Lost City

A Last Look at the Holiday Cocktail Lounge

2012-01-29T16:56:00.000-08:00

A few images by which to remember the great dive, which shuttered on Saturday, Jan. 28, after 47 years of capably serving drunkards, film mavens, hipsters, visiting Ukrainians, journalists, bartenders, Beatniks and W.H. Auden.

Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Holiday Cocktail Lounge

2012-01-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

As the Holiday Cocktail Lounge sails off into the East Village sunset tonight, it's high time I acknowledged that it is home to one of the city's diminishing number of wooden phone booths. Last time I checked (a few days ago), it was also one of the few that still had its phone—and a phone that was in working order! That will end today, when the 47-year old bar closes its doors forever.

Last H & H Bagel Location Closes

2012-01-26T17:58:00.000-08:00

Thus ends the New York reign of H&H Bagels.

The troubled Manhattan institution, which lost its flagship location on the Upper West Side after its owner was indicted for tax fraud and the business filed for bankrupcy, has now seen its final location, on W. 46th Street, close. A city marshal seized the building and turned it over to the landlord. remaining location of H & H Bagels.

The owner is talking about reopening at a new location. Doubtful, given his money and legal troubles.

Another Dive Takes a Dive: Holiday Cocktail Lounge to Close

2012-01-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

Sad, nay tragic, news from the Holiday Cocktail Lounge. From Eater:

Last summer, the East Village lost Mars Bar, and now another legendary dive is closing: Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Mark's Place. EV Grieve reports the news, noting that Saturday will be the final night of service, and that after that "Locks will be changed immediately." A new, as-yet-unnamed bar is apparently moving in.

People have been speculating that the bar might close for a few months now. Back in October, a real estate listing for the building noted that "The commercial lease is controlled by the owner, so it can be delivered vacant or the Holiday Cocktail Lounge continued." Holiday Cocktail Lounge's original owner, Steven Lutak, passed away back in 2010.

The Holiday was one of my earlier haunts when I first moved to New York. It wasopened by Stefan Lutak in 1965. W.H. Auden was a regular. So was Allen Ginsberg.

Mars Bar, Rum House, Holiday. Watch them fall, folks.

2012-01-26T02:45:00.000-08:00

The renovation of Carroll Garden's old Raccuglia Funeral Home continues apace. The neons signs are gone (but will return) and the stone facing on the first floor has been ripped off (and will not return) and the fake, white brick facing on the upper levels has also been scraped away (never to return—I hope).

One happy circumstance of all this work is the revealing of a long-hidden, embedded, stone street sign. It's been much ravaged, but one can still discern that this is the corner of Court Street and Sackett Street. I hope they don't cover it up again.

For a quick reminder, here's how the place used to look:

The Theatre Above the Deli

2012-01-25T20:36:00.000-08:00

I've known for years that the building housing the deli East Village Farms in the East Village on Avenue A used to be an old theatre. The long snaking fire escape across its side gives it away. But I never knew that remnants of the theatre still existed in decaying form inside.

Recently photographer Kevin Adams Shea was granted access to the space about the deli and shot these amazing pictures. The proscenium and ceiling are in wonderful shape, given the decades of neglect. It's hard to believe how vibrants the colors still are. Apparently, East Village Farms used to use the space for storing surplus goods.

The building opened at Avenue A Theatre in 1926. It was operated by RKO, then Loew's, and closed in 1959 as the Hollywood Theatre.

Shea says the deli will close in a few weeks and there are plans to tear the theatre down. This is probably inevitable, but what a shame.

A Good Sign: Starbucks Coffee

2012-01-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

Yes, Starbucks. Saw this branch of the coffee chain in Washington, D.C.'s Chinatown. Hey, a good sign is a good sign. And this kinda rocks.

The French Building

2012-01-25T11:54:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite buildings in the City stands largely unnoticed on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 45th Street, the Fred F. French Building. With its unique and slightly bizarre combination of Art Deco and Eastern architectural motifs, you'd think it would stop people in their tracks on a regular basis. But folks just pass by, not bothering to peek inside the vestibules and lobbies, or crane their neck a small degree to survey the ornate metal work just about the two doorways.

It was built during a flush time in New York's history, between 1926 and 1927, by the firm of Sloan and Robertson and H. Douglas Ives. To my knowledge, there's no building quite like it in all of New York. The aesthetic is kinda crazy-quilt, but also firmly disciplined.

Frederick F. French, forgotten today, was a major real estate developer of his day, a self-made man who was born in Manhattan into poverty. He worked all the time, slept little, never drank or went to the theatre. By such methods, he rose quickly in the world, and was very productive. He also created the housing developments Tudor City and Knickerbocker Village.

He had a reputation as an innovative developer, and a tough landlord, one who hired a bodyguard for his four children, because he was afraid they might be kidnapped. French is the man responsible for New York's rent-contol laws, and not in a good way either. When tenants moved into the Knickerbocker, they found the place unlivable. They withheld rent until their voices were heard. The conflict led to the City's rent control regulations.

Despite his clean living, French died at 54 in 1936.

With this flagship building, French seemed to want to express what he was all about. The brightly colored masonry images on the upper floors feature such positive imagery as rising suns, two griffins symbolizing integrity and watchfulness, beehives representing industry, and Mercury, the messenger.

Imagine a day, now long gone, when developers cares about projected an image of virtue! Sure, given his history with tenants, French certainly wasn't the man of integrity he boasted he was. But at least he cared what people thought, and recognized thrift, honesty and optimism as good qualities one ought to have.

The French building was built as an office building and remains one, with AMB Industries and Pace University among its tenants. The building is landmarked, but so are the lobby and vestibules. As well they should be. They're magnificent, and kept in perfect condition.

The French is the kind of building that won't let you take pictures of the interior, so I can't show you the lobby, which is painted grandly in blue and gold. But here's one of the vestibules, which are modeled after the Ishtar Gate.

Jean's Silversmiths

2012-01-23T16:25:00.000-08:00

Keep looking. You keep finding.

Jean's, a metal storefront with a plain name and a number, on a saddish block of W. 45th Street in Midtown, is a dealer in fine silver. You'll fine no silver plate inside, only sterling. Tea services, silverware, barware, jewelry, gifts, trays, candlesticks, objets d'art, from every decade of the last century and the century before that. Tons of it. Piles of it. From Tiffany, Gorham, Paul Revere, and dozens of other famous makers, many of the items sporting patterns rare and long since discontinued.

Jean's was founded in 1910, and has been in it's current location since 1958. It's still a family business.

It is one of those New York businesses that is so needed, and so knows what it's about, that it doesn't need to worry about the noise of showmanship. As you can see, the outside's nothing to write home about. The interior's even more ramshackle. (Given their wares, you can understand why I didn't even try to take photos inside.) The glass cases are all in good order, and the clerks are neat and prim. But there are pipes and duct work hanging from the ceiling, and the high tin ceiling surely began rusting when Roosevelt was in office. They're here to sell you Tiffany's old silver, not to look like Tiffany's.

People come into Jean's all the time, trying to sell their old silver. Nice people and nutty people. Jean's treats them all with dignity and respect. A Jean's worker can look at an item and deduce its era and producer in a few minutes. I myself can afford almost nothing in this store. But many a sparkly object caught my eye, and the counter staff showed me each with patience and deference. When I finally did find something I liked and could manage—a small matchbox case—they sent it to the back for a polishing and then put in a handsome box. That's service.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to El Viejo Yayo?"

2012-01-21T16:15:00.000-08:00

My latest from Eater:

Who Goes There? El Viejo Yayo

Compared to other Brooklyn neighborhoods like Carroll Gardens, Williamsburg and Bay Ridge, Park Slope hasn't been very fortunate in retaining much of its culinary cultural heritage. For years, I wondered if the Slope had held on to anyold bars or restaurants. If it had, they must be hiding in plain sight.

That's actually a good description of El Viejo Yayo, a huge, hyper-nondescript Dominican eatery that takes up the ground-floor space of three brownstones on Fifth Avenue between Bergen and Dean Streets. You wouldn't know it to look at the many simple, clean rooms and the rows and rows of dull tables and chairs, but the restaurant is 47 years old. (There was surely a interior renovation in the last few years.)

It was founded by a Cuban immigrant named Jeraldo (nickname: Yayo) in 1965 as a lunch counter. He served Cuban food, but when he sold the restaurant in the early '80s to Lepido Ramirez, from the Dominican Republic, the menu changed. So did the size of the joint, which now includes a few "party rooms." El Viejo is currently owned by Robert Garcia and chef Jerry Diaz. There is a second location on Ninth Avenue.

The food is good, and, given the whopping portions, reasonably priced. Just when you think you've gotten everything you ordered, another large square plate will arrive with more potatoes, more vegetable, more salad, more meat. There's no leaving this place without a doggie bag. I had the Mar y Tiera (steak, peppers, onions, shrimp) and the meat was simply seasoned, tender and flavorful. Nothing fancy, but well done on its own terms. Moreover, the broccoli and cauliflower were perfectly prepared.

As you might expect, given the joint's size, El Viejo is popular with families and groups celebrating all sorts of events. I also saw members of both New York's Finest, New York's Bravest and whatever it is they call correctional officers. A lot of Spanish is spoken. In fact, I may have been the only customer who didn't speak Spanish. And men seem to feel particularly comfortable here. They keep their lids on, be they wool caps or baseball caps, and slump in their chairs in sweatshirts, t-shirts and jean. One man arrived in his thermal underwear. Dinner wear enough for El Viejo Yayo, I guess.

—Brooks of Sheffield

John's of 12th Street—the Vegan Restaurant?

2012-01-20T05:52:00.000-08:00

Something strange is going on over at John's of 12th Street, the century-old Italian eatery that has long been a bastion of solidity and tradition in the ever-morphing East Village. First of all, it seems as though the classic old neon sign has been taken down and replaced with a new facsimile.

Furthermore, and more shocking, the old red sauce joint is now vegan! Or partially anyway. They seem to still serve the Italian classic dishes, but there is also a vegan menu. Nothing against vegan food—it's not my choice, but I can see the virtues in it (if I squint a lot)—but it hardly seems a good fit for this place. Still, if it helps them remain competitive and brings more people in, I suppose it's a good thing. As long as they never scrap the old menu.

According to a comment on JVNY, the owners of John's worked on this menu for an entire year before debuting it and they are very excited about it.

UPDATE: The neon sign has not been altered. John's owner wrote in to say that it's "the same neon John's sign that's been there nearly forever, but the white background was cleaned up and painted a while back." Whew. He also said the old menu will never be abandoned, and the new vegan menu has brought in new customers.

What's That Thing on Top of O'Connor's?

2012-01-19T05:34:00.000-08:00

As has been reported earlier on this blog, the classic Brookyn dive O'Connor's (est. 1931) has been in the process of being ruined for a year or so now. The new owner said last year that he planned to expand the bar, add a big back room, crank out some fish and chips and other pub fare, add a stage for music and a second floor with beer garden.

Well, I guess that ugly white carbuncle plunked down on top of the black-painted bar is the beer garden. Beauty. I wonder if it ever occurred to the owner that people come to O'Connor's because it's O'Connor's, not because it's a family joint or a hip youth mecca; or that, if people want to go to a modern beer garden, they now have about four dozen options in the city, including some good ones in Park Slope, and probably won't choose O'Connor's?

The inside, meanwhile, still looks basically the same, except that it's been noticeably cleaned up—not a dust speck anywhere—the old wooden phone booth is gone (*sob*) and a television has been added, piercing the one-time dive-bar silence. (I don't have a picture because you just don't take a picture of the interior of a dive bar full of barflies. It's not done.)

One thing that hasn't been changed, I'm happy to say, is the impossibly old and decrepit men's bathroom. I'm including a couple pictures here, not to gross anybody out, but because I'm fascinated by the wear and tear the old tile floor in the restroom has endured. The half-door into the stall, and the paper towel hung on a pipe are also nice touches.

The Old Pointy House Down Union

2012-01-18T06:11:00.000-08:00

This post is not part of the "Union Street Project," though the house in question is on Union Street, and we're looking at before and after pictures. 76 Union is nearly at the end of that long Brooklyn street, a few doors up from Van Brunt Street. It's one of a pair of narrow, peaked buildings that are unique to the area. Recently, a regular reader mentioned to me that he had always been interested in the buildings and wondered if I knew anything about it. Since they've always intrigued me as well, I decided to mail away to the Municipal Archives for a picture.

The tax picture tells us that the building has taken some knocks over the years—the arched window at top has been lopping in half, the other windows robbed of their unusual lintels, and the doorway obscured by an awful metal hood—but basically looks the same. The old chimney, the little dormer window on the roof, the fire escape, they're all the same. (74 Union, next door, has been completely refurbished and is in much better shape.)

Otherwise, I still have no idea why some builder went to the bother of building two such ornate, unusual gems so close to the gritty old waterfront. In the old days, they sat right across from a noisy, stinky paper factory, and were just steps away from the old Hamilton Ferry landing. A local historian once told me that he thought the two structures were among the first batch of homes erected in the area, and thus among the oldest in the neighborhood. We're talking the 1850s. I'm prone to agree with him, though I have no proof.

