This time, Gino’s means it.
On April 17, City Room published a post saying that this East Side restaurant, once a stop for the likes of Ed Sullivan and Frank Sinatra on the see-and-be-seen circuit, might close on May 15. That was based on what the owners had told a meeting with the union that represents the staff.
May 15 came and went, and Gino’s is still open. It signature zebras are still frolicking on the darker-than-royal-red wallpaper.
Saturday at Gino's
It is 12:30 p.m. on a perfectly ordinary Saturday, and things in Gino's are proceeding in a perfectly ordinary way, which is to say with mounting turbulence. The regulars are already in place. The dapper former aide to both Hughes and Onassis is wedged between the telephone and a pair of willowy women. Two movie execs are loudly talking contract. Beefy men in early middle age are talking about hangovers and stock options, and there is a tossing spume up front as a quartet of fashionable ladies tense to grab an about-to-be-vacated table. And a glum blonde is sitting at the bar, over a margarita.
Gino is standing where the bar ends and the tables begin. Gino is Gino Circiello, the most noticeable of the three partners in this restaurant, the one from whom it derives its name. He is wearing a pin-striped suit of exceeding sobriety and a silk tie stiff enough to slice veal piccata. He is also wearing his habitual expression, a mingling of alertness and great caution.
Popped in Gino's, the one-of-a-kind red sauce antiquity on Lex near Bloomie's, the other night after a show. I went because the New York Post's Steve Cuozzo—the sour pot-stirrer of the restaurant world—reported it would be closing after 50 or so years because of a labor dispute.
Well, the Italo-Slavic staff of Gino's don't like Mr. Cuozzo so good. "You read that?" said maitre'd Mario said as he pawed over the night's receipts and noted them in a warped old leather ledger that I'm sure the wrong eyes have never gazed upon. "He should maybe call before he writes things. You see this. They print a retraction today." He tossed me the Post. The correction was mixed into Page Six, of all places. Sure enough, it said the labor dispute had been settled and Gino's was safe.
Well, that's good, because I like the place. It's so weird and clannish, how could I not? Where the hell did they get that Moscow-red wallpaper with the dancing zebras, anyway? Straight out of El Morocco. Was that sort of decor ever popular? And who came up with the Zebra theme? Gino, I suppose. Odd mascot for an Eye-Tral-Yon place that still serves all the classic southern dishes, one that was around when Americans ate spaghetti and macaroni, not pasta.
The clientele looked happy. And a bit rumpled. These are not New York's beautiful people. They are those wonderful New Yorkers who take little care in keeping up appearances or keeping up with times, and are strangely cool because of it. They're cosmo-schlubs. Everyone says hi, staff to diner, diner to staff. A woman, sharp of heel and rich of make-up, guards the coat check. A man monopolized the wooden phone booth. (How I love restaurant phone booths.) Bruno, the bartender, does not smile, and makes drinks the way a butcher tenderizes meat. Not many of the help seemly strictly Italian. They're mutts. Probably a bit of Albanian in there, Croatian, Corsican, who knows?
A woman passes by, gives Mario a kiss. "That ledger, that's what I'd like to get a peek in," she jokes. Me, too. Maybe Cuozzo's address is in there.
I have added Gino's to the "Endangered" list in my "Bring Out Your Dead" tally.
From City Room:
Potential Buyer Is Found for Gino
By ANDREW KEH
For more than 60 years, regulars have gone to Gino, an old fashioned red-sauce joint on the Upper East Side, for veal parmigiana, chicken cacciatore, and zebras.
The veal and chicken are reliable staples on a menu that has not changed much since the restaurant opened in 1945; the famous zebras appear on the wallpaper of a dining room that has over the years accommodated its share of celebrity clientele — Ed Sullivan and Frank Sinatra are said to have been regulars — and even made a celebrity cameo itself in the opening scene of Woody Allen’s 1995 film “Mighty Aphrodite.”
But Gino could be in danger of closing, employees said this week, because the restaurant’s owners and unionized workers have failed to reach an agreement on a new contract.
The restaurant’s only lifeline now appears to be a potential buyer who was unexpectedly revealed by the current owners in a Thursday morning meeting that workers originally thought would signal the start of closing proceedings.
The workers’ last contract expired Oct. 31. Since then, the two sides have met six times to try to negotiate a new agreement, said Marco Dell’Aguzzo, the shop steward, who has worked as a waiter at Gino for 24 years.
