Goodbye Summer Joys—Some Maybe Forever

Labor Day weekend felt rather mournful to me, perhaps because it marks the last hurrah for some of Brooklyn's summertime joys—a few of them perhaps never to return. On Sunday, I biked through Red Hook Park, picked up some shrimp ceviche from the Ochoa Guatemalan stand, and sat on a park bench eating the tangy concoction, wondering if the vendors would be there next weekend. (The Parks Department, weasels that they are, recently revoked an earlier promise to let the vendors stay through October.)

Monday, I cruised by the Floating Lady Pool of Furman Street in Brooklyn Heights. The picturesque pool, with its air of isolation and view of Manhattan, has been a resounding success. It will be back next summer, but on a different shore in a different borough.

I tried to get down to Coney Island (I failed, alas), knowing that, after Labor Day, Astroland goes to an only-weekend schedule for the rest of the season. No more weekdays, perhaps for good, since Joe Sitt and Thor have bought the amusement park and are putting it out to pasture. There has been talk about moving it kit and kaboodle to another plot of land. I wouldn't hold my breath.

Borough Hall From Inside

Recently, I had the opportunity to tour Brooklyn Borough Hall. It was a moment of some little excitement, since it's one of those historic buildings that I've passed by many a time, and never been able to enter, since it's not really used for many civic purposes anymore.

Given my only glimpses of the place have been through the dusty, ground floor doors on Joralemon Street, I assumed the place was ill-kept, so I was surprised by the beautiful state I found things in. Absolutely stunning rotunda, with staircases on either side and a black and white marble floor. Most impressive, though, was the second floor courtroom, with its coffered domed ceiling and carved wood paneling walls. Nice movie set (but too dark for a decent picture). I wondered at the various oil paintings on the wall, most of which were unidentified.

There was little in the way of security and almost no doors were locked, so I snuck up to the third floor and got close enough to the root to catch a look at the cast-iron cupola.

Bouwerie Lane Theatre to House Personal Drama From Now On

The Bouwerie Lane Theatre has been a lonely bastion of culture on the Bowery dating back to the early '70s, when no one wanted to party down there, let along live. But when the long-serving Jean Cocteau Theater company—the Bouwerie resident troupe— floundered and finally flopped in recent years, it was only a matter of time before the property was picked up by some mogul and the stage ripped out.

Adam Gordon, the "Self-Storage King," turned out to be that mogul. He purchased the landmarked building for $15 million back in June. Gordon's not monkeying around with the address; he plans to live on the top floor. The ground floor will house a "respectable" retail space. (What? No adult video shop.) The rest of the building may be a hotel. Reports are murky but many.

I believe I saw Wedekind and Buchner and Schiller there for the first time. Now quite the same as a new Sephora.

Not a Terrible Job

I am not generally inclined to give developers the benefit of the doubt. Ever. Scammin' greedsters all, as far as I'm concerned. But I have to tip my hat when things aren't going horribly wrong.

A condo complex has been going up at 149-151 Carroll Street near Henry Street in Carroll Gardens. And, looking at its near-complete facade, I have to concede: it doesn't completely offend me. It is four stories high, in keeping with the scale of the nabe. It's nicely set back from the street a few feet. The red bricks, of varying shades, appear to be of exceedingly good quality, and have been laid expertly (this photo does not do them justice). And the window have multiple panes and are top by decorative stonen lintels. This building does not shame the area.

I do not know the architect or developer. Perhaps they are reprobates worthy of disapprobation. But, to my naked eye, they have been respectful of their neighbors.

By George, I Think They've Got It

I have to take a moment here to point out an absolutely wonderful and engaging article on the Nat Sherman cigar emporium that appeared in the New York Times yesterday. Rarely is a piece of journalism so full of tasty information and yet so entertaining. Please, give it a read.

Of particular fascination to me is the fact that the Sherman family enlisted set designer Charles McCarry to assist in the design of the shop's new 42nd Street digs and that McCarry, as the Shermans' instruction, constructed the interior to resemble Henry Higgins two-tiered library in My Fair Lady. The article described the new store as being like a "library, with cigars instead of books."

McCarry also designed the previous Sherman store. That one was based on the themes perpetuated by Damon Runyon.

