The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: Weber Original Blouses

By some miracle, a entire building wall of faded ads at 70 W. 36 Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues has survived. There are more than a half dozen, positioned like building blocks, one on top of another, along the edge of a building just to the left of Keens Chop House. Most advertise once thriving garment companies in the area, now all vanished.

I've looked at these ads many a time. The other day, while gazing up on them again, and feeling thankful that they were still there, I was gripped by a desire to know more about the companies whose names were painted on the brick. So I've decided to decode each ad, one by one.

I'll start with one of the simplest and most clearly readable from the street. Weber Original Blouses. I like how each of the three words has a different font and a different personality.

You'll see Weber blouses advertised by vintage clothing shops on the Internet today. The company was only at this address from 1948 to 1959, after which they moved to Seventh Avenue. So I'm guessing that's when the ad dates from. The business survived until the 1970s. The outfit seems to have dealt in the then-popular man-made fabrics of nylon and dacron. Who founded it, I could not discover. I guess people don't really care that much about recording for posterity who created some little blouse company in Manhattan in the mid-20th century.

How to Eat Old School

The folks at Eater, who like to map everything edible in the City, ask my to pick out of selection of old guard dishes from New York City's most venerable restaurants. Mutton Chops at Keen's, Pastrami on Rye at Katz's, that sort of thing. Such a task is a pleasure for me, so I was happy to do it. Thanks to Zachary Feldman for putting the post together. Here's the intro. You'll have to jump to Eater to read the rest, because the layout is too complex for me to copy here.

What are the makings of an iconic dish? While the critics and blogs dole out "least favorite food trend" memes annually, these stalwarts—provided, with commentary, by the erudite Brooks of Sheffield of our Who Goes There? column and the erstwhile Lost City—have stood the test of time to help define and inspire the city's ever-changing culinary landscape. Noteworthy dishes that offer something beyond the pizza, cupcakes, burgers, and fried chicken that seem to have strong-armed the market, you won't find this food on a truck anytime soon.- Zachary Feldman

Mystery Door at Keens

Whenever I pass Keens Steak House, I pause to admire the old building and its many singular details.

The word "Bar" spelled out in tile just outside the bar entrance. (That the restaurant still has a separate bar entrance is in itself a thrilling thing.)

The heavy metal pineapples on either side of the entrance, which once served as, I don't know, maybe boot-scrapers, or door stops.

So, the other day, I was admiring the many old bottles in the picture window to the left of the entrance, when I notice an old, inset doorway to the immediate left of the window. It's warped and slanted with time. There is no handle; it is evidently not used anymore. What was it for, I wonder.

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How I Didn't Kill Someone Today

So I'm at Keens Steakhouse for lunch, trying to decide between the $45 Mutton Chop and the $48 Filet Mignon (I ended up choosing the $15 hamburger), when the lawyer one table over, in a dark suit, checked shirt and Burberry plaid tie, begins talking.

"What I can help developers do is make their buildings as big as possible," he said. "I can squeeze as much space out of a property as can be, getting the most money out of it. That's what other guys can't do. They may know to set up a development, but they don't know New York. Things are different here. I know how to get around zoning. I know how to get around the Building Department. People come to me because they know I can do that, and because I don't do anything illegal when I do it. I talk to a lot of architects, and a lot of them are like, 'Oh, I don't want to bother myself with that stuff. I'm just designing my building.' I can't stand that attitude. I can't stand architects who don't want to deal with the practical side of things, the business side of things, who don't want to get their hands dirty."

The man talking did not seem to hear the sound of gnashing teeth coming from the table next to him. Luckily, the busboy cleared away my steak knife before I could do anything rash.

This, I guess, is the sort of person who can afford a $45 Mutton Chop—the kind of man who has to point out that he doesn't do anything illegal. If it were up to him, he'd probably have Keen's torn down due to some zoning loophole, because his developer-client had his eye on the lot.

The Importance of Eggs in Bars

I was having a beer at Keens Chop House, contemplating the many pricey good items to be had on the bar menu, when I noticed a wire rack loaded with hard-boiled eggs. Being low on cash and long on hunger, I asked, "How much for the eggs?" "They're free," said the barkeep. Ah, free. I'll take an egg, then.

Taverns and saloons 100 years ago may have been rough joints, and you always ran to risk of being Shanghaied or slipped a Mickey. But they provided you with food in some form, so you didn't get completely smashing drunk (or, if you did, it wasn't their fault). Keens' eggs are a throwback by the bygone tradition of the free lunch. Many of the old drinking establishments used to lay out free buffets which were all you can eat. (You'll still find this in some pubs in England.) Men drank, but they could also eat if they chose, without worrying it would chip into their drinking money.

Today, the food you find on most bars is the salty kind: chips, pretzels, etc. As anyone in the bar biz knows, these are not meant to provide sustanance. They're meant to make you thirsty, so you order more liquor.

A Note From Keens

Having lunch at Keens Steakhouse—formerly (very formerly) Keens English Chop House—is a sure way to experience time a bit differently. Inside, New York history expands to encompass several eras, while your own time tends to stand still. The "office" quickly vanishes, and the need to return to it disappears with it. Keens is a place where it's understood you'll be sitting down for a while, eating much, drinking much, and forgetting much. The world can wait, for Keens is a word unto itself.



Perhaps the thing keeping people in their seats are the rows upon rows of old, long-stemmed clay pipes that act as alternative ceiling insulation. They're enough to hypnotize even the least curious among us. There are just so many, so neatly arranged one next to the other, and so clean. (Someone's doing a bang-up dusting job.) If you believe the backstory, they were all smoked by someone once—someone probably now long since dead. The pipes of a few special owners are exhibited in a glass case near the entrance: Billy Rose, David Belasco, John Barrymore and, my favorite, Stanford White. They all ate here. They all smoked here!



The steakhouse is convenient to the Garment District, a fact I couldn't miss because of the two seedy old men seated next to me cursing up a blue streak about The Business. "She didn't like my sweater line, she said! I said, look, I brought out six sweaters!" "Just do the fuckin' job." "I bust my ass doing this!" I ate in the pub area. It's cozier and less expensive. From a menu of meat and more meat, I chose the prime rib sandwich, which, since I didn't specify how I wanted it done, came to me quite rare. It was good—a mouthful what with the blue cheese, carmelized onions and sun-dried tomatoes—if a bit overwhelming. The limeade for $4. Was it worth it? No. No limeaid is worth $4. But it was limeaid, and where are you gonna get that anymore?



But the thing I think I like about Keen's the most are the little notepads that can be found on the table, with the words printed in small type at the top left corner: "Notes taken at Keens." What do the mangement mean by leaving these little pads everywhere. Well, a number of things, as far as I can tell. One, bigwigs have business meals at Keens and may need to jot down a few notes. Two, Keens is the sort of place that sets you musing about life while you dine and imbibe, and you may want to record some of those musings. Three, they expect you may drink a bit while you're there, and you're certainly not going to remember what you said or did if you don't write it down. Four, a gentleman is always on the verge of writing something down and he may not have paper at the ready. And five, Keens has a sense of its own importance and presumes that notes taken by people eating there have an innate profundity and weight.

I won't begrudge them on that last point.