The Ruination of a Great Slice

This isn't exactly on-topic, though it does concern Sal's Pizzeria, which has been serving pie on Court Street in Brooklyn for 50 years.

Among the old-school pizza places in the area, Sal's has always struck me as a bit of a mess. Their regular pie is OK, but nothing to scream about. The interior's a riot of conflicting intentions and past business models. The counter's right at the front door, making it difficult to line up. There's no easy-to-see menu listing prices. Tables crowd out most of the walking space. There are display cases full of rice balls, stromboli, buffalo wings and anything else you could think of. They make heroes, pasta dishes, salads, soups, etc. A jumble of signs cover the walls. There's often a half-assed sidewalk cafe set up. And the restaurant next door is affiliated to the place in an ambiguous way. Plus, no one seems to steer this ship; a changing cast of characters is always to be found behind the counter. In short, you never know where you're at when you walk into Sal's.

I would never visit the place if it weren't for three things: They've got a great location, smack dab at the crossroads of Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens; the great old neon sign attracts me like a moth; and the chicken-jalapeño slice.

The chicken-jalapeño pizza has long been, to me, their one decent menu item. It was thin and flavorful, not too spicy, with a good sauce and eschewed gooey mozzarella in favor of other cheeses. It always satisfied.

So why did they fuck around with it? I don't know when the change occurred, but lately Sal's has severely altered their chicken-jalapeño slice. It's crust is now significantly thicker; it's almost deep-dish-like. Mozzarella overwhelms everything; you can barely taste the chicken or hot peppers. And the sauce is almost a non-entity in the new formula. It's a terrible slice now, doughy and flavorless.

I thought I had got them on a bad day, so I went back a week later. Sure enough: There was chicken-jalapeno slice 2.0. And it was just as lousy. I asked the counterman if they had indeed changed the recipe, and he said, yes, they had.

In contrast, here's some good pizza news. Lucali, the fantastic pizza joint on Henry Street, introduced hot peppers as a topping two weeks ago. They're great! Try them with pepperoni.

Pictorial Celebration of Frankie & Johnnie

Frankie & Johnny's Steakhouse, which we recently learned was on its way out, is captured in pictures by our pals over at the Greenwich Village Daily Photo. Wish we could handle a camera as well as Ken Mac.

Who the Hell Owns Colonnade Row?

Colonnade Row, the spectacular sweep of marble residences on Lafayette Street fronted by majestic, two-story Corinthian columns, is arguably one of the most poorly maintained, working landmark buildings in the City. I first laid eyes on it in 1988 and thought it grand, but in a monstrous state of deterioration.

Well, nothing's been done to it since. There used to be nine houses, making for an even more imposing facade. Now there are only four. When they were built in 1833, the area above Houston was the City's fashionable district. It was called La Grande Terrace back then, and houses were sold to the Astors, Vanderbilts and Gardiners and author Washington Irving. A few decades later they were out of fashion, and the downfall began.




Back in 1923, the Times reported in 1995, a Princeton architectural student studied the buildings and noted "the marble is disintegrating very rapidly, and portions have been covered with a plaster coat of cement, applied without any regard for the original motives." Imagine what the student would think now. I am surprised the pillars are still standing or that people are allowed to live inside. The columns are chipped and discolored. There are cracks in the ceiling. Ornamentation is fast falling away. I noticed some defunct old Christmas lights wrapped around one column.

The buildings were among the first to be honored by the Landmarks Commission back in 1965. If ever there was a case for the Commission to come down on the heads of a derelict landmark owner, it's this one. The jerks don't ever keep their landmark sign in good condition! A sign inside the lobby lists something called Colonnade Management as the owner. A certificate listing building inspections shows that the most recent one was in 2001.




One Tim Ranney started an interesting blog this year called Colonnade Row. The man actually lives in the building. He reports, "The Colonnade is still a home to about 50 people in various types of apartments - some are the original ornate rooms with elaborate crown moldings and white marble fireplaces, others have been cut up and modified into smaller units, and a couple are very swank, tricked-out, multi-story townhouses... Today, the Colonnade is dirty, decaying, and somewhat decadent. And, frankly, that's exactly the way I like it. A lot has gone on here over the past 175 years which I will be getting into later. The facade was supposed to have been restored a few years back but that fell through and I wouldn't be surprised if it's never fixed up. I'd thought of starting a Save The Colonade non-profit, but couldn't get the cooperation of the owners and had to abandon that idea."

Couldn't get the cooperation of the owners. Whaddaya know.

Kielbasa Supply in Williamsburg in Danger?

A reader wrote in expressing concern over the status of Polska-Masarnia Czeslawa (at least that's what I think it's called), otherwise known as the Quality Meat Market, the longstanding Polish butcher at 172 Bedford Avenue in the heart of Williamsburg. Said observer dropped by last Monday and found "the gate was down and the place looked like it was stripped. Nothing hanging in the windows....a few years back there used to be a second butcher next door but it's gone. It's been going there for the past six years, so I keep an eye on it."

