workers inside were friendly and approachable. We found out early that they were willing to sell a hot loaf of bread, fresh out of the oven, on the premises. We would hand over $2 and they'd put a loaf of seven-grain bread or country white in a plastic band. It was so good, we would often eat half of it before getting home. (Not only was it fresh; it was also a bargain. Healthy Delite bread costs $4 at the nearby Fairway.)
I cherished the idea that a small sliver of Red Hook's industrial past still operated in our midst. Sometimes, we would take visiting relatives there and they would be delighted by the idea that such fine bread could be had through a simple exchange of money for goods, out of an unmarked building in the middle of a nondescript block.
Since Passover, however, the tiny bakery has stayed shut. I've checked it any number of times. I fear it may be closed forever.
Below is a photo I found on Flickr by another person who obviously liked the bakery.
The New York Times has printed a nice tribute to Frankie & Johnnie's, the Times Square steakhouse and former speakeasy that recently survived a hit on its life.
It's a lovely read. But it also contains a shocking bit of news. Frankie & Johnnie's landlord is the Shubert Organization. For years before Frankie & Johnnie's neighboring restaurants—Barrymore's, Sam's, Puleo's, all great theatre folk hangouts—were torn down, the public could learn little about the plans for the area. That a tower was going up on Eighth between 45th and 46th we knew. Beyond that, nothing. The Shuberts were mum. Then, earlier this year, we learned that Frankie & Johnnie's would survive the wrecking ball and had been given a new lease. Again, there was no explanation from the mighty Shuberts.
It took the Times to dig the facts out:
The deal that would have demolished its four-story structure to make way for a block-long office tower on Eighth Avenue between 45th and 46th Streets fell through. The restaurant still stands, next to a yawning empty lot whose former occupants were not as lucky.
Robert E. Wankel, co-chief executive officer of the Shubert Organization, which is Frankie & Johnnie’s landlord and also owns 17 Broadway theaters, told me: “Frankie & Johnnie’s will survive. The office building didn’t.”
In recent months, I've found myself glancing fondly at the old building on the northwest corner of Eighth Avenue and 46th Street. It's a poignant sight, girdled with a sidewalk shed, its windows all punched out and half-covered with plywood, an old sign for a now-gone pizzeria still clinging to the side of the edifice.
I'm sure most people take one look at the thing, cringe, and pray for the day the wrecking ball removes the eyesore. And when they are told that, for the past 30 years, it's been the home of the most sordid sorts of businesses—porno video store, "massage" parlor, sex shops and the like—they'd no doubt further wonder at my lunatic affection.
But I'll be very sorry to see it go. Bit by bit, Eighth Avenue from 42nd up has become a canyon of glass and metal. 733 Eighth Avenue is one of the last prewar, low-scale, brick buildings on this Theatre District thoroughfare. Though it is undeniably worse for wear, it still gives me a warmer feeling than does the Platinum condo tower across the street. It's not a bad building, actually. If it were cleaned up, it would be quite handsome in a modest way.
Given the property's gritty recent past, it's wonderful to consider that, for 70 years, this address was the possession of the Astor family. From 1853 to 1921, the Astors owned this corner, as well as a number of properties on W. 46th. (The Astors once owned the building that now houses Barbetta.) They divested themselves of the area when it got a little too raffish for their tastes—and, not incidentally, when the property values skyrocketed. Lee Kamioner, Max Scott and Emanuel van Dernoot were the purchasers of 733.
A few years ago, during the Boom Years, a 46-story silver tower by Fegan/Berg/Architects PC was announced for this corner, a bookend tombstone to go with the Platinum. That's a rendering of it below. But a Stop Work order was issued by the DOB last year when the developers began tearing down the third to fifth floors of 733 without a permit. It's been still as the grave since then. 
Andrew Stengel, a member of the Brooklyn’s Community Board #2 and its Land Use Committee and Dumbo resident, and who opposes Two Trees' Brooklyn Bridge-blocking Dock Street Dumbo project, which, despite local protests, is on its way to being approved, has written an open letter decrying the decision to let the building go forward. The letter was first printed on DumboNYC. I reprint it in full here, because it's so damn good, and it tells everyone what they need to know about this deeply wrong development, and the deeply perverted process that led to its getting the green light.
An Open Letter on the Proposed Dock Street Dumbo Project:
I am a Dumbo resident who sits on Brooklyn’s Community Board #2 and its Land Use Committee. I oppose the Dock Street Dumbo project, and when the Uniform Land Use Review Procedure (ULURP) application was before the our committee I proposed a resolution—that passed 10-1 with two abstentions —- to limit the development on the site to no higher than the 75-foot-high Brooklyn Bridge roadway, as the community board decreed unanimously in 2004. I am also the person who made the Freedom of Information (FOIL) request that resulted in the release of several troubling documents by New York City’s School Construction Authority (SCA).
The Dock Street developer and their high-priced lawyer-lobbyist-public relations retinue have claimed the project’s opposition is limited to a few people whose views of the Brooklyn Bridge are threatened. That is false. (For the record, my apartment does not face the Brooklyn Bridge.)
The opposition is about appropriate context in an area immediately adjacent to a National Historic Landmark where there are currently one- and two-story buildings, as well as large appropriations by New York City, i.e., taxpayer money, without what any sane person could claim is due diligence.
The Dock Street proposal is 18 stories tall, two stories higher than the 2004 version, and would rise to over 200 feet with mechanical. In addition, $400,00 in lobbying and undisclosed campaign fundraising by intermediaries raise the potential and ugly issue of pay-to-play politics.
I was heartened to read the coverage of the recent New York City Council hearing on Dock Street Dumbo and the attention paid to the documents I obtained from SCA. For those who are unfamiliar with FOIL, the law’s intent is actually written into the statute: “The legislature hereby finds that a free society is maintained when government is responsive and responsible to the public, and when the public is aware of governmental actions.”
I filed the FOIL request because, as a taxpaying resident of New York City, I want to know how DOE allocated nearly $44 million to a public middle school and why it chose Dock Street Dumbo as the best site, as written in its Five-Year Capitol Plan released in November 2008.
Note to members of the New York City Council: be careful what you vote for because you may get it—without having all the information necessary to make your decision.
The FOIL request, which was made five months ago almost to the day, was actually two similar requests of the New York City Department of Education (DOE) and New York City School Construction Authority (SCA). I asked for all documents relating to a new middle school in Brooklyn’s District 13 or a new middle school at the Dock Street Dumbo Site dating back to 2004.
Why did the Council hearing not focus on documents from DOE? Because DOE did not turn over a single page of material relating to my request. Instead, DOE sent five pages of correspondence relating to a middle school in District 14. That is despite the conclusion in DOE’s Five-Year Capitol Plan (page 23) that: “The analysis indicates that five districts in Brooklyn will see growth over the next five years. District 13, contains a substantial surplus of space given current enrollment levels but is projected to need a school building in the DUMBO/Navy Yard/Fort Greene area. This is primarily due to projected housing growth.” And, the plan allocates $43.83 million to “PROJECT #1 @ DOCK ST.” (appendix C-7).
DOE obviously based this on something. The question is what and what are they potentially hiding?
And, thanks to SCA’s FOIL response, we know that the developer made SCA “a best and final offer” on May 20, 2008. (As an aside, Jed Walentas attempted to self-invoke one of the few exceptions to FOIL in that term sheet; at least SCA had the common sense to ignore that bogus claim.) That was the oldest document that SCA offered despite my request dating back to 2004. If that was the “best and final offer,” where are the records of prior negotiations? Are we to conclude that SCA did no due diligence as to alternative existing sites prior to entering into negotiations?
SCA has continually made the claim of a cost savings at Dock Street because a “core and shell” is being provided by the developer. But, when pressed at the recent hearing, SCA vice president Ross Holden admitted he couldn’t calculate it. Even if cost savings were not phantom, it would be moot if existing vacant buildings are considered for a middle school. Holden also admitted, “No one at all came to the SCA with a recommendation that would provide us with the…school at minimal costs.”
Contrary to SCA’s attitude it is their responsibility to find the best location for a middle school at the best deal for the City. Again, contrary to their assertion, several members of the community identified alternative existing sites for a potential school that SCA did not consider, including: One Brooklyn Bridge Place, which is in Brooklyn Bridge Park; the recently closed St. Charles Borroemo School on Sydney Place; and 470 Vanderbilt Avenue, which has over 700,000 square feet of vacant space. (One paper claimed that One Brooklyn Bridge could not house a school because that use is not included in the park plan. While correct, neither does the current zoning at Dock Street allow for a school, hence the need for the zoning changes. Just as Dock Street is going through ULURP, the park plan can be amended by the state.)
The required timeline for a agency response to a FOIL request is 20 days. Both DOE, which ignored my query, and SCA responded late. FOIL also allows for an appeal for denial of access to records, which I made on March 3. Agencies have 10 business days to reply to an appeal. The only response I received was from DOE on April 23, noting that it would conduct another search with a response for May 25.
DOE and SCA have yet to comply fully with my original FOIL request. However, the timeline for ULURP requires a vote in the City Council 50 days after the receiving the report by the City Planning Commission. That would be on or about June 12. I have now taken the last step under the law to compel DOE and SCA to respond. The silence from DOE and SCA leave the impression that they are trying to run out the clock until after the vote.
Sunday’s New York Times featured a column from Jim Dwyer that pointed out campaign contributions to New York City Councilwoman Melinda Katz, Chair the Land Use Committee. Dwyer wrote that the contributions were made: “Just before new rules severely limited campaign contributions by companies doing business with the city.” While there are new rules that limit the campaign contributions by individuals who are “doing business” with the City, there remains a giant loophole.
Under the City’s “doing business” restrictions phased in over 2008, those who are seeking City contracts or have filed a ULURP application are limited to a contribution of $400 for a citywide office like mayor, comptroller or public advocate, for the primary and general election combined. Everybody else can give a maximum of $4,950 for a citywide office. However, there is nothing that prevents those who are “doing business” with the City from fundraising on behalf of a candidate, which is commonly know as an “intermediary.” And when intermediaries raise money for candidates in the City, the disclosure requirement is virtually meaningless.
