The Ghosts of Columbia Street: La Gondola Bar

As I mentioned in a past yesterday, I was recently contracted by the owner of Freebird Books, a fine indy used book store on Columbia Street. He recently lucked into a cache of old photos of the Columbia Street area, circa 1966, when the neighborhood still shows signed of its former life as a waterfront street, and a Scandinavian, Italian and Puerto Rican stronghold. 

I posted an old photo of Otto's Scandinavian Bar, at Columbia and Kane, yesterday. Here is a shot of La Gondola Bar, where sat directly opposite Otto's, to the north. Below is another view of the bar, and below that is a look at the building today, which most recently housed a sushi joint. (All of the photos are the property of Freebird.) It has been a bad-luck corner for the past few decades, with businesses coming and going quickly.  The building is remarkably the same, right down to the double entrance.

Diamond Row Has a New Dairy Luncheonette

Back in December 2009, we learned that Diamond Dairy, a darling of a kosher dairy luncheonette that was tucked at the back of the National Jeweler Exchange on Manhattan's Diamond Row, had closed for good. We wept and cried and rend our shirts, knowing another piece a quintessential New York has disappeared. 

The strange mezzanine space where the diner was sat empty for some time. I wondered if it would ever be filled again. Strolling down W. 47th Street yesterday, curiosity got me thinking and I poked my head in the exchange and weaved past the maze of jeweler stands. Lo and behold, the stairs were open and the space was open for business.

The new place is called, simply, Dairy Lunch. It seems to have opened recently; there are still "grand opening" posters on the wall. Of course, the joint is glatt kosher. Russian Jews appear to run it. The menu is large. You can get sandwiches, soups, blinis, salads, panini and ever kosher sushi. I had a tuna sandwich on a bagel. It was good.

The place lacks the charm of the Diamond Dairy. Why anyone would want to do away with that classic, 1950s, zig-zagging diner counter is a mystery to me. Dairy Lunch just looks like any old deli. Still, the space itself has a quirky charm that can't be erased. And I do believe those three stools seen in the picture are salvaged from the Diamond Dairy. 

Goodbye Subway Chess

Two years ago I wrote about the Chess Classic Cafe, arguably the most unique shop to grace the entire New York subway system. It was located in the arcade outside the Clark Street subway station in Brooklyn Height. It was a basic deli. But one that encouraged and fosters the playing of chess at tables just outside the cafe.

I peeked in the other day and found it gone, replace by a joint that will sell the sliders that are now ubiquitous throughout the City. Looks like an indy place, so that's good. Still. No Chess Cafe.

For those who love the old arcade, the barber, shoe repair store, newsstand and sushi place are still there.

Penn Station and Its Kooky Stores

There's not much appealing about the modern Penn Station. But I am sort of strangely charmed by the oddball assortment of indy businesses that have found a home in the seedy bowels of that transit hub.

Of all the wordplays on the word tie, Tiecoon has got to be the worst, the corniest. Which, of course, makes it awesome.

Read more »

Glimpses of Lundy's

Lundy's, the legendary mammoth seafood eatery on the shores of Sheepshead Bay, closed in 1977. And then, after reopening under new ownership in 1995, closed again, for good, in 2007. But the sprawling building remains, even if it's now occupied by a conglomeration of heinous, tasteless businesses (dermatologists, malpractice lawyers, sushi joints). You can still glimpse signs of the structure's past, including the words "Lundy Bros." over the various entrances, and embedded on the sidewalk before each front door. The grandiloquent initials "F.W.I.L." stood for Frederick William Irving Lundy.

Read more »

Two South Brooklyn Food Deals

This is pretty off-topic. Lost City's not really in the business of restaurant recommendations. But I do like to see local, independently owned businesses thrive.

Carroll Gardens Fish Market, which just recently installed a sushi chef, is served up some damned fine, amazingly fresh, takeaway sushi. The selection is unusually vast for takeaway (you can eat there if you wish, but there's only one stool), including side dishes like pickled yellow radish and squid salad. And prices are cheap. The place puts all other sushi options on Court Street to shame, and easily bests the abominable, stale, chewy, flavorless stuff pushed by Fairway and Trader Joe's. (The only sushi I ever spit out as being inedible came from Trader Joe's.)

Second recommendation: O'Barone, a humble, but nonetheless excellent, and largely unpatronized Italian restaurant on Van Brunt Street in Red Hook. This is the old 360 space. The new owners are Italian and very friendly. The pasta is homemade. The space is charming, the wine list good, and the prices reasonable. Plus, on Tuesday nights, all bottles are half price and kids eat free. I didn't know this when I strolled in on a Tuesday with the family in tow. Ended up paying half what I expected to. Always a good feeling.