Owner of Montero's Bar Dies

2012-01-17T06:12:00.000-08:00

JVNY relates the sad new that Pilar Montero, the namesake (though not the original namesake) of Montero's Bar, the timeless waterfront watering hole, died on Jan. 14. "On Tuesday, January 17th, there will be a one-day viewing at Raccuglia & Son Funeral Home, which is located at 323 Court Street at Sackett Street from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m.," notes Montero's Facebook page. "Please feel free to pass this information on to others. We welcome you to share your memories of Pilar here, on our Facebook Page. We at Montero's thank you for the love and support." She was 89.

Pilar was born in Greenwich Village. Her father worked on a ferry that went from Manhattan to Brooklyn. She and her husband, Joseph, opened Montero's on Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue in 1947. Given its location, nearly at the foot at Atlantic, it naturally became a port in a storm for longshoremen and sailors. The bar has long had the nautical theme it retains today. After Joseph retired to Spain in the 1990s and passed away, Pilar stayed on and ran the bar. She could usually be seen sitting on her regular stool, at the end of the bar near the window, wearing a beret.

Her sister-in-law, Emma Sullivan (Joseph's sister; both the children of Ramon Montero), for many years ran the Long Island Restaurant, the ancient eatery just up the block which closed a few years ago and is constantly rumored as reopening under one management or another. (Construction has been underway the past couple months.) The two participated in a long-simmering feud of byzantine proportions (described in detail here) that caused them not to speak to each other for decades. I can't help but be curious if Sullivan will go to the funeral.

A Glimpse of Foffe, a "Game" Restaurant

2012-01-17T01:04:00.000-08:00

A couple years ago, I posted an item about the history of Cafiero's, an Italian restaurant and political gathering place that used to exist for many decades on President Street near Columbia in Brooklyn. A reader wrote in and said:

Your comment about the waiter telling you what was available that night reminded me of Foffe, the Italian Restaurant that used to be on Montague St. (I think it closed 10 years or more ago.) Anyway, the first time I went in there (about 1986), it looked like a set from The Godfather with plush red banquettes, and only men as waiters in starched white aprons. Really old waiters. I looked at the menu and ordered a steak. He came back from the kitchen a minute later and said, "The steak doesn't look so good tonight. I wouldn't feed it to my wife and I hate her."

It's hard to forget a story like that. I had never heard of Foffe, and no one's mentioned it to me since then. But it stuck in my mind. So when I saw a 1963 menu for Foffe available for purchase on eBay for a pittance, I leaped.

As you can see from the above menu cover, the restaurant was located on the commercial vein of Montague Street, at No. 155. It was not far from Armando's, another old Italian joint which still stands on the street. The building is a brownstone, and James Weir Florist (another old Montague business) works out of the space today. Alfred Foffe (pictured above) was the host. Alfred's brother John—described by the New York Times as a "small, dapper man"—also held sway over the rooms. John was also a landlord, owning nearby 141 Montague. He died in 1967. Alfred passed in 1984.

The history of the joint goes like this, according to the Brooklyn Public Library:

The widowed head of the family, Maria Foffe, brought her brood of nine fatherless Foffes to the United States from Italy around 1915, first opening a restaurant in Bridgeport, Connecticut. After that enterprise failed, the family moved to Brooklyn in 1929. There the floundering Foffes had better luck with the opening of Maison Foffe in 1932, at 155 Montague Street. Alfred ran Maison Foffe with his brother, John, and lived in the apartment above the restaurant with his mother until her death in 1949. The spot started out as a tea room, but expanded to become, according to one Brooklyn Daily Eagle article, "the equivalent of many of the Eastside Manhattan class spots" by 1948. Other Foffe offspring prospered in the restaurant business as well, setting up a satellite kingdom in Bay Ridge with Foffe's Restaurant and the Vanity Fair nightclub and banquet hall.

Like Cafiero's, Foffe's was a political hive, favored by politicians and judges. Meade H. Esposito, a one-time Brooklyn Democratic leader who was investigated a great many times and indicted in 1987, used to hold court at a table near the front window. He was once taped as having boasted that he had "made" 42 judges. Juries would discuss cases here, and sometimes come to blows.

The menu is a bit spooky, in that it's date Dec. 3, 1963, not long after Kennedy was assassinates. You have to know the Democrats who frequented the place were hard hit by that event.

I've seen my share of old menus by now, and after a while they begin to look the same, and the low prices no longer shock. But Foffe's menu is something different. You can tell a high order of food was served here. You find the usual Italian pasta and meat dishes, but also traditional French (Coq au Vin, Frog's Legs), Spanish (Paella a la Valenciana), Hungarian (Goulash) and German (Vienna Schnitzel) entrees, and Olde New York dishes like Lobster Thermidore and Roast Half Long Island Duckling with black cherries and wild rice. It's a greatest hits of the greatest dishes of the 19th and 20th centuries. The wine list is also remarkably specific for its time, sometimes listed makers and not just grapes.

Foffe's also took reservations for wild game meals "in season." The restaurant was known for this, and quite ahead of the curve of today's mania for local, hand-butchered beasts and fowl. Again, from the BPL:

Decades ahead of the current trends of locally-sourced food and organic meats, Alfred Foffe was serving wild game in his tony Brooklyn Heights restaurant, Maison Foffe. These suspended carcasses signal to those in the know that Foffe is back from his annual hunting trip with a menu of fresh-from-the-wild animals to serve his customers.

The tradition of the annual venison dinner at Maison Foffe dates back to 1938, when Alfred and John enjoyed an autumnal hunting expedition in Putnam County and brought back enough meat to serve more than 200 "lovers of game." Although the feast was suspended during World War II when Alfred enlisted in the army, the Foffes were again bagging winged and hoofed delicacies for their patrons by 1949. Aside from this special feast, the restaurant maintained an adventurous menu including "Scotch grouse, mallard duck, pheasant, frog legs, pompano, Canadian brook trout, chateaubriand, and the like. Appetizers include such delicacies as eel in wine, and in the dessert field there are crepes suzette and cherries jubilee."

Below see a picture of "game time" at Foffe's. Think the DOH would allow this today?

THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 13 Union Street

2012-01-16T02:51:00.000-08:00

This is the fifteenth post of "The Union Street Project," in which I unearth the history of every building along the once bustling Brooklyn commercial strips of Union Street between Hicks and Van Brunt, and Columbia Street between Sackett and Carroll.

When I submitted my request to the Municipal Archives for a picture of 136 Union Street between Hicks and Columbia, I got back a piece of paper saying the archive could not locate the photo. First time that has happened.

But the old photo of 134 Union, as well as local neighborhood lore, shows me that, before being the Everyday Athlete gym, it was an Italian bakery that specialized in Panella bread. That name of the bakery I do not know.

In 1899, 10-year-old Mary Hardy fell from a window here. She survived. Miles Purdy wasn't so lucky two years previous. At age 54, he was found dead in his bed. That is all, except that the building has been heavily altered over the years, and not for the better. Nothing of the original facade remains.

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: Totero's

2012-01-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

Like most of the best bars and restaurants in Wisconsin, Totero's in Racine looks like somebody's house, except it has a sign on it. You enter on the Mead Street side of the corner place, through a little breakfront. Surrounding the building are the bleak, bereft streets of the once-industrial, southern Racine neighborhood of Lakeside.

There is often a line, for this 72-year-old, family-run restaurant is only open Tuesday through Friday, and even then for just two hours, from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. The peculiar schedule harkens back to Totero's roots as a lunch place serving the working men in the area. There used to be dinner hours, but they were eliminated a number of years back. Despite—or maybe because of—the limited window of opportunity, Totero's packs them in. People take the time to visit in the middle of the day, queue up and load up on homemade, hearty Italian fare.

They only let in a few people at a time. Once you enter, it looks like this. It's basically on old bar with a handful of tables decked in red-and-white-checked tablecloths. The walls are covered with Green Bay Packers and Wisconsin Badgers paraphernalia.

There is no table service. You line up, pass the old coat rack, pass this ancient jukebox (it doesn't work, alas), enter a small side room that boasts a large round table (if you're a large party or family, this is the one you want) and step up to the kitchen doorway. Inside, members of the Totero family are busy cooking and serving up the dishes of the day, stirring huge pots of red sauce and (on the day I visited: Lasagna Day!) scooping out large cuts of lasagna.

There are very few things on the menu at Totero's. Aside from the special pasta of the day, you can get meatball heros and sausage "bombers" (heros). Everything's amazingly cheap and everything has meat in it. Tell them what you want and they hand a plate to you through the doorway. Silverware is to the side as you approach. When you're finished, you pay the bartender.

Totero's was founded by Calabrian immigrants Achille and Mary Totero as a tavern in 1939. It was subsequently run by their son Santo "Sam" Totero and his wife Virginia, and is still run by Sam's children Al and Angela. Al runs the bar, Angela the kitchen. Sam died in February 2011 at the age of 89. The building is a converted schoolhouse. The 36-foot bar was contributed by the Pabst brewery back during The Great Depression.

As nice as the tables looked, I decided to eat my lasagna (with a meatball and a sausage on the side) at the wonderful old wooden bar, which is fully stocked with liquor, in case you feel the need for a stiff drink at noon. I was surprised to find the taps completely up to date, sporting brews by the excellent Wisconsin micro-brewery New Glarus, as well as draft root beer (!) from Sprecher's brewery in Milwaukee.

The food is on the mild side. The sauce is pleasant, but not particularly zesty or flavorful. The sausage and meatball lacked spice and zip. But overall, the meal was satisfying; it was certainly made with love. And I had no problem cleaning my plate, despite the enormous amount of grub.

Being open only eight hours a week may not sound like good business. But I did a quick calculation in my head. If they cater to about 300 heads a day, as they seem to, each diner spending $20, the Torteros clear $1.25 million a year before taxes. I'm sure they own the building, and the materials needed to make those pasta dishes don't cost much. That's a hell of a business.

I was told that the Toteros are thinking of cutting back even further, and will soon no longer rent out the place for private parties. I hope they never stop serving lunch. This is a one of a kind place.

THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 134 Union Street

2012-01-11T02:28:00.000-08:00

This is the fourteenth post of "The Union Street Project," in which I unearth the history of every building along the once bustling Brooklyn commercial strips of Union Street between Hicks and Van Brunt, and Columbia Street between Sackett and Carroll.

134 Union Street was obviously built by the same outfit that erected 132 Union. Unlike its brother, the little bathroom windows were bricked over at some point. But the cornices and fire escapes remain the same.

The address has been a laundromat for some years, but, as the below tax photo (barely) shows, it was once a market in the early-to-mid 20th century. The nature of the market and its name can not be learned because of the damn pushcarts that block the view of the storefront. I used to find those pushcarts charming, but too often they've gotten in the way of my pictorial research.

Beyond the picture, I have found out little about this address, except that one Mary Buonarati, 17, lived here, and got married in September 1923. Not much, but there you are.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have collected all the "Union Square Project" columns in one place. The can be found near the top of the right hand bar of the blog.

Smith Canteen Preserves Pharmacy Past

2012-01-10T11:34:00.000-08:00

I walked into Smith Canteen, the new trendy coffee and lunch joint in Carroll Gardens, and thought: another new Brooklyn place trying to look like old Brooklyn. But no. The tile floor and tin ceiling and wooden shelving are old. They're all part of the old pharmacy that once occupied this space many years ago. I'd never noticed because for years this corner space was a gallery that had its walls covered up in black. There were no windows through which to notice the old architectural details.

UPDATE: This, according to the Smith Canteen site: "the location was a pharmacy as early as 1901. The article, from that year, talked about the pharmacist’s engagement to a countess from Italy, who was sailing to New York from Europe. Much of the original space remains–the tile floor, the woodwork, the mirrors and half of the ceiling. (The other half was falling down and had to be replaced.) Some of the original zinc-lined cabinetry remains as well. It was probably used to keep things cool in the pre-refrigeration days. Jane didn’t remove anything from the space, except some modern glass shelving and light fixtures, and designed the new components around the original ones. The space inspired other aspects of the project as well. The logo, by M+E, references the burgundy floor tiles, and the color of the counter references the blue-green tiles."

Bed Bug Club Is Exterminated

2012-01-09T19:13:00.000-08:00

I never knew what the Bed Bug Club, at the south east corner of Smith Street and Third Street in Carroll Gardens, was. But now I know one thing about it: it's gone. There used to be a sign in the window advertising the presence of the (perhaps joke) club. Not it's gone.

I never took a good look at the space. With the weird name, the pictures of the World Trade Center in the window, and the Don't-Come-Near-Me vibe of the place, I always assumed it was a private club. But peering in at the vacated address, it looks more like a repair shop of some kind. There's a counter with various fix-it equipment behind it, and lots of non-funtioning clocks and electronic equipment sitting around. I remember an old guy with white hair, heavy dark eyebrows and a large jaw would sometimes sit outside the place.

THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 132 Union Street

2012-01-09T02:31:00.000-08:00

This is the thirteenth post of "The Union Street Project," in which I unearth the history of every building along the once bustling Brooklyn commercial strips of Union Street between Hicks and Van Brunt, and Columbia Street between Sackett and Carroll.

It's been a half a year, but now I'm back with a few more additions to my ongoing Union Street Project.