David and Jed Walentas, the developers of Dock Street Dumbo, serve on the Finance Committee for Melinda Katz for New York City Comptroller (see attached invites for 2007 and 2008). Members of campaign finance committees typically act as intermediaries raising money from friends and associates. Have the father-son developers raised contributions for the comptoller candidate and if so how much? The statute is written so loosely that neither they nor the campaign is required to disclose the amount, if anything.
The 2007 law that created the “doing business” contribution limits, defined an intermediary as not including: “…any hosts of a campaign sponsored fundraising event paid for in whole or in part by the campaign. Where there are multiple individual hosts for a non-campaign sponsored event, the hosts shall designate one such host as the intermediary.”
In other words, if somebody raises money for an event that is paid at least in part by a City campaign, the intermediary is not required to report the funds raised. And, if the event is private, where there are multiple hosts, only one intermediary is named—even if that person did not raise all the money. That is the equivalent of defining a duck as duck, unless it walks like a duck or quacks like a duck.
This conspicuous loophole in the City’s campaign finance law, intended or not, should be closed. Connecticut, which banned all contributions from the equivalent of those who do business with the state after a number of corruption scandals, also banned fundraising by those parties. The City should extend the “doing business” contribution limits to intermediary fundraising and require complete disclosure.
In conclusion, I do not support the Dock Street Dumbo project for the reasons I outlined. I hope that the public, and more important, the City Council, will receive all the information from DOE and SCA about the site selection and budget process for Dock Street Dumbo before the final vote.
Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandies wrote that “sunlight is the best disinfectant.” Unfortunately, much of the process around Dock Street Dumbo has proceeded mostly when the only light is that of the moon.
Andrew Stengel
NY Barfly informs us that the P&G Cafe, which was forced to flee its longtime nesting ground at 73rd and Amsterdam earlier this year due to a rent increase, has successfully transplanted itself to 78th and Columbus.
The new digs on 78th and Columbus (in the old Evelyn Lounge space) are at least 3 times the size of the former haunt. The setup is not only an improvement of the old P&G; it’s a new bar altogether. They kept the dive spirit very much alive in the transfer, but still managed to spruce things up a bit. The space comes equipped with two pool tables, a small stage for live comedy and music, and a kitchen (soon to open). Their iconic old bar now serves as a shelf in one of the billiard rooms. If crusty old bars could talk.
Tom Folsom, the author of "The Mad Ones," a new tome about Brooklyn gangster Joey Gallo, dropped me a line recently, letting me know they he'd be heading a series of "Gangster Walking Tours" around Carroll Gardens and Red Hook this month. Now, I've stated before that I have next to nil interest in the lives of uneducated sociopaths who make their living through a organized system of intimidation, stealing and killing—no matter how colorful they might be. Joey Gallo led a valueless life, in my books, and he doesn't get extra points for having cracked Camus, hung out in Greenwich Village and struck up a friendship with Jerry Orbach. I like my bohemians without a body count attached.
Still, I am interested in local history, and you can't really delve into Red Hook's life and times without bumping into the Gallo brothers sooner or later. So I tailed along for Folsom's final walking tour, on May 24 (that's him above). The man knows his stuff, and related in full detail the mob wars that took place on the block of President Street between Van Brunt and Columbia, between the Gallo gang and the Profaci mob. This included the Gallos basically holing up in their mother's house, at 49-51 President, for two years, while waiting out a death blow from the Profacis.
This was in the early 1960s. No trace of what that block was then now remains, including the original Church of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, which stood on President near Van Brunt and is now the site of Mother Cabrini Park. (Cabrini did indeed teach and pray there.) In its place are facing rows of affordable row housing known as Columbia Terrace and built in 1987.
One site that had survived from those days, and was park of Folsom's tour, was 99 President Street (below), the home of Mondo the Midget. Living in this area as long as I have, I've heard many stories of the midget gangster who worked for Joey Gallo. People told me it was his job to walk Joey's pet lion, which was used to intimidate Gallo victims. One local told me that Mondo was a nasty thing, pissed off at everybody, and basically angry at the world owning to the miniature height fate had dealt him. People laugh at the idea of a dwarf gangster, but I'm betting Mondo was pretty scary. And when a guys got a gun in one hand, and a lion's leash in the other, who cares how tall he is?
I hadn't known where Mondo lived, though. Right next door to what used to be Cafiero's Italian restaurant. I guess we can assume that Mondo was a regular customer.
The matter of Law & Order can be such a cut-and-dried, unsentimental matter. And, perhaps because of that, I have always loved the antiquated, completely unnecessary, yet faithfully observed, tradition of two green lanterns bordering the entrance of every police station in New York City.
Every set of lanterns is quite different. Some are older, some newer and some quite ornate. I found this pair, outside the Midtown North precinct building on W. 54th Street, to be quite admirable. If you look closely, the detail on the metal work, from the stand on up, is quite intricate. The legs are long and stately. The feet are, by necessity, bolted down, to deter theft.
The tradition of green lights dates back to colonial times.
According to the NYPD website, "It is believed that the Rattle Watchmen, who patrolled New Amsterdam in the 1650's, carried lanterns at night with green glass sides in them as a means of identification. When the Watchmen returned to the watch house after patrol, they hung their lantern on a hook by the front door to show people seeking the watchman that he was in the watch house. Today, green lights are hung outside the entrances of Police Precincts as a symbol that the "Watch" is present and vigilant."
I'm curious as to whether there's any sort of penalty in honor if the lights ever go out. You know, the way you're never supposed to let an American flag touch the ground.
Last week I was interviewed by a Swiss journalist, who had taken an interest in Lost City, and was visited New York for a week.
We met at a Cobble Hill cafe. She was accompanied by a photojournalist with whom she had collaborated on several books, including some about Africa. The two talked about the lamentable politics to be found in many African politics, and the terrible way in which many of Africa's corrupt leaders exploited the people and held on to power at all costs.
Toward the end of the conversation, I was at pains to explain my opposition to the policies of Mayor Michael Bloomberg and his administration, how his advocacy of non-stop, unfettered, and largely unsupervised development was antithetical and, actually, downright hostile toward preserving the unique and historical character of the City.
I also explained how, because the rule of law had not been honored, we were being forced to accept Bloomberg as our Mayor for four more years. How was this possible, she asked, apparently unfamiliar with Bloomberg's successful efforts to turn over the referendum-imposed two-term limit for NYC mayoral candidates. I explained how Bloomberg, confronted with the end of his tenure, and not wishing to put the two-term law to the test of another referendum, knowing the public would reinforce it in large numbers, had found a way to push a law permitting a third term through City Council.
The Swiss journalist smiled, and nodded. She understood. "Oh," she said. "Very much like Africa."
I've been noticing these Mul-T-Lock signs outside hardware and key-making stores a lot lately. Perhaps they're been there a while, but it seems to my eyes that they're been proliferating in recent month. I mention it, because I like the look of the signs. They're simple, and the way they hang at a perpendicular angle from the storefront reminds me of the old ways of advertising in New York, when many store signs were hung at such a pivot, the better to catch the eye of the potential customer down the block. I also like them because they're advertising such a simple and necessary product: locks and keys. Many of them are illuminated at night, long after the stores have closed.
I did a little research and found that—homely image aside—Mul-T-Lock is far from a homely little company. It's an international concern. Begun in 1973 near Tel Aviv, it now has subsidiaries in the US, Canada, UK, France, the Czech Republic and Argentina. It merged with some huge Swedish lock outfit in 2006. (Who knew locks could be so corporate?) Whatever. I still like the signs.
Back in March, there was a flurry of stories stating that the New York Times' Sunday-only City Section was headed for the dustbin, the victim on the pinched budgets and dwindling cash flow over at the Paper of Record.
The Times, however, refused to comment one way or another. And the City Section just kept appearing, filled, as always, with quirky and interesting tales of Gotham seen on an extremely local level.
Today, however, it can't be found. On the Times website, the City Section used to be fairly easy to locate on a Sunday. Sometimes it won a spot on the Home Page. More commonly, all you had to do was click on N.Y/Region, and it led you to a page where you could spot an obvious link to the City Section. Today, there are just a lot of multimedia slide shows and blog links where the City Section link used to be. I've searched the site far and wide and can't find the section. When I did finally locate the City Section link (by tracing it through a previous City Section story), it led me to last Sunday's line-up of stories. My fear is that May 17 was the final edition of the section.
The City Section was created in 1993, meaning it had a 16-year run—not bad, when all is said and done. I'm sad to see it go. For many years, it was my favorite section of the Sunday paper. It had those flavorful, small-scaled reports that gave you an idea of the kind of town New York really was; it told you the big picture by zooming in on a lot of small pictures.
Since beginning this blog, I have at times been more impatient with the editorial approach of the section than I had been in the past. My feeling was that it was missing the boat the wide-scale demolition of small businesses and the cultural fabric of neighborhoods instigated by the pro-development, pro-wealth, anti-preservation policies of the Bloomberg administration. Still, it was still capable of unearthing wonderful stories of New York's varied cultures and rich history. It's a loss for the paper, and the City. No way around it.
On W. 52nd Street near Eighth. The business is defunct. They were masonry contractors.
With Brooks 1890 Restaurant in Long Island City, the "Who Goes There?" feature I write for Eater ventures for the first time into Queens. (Manhattan has been covered fairly well, so far; Brooklyn has been the focus twice; The Bronx and Staten Island not at all. Suggestions are welcome!)
Few old New York restaurants look more like a movie set than Brooks 1890. One can easily imagine Big Tim Sullivan, smoking a big cigar, adjusting his derby, his huge stomach straining against a fine tweed vest, walking through the entrance and down the stairs of the boxy, red-brick building.