New Sushi on Court

The Carroll Gardens Fish Market continues to upgrade their image. Just a few weeks after installing a new awning, the reliable merchant is taking on an in-house sushi chef of (we're told) 17 years experience. He begins work today, selling takeaway sushi meals at reasonable prices.

There's also a new illuminated sign in the window extolling the virtues of fresh fish, albeit with a charming spelling error. (Sea below.) 

Read more »

Glatt Diner

The Orthodox Jewish community is very industrious in created culinary options for itself that match what are available to the non-kosher. There's kosher pizzerias, kosher Chinese, kosher sushi, kosher steak houses, kosher food stands at the various ballparks, kosher Thai, and the list goes on.

But here's one that I hadn't know about. Kosher diner! The Glatt Diner, all worked out to look like a classic silver diner car, is on New Utrecht Avenue in Borough Park. It says on the side that it's "One of Brooklyn's Most Famous Eateries Since 1947." Maybe so. I've never known about it, though. And it looks rather newer than that. They got all the regular diner food, but also a heck of a lot of Chinese selections and a Schwarma section on the menu.

It's open until midnight most nights, and 1 AM on Thursdays—night-owl hours for the Orthodox community. But it's closed on Fridays and Saturdays, of course. And of all the street chef figures in New York, this one's gotta be unique: a red-jacketed waiter with a yarmulke.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Rocco Restaurant?"

Rocco Restaurant is a sleepy presence on a bustling block of Thompson Street that features the ever-crowded Tomoe Sushi and Lupa. Rocco is never that busy, but it doesn't seem to care. It has its following and its been around a lot longer than any other restaurant on the street. I imagine it figures it will still be around when those other eateries go.

Rocco was not a culinary revelation the way previous Who Goes There? subject like Chez Napoleon were. The food was about as mediocre as I expected. (I have heard that under the original owners, the food was fantastic. Sigh. I will never know for sure.) It was more the atmosphere I relished. A lazy air when it was possible to lead a lazy existence in the Village.

Lunch with Mike, Amanda and Patty

(Mayor Michael Bloomberg, City Planning Commissioner Amanda Burden and Department of Building Commissioner Patricia Lancaster walk down 52nd Street toward the Four Seasons Restaurant. Lancaster suddenly crosses to the other side of the street.)

Bloomberg: Patty! What's wrong with you. Get over here.

Lancaster: That thing looks a little shaky, Mr. Mayor.

Burden: What thing, Patty?

Lancaster: I don't walk under those anymore.

Bloomberg: That's an awning, you nitwit, not scaffolding. Stop cowering. I'm hungry. (Looks at the passing cars.) Goddamn traffic!

(They pass up the stairs to the restaurant.)

Bloomberg: Hello, Julian.

Julian Niccolini: Mr. Mayor, so good to see you. Your usual table?

Burden: The pool! The pool!

Bloomberg: The Grill Room is better for business.

Burden: The pool!

Bloomberg: All right, all right. Don't know how Steve Ross put up with you, Amanda. Julian, this place still landmarked?

Julian: I am happy to say it is. One of only two restaurant interiors in the city.

Bloomberg: What's the other?

Julian: Gage & Tollner in Brooklyn.

Bloomberg: Yeah. That closed, didn't it. It's a TGI Friday's now. Not as good as Subway, but good.

Julian: I believe that restaurant is also gone now.

Bloomberg: Too bad. It was good.

Julian: I did not have the pleasure.

Bloomberg: Yeah, yeah. If you want to fix that landmarking thing, just let me know. I can make it happen. You could spiff up the place. Give it a new look.

Julian: I will keep that in mind, Mr. Mayor. Here you are, ladies.

Lancaster: My, these prices are high.

Bloomberg: Look at those ceilings. Lot of wasted space here. Could fit three, four condo units in here.

Lancaster: Are there sharing plates?

Bloomberg: When are they gonna get Cheeze-its on this thing? I've told Julian...

Burden: I'm having the lobster.

Bloomberg: Me, too.

Lancaster: But they don't list the price.

Burden: Don't be such a skinflint, Patty. Live a little.

Lancaster: But...

Bloomberg: What you need is one of those things Quinn has, that slush fund...

Lancaster: Really? Can I get one of those?

Bloomberg: Uh, no. Belt-tightening, Patty. Belt-tightening. I'm asking all of the agencies...

Lancaster: But I read where you have more staff than ever...

Bloomberg: I asking most of the agencies...

Lancaster: I was just thinking I could use a few more building inspectors...

Bloomberg: The economy. Fiscal responsibility, Patty. I run City Hall like a business. Lotsa cubicles. That's why I'm such a raging success and people want me to be President.