The House of Pizza and Calzone, at 132 Union Street, is the second oldest, and second most famous, business on the block (the first being the century-old Ferdinando's Focceceria). It was founded in 1952 and is now on its third owners. Paul Diagostino, the current owner, bought it in 2004 from Onofrio Gaudioso and John Teutonico, the raspy-voiced old guys who bought the restaurant in 1963 after working there together for five years. Who founded the pizzeria, I can not say. But one thing I do know—it used to be located a few doors to the west many years ago. It's present location, at 132 Union, is its second. (I believe the original building no longer exists.) According to the Department of Building, they've been at 132 since 1959. I love the Certificate of Occupancy's description: "retail sale of pizza pie and hot sandwiches."

The House and Pizza owners would be happy, I imagine, to know that the building's previous tenant was an purveyor of olive oil. (See 1940 tax photo below.) The Grande Deposito d'Olio d'Oliva. That is, the big olive oil depository. Spanish, Greek and Italian olive oil was sold here, as well as something called Gemma Oil. As you can see, the building hasn't changed much over the decades. Same cornice, same fire escape, same little bathroom windows. Pushcarts are in evidence, as there are in all the old photos of Union Street.

Prior to that, this address appears to have been the 19th century home of Colonel Thomas Dempsey's Hotel. Dempsey, who lived at nearby 103 President Street, came from Ireland and sailed to America in 1947. He served in the New York state militia, and in the Civil War, where he reached the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Colonel Dempsey was also a member of the John Graham Pleasure Club, which held an annual clam bake. He was a Democrat known to have "an excellent war and business record" and appeared to have been quite the local host and toastmaster. He died Aug. 11, 1896 at the age of 70.

But some residents of the Dempsey hotel seem not to have been as upstanding or lucky. A thief named Thomas Hare was a tenant in 1887. William Glenmore dwelled here in 1889. He worked on the docks and had his left leg fractures when three bags of sugar fell on him. Years later, in 1921, a stick-up man, Stefano Picone, lived here.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Joe and Pat's Pizzeria?"

2012-01-08T14:31:00.000-08:00

Another "Who Goes There?" from Staten Island, and another pizza joint. I'll be filing a few more of these before I run out of column-worthy S.I. pizzerias.

Who Goes There? Joe and Pat's Pizzeria

The unending debate about who makes New York's best pizza rarely ranges beyond the usual suspects in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Yet lowly, ever-disrespected Staten Island has more than a few seasoned veterans in the game.Denino's is the best known. But Joe & Pat's Pizzeria on Victory Boulevard is hardly a neophyte. Giuseppe and Pasquale Pappadardo, from Naples, opened the restaurant in 1960. The only trace of the old building is the neon sign, for the old place burned down in 1999. It was a rebuilt in an anonymous fashion, with Greek diner-like tables protected by a long barrel ceiling painted with a cloudy blue sky and a mannered sunrise and crescent moon. Call the style Pizzeria Tiepolo.

Better to sit at one of the small tables in the less glamorous front room, opposite the enormous pizza ovens and near the rear table where the waitstaff and Joe Pappadardo hang out when not working. Pappadardo himself—sporting an alarming, but endearing, toupee as thick as shag rug—helped push together two small tables together when my wife asked if it could be done. "The wife's always boss," Joe said with a smile. Joe's brother Pat left the business in 1974 to start a real estate company that still stands across the street. A picture of the two young men back in 1960 hangs on the wall. The resemblance is hard to catch. There are also a lot of framed reviews and articles on the walls, but one doesn't get the impression that the restaurant's reputation has gone to Joe's head. It's still very much a workaday pizzeria.

Joe & Pat's pie is known for its crust's delicate thinness and the sauce's sweetness. As with the pizzas made in Naples, a grown man would have no trouble eating a whole pie. There's a menu full of other dishes, of which my wife was perfectly happy with an angel hair pasta with broccoli, eggplants, garlic and oil. The cashier told me that people come from all over to eat at Joe & Pat's, but that the clientele is mainly Staten Islanders. And, yes, pizza people on the Island have their fierce allegiances. Joe & Pat's devotees stick to Joe & Pat's.

When I profiled a rival pizza joint, Lee's Tavern, on this site a month back, a reader commented "I guess this place is technically within New York City [but] probably 90% of the viewers of this site are more likely to get pizza in Moscow or in Tokyo in their lifetimes than in Staten Island." Perhaps true. But I'm going to continue to visit Staten Island in the future, just as I will pay calls on The Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn. The outer boroughs have done the better job these last ten years in preserving their mercantile masterpieces. While the avenues of Manhattan increasingly drown in an ocean of Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks and Applebee's, the sprawling lands beyond the bridges still have places that make you ask, "Who Goes There?"

La Rose Cubana Cigars Leaves Sixth Avenue

2012-01-06T01:14:00.000-08:00

Walking up Sixth Avenue in the 30s, I noticed that La-Rosa Cubana Hand Made Cigars had flown the second-floor coop it's occupied since 1958. The company, however, has not died. It's decamped all the way up to 187th Street in the Belmont section of The Bronx. That's what I call relocating!

Here's a nice account from Stogie Guys about what used to go on in the shop:

While only a brisk 10 minute walk from Nat Sherman Cigar’s glitzy flagship store at 5th Avenue and 42nd Street, La Rosa Cubana’s second floor mini cigar factory and shop on 6th avenue (between 30th and 31st streets) could be worlds away. As a lifelong New Yorker before seeking it out, I have walked past it at least a handful of times without taking notice of the neon signs proclaiming “La Rosa Handmade Cigars: Cuban Seed.”

To get from the street to La Rosa you need to ascend a daunting flight of steep, rickety stairs, but as you approach the top the smell alone makes the trip worthwhile. The small one room factory/shop is taken up primarily by presses, rolling tables, and prep areas where the Dominican “cuban seed” cigars are produced. The rest of the room consists of a simple “lounge” consisting of two chairs and a table and a display case/humidor from which any Stogie Guy can select from the many styles of cigars that La Rosa produces. The cigars come in most popular sizes, plus the nearly 1-inch in diameter 6 1/2 inch by 60 ring gauge “King Churchill.”

And while I’ll spend more time on La Rosa’s cigars in future StogieGuys.com articles, I must say that there is something so very authentic and pleasing about seeing handmade cigars produced in front of your very eyes. And I’m certain that when I do get around to enjoying that King Churchill, it will be that much better because I have seen the effort, attention to detail, and years of experience that went into creating it.

The old sign, which I've previously appreciated, remains. May it remain so.

This Was La Petite Auberge

2012-01-05T19:08:00.000-08:00

La Petite Auberge closed its doors last October after 34 years of selling old school French food and old school New York hospitality. This is the space today. The awning is gone and, just as the owners promised, an Indian restaurant, Anjapper, is on the way. Can't see what they're doing inside, but last fall the owners told me this:

They like the walls, because they want to make something high end, a little different. I guess it's supposed to resemble an old country home from their part of India. They're going to get rid of the bar and open the windows in front so you can see through. But the walls are going to stay. That's real wood. You can't even put in a nail, it's so thick.

A Steak Row Memory

2012-01-03T11:36:00.000-08:00

From a reader, a memory of Steak Row:

"My grandmother rolled into the Pressbox with Grandfather for dinner in the early '60's. They loved the place and counted Henry, Harry and Freddy as friends. Grandmother spied Henry Morgan at the bar and, although not much of a stargazer nor he much of a star, was moved to hail him: "Oh, Henry, I know who you are but you don't know who I am!" in her Dewar's-inspired slightly English accent. Henry turned, eyed her and replied: "Let's keep it that way Toots." I don't believe Grandmother ever again watched What's My Line."

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: George Webb's

2012-01-02T07:20:00.000-08:00

I was recently returning from a late evening in Milwaukee and feeling a bit peckish when, passing a George Webb's restaurant, I remembered that every branch of the southeastern Wisconsin diner chain is open 24 hours.

I swung my car into the strip mall that contained the diner and took a seat at the long counter. There were eight other people there at that late hour, half of them stuffing solid food into their booze-filled bellies. This is not to say the atmosphere was unsavory. While some Webb's might have fallen into the "greasy spoon" categories in years past, and the chain has a reputation of sorts as a haven for undesirables, today the chain is mostly clean and respectable.

George Webb opened his first hamburger joint in Milwaukee in 1948. It was a family business; the whole Webb clan worked there. To get around a city ordinance that banned establishments from being open 24 hours a day, he declared that "George Webb Restaurants are open 23 hours, 59 minutes and 59 seconds, seven days a week and on Sundays!" Son Jim Webb opened the first franchise in 1953, taking over one of the restaurants his dad had opened. George passed away four years later and Jim took over, running the company until the early '80s, when the Webbs sold the chain to franchisee Dave Stram. In 2005, Stram sold the comapny to Phil Anderson, a distributor of rubber seals.

George Webb quickly earned the loyalty of Wisconsinites through cheap prices (the price of a burger or breakfast here is still amazingly inexpensive) and various operating quirks that gave Webb's a distinct identity. In addition to being open 24 hours (unusual in these parts, where the sidewalks are rolled up around 9:30 p.m.), he would do things like hang out signs saying "Free Rabbit Lunch Tomorrow," and offer to pay customers $10 for 1,893 pennies. Webb's also annually predicts that the Milwaukee Brewers will win open their season with 12 straight wins. In 1987, this actually came to pass, and Webb's celebrated the event by handing out free hamburgers. People lined up outside the restaurants for blocks to receive the free grub (myself included).

Webb's most famous and enduring oddity are the two clocks that hang side by side in every restaurant. If you notice, one clock is set one minute faster than the other. This has something to do with Webb's trickery in getting around the local 24-hour rule. In the late 50's, there was one George Webb Restaurant with the two clocks, with a sign under one, that read "CORRECT TIME IN THE CITY OF MILWAUKEE"; the other clock had no minute hand nor hour hand, just the seconds hand and the sign under that clock read "CORRECT TIME FOR THOSE WHO NO LONGER CARE."

Webb's almost went bankrupt in 2008, leading to a power struggle within the organization, but the company eventually pulled through. Some branches closed. There are now 36 restaurants.

The food, by the way, is pretty good. As good as a $3 burger should be. And the chili is somewhat more than good.

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: Wilmar Chocolates

2011-12-30T14:51:00.000-08:00

For whatever reason—most likely, the heavy late-19th-early-20th-cenutry influx of German, Dutch, Belgian and other immigrants in the area—there are a high proportion of old-fashioned, quality, family chocolate shops in the towns of the Fox River Valley, nestled around Lake Winnebago in central-eastern Wisconsin.

Among there are Seroogy's in De Pere; Beernsten's, a wonderful old soda fountain in Manitowoc where you can also sit in a booth and enjoy a cheap lunch of bratwurst and chips; Oaks, a century-old candy shop in downtown Oshkosh; and Hughes Chocolates, an unfathomably quaint chocolate factory situated in a white clapboard family home on a suburban street. (The New York Times called it "a figment of Wisconsin's imagination.) You walk through a side door down to the basement, where you can buy plain white boxes of bulked chocolates (no fancy individual wrappers) from a small counter in a room so cramped you have no choice but to leave immediately after you make your purchase. Hughes chocolates have been a Christmas tradition in my family for decades.

About a year ago, I read an article in the New York Times that mentioned a sweets chop of this ilk that I had never heard of: Wilmar Chocolates in Appleton. So, during a recent drive from Milwaukee to Green Bay, I made a point of stopping at the store, located since 1956 at the corner of Wisconsin Avenue and Superior Street.

Wilmar is a conflation of the names Wilbur and Mary Jane Srnka, the founders of the company. Before striking out on his own, Wilber worked at other local candy shops, including Otto Kaap in Green Bay (which still exists) and Oakes Candy of Appleton. The Srnkas owned the shop until 1984, when they sold it to the current owners, the Garveys. Over the years, the store expanded, taking over additional space on the Wisconsin Avenue side.

Wilmar is known for its caramels and truffles, as well as its oysters. Oysters are achingly sweet, cream-filled chocolate bonbons covered in a thin layer of crushed nuts. They are a local specialty peculiar to the area. According to Wilmar, they were created by Dutch immigrants with the idea of making a candy that reminded them of the look of the oysters they enjoyed back home.

Last year, Wilmar came up with a great customer attraction. They opened up their kitchen for inspection, and now give consumers the opportunity to make their own custom made candy bar. You pick dark or milk chocolate (or a mix) and four ingredients. On the spot they blend your bar, put it in a mold and stick it in the freezer for 10 minutes. And Bob's your uncle—your own unique Wilmar creation.

Sign's History Revealed

2011-12-29T02:22:00.000-08:00

Back in June 2010, I puzzled over this sign at 30 E. 29th Street in Manhattan. It seemed so much older than the restaurant, Campanile, that sat under it.

Recently, a regular reader, the author of Project Neon, wrote it to tell me she had cracked the case. It used to be called the Weathervane Inn. It was founded by Nat Levine, an immigrant from Poland, who moved here in the 1920s, and ran a place called The Milk Bar on Nassau Street prior to opening the Weathervane. Patrons included Joe Namath, Lauren Bacall, and Joe Louis.

The Levines liked the sign as much as I do. To wit: "The neon sign was considered important enough that they carried a service contract that meant the minute a single letter went out a service person immediately came to fix it." If only such devotion was more evident today.

