Faded Times Square Ad Endangered Now That Astor's Porn Palace Gone for Good

Walking up Eighth Avenue in Hell's Kitchen the other night I noticed that the building I once referred to as William Waldorf Astor's Porn Palace was gone.

This was the building on the northwest corner of Eighth Avenue and 46th Street. One of the oldest structures left in the now-almost-completely-gentrified neighborhood, it had been girdled with a sidewalk shed for years, its windows all punched out and half-covered with plywood. For a time, I wondered if it would ever been taken down. Of course, it finally was.

The people who took it down probably only saw an eyesore. I doubt they had an inkling as to its history as a possession of the Astor family. From 1853 to 1921, the Astors owned this corner, as well as a number of properties on W. 46th. (The Astors once owned the building that now houses Barbetta.) They divested themselves of the area when it got a little too raffish for their tastes.

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New Italian Restaurant Takes Old Italian Grocery's Place

Tavola, an Italian restaurant, has taken up residence in the Ninth Avenue midtown address occupied for 121 by Manganaro's Grosseria Italiana, which closed in 2012. (I wouldn't be surprised if Tavola is only the second commercial tenant the building has seen.) It opened in late September 2012. (I'm reporting on it now, because it's the first I've seen it since it opened. Better late than never.)

It's heartbreaking to see the space taken up by a new business, but it could be worse. The owners of Tavola seem respectful of their predecessors. The facade is unchanged, the tin ceiling remains, as do the wooden shelves that once held groceries, and they've made good use of the vertical neon sign. Also, the old blue-and-white metal sign that once hung outside now adorns one of the inside walls. Minus the "Manganaro" part, that is. I guess the family must have taken that part with them.

The owner bought the building, so there's a chance Tavola will stick around for a while.

Manganaro Name to Leave Ninth Avenue Altogether

They fought over their right to exist and to the name Manganaro for decades. And now, as some sort of seeming poetic justice, both businesses that have long borne that name will vanish forever from Ninth Avenue in Hell's Kitchen.

Manganaro's Grosseria Italiana, the ancient and argumentative sandwich shop and grocery, closed last year after 121 years. Now, Manganaro's Hero-Boy, it's longtime rival, owned by another faction of the fractious, litigious family, is leaving the street. It's being forced out by its landlord. According to Eater, the building and the space next door were sold to a developer for $15.75 million, and the new owner wants the shop to vamoose. The sale was brokered by the vulture-like Massey Knakal, which is usually on the scene when old businesses and old buildings die in New York. (I personally was shocked to learn that Hero-Boy didn't own the building.)

Hero-Boy was founded in 1956. I used to eat at Hero-Boy often when I worked in Times Square in the 1990s. I'd trudge the extra blocks to dine on cheap and delicious sandwiches in what was then a very homey, down-to-earth setting. It was still kind of a locals' secret back then. Many neighborhood workers has their lunches there, and much Italian was spoken. The place has since slicked things up and the place lost a lot of character.

I used to love walking down this stretch of Ninth Avenue. It was so gritty, so real, so evocative of an older New York. A lot of what I liked is now gone.

International Foods of Hell's Kitchen

Whenever I'm on the Hell's Kitchen stretch of Ninth Avenue that runs below 42nd Street—a strip that still features a good number of culinary treasures, such as the Esposito Pork Store and the Manganaro Groceria—I try to find an excuse to stop into International Foods, a small spice and dry goods shop with a very grand name.

In the current foodie wonderland that New York has become, the store's wide array of imported spices, grains, beans, coffee, olives, nuts and whatnot may not be as unusual as it was, say, ten or 15 years ago. Still, it's pretty damn impressive. Sacks of wonderful-smelling, exotic goods sit it rows on the floor, and the walls are lined with jars and plastic bins of still more marvelous foodstuffs.

The store is owned by the two Karamouzis brothers. The family opened the store in 1970, but it looks like its been in business since 1900. You may indeed by served by one of the brothers, dressed in a white jacket and somewhat impatiently awaiting your request. (Don't serve yourself; let them do the scooping.) Prices are amazingly cheap and everything is fresh. I got a pound each of black peppercorns, basmati rice and dried cannellini beans, all for about $5.