Burden: I thought that was...

Bloomberg: I mean Governor.

Burden: Now, this is the kind of place I was talking about. The kind of place Harlem needs more of.

Lancaster: The Four Seasons?

Burden: If there was a Four Seasons on 125th Street, people would go to the Appalling Theatre.

Bloomberg: Apollo.

Burden: The Apollo Theatre. People will understand when the building gets underway. I know. I was a public schoolteacher in Harlem in the 1960s and there was never any decent sushi.

Bloomberg: Building? That reminds me. How much building we got going on, Patty.

Lancaster: I don't know. They keep asking me that. I don't know.

Bloomberg: Well, how many buildings did you approve today?

Lancaster: None.

Burden: None? Not even for 125th Street? Do you need an engraved invitation?

Lancaster: Well, there was that crane thing...

Bloomberg: I not interested in some new chick at the Bronx Zoo.

Lancaster: No, the crane that fell down. On the East Side.

Bloomberg: That was weeks ago.

Lancaster: People are upset, I'm afraid. My feet are really to the fire. They're accusing me of the most upsetting things...

Burden: So what? That crazy man at the commission meeting when we approved the Harlem rezoning yelled at me. He called me "a rich, rich, rich person."

Lancaster: Actually he called you a rich, rich, rich horrible person.

Burden: Oh. I wondered why he was so upset. I thought he was just jealous. If he wants to be rich, he should marry his own money.

Bloomberg: What's wrong with people? This is the nature of development. A few falling cranes are perfectly normal.

Lancaster: But people died...

Bloomberg: A few deaths are perfectly normal. Why, I killed a few people building my place in Bermuda. My God, Patty, do I have to have Doctoroff call you again and explain it all?

Lancaster: (shuddering) No, no, please don't do that.

Bloomberg: Man, cranes weren't falling when Doctoroff was around. I'm going to have Doctoroff call you.

Lancaster: No, please, Mr. Mayor...

Waiter: Have you decided?

Burden: Lobster. And the foie gras to start.

Bloomberg: That stuff'll kill you. You know what they do to those geese? I'm thinking of outlawing it in New York restaurants. That and salt. I'll have Lobster, too. Beet salad to start.

Lancaster: Could I get a bowl of consomme?

Burden: Oh, for heaven's sake, Patty, why don't ask them to boil you up some Raman noodles?

Lancaster: Well, I'm sorry if I'm not the richest person in New York City.

Burden: Well, neither am I, but you don't see me complaining.

Bloomberg: I am! But my parents were middle-class. Did I mention that. In fact, they were the last decent middle-class people to live in this country. Now all the best people are rich.

Lancaster: I'm not hungry.

Bloomberg: Amanda, how's that Chinatown rezoning coming?

Burden: Almost there. You know, I can never find anyplace to eat down there.

Bloomberg: Because I was on Pell Street the other day and all those buildings seemed really short. And dirty. The area's a mess.

Burden: It'll soon be fixed.

Julian: (carrying a bottle of Krug champagne) With the compliments of the gentleman across the pool.

Bloomberg: Who's that? Ah, geez. Ratner. Send it back, send it back. He's just wants something. Say, Julian, Obama been here lately?

Julian: Not in the past week.

Bloomberg: I've got an idea I want to run by him.

(Suddenly there is a loud crack following by a creaking sound. A huge crane crashes through the west wall of the Pool Room landing on Bruce Ratner, killing him instantly.)

Burden: Uh. My dress!

Lancaster: (rocking back and forth, reciting as if by rote) I inherited from Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani a department in disarray. I inherited from Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani a department in disarray.

Bloomberg: On second thought, Julian, leave the Krug.

Whatsit Mean?

How do you keep the consumers interested in your hotel if you happen to run a broken-down fleatrap? Word puzzles and conundrums, that's how.

Outside the seedy and indestructable Hotel Carter on W. 43rd Street (opposite the Times building, doncha know?) hangs a cheap and shiny marquee adorned with two perplexing selling points. One reads: "You Always Wanted in Time Square and Less." The other: "A Short Trip From Wherever You Are."





WTF? Do they mean "Everything you always wanted in Time Square." And if so, why "less," not "more." Do they mean the Carter is a short trip from wherever I am? If they do, what do I care? Since I'm already nearby and close to the things I want to visit, why do I need to stay at the Carter? Or do they mean the Carter is a short trip from wherever I want to go?

Thinking the bad grammar and mangled meaning was on purpose and steeped in irony, I went inside and spoke to the concierge, a dignified Asian gentlemen with silver hair. But when I asked him to explain the slogans, he merely repeated them, straight-faced, as if they were the most logical maxims imaginable. Were any words missing? No. I got the feeling he thought they were dynamite slogans. Then he handed me a calling card for the Carter, emblazoned with the same bizarre appeals.