The Weathervane was sold in 1973

Wooden Phone Booth Update: Marchi's

2011-12-28T08:00:00.000-08:00

This inset phone booth is probably not as old at Marchi's restaurant—1929—but I bet it's at least 50 years old. Unlike the other booth in town, it still has its phone. You can get a dial tone, but you can't make a call.

2011-12-23T08:40:00.000-08:00

Marchi's. An extra-long meal; an extra-long "Who Goes There?" column. Not a bad place to go at Christmastime. There's a tree, a million nutcrackers and they play Christmas music non-stop.

Merry Christmas, all!

Who Goes There? Marchi's

New Yorkers know that certain Gotham institutions sport their own set of rules. At Katz's Deli, be prepared to take a ticket at the door and have it marked up by every counter person you order food from. When you request an ale at McSorley's Ale House, you'll get two mugs. And don't look for a menu at Dominick's in The Bronx—the waiter will tell you what's available.

Marchi's on E. 31st Street in Kip's Bay is far less celebrated that those three, but its modus operandi is just as peculiar, if not more so. Since opening in 1929, it has served one meal, every night, week after week. It's a big dinner, with five courses, and well warrants the unadvertised $60 surcharge. But it is always the same, beginning with bountiful plates of crudités—huge stalks of celery, Genoa salami and a sort of Italian cole slaw.

Marco Marchi, one of the sons of founding cook Francesca Marchi, took my coat when I entered. "We do not accept furs," said a sign. Asked if he was the owner, he replied, "I'm one of them." I was seated in one of the two cheerful dining rooms that were in operation. The Christmas tree was ablaze. Nutcrackers guarded the fireplace mantle. Behind a large red curtain, the chef prepared the same foods he had for eons in a huge, roomy kitchen.

A Friuli-style lasagna, heavy on the meat, light on the tomato, arrived.

Francesca and her husband Lorenzo hailed from Friuli. As the story goes, boarders in their building were aroused by the scents emanating from her kitchen, so Francesca decided to open a restaurant and let them pay for her wares. Today the restaurant takes up the garden level of four contiguous brownstones, all owned by the Marchi family. There's also a larger dining room with a working fireplace, and a grand barroom. They are open when business demands.

The fried fish, green beans and cold beets arrive. It's catfish tonight.

Every plate and utensil bears the Marchi name. One imagines they were forged decades ago. The clientele are even older. Everyone here has an AARP card. But, if you listen closely, you'll find they're not slavishly faithful. Each diner has been here before, but for some the last visit was 10 years ago, 15 years ago. The restaurant also gets a lot of big parties, the waiter said. The night before, a bank had hauled in 85 of its employees.

A plate of chicken, veal, and mushrooms arrives, with a large salad on the side.

Marco sits down to dinner near the Christmas tree with his wife Christine. He pours out two glasses of wine. Are they eating what I'm eating? Doesn't look like it. But, then, you can't expect a person to eat the same food every night of their life. At a nearby table, a seventy-something couple dine together in silence, as they certainly have for many years. Across from them, a quartet talk of doctor's appointments and second opinions. The most colorful party is a group of old showbiz types. One, looking like Ed Wynn, is dressed in pink pants, a suede burgundy jacket and enough rings to make Ringo blush. Two of the party once acted with Valerie Harper. One once did a stint as a magician's assistant. And all take ten minutes to come up with the name of comedy team Burns & Schreiber. The temperature of the rooms is cranked up to a level your grandmother would appreciate. Between the food and heat, drowsiness sets in mid-meal.

Dessert arrives, a lemon fritter, crisp fragile Crostoli (thin, deep-fried, dough twists), provolone and a bowl of fruit.

I'm stuffed by this point. The food's been all over the map—the lasagna a beguilingly unusual Northern Italian take on the classic, the fish dry, the chicken good, the veal tasteless, and the lemon fritter and crostini fantastic. But, even picking away at the courses, I left full. Eating at Marchi's is still like dining at some friend's mother's table; she doesn't get every dish right, but she cares and you feels comforted.

I walked to the restroom, passing countless black and white pictures of Francesca, Mario, and his brothers Robert and John in younger days. A sign said the Marchi's is open Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Don't ask what's for dinner.

—Brooks of Sheffield

Christmas Under the Onion Domes

2011-12-22T13:01:00.000-08:00

Not a good picture, I know. But I had to run it. I love that Christmas trees are being sold in the shadow of the the Russian Orthodox Cathedral of the Transfiguration of Our Lord on N. 12th Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Looks like a scene from Russia.

The Most Beautiful Bakery in The Bronx

2011-12-21T02:45:00.000-08:00

I don't know which bakery in the Belmont area of The Bronx is the best. But I know which one is the most beautiful. Addeo Bakery.

The Addeo Bakery is so ridiculously picturesque, it looks like a movie studio cooked it up. I don't mean the one on Arthur Avenue, but the branch one block away on Hughes Avenue. It partly draws its stark pictorial loveliness from the fact that Hughes is largely unpopulated by shops. Addeo stands alone in Hopperesque glory on a lonely corner all its own. Your can gaze into the shop from two sides. Or just gaze at it from across the street, as I often do when I'm in the neighborhood.

The interior itself is classic and unspoiled. Ornate tile floor, shelves for bread, light fixtures, a scale or two and little else. Many loves of the bakery's vaunted Pane di Casa—advertised in wonderfully homey, hand-painted signs outside—adorn the window displays. They are crusty and magnificent, and it is a challenge to pass by and not purchase one.

If Addeo is the measure, nearly every other store in New York is an eyesore.

A Good Sign: S.M. Rose Carpet

2011-12-20T18:45:00.000-08:00

This is hands down the best neon sign for a carpet stores I've ever seen. S.M. Rose is on Fordham Road in The Bronx, near Arthur Avenue. I was a bit confused by the huge metal Chevrolet logo on the side of the building. Until a found a listing of Rose that described it as "associated with following industry(s): Used Car Dealers - Automobiles, Used Cars Only, Floor Covering Stores - Carpets, Retail."

A Corner in Flatbush

2011-12-19T21:56:00.000-08:00

This building at the corner of Church Avenue and Rogers Avenue is interesting enough in contemporary terms, since it is the home of Nio's Trinidad Roti Shop, a restaurant of some local renown. One Nio Badall founded the Trinidadian eatery some quarter century ago.

But I am more interested in what the building was before that. The sprawling, two-story, brick, corner edifice is so obviously an old structure—with its peaked cornice, oval window and decorative lintels—that one imagines it was a significant local landmark going back as far as one hundred years, if not more.

Alas, I have found out nothing about this building aside from the fact that it was a restaurant back in 1935. Anyone out there have any information?

Would You Get Your Taxes Done Here?

2011-12-19T05:21:00.000-08:00

On a lonely sidestreet off Church Avenue in Flatbush, in a low-slung, oddly built brick building that may have been a stables of a small factory, is an accountant with no name and an unprepossessing address. I picture motley surroundings upstairs, a low ceiling, cluttered desk and an old, wily, not entirely trustworthy may in an unbuttoned vest and eyeshades. Bill Sikes might get his taxes done here. If Bill Sikes ever did his taxes.

A Good Sign: Parisi Bros. Bakery

2011-12-15T21:53:00.000-08:00

In Astoria since 1969. Not to be confused with the Parisi Bakery in Little Italy.

The Grandest McDonald's in Town

2011-12-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

Is this the grandest McDonald's in town. It's certainly in the running. This Flatbush Mickey D's is situation inside an old branch of the Lincoln Savings Bank built in 1932. It's four stories tall, granite, with large, three-story, arching windows.

McDonald's hasn't done much with the space. But neither have they messed with it. They kept the big windows uncovered and didn't drop the ceiling. Also, based on old photos from the 1930s, the boxy metal corner entrance is the same. Where a clock once sat above it, there is not a small circular McDonald's logo. In fact, the building has hardly changed at all. Even the subway stop has always been ther. The flags at top, however, someone make it look like a Parisian embassy.

Lost City: Milwaukee Version: Karl Ratzsch's

2011-12-15T01:38:00.000-08:00

Karl Ratzsch's Restaurant loomed large in my Milwaukee childhood. The old German downtown restaurant was where you went for special occasions. It's name evoked the kind of awe in a kid's mind that perhaps The Four Seasons and the "21" Club still do in New York. I remember going only seldomly, and being jealous when I heard of others going. In particular, my wealthy aunt and uncle's family's habit of going to Ratzsch's every Christmas day before coming to our house—and not inviting us to join them—was an annual source of frustration and anger to my mother.

Ratzsch's is a lasting testimony to the once dominant influence of Milwaukee's German population. The Germans flocked to Milwaukee in the mid-1800s, bringing with them singing societies, breweries, beer halls, fine bakeries and pastry shops, great German food and grand Socialistic traditions. Much of Milwaukee's population is still of German stock (including my mother). But the businesses have faded away. There are just a few stalwarts left. Mader's, another traditional German restaurant, is one. Usinger's, a sausage maker of national reputation, is another. And, of course's, the Miller brewery.

Ratzsch's was established in 1904 under the name "Hermann's Cafe." Hermann was Otto Hermann, the chef. A few years later, Otto's stepdaughter Helen emigrated from Germany to help him in the restaurant. Karl August Ratzsch Sr. entered the scene some time before World War I. (When the war broke out, he chose smartly to stay in Milwaukee rather than return to the Fatherland.) He began working with Helen and, after a ten-year courtship, married her. They bought the restaurant from Otto and renamed it. One can see from the photo before that the eatery once had a different facade and a grand vertical neon sign.

Karl and Helen ran the restaurant until 1962, when Karl Jr. took over. Son Josef then bought it in 1996 and remodeled the bar. Finally, Josef sold the place in 2003 to the management team that has been in place since 1985: dining room manager Judy Hazard, executive chef John Poulos and restaurant manager Tom Andera. Thus, the restaurant passed out of family hands after a century. But the new trio appears to be carrying on the traditions set down by the Ratzschs. Judy herself waited on my table.

Like many old German restaurants, Ratzsch's is a heavy-dark-timbered world of giant steins, rosemaling and antlers, a place where it always seems to be Christmas in Bavaria, or thereabouts. The waitresses are of hearty stock and dressed in traditional costumes.

The food is what you'd expect: wursts (by Usinger's!), sauerbraten, weiner schnitzel, consumme with liver dumplings (very good!), potato pancakes, whitefish, red cabbage and meat, meat, meat. I have included no pictures here, because I don't think German food is captured very well in photographs. But I'd like to stress that the food here, while heavy indeed, is very good and well prepared. I'd go during lunch. The menu is more affordable; dinner prices get quite high.

The backbar is unusual in that it's not filled with glasses that can actually be used to drink from. Rather, it's a sort of museum or antique glassware. These were all part of the collection of Helen Ratzsch. I'd also like to point out that Ratzsch's has not transformed itself into a kitschy tourist attraction. You can't buy t-shirts or caps or a Ratzsch's cookbook. The only souvenir for sale is a glass beer mug.

After work, the bar area can be quite convivial. Order a Brandy Old-Fashioned (seen below), as I did. It's what Milwaukeeans drink.

A Visit to the Reweaver

2011-12-14T06:37:00.000-08:00

I hadn't been to a reweaver since I wrote about (and thus discovered) the trade for a New York newspaper about four years ago. And I missed it. The vanishing trade is so old-world-immigrant, so idiosyncratic, so invisible to everyday view—and, also, so necessary!—I couldn't help but love it. Reweavers are relics of a thriftier, more sensible time, when people actually had their old garments mended and darned. They are a rebuttal to our diseased, disposable lifestyle.

I had a couple beloved sweaters that had a hole or two; it was time. I grabbed them and headed to midtown Manhattan. Last time I checked there were still three or four reweavers around. The oldest, by far, is Alice Zotta. Like all the other reweavers I know, she works out of a cubby hole on a high floor of a highrise. Hers is on W. 45th, near Fifth Avenue.

Last time I visited, little Alice was still on the job, as she had been for 70 years. She has since retired, I was told, but the company continues, run now by her daughter. Otherwise, the "enterprise" is the same. There's a small, anonymous vestibule, and you conduct your business through a doctor's office window, passing your garments through to a woman, pointing our the spots that need repair.

They're a salty group, the reweavers. Dyspeptic, unsmiling, truth-tellers. They'll let you have it in no uncertain terms. "I don't know if we can do this," they'll begin. "This is a big job." "This might be impossible." "This is gonna cost you." "Are you sure you want to do this?" Comments like that. They really do their best to turn you away. You have to pay in advance, because, as the worker told me, "We've been burned to many times." Zotta's office is filled with clothes people have left and never paid for.

I'd go to the reweaver more, but the work does cost a lot. The reweaving of one smallish hole will run you $50, and many jobs start between $70 and $100. So you better goddam love that suit or pair of pants to pay the sort of money that could easily buy you a new garment. I did love these three sweaters. But one had been attacked by moths so viciously I was told it would cost $200 to repair. So, with a sigh, I abandoned it to the trash. The other two, however, I decided to save.

I'm looking forward to picking them up. Zotta always does peerless work in a dying craft.