So I Had a Friendly Experience at Manganaro's

I was passing by Manganaro's Grosseria Italiano on Ninth Avenue and—despite the possibility that I would be verbally abused—I decided to stop in and order a sandwich. I figured I don't know how long this century-old place is going to be around—there have been stories, and counter stories, about the building being sold and the business shuttered in recent weeks. So I had better suck it up and experience the place while I could.

The store's about a mile long. It goes back, back, back, past a lot of counters and shelving and artifacts to the lunch room. This means there's no turning back if you go in for a bite, no easy out. So if you're worried about being chewed out by the owner (it happens), forget about making a graceful exit.

I went back. The owner was sitting at one of the tables, chatting with three friends. I did not ask for service, or clear my throat or anything, afraid I would offend and set her off. Besides, I was happy biding my time looking at all the pictures on the wall. Finally, she said, with a smile and a friendly tone, if I wanted something. I said, yes, indeed, I'd like the Manganaro's Special sandwich. She set about making it with care, laying on the various Italian meats and cheeses, vinegar, oil, and vegetables on a half loaf of fresh Italian bread.

She asked if I wanted something to drink. Again, I didn't wish to ignite her anger, so I ordered a soda I didn't want. I'm pretty sure she overcharged me. The sandwich was $10 and my bill was $13. Of course, this is New York. The soda could have been $3. I doubt it, though. But she included a cookie for free, so I didn't mind. And she was perfectly sociable the entire time. I couldn't believe it.

Plus, the sandwich was delicious.

Esposito Pork Store Back When

The other day, I stopped by Hell's Kitchen's Esposito Pork Store, home of sucking pigs and "picnic shoulders," to pick up some sausage. Inside, I saw a couple old photos of the store back in the day. I thought they were worth posting here.

Giovanni Esposito was out butcher back then, and the emphasis was Italian meats. I think that's Giovanni and his son in the photo.

I'm assuming this photo was a couple decades later, judging by the signage, and the increase in English. Giovanni's still in charge. And look: "Smoked Picnics"!

I ordered some Italian sausage, by the way, which it's apparent they've been making for more than 100 years. Amazing stuff.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Mont Blanc"?

[Editor's Note: Sorry I've not posted for a few days. I was on vacation and my laptop crashed. Will be back up to speed soon.]

I remember when I first heard about the Theatre District eatery Mont Blanc. It was back in 2005, when I was bemoaning the closure of such area joints at McHale's and Sam's. A friend, commiserating, told me yet another great, affordable old place in the neighborhood was closing: Mont Blanc. My first thought was that I had never heard of it. My second was, Time Square has a Swiss restaurant?

I was very happy when I discovered that Mont Blanc reopened in a new space on the same street. Here's my column on Eater:

Who Goes There? Mont Blanc

Maria's Mont Blanc Restaurant was one of those small midtown bistros that went down in the years before the recession hit, when the Real Estate Gods of Times Square decided the area no longer had room for mid-priced eating and drinking options. But, unlike Barrymore's, Sam's, JR's, McHale's and other victims, Mont Blanc managed to find a new location—right across the road from their former home, on E. 48th Street between Eighth and Ninth, as a matter of fact—and resurrect itself.

Mont Blanc spent twenty years at its first home, and has only been in its new space for four years. Hence, the restaurant's charmingly shabby, lived-in quality has vanished. But the feeling that you're in the capable hands of a close-knit family remains. I've rarely seen such conscientious kindness as that exhibited by Mont Blanc's staff toward its faithful clientele. A garrulous, courtly man was celebrating his 90th birthday the next table over. Not only did the waiter not flinch when the old man's friends produced a store-bought cake to sing "Happy Birthday" over, he brought plates and offered to keep the cake in the fridge for the party while they went to the theatre. Maria, when she's there, pays a call on most tables.
Mont Blanc calls its cuisine "European," though regulars know the focus is Swiss specialties. People come here for the various fondues and for the Raclette, which are served for two and, at $45, are the most expensive items on the menu. Otherwise, the prices are quite reasonable, and the bountiful dinner prix fixe is a steal. My $29 got me a large plate of pickled vegetables, herring and sour cream; a salad; a wine-sweet plate of Veal Dumpling a la Viennese and mushrooms; one of the best apple strudels (hot, with ice cream and fresh whipped cream on the side) I've ever had; and coffee. But the best part of any meal here is the traditionally Swiss way they do potatoes. A golden, hot, Rösti the size of a frisbee (it's like a giant hash brown) is cut into quarters tableside, a wedge given to each diner.\