As late as Wednesday night, employees of Gino seemed resigned to the fact that the restaurant would close by the end of this month. Earlier in the week, they rejected a final proposal from Michael Miele, one of the restaurant’s owners. But in the meeting Thursday morning, Mr. Miele surprised everyone when he revealed that he had found a potential buyer for the restaurant, Mr. Dell’Aguzzo said.
Mr. Miele is supposed to meet with the potential buyer next Wednesday. Mr. Miele will then meet with Mr. Dell’Aguzzo and a union representative on Friday to reassess the situation.
Mr. Miele did not respond to messages left at the restaurant Thursday afternoon, and Mr. Dell’aguzzo declined to provide specifics of the negotiations or details of the potential buyer until after the meeting next week.
“Until we have all the facts, everything is in the air,” Mr. Dell’Aguzzo said in a phone interview Thursday night. “On Friday, we’ll know everything.”
In February, Mr. Miele told Diner’s Journal that the restaurant’s profits had gone down by as much as 70 percent in the last couple of years.
“If business stays like this, if it doesn’t pick up we can’t afford to stay open, we’re losing money,” Mr. Miele said at the time.
The restaurant does maintain a loyal following.
In 2006, Frank Bruni wrote for The New York Times that part of Gino’s draw was its “sense of timelessness.” For many of its regulars, he wrote, “Gino is their home away from home.”
But the celebrities are gone, as is some of the place’s old luster.
And though the fate of Gino will be much clearer next week, the veal and the chicken and the zebras may soon be gone as well.
I had lunch at Gino's restaurant today. Figured I oughta while I have the chance, because who knowsif it will be around after New Year's.
Attendance was sparse. A few full tables. A lady in an enormous, donut-shaped fur hat that everyone kept complimenting out of politeness. Two tables talked about how they used to go to Gino's all the time. At the bar, old men, evidently well familiar with each other, drank wine and talk volubly in Italian, occasionally breaking in Italian song. Seemed like a small family reunion. The maitre d' perched halfway on a stool gazing affectionately/dolefully out at the diners.
I asked my waiter if the white knight talked about in the press had decided to buy and save the place yet. "We don't know," he said. "The knight, his carriage, it is stuck." The hat check woman said roughly the same thing: no news. Hm. In the Times article, it said owner Michael Miele would know "everything" by Dec. 18. Jesus. Wait to the last minute, why not?
FYI, my veal cutlet parmigiana was very good.
OK, so Gino's isn't closing on Dec. 31, as previously reported.
On Dec. 26, I picked up a report from Eater, which picked it up from the NY Post, that the age-old, red sauce joint on Lexington—which has been suffering from union and recession woes—would shutter on New Year's Eve. So I called to make a reservation for tomorrow. Only the lady who answered said they weren't closing tomorrow, Dec. 31. Just closing early. Then they would be open again on Jan. 1.
Huh? But the Post reported they would fold on Dec. 31. No, said the lady: Jan. 31. So I hung up and checked the Post article. Indeed it said Jan. 31. But I remember looking at that article, and it said Dec. 31. And Eater's pick-up article still says Dec. 31. Did the Post make an error? Did they correct it online without making a note of it at the bottom of the article?
Anyway, I'm glad Gino's is still open for another month.
This booth can be seen snug up against the street-side window in Gino's, the old red-sauce Italian joint on Lexington near 60th. It works, has a seat inside and the light flicks on when you fold the door closed. It also, like the two booths at Sardi's, has a working fan that can be switched on (see below). Note the vent up top.
Bad Feng Shui for mobsters, though. Anyone on the street can see you when you're in the booth and nail you easy.
Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Sardi's
Say goodbye to this familiar yellow door.
Eater reports that the New York Post reports that the 64 year-old Upper East Side restaurant Gino's will close on Dec. 31. The word came from a union rep. The restaurant has been grappling with its union over a new contract for some time.
Reports surfaced this month that the troubled Gino would be saved as a white-knight buyer rode in to scoop up the joint, famous for its zebra wallpaper and old-school dishes like veal parmigiana and chicken cacciatore.
But Dell'Aguzzo told The Post this week a buyer has not materialized and that the Lexington Avenue eatery will not survive.
Co-owner Salvatore Doria told The Post he couldn't talk about details of the restaurant's problems.
"In a few weeks, we'll know exactly what's the story," he said. "The place is known worldwide. It's a piece of Manhattan. The problem is the economy."
Dell'Aguzzo believes the owners of Gino floated the notion of a buyer so workers would stay on for one last Christmas season before the inevitable closing.
The union and management have been fighting since October, when the workers' contract expired and they balked at a request to pay half their health insurance and pension in a new pact.
Dell'Aguzzo said he was told that because of the economy, the owners wanted to sell but couldn't because of the labor contract.