2011-12-13T18:57:00.000-08:00

This has got to be the flashiest key-maker-shoe-shop-jewelry-watch-repair store in the City. Every single little nitzy thing this tiny Flatbush business does is emblazoned in light. Either the owner really likes neon, or he's crazy.

Willie Had a Liquor Store

2011-12-12T17:55:00.000-08:00

The bold, rather unpleasant sign above this Church Avenue business tells you its it's Willie's Liquors. But look further up and you'll receive the same information in a much more enjoyable package. The old neon sign would seem to indicate that this Flatbush business has been around since the 1930s or '40s. I love that it's called Willie's Liquors—not William's, or Bill's. And I'd love to know who Willie was. But I don't.

Despite the signs, this liquor store apparently officially goes by the name of 77 B&C. Utterly charmless. Long live Willie.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Lee's Tavern?"

2011-12-12T13:44:00.000-08:00

My first "Who Goes There?" column in Staten Island, and ain't I but proud?

Who Goes There? Lee's Tavern

Yeah, it's called Lee's Tavern, not Lee's Restaurant. And it is a tavern. An old one. It's got an old wooden bar, tin ceilings, tile floors, TVs showing sports matches, serves Bud and Coors, the whole nine yards. So what's it doing in this column? Because Lee's also serves what some think is the best bar pizza in the five boroughs, and has been doing so for decades. And because there are plenty of tables. People find this place and sit down for dinner every night of the week—despite the fact that the blonde-brick building, in this lonely corner of Staten Island known as Dongan Hills, has no signifying features, least of all a sign.

Lee's has been around since 1940, when it was founded by Leroy Moresco, known to all as "Mr. Lee." Diego "Dickie" Palemine (everyone has a nickname) bought the place in 1969. After Diego was killed in a hotel fire while vacationing in San Juan in 1986, his family continued to run the bar. Today, his strapping son, also called Diego, does double duty, manning the bar, and walking out to the floor when someone makes a food order.

The Lee's menu includes salad, garlic bread and scungilli—all of it cheap—but pizza is the thing here. Bar pies are an odd subset of the American pizza world that typically connote a smaller size, a thin crust and sub-standard ingredients. All of that is true here, except the last one. The ingredients here are good and the skill with which they're put together is considerable. Lee's cheese pie is sweet, subtle and tasty. And the clam pie is as good as anything I've had in New Haven. If you think you're gonna get better at $5.75 and $8 a pie, respectively, you're a putz.

I suppose Lee's gets a questing foodie like me every now and again, but mainly this is a Staten Island-sustained joint. If any of the patrons were from outside the immediate area, my social antennae didn't detect them. All the customers strolled in like they had just come from around the corner. Lotsa back-slapping going on here. Fat hands on sweatshirted backs again and again. Everyone knows each other. Everyone knows each other's sister or mother, and they all ask how that sister or mother is doing. Ninety percent of the drinkers and diners were dressed in athletic gear: track suits, warm-up jackets, sweat pants, basketball jerseys, athletic shoes. That not a single one of them had just come from doing anything athletic was a dead certainty. Staten Island folk don't seem to know that they dress like extras from "The Sopranos" and "Working Girl." Or they do know it, and don't care. Or they do, and are proud of it. I don't know. If I could call Lee's my local pizzeria, I'd be kinda proud too.

—Brooks of Sheffield

An Italian Butcher in Caribbean Flatbush

2011-12-09T01:31:00.000-08:00

I stumbled upon one of New York's oldest butchers the other day during a long rainy walk through Flatbush. Sitting anomalously in the middle of the various Caribbean and Spanish shops on Nostrand Avenue was Michael's Prime Meats, a remnant of the neighborhood's Italian past.

Michael's has been around since 1931. The Savarese family came from Sorrento in 1903. Sons Michael, Sal and Frank went into the meat business. Mike was the one who opened the shop on Nostrand Avenue in Flatbush. Today, the shop is frequented by the Caribbean women of the neighborhood, who are looking for different cuts of meat than did their Italian predecessors. Michael's obliges them happily.

The shop is now run by the third generation of the Savarese family. The place has all the earmarks of an old butcher. There is sawdust on the floor. And the cutting blocks are warped and rendered concave through decades of use. Above is a photo of how the store used to look in the 1930s. Below are a collection of meat hooks.

A Good Sign: Bigzee's Tavern

2011-12-08T10:24:00.000-08:00

I include this Staten Island bar for several reasons. One, Bigzee's is such a great name for a tavern. Two, you can still see that the place used to be called Donovan's, as nobody has bothered to paint over the sign above the awing sufficiently. And third, because of the odd, oval signs to the left in which Bigzee's proclaims its many attractions.

Flatbush's Merry Oldsmobile Sign

2011-12-08T07:24:00.000-08:00

This is surely the only extant neon Oldsmobile sign in New York City. I almost passed it by without noticing, so seamlessly has it facing into the background of visually hectic Flatbush Avenue, near Avenue D.

It's a beaut of a sign, two-sided and three stories tall. Also, the block at the bottom, by some miracle, works. Most certainly, this was an Oldsmobile dealership once upon a time. The sign also used to be red, based on old photos.

Rat-Squirrel House Gets New Cornice

2011-12-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

Last we checked in on the slowly improving, former horror show know as the Rat-Squirrel House, it had lost its cornice and gains a new roof. Now the long-delapidated Cobble Hill residence has a new cornice. It's a crappy one, of course, because cheap is the way to go in these dark days of Gotham development. Looks to be fiberglass. But it's the same shape as the old one. And maybe they will paint it brown or something.

Hey, Windows: Why So Round?

2011-12-04T18:33:00.000-08:00

Walking down E. 85th Street between Second and Third Avenue, I was struck by the unusual roundness of these ground floor buildings. They're not only arches, which is fairly common in older building, but they bulge out at the sides and are abnormally side. The same is true of the doorways at 222 and 220 E. 85th.

The AIA Guide noticed the windows, too: "Bold, sensuous arches and their batterned bases form, seemingly, keyholes that ground these unusual tenements." The buildings were built in the 1890s, not 1910, as City records erroneously state.

Bill's Gay Nineties Dilemma Grows Murkier

2011-12-01T21:51:00.000-08:00

Alarmed by the rumors swirling around the classic Manhattan bar Bill's Gay Nineties, I paid a call on the former speakeasy to raise a glass, stare at the old boxing posters and theatrical bills and see what I could learn. The blue-blazered swells around me were swilling their Cutty and waters and dirty Martinis as if nothing were amiss. Very likely, they had not read the reports in the New York Post and Crain's that Bill's had declared bankruptcy and was being courted by the oily downtown scene-meister John DeLucie (The Lion, Waverly Inn, etc.)

I asked the bartender how much peril Bill's was facing exactly. He intimated in so many words that the owner of the old tavern—who as sitting there at the bar—wanted nothing to do with DeLucie, and that they were the victim of a spiteful landlord who was messing around with the fate of the bar. "We're not going anywhere," he said.

This confused me all the more. So, this is my guess. Bill's, wrestling with the recession, got behind in their rent. The rankled landlord, trying to scare Bill's into ponying up, started pimping the joint to carpetbaggers.

Meanwhile, just in case things go south, I took a few photos of the wonderful interior. The intricate weave of that swinging door above is pure, unbroken carved wood. Beautiful. The wooden phone booth is still there, but, alas, no longer has a phone in it, like so many other phone booths around town.

A Good Sign: Grande Monuments

2011-12-01T05:43:00.000-08:00

It's the rare New York business that has both great old standard signage and great old neon signage. But Grande Monuments on Graham Avenue in Williamsburg hits that trick. The business was begun in the late '40s and is still family owned. (Grande is not an adjective in this case; it was the name of the founder). It's a weird mash-up place. They sell headstones and bread. The bread comes from Fornaretto Bakery in Brooklyn, where owner Jerry Ragusa's daughter Angela works. It's his way of having her in the business.

Weird Thing Growing in Red Hook

2011-11-30T14:04:00.000-08:00

I saw this strange sight on Reed Street in Red Hook, opposite the Fairway, rising out out what has long been an empty lot. Couldn't make heads or tails out of it. The shape of the building's skeleton doesn't say house or apartment building. It's the huge deck or balcony or whatever that throws one off. Makes it look like a beach house or a resort-ish restaurant of some kind.

The DOB postings say its going to be an "eating and drinking establishment." A damn big one, by the looks of it. Brownstoner says the place will be called Brooklyn Crab. "The applicant for this liquor license states that it will be a seafood restaurant with hours of operation being from 5 to 10:30 week days and 5 to 11:30 weekends and holidays. There will be two open air spaces, to wit: a deck and a covered roof area." That explains that. So will they buy their crabs from Fairway?

Violent Vines

2011-11-30T13:47:00.001-08:00

"Open the window or the shutters get it!"

More Sad Bill's Gay Nineties News

2011-11-29T13:54:00.000-08:00

This article in Crain's may explain the upsetting recent news that a snazzy local restauranteur John DeLucie has been talking to the owners of the former midtown speakeasy Bill's Gay Nineties about renovating and taking over the W. 54th Street saloon:

One of the city's oldest restaurants, Bill's Gay Nineties, has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection.

The Prohibition-era establishment, located in a five-story townhouse at 57 E. 54th St., has been unable to negotiate a lease extension with the building's landlord, according to the filing.

Its owner, Barbara Olmsted, wrote in the filing that she still hopes to reach an agreement with the landlord or to move the business to a nearby location.

Ms. Olmstead owes just $40,000 in back rent. The business' other debts are relatively small, as well. The estimated total liabilities are between $100,000 and $500,000.

“It looks like it's a straight-up landlord dispute, in which the tenant is trying to buy more time” said bankruptcy attorney Fred Stevens, a partner of Klestadt & Winters.

The filing also blames the bankruptcy on the recession and “the difficult climate facing New York restaurants.”

Ms. Olmsted did not return several phone calls nor did her attorney, Lawrence Morrison. Her father, O.B. Bart bought Bill's Gay Nineties in 1965 and she took over the business in 1979. The Bart family is only the second owner of the speakeasy, once a watering hole for some of Hollywood's most famous names including Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe.

This news came as a surprise to me. I always assumed Bill's owned the building and that was one of the reasons it had stayed in business for so long.

Can New York's Restaurant Swells Please Keep Their Glitter-Stained Hands Off the City's Landmarks?

2011-11-29T09:16:00.000-08:00

First Graydon Carter souped up the legendary Waverly Inn and the Monkey Bar. Then Gabe Stulhman fancified the Village icon Fedora. And Torrisi Italian Specialties, is threatening to take over Rocco's, the old Village Italian standby. Now this:

Former Waverly Inn chef John DeLucie is opening a new front in the restaurant war with his former boss Graydon Carter. The team behind clubby eateries Crown and The Lion — Mark Amadei, Sean Largotta and DeLucie — is in talks to take over 1920s speakeasy Bill’s Gay ’90s right across the street from Monkey Bar, co-owned by Carter. If the deal goes through for the East 54th Street townhouse, they hope to reopen it by the spring. Sources say they plan to re-create the old-time feel of the original bar with a first-floor tavern and several private rooms. Carter was partners with DeLucie at Waverly Inn until he left last year to open The Lion. A Crown rep had no comment.

Here's a news flash to Mr. DeLucie: Bill's already has an old-time feel. Don't fuck it up with your vile whoring-after-the-1%, faux-authentic sensibilities. This is not your element. You have no idea what a real New York tavern is. So: Back. The. Hell. Away. From. Bill's.

Macy's Wooden Escalators Gone, but May Return

2011-11-29T05:33:00.000-08:00

A recent visit to Macy's Herald Square brought back the hurtful reminder that most (all?) of the wooden treads on the ancient, historic wooden escalators have been replaced in recent years by standard metal trades. Apparently, a series of accidents resulted in the old wooden treads being ripped out. The sides of the Otis escalators remain wooden, but the crowning beauty of the contraptions was really the treads. The wood was warm; the metal is cold. I went up several floors looking for ones that were still wood, but didn't find any. Maybe they lurk at the top of the building.

But when I went home to do some research on the subject, I was delighted and surprised to find a story in the Nov. 1 edition of the New York Times that reported that Macy's is planning an extension, multi-year renovation of its flagship store, to begin this spring. Included in the redo will be the "preservation of 42 of 43 historic wooden escalators in the current store – a unique and distinguishing feature of Macy’s Herald Square." So they're coming back, I guess!

Among the other welcome improvement: "Restoring the first floor “great hall”... The original great hall’s ceiling height will be restored"; and "The ornate “Memorial Entrance” on 34th Street will be restored and reopened. Windows along Broadway, 34th Street and Seventh Avenue, which have been covered up over the years, will be reopened. Windows on the upper floors also will be uncovered to allow more natural light into the building. Sidewalks will be replaced, with Macy’s-branded paved “welcome mats” added at every entrance. Awnings and canopies reminiscent of the original building will be added. New exterior lighting will highlight the building’s elegant architectural details."

For those who wonder what the old wooden escalators looked like, here's a video I took back in 2008.

Brown's Fuel Service, Carving a Name for Itself in Staten Island

2011-11-29T05:10:00.000-08:00

Brown's Fuel Service has been in business on Staten Island for more than 50 years, providing oil, gas and electricity to island residents. It's a family business, now run by the second the third generation (though the family name seems to have switched to Palmese). I was struck was the simple, yet bold elegance of the carved sign on their Sommers Lane headquarters. I also very much like the old clock on the side, which told the correct time.