The Carter lobby is a spacious, strange place. Lots of clocks telling you the time in foreign cities. A bunch of oriental rugs rolled up in the corner. Stairs up to something called the Dixie Restaurant, which is closed, with the promise of a sushi joint to come. And in one distant corner, something you don't see in hotels anymore: a framed directory of local churches. And I mean EVERY church. Maybe after a stay at the Carter, some prayer is in order.

Burger King

Just came back from lunch at Donovan's, the squat, sprawling, darkly lit Irish pub that slightly distinguishes the urban blight otherwise known as Woodside, Queens. It's been there for about 50 years, always popular with the locals whose faces look like maps of the Auld Sod, but kind of put back on the map last year when Time Out New York, in its continued perversity, said it made the best hamburger in greater New York City. (Knowing Time Out's hipster editors and editrixes, they probably got bored of Manhattan and the usual choices for best burger, and thought it would be cool to make a brief foray into uncool Queens.)

You wouldn't have thought any of the Guinness-drinkers holding up the bar inside Donovan's had ever picked up a copy of trendoid Time Out. But soon enough the bar bore a larger banner screaming "Best Burger in New York."

So, is it? Who knows? These annual "Best Of" issues put out by Time Out, New York, The Village Voice and the like have always perplexed me. They're just ad-grabbers completely devoid of authenticity, aren't they? Why else would the choices for best burger, corned beef, egg cream, movie house, pizza, theatre company, and sushi restaurant change from year to year? Film Forum was the revival house supreme in 2005, but a flop in 2006? Katz's was cutting great pastrami last year, but stocked only bum steers this year? I don't think so.

Aside from the need to reap new ad dollars each year, I'm guessing a lot of "Best Of" allure has to do with power. Every New Yorker likes to think they know the Gotham source for the best this, the best that. We're a burg full of know-it-all blowhards. (I know a guy who will tell you in all seriousness that the best produce—PRODUCE, mind you —comes from a specific market in Midwood. Holy Cripes! Has he squeezed every cantaloupe in town?) Editors are no different. They want to tell you just how much they know about the super-bestest slice in NYC.

A part of me wants to be one of those wiseguys. But I can't convince myself in all honesty that I've found the best burger in New York. After all, I haven't TRIED every burger in New York. Anyone who claims to know where the best burger is, without having tried each example, is a jackass. And anyone who WOULD try to taste every burger in New York in order to find out the answer, is also a jackass.

I like Donovan's'. It's one of those big, ungraceful, half-pouder jobs, like the late, lamented McHale's used to make. But it's not exactly better than the one at the Corner Bistro—another perennial contender—or the classic, delicious "21" burger, with its secret sauce.

So, as the narrator in the old Tootsie Pop commercial used to say, "The world may never know."

Jay Dee, the Passover Palace

Necessity in the mother of discovery.

Recently, as Passover was approaching, my wife, who is Jewish, was crying out for Kosher for Passover grub to fill our fridge and cupboards. I work in the most non-Jewish part of Queens and dreaded the long trip into Manhattan to find the needed goods. So I boarded the V to blindly investigate Forest Hills, motivated by nothing more than the vague feeling that I’d heard somewhere sometime that there was Kosher food out there.

My instincts are good. There was Kosher food there, in spades. Restaurants, markets, pizzerias, sushi, butchers, a magnificent temple to eating called the Knish Nosh, and at least one bakery: the Jay Dee, as a circa-1950s sign about five feet high (and the biggest thing on the storefront) proclaimed proudly. Guess you’ve got to have a big sign to be seen across roomy Queens Boulevard.

Big sign, I thought. Old place, too. But Kosher? I ventured in. Shelves and racks and counters filled with pastries, cakes, cookies and bread. Nah, I decided, looks too tasty. None of these delicacies can be Kosher for Passover, a holiday renowned for engendering the worst excuses for dessert in the history of man. (The taste of sawdust comes to mind.) Nonetheless, I asked the somewhat fish-eyed young lady behind the counter if she had any treats suitable for holiday consumption. She wordlessly gestured to every single thing in the window.

An older man with whispy white hair came out from in back to tell me everything in the store was in fact Kosher for Passover. It was like some fantastical dream, like hearing that every course of the scrumptious meal you’ve just eaten was made from tofu. Meanwhile, through a small, square window in the back wall, an irascible old man barked out orders in Russian or Hungarian or something.

I chose a chocolate nut cake and something called a “cherry strip.” Really a strudel, but that’s a German term, and you can’t blame a Jewish bakery for preferring to say “strip.”