News that the restaurant is on its deathbed left longtime patrons distraught.
"There's a general sadness and disbelief; it's a great tragedy," said Allen Falcona, 77, a patron since 1957.
"It will have a huge effect upon a lot of customers, who come daily and sometimes twice a day."
For the longest time, the view of Le Veau d'Or and Gino's, two Upper East Side landmarks, has been obscured by a tangle of unsightly scaffolding which doubtless hurt their business.
But no more. At some point in the recent past the scaffolding came down. Now a blogger can take a clear, unadulterated photo of both old restaurants. It's particularly a treat to see Gino's yellow-and-green sign in all its glorious garishness. Jump, Zebras, jump! Be free!
Gino A. Circiello, a restaurateur who shunned credit cards, reservations and advertising but built a Manhattan institution on the strength of homey Italian cooking and 314 exuberantly leaping zebras on tomato-red wallpaper, died on Friday at his home in Manhattan. He was 89.
Gino, his restaurant at 780 Lexington Avenue, nearly across from Bloomingdale's, epitomized the New York of the time when men still wore hats and a plate of spaghetti went for 95 cents. It was where Ed Sullivan ordered the same chicken dish every day and then spread out his papers on a table to work through the afternoon. Each Mother's Day, Frank Sinatra brought a dozen people to the big table in the back. Manicurists, opera stars and the odd mobster added spice to the sauce.
Mr. Circiello, with his hair slicked back like George Raft's and an elegant suit draped over his slender frame, stood at the front, using his rasping voice to greet everyone like a treasured relative.
''He belonged to a world that doesn't exist anymore,'' his wife, Nini, said.
Gay Talese, the writer, who has been a regular customer since 1955, called Gino a time capsule.
The Zagat Survey for 2002 said the restaurant was ''frozen in the 40's,'' but had ''the best tomato sauce in town.''
It still has an old-fashioned phone booth with a folding door; when it was removed after a fire in 1973, customers demanded its return. In place of credit cards, the management still runs a tab for regulars and mails a bill at the end of the month. The flowers, all artificial, are changed as often as three times a year, pretty much with the seasons.
Clearly, less than flattering reviews of the cuisine have been less than lethal. The reason, says Mario Laviano, one of three employees who bought the restaurant from Mr. Circiello in 1985, is simple: ''It's not a restaurant, it's like a club.''
For example, in 1974, John Canaday began a review of Gino in The New York Times with a long paragraph arguing that food is secondary to experience in New York restaurants. That said, he wrote, ''If I could pick a single one as the quintessential New York restaurant, it would have to be Gino's.'' (He said everyone called it Gino's.)
The zebras are a huge part of the attraction. Mr. Circiello was a hunter without the means to pay for an African safari, but he reasoned that he could at least afford zebras on his wallpaper. So he commissioned a friend to design wallpaper depicting leaping zebras pursued by arrows.
''This makes no sense that I can figure out,'' Mr. Canaday wrote.
In truth, it made less sense than he might have realized. The designer's initial picture of two zebras omitted a stripe near the tail of one of the two creatures. Before Mr. Circiello noticed this, half of the 314 zebras were missing a stripe. But the paper had been glued to the wall.
None of the customers in the first-night crowd noticed, nor did the crowds that followed in the next few weeks. Or at least they said nothing to him or his staff. He decided to keep the paper as it was.
Twice in the last 50 years, the wallpaper had to be replaced. Each time Mr. Circiello decided to keep the nonuniform zebras; people might miss them.
Gino Augusto Circiello was born in Buenos Aires on Jan. 20, 1912. His Italian father worked as a chef in a hotel there. While the family was on a trip to their home on the island of Capri, World War I started, and they could not return.
The young Gino developed a working knowledge of Italian, French, German and English. He apprenticed as a waiter in luxury hotels in Venice and elsewhere in southern Europe. At 17, he sailed for New York, arriving in October 1929 just as the stock market collapsed.
Throughout the Depression, he worked as a busboy, a room waiter and an assistant bartender in New York, Philadelphia, Atlantic City and Palm Beach. While working as a bartender at the Waldorf-Astoria, he began to dream of opening a restaurant on Lexington Avenue.
Two of his friends, Guy Avventuriero and Emilio Torre, liked the idea, and the three used their joint savings to open the restaurant. The rent was $400 a month (it is now $21,000), and Mr. Circiello bought a mahogany bar secondhand on the Bowery. It is still there. So are the 27 original wood-topped tables.