Glaser's Still Going

2011-11-29T05:02:00.000-08:00

Glaser's Bake Shop, the 109-year-old Yorkville institution on First Avenue, and perhaps the oldest continually operating business from the Little Germany days, is still going. Just saying, in case anyone was wondering. I don't get up there very often. But I was in the area this past weekend and made sure to swing by for a pastry. They have started making cherry turnovers, for all who are interested.

Another "Who Goes There" Subject Falls

2011-11-28T01:35:00.000-08:00

Spanish Taverna, a Garment District standby that I profiled in a July 2009 "Who Goes There?" column, has closed. I can't tell when the shuttering happened. According to a Yelp posting, the place was will in operation in October. But the phone has been disconnected. And there's a "For Rent" sign in the window, the other windows being papered over.

Here's a bit of what I found in 2009:

The inside, however, is as drab as ever. Tan, brown, yellow—the colors of the 1970s. There’s a nook of a bar up front, and an oddly airless, somewhat depressing dining area in back, with rows of booths on either side. A wealth of mirrors on the sides and in the back lends the illusion of space, as do the unusual plastic arcs which hang from the ceiling and partly divide one booth from the next. I’ve never seen this latter design feature in any other restaurant. It must have seemed terribly modern 34 years ago when Spanish Taverna opened.

Those who come here (Garment District workers, who like to haunt the bar; foreign tourists from Australia, Spain and elsewhere; a few elderly pre-theatre diners) seem to regard it as a hidden gem purveying some of the most authentic Spanish grub in the metropolis. Indeed, the food, while hellishly expensive (entrees range from $18 to $30; a glass of sangria is $8) is more than decent, and undeniably bountiful. I particularly like the mariscadas—various kinds of stew brought to the table in weathered pewter kettles. And everything is served with a dish of very nice, thinly slice fried potatoes.

So, that makes three former "Who Goes There?" subjects that have bitten the dust this fall: Spanish Taverna, La Petite Auberge, and Hinsch's (though the latter is slated to reopen new year under new management). And Rocco's will close early next year. I would have done a "Final Seating" column for Spanish Taverna if I had but known.

A Good Sign: J. Braun Liquors

2011-11-27T16:35:00.000-08:00

I found this wonderful old liquor store sign over the weekend, at Lexington and 90th. Judging by the name, a remnant of the area's German past.

UPDATE: Additional info sent by a reader in the know: "The proprietor was Julius Braun (1914-1995), a Jewish immigrant from Poland who arrived in NY in 1921 with his family. I don't know when Julius opened the store on Lexington Avenue, but it has been there since at least 1971."

There aren't enough people named Julius anymore, in my opinion.

Tree Delivery

2011-11-23T12:11:00.000-08:00

Saw this truck pull up outside the Chelsea Garden Center in Red Hook a few hours ago. Someone's going to be ready for tree shoppers the day after Thanksgiving.

Curious Window Hardware on Grove Street

2011-11-22T20:42:00.000-08:00

I was in the West Village the other day when I paused in front of this handsome old Federal Style house on Grove Street. Admiring the obvious age of the building's facade, my eye was caught by some metal prongs which protruded from the side of each window. There were two on each side, four to a window in all, and had long since been painted over. What were they? What purpose did they once serve?

Given the age of the building—1820s—I at first thought they were old gas jets which fed outside lamps or lanterns that were no longer there. I have seen prongs of this size and shape that were formerly gas jets. I have a couple in my own apartment.

But then I looked at the building next door, which was in considerably better shape. It had shutters on every window, and the shutters' hinges rested on those prongs. In fact, the first building is the only one of the historic block which has not restored the shutters—and thus the shutter prongs.

The Red Hook Ahava Nut Has Given Up—Maybe

2011-11-22T11:04:00.000-08:00

For many years, a certain protest sign on Van Brunt Street has been a familiar landmark to Red Hook residents. It is sturdily posted to a telephone pole (yes, Red Hook, unlike many New York neighborhoods, still has those) outside a house covered with aluminum siding. I assume it was placed there by the owner of the house, for it complains bitterly about the horrible noise that comes from the Ahava kosher dairy plant just down the street on Beard Street.

Ahava has been hated by the neighborhood since it moved into Red Hook in 2001, at the behest of the City. The sign entreats Mayor Bloomberg and Marty Markowitz to "Stop the Noise" and implores locals to call and complain.

The sign is crazy but the author has a point. The factory generator never stops humming, day or night. If I lived nearby, I'd be pissed to.

Recently, weather and wear and tear have caused the sign to fade and, now, crack in two. Only half of its there, and the half remaining would make no sense to a pair of new eyes. So what happened? Did the author of the sign move away? Lose hope? Die? Run out of wood and markers?

Sadie's, a Kitchen Full of Mac and Cheese

2011-11-22T08:47:00.000-08:00

Sadie's Kitchen, the latest restaurant to occupy a small (and up til now doomed) space on Degraw Street in Cobble Hill, quietly opened this week. It's an intentionally cozy place, resembling an idealized version of a 1940s kitchen. The culinary focus is mac and cheese, including varieties that feature bacon, crayfish and smoked duck. But the owner is anxious to make clear that the place serves other things, such as biscuits, sandwiches and pies. She also wants the people to know that they will soon be serving breakfast as well, and will also be accepting credit cards in time.

More Raccuglia Funeral Parlor News

2011-11-22T08:34:00.000-08:00

I visited the Raccuglia Funeral Home on Court Street in Carroll Gardens to find out more about the construction and refurbishments that are being perpetrated on the building, including the removal of the iconic neon sign. I was very relieved to find out that the business has not changed hands. The building is merely getting a much needed renovation, and the neon sign is being fixed and will return.

Goodbye Subway Chess

2011-11-22T00:08:00.000-08:00

Two years ago I wrote about the Chess Classic Cafe, arguably the most unique shop to grace the entire New York subway system. It was located in the arcade outside the Clark Street subway station in Brooklyn Height. It was a basic deli. But one that encouraged and fosters the playing of chess at tables just outside the cafe.

I peeked in the other day and found it gone, replace by a joint that will sell the sliders that are now ubiquitous throughout the City. Looks like an indy place, so that's good. Still. No Chess Cafe.

For those who love the old arcade, the barber, shoe repair store, newsstand and sushi place are still there.

Rkov Didn't Close the Gate

2011-11-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

Witnessed this scene on Grand Street on the Lower East Side the other night. Ventured closer to the Kosher Bagel place to eyeball the sign taped to the door. "Rkov! Close the gate please." (I am probably getting the name wrong. Looks like a backward R to me. But I've never heard of the name Rkov.) The roller shutter was up at 1 AM. Looks like Rkov forgot.

Scenes From the Danish Seamen's Church Annual Christmas Market

2011-11-21T07:51:00.000-08:00

My first holiday event of the season is often a visit to the annual Christmas fair as the Danish Seamen's Church on Willow Street in Brooklyn Heights. It's usually held of the weekend before Thanksgiving, with various goodies on offer, including Danish candies and pastries (see below), as well as Danish hot dogs (topped with crumbled bacon and sliced pickles) and meatballs, and a large pot of Glögg, the hot, spiced, wine-based Scandinavian punch. All at affordable prices. And all served by very blonde people with an exceedingly friendly, if a bit chilly, demeanor.

Shopping-wise, the church seems to have a connection to such mega-Danish corporation as Lego and Bodum. You can get products made by those companies as discount rates.

I noticed a bit of intrigue in the fair this year. In the past, the fair was jointly presented by the Danish Seamen's Church and the Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church on Henry Street. This year, the co-sponsor was the Plymouth Church, Orange Street between Henry and Hicks. When I passed by the Zion Church, I noticed a sign saying they were presenting their own holiday fair on Dec. 3. Hmm.

Frank's Dept. Store Sign Getting an Adjustment

2011-11-21T07:27:00.000-08:00

The classic old Frank's Dept. Store sign on Union Street near Hicks in Brooklyn, which has remained even though Frank's has gone the way of the woolly mammoth, was taken down this morning.

The sign is not being removed for good. It is in need of repair. Apparently the top part of it broke off, causing rain to leak into the store. This sign is old after all.

Frank's decamped a few years backed, after having been on the block since 1937. Brooklyn General, a yarn and knitting shop, moved in, but elected to keep the sign where it was. Frank's also once occupied the shop to the right, not the site of a restaurant.

Neither Snow Nor Rain...But Jury Duty?! Fuhgeddaboudit!

2011-11-20T19:51:00.000-08:00

My Post Office branch on Columbia Street in Brooklyn. I like the sense of civic duty! But I dislike the, well, lack of sense of city duty.

Fortune House Open Again

2011-11-20T19:44:00.000-08:00

The Fortune House, the old school Chinese joint on Henry Street in Brooklyn Heights, is open again after a rocky few months. One imagines they are now under new owners who do not exploit the workers, as apparently the old ones did. For now, the old sign, and exterior and the interior remain largely intact. About the nature of the menu and food, I can not speak at this moment.

Ear Inn Gets Renovation

2011-11-18T14:22:00.000-08:00

This seems to be the season for classic NYC bar renovations. First the Subway Inn. Now SoHo's Ear Inn. Reports Eater:

Some patrons may have been alarmed to find the historic Ear Inn closed recently. But don't worry - like the Subway Inn, the Ear Inn's closure was only temporary to allow for some minor renovations. The bar had originally closed for what they thought was a few days to replace some tiles in the kitchen and bathroom, but they discovered some cracked support beams when they removed the floor boards. Ear Inn owner Martin Sheridan tells the Villagerthat they had to install new wooden beams alongside the old ones that are probably 200 years old, and that the $100,000 worth of work has made the building more structurally sound then ever before. The almost 200 year old restaurant and bar reopened last night and the kitchen will be serving food again by next week.

Wonder what the status of the old phone booth is.

Racugglia Funeral Home Takes Down Old Neon Sign

2011-11-17T20:48:00.000-08:00

The Raccuglia Funeral Home, one of the oldest businesses in Carroll Gardens has taken down the classic vertical neon sign that has for decades hung off the corner building. No word yet on why this was done. But it's unlikely it's being sent out for repair. After all, the lights haven't worked for 20 years. Why would they fix it now.

The sign has been fairly obscured for the last few years owing the the scaffolding that has surrounded the building for what seems like an eternity. (You can see what the sign looked like in better days below.) I have wondered for a long time what's up with the "remedial repairs" on the building, as indicated on the DOB records. I've never seen workers make a single repair to the structure. It's not like Racugglia can't afford the work. That funeral home is never not busy.

Deli Skyline

2011-11-17T05:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes delis can surprise you. A lot are interchangeable. But fairly often, proud owners do a little something decor- or merchandise-wise to set their business apart.

I happened on with narrow deli on Lexington on the Upper East Side that has an entire Midtown Manhattan skyline made out of tile on the wall. It's impossible to take the whole thing in at once (let alone photograph it) because much of it is blocked by the salad bar. Because of this, I doubt that many of the deli customers actually notice it.

Images of Occupy Wall Street

2011-11-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

To me, it came as no surprise that our fair city's richest citizen—Hizzoner to you—would never sympathize wit or even understand Occupy Wall Street. The movement was, after all, a direct rebuke of people like Bloomberg and his buddies downtown, folks the mayor has been telling us since 2008 are decent people who work hard and are really smart and didn't have anything to do with the economy capsizing. Staring every day at national coverage of a protest over which you have little power can be very frustrating to a man who's used to wielding absolute power in every room (or park) he walks into. Downright emasculating, in fact. It can grate on a man. He didn't get into politics for the money after all. If he can't have power what's the point? So you wipe the worthless peons of the map.

I took these pictures a bit over a week ago on a day when I spent a few hours roaming Zuccotti Park, taking in the scene. I found none of the obvious threats threats to public safety or welfare that the Mayor (and Fox News) talk about. The encampment was, in fact, almost mind-bogglingly organized. I've been to family campouts and company picnics messier and more chaotic. Anyway, here are some images from that historic moment in time. All of what you see is now gone.

Gonzalez y Gonzalez to Return; Big Neon Hat, Too

2011-11-15T01:57:00.000-08:00

Gonzalez y Gonzalez—the Mexican restaurant that was for many years a local landmark on lower Broadway, near Houston, but which closed in August—is on its way back. And so is the giant neon sombrero that marked its entrance.

A reader, whom I have to assume is connected to the restaurant, wrote me to say:

Many people might already know, or soon will find out, that Chipotle is opening next week at the Broadway entrance of the old Gonzalez y Gonzalez.

What many people might also not know, is Chipotle only took half of the original space, and that 2 of the original bartenders from Gonzalez y Gonzalez were able to secure the name and the other half of the space, entrance on 192 Mercer Street, down the block from the Angelica Theatre, and will be reopening, with bands, liquor license, giant sombrero and all, by the end of the year.

Hears hoping they actually replace all the burnt out bulbs in that hat. I want to see it blazing in all its glory.

Turkey's Nest OK

2011-11-14T19:56:00.000-08:00

Eater informs us of a potential Lost City landmark crisis moment that I didn't even know about, which is a good thing, because I've got enough to worry about, and have my health to think about.