Many regulars—most on the middle-aged and elderly side—followed Mont Blanc when it crossed 48th Street. Some said they hadn't been back in years, but it was clear none of the diners had ever forgotten the place. The restaurant has also always been popular with theatre people, who prize it for its quiet decorum and homey feeling. An actress currently starring in the Broadway play "Good People" sat next to me, promptly leaving her bottle of wine at 7 PM to head to the theatre. And a couple of slim young gay men in the corner sipped at beaker-size martinis and gossiped about Bernadette Peters and the new season, about which they "couldn't find anything to get excited about."

—Brooks of Sheffield

Pozzo Pastry Shop Still Mourned After Two-Plus Years

There are deaths of old businesses and deaths of old businesses. Sometimes I'll post an item about an old New York establishment closing its doors and no one will comment or link. Other times, they're comment and link in decent numbers and then the joint will fade from memory.

Then there are the places that shutter and continue to draw sad remembrances month after month, year after year. Manny's Music was one of those. I get a comment or two every month from people who are just discovering it's gone and can't get over it. More surprising is the long mourning period of Pozzo Pastry Shop, a Hell's Kitchen neighborhood business that was owned and operated by Mario & Joseph Bianchi, and that closed back in January 2008. People still feel its absence. 

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Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Le Rivage"?

For this week's "Who Goes There?," I ventured onto Restaurant Row. With the number of old holdouts on that strip, I suspect I'll be back again soon. I'm looking at you, La Rivista!

Who Goes There? Le Rivage

Few blocks have a more stubborn dining profile than Times Square's Restaurant Row, the strip of showfolk and tourist redoubts along West 46th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenue. Broadway Joe Steakhouse, Barbetta, La Rivista, The Hourglass Tavern, Joe Allen, Lattanzi, Meson Sevilla—these places might as well have actual roots reaching miles below the pavement, they're so absolutely there.

One of the oldest is Le Rivage, the unpretentious French bistro which has been run by the Denamiel family since 1984. A third-generation Denamiel is actually in the kitchen: Chef Paul Denamiel. Prior to their life in Hell's Kitchen, the Denamiels ran a similar place on East 86th Street called Cafe du Soir for a couple decades. Even in 1968, New York Times food critic Craig Claiborne called the menu "predictable." No food trend goes un-ignored at Le Rivage. You want Trout Amandine? Frog Legs, Chicken Cordon Blue, Tournedoes? Of course you do. Your grandparents wanted them, so did you parents. Why not you? And Le Rivage remembers your parents. They used to come here before the theater; still do, actually. And now you come. Le Rivage gets multiple generations of regulars, old folks with bow ties and canes, and longtime friends who gab on into the night about other old friends, over sorbet and coffee and dessert wine.

Most patrons have abandoned the scene by 7:30 PM and a ghostly silence falls over the warm, faded, brick-and-wood-lined room, giving your plenty of time to contemplate the countless copper pans that hang on the walls, and the many bad oil paintings, all by one "D. Ruperti." (There's a snug, elevated eating nook in back, if you really want to be alone with Ruperti's brightly hued landscapes.) But a steady trickle of diners takes advantage of the off-hours, all greeted solicitously first by the tall, thin, attractive and proper young hostess from Eastern Europe, who doubles as coat-check girl; and then by The Madame of the house. Madame is the only French speaker on the floor. Dressing chicly in black, she brings a bottle to the hostess. "I brought the Medoc. I thought we needed the Medoc." She clears out soon after curtain time as well. The lady didn't have far to go; the Denamiel family owns the building and, I believe, lives upstairs.

The big Slavic waitresses, who look like they belong at Polonia on First Avenue, tred heavily and smile easily, saying "bon appetit" as they bring large, hot plates to your table. The edges of the platters are inscribed, in a gesture of old-fashioned dignity, with the words "Le Rivage"—just like those forgotten, paperweight-heavy, hotel and shipping-line dishes you find at Fishs Eddy. The food is not overly spiced, or overly flavored for that matter. But, have no doubt, it is predicable. Claiborne would recognize it.
—Brooks of Sheffield

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A Good Sign: Gatti & Lopez, Inc.

