Lost City: New Haven Edition: Modern Apizza

Modern Apizza is the only one of New Haven's three great pizza palaces to have evaded me to date. I've been to Frank Pepe's and Sally's Apizza, which are both on the same street, Wooster, in New Haven's Little Italy (very little). Modern has always been a harder assignment because it's a little out of town, a goodly walk from the main square.

On this visit, however, my New Haven friend was intrepid and agreed to the necessary trek. It helped that he, too, was annoyed at never having visited the place, despite living there. Compared to Frank Pepe and Sally's, Modern is relatively unsung. It wins some polls, but, unlike its competition, is relatively unknown outside New Haven. Visiting Modern at lunchtime was a breeze. No wait, though it was bustling. Unlike its New Haven pizza rivals, Modern pies are not misshapen, but the usual round items; they're not overly hung up on the circular shape in this town. But like the other pizzerias, they offer a clam pie. We didn't go that way. We order two small: one half plain, half pepperoni; one a white pie, half spinach, half artichoke.

It was all good, but the artichoke slices were particularly savory and creamy, and the artichokes were fresh. The pepperoni was excellent, spicy and zesty. The verdict? Frank Pepe's is probably the best of the three. But Modern scores many points for being a much more low-key affair. You don't have to wait in horrendous lines, and the place is not stuck on itself. It's lack of airs is refreshing.

A Good Sign: New Haven Edition: Perkins Rubber Stamps

This choice pair of signs on Elm Street in New Haven belong to an improbable, one-of-a-kind business: a 132-year-old independent maker of rubber stamps and other "marking devices"! They also make mugs, small signs, awards, buttons, nameplates, decals and a bunch of other office knick-knacks. How can such a business have survived for so long in the world of Staples? Perhaps people are helplessly attracted to the beauty of the old signs.

Lost City: New Haven Edition: Yankee Doodle Did and Died

I often visit New Haven, Connecticut, since I have friends there. It's a city I like. Either because of a sense of tradition lent to the area by the influence of a centuries-old university (Yale), or because urban blight and economic stagnation—so common to cities in this state—halted progress to a large degree, a great many wonderful old New Haven businesses have persisted for many years.

For years, I pledged to myself on every visit that I would get around to bellying up at the counter of the half-century-old Yankee Doodle Coffee Shop on Elm Street. The narrow, slip of a place—just a corridor, really, with a counter and a row of 12 stools— had been there since 1950. It's a beloved local institution. Both Bill Clinton and George W. Bush were regulars during their college years. It is known to locals as The Doodle. I had a hard time getting there because of its limited hours; it was a weekday lunch place, and I was always in New Haven on the weekends.

Alas, I waited too long. I arrived this past weekend to find it had shuttered for good on Jan. 28, 2008. The great neon sign, with its long-legged, white-clad serving man, is good. All that's left to indicate it ever existed is a plaque.

The place was run by three generations of the Beckwith family: Lew, Lew, Jr. and Rick. The last one closed it due to "economic reasons." That is, the rent was too high, and New Haven had become to gentrified for a tiny coffee shop to make a go of it. The website still exists, for what it's worth. You can't buy any souvenirs through it, and the phone number isn't working, but it's there. (There is an ongoing effort to reopen the place, spearheaded by patrons, but it's unclear if anything will come of it.) For the particularly mournful, there is this perverse YouTube video of a fife and drum corps playing outside the shop. Touching, and bizarre.

What it used to look like:

Some Stuff That's Interesting

Still no action at would-be Court Street Trader Joe's. (And can they please fix the clock?)

Somebody tore down the 114-year-old Church of the Master (cool name) because, you know, they just had to.

The bad news about Meatpacking landmark diner Florent maybe closing appears to be true. The Observer says the restaurant's lease is up March 31 and the owner may not renew. If you have $70,000 (a month) the space can be yours.

A cool film of Blackwell's Island circa 1903 made by Thomas Edison.

Some good citizens (and one City Councilman) participated in a rally at Borough Hall in support of the drive to downzone Carroll Gardens.

And, off-island: I like pizza places that call themselves "Apizza." New Haven rocks!

Lost City: New Haven Edition, Part II

Continuing my travelogue of my daytrip to New Haven, the reason I trained it to the city in the first place was to pay a visit on Delmonico’s Hatters on Elm Street. The century-old hat shop is one of the last in the Northeast; headgear enthusiasts travel from all over New England to fill their hat needs. The place is on an intriguing little block—a high class, independent men’s wear emporium on the left, an ancient rubber stamp company on the right. The hat shop itself is quiet and unhurried—about 90 percent of their business is done over the internet now. Nonetheless, they have a full stock of felt and straw hats, caps, derbies, top hats, trilbies and berets. I purchased a fine straw panama with a black band and pinched front for the summer.