The reader expressed hope that the shop was undergoing renovation, while at the same time doubting this as wishful thinking. Several calls to the butcher shop (taken from the number on the sign) were answered by only a weird buzzing noise. A search through various directories did not even turn up any other phone listings for the place. A call to the nearby Bedford Cheese Market Shop brought a response that they "thought" it had closed.

Butcher shops seem to be going the way of the Dodo—in Park Slope, the East Village and no, perhaps, Williamsburg.

What You Can Get in the Public Theater Bathroom

It seems spectacularly incongruous to me that the Public Theater, that longstanding bastion of cultural democracy, is one of the few places left in New York City where you can encounter a bathroom attendant.

For as long as I can remember, a small old man who speaks broken English has lived in the Public's men's washroom, offering soap and towels and turning on faucets, and accepting tips from whomever feels appreciative enough. There's a small table to the right of the sinks crowded with items that can make you smell better. Usually, I avail myself of a mint or piece of gum from the candy bowl. The other night, however, I took a close look at what else was available. It's quite an amazing assortment.

There's Listerine, to cure vile breath. Tums, in case the play you saw made you ill, and Advil, if the play gave you a headache. Deodorant, in case the stuff you put on this morning is wearing off. Hand lotion for hands made rough by twisting the Playbill in frustration, and air freshener, in case the atmosphere in the bathroom offends you.

To top it off, you have a choice of three different colognes: Calvin Klein, Kenneth Cole's Reaction and one other which I couldn't identify because the label had worn off.

So it's settled: You could arrive at the Public Theatre completely unwashed, unbrushed, smelly and hungover and have nothing to worry about. A trip to the restroom will set everything right.

Whose Using Figaro's Chalkboard?

Passed by the recently deceased Le Figaro Cafe on the corner of Bleecker and Macdougal yesterday and paused in respect for the dead for a moment. The windows were all papered over. The letters if the Figaro sign had been removed, leaving only their shadows. And then my reverie was shattered by a blackboard nailed to the side of the storefront. It must have been used to advertise specials in the past. But now it read: "Comedy Corner. 3 Great Shows. 8:30 10:30 12:30." And then followed a detailed listing of the line-up.

I say, that's a little callous, isn't it? Using a businesses blackboard to advertise your business so soon after the cafe gave up the ghost? Comedy Corner is situated in the basement of the Cafe del Mare, right across the street. Ruthless business practices.

Not sure what's happening to the Le Figaro space, but it sure is happening fast. Past reports have a bank taking up residence in the back and a new restaurant up front. Work orders are pasted up everywhere. There's plenty of work going on in both sections. The place is gutted and new beams are being put in place. Wonder what happened to all that curious bric-a-brac that used to be in the Figaro.

Star Water

This fountain, shaped to resemble the ribs of a whale, is located in DiMattina Park in south Carroll Gardens, abreast of the BQE. Though I haven't visited the vest-pocket park many times I did not notice until yesterday that the jets of water embedded in the "ribs" created a star pattern when on at full blast. Nice touch.

A Cool Image

As a respite to the heat, take a look at this shot of Eldridge Street circa 1927. Imagine: so much snow that it piles up in ridges along the side of the street. The kids in the photo look like they're in the midst of a snowball fight. Just don't break old man Rabinowitz's grocery store window or you'll fetch a box on your ears!

Almost Done at The Collection

They're down to the basement level at what used to be the International Longshoreman's Association building, knocking down them subterranean walls. Soon they'll be able to start building (ack! gag!) The Collection—the condo complex with the worst name in Gotham. Hm. Wonder what Mob confabs were held in that basement.

Lost City: New Orleans Edition: Service By Spencer Tracy

Rubenstein's Department Store has been on Canal Street in New Orleans since 1924. It remains in the Rubenstein family and, unlike many such stores in other cities, continues to do well. There are two floors of clothes inside, surprisingly high-end stuff for both men and ladies. There are some items made specifically for Rubenstein's and bear their label.

A sale was afoot when I visited and from the moment I entered I was shadowed by an eager, smiling young salesman named Spencer Tracy. I kid you not. I usually hate this sort of treatment, but he was so smiling and so friendly, I didn't mind his company. I think it was the moment he offered to bring me a Coke or a Beer that he won me over.

"Are you serious?" I said. "Yes," he smiled. "Do people actually take you up on that offer?" "Yes, one a hot day, they do." "I can tell you," I replied, "that if anyone in a store in New York City ever offered a customer a coke or a beer or even a glass of water, they would fall over from shock."

I bought a nice short-sleeved shirt with a Rubenstein label. Next year, I'm saying yes to that beer. Somehow, I can't think of anything cooler than shopping for clothes in New Orleans while drinking a beer.