On W. 52nd Street near Eighth. The business is defunct. They were masonry contractors.

Lost City's Guide to Hell's Kitchen

First of all, Clinton is a perfectly fine and respectful name for a neighborhood, but to abandon the infinitely more expressive name of Hell's Kitchen is just foolhardy. The midtown blocks west of Eighth Avenue will always be Hell's Kitchen to me. Despite the increasing number of towers sprouting up and down Eighth, the area still has a raffish, slightly edgy charm which speaks of its immigrant, gangland past. And despite losing some irreplaceable landmarks like Pozzo Pastry Shop, Ninth Avenue and the side streets still boast a healthy number of independent and individualized shops and restaurants. Here are a few to catch. (FYI: I'm going to cover the blocks south of 42nd, which are often considered part of Hell's Kitchen, in a separate guide.)

HEARST TOWER: We'll start at the northern reach of the area, at the corner of Eighth and 57th. From 1928 on, William Randolph Hearst and his minions commanded the news magnate's empire from this former six-story Joseph Urban building, now a mere shell used to prop up Sir Norman Foster 46-story glass jungle gym.

THE WINDEMERE: (above) It's still there, for now, at the corner of 57th and Ninth Avenue, despite the malignant efforts of its negligent landlord, Masako Yamagata, to allow the 127-year-old building to fall in a heap of dust. The Romanesque Revival structure is one of the oldest large apartment houses still standing in Manhattan.


S. WOLF PAINT: Walk down Ninth to 52nd. Here is a big Benjamin Moore paint store. Peek around the corner and you'll see another storefront to the L-shaped building bearing the sign S. Wolf. That's what the store used to be, when old Simon Wolf, and later son Stephen, commanded the New York paint biz from this perch during most of the 20th century. Stephen's son, Matt Wolf, is a well known London theatre critic, which goes to show how far from the tree the apple can fall.


TOUT VA BIEN: Walk to 51st between Eighth and Ninth. Sixty years old and still basically the same, this old-school French bistro acts as if the neighborhood has never changed from the days when the visiting French fleet used to make it their home away from home.

DRUIDS: Walk to Tenth Avenue. Near 50th is Druids, a nice, dark, atmospheric bar that's been there for a decade or more. It was once the incongruously titled Sunbrite Bar, a haunt of the murderous Westies gang.

LANDMARK TAVERN: Walk to 11th Avenue and 46th. This 1868 building has always been a restaurant and bar. It once looked onto the lapping shores of the Hudson. It's owned by the same guy who runs Druids, who apparently has a thing for old Hell's Kitchen saloons. The upstairs rooms are where the original owner raised his family and where, during Prohibition, there was a speakeasy.


MARKET DINER: Walk down to 43rd Street. This diner, a favorite of cabbies and other working stiffs, almost died last year, but then reopened in December. A victory for budget-conscious eater and lovers of diner architecture.

MANHATTAN PLAZA: Walk along 43rd to Ninth. On the southwest corner stands this tall residence, built in 1977, the nondescript facade of which belies the colorful characters of its inhabitants. If you don't like actors and showfolk, don't step inside. Half of working-class Broadway lives here.

WESTWAY DINER: Look across the street at one of the last places where the starving actors in the neighborhood can get a cheap meal, and at any hour of the day, too. Cops like it, too. Supposedly, the idea for "Seinfeld" was hatched here. But I think a lot of ideas have been hatched here.


RUDY'S BAR AND GRILL: Walk up a block on Ninth, between 44th and 45th. Free hot dogs. Big statue of a pig outside. Duct tape on the well-worn red booths. Barflies aplenty. Everyone knows this place, right?


POSEIDON GREEK BAKERY: Just next door to the raffish Rudy's is this dignified, longstanding family bakery, purveyors of Greek delicacies and old-style service. It's been around 89 years.

FILM CENTER BUILDING: Across the street is this landmarked Art Deco building. A hundred fascinating showbiz related outfits do work inside.