Mr. Circiello's partners retired in 1980. He stayed on till 1985, when he sold the restaurant to the three current partners. In addition to his wife, Mr. Circiello is survived by a brother, Augusto, of Manhattan; and two sisters, Yolanda Gentile of Capri and Raffaella Musumeci of Catania, Sicily.
When he returned to the restaurant after his retirement, diners sometimes erupted in spontaneous applause. At home, one of his rugs was a zebra skin from an animal he had shot himself.
In my recent visits to Le Veau d'Or and Gino's, I noticed there's a bit of a time warp around the vicinity of 60th Street and Lexington Avenue. One would think this busy crossroads of commerce would have steamrolled flat all signs of the past long ago. But the opposite is true. For about a hundred-year radius around the crossing of E. 60th and Lex, a Lady Who Lunches could be transported in time from 1955 to today, stand at the intersection's southwest corner, and recognize plenty of landmarks.
"There's Le Veau d'Or, just where I remember it. I wonder if Robert is still there? And, around the corner, Gino's is still open. Same riotous wallpaper, I see. And across the street, the old Subway In, the glaring neon sign still untouched. The girls and I would sometimes go there for a nightcap in our college days. And, of course, there's Bloomie's. What would New York be without Bloomie's."
Longstanding landmark businesses are rare enough these days, but four cheek-by-jowl with one another? All the area needs is a shoe shine stand and a checker cab stop.
What's the story with the stretch of Lexington Avenue between the 66th and 59th Street stops on the 6 line? For some reason, right here in the middle of a high-rent district, there is a high concentration of old, unglamorous, shopworn stores. Among them are Empire Artists Materials, Lexington Hardware, Donahue's steak house, Gino's Italian eatery, Embassy Wine & Spirits, Lexington Luggage (which also repairs luggage!) and the second-story Sutton Clock Shop. It's almost a living museum of mid-century mercantile custom. All feature appealing, old signage.
Can't find out much about these places. Lexington Hardware was founded in 1929. Donahue's began life in 1950. They're not the kind of egotistical companies that draw a lot of attention to themselves. Walk in and you'll see some worn linoleum floors and sometimes an old tin ceiling. Maybe an old fixture or two. Not much else.
Are Lexington Avenue-area residents particularly loyal to their local businesses? Are Lexington Avenue landlords extremely kind-hearted? Whatever it is, a walk down the street toward Bloomingdale's makes for an especially New York-ish experience.
It doesn't pay to post your "Bring Out Your Dead" lost landmarks early.
I tally up the new members in the New York Cultural Heritage Graveyard on Thursday, and what happens? Oldtimers drop dead on Friday. Earlier today, we learned that Upper East Side red sauce joint Gino's may close by year's end. Now Midtown Lunch informs us that Diamond District hidden gem, the Diamond Dairy luncheonette, has gone the way of Luchow's.
If you didn't know about Diamond Dairy, you just didn't know about it. It was on the mezzanine level, in the back of a jewelry exhange on 47th Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues. There used to be a sign indicating its presence on the front door of the exchange, but not in recent years. To get to the narrow diner, you had to enter through the eastern doors of the exchange, walk past several diamond dealers, go up a flight of stairs that snaked up the left wall and turn to the right. There was a zigzagging counter with stools to the left of the room as you walked in and some small tables along the right. Nothing fancy, just classic. You could see the diners from the buying floor if you cared to look up and through a low glass wall. The waitresses were old and matronly and grumpy. Dishes like baked beans and potato pancakes and tuna salad sandwiches were served on super small paper plates.
I loved this place. I loved being in the know, aware that it existed and where it was. I loved the New Yorky feel you got just sitting there over your chicken soup. Prices were cheap, the food was homey. I was there on one classic occasion when Jackie Mason strolled in and regaled the entire place. Sixty years in business this place was.
But here's the bitter irony that will haunt me for years to come. I was there, just ten days ago. Just by chance, I turned down 47th Street and passed the exchange. I recalled the diner, looked at my watch, saw it was 3 PM, and thought "Why Not?" Late lunch! I went in, skipped up the stairs, but the place was empty. The lunch rush had just finished and the waitress was wiping down the counter. I was too late. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll have lunch another day." I took the above picture and left. (I'll wager it's the last picture of the place taken by a blogger.)
If only I had passed by a half hour earlier.
Midtown East. Kind of a vague geographic area, I know. I'm not sure what else to call it, though. I'm also not sure how to divide it up, which I'd like to, because the area I'm thinking of—east of Sixth Avenue from 42nd Street to 59th Street—is huge. Additionally, Midtown doesn't really feel terribly contiguous and uniform in attitude as do many other Manhattan regions. The middle of Manhattan seems to repulse neighborhood definitions. It's all about business, tourism and recreation.