Apparently, the DOH shut down the beloved Williamsburg dive the Turkey's Nest a few weeks back, and folks were wondering if the 100-year-old dive was going to reopen. Well, it has. "The bar's staff put in nine long days to make the necessary repairs to bring the place up to code, including giving the floors an aggressive wipe-down, and removing the coin operated machines that helped make the Turkey's Nest mouse heaven. One word of caution: although the bar is selling it's beloved $4 32 oz beers in styrofoam cups again, the margarita machine has not yet reappeared." Whew.

Auto Repair Center Returned to Nature

2011-11-14T05:28:00.000-08:00

It's hard to tell just how long this auto repair shop in Howard Beach has been abandoned—10 years, 20 years—but nature has certainly had its way with it. It's so surrounded and covered by vines and brush that, if not for the chain link fence, one would barely notice it. Beautiful, in its haunted-house-Mayan-ruin way.

Tile Lives on Forever

2011-11-11T06:26:00.000-08:00

This Chinatown door is interesting enough on its own. I mean, look at the crazy amount of detail. The carved doors, the cast iron decorative pillars, the uniquely shaped windows. It's freaking art, this doorway.

But inside, in the vestibule, is where the where the treasure lies. A beautiful, and largely intact, piece of tile work commemorating the men who built the house—either B & M Co. or M & B Co. Can't tell.

Note to developers who want their names to outlive them: Go with tile. Floor ceramics go on forever, and, unlike cornices, always stay in the public view.

Mystery Sign on Canal Street

2011-11-10T08:00:00.000-08:00

I stopped in the middle of the street and stared at this rusted facade on Canal Street for about 20 minutes the other day. With its new signage torn off, I thought I glimpsed the shadows of an older painted sign among the wreckage. If I only stared long enough, I thought, I would figure it out, like one of those optical puzzles in which a word is spelled out in slightly different colored dots.

The address is 232 Canal. That was clear enough on either side of the sign. And "E A T" was visible enough, making me think for a while the space had been a restaurant of some kind. Then a perceived and "E R" later on in the letters, which gave me the idea that the word I was looking at was THEATER. But that seemed a long shot, as the building had no earmarks of a theatre. Finally, I figured it out: LEATHER. Not a business that leaps to mind in the modern mine, but a trade far more common a century ago.

In 2008, the City shut down this address for trafficking in counterfeit merchandise.

The address is part of a distinctive triangular shaped building that has been around since the 1800s, and now serves primarily as a place to stick a huge billboard for iPad2.

Looking in on the Sunview Luncheonette

2011-11-10T06:32:00.000-08:00

It's been more than two years since I checked in on the Sunview Luncheonette, the beautiful old Greenpoint diner that closed its doors in early 2008 after an inspection from the Department of Health made things too cost prohibitive for the old Greek woman who ran it to reopen. I wanted to see if it had been occupied, gutted or remained in a state of suspended animation.

The answer is the latter. No one's moved in, but someone's keeping the place up. The inside looks like it could survive a new DOH inspection.

Witness the low prices we've all been missing over the past four years. $2 for a ham and cheese. $1.25 for a cheeseburger. 50 cents for coffee.

The only possible change to the place is that constant exposure to the elements has turned this old Coke sign from red to rust brown.

Fedora Donato, Owner of Famed Village Restaurant, Dies

2011-11-10T06:00:00.000-08:00

JVNY reports the sad news that Fedora Donato, the owner and hostess of his self-named Greenwich Village Italian basement restaurant, died yesterday. She was 91.

Fedora ran her homey eatery, which didn't change much over the decades, until last year, when she sold the space to restauranteur Gabe Stuhlman, who now runs it as a chi-chi place using the same name. Fedora was the subject of my second "Who Goes There?" column, back in March 2008. Here's an excerpt:

Fedora is a refuge for Village lifers who want to be reminded how the world below 14th Street looked in the 1950s. As one three-decade regular informed me, "You don't come here for the food. You come for the ambiance." That cozy atmosphere includes small tables; a low tin ceiling; NPR on the radio; a rotary pay phone; and a framed napkin signed by Lauren Bacall. Also, a communal greeting for every familiar face that passes through the door; the warm presence of the white-haired, Italian-born Ms. Dorato herself; and a sassy, youngish waiter named Georgie who knew one diner would want a Bloody Mary right away and let the lone lady at the bar pour her own vodka and tonic (into a huge brandy snifter filled with ice!).

How Old Is That Product in the Window?

2011-11-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

Here's a curious little shop on Bayard Street in Chinatown. A Thai and Indonesian grocery—how interesting. Let's take a closer look.

Well, they sell beer, soda and water. Good to know. And a wide variety of Asian products that are unfamiliar to the eye. I love discovered new things. Let's go inside. But, um, they look a little funny. A little dusty. A little....

...old. The labels are faded. The liquid inside has partially evaporated. All of the products have most certainly expired. It's doubtful they've been touched since they were put on on display back in, say, in 1979. I've changed my mind. I don't really want to go in anymore.

Two Cobble Hill Gems Close

2011-11-09T01:24:00.000-08:00

On Warren Street in Cobble Hill, between Court Street and Smith, are two tiny shops. They have been there for as long as I can remember. One was an antique chop called "Past and Present." The other was an archetypal New York dry cleaner. They existed cheek-by-jowel, eeking out an existence in their narrow spaces, which were part of a larger apartment building that dominated the corner. I loved the two shops, and enjoyed walking by them as I made my way to the Bergen Street subway stop. In their economic presence, they reminded my of the kind of stores you'd find on a tidy side street in London.

Recently, the two shops closed. Having exited at the same instant, I have to guess the killer here is a simultaneous rent hike.

I never utilized the dry cleaner. It was too far from my house. But I was a patron of the antique shop. The owner was a lovable eccentric. At first, he came off as cranky, but would warm up when you got to know him. The items he sold were all on the small side. He explained this was because, given the tiny space he had to work with, he couldn't traffic in large antiques. So the store was filled with end tables, lamps, and small bookshelves. But it was all absolutely beautiful. He restored every single piece himself, and his love of the work showed in the quality of the work. Moreover, the prices were extremely reasonable. He didn't charge the astronomical amounts that one finds in the antique stores along Atlantic.

I bought a couple lamps and a few other things from him over the years. I wanted to buy more, but the best pieces were usually snatched up the moment he put them on the floor. I hope he's landed somewhere else.

Educated Consumers to Become Orphans

2011-11-08T18:24:00.000-08:00

Syms, one of my favorite local retailers and, for my money, one of the most ur-New York institutions around, has broken my heart by filing for bankruptcy protection. It will close all 46 of their stores, including the Filene's Basement chain branches it acquired in 2009 for $62.5 million. I didn't think that acquisition was a good move at the time. I know nothing about business, but Syms never struck me as the expansionist type. I just felt they should run their Syms stores and leave it at that.

Syms was founded in 1959 by a fella with the inimitable name of Sy Syms (born Sy Merinksy). The stores were discount outlets, but retained a kind of classy patina. The merchandise was of fairly high quality, and the salesmen were "educators" who didn't work on commission, and thus didn't push. Sy coined the chain unusually wise slogan, "An Educated Consumer Is Our Best Customer." What other chain do you know that promotes the idea of buyer intelligence?

Before I ever shopped at Syms, I was familiar with the stores. The company sponsored the old movies Channel 13 aired on Saturday nights. I grew fond of the brief advertising spot that preceded the films, in which the name Syms would be meticulously formed by hundreds of buttons. Then Sy would appear on the screen and utter the company's slogan. Later, his daughter Marcy took his place in the spots.

Syms won me over as a customer one day in the 1990s when I went there looking for a suit. I was thumbing through the gray and navy blue items on the rack when an "educator" approached me with a dark green number by a French maker. I had never occurred to me to wear a green suit, but I tried it on. It was perfectly suited to my build and coloring. To this day, it's my favorite suit I've ever owned. Since then, I've shopped there regularly. Recently, I began buying my son's clothes there. The experience has always been a civilized one. And I was always happily perplexed by the fact that there were three signs saying "Syms" outside the Rector Street store, the bottom one slightly bigger than the top two. It was also one of the only reasons I ever journeyed down to the financial district.

Where will I get my suits now?

One of Our Token Booths Is Missing

2011-11-08T12:18:00.000-08:00

The budget-strapped MTA has been cutting back on token booth attendants for years. I know that. But I always assumed the booths themselves would remain as a kind of show of faith that in a distant flusher future, they would come back to life. But at some point in the dead of night, the MTA recently ripped out the booth at the northern entrance of my stop on the F line, Carroll Street. Put up some new tile work, too, which only shows us how dirty the other tiles actually are.

A Delivery in Greenpoint

2011-11-08T12:13:00.001-08:00

On the Trail of Carlo Bacigalupo

2011-11-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

It's adventures like the following that make running this blog occasionally rewarding. I was wandering aimlessly around the border of Chinatown and Little Italy when I decided to give a good look-see at the Most Precious Blood Church on Baxter near Canal, a gaudy Roman Catholic edifice I'd never given much thought. It's official address is 109 Mulberry (and most people enter that way, too), but the church faces onto Baxter. Inside, a half dozen ancient Italian woman were saying Mass. The place was renovated in the mid-90s is a particularly garish, vulgar manner, so the architecture and interior design isn't much to look at.

Outside, on either side of the entrance, I noticed two sculpted depictions of events from the life of Christ. Under each were the words "Charles Bacigalupo. Sexton Undertaker. 26 1/2 Mulberry St.—208-210 Spring St."

My first thought was that this was a rather brazen credit-grab by Bacigalupo, who obviously donated the money for the sculptures. Not only did he insist on having his name attached (and the way it sits below the artwork, the attribution gives the impression that he might have been the artist who executed the work), but he also put his profession and the addresses of his business. Nothing but an advertisement for his funeral parlor.

My second thought was that Bacigalupo's greed and vanity unwittingly provided me, a century later, with a historical clue. I was near Mulberry, so I decided to walk south on the street until I got to 26 1/2 and see what was there.

I walked until the street bent near Columbus Park—that area of Mulberry that, in the mid-19th-century was a notorious slum called Mulberry Bend. I reached the address. Indeed, it was still a funeral home, but one by a different name: Wah Wing Sang Funeral Corp. As with much of Little Italy, this section was some time ago swallowed and subsumed within the growing borders of Chinatown.

The awning was yellow and plastic. But the plaster cornice above was suitably classical in theme, and very likely put up there by Bacigalupo, I thought. I crossed the street, went under the awning and looked up (I trick I often use when searching for scraps of an address' old history). And there I saw it.

Bacigalupo. Etched in the stone above the entrance. Clear as day, but sadly covered by the ugly awning.

I did a little research and found that Charles (Carlo) Bacigalupo was a great man in his day. From Genoa, he founded the funeral home in 1888 and quickly because famous in his trade. He had four branches in the area, as well as stables for his horses. He reportedly drove the second carriage in the funeral of Ulysses S. Grant. A charitable man, he buried many poor souls at his own expense, making himself beloved by the local population. He is also credited with introducing dirge music to Italian-American funerals in New York.

He died in 1908. The Times wrote, in a rather long article, "Charles Bacigalupo, who for thirty years has buried the rich and poor of Mulberry Bend and Chinatown, was himself buried yesterday, and no funeral of such a scale of grandeur has ever been offered to the reverent if color-loving and emotional people of that section. Bacigalupo died in Brooklyn in one of those comfortable, old-fashioned mansions in Second Place... There were more than 200 carriages and seemingly endless processions of Italian societies with banners draped in crepe and bands sonorously sounding dirges that kept the mourners' tears welling to their eyes.

"After the services at the house the coffin was brought to the hearse—not the famous automobile hearse, but the finest that was ever built to go behind horses. Then six jet black horses, draped in white netting that flowed over the pavement, started toward the Brooklyn Bridge with six attendants holding their bridles. Behind the hearse were nine open carriages piled high with the flowers that the dead undertaker's hundreds of friends had sent."

There was much, much more pomp and circumstance. The coffin was brought to Church of the Precious Blood, of course. (By the way, when I died, that's how I want to be sent off.)

After Carlo's death, his wife ran the business, along with Carlo's sister and her husband. Mid-20th-century, the home was still famous enough that it was mentioned in Louis Prima songs and Lou Costello jokes. "Bye-Bye Bacigalupo" was a popular expression. The funeral home retained the name Bacigalupo until fall 1976, when it became the Ng Fook Funeral Home.

Roadside Pie at New Park Pizza

2011-11-07T05:35:00.000-08:00

I was walking to a wedding in Howard Beach when I passed by New Park Pizza at the corner of 157th Avenue and Crossbay Boulevard. I've heard of the old pizzeria over the years, but have never consciously sought it out. So the sight of the grand old neon sign, with its steaming pizza centerpiece, was a happy surprise.

New Park has been owned by the same family sing 1956. Given their look, I'd say the squat, square building and the signage date from that time. The interior, such as it is, sports a long counter with ordering windows and a row of picnic tables. The set-up reminded me of L & B Spumoni Gardens in Bensonhurst. This makes me think that New Park used to operate as a sort of roadside stand in the old days, something like a drive-in. I suspect the picnic tables were now covered and enclosed in the past.