For whatever reason, Brooks 1890 has never been as celebrated, or even noticed, as much as its fellows of the same basic era—Peter Luger, Old Homestead, Keen's, P.J. Clarke's. You can barely find much evidence it even exists on the Internet. It has no website, and, in this day of Menupages and the like, there's no copy of its bill of fare on the web. Curious.
Here's what I found out:
Who Goes There? Brooks 1890 Restaurant
On approach, Brooks 1890 Restaurant can look like the Last Restaurant on Earth, so lonely and isolated does it appear on its dark corner of Long Island City’s Jackson Boulevard. But sitting inside, looking at the grand Long Island City Court House, clearly visible through the windows, and watching the commuters emerge from and descending into the 23rd St/Ely Avenue stop of the E and V lines—which lies directly alongside the north end of the building—one can imagine how, decades ago, this dark-wood bar and eatery reigned as the designated chop house of back-room Queens politics.
It still gets its share of jurists and local union officials, but they come mainly for lunch, when the trade is enough to fill out the larger dining room accessible through a door to the left of the bar. (There is a “Jurist’s Special” at lunch.) At dinnertime, the lights are switched off in that room, and the place is quiet as a graveyard, with a few loyal customers eating solo, and a handful of regulars holding up the bar. Traffic dies down so, that most nights, Brooks rolls up the sidewalk around 8 PM (though the management doesn’t complain if some wish to hang out a little longer).
The bill of fare is simple—burgers, sandwiches, Italian dishes, various cuts of meat. Portions are generous and prices are reasonable. The only exotic aspect of the menu is the offer to prepare any meat dish “Brooks style.” This involves the deployment of plenty of onions, oregano and lemon, and is not a bad way to embellish your dish. There’s also a “Bobby Burger” (fried onions, bacon and blue cheese), named after a frequent diner who likes his patties that way.
The bar room has all the Gilded Age touches you’d expect from a joint founded in 1890—tile floor, tin ceilings (painted a unique and engaging combination of ochre and sagebrush), touches of stained glass—but is more snug that is usually the case. The slightly elevated, L-shaped dining area is separated from the bar by a series of dark wooden pillars. The walls are unusually free of the typical historical paraphernalia you see in these sort of places—no plaques or old photos; just one newspaper clipping.
Which brings up to the most frustrating aspect of Brooks 1890 Restaurant. Its origins are an unsolved case, one which nobody working there seems very keen on cracking. Mr. Brooks (actually Bill "Brooks" Gounaris) bought the place in the 1970s and stuck his name everywhere—on the sign hanging from the building, even on the sidewalk outside the entrance. But what went on in the place during the 70 years before that is anybody’s guess. The letters “K” and “N” are part of a beautiful, stained-glass canopy behind the bar. These likely stand for the last names of the founders of the restaurant, but nobody knows who “K” and “N” were.
Did they serve pork chops “K & N Style”? Could be.
—Brooks of Sheffield
Working bulbs on the "Garden" side. No bulbs on the "Winter" side. Ladder in the middle. A job half done as of noon. But you can bet that, at curtaintime, the "Mamma Mia!" fans will be the full-wattage benefit of the Winter Garden's marquee.
Big surprise! The Arby's fast food chain had a really plan for the landmarked interior of Brooklyn's Gage & Toller restaurant.
Actual surpise! The Landmarks Commission actually rejected the lousy plan.
Wrote Brownstoner: "A majority (six) of the LPC commissioners voted to send the Arby's team back to the drawing board, taking particular exception to their plans for a light-colored floor and the size and structure of the booths and ordering counter; in addition, the commissioners didn't care for the proposed removal of a portion of the mirrored arcade and the addition of certain illuminated signs."
Here's betting that, rather than work a little harder and care a little more, Arby's says "Fuck it" and walks away from the deal.
The recent news about the coming possible loss of Bazzini's nuts and dry foods store on Greenwich Street got me to thinking that it was time to take a tally of what history is left in Tribeca that lives and breathes and isn't just a handsome stone shell housing ritzy condominiums. Well, there isn't much. A lot of beautiful architecture. But few slivers of functioning history. So many of Tribeca's living landmarks, including El Teddy's and Montrachet, have died in recent years (and even they weren't of such phenomenal importance). And the nabe's days as an industrial and warehousing center, where New York went to get much of its foodstuffs, are well in the distant past. In other words, if you're looking for Old Tribeca, go to Hunts Point. For what's left, look here.
THE NEW YORK SUN BUILDING: We'll start on Broadway and Chambers Street. The old headquarters of the New York Sun (the first one), which ceased publication in 1950, wouldn't be worth a mention if it weren't for those wonderful clocks latched to the north and south corners of the structure. Each bears the paper's name and its motto "The Sun Shines for All." The southern ornament is a four-sided clock; the northern one tells the temperature. Both were broken for many years, but recently have been in good working order much of the time. I hope they're never taken down.
DUANE READE: Walk to the block of Broadway between Duane and Reade Streets. Here stood the future pharmacy giant's first warehouse. That's right: it got its name from a couple of random streets. (A block north and it would have been called Thomas Duane, which still sounds like someone's real name.) Nearly 50 years after its founding, it's still got a stranglehold on the city.
ODEON: Walk north to Thomas Street and turn left to West Broadway. In Tribeca, 30 years is an eon for a restaurant. Odeon was the "21" Club of the 1980s, the joint where all the hip, hot, young writers hung out. You may not have thought much of McInerney, Ellis, Janowitz and the like, but theirs was a literary scene like we haven't seen since and probably won't see again. They were the Last of the Fitzgeralds. (Bookwriters don't generate social scenes anymore.) Logic would dictate that Odeon should have faded with the careers of its habitues. But somehow it's survived and thrived. Before Odeon came along, this was the old Tower Cafeteria.
COSMOPOLITAN HOTEL: Walk south to Chambers Street. Here is the boxy, spartan Cosmopolitan Hotel, favorite of young, visiting European tourists. It was once the Hotel Bond. According to some sources, this is the oldest, ongoing, extant hotel building in the city. The address has been used for that function since 1861, when the Civil War began.
BAZZINI: Go west on Chambers to Greenwich Street and travel three blocks north to Jay Street. Want to know what Tribeca was like a century ago? Imagine a hundred stores like Bazzini, warehouses selling of nuts, fruit, eggs, cheese and whatever along every street. None of them looked as nice and slick as this 120-year-old company; Bazzini stayed in business by converting its factory into a gourmet store. Recent reports are that current owner Rocco D'Amato wants to get out and call it quits.
STAPLES STREET: Walk a half block east along Jay to Staples Street. This narrow passageway runs two blocks from Duane and Harrison. (Duane Harrison!—another good name for a drug store!) Once, here is where you went to get eggs, cheese, milk—staples, in other words.
HARRISON STREET HOUSES: Walk north on Staples, turn left on Harrison and cross Greenwich. Here are a lovely set of beautifully preserve Federal house, dating from the early 1800s. Wouldn't you like to live in one of them?
TRIBECA GRILL'S BAR: Walk one more block north to the corner of Greenwich and Franklin. Robert DeNiro's vanity restaurant doesn't interest me, though the food's OK. What's interesting here is the bar, which used to belong to a better and far more famous restaurant: the one and only Maxwell's Plum.
WALKER'S: Walk to North Moore and turn right two blocks until you hit the corner of Varick. I've always had a bit of a problem with Walker's claim that it's one of the oldest bars in the city. What it is is an old building that's often been used as a bar since the 1890s. But not the same bar. And sometimes not even a bar: it was an Irish restaurant in the '40s, then a Spanish eatery in the '50s. Jerry Walker, who also owns the Ear Inn, brought the place bar to its original purpose in 1987. Oh well. In Tribeca, you'll take historical patina where you can't get actual history.
FOURTH PRECINCT, NYPD: Head up one block north to the corner of Varick and Ericsson Place. This Renaissance Revival building is the 4th Precinct of the NYPD. Used to be the 1st precinct. The facade says both 4th and 1st.
ST. JOHN'S LANE: Look across from the precinct house, to the block bounded by Hudson, Varick, and Laight Streets and Ericsson Place, and heave a sigh. This was once St. John's Park, a private park as elegant as Gramercy Park, surrounded by red brick Federal row houses and anchored by St. John's Chapel. It died in 1866 when Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt bought the park and constructed a freight warehouse for the Hudson River Railroad. The Holland Tunnel was then built in 1927. A little further east is a small alley called St. John's Lane—all that's left to remember the area's bucolic past.
AT&T HEADQUARTERS: Take Ericsson east to Sixth Avenue between Walker and Lispenard. An immense Art Deco gem, completed in 1932, with a fantastic lobby, if you can find a way to see it. The guards aren't that friendly. AT&T is long gone.
CAPSOUTO FRERES: Walk back to Greenwich, go five blocks north (right) to Watts and turn left one block. Nice restaurant. Been around about 30 years. But it's in this survey for two reasons. One, it's housed in one of the most beautiful buildings in Tribeca, a neo-Flemish beauty done up in hues of orange and gold, built back in 1892 when someone apparently thought that this grimy neighborhood of warehouses deserved a lovely building. Two, there's an old wooden phone booth in the basement, near the bathrooms.
Brian Berger, the inventive, thoughtful, and sui generis author of the blog Who Walk in Brooklyn, recently invited me to be interviewed. I don't exactly get interviewed every day, but I must say this was without a doubt the most fanciful and unusual interrogation I've ever received, replete with questions both highly perceptive and entertainingly oddball. The man knows how to construct an entertaining talk. (This is not an easy task, mind you. I've conducted hundreds of interviews in my day, and rendering them into good reading is often heavy labor.)
If you have a spare half hour, here's the link. Brian has also accompanied the Q&A with several engrossing videos, photos and documents.
Say goodbye to another shard of independent shopkeeping along Park Slope's Fifth Avenue.