Still, the area is full of history, a lot of it living. It has been the center of New York life—lived at its biggest—for a century. It still pulses like New York is supposed to. When you picture that stock shot of a sea of humanity making its way down a Manhattan sidewalk, it's always Midtown that you see in your mind's eye (usually Sixth Avenue).
I know I'm going to miss more than a few things with this guide; there's too much ground to cover. So consider this a start. I'll add to it as things occur to me.
THE SUBWAY INN: I'm going to kick off the tour by breaking my own geographical rule, and beginning above the 59th Street border, at Lexington and 60th. This intersection has four addresses that need to be visited, and none of them feel like the Upper East Side, least of all the wonderfully seedy Subway Inn on E. 60th. Perhaps the great Midtown dive, it's delightful dinginess it heralded by an incongruously grandiose neon sign. Have a cheap beer and pretend you don't care what goes on in the outside world.
BLOOMINGDALE'S: One of New York's (and the nation's) great department stores sits across the street from the Subway. While the inside's not much to speak of, the facade on Lexington is still an Art Deco gem. We take the store for granted, but even a cursory study of its history boggles the mind. It was founded in 1861; has been at the current location since 1886; had its own subway stop constructed under the building; and the founding brothers, Joseph and Lyman, hatched the now common notion of window displays, in which shop windows are not simply crammed with merchandise, but showcase a couple items in an artful scene.
GINO'S: Up Lexington a bit is this curious red-sauce mainstay, with its wooden phone booth, red zebra wallpaper and stubbornly loyal clientele.
LE VEAU D'OR: An even older holdout sits around the corner, on 60th west of Lex. Le Veau d'Or was founded in 1937 and is frozen in time under the leadership of Robert Treboux, who has owned it for more than 20 years. This is what fancy French restaurants in Manhattan were like 50 years ago.
LITTLE BUILDINGS ON E. 58TH: Walk down Lex to 58th and go east until you cross Second Avenue. On the north side of the street you'll find a trio of small, low-scale old buildings so perfectly maintained they look as if they're part of a kitsch historical village. They're quite out of place with their surroundings. Built in the 1850s, and I don't know what their story is—why they survived or who owns them. They currently house a string of quaint businesses.
LES SANS CULOTTES EAST: Go back to Second and walk south a block. Here is another curious and dusty French restaurant that does things as it wants to and doesn't care for trends or new ways. Unlike Le Veau d'Or, however, it's only 30-odd years old. It feels older.
P.J. CLARKE'S: If it's the 19th Century or nothing for you, hike over to Third Avenue and 55th Street for one of the great tavern experiences in the world: P.J. Clarke's. It's not difficult to tell that the place has been holding its ground for 125 years. Even the conviviality and conversation of the patrons feels of a different era. Stick to the bar and small front eating room; they are the oldest parts of the joint. And don't miss the men's bathroom.
CASWELL MASSEY: At Lex and 48th, making elegant grooming aids before your great-great-grandfather was born.
PALM RESTAURANT: Back to Second Avenue and back to the 20th Century. The Palm Restaurant, on either side of Second between 44th and 45th (the original on the west side), is a fine New York dining experience for those who like steak, formally dressed waiters, white tablecloths, wood walls and plenty of character. Much of the latter comes from the murals that cover the walls, mainly caricatures drawn by past patrons. There are tons of Palms everywhere now, of course. Forsake them all. This is the one.
CHRYSLER BUILDING: On 42nd. I don't really have to tell you about this one, do I? But New Yorkers often ignore the obvious and fabulous. Go in the lobby and remind yourself why you live in the city.
THE OYSTER BAR: Ditto for GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL. But it's always worth taking in, and most New Yorkers do so fairly often, if only because they need to use the subway or Metro North. Many, however, forget to take advantage of the train station's greatest treasure: The Oyster Bar, serving up seafood under Rafael Guastavino and Rafael Guastavino Jr. distinctive ceremic arches since 1913. Commuters of all kinds have stopped in here for a century for a civilized one-for-the-ride. There are three spaces: the bar, the lunch counter and the dining room. Opt for the first two; the last will cost you and the experience isn't nearly as fun.
HIDDEN LUNCHEONETTE: Walk out of Grand Central on the Vanderbilt Avenue side, cross the street and enter 52 Vanderbilt. Halfway through the corridor that leads to Madison Avenue you'll find a vestpocket luncheonette. Once upon a time, all working New Yorkers fed themselves from such anonymous in-house lobby eateries. They are not many of an independent, non-chain variety left. This one has a sweet charm, and the food is cheap and good.