New Park makes brick-oven pizza. I have read accounts that praise it for its smokey bite. The slice tasted more sweet than smoky to me, but I got it at the end of the day. The crust was soft and chewy. First impression: this is an easy-going version of the classic New York slice, but nothing more special or artisan than that. Lovely atmosphere, though. I'd go again.

My one question is: What park does the pizzeria's name refer to?

Two Old Signs

2011-11-04T12:48:00.000-07:00

I came across two old, hand-painted, wall signs this week, both exposed to the eye by ongoing construction. The above signage is on the side of a building on the east side of Lexington in the lower 60s, where a corner building has been torn down. Can't make out the top part, but whatever the store's name was, they sold gowns and wraps.

This sign, meanwhile, is on lower Broadway near Fulton, advertising "newly decorated," "air conditioned" floors of an office building. I tried the number: out of service. Surprise.

A Little Bit of Gino

2011-11-04T05:28:00.000-07:00

The other day I visited Sprinkles, the high-end cupcake place at Lexington and 60th. Up until now, I hadn't had the heart to go inside, because the chain had supplanted the wonderful and irreplaceable Italian red sauce club Gino. But, more than a year having gone by, enmity died a bit and curiosity took over. I went in to see if I could spy the tiniest bit of evidence of the address' former tenant.

And indeed I could: A whole wall of Gino's crazy red, zebra wallpaper. I remember having read at the time of Gino's exit that Sprinkles planned to retain a swatch of the wallpaper, but then I subsequently read that the wallpaper left with the chef. Both reports, it turns out, were true. The chef took the original wallpaper. So Sprinkles went back to the maker of that bizarre pattern and ordered a new length of it. The Sprinkle paper is thus cleaner than Gino's ever was. One can see how the paper looks when Gino was young.

One other thing: the chef supposedly came in and added his signature touch to the wallpaper: an additional stripe on the tail of this particular zebra (below). Long story behind that. Anyway, though I'd still rather have Gino as this location than Sprinkles, but the effort made by the cupcake chain to honor the past softens my view of them. I may return, if only to look at the wallpaper.

Oh, and about the "new" Gino the chef said he was going to open, the clerk at the store said that plan was still "in the works" and would happen within a year's time.

The Beauty of Schools

2011-11-02T06:02:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been touring some of Brooklyn's middle schools as I search for the right institution for my son, who will enter 6th grade next year. This has give me the rewarding opportunity to obverse their warm and handsome architecture. Most of the buildings we've visited were built at a time when schools were considered temples of community as important as churches and civic building, and given accordingly grand designs. No anonymous pile of bricks, these. The ceilings are high, the windows tall and plentiful, and there is an attention to detail everywhere.

These pictures are from M.S. 443 in the South Slope. There was a time when doorknobs of the sort seen above where common in New York government buildings, libraries and schools. I spied this lone survivor.

Most of the classrooms have a row of elevated windows like these near the ceiling. This allows the room to be flooded with light, and provides a connection between each room and the outer corridor. It's also damn good-looking.

The detail found on the railing of this wrought iron back staircase is entirely unnecessary, and thus all the more wonderful. It transforms a potentially ugly corner of the school into something beautiful.

Most classrooms are equipped with roomy closets such as this. Some protrude into the room, others are built into the wall. Some have regular doors, others sliding doors. All are sturdy as hell.

Why should a public school have a pane of stained glass near the entrance. Why not? That's why.

Village Emigrant Saving Bank for Lease

2011-11-01T08:38:00.000-07:00

The building that holds the Emigrant Saving Bank in Greenwich Village, on Sixth Avenue, is for lease. I would have to imagine that this means Emigrant is on the way out. I've passed by this stark gray building for decades and have grown fond of its sort of charmless charm, its Soviet-like austerity, not to mention is very, very, very subtle Art Deco touches. These days, I like it because its not a glossy piece of cheap, chain-store claptrap on an avenue full of such junk. Nobody today would knowingly build a structure like this.

The listing at Walter & Samuels says the space is available immediately.

Emigrant Savings Bank is the oldest savings bank in New York City and the largest privately owned bank in the country. It is owned by the Milstein family.

Subway Inn Is Not Dead

2011-10-31T20:32:00.000-07:00

The horrific news spreading through the metropolis last Friday was that the Subway Inn, grand old dive of Lex and 60th, had given up the fight. The gates were rolled down, the iconic neon turned off, the phone disconnected. Many, including me, were ready to believe the worst. But one reader remained vigilant. She stopped by every night after work, and tonight the Subway was finally reopened. She took the above picture. Trick or treat? I'd say treat!

White Horse Tavern Under Wraps

2011-10-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

I walked by the historic White Horse Tavern in the West Village the other day and found the old watering hole all but obscured by a girdle of scaffolding. It's a shame to have the beautiful old building unavailable to the admiring eye, but I'm thinking (hoping, guessing) it's all to the good. DOB sheets posted outside say work is being done on the exterior including "scraping, priming and repainting the cornice and window lintels white; scraping, priming and repainting the masonry facades gray; resurfacing the deteriorated brownstone windowsills at the second floor...; removing and replacing all of the wood clapboard on the Hudson Street elevation from the southern building and repainting gray," and much more along those lines. So it seems like the place will look as good as new when all is done. I have to admit, on recent visits to the White Horse, I have surveyed the building with a worried eye. It was in bad shape.

The DOB papers also reveal a nice bit of history. The White Horse building is "a frame house built c. 1817, and was altered for use as a tavern; and that the small adjacent unnumbered building was built c. 1846-7 and later incorporated into the tavern...the cornice and storefront were altered in the mid-19th century."

The only thing that worries me is you can't see the old neon sign. I think it's been removed. I hope, for repair. (Below photo by Daniel Krieger.)

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Sarge's Deli?"

2011-10-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

Sarge's Deli in Murray Hill has been on my "Who Goes There?" list for some time. In an era when the few remaining classic Jewish delis in Manhattan have been transformed into tourist attractions known mainly for their high prices, sliding quality and political photo-ops, Sarge's is an encouraging example of a deli that just is. And after 50 years it has yet to shake off its salty, unburnished New York character. I credit its obscure location with this. If Sarge's had been on Broadway or 34th Street or Houston Street, it would have been ruined long ago. Here's my Eater column:

Who Goes There: Sarge's Deli

Sarge's is Manhattan's premier also-ran Jewish deli. In its nearly 50 years of existence on Third Avenue, the joint has never topped a "best of" list and it isn't likely to. Food critics sometimes toss it a bone, using terms like "underrated" and "unsung" and praising its hash or latkes or corned beef (which are all good). But this second-drawer status actually constitutes Sarge's chief attraction. Not having netted the bold-face type, it isn't crowded with annoying tourists, like the Carnegie and Stage Delis are, and there's never a line out the door. It feels like a real New York deli, not a theme park attraction. Also—and this can't be underestimated—it is open 24 ever-lovin' hours every day. And delivers anywhere in Manhattan. So, at 3 AM on Christmas Day, you can have a kugel delivered to your pad in Inwood. Who does that?

Sarge's was founded in 1964 by a local cop named Abe Katz, who didn't call the deli Katz's for reasons I don't need to tell you. (An almost too-perfect picture of Abe in uniform graces the cover of the huge menu.) It's still in the family, now run by Abe's grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I wouldn't be surprised if a few of waitresses are relatives, too. They certainly seem at home. Getting served by them is like being served by your aunt; she'll be nice to you, as long as you don't push it.

During the day, the clientele is local and skews older. The people who pass in and out of the door are very salt-of-the-earth. Groups of older ladies are not uncommon, and neither are families. Area workers cotton to the lunch service. When the sun goes down, things change up a bit. Cabbies and cops are fans, but so are Murray Hill's multitudinous bar-hopping youths. In the wee hours, as the taverns close, carousers crawl in for some schmaltzy sustenance. All the above notwithstanding, I've never seen the place packed. But that's not a worry. The Katzs own the building, so they're set to make their well-regarded pastrami—based on Abe's recipe—as long as they like. Plus, they appear to do a lot of take-out.

I had some of that tasty pastrami on my recent visit. It was moist and fatty and disappeared fast. So did the chicken soup, stained brown by an amazingly big beef kreplach. There are still many things on the vast menu I'd like to try. The blintzes, the pierogi, Sarge's Favorite (brisket on a potato pancake with gravy and applesauce) and the bizarre Cosby (a cheeseburger topped with a grilled hot dog). So, would it kill them to deliver to Brooklyn?

—Brooks of Sheffield

Subway Inn May Have Gone Under

2011-10-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

Horrible news from Eater for dive bar, Old New York, and classic neon lovers (I'm all three):

Potentially terrible news for lovers of classic New York City bars, as it appears the Subway Inn is no longer with us. A tipster reported that "the Subway Inn looks like it has closed for good", and we turned up this picture from last night showing gates rolled down with its iconic neon lights turned off. A call to the listed phone number revealed that it has been disconnected, which hints that the Upper East Side has lost a true legend. The place seemed to have hit on hard times recently and had even resorted to selling Atomic Wings in a last ditch effort to drum up some business. Maybe this is just a temporary vacation or someone is interested in taking the space over and running a dive bar, but it ain't looking good.

If it's gone, you can add it to the fast-growing New York dive bar death toll that includes Mars Bar, the Rum House and more.

Sardi's Phone Booths Removed

2011-10-28T05:43:00.000-07:00

Once Sardi's had a beautiful bank of wooden phone booths on the second floor. They worked and everything. Then, a year or so ago, the phones were yanked out and the booths stood empty, a victim of the bastards at Verizon, which had started fining restaurants and bars for retaining their phone booth phones. (The tragedy was repeated across town in the months to come.) But at least the booths still stood.

No longer. Sardi's phone booths are no more. The owners told me they were forced to remove them when the Fire Department complained they need more room to access the floor in case of a fire. (No doubt the department leveed a hefty fine on Sardi's and thus met some goddam Bloombergian quote.) Below, how the wall used to look.

Apartments

2011-10-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

The destruction of a building in the Theatre District recently reviewed that the building standing next to it once offered "Apartments." By the looks of it, it still does. I like the simplicity of the advertisement.

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: Kewpee Hamburgers Revisted

2011-10-26T12:15:00.000-07:00

Four years ago, I went well out of my way to visit Kewpee Hamburgers in Racine, Wisconsin. I went because the fast food restaurant is one of only six franchises left in what was once a considerable Midwestern chain, and the only one left in Wisconsin. And the obscure inspired me. But I visited on a Sunday and, Racine apparently being a pious burg, everything was shut up tighter than a drum.

It took me until this month to find a second opportunity to visit Kewpee, a hamburger joint that reportedly inspired Dave Thomas to found Wendy's. This time I got in. It was a Thursday afternoon and there were few people about, inside or out. Racine's one of those mid-sized American cities whose downtown heart stopped beating sometime in the 1970s and has never quite sprung back to life. The sidewalks are deserted.

Kewpee was actually founded in Racine, back in the 1920s, though most of the surviving restaurants are today found in Lima, Ohio. The place on Wisconsin Street has gone through a few renovations. It doesn't look anything like it did back in the 1920's (below), but the current building—a facsimile built in the late '90s—is remarkably close to what stood in the 1940s. (You can read about the restaurant's complicated history here.) And it's in the same location it always was. The interior sports old-fashioned diner design, with two curves of counter surrounded by stools that sit remarkably low. (You'll feel like a kid sitting in them.)

The walls are decorated with tiles featuring the crazy Kewpee Doll mascot, and there's a wide display case filled with Kewpee memorabilia, not all of it specifically associated with the chain. The staff was hilarious, extremely casual and candid, and full of local gossip.

And the burger? Well, it was fine. Not terribly special, but simply a tasty diner burger. If it wasn't perceptibly square—as Kewpee burgers are supposed to be—neither was it round. It comes with mustard, ketchup, pickle and raw onions if you don't specify otherwise. The burger arrived with lightening speed; I think I waited two minutes. And the food is crazy cheap. Few things on the menu rose above $3.

I bought a Kewpee sweatshirt. I regret not having purchased an official Kewpee wristwatch. I took the shirt home in the bag below. Kewpee has mottos to beat the band. I don't know which I like best.

Forgotten Coney Island Beauty

2011-10-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

I was walking down Neptune Avenue recently when I passed this abandoned edifice of peculiar, Coney Island-esque grandiosity. What is that, I wondered. The oval, Moderne shape of the building, the decorative inlaid nickel in the shape of birds, snails and raindrops—it's just a wonderful, witty piece of neighborhood-specific architecture. Was is a bath house? An aquarium? A roller rink?

No, it was the Coney Island Fire Station Pumping Station. It was built in 1938, faced in limestone, and sits on a granite base. The Fire Department shut the station down in the 1970s. It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1981. But it doesn't seem to have gotten much love since then. I learned from the Milli Fiori Favoriti site that it used to be even more beautiful. Four pair of stone winged horses once flanked the entrances. You can see a picture below. The ponies now live at the Brooklyn Museum.

Fultummy's Goes Belly Up

2011-10-19T05:27:00.000-07:00

After a month or more of not being open for business, but not exactly being out of business, Fultummy's, the erratic sandwich place on Columbia Street, has official gone bust. The non-commital "Sorry, We're Closed" sign has been replaced by a real estate sign.