The landlord of The Record and Tape Center, a shop which has sat near Ninth Street for 38 years (I blogged about it recently), is kicking old owner Tony Mignone, 73, to the curb. The loutish landowners are threatening to take the poor old guy to court if he's not out by May 31. Typical genteel landlord behavior. Something about owning property triggers the "thuggery" section of the brain.
If you want to tell the landlord what you think of his behavior, the family owns the Deli and Smoke Shop next door. Go inside and give them an earful—and then decline to buy anything. Ever. Again.
Geez, how long does Mignone have until he retired of his own free will? Let the guy stay a few more years and them close the place in dignity.
One day there's a handpainted Target on the side of a neighborhood store. The next day there's a big red rectangle.
The quasi-folksy ad, the creation of which I documented last month, is gone. It was there on Hicks Street near Union last night. This morning, it had vanished. Apparently, Target only rented the wall for a month. Once the month was up, the landlord of the building got out his bucket of barn-red paint and obliterated the thing. Must have done it by the light of the moon.
Here's the thing: That ad took about four days to paint, and wasn't completed until April 23. Today is May 20. The only way that works out as a month is if the landlord was counting the rented month from the very first day the painter set up his ladder.
Target: you have met your match in tight-fisted stinginess.
UPDATE: EV Grieve reports that the same thing has happened to the Target ad in the East Village.
There's been lots of good news for bikers lately. City Hall seems to be encouraging the increased use of bicycles to get around and about. One of the ways they have been helping matters is in multiplying the number of bike lanes in the metropolis. It seems a new lane crops up every couple months or so in my neighborhood, on Kane Street or Congress Street or Columbia.
All that notwithstanding, I still have found something to complain about. One of the first (and, for a long time, one of the only) bike lanes in Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens was the Union Street path, running from Henry Street all the way to Prospect Park. But, while other new lanes are busy being painted, Union Street has gone neglected in the most abominable fashion.
Between Henry Street and Court Street, you can barely see the white lines marking the lane. They've long ago been rubbed away by weather, wind and too many tires. The same goes for the bike-rider symbols. The one pictured below is one of the few that can be made out by the human eye at all.
What's more, the lane is utterly riddled with potholes, and various half-assed attempts to fill them in. You can literally hardly go a yard or two without encountering not just one pothole, but a cluster of them. The lane is simply not passable. One must weave in and out of the lane, and into the traffic, in order to achieve a smooth, safe ride.
The mysterious thing about this is, there are very few potholes on Union Street proper; they're all clustered in the bike lane. It's enough to provoke conspiracy theories. Did the city use lower quality asphalt in the bike lane than it did in the car lane?
160 Imlay, the monstrous, off-white, New York Dock Co. building in Red Hook, has cast back the dark veil it has worn for several years.
Covered in black netting since well before Obama was elected, the huge structure can now be seen in its full sepulchral glory. I'm sure this has something to do with October 2008 ruling that swept aside for once and all the legal challenges that has blocked 160 from being converted to residential use.
But what next?
Two months ago, I posted the image of a postcard advertising the old Yorkville restaurant, the Bavarian Inn. I marveled at the time at the line of German storefronts then lining 86th Street: Dei Lorelei, another very popular German restaurant of the time, was right next door, and Karl Ehmer, a German butcher, was on the other side.
I, of course, assume Ehmer's business was long dead and buried. But today I was shopping in the Red Hook Fairway and what do I see, next to the Schaller & Weber meat products, but a package of cooked bratwurst made by...Karl Ehmer. "Since 1932," read the logo.
There was a website address, so I looked it up and, whaddaya know, Karl Ehmer didn't go out of business. The Ehmer family (two grandsons now run it) is still churning out sausage in Ridgewood. Oh, certainly, that 86th Street store is gone, as are many others. Ehmer has have a manufacturing plant in Ridgewood since back in the 1940s. He would team up with store managers to co-own Karl Ehmer stores throughout the city and beyond. Karl would put up the money, and the managers would run the shops, carrying fine Ehmer products. It was a chain, and they were franchises, basically. By 1970, there were 30 Ehmer stores; by the late '70s, there were 50, some as far flung as Florida and Pennsylvania. His stuff always cost more, but it was better quality; the pigs came from his own farm in the Hudson Valley.
Due to changing demographics, the number of stores eventually shrunk. There are still a few left, apparently (one's in Ridgewood)—just none in Manhattan. Mainly, Ehmer producers are carried by other stores, like Fairway.
Hey, another reason to visit Ridgewood.
It's hard not to like Ting's Gift Shop, the bright red oddity at the corner of Pell Street and Doyers.
When, on a recent trip to Chinatown, my son was growing ever more bored by the minute, I knew where to head: Ting's cramped storefront, where there's just enough room to turn yourself around in a survey of all the quirky little thingamajigs your scant money can buy. Back-scratchers, finger traps, squirting toy slot machines, joy buzzers, little pieces of ceramic statuary, tiny Buddhas, plastic snakes, yo-yos, old Chinese newspapers, paper fans, tons of incense, paper lanterns. Just shelves and shelves of weird, weird, weird. And all for 15 cents, 65 cents, a dollar, a dollar fifty. The really expensive stuff will set you back three dollars.
It's all crap, of course. But when you put so much colorful, oddball crap like that together in a tight space, it's wondrous.
The Shem Tov Restaurant of Borough Park gives you great signage on three sides of the same building. How's that for public service?
When I posted an old article about "Where to Eat in New York, Circa 1934" a couple months ago, I had no idea what some of the places were. One of the mysterious forgotten eateries was the Oyster Bay Restaurant on 674 Eighth Avenue, which was described as the "Oldest sea-food and chop house in New York."
A helpful reader recently helped to elucidate the situation a bit by sending in the above postcard. Take a gander
It's one of those cheapo, tourist-bait, electronic stores now.
Since buying a copy of the Luchow's cookbook, I have tried this recipe more often than any other. As one might expect of New York's preeminent German restaurant, their Wiener Schnitzel can't be beat. I personally make it with chicken more often than I do veal. And, in the case of both meats, thinly cut breast cuts are now commonly available, so there's no need to pound the meat thin, eliminating the most arduous step of this recipe.
Breaded Veal Cutlet (Wiener Schnitzel)
4 6-ounce veal cutlets
Flour
3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
1 egg, beaten
1 teaspoon minced parsley
1/2 teaspoon salthttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 cup milk
6 tablespoons butter
Juice 3/4 lemon
Parsley for garnish
Wipe meat with damp cloth; pound very thin; dip lightly in flour. Mix cheese, 2 tablespoons flour, egg, parsley, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and milk. Beat smooth. Dip floured cutlets in this batter. Cook over low heat in 4 tablespoons butter until golden and tender.
Remove cutlets to warmed serving platter and keep them hot. Heat remaining butter until darkened; add lemon juice. Stir and pour over cutlets. Garnish with parsley.
An editorial from the May 16 New York Times:
Mayor Bloomberg’s Rich Campaign
Months ahead of schedule, Mayor Michael Bloomberg of New York City seems to be running frantically for re-election, much the way he did as an unknown eight years ago. Despite polls showing his increasing popularity among New Yorkers, the mayor has already spent $18.7 million on his re-election campaign — more than three times the limit for primary candidates who use public campaign money.
At the same time, his political operatives are busily sending out negative information, especially about Representative Anthony Weiner, even though Mr. Weiner is still not firmly in the race.
This is starting to look like overkill. The mayor is expected to saunter easily into a third term, but the negative track of his campaign belies his claims about taking the high road and running the positive race of an easy front-runner. Meanwhile, the money he is spending and expected to spend undermines the foundations of the city’s model campaign-financing system.
The constant hammering at Mr. Weiner, who has said he will decide whether to run in a couple of weeks, has forced the House member to spend his time explaining why he missed a few votes in Congress and had to return campaign funds from foreign citizens. It’s not clear whether these tactics reflect a real fear of Mr. Weiner’s political might or the Bloomberg people simply want to goad him into a primary contest with Comptroller William Thompson, the leading Democrat right now. In any case, these maneuvers lend a thuggish cast to Mr. Bloomberg’s Park Avenue-style campaign.
As for his bulging campaign budget, Mr. Bloomberg would have made a better choice by honoring the spending limits imposed on candidates who participate in the city’s financing system. The system limits spending in primary campaigns to $6.2 million — and about the same amount in the general election. Democratic candidates must observe the limit in the primary, but, because Mr. Bloomberg has opted out, they can raise and spend as much as they want in the general election.
Mr. Bloomberg argues that by spending his own money, he is beholden to just one person — himself. But, if spending his own money sends the message that only the rich can win elections, politics in New York City will be far poorer as a result.
I didn't know about the Risposi Pastry Shop of north Bensonhurst until I passed it on my bike the other days. They're supposed to be renowned for their cannoli. The homemade ices also have their fans. Have not been able to determine the age of the place. Beautiful old bakery, inside and out. And wonderful signage.
I saw this amazing domicile along Stillwell Avenue on the way to Coney Island. I comes just before the road passes over Coney Island Creek. It's amazingly narrow. What you see on the front is basically what you get. It doesn't get appreciably wider as the house goes back. I guess people work with the plot they get.
Conducting a smear campaign against non-Mayoral candidate Anthony Weiner, and then lying about it. [NY Times via Queens Crap]
Placing puff pieces about himself watching his totally grown daughters riding horses. He's a family man! [NY Times]
Getting deposed in connection with a discrimination lawsuit against the financial services and media giant he founded. The suit says Bloomberg and his company discriminated against pregnant women. [City Room]
Playing the teacher's union so as to best increase his margin of victory. [The Village Voice]
Picking a Wall Street guy who used to work at Lehman Brothers to head up the Housing Authority. [Gothamist]
This Borough Park business, on New Utrecht Avenue, is defunct. Steamer trunks!
Love the way they abbreviate "Manufacturers." 