BRUNO RAVIOLI: On the next block north of this amazing section of Ninth is this 103-year-old maker of great pasta.

MAZZELLA'S MARKET: Between 47th and 48th, this half-inside, half-outside market gets my vote for the most purely old-New-York-ish business in Hell's Kitchen. The place, which sells both wholesale and retail, has done an impeccable job of ignoring every bit of modernity that surrounds it. All that's needed is a pushcart to complete the picture.


RESTAURANT ROW: Jog back to 46th and walk the block between Ninth and Eighth. As long as anyone can remember, people starring in plays and people going to plays have eaten at restaurants lining this street. Among the most lasting is BARBETTA, more than 100 years old and with only two owners, the father and daughter of the same family. Among the most storied is JOE ALLEN, named after its crusty owner, who once dated Chita Rivera and who also owns Orso and Bar Centrale next door.

THE CAMELOT: Walk down a block to 45th. This apartment building was built in the 1960s and was named after the popular musical. I just like the fussy lettering on the side of the building.

THE WHITBY: Walk west on 45th. This sweetly old-fashioned apartment complex was built in 1934 as a residential hotel, and has a surprisingly starry history. The Andrews Sisters Doris Day, Joe DiMaggio, Charlie Chaplin and Betty Grable have all lived here. Somewhere on the south side of this block, at what was Billy Haas’s Chophouse, on Aug. 6, 1930, Judge Joseph Force Crater left the restaurant, stepped into a cab, and was never seen again.

Lost City's Guide to the Upper West Side
Lost City's Guide to SoHo
Lost City's Guide to Midtown East

Happy Holland News

As I had hoped and expected, the Holland Bar dive of Ninth Avenue, the Holland Bar, is not gone for good. EV Grieve (via Eater) reports:

"The sign is still on the wall. And! The fellow at East West Grocery right next door emphatically told me the Holland was reopening -- 'in two weeks.' Really? 'Yes, it is reopening.' After that, I stood out front and waited for the lone construction worker...Is the bar reopening? 'Yes.' Do you know when it will reopen? 'No.'"

Good news. Always knew that sign on the wall boded well for the place.

Market Diner Back in Business

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

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

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

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

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

Costa Del Sol to Be Supplanted by Palazzo de Nouveau

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

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

Dive Bar Options for Holland Bar Refugees

Whether the Holland Bar of Hell's Kitchen is gone for good or due back next spring after renovation, its closure leaves some thirsty barflies without a dive to call their own. With than in mind, here a few stalwarts saloons that are holding firm against the onslaught of Nouveau York.

1. For Holland tipplers, this is a short walk. The Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge on located on Eighth Avenue near 37th Street. Genuinely suspect joint. Distinguished it ain't. But colorful.

2. McAnn's. Also very convenient to Holland patrons will live locally. I still marvel that this pit perseveres in a city showcase like Port Authority. Most dive bars make me smile. This one actually depresses me. I suspect some Holland regulars are here already.

3. For Queens residents, the Station Cafe shivers under Woodside's LIRR and 7 line tracks. Hardcore patrons. Nothing fancy. You are welcome to start quaffing at 9 AM.

4. Also within stumbling distance of Holland is Rudy's Bar & Grill. Free hot dogs, cheap beers and a little theatre district glamour are among the attractions. The giant pig is not your imagination; it's real.

5. Montero's in Brooklyn, on Atlantic Avenue, used to service passing sailors and seaman. Now its patrons include a fair share of hipsters. It's still has the soul of a dive, though. The old lady in the corner of the bar owns the joint.

6. The Holiday Cocktail Lounge on St. Mark's has a great jukebox, great location and lousy liquor. The atmosphere, and the ridiculously upbeat name, makes up for the latter.

7. The Mars Bar, on Second Avenue. This scarred place is one of the few East Village drinking establishments left that one would cause one to pause before entering.

8. The Subway Inn may be NYC's most glamorous dive, attracting the occasional celebrity, and located around the corner from Bloomie's. But you can't ignore the sagging ceiling, duct-taped-booths and nasty bathroom. It's a dive. Just ask for a Martini and you'll find out.

If you have your own helpful suggestions for the Hollanders, please write in.