After that, I doubled back across the village green to the Anchor Restaurant, a classic bar with semi-circular red leather booths, wood-paneled walls and a great old neon sign outside. It’s a place for Martinis and Manhattans, where the guy in Frank Sinatra’s “One for My Baby” might roost to forget his troubles. A few old ladies were enjoying a midday lunch. The help was discussing their hangovers. It was cozy.
Next door was a tobacconist, equally ancient and untouched, called the Owl Shop. Apparently, it was once one of a chain of five, the first founded on Wall Street in 1934 by a Greek named Joseph St. John. The New Haven shop dates from 1937 and is the only one left. Apparently, when the Shubert Theatre down the street was a thriving out-of-town Broadway tryout stop, stage stars would stop in here to buy their cigars. Across the street is the Taft Hotel, now an apartment complex. This is the block of New Haven that mattered to theatre types during the last century, where a scene from “All About Eve” took place. Now, to keep up with the times, the Owl has opened a café in the back. Soon, hardware stores will have a café in the back.

I was too intimidated to go in, knowing that I, as a non-smoker, wouldn’t buy anything. On the train back, I read from A. J. Liebling’s boxing book “The Sweet Science.” He didn’t smoke either, but he would have gone into The Owl Shop. Too curious about life.

Lost City: New Haven Edition

Yes, I know this blogger’s job is to rail against the desecration and demolition of New York City’s cultural landmarks (and, on the odd occasion, raise a huzzah for the preservation of same), but yesterday I took a day trip to New Haven, a city that seems to cherish its ineffable culinary institutions in a way that should make Manhattan blush. So, here’s what I saw and know.

Of course, New Haven is home to “Apizza”—not “a pizza,” but the weirdo term they use up there for their superlative, brick-oven pies. Frank Pepe’s (founded 1925), Sally’s Apizza (founded 1938) and Modern Apizza (founded 1934) are the standard bearers. The former two are on Wooster Street in New Haven’s absolutely adorable little Little Italy. All are modest joints with few niceties (Sally’s seems stuck in 1974; the décor is so horrible you can’t look away) with lines of people snaking out the door at all times. Each is worth the wait, even if I could name a pizzeria or two in NYC that surpass them in taste.

But, I didn’t go there yesterday. I went to Louis’ Lunch, squat little brick oasis on Crown Street which purports to have invented the hamburger sandwich in 1895. (There are about five or so rival claims for this epoch-shaking invention.) Their idea of a hamburger, which apparently hasn’t changed in one hundred years, is a flame-grilled mound of meat served on lightly toasted white bread with cooked onions, chopped tomato and cheese. No condiments allowed.

This is a stubborn little place, the “Soup Nazi” of the burger world. Ask for ketchup and they might throw you out. A sign on the wall says “This is not Burger King. You do not get it your way, you get it my way or you don’t get the damned thing.” Another says “Of course, I don’t look busy. I did it right the first time.” Then there’s a picture of a ketchup bottle with a red line through it. Also a coke bottle similarly banned. (Shades of the Greek Coffee Shop skit on early Saturday Night Live: “No Coke—Pepsi.”) There are chips but no other side dishes to speak of, and sodas mainly hail from an obscure local maker in East Haven.

If you’re a first-timer, don’t expect much sympathy from the staff of two. Boston Red Sox fan “Joe”—who makes the burger in these ancient metal, Venus-fly-trap, vertical grills that, wherever they were made, that place sure don’t make ‘em anymore, if it’s around at all—doesn’t say anything. And the counter girl, a pretty Asian girl, is as tough a cookie as you’ll ever want to meet, and my choice for the next Bond vixen. No admission of weakness or human frailty from her. Just “chips are on top, drinks on the blackboard.”

The joint itself is a beaut. Old wood carved through with graffiti. The variety of seating in the tiny place is a wonder in itself. Wooden stools perched on metal piping around one side of the counter; leather-cushioned ottomans around the other side; a couple snug, old wooden booths with curved, wooden sides; a row of “single” booths lining one wall, with a wooden tray of sorts perched in front of each diner—a lot like those old school desks; and one large cast-iron table with a series of seats around it.

There are also a lot of guns on the wall. Not sure what that’s about.

Oh, and the burgers are fantastic. Unlike any you’ve ever had, incredibly juicy and fresh. I believe the heating devices, made in 1895, are the secret. And the ingredients are the right ones; ketchup would spoil the mix. $4.50 is the price of a burger, in case you don’t want to look dumb; it’s not posted anywhere.

Tomorrow, I’ll post Part Two of my New Haven tour.