Residents of Woodside, Queens, love where they live. They crow about the sense of community, the safeness, the good schools, etc. To the uninitiated, though, you have to squint a bit to see the charm. Woodside is notably lacking in green spaces or grand structures, and the housing stock is so ramshackle and just plain ugly, it could make Williamsburg look good. (Admit it: Williamsburg is homely.) But I've come to appreciate the place over the years. It is homey, and, as New York nabes go, completely without pretensions. Also, though its Irish roots show most vividly, it is a melting-pot community in the best sense. And the 7 line elevated tracks that cast its downtown in shadow give the place a distinctly old, working-class New York air.
ORANGE HUT: We're going to start way out at the northern end of Woodside, at the Northern Boulevard stop of the R and V trains, where Northern meets 54th. Here is the singular Orange Hut, one of the best breakfast-and-lunch-only diners in the city. Also one of the cheapest. It began life as a White Tower Restaurant in 1930.
PLAYBILL: Walk down 54th Street to 37th Avenue. Turn left and walk a number of blocks to 61st Street. Turn right here and you'll see a two-story, brick building with a familiar, big yellow sign on it saying "Playbill." This is where the theatrical publishers make the programs that serve Broadway and Off-Broadway shows every day.
ST. PAUL'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH: Walk along 61st to 39th Avenue. The sad, boarded-up church on the corner is St. Paul's, a Gothic Revival wooden church that was founded and built in 1874, when Woodside was little more than a kind of frontier town. It was—unbelievably—never landmarked, and suffered a terrible fire in December 2007. Its situation hasn't improved much since then. But at least it hasn't been razed.
STATION CAFE: Keep walking on 61st Street, under the LIRR tracks. Just as you reemerge into the light again on the other side, you'll see this dive to beat all dives. The squat building with red-metal siding and a perpetually drooping awning has stood its ground here for 80 or more years, making sure Woodsidians are not denied beer at 9 AM. God bless its heart.
STOP INN DINER: Pause at the corner of 61st and Roosevelt Avenue, the center of life in Woodside. Across the street is a diner with a punning name, the Stop Inn. It doesn't look like much, but most everyone in Woodside pays a call on this place once or twice a week. It's a standard diner, with fewer frills than most. But it truly grows on you. There has been an eatery at this corner since 1935, when Ray's Diner opened.
V&V BAKERY: Turn left, back into the shadows of the elevated train tracks. A few yards east is the tiny V&V Bakery, which has baked bread and treats on this site for at least 40 years. Family owned as far as I can tell.
ST. SEBASTIAN CHURCH: Turn around and walk up Roosevelt Avenue to 57th St. Here is St. Sebastian's Church, the hub of Irish-American religious life in Woodside. It's not very beautiful, but it's what they've got. The structure opened in 1952. If you turn around and look past the nearby public square, you can see the associated St. Sebastian School, which is a few decades older. It stands on the site of the old Kelly family mansion. According to Forgotten New York, "Kelly's son, John A.F. Kelly, pursued a career as a journalist and co-founded a newspaper with his sister, Maria, published out of Brooklyn. The paper was eventually bought out by the Brooklyn Times, but Kelly stayed on as a columnist. At this time Kelly was living in Brooklyn, but he wrote a column called Letters From Woodside about life at his parents' estate, which he called Woodside." And that's how the neighborhood got its ironical name. (No woods about now.)
DONOVAN'S: Directly across the street from St. Sebastian's is a sprawling, one-story, white-sided building. Donovan's is Woodside's heart, if you ask me. It's been here since the 1960s, which, by Woodside standards, makes it fantastically old. And though Woodside has many, many Irish Pubs, this is its ur-Pub. It is absolutely comfortable inside. There are many rooms, but stick to the oldest of them, straight to the back as you enter, with the fireplace. Donovan's is renowned for their burgers, so give one a try. The Shepherd's Pie is good, too.
MICHAEL SPILLANE: OK, a bit of a detour here. Turn left (south) on 54th Street to Queens Boulevard. Cross over and turn left to 59th Street, and turn right to No. 47-50. On May 13, 1977, Michael Spillane, former leader of the Westies Gang, was murdered outside this building, where he lived. Spillane had fled Hell's Kitchen for Woodside when his authority in Manhattan was brutally challenged. The move didn't save him, though.
NUNZIATO FLORIST: Get yourself back to Roosevelt, turn left and walk to No. 5128. The family-owned Nunziato has been around since 1901. The cramped, oddly shaped building, forever enveloped in darkness, is a poignant sight. City Councilman Eric Gioia is a scion of the Nunziato clan.
In New York City, circa 2009, if you see a large painted advertisement on the side of a building, you can pretty much take for granted that, 9 times out of 10, it's for a business that is long defunct.
Not so on Diamond Row in Midtown. Above you see a painted ad for Dyckman's jewelers. And what business do you find directly below the old ad? Dyckman's jewelers!
Further down the street, a painted ad for Ross Refiners can easily be seen. Operating out of the ground floor of that building? Ross Refiners!
Amazing how it works.
On my last trip to Bensonhurst, I identified JC Bakery on 86th Street as a particularly wonderful example of an old-school bake shop. I biked by recently, however, and the name of the ancient place had changed to Pippo's. What happened? Anyone know?
How long does a car have to sit in one place before it grows a beard of ivy?
The Orthodox Jewish community is very industrious in created culinary options for itself that match what are available to the non-kosher. There's kosher pizzerias, kosher Chinese, kosher sushi, kosher steak houses, kosher food stands at the various ballparks, kosher Thai, and the list goes on.
But here's one that I hadn't know about. Kosher diner! The Glatt Diner, all worked out to look like a classic silver diner car, is on New Utrecht Avenue in Borough Park. It says on the side that it's "One of Brooklyn's Most Famous Eateries Since 1947." Maybe so. I've never known about it, though. And it looks rather newer than that. They got all the regular diner food, but also a heck of a lot of Chinese selections and a Schwarma section on the menu.
It's open until midnight most nights, and 1 AM on Thursdays—night-owl hours for the Orthodox community. But it's closed on Fridays and Saturdays, of course. And of all the street chef figures in New York, this one's gotta be unique: a red-jacketed waiter with a yarmulke. 
Many questions surround the upcoming closure of Manny's, the musical instrument institution on W. 48th Street's Music Row. When is the closing date? Is there a closing date? Will Manny's life be extended? Who controls whether the lease is extended or not—Sam Ash or Rockefeller Center? What's to become of the walls of photos of famous musicians?
The question that weighs most on my mind, however, is, what will become of "Old Yellow." Old Yellow is the nickname of a gnarled, tortured Danolectro guitar. For many years, it was Manny's tester guitar. It has been held and played by every great guitar players you can mention from Clapton to Hendrix. Both George Harrison and John Lennon wanted to buy it. Someone accurately described it as the Blarney Stone of the Music Industry.
The headstock broke off some time ago, and now the guitar sits on display in a Plexiglass case. Surely, this must be donated to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It is doubtless the most valuable artifact in the store, and one of the most valuable in New York music history.
The old F trains (by "old," I mean the ones that were there before the new shiny R160s began to arrive) are undergoing a curious conversion. I walked into one last night and found a bizarre patchwork seating design. In some places, there were the usual dingy orange bucket seats. In other places, they had been replaced by sleek pale-blue modules, similar (maybe the same) as the ones found on the R160s.
What's going on here. Is the MTA slowly trying to make over the old trains as makeshift R160s? Is this their way of transforming the line into a uniform whole without the expense of replacing every old car with an R160? Will I see fewer and fewer orange seats every time I ride an F?
As of yesterday, men were hard at work repairing a piddling little section of the crumbling Coney Island boardwalk. I've read the City coughed up enough money to rehab 15 blocks of the 42-block stretch. From the looks of the fenced-in area, however, it seems like far less. But, hey, I'm grateful for what we can get.
The new brown would is going to look curious next to the stretches of old, decaying grey wood, which creaks and groans as you walk over it. (I swore it was going to collapse at a few points. That boardwalk is old.) At the pace they're going, I'm guessing they'll be done with the work by early June.
Saw this sign in the window of 129 E. 60th Street—better known as the home of the 72-year-old French restaurant Le Veau d'Or. The owner of the venerable bistro, which does things as they were 50 years ago, is lovable, crusty old Frenchman Robert Treboux, and he is owner of the building as well. So, if you wish, you could have Monsieur Treboux as your landlord. I'm not sure he would be easy, but he certainly would be interesting.
It's been nearly a year since the iconic Rainbow Cafe of Sunset Park shuttered following the death of its owner. Last July, the building, which boasts one of the most fabulous pieces of signage in NYC, was put on the block for $3.25 million. By December, with the Great Recession well underway, it was no longer for sale, but for rent.
Today, it remains for rent as "Bar or Store." I suspect, in this economy, it will remain so for some time.
The arrival of Fairway and IKEA in Red Hook has given the surrounding neighborhood a lot of things. Easy access to gourmet food and cheap furniture, for one. And increased reckless traffic down Columbia and Van Brunt Streets for another.
At around noon May 12 there was an accident at the intersection of Columbia and President Streets. A van and a motorcycle collided. The man on the motorcycle was thrown off his bike and broke his leg.
This has long been a dangerous intersection. There are stop lights at nearby Union and Degraw streets, but none at President. One needs to be installed there for one gigantic reason. There is a vest-pocket playground called Mother Cabrini Park on President Street between Columbia and Van Brunt. The neighborhood is full of young children, and parents and their kids are constantly crossing Columbia Street at President in order to go the park. The lack of a stop light continually endangers these children.
I have talked to mothers and nannies who told about having to wait 20 minutes to cross Columbia due to the ongoing traffic. (There are also no stop lights at Carroll and Summit streets to the south, giving cars and trucks plenty of room to speed up.) Everyone at the accident—from shopkeepers to local to nannies to parents—talked about how dangerous the crossing was and about the desperate need for a stop light. The keeper of the corner store said this is the second accident he has witnessed in recent months.
Time to get that petition going.