Horrors?: Holland Bar Gutted, But May Return

In a possible sure sign of the dying soul of New York City, Holland Bar—dive of dives, hell hole of Times Square past, hard-drinking haven, irony-free zone—has been gutted. If it is gone for good (and this is not a certainty—see below), it follows its brother in gritty Ninth Avenue degeneratacy, Bellevue Bar, into history. If Ray Milland in "The Lost Weekend" were alive today, where would he drink!?

The beloved dump used to be inside the Holland Welfare Hotel in 42nd—hence the name. It only moved to its present location in 1987. Legend has it that jazz great DexterGordon was a regular. The liquor was rotgut, but the beers were good. And everything was cheap.

But there's a possible silver lining. I called around and learned this from the owner of the nearby Manganaro's HeroBoy: "There's a possibility that it may reopen in the spring. The landlord is making some renovations, but if you look in you'll notice that while some stuff has been ripped out, other things have been left. I think the owner and the landlord are trying to come to an agreement."

So there's hope.

The phone has been disconnected. A job action filed with the DOB on Oct. 30 by one Harry H. Hong describes the work this way: "INSTALL EXHAUST HOOD FOR AN EXISTING DELI STORE ["Deli Store"?] ON 1ST FLOOR. INSTALL METAL CHIMNEY FROM 1ST FLOOR ROOF TO 5TH FLOOR ROOF. NO CHANGE IN USE, EGRESS AND OCCUPANCY." I called Hong's office and they didn't know what was going on with the space.

Hong filed another job on Oct. 24 to "REMOVE EXISTING WOOD BEAMS AND REPLACE WITH NEW STEEL BEAMS AND METAL DECK CONCRETE FOR 1ST FLOOR RIGHT FRONT STORE. INSTALL FIRE RATED SHEETROCK ON CELLAR AND 1ST FLOOR CEILING."

The owner of the building is listed as one Eleben Yau Mei Wong, who seems to have bought the property in 2007. Norman Daskefsky used to own the bar. Maybe still does.

Faded Imprint

Few names are more redolent of New York's glorious literary past than Scribner's, the high-brow, adventurous published house that first published Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Wolfe. You can find faded remnants of the firm here and there around the city, most notably at the old headquarters on Fifth and 48th.

Here's a lesser known relic. Walk down Ninth Avenue between 44th and 43rd and look up and to the left. Huge, but faint white letters spell out Scribner's on the side of 315 43rd Street (though the "S" and "I" are now obscured by windows). This building, erected in 1907, used to be Scribner's printing plant and warehouse. Scribner's sold it 1955, but 53 years later the sign stubbornly clings on. The building is now home to the offices of several theatre companies, including Manhattan Theatre Club and the Mint Theatre Company. The Mint has, interestingly enough, performed little known plays by Thomas Wolfe and Ernest Hemingway in recent years.

A Good Sign: McGraw Hill

Not a sign, per se. But not not a sign. The company has been proclaimed its Art Deco greatness from the 33rd story of 33 W. 42nd Street since 1931. It certainly adds a touch of dash the the otherwise ugly midtown skyline.

43-Story Headstone

On the site of the late lamented McHale's, at 46th and 8th, the 43-story Platinum condominium tower is almost complete.

And don't it just make you sick.

What's the Point?

Mark Scharfman, the landlord of the stubby building that once held Le Madeleine on W. 43rd near Eighth, instigated a lot of tsuris among theatre- and food-lovers last spring by insisted that the 29-year-old French bistro get out, out, out so he cold tear the building down and erect a tower!

So what's the jerk replacing Le Madeleine with? Another French bistro! A bright red awning for Le Petit Un Deux Trois hangs at the address now and looks to open soon. Now, I'm happy the space went to as nice a local business as Un Deux Trois, which has been serving up good food and civility on the other side of Broadway for years. But it has to make you wonder by the landlord insisted on kicking Le Madeleine to the curb. Was it personal between the landlord and the restaurant owner, Tony Edwards, who always insisted Scharfman couldn't legally tear the building down. Did the economy foil Scharfman's plans? Or maybe Un Deux Trois just offered more money.

Meanwhile, there's nothing on the Le Madeleine blog about Edwards' promise to reopen, despite reader comments of commiseration and encouragement that continue to this day.