BROOKS BROTHERS: Exit on the Madison side, jog down to 44th, and you'll be facing the stately flagship store of Brooks Brothers, American's oldest retailer. If the place seems stuffy, it has the history to back up the hauteur. Buy an Oxford shirt here, or a seersucker suit, and you're buying it from the store that introduced the style. Go inside and gaze at the plaque near the elevator which lists all of Brooks Brothers' former locations. It is a mini-history of Manhattan and the steady northern progression of the NYC mercantile world.
ROOSEVELT HOTEL: At Madison and 45th, the Roosevelt was long at the center of New York activity, owing to its proximity to Grand Central (a tunnel once connected hotel and train station). Governor Dewey held court here when in the City. Guy Lombardo and Lawrence Welk played here. Many an affair was conducted in its rooms.
FRED F. FRENCH BUILDING: Walk to Fifth and 45th, the northeast corner. Here's an often-overlooked architectural gem. Built in 1927, it's furiously ornate inside and out. 
PRIVATE CLUBS: The '40s between Grand Central and Sixth Avenue are home turf to New York oldest and most prestigious private clubs. Unfortunately, you can't get in to any of them and admire the interiors, unless you know somebody. But in case you want to eyeball the many landmarked exteriors, try checking out the Beaux Arts New York Yacht Club (37 W. 44th); The Harvard Club right next door (27 W. 44th); the Century Association, built by Stanford White (7 W. 43rd); The Yale Club (50 Vanderbilt); the neo-Georgian University of Pennsylvania Club (30 W. 44th). There are many more. And you can bet they all have great little grill rooms inside, where you sign for your meals instead of paying.
ALGONQUIN HOTEL: Walk down Fifth to 43rd Street and go west to this hotel, which may have the most beguiling history of any lodging house in the nation. The interior is much changed since the Round Table days of Benchley, Parker and Kaufman—the Blue Bar is nothing like it was back in the day—but the lobby is still perfumed with the air of a genteel New York of yesteryear. Ordering a drink from one of the mismatched lounge chairs is a treat. And a cabaret show in the narrow, dark-paneled Oak Room can be heaven. As has been tradition, a hotel cat roams around the lobby. A ghoulish note: filmmaker Preston Struges, broke and forgotten, died here in 1959.
NAT SHERMAN: Walk further down Fifth and around the corner to the preeminent seller of tobacco in Manhattan. They were forced to move recently from their perch at 5th and 42nd Street to a location at 12 E. 42nd Street.
DIAMOND DAIRY KOSHER LUNCHEONETTE: Walk up Fifth to 47th Street. To feel like a true New York insider, walk inside the diamond dealer at 4 W. 47th, past the counters of gems, up the stairs to the left to a barely advertised diner on the narrow mezzanine level. This is the Diamond Dairy Kosher Luncheonette. Very Old School Diamond District. The most basic of kosher delicacies are served with no ceremony on paper plates at a long undulating counter and a smattering of small tables. I saw Jackie Mason here once. Afterwards take a walk up and down Diamond Row for an eyeful of this world unto itself.
PRIME BURGER: Still hungry? Walk up to 51st Street and turn right to enjoy a simply prepared burger while sitting at a table that looks like an elementary school desk, at Prime Burger, resting in the shadow of St. Patrick's these 40 years.
FIFTH AVENUE: If I numbered all the treasures to be found on Fifth Avenue, this guide would go on forever. Most of us historians and nostalgists don't really think of Fifth when we think of Old New York. This, I believe, is because many (all?) of the old businesses on this golden shopping strip are elite and pricey, and so we feel disenfranchised and alienated. I understand that. I feel it myself. But the truth is that there is probably no other shopping street in New York that has a greater concentration of venerable old businesses. So I suggest you dress fairly well, hold your head up high, enter and assert your right to inspect the following temples of high-end American consumerism: SAKS FIFTH AVENUE, founded in 1867, in its current building on Fifth since 1924; CARTIER, the world's leading purveyor of luxury jewels, in its present New York location since 1917, the former mansion of Morton Freeman Plant; the ST. REGIS HOTEL, perhaps the epitome of the small, exclusive New York hotel, and home to the KING COLE BAR, where the Bloody Mary was introduced to America; HENRI BENDEL, in business since 1896, in its current location since 1990; BERGDORF GOODMAN, on both sides of Fifth at 58th, housed in the Art Deco store on the west side since 1926; TIFFANY & CO., founded in 1837, inhabiting what is arguably the most beautiful building on Fifth, the 1940-built flagship store; and FAO SCHWARTZ, the toy store of toy stores.
