Cute Cottages in Not-So-Cute Part of The Bronx

While on a recent visit to The Bronx, I noticed this string of adorable, colorful, little cottages. Given their diminutive size, and that they sit on the edge of Port Morris, a former center of industry, I'm assuming they were build as workman's cottages. They reminded me of similar housing on Dennet Place in Carroll Gardens and Verandah Place in Cobble Hill.

These homes are on E. 137th Street. On one side there is an empty lot, on the other an old factory. The buildings have an interesting feature in that they all have staircases leading down to a square yards of considerable dimension. When I was there, some were filled with snow and ice. Others were filled the junk. I'm guessing the bad old days of The Bronx, back in the 1970s, these sunken cement days could have save havens for all sorts of nefarious activities.

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The Latino Equivalent of the Apollo

This church, Pare de Sufrir, on E. 138th Street and Brown in the Mott Haven section of The Bronx, hides a great cultural history. The building was one the Forum Theatre. It opened in 1923 with 2,300 seats, offering a little vaudeville along with silent movies. It was an independent theatre, not owned by any big movie house chain. It also had a Kimball organ.

After World War II, in 1948, with demographics changing in the area, it became the Spanish-language Teatro Puerto Rico, presenting stage shows. This was the theatre's golden age. It was quite the social mecca for the city's Puerto Rican population, and attracted performers from all over Latin America, and audiences from all over the city. Here's an image of the marquee back then. And here's the theatre.

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Down By the Old Mill

I was stunned when I walked by this old mill building in Port Morris, a former industrial section of the southern Bronx which is little discussed in the daily goings-on of the City. It's a simple building, but by the brickwork and the shape and number of the windows, it looked immediately to my eyes like a relic of the Industrial Revolution, the kind of mill that immigrants slaved in during the latter 19th century; something out of Dickens. And it seems to be in perfect condition.

Taking a close look, I saw the building was the work of Philip Knitting Mills. Our friends at Forgotten New York tell us: "Morris Philip (who has an appropriate first name in this part of the Bronx) was the firm’s founder. Besides having patents for some specialized knitting machines, he’s most famed for inventing the Philip Cup, the splash proof coffee cup lid. The Philip Cup factory was located at 26 Bruckner Boulevard."

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A Perfect Storefront: Golden Pizza

Haven't done one of these in a while. But this pizzeria, encountered by accident during a trip to The Bronx, seemed to fit the bill, what with the corner space, the hand-painted signage on both sides of the storefront, and the upper signs with the illustration of the pizza man flipping dough.

Golden Pizza is in Mott Haven. It's at the corner of Brook Avenue and 138th Street. From the looks of the place, it was founded in the early 1970s, and no later. But who can tell? Places like this, there's very little recorded history about. But it has the feel of that kind of local pizzeria that neighborhood people have been depending on for decades. For the record, it's owned by two folks named Harjinger and Manginda Singh.

A Good Sign: Columbia Florist

A family-owned florist on 231st Street in Riverdale, The Bronx, Columbia has been in the neighborhood for decades. The newer awning does nothing for me, but the older sign on top does.

A Good Sign: Cambridge Podiatry Center

Nice blocky letters. Plain and simple, yet it has a style. Like the whole storefront, too, with the yellow brick and venetian blinds.

A Perfect Storefront: Vacuum World

Vacuum stores are as rare as hen's teeth these days. So Vacuum World just tries harder!

You could spend half a day reading all the signage on the facade of this Riverdale shop. I love how they have the logos of every major vacuum maker on the main sign. (I have a Miele myself.) And vacuum-specific neon! Want to know how old the place is? Get ready. 74 years. Founded in 1938, which before the appliances became common sights in every household.

The current owner, for 47 years, is Len Morse, "a long-time, accomplished martial artist with 6 training videos to his credit. This hobby has given him the disipline to manage a successful store that continually exceeds customer expectations through unparalleled service." Wild. 

Classic Skyview Deli in Riverdale Closes

Even as the classic kosher delis of New York have closed one by one, Riverdale has remained a deli haven, the home of no less than three Jewish delis: Liebman's, Loeser's, and Skyview. And not kosher-style, but actually kosher! The real thing. Not a one of them less than fifty years of age.

Now it is the home of two. On a recent visit, I discovered that Skyview had closed. I quizzed three merchants on the ancient strip mall that used to home Skyview and none of them knew exactly when the business had closed. One said a year ago; one said six months ago; one said two months ago. None knew why the family eatery had shuttered.

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Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Dominick's?"

My latest "Who Goes There?" column for Eater takes me back to The Bronx's Belmont neighborhood for the first time since I visited Mario's two years ago. As chance would have it, Dominick's is right across the street from Mario's. Between those two times, I managed to get to Liebman's Deli in Riverdale. Next time, maybe Morris Park or City Island.