If only every business owner in New York instilled their architecture with as much personality and character.

Hilly Kristal Follows CBGBs to the Afterworld

It happens sometimes. A restaurant or club's host becomes so intrinsically entwined with the life of the joint, that it's impossible he should survive the death of the business. Sherman Billingsley died almost exactly a year after his Stork Club went under. And now Hilly Kristal is gone, just under a year since his grungy rock palace CBGB's was forced out of commission by a rent dispute. (And that, my friends, is the first and last time you'll see Billingsley and Kristal mentioned in the same paragraph.)

Kristal had lung cancer, of course, so I'm not saying that his landlord or the real estate market killed him. I'm just saying...

One silver lining. Neither Kristal nor anyone else will have to live to see the indignity of a CBGB's opening in Las Vegas, as he often threatened to do.

Queens Zoo: Mock Graves and Ape Fountains

The completist in me sent me out on a day trip the other day to visit the Queens Zoo. Yes, there's a zoo in Queens, out in Corona, on the edge of Flushing Meadow Corona Park. It's one of five in the city and probably the most unpatronized. (The others at the Bronx Zoo, Central Park Zoo, Prospect Park Zoo and the New York Aquarium.)

Before I even paid admission, I understood why the Queens Zoo was so little known. It was impossible to find. Walking from the subway, it's hidden behind the Museum of Science. There are almost no signs indicating its presence and no one we asked seemed to know there was a zoo anywhere around there. I found it after a half hour, after seeing a sign that said "zoo" in tiny letters. (It's also called a "wildlife center" at time, to further confuse the issue.)

The zoo's remoteness does have the advantage of your not competing with tons of other people to view the animals. It's a small place, with one path that leads in an oval. There are some quite nice exhibits, including an interesting aviary, and nice examples of pumas, lynx, cranes and elk. It's most remarkable aspect, however, is not on the zoo map: a mock graveyard enumerating all the animals that have gone extinct over the past half-millennium. The markers are headed "1500," "1600," "1700" and so on, and list some of the beasts and birds that disappeared during that century. It's creepy and rather chilling—and starling to think that animals were dying out as early as 1500 because of the doings of man. If I was disturbed, I had to wonder what the effect was on a small child.

One other odd aspect about the Queens Zoo (and there are many). It's bookended by two fountains. The southern one is called, ahem, "The Fountain of the Planet of the Apes." And the northern one is named, double ahem, "The Fountain of the Planet of the Grapes of Wrath." Seriously.

They both used to be called the Fountain of the Planets. But recent Parks Commissioner Henry Stern decided to rename one of them after one of his favorite movies and, to balance out the animal theme, used the other to honor another movie with a plant in the title.

Worst fountain names ever.

The Other Deli Man Named Katz

One might think the Second Avenue Deli is willfully isolating itself from its clientele by relocating to the nowheresville that is Third Avenue and 33rd Street. But, on second thought, the area is not uncharted territory, deli-wise. The famous Reuben's, of sandwich fame, lived out its life on Madison and 38th. And Murray Hill is still home to one of Manhattan longest-lived, though least sung, Jewish-style delis.

I'm talking about Sarge's. Never heard of it? I'm not surprised. Despite having been around since 1964, it doesn't get much press. When the papers and mags roll out their frequent New York Deli features, it's rarely mentioned alongside the Carnegie Deli, Stage Deli and Katz's. Not sure why. Maybe because of the out-of-the way location on Third Avenue near 37th. Maybe because the place lacks pizazz. Don't know. Until recently, I myself gave it a pass. But the recent loss of the Second Avenue Deli (it's coming back, of course, but in a real way it's still lost) and the rumors of Katz's possible demise made me check out this survivor for signs of worthiness.

The place has a fairly interesting heritage. As it's name suggest, it was founded by a cop, one Abe Katz (Katz!), who worked the Murray Hill beat for 25 years, and started the deli after he retired. He created a classic deli menu, with matzo ball soup, potato pancakes, stuffed derma, kugel and pastrami he cured himself. One of the restaurant's great virtues is its lack of vanity. It's not full of itself, like Carnegie and some others. It's a deli; not a deli museum. The decor is what you expect and want: a long meat counter up front; some tables, some booths, along the side and in the back; tacky, faux-Tiffany lamps. Waitresses are run off their feet. Diners are laid back and relaxed.