I usually don't do public announcements for cultural events, but I'm doing this one on an upcoming exhibition of photos of the Queensboro Bridge Trolley because the press agent sent me the cool photo above, which I just love.
According to the press release, "In 1957, in anticipation of the last run of the trolley service, then-19-year old photographer Sid Kaplan took pictures of the Queensboro trolley, its drivers, passengers, entrance kiosks and, of course, the Queensboro Bridge and its environs."
A selection of Kaplan's photographs, which have never been exhibited, will be displayed at the Roosevelt Island Visitor Center Kiosk on Roosevelt Island at the Tram Plaza in a special exhibition that coincides with the 100th anniversary of the Queensboro Bridge.
Things to notice in this photo: The Schlitz beer sign above the kiosk; Frank's Italian Restaurant in the background, which looks like a fine place to eat; and the long lost northern pillar bordering the bridge (the southern pillar still exist).
The exhibition is free and will run from Sunday, May 31 to Sunday, July 5. The Visitor Center is the only surviving and functioning kiosk of the five original kiosks.
It looks like Coney Island will have to muddle along for half the summer without Totonno's pizzeria.
The classic old pizza joint has been shuttered since a fire in mid-March. At the time, the owner Lawrence Ciminieri pledged the place would reopen in a month's time. A walk-by on May 11, however, found the place this closed. A call to Totonno's Manhattan locations revealed that mid-July is now the target unveiled. Let's hope so. Coney, so denuded of its many former attractions, needs its world-class pie.
From the May 11 New York Times:
Congressman Accuses Bloomberg Campaign of Spreading Negative Stories
By MICHAEL BARBARO
Like clockwork, the calls from reporters arrive around 4 p.m., sending Representative Anthony D. Weiner’s staff members scurrying to defend their boss.
Did Mr. Weiner solicit campaign contributions from foreign fashion models, asked one reporter. Was his fight to save a hospital a political favor for a donor, asked another.
“It is just every single day,” Mr. Weiner said. “It’s surreal.”
But the last straw, he said, was an article in The New York Post claiming that he had repeatedly skipped votes in Congress to play hockey in New York — a claim that his staff denied.
Mr. Weiner said that despite backing away from plans to run for mayor this year, he remains the target of a well-orchestrated smear campaign that can be traced to the re-election bid of Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg.
The mayor, he said, is running “the most consistently and relentlessly negative campaign that I and many people I know have seen.”
Mr. Weiner characterized the research behind critical news articles about him as “daily Dumpster diving.”
“I am only a quasi candidate right now and this is what they are doing,” he said in an interview.
Jill Hazelbaker, a spokeswoman for the Bloomberg campaign, would not address Mr. Weiner’s claim that the campaign was behind the negative press.
“This is an argument between Anthony Weiner and the New York press corps,” she said. “If he chooses to play hockey instead of doing his job in Washington, if he chooses to accept questionable campaign contributions, if he chooses to put press conferences ahead of passing legislation, then it’s no one’s fault but his own when reporters write about those choices.”
The press coverage may be backfiring on the Bloomberg campaign. Rather than driving him out of the race, the negative press makes him “more inclined to run, not less,” said Jim Margolis, a political strategist close to Mr. Weiner.
“I don’t walk away from a fight,” Mr. Weiner said. “I am certainly not letting Bloomberg’s strategy knock me off the beam.”
Mr. Weiner said he was speaking out about the issue because of what he views as hypocrisy: Mr. Bloomberg is publicly pledging a “positive campaign,” while his campaign is generating many of the stories, which have appeared in the city’s three major daily newspapers as well as on local television news programs.
“There is an inherent dishonesty about it,” he said. “Everyone is in on the joke except the voters.”
Ms. Hazelbaker said the mayor “continues to run a positive campaign and positive advertising based on his record and vision for the future.”
Conducting research on opponents and leaking the findings to reporters is hardly unusual in politics — indeed, Mr. Weiner has done it in previous campaigns. But Mr. Weiner, a six-term Democratic congressman from Brooklyn, is not even a full-fledged candidate in the mayoral race.
After pledging to run, he told supporters in early March that he was reconsidering and would not decide whether to enter the race until the end of May.
Nevertheless, the Bloomberg campaign commissioned a telephone poll that asked New Yorkers, among other questions, if their views of Mr. Weiner would be different if they knew of certain problems involving the congressman, like missing votes in Congress, having difficulty keeping staff and accepting campaign donations from people who stood to benefit from legislation he sponsored.
Several of those issues have become the subjects of news articles that Mr. Weiner and his staff assert were planted by Mr. Bloomberg’s campaign. Mr. Bloomberg is known for hiring aggressive opposition research teams that bombard rival campaigns with negative press.
During a public symposium shortly after Mr. Bloomberg won re-election in 2005, aides to his Democratic challenger, Fernando Ferrer, grudgingly commended the mayor’s research team, led by Stu Loeser, for “outgunning” them.
“You could set a clock to it,” said Nick Baldick, Mr. Ferrer’s campaign manager. “Stu’s first shot would be at 4 p.m., his second shot would be at about 5:15.”
At the time, Mr. Loeser responded: “That’s actually not true, and you should blame the press. Because we would send it out earlier.”
Mr. Loeser, now the mayor’s press secretary, later added, “We had a number of people” doing research on the mayor’s opponents.
Mr. Weiner said he was especially galled by several recent news articles in The Post, including the one accusing him of skipping votes to play hockey, published on Thursday. A spokeswoman for The Post declined to comment.
The Post has also written three articles about campaign contributions to Mr. Weiner from those with ties to the modeling industry, which stood to benefit from a bill he sponsored. Two of the articles focused on $1,400 in illegal donations from fashion models who live outside the United States. Mr. Weiner, who has raised $5 million for the race, has since returned the contributions. Ms. Hazelbaker said Mr. Weiner’s reaction to such stories “is emblematic of a typical politician who refuses to take responsibility for his actions.”
“When someone holds elected office, the press examines their record — that’s the way the public is best served.”
Mr. Weiner said one reason not to run a brass-knuckles campaign is that “you know it looks bad.”
The mayor, he said, “has succeeded in doing it without anybody even looking.”
Construction workers labored steadily today on the slow dismantling of 217 Court Street in Cobble Hill, which partially collapsed last week due to excessive main (and, probably, years of neglect). Men were throwing everything from pieces of wood to chunks of brick and sheets of rusted metal from a third-floor window into a dumpster below.
Not only the buildings on either side of 217 have been vacated in the meantime. Also affected is the pristine residence around the corner, 251 Warren Street. Occupants of the rear part of the building have been told to get out while demolition occurs. A hand-written note on the door also reveals that an innocent cat may be caught up in the machinery of demolition. Oh, the humanity.
The Long Island City bar and restaurant is one of my favorite eating establishments in the city, not least of all because nobody seems to know much about its history.
It's also cool because it sports the only neon Moretti Beer sign I have ever seen.
Here's a fun oddity in Chinatown. A classic bodega awning that announces the entrance to...nothing! The deli is long gone. A construction site office has replaced it. There is no store whatsoever. Just the overhanging plastic awning remains. Nice piece of unintentional absurdist site-specific street art.
On the side of 88 Perry Street, the old building at the corner of Bleecker in Greenwich Village, there's an beautiful blue-and-white mosaic in the shape of the door. In the center, it says "Ano 1868." The story goes that, when the building was renovated in 1972, the owners commissioned Senior Rodrigues, an artist from Seville, to created a mural for a recessed part of the wall. Since then, it's become a kind of a local landmark. People use the mural as a place to meet and such like that.
Problem is, the alteration was not properly recorded with the Landmarks Commission. And now—after 37 years of letting it be—the commission wants the owner of 88 Perry Street to remove the mosaic and restore the building to its original 1972 appearance.
Now, this decision would make sense if the owner had done something abhorrently ugly to the old building back in 1972. But he added something beautiful, instead. Certainly, he should have checked in with the Commission before doing so; every landlord of a landmarked building should. But at this point, the mural should be grandfathered in as a more recent part of the building's colorful Village history.
A lot of Villagers think so, too. A petition is being circulated around the neighborhood in favor of saving the mosaic. Locals are busy cooking up other ways to put pressure on the Commission, as well. The West Village Committee, elected officials and Community Board 2 are being asked to help.
As one local aptly stated it to Lost City: "My neighbors and I feel that the Landmarks Commission should be busy safeguarding the Village from oversize commercial overdevelopment. This is what truly matters! Instead they are advocating the removal of this charming little mural."
UPDATE: There's further reporting on this matter on Curbed, in which the Commission seems to be taken a somewhat softer, if not exactly less silly, stand on the matter.
In Long Island City. The sign on the side of the building is even better. It lays aside consumer fears that the store doesn't carry sprockets. 
In light of the coming destruction of 217 Court Street, I decided to do a little research and see if there was any interesting history to the building.
And indeed there is—of falling down!
This address is constantly collapsing. Back in February 1936, when it was the Carpenter's Hall, headquarters for several unions (and the site of many a back-room politcal deal), the front of the building fell off, injuring five workmen who were renovating the first floor. One man was struck in the face by bricks and taken to Long Island College Hospital. Digging through the rubble, a fireman was overcome by gas from a leaking main and also taken to LICH.
The building dated from 1891 and had been called Central Hall at one point. It was owned by George Mulholland, an official with the Carpenter's Union.
Also: Men fall down here. In 1903, two men, Charles E. Rogers and Barney Peterson got into a gunfight outside Frederick Humberg's saloon at 217 Court. Rogers was exiting with friends and Peterson, accompanied by a gang, hit him in the head with a bottle by way of saying "Hello." Rogers responded by drawing a gun and firing, nailing Peterson in the chest. Det. John J. O'Donnell heard the shots and ran from nearby Butler Street Station. Rogers was arrested. Peterson was taken (guess where) to LICH.
Both man refused to shed any light on the wellspring of the altercation. (Of course! There were no rats in South Brooklyn back then.)