Who Goes There? Dominick's Restaurant

An old Italian lady gets out of her car on Arthur Avenue. With her is a woman on crutches. She is younger but somehow less spry. "So, where shall we eat?" asks the younger woman. "Well," says the old lady in a voice of authority, "there's Dominick's—that's one."

There's Dominick's. The Arthur Avenue area of the Bronx boasts many fine, and not so fine, Italian restaurants. But when you think of the street, a few names pop up immediately and always: Mario's, Roberto's, and Dominick's. I've had good food at all three, but at Dominick's you also get an experience. It is one of those New York eating institutions with its own don't-ask-just-eat way of doing things. Basically a Roman tavola calde removed to The Bronx, seating is communal and—if you're not a regular who long ago memorized the bill of fare—you have to rely on the waiter to find out what was cookin'. Prices remain a mystery until the waiter announces how much you owe at the end of the meal. And you pay in cash; no cards accepted.

Things have changed a bit in the past year or so. There actually is a single menu now, with prices, displayed outside the restaurant. "We put it there last year," explained my waiter. "That way, people who don't know can study it and figure out what they want before they come in." Exactly what I did. Others, however, weren't so happy about the change. As a large group of thirtysomething men—obviously natives of the neighborhood returning for a visit—filed in, one spotted the menu. "Prices?!" he snorted in disbelief. "When did that happen?"

If you ignore the menu and sit down not knowing what you want, be prepared for the waiter to unroll his spiel. "You like pasta? We got got pasta with white clam sauce, with red clam sauce. We've got chicken scarpariello, chicken marsala, chicken francese. You want veal? Veal parmigiana, veal picatta, veal sorrentino, veal and potatoes." He'll keep going until to pick something. Often, uninitiated diners just give in and have the waiter decide. He usually chooses well.

I knew what I wanted: Linguini all Gianni (with diced shrimp and clams, one of the best pasta dishes in the city), and sides of sausage and broccoli rabe. All were delicious, and I couldn't finish any of it; portions are huge. The wine ("red"—no other specifications) came in a juice glass, and the espresso came in the same sort of glass. Neither were good, but I loved the way they were served.

Dominick's, which is run by Charlie DiPaolo, was founded on the location it now occupies about 50 years ago. Old photos show a sweet wood-marble-and-tile place that looks more like a cafe, and was called Caputo's. Stools, tea tables, big coffee urn. That place is gone. The relatively charmless interior of today is one of generic artwork and everyday decor. (Specifics on the joint's history are hard to find.)

The place is routinely packed, with both locals, and, more commonly, people who used to be locals and now make a point of eating there whenever they're back in the borough or back in the city. Celebrities often stop by on their way back from attending a Yankees game (Adam Sandler) or playing in one (A-Rod). Based on the faces of the non-famous diners, you'd think that Arthur Avenue was still a purely Italian-American community. That said, there is some diversity among the clientele, and all are made welcome. Even an obvious non-Bronxer like myself. "$39," said my waiter when I asked to settle up. I left the money on the table. "So, I guess we'll see you again, huh?" he said as I reached for the door. Yes, I guess you will. 

—Brooks of Sheffield

Egidio Pastry Is 100 Years Old; Awning Not So Much

Egidio Pastry, the excellent Bronx pasticceria, turns 100 year. You can read all about the Belmont-area store in this earlier post of mine. I recommend that everyone make their was up to 187th Street this holiday season to sample some of the bakery's goods. I also recommend that Egidio show itself some respect by taking down that god-awful plastic awning, which obscures the genuinely beautiful neon sign above it. C'mon, guys. Blue letters on pink? You're not Dylan's Candy Shop.

The Most Beautiful Bakery in The Bronx

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.

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A Good Sign: S.M. Rose Carpet

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 Good Sign: Geshmake Fish

Traditional Gefilte Fish in Riverdale, The Bronx.

Shortest Business Name in New York

Es' Shoe Repair. You expect shoe repair shops to be small. But this one in Riverdale also has a small name. Es? What kinda name is that? First name? Last? Nickname? Short for something?

We'll never know. Because this isn't actually Es' Shoe Repair anymore. As you can see, the "Es" has been half rubbed out. The official name of this hole in the wall is, prosaically, Riverdale Shoe Repair. (Yawn.)

The Bronx Has Prettier Subway Stops Than You Do

Upon a recent trip to the top of the 1 line in the Bronx, I was impressed by this elevated station at 231st Street and Broadway. The station was built in 1907 as part of the old IRT, and was renovated in 2003. But there was some quality material to rehabilitate there.

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Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Liebman's Kosher Deli"?