Trying to get a general feeling for the fare, I ordered a cup of chicken soup with kreplach, a side of corned beef hash, and a pastrami sandwich with fries on the side. The soup was good, the hash tasty if a bit overwhelming after a few bits, the fries crispy, greasy and fantastic, and the pastrami moist and flavorful. Was any of it the best such stuff I'd ever had in New York? No. But it was damn good. And the prices were much better than those at the more famous delis.

But I think the thing I like best about Sarge's is its insistence of being open 24 hours, seven days a week. Though New York is supposedly a city that doesn't sleep, that schedule is actually a real throwback. There are plenty of clubs and bars where you can hang out until the wee hours, sure, but Manhattan was once a place of all-night, all-day, Edward Hopperesque businesses. I remember in particular a pharmacy with a soda fountain near the Waldorf=Astoria that never closed. There's no reason why Murray Hill should need a hot blintz at morning, noon and night, but Sarge's does it anyway.

Maybe Katz worked the night shift.

Apologies to Forlini's

When, as guest-blogger at Curbed.com last week, I wrote a little quasi-tribute to Forlini's, the Italian restaurant standby in deepest Chinatown, the last thing I intended was for my words to cause the ancient eatery distress.

But, as Fats Waller said, one never knows, does one. Seems my few paragraphs—posted on Curbed's sister site Eater.com—provoked New York Post's Steve Cuozzo to sick himself on poor old Forlini's. Reading the item, along with another Little Italy-related item on eGullet, Cuozzo deduced that the food blogs were suddenly touting the touristy area as reborn. (Such are the ways of logic at the Post.) Not having any of such nonsense, he charged down to Forlini's and found it lacking on the Cuozzo meter.

Steve: I never said it was the living end of Italian cuisine in NYC; just said it was venerable and worth a tip of the hat. And it still is.

Media Wakes Up, Re: Red Hook, Columbia Street

OK, let's see if we've got the cycle right. Real estate brokers and developers lie; fooled newspapers believe lies hook, line and sinker; rents rise, fortunes are made; five years later newspapers wake up.

That's about how it's gone for Red Hook and Columbia Street, two Brooklyn neighborhoods that, in today's overheating real estate market, were going to be the next hot areas. Since 2000 or so they were going to be the next hot areas. Until everyone realized it wasn't actually happening that way.

I've lived near the two districts for a decade and, from the get-go, I never understood why people swallowed the hype. Now, I love Columbia Street, and I love Red Hook. But let's face facts. They're cut off from subway service, and bus service is erratic at best (hang your head low, B61). Large swathes of each nabe are, shall we say, less than attractive. There are few banks down here, no major supermarkets (until Fairway arrived), parks are small or bedraggled. And both are home to a kind of urban blight that isn't shaken off in a year or two. Construction is constant on Columbia. Much of the center of Red Hook (which isn't just Van Brunt Street, folks) is as sad and dejected a place as any in NYC.

And so I could only gape at the insanity of rents on one-bedrooms rising to $1,000, $1,200, $1,500, $2,000, $2,200—all based on the idea that the neighborhood was going to turn around, sometime, for certain. All the while, I'd tell people "Never gonna happen," and they'd look at me bug-eyed. Was I crazy? Hadn't I heard the Good News?

But then a funny thing happened. Rising rents and mortgages didn't work their inverse magic; they didn't makes stores arrives in drove, they didn't make restaurants thrive, they didn't make Columbia Street and Red Hook boomtowns. Instead, restaurants and stores starting CLOSING. And the remaining ones struggled. Why, why, why? the prognosticators cried! Because, stupidheads: it's Columbia Street and Red Hook! There are certain basic things about these areas that are broken in a fundamental way, in a way that won't be fixed just because brokers and builders want to make more money.

This lesson was finally learned the New York Post and the New York Times, and other publications, who were stunned over the past month to find out that the articles they wrote five years ago about Columbia Street and Red Hook's sunny futures were a bunch of moonshine.

The scales have fallen from our eyes. It's said, but ultimately healthy. Now, any wanna lower the rents a bit, so I can continue to live here?