THE PLAZA HOTEL: This one-time crown jewel of hospitality is now sadly no longer open to the public. It's gone condo, and not happily, either. But the outside is mighty fine. And you can still enjoy a drink at the historic OAK ROOM around the corner. Also, take a look at the nearby PARIS THEATRE, one of the last classy single-screen movie houses in Manhattan.
JIM'S SHOE REPAIR: Walk east on 59th toward Park and get your shoes buffed at this ancient stand, inexplicably located dead center in a high-rent district.
BILL'S GAY '90s: Walk down Park to 54th and hang a right to this unheralded former speakeasy near Park. It's as good a place—and as old—to lift a few as P.J. Clarke's and usually much less crowded. Good wall gazing for fans of boxing and the theatre, 19th-century style.
"21" CLUB: Here's a good place to end, on 52nd between Fifth and Sixth. A former speakeasy, it is the last true vestige of so many New York eras: the Roaring '20s, when drinking was illegal; Cafe Society of the 30s through 50s; and the time when this stretch of 52nd was once jazz-centric Swing Street. Despite the recent tie debacle, I still love it.
It occurs to me that I haven't mentioned either ROCKEFELLER CENTER, ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL or the WALDORF=ASTORIA. By all means, go and explore and admire them copiously.
The shedding of Gothamite landmarks slowed a bit in 2009, as compared to previous years under the all-powerful Bloomberg-Burden-DOB Developmental Complex, but that was mainly because all the builders took a big sock to the kisser from the recession. Had they had the wherewithal and the Wall Street clients, developers would have happily planted thrice as many office towers and condo complexes and landlords would have kicked many more mom-and-pops to the curb.
Still, there was bloodletting enough for all in this sad burg that's so resigned and lazy that it endorsed land-grabber-empowering power-monger Mayor Mike to another, ill-gotten term on the throne. Here are the never-to-be-seen-again, New York City one-of-a-kinds on which, since Jan. 1, 2009, cruel fate has rung down the final curtain. (For previous annual Bring Out Your Dead tallies, check here for 2008, here for 2007 and here for 2006.):
Gone, Baby, Gone
Diamond Dairy, a Diamond District kosher luncheonette on the second floor at the back of a diamond exchange. One of a kind and utterly irreplaceable, gone after sixty years in business.
The Pink Tea Cup, a 55 year-old soul food staple in Greenwich Village, run by several generations of the Raye family, announced it would shutter for good on Jan. 1, 2010.
Armando Tailor, a vestige of old Italian Carroll Gardens on Smith Street, closed after Armando Nardi retired, taking with him decades of old-world skill.
Tavern on the Green (as it was). The City rejected the LeRoy family's bid to retain control of the famed restaurant, leading to a bankruptcy filing, legal warring with City Hall over the rights to the name, and a coming fire sale of the joint's many sparkly decorations. Goodbye, Crystal Room. My mother will miss you.
Cafe Des Artistes. Another bankruptcy case, George Lang, owner since 1976 of the posh UWS favorite with the wonderful murals, walked away in a litter of labor lawsuits. The Howard Chandler Christy murals belong to the Hotel des Artistes. No one's jumping on the lease so far.
Jay Dee Bakery, Forest Hills fixture for 60 years.
Joe Jr. Restaurant, a beloved Greenwich Village greasy spoon served its last July 4, after 45 years in business.
Joseph Patelson Music House ended 89 years of selling sheet music on June 7.
Manny's, mecca for generations of musicians, favorite store of hundreds of legends from The Beatles to B.B. King, the great store of midtown's Music Row, was mothballed by owner Sam Ash, who turned the storefront into—what else?—another Sam Ash. This was perhaps the greatest loss of the year, in my opinion.
Arnold Hatters, one of my favorite stores in the City, and one of the only real hatters left in New York, finally gave up the ghost, the Rubin family never having survived having been bumped from their previous Eighth Avenue home by the New York Times tower. 83 years the place was in the business of dispensing lids and skimmers.
Amato Opera, a musical beautifier of the Bowery, closed after 61 years.
Trunzo Brothers Meat Market and Salumeria, in Bensonhurst, now a 99-cent store, dunzo after 33 years.
Giambelli, a 50-year-old Italian restaurant in midtown, done in by the MTA, which needs to build a ventilation plant where the eatery stood, to serve the new Long Island Rail Road connection to Grand Central Terminal.
Frank's Fish Market, in Washington Heights.
The "21" Club's Tie Requirement. The venerable old restaurant, one of the last in town to insist on proper neckwear, knuckled under to the slothful anti-demands of the Great Underdressed. 