For my latest "Who Goes There?" column at Eater, I returned to La Ripaille, a restaurant I first visited on a date with the woman who would become my wife. I remember it being quaint and impossibly Village-y. It still is.
Who Goes There? La Ripaille
When I first went to La Ripaille in the early ‘90s, the minuscule bistro was celebrating only a decade or so in business. But it already seemed like an ancient relic of a quainter, quieter Greenwich Village. Today, at the age of 29, it feels positively pre-Prohibition. Perhaps, like dogs, La Ripaille ages seven years for each single human year.
The owner, Alain Laurant, admits he actively cultivates an Old World feel. And he certainly helps it along with the French-and-English menu; a wine list that sticks to grape variety and region, with few other details (a recurrent element, I’ve found, with Who Goes There? restaurants); and by hovering over all, clothed in jeans and polo shirt and Gallic attitude. He takes every order himself, making persuasive cases for various specials, and finds time to misguidedly chew out a server or two for good measure.
La Ripaille enjoys an unbeatable location, on Hudson Street facing picturesque Abingdon Square. The positioning adds greatly to the place’s self-consciously romantic personality. Laurent has managed to hold on to the prime real estate because he owns the building he occupies; check out the mailboxes in the lobby and you’ll find that almost every apartment above is occupied by somebody named Laurent.
The small, dimly lit interior holds about a dozen tiny tables. Each white paper tablecloth is crowded with a bottle of water, bread, a vase of tulips, and a long candle. The food is on the expensive side, but, for a holdout of La Ripaille’s character, quite excellent. I doubt the asparagus appetizer or special of chicken breast stuffed with Gruyere cheese could be matched by many other restaurants. Diners—a mix of regulars and virgins—are treated well and allowed to linger long after coffee. Given the date-bait atmosphere, it’s no surprise that couples make out well here. One woman’s eyelashes and laugh were working well overtime as dinner passed to cappuccino and then chocolate truffles. And a nervous man on a blind date, whom I thought didn’t stand a chance in hell, ended up with a surprise mid-meal kiss from his companion. What’re they putting in the broccoli mousse?
(The place also gives great play to the number of celebrities that have visited over the years—going as far as to quote, on their website, their comments from the thank you book. It’s hard to estimate the value, in terms of trade, of Leonardo DiCaprio having said “All the best in the world” or Catherine Zeta-Jones’ “Merci beaucoup.”)
Time passes slowly during a dinner here. The check arrives when it arrives. Everyone’s told to “relax.” Alain, meanwhile, goes over the books at the bar, paging through a local giveaway newspaper, complaining about the rain and chatting with a longtime patron about his daughter’s college choices. Whatever happens to her, one thing’s for sure. She’s got a nice place to live in the West Village.
—Brooks of Sheffield
The yellow cordoning tape was up, the construction workers at the ready, the crane on site, the surveyors surveying and dozens of locals were gawking outside the Coffee Peddlar early this morning (including actress Hope Davis!), all to await the fate of 217 Court Street, the vacant building in Cobble Hill that partially collapsed yesterday. A section of Court Street was blocked off by police, causing horrendous traffic.
The word from the surveyors is: It's coming down! Has to come down. No choice. Too damaged. The constant rain was the likely culprit.
During a time when I worked in Queens, I would sometimes take advantage of the morning commute subway change from the G to the 7 to visit a Long Island City diner and pick up an egg sandwich for the road. I don't remember the name of the place. It was on windswept Jackson Avenue, not far from the Citicorp Building. It was a narrow, railroad-flat-shaped place run by a nice Greek family. A counter on the left, booths on the right. They were very friendly, always smiling. The egg sandwiches were more than decent. It made for a nice pit stop.
I was in that area the other day and saw that the diner was gone. Not just the diner, but the building it was in, and several other buildings besides. There was a gaping hole, a large development site, where my nice diner used to be. Lord knows what will arise on the spot.
It's seemingly meaningless losses like this, of anonymous family-owned businesses, that chip away at the City's soul, bit by bit, day by day.
I went by Chumley's recently, because a reader sent me a disturbing note saying that she had "inside news" that the former speakeasy would never reopen, at least not in that location.
I didn't find out anything new, except to spot a couple recent notices (May 4) from the DOB stating they had tried, and failed, to gain access to make an inspection.
But while walking away, I stumbled upon a mystery I couldn't fathom. At the corner of Bedford and Barrow, scrawled in chalk and marker on the brick wall, are a great number of messages to one Mike. Based on the tenor of the notes ("Have a good journey. We will meet again"; "Whatever will become of this space, we will never forget you"; "For 40 years we talked and walked about being vets"), Mike appears to have passed away. He also seems to have something to do with Chumley's. The longest message reads, "Mike, you and Chumley's have come and gone from here, but it is you that I miss."
A former bartender? A longtime patron? Anybody out there know?
I was buying myself a piece of milk chocolate almond bank from Li-Lac Chocolates—the grand old candy shop that moved itself from Christopher to Eighth Avenue and Jane Street a few years ago—when I looked up and noticed that Li-Lac had not bothered to remove the old neon Delicatessen sign that hung on the building prior to their moving in.
Very likely, this is because it would be too costly to take it down. Or because the owner of the building, not Li-Lac, has jurisdiction over such a decision. But it's nice to imagine an old business like Li-Lac might appreciate the leftover appendages of a previous store.
I've already posted on Dapper Dan's Imperial Clothes, the recently uncovered old sign on 14th Street. But I'm posting again, because yesterday I finally saw it in person. And because it's just so freaking great.
You can see the holes where the sign's neon once was. Can you picture this sign in neon? Oh, my God. How great would that be?
I saw this old Coke machine while walking down Court Street. Nobody seems to know who it belonged to or where it was going.
Anyway, nice specimen. I love the way they explain to you four ways in which you can pay for your soda. (What? 20 pennies is not accepatable?) 20 cents! Those little bottles now run you $1.50, even though they contain about half the liquid the similarly priced 20 oz. plastic bottles do. They're treated like little boutique prizes.
A curious sign is taped to the mirror behind the bar at Greenwich Village's historic White Horse Tavern.
No, not the one that says you have to be 25 to enter, though that's odd enough. (Of legal drinking age? Tough! Come back in four years.) Or the one that says intoxicated persons will not be served. (Do they stop taking orders from customers after a person has had two beers?)
Rather, the one that says, "To all employees: Jim has no friends or family. Be suspicious of anyone claiming otherwise."
The bartender wouldn't explain the note. He only said, "Nobody misses that sign!" He then took an order from a waitress and said, "Jesus! Who orders Bloody Marys at night!?"
The space 289 Bleecker Street near Seventh Avenue in the West Village, formerly Burritoville, will become a franchise in the California-based Z Pizza chain, according to a sign on the window. The 20-year-old company specializes in healthy pizza.
Those with longer memories with recall this address as being the location of Lafayette French Pastry shop.
The campaign people for Mike Bloomberg—the guy who's forcing New Yorkers to consider him for a third time, and pretending like it was our choice all along—found my door, and slipped their brochure for Mikey's "Five Borough Economic Opportunity Plan" (wow—all five?) into my mailbox.
So, since I have the glossy, waxy thing (recyclable? I think not), let take a look at what all the fetching pictures of Mayor Mike tell us.
Mayor Mike knows women and he's willing to talk to them (at a downward angle) as if they're capable of understanding his mind.
Mayor Mike also knows African-Americans and is a willing to talk to them, if they are fully appreciative of his American Flag and Big Apple lapel pins.
Mayor Mike doesn't always wear suits! How boring and rigid do you think he is? He has a casual, button-down, crisply ironed, possibly very recently bought blue shirt, which he likes to wear when he talks to The People, and particularly when he visits Queens.
Mayor Mike is very fond of that blue shirt, or perhaps has a whole closet filled with the same kind of shirt.
When Mayor Mike is outside (and he'll go as high as 104th Street!), he likes to wear a leather jacket over his favorite blue shirt.
Mayor Mike has someone on his team who knows it may not be that cool to where the same blue shirt in every picture, so that someone bought the Mayor a green shirt of the same cut, or maybe just changed the color in Photoshop.
Mayor Mike understands human body language, and knows that leaning on a counter while talking to The People means he's actually enjoying himself and maybe even listening.
Mayor Mike is busy making sure that the crane at the next poorly supervised construction site will not fall on you in particular.
If you vote for him.
Peeking down E. 67th Street between Third Avenue and Lex, you may briefly feel you've wandered upon some entrancing side street in Florence, Amsterdam or Barcelona.
This unheralded block boasts three delightful, under-praised pieces of architecture: a police station, a firehouse and a synagogue. Bam! Bam! Bam!—one right next to the other, all built between the years of 1886 to 1890. A street of Law and order, of both the earthly and spiritual sorts.
Let's start with the oldest of the three, Engine Company No. 39. This Romanesque Revival beauty, done up in red brick and brownstone, with arched windows going up, up, up, was once the headquarters of the NYC Fire Department. It was built by Napoleon Le Brun & Co., which designed a ton of firehouses back in the back (Le Brun was the department's official architect), as well as the magnificent Met Life Building in Madison Square. What a grand central station for the proud firefighters.
On the fire station's left is the 19th precinct station of the NYPD. Built by Nathaniel D. Bush as the 25th Precinct. Bush, who was something of an expect at building police department buildings, took his cue from the Florentine Renaissance. More arched windows and a great, strong arched front entrance worthy of a palazzo. Nice blue paint trim on the windows and doors, and of course those wonderful old green lanterns on either side of the entry.
I saved the best for last. I always thought the Eldridge Street Synagogue was the most gloriously busy temple in town, but the Park East Synagogue may take the prize. A multi-towerd, amazing Moorish mess with staircases, balconies and yet more arches everywhere. We can thank prolific tenement-builders Schneider and Herter for it. Making up for previous sins?