This is my second "Who Goes There?" column to penetrate The Bronx. Always eat well up there. Gotta go more often.

Who Goes There? Liebman's Kosher Deli

There aren't many echt Jewish delis left in increasingly suburban-seeming New York City. However, the isolated, strangely bucolic neighborhood of Riverdale in the northwest corner of The Bronx enjoys the wares of three of them, owing to the still-strong Jewish community here. The oldest is Liebman's Deli, born in 1958 and still run by the same family (name of Dekel, not Liebman) that has owned it for thirty years, operating out of a narrow space in the middle of Riverdale's old downtown. 

The business has largely endured thanks to the allegiance of locals. The people who eat there aren't exactly spring chickens. And they've probably enjoyed Liebman's delicious, but highly caloric, chow many times. (More than a few of the hefty guests had trouble hoisting themselves out of the green-hued booths.) But Liebman's also still gets faithful car traffic from people who used to live in the area and still crave the pastrami, which is made and sliced on the premises. Liebman's is also one of the last Jewish delis in town to make round knishes, a knish shape on its way out.

There are a lot of reasons to like Liebman's beyond the food, which is wonderful; I love the Liebman's Favorite, which packs corned beef, pastrami, kishka and perhaps the best french fries in New York, along with gravy, onto one plate. For one, the prices are not at Manhattan levels. The above dish, for instance, costs all of $15; most sandwiches are under $10. And the help is helpful, not Carnegie Deli gruff.

Furthermore, the atmosphere is calm and quiet, which can be a nice change after the rattle and hum of most New York eateries. For those concerned about such things, Liebman's is open on the Jewish sabbath, and therefore not strictly kosher, its name notwithstanding. For areligious foodies, though, that just means more opportunities to nosh.

—Brooks of Sheffield

Pauline's Cabaret, Best Burgers in The Bronx

Pauline's Cabaret, one of the more curiously titled taverns in Gotham, shivers under the elevated on Broadway in the Knightsbridge section of The Bronx. The bar is run by the O'Sullivans, Pauline and her son Roger. Hence, the name. Sure, there's karaoke, but that's recent, and can't completely explain the "cabaret" part of the moniker. Maybe there's entertainment on certain evenings.

Not sure about the strange, stairstep sign. Kinda looks newish, but the phone number without a prefix if definitely old school.

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In Case You Still Get Your Radios Repaired

Stumbled upon this cute little business in Riverdale. It specializes in all the things we supposedly don't do anymore—like get our radios, vaccum cleaners and televisions repaired. On the door are stickers advertising all the brands they are authorized to repair, including good old Hoover.

Pete's Cafe Without Pete

I was in The Bronx recently, waiting for a bus, when I noticed what looked like a nice old school diner on E. Fordham Road. I peered inside. Counter, stools, booths, veteran waitresses. A sign that said "Fordham Students 10% off." Looked nice, if a bit tacky. (Plastic plants, fake Tiffany lamps.) Then I saw a large oval decade stuck to the glass front door. It showed a portrait of a man with long dark hair, thick dark eyebrows and an elaborate waxed mustache worthy of Dali. There was a cross over his head and the legend "2-2-2010. RIP" below.

The figure depicted must be Pete himself, I surmised, and Pete must have died. I digged around, and found my supposition, sadly, to be correct. He was Pete Nikolopoulos and he was struck down by a heart attack on the date indicated, while on a trip to Sparta, Greece. He was 56. Pete came to America from Greece in 1976 and began working at the diner as a busboy. In 1978, the Greek couple who owned the diner sold it to young Pete. (He was just 24 at the time—think of it.)

He was beloved by locals, particularly generations of Fordham students and educators. Students often went there late at night to nurse hangovers. One professor of media studies regularly sent students there on assignment to write a restaurant review of the scrambled eggs.

The diner now sells t-shirt with Pete's visage on it. It is currently run by Pete's widow, Anna (who, incidentally, never liked the mustache).

And Nobody Cares

One of the landmarks that had always made the Bronx's Little Italy of Arthur Avenue so special to me was an outdoor green grocer called Amalfi. It stood on 187th Street just west of Arthur Avenue. It was run by a very old man. His crates and boxes of vegetables and fruits spilled out into the street in a pell-mell fashion. The arrangement of goods was haphazard but the overall effect was artful. One couldn't help but smile when looking at the colorful business. It was a slice of pushcart-era New York that had refused to leaven.

Upon my most recent visit to Arthur Avenue, it had disappeared. I was heartbroken. But I was more disconcerted by the way it had disappeared without a trace. I walked into the store that had replaced it (another indy shop) and asked what had happened to Amalfi. The worker had never heard of it, didn't know anything. I went into the neighboring stores—nobody remembered it. How could such a special place disappear without a bit of mourning?