Endangered Landmarks
The Eagle Theater, a classic old showcase of Indian films in Jackson Heights, closed in May. I suppose there's a chance it may reopen, but a slim one. The nearby Jackson Heights Triplex, in business since 1924, closed a few months later.
Gino's, which may become the victim on an ongoing union dispute.
48th Street's Music Row, the eternal strip of music stores on W. 48th between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, which the Sam Ash people don't think is long for this world.
H&H Bagels, the owner of which UPW legend keeps allegedly breaking the law, not paying his taxes, and pissing off the Feds.
Monte's Venetian Room, possibly the oldest Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, which closed under mysterious circumstances in fall 2008 and hasn't reopened yet, but hasn't been gutted either.
Nathan's Famous, the Coney Island icon, which is not landmarked, and, under the City's moronic new zoning of the area, could be replaced by a a hotel tower of up to 20 stories.
O'Toole Building, dirt under St. Vincent's feet if the Greenwich Village monster hospital gets it way.
The Brooklyn-side view of the Brooklyn Bridge, thanks to a 17-story DUMBO tower planned by the Walentases of Two Trees, and approved by City Planning debutante Amanda Burden, despite the disapproval of almost everybody without a motive.
And These Were Landmarked or Saved
Totonno's, iconic Coney Island pizzeria, which will finally reopen in December after suffering a fire in March.
Nom Wah Tea Parlor, the oldest dim sum joint in Chinatown, which was closed down twice by the DOH, but managed to reopen.
The former B.F. Goodrich building at 1780 Broadway, but not its sister building around the corner, 225 West 57th Street—Thanks, meddling City Council!
Paramount Hotel
La MaMa E.T.C.
Herman A. and Malvina Schleicher House
Ridgewood Heights North Historic District in Queens
St. George's Syrian Catholic Church
Prospect Heights Historic District
Fort Washington Presbyterian Church
The Bronx's NYPL Woodstock Branch and Hunts Point Branch
New York Botanical Garden's Museum Building
(Plus many more Landmarks Commission designations, but those were the highlights for me. The commission was fairly busy during the last half of the years, perhaps in reaction to having been taken to the woodshed late last year by the New York Times, which ran a series of unflattering articles.)
Saved But Left Town
Cheyenne Diner, which closed in midtown, and hoped to reopen in Red Hook, but ended up in....Alabama.
Saved But Altered
Theatre 80, former playhouse, former movie house, in the East Village, now still a theatre, but with a cafe.
Saved But Humiliated
The landmarked interior of the old Gage & Tollner on Fulton Street, now an Arby's franchise.
Resurrections
Vesuvio Bakery, the landmark, luckless SoHo bakery, which was bought and reopened by the City Bakery folks.
Holland Bar, Hell's Kitchen dive of dive, offered a new lease by the same landlord that kicked the decades-old bar out last year. Downside: the walls have been scrubbed clean of character.
Armando's, aged Brooklyn Heights restaurant and Dodgers haunt, found the courage to reopen on Montague Street, with a new interior and, better still, the same old neon lobster sign.
P&G Cafe, which was forced out of its longtime space at the corner of Amsterdam and 73rd, but found a new home (sans excellent neon sign, sadly) at 78th and Columbus.
Vermont Farmacy, weird Carroll Gardens relic pharmacy being rescued by new lease-holders, who hope to open an old time soda fountain.
Elk Candy Company, former Yorkville bastion of marzipan greatness, reopened as Internet company upstate.
Paris Shoe Store, which left its lovely, longtime Greenpoint home to move down the street a bit, to an unlovelier space.
Henry Miller's Theatre, gutted, aside from the landmarked 43rd Street facade, but given a new theatrical life. And the great old sign was saved.
The Lower East Side's Doughnut Plant will open shop in the old Dan's Chelsea Guitars space in the historic Chelsea Hotel. [Eater]
Sad: Frank's Deli, 32 years on Ninth Avenue, has closed for good. [JVNY]
Could be sadder: JVNY went to Gino's and found the staff less than defeated.
Ken Friedman may open a bar in his Ace Hotel with a Tin Pan Alley theme. Hey, it's not Tin Pan Alley, but at least that chapter in New York cultural history is being acknowledged by someone. [Eater]
Village preservationists are riled up over the huge new billboards the Equinox gym put up around its building at Greenwich Avenue and 12th Street. And why not? They're horrible. [Curbed]
Lower Second Avenue then and now. [Dino's NYC Then and Now]
Architakes searches The Iron Triangle for Wilson's Garage from "The Great Gatsby"
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