The Midtown Restaurant. Doesn't it sound like a place a gumshoe or a reporter might bide his time around 2 AM in some 1940 film while waiting for a contact? Right after they got off an Allied Bus at the Central Depot and checked into the Metropolitan Hotel.
This wonderfully anonymous diner is on E. 55th Street.
Certain buildings grab me on sight. I look at them and just know something interesting once happened inside.
Such a building is No. 285 Nevins Street, on the southern corner of Sackett, just a block from the Gowanus Canal. Three stories, red brick, with the street-level floor painted white. It's a residence now, but the angled door on the corner, the cast-iron pillar that divides it, the shingled mock roof that frames the first floor—all these details tell the knowing eye that this was once a place of business. Very likely a business that served the workers at the various busy businesses that lined the canal.
But what business? Over at the Department of Building website, there are two Certificates of Occupancy, one illegible, and one for a completely different address. (This sort of misfiling happens often at the DOB.) A property search tells us the building is owned by one Rafet Cekic. I'm just guessing, but I think that's a Serbian name.
Newspaper archives relate the grisly story that Michael Farrell once lived here. A car coupler, he died in 1894 at the age of 30 when an elevated train hit him at Third Avenue and 65th Street. Also dying here, in 1901, was John Hogan, aged one. And Mrs. William Miller, age 41, in 1918. A lot of death was recorded here, but nothing about who might have made a living.
The American Can Company was located at the same intersection. So there was an audience for a bar or grocery. But that's it. I can find nothing else. Anyone out there have any knowledge?
We return to The Colony, lost Upper East Side haunt of the Cafe Society, for this edition of Recipes of the Lost City. I have The Colony cookbook and it has a ton of recipes in it. It seems a shame to only post one and leave it at that.
So, this time let's see how of the dinner-jacket-and-pearls crowd did brunch back in the 1930s and 1940s. Eggs Colony is a simple enough dish, and easy to do at home, if you have the wherewithal to purchase the necessary crabmeat.
EGGS COLONY
Spread freshly cooked crabmeat over a piece of toast, place a poached egg on top, season with a few drops of Sherry.
OEUFS AU FONDS D'ARTICHAUTS COLONY
After boiling the artichokes remove the leaves and the chokes, leaving only the fonds. Scrape the edible part of the leaves with a silver knife, and make into a paste with butter, pepper and salt.
Poach as many eggs as are required, and very carefully lay each egg on a fond of artichoke.
Lay the paste already prepared on the eggs, sprinkle with Parmesan cheese, put a tin piece of butter on each and serve very hot.
Remembering Zucca's Italian Garden [Ephemeral New York]
Some nice shots of the undersung Peter McManus Cafe in Chelsea [Greenwich Village Daily Photo]
Car crashes into the Sbarro in Times Square. I know how that car feels. [Midtown Lunch]
Mayor Bloomberg is not that influential anymore. [Time via Queens Crap]
Where's PS 39's Mansard roof get to? [This Is Park Slope]
Russ & Daughters has a new bench. [Grub Street]
Fire damaged Totonno's pizzeria won a James Beard Award. Well deserved. [Eater]
Good question. Hey, why is there a big pear outside any store?
But for this big green pear, the key thing to remember is the store used to be a Grand Union supermarket. The chain was renovated in 1982, and this Yorkville store was the first to get a redo. The big Bartlett (it is a Bartlett) was meant to be the new trademark of the enhanced Grand Union stores.
However, Gristede's bought the building in 1988. It kept the pear for some reason (public outcry?), but moved it from its proud place on the sidewalk to a corner by the air conditioner, a ladder and some garbage. It's also bee defaced by graffiti. Folks just don't respect outsized fruit the way they used to.
Here's a 1935 menu from Lanza's, the longstanding Italian restaurant in the East Village. Italian cuisine is a pretty steady thing, isn't it?
I haven't talked much about New York's two new baseball stadiums: the wholly unnecessary, costly one for the Yankees that resulted in the destruction of America's greatest ball park, and the wholly unnecessary, costly one for the Mets that has that name that I will never utter. This is not because I dislike them—though I do. Or because I think it's wrong the taxpayers should have had to front a single penny on either edifice—which I do. They could be beautiful stadiums that didn't cost the taxpayers a dime, and I'd still have no desire to write about them.
No, the reason is that I'm sick of sports.
No. Really. Sick of Sports. Professional Sports. They nauseate me.
In America's first few centuries, physical fitness was extolled as highly as mental fitness by the upper classes. Body and Mind: equally important, crowed the social aristocracy, a philosophy they carried over from the Ancient Greeks and the British. The rough-riding Teddy Roosevelt, the football-tossing Kennedys, the golfing, swimming Hepburn clan, all madly philosophical about the Life of the Body and how it primed the mind. Scratch an Ivy Leaguer, you'd find an amateur boxer, horseman, or tennis pro.
In the lower and working classes, meanwhile, if intellectual pursuits weren't always quite up to Harvard levels (partially due to a question of access), sports were equally prized as an element of life the improved one's character. One followed the local team, admired its players as physical and moral exemplars, and praised the principles of fair play, good sportsmanship and healthy competition.
That was then.
Of course, sports still dominates our culture. We've got two stupid new stadiums to prove it. Kids all over the city practice their moves in hopes of nabbing a big league deal. And sports still takes up on third of the nightly news, and large sections of our newspapers. It infiltrates the talk and televisions of two-thirds of our bars.
But...can it not, please? Can it all stop, please?
I merely ask: Do sports play any useful or healthy role in our culture anymore? It seems to me—in the wake of what seems like a decade or more of steroid scandals; of regular news accounts of players who get into the worst and most embarrassing of legal and criminal scrapes; regular outrages connected to the competitors in the Olympics and the Tour de France and other such once-respected competitions; and ongoing displays of greed on the parts of both players and team owners—that there is nothing left to admire or emulate in the careers and lives and behavior of sports figures, outside of wealth and fame (that is, if you admire that sort of thing). When we talk about the today's leaders in the fields of football, basketball and baseball, aren't we basically talking about a bunch of rich, self-pitying, liars and cheaters?
And of what worth are the accomplishments of cheaters in sports? Think of it: it's SPORTS, and they CHEAT. What could be worse? I don't revere the musical abilities of Milli Vanilli. I have no respect for the writing prowess of James Frey. And, along the same lines, the records of lying steroid-users like Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds and A-Rod are as Zero to me. I wouldn't hire them to mow my lawn.
And yet, these are our idols. Every day, you hear people discuss last night's game, and the chances of this crew or that crew to emerge on top at the end of the season, with feverish interest—even though cheaters were very likely involved in that game or that crew, thus nullifying the meaning of the match's result, or anything they did on the field or court.
Moreover, sports metaphors dominate our language, as if they still had any objective value. And everywhere you look, people are dressing as if they just came from the playing field.
Regarding that sporting attire—perhaps as egregious as what sports has doing to our national morals is what it has inflicted on our style of dress. This is what we wear: shiny sports jerseys, baggy basketball shorts, sweat suits, athletic footwear, warm-up jackets, jogging suit, and—everywhere, everywhere, everywhere—baseball caps. Oh, how I've come to loathe baseball caps.
It's hideous, all of it. That stuff looks good on the field. It looks clownish on the street. Sports clothing is made loose to allow for freedom of movement while in competition. When loping slowly down the sidewalk, there's little need for a wide range of sudden physical gestures and pivots. So the clothes just hang on a person like large trash bags. And I'd say that 99% of the people wearing athletic shoes, with their unending variety of garish designs, are planning on doing any running anytime soon. The fashion of sports attire is the fashion of the sloven.
As far as I can tell, there are two main reasons people wear this stuff. One is comfort. Elastic bands are less binding than belts, loose open collars easier on the neck than a tie. It's hard to argue with comfort, except that one would like to think you draw a line somewhere. As it stands, comfort is so important to us that it seems we're importuning on a lot of people just by asking them to roll out of bed.
The other reason is status. The idea is, I should admire your choice in athletic attire. You're wearing a jersey from the Yankees, say. They have won the World Series from time to time. Their players are famous and well-paid and celebrated. Thus, I should confer the feelings I supposedly have for the Yankees on you, even though you have nothing to do with the team, apart from having bought their jersey. You associate yourself with champions. The world has been informed. Or so the thinking goes, I guess.
But do people really think that way? The Yankees are one of the most venerated teams in sports history. Yet, the club is as trashy as any of them. A-Rod, Clemens, Pettitte, Knobloch, many others, all steroid users. The former manager, Joe Torre, just wrote a book trash-talking most of them. As a result, I read the sports pages as if they were a work of fiction. It's a narrative of the antics of a bunch of con artists, scoundrels and tricksters. I don't count any Yankee victory a true victory. I don't count any professional sports victory a true victory. Because who knows if they played fairly? Nobody. They're taking everyone for a ride—the sports announcers, the sports writers and the fans. That's right: they're taking you for a ride. You're a sucker.
And that jersey that says the New York Yankees on the back? Why not wear won that say Enron, or AIG, or Madoff. I don't see much difference.
After years of work, Henry Miller's Theatre on 43rd Street is back in business. To be run and operated by the huge Roundabout Theatre Company (four theatre spaces and counting), the 1918 theatre was closed and gutted a number of years back when land owner Douglas Durst and the Bank of America decided to build a 55-story tower there.
They decided to retain a theatre on the ground floor, however, but not the same theatre. The 1,055-seat auditorium is pretty much all new. But certain elements were kept, not least of which is the original neo-Georgian facade. Among the other elements, my favorite is the old sign seen below.
And, yes, it is formally called Henry Miller's Theatre, not the Henry Miller Theatre. Just a quirk in the nomenclature. 
Don't know why I'm obsessed with these Target wall paintings. But obsessed I am. This is the third I've spotted. It's on Bedford in Williamsburg. The chain seems to be, er, targeting New York's hippest neighborhoods. Which means, somewhere in the East Village there is a Target ad on a brick wall.
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