Miracle on W. 46th Street

Is the TGI Friday restaurant corporation secretly a lover of history and architecture?

I ask this only because I could never fathom how the wonderful facade of the I. Miller Building on the northeast corner of 46th Street and Seventh Avenue just off Times Square has survived all these years, and not been covered over by the red-and-white billboard of TGIF, which occupied the ground floor space of the buidling.

Passersby who occasionally look up may know this building better as the former vainglorious shoe emporium which proclaimed in carved words still visible: "The Show Folks Shoe Shop Dedicated to Beauty in Footwear." Now there's a slogan. Below this motto stand four inset statues, all great women of the performing arts in their separate disciplines. They are, from left to right: Mary Pickford as Little Lord Fauntleroy; Rosa Ponselle in "Norma"; Ethel Barrymore as Ophelia; and Marilyn Miller in the title role in the musical "Sunny."




I doubt most of the swarming tourists eating their super nachos in TGIF know who any of these once-great stars are, with the possible exception of Ethel (that's her above), since Drew Barrymore has kept the name of that acting clan alive. (Actually, the "Ethel" in her name IS blocked by the TGIF sign, so folks might think that is Drew up there.) And silent film buffs will remember Pickford. Ponselle and Miller have suffered the greatest fall-off in fame. Miller (below) was once the preeminent musical theatre star of her day. She scored a hit with "Sunny" just four years before this statue was unveiled; she died seven years later.



It's a lovely and poignant frieze to gaze upon, a testimony to the fleeting fame of the performers that have tried their luck in the adjoining streets over the past 100 or so years. And a quick check in the AIA Guide reveals why it's survived. Apparently, the exterior was landmarked in 1999. (How is suffered through the Times Square boom years leading up until then is another question.) This is probably because the statues were all sculpted by A. Stirling Calder, Alexander's pa, and the same guy who carved George Washington under the Washington Arch. They date from 1929. So we'll be able to enjoy the visages of these four women for years to come. If only the landlord would polish them up a bit.

P.S.—Another weird fact: I. Miller hired Andy Warhol as its chief illustrator in the mid-1950s.

Arthur Miller Ate at Cafiero's, and Other Facts

One day I will write a book about Cafiero's, the Red Hook Italian restaurant that was a legend in its day, but is all but forgotten today. I have been slowly piecing together the history of this mysterious President Street eatery, which was a favorite of mobsters and judges, and today lives on only in the memories of the people who ate there before owner Sharkey Cafiero closed the place in the 1970s, refusing to sell the place to anyone else.

Over the years, I have heard from a few folks who told me they were relations of Shakey and Kate Cafiero, or regulars of the restaurant. To recap the history, Sharkey, who was born in Naples, owned the place. Wife Kate and Sharkey's sister Mamie (Marie) were waitresses. Sharkey's brother Frank was the cook, and apparently quite adept at flinging balls of dough at local kids with great accuracy. Everybody lived above the restaurant. The bill of fare would be based on what Frank could find at the markets that day. There were a few tables up front, but the real dining room for the locals was in back, back the open kitchen. The waiters were named John and Red.

So, recently I heard from Linda, who told me she is the granddaughter of Mamie. She wrote in to clarify a few points of Cafiero's history and also add some additional information. Sharkey's real name was Gaetano. He changed it to Anthony in the 1940s, though everyone called him Sharkey anyway. Linda believes there was indeed a menu, but it may have been added in the 1960s or 1970s. Sharkey closed the restaurant in 1975.

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And So Roseland Ballroom Closes....

Roseland Ballrom, the iconic dancing and concert hall set in what was once the cultural center of the Universe (i.e. Times Square), is set to close April 7.

Roseland did not play a large part in my New York experience, not directly anyway. I have been, in fact, to Roseland a grand total of once. The occasion was an opening night party for a Broadway show opening. I danced. I can say I actually danced at Roseland.

Still, like so many New York landmarks that we take for granted, it did play a kind of contextual role. I often walked by it and thought to myself, yes, I live in a city that contains Roseland, a legendary dance hall and music venue, and has contained it for decades. Thoughts like that, however fleeting, are often what keep you going in New York. As E.B. White repeated often in his famous essay "This Is New York," I "did not attend." But I could have.

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A Native New York Speaks

The author of the blog City Girl Writes alerted me to a recent post of hers called "What Was It Really Like to Grow Up in New York?" She grew up in Manhattan, you see. I think her response is worth reading. Take a look:

I've been asked that question so many times that I know what to expect: a flood of memories, a brief pause while I mentally sort through decades of only-in-New-York experiences to decide which to share, and the realization that there's no way to communicate in a few words what my childhood was like in such an amazing city. So now I keep things simple and say, "It was really...something" when asked about my Manhattan childhood. The details - complex, bigger-than-life and at times hard to believe, I keep to myself.

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Statues at Times Square's "Show Folks Shoe Shop" to Be Restored!

Last week, I posted an item about how the four statues that adorned Times Square's century-old I. Miller shoe store building had disappeared. The address is to be occupied by the Express clothing chain in the future, and there was some question as to whether the corporation would restore the two-story stone building's unique facade to its former glory—including the figures depicting Ethel Barrymore, Mary Pickford, Marilyn Miller and Rosa Ponselle in their most famous roles.

A women in the preservation community contacted me and said she would look into the matter. She wrote back with this good news:

I did find out that the building is being restored - by a VERY good firm. And that the sculptures have been taken down to be cleaned, repaired and re-installed - once restoration is completed. So...and I can't believe I am going to say this...but it appears that EXPRESS is doing the right thing. And doing the great building the honor it deserves.

Following Sandy, and the closure of Stage Deli, and the imminent closing of the Lenox Lounge, this is the best news I've heard in weeks.

The Inside of Cafiero's

For almost as many years as I've been writing this blog (seven and counting), I've been obsessively tracking the history of Cafiero's, a locally legendary Italian restaurant on President Street between Hicks and Columbia Streets. Once the haunt of judges, lawyers, mobsters and celebrities (including, Arthur Miller, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe), it shut down in the 1970s when the owner, Sharkey Cafiero, decided it was time to retire. Sharkey remained in the house and would sometimes teasingly sit outside the restaurant, but steadfastly refused to sell the business or let anyone else take it over. (He had no children.) The building is still standing today, owned by artists who ripped out every trace of the restaurant save the bathroom.

Over the years, I've accrued quite a bit of information about Cafiero's. Some it is was gathered from locals who had memories to share; some from readers who had been to the place, or whose parents had. But the best information came from actual descendants of the Cafiero clan (various siblings and in-laws worked in the restaurant), who related memories or the clientele, the menu, the staff, and sometimes sent along photos. All of these photos were either of Sharkey and his wife, or of the exterior of the restaurant. But the Holy Grail for me (aside from a menu card, which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist; it wasn't a menu kind of place) was a picture of the interior. I figured I'd never find one, because it was a private joint; mobsters don't like to get their picture taken.

But finally, after six years of searching, I have one. It was sent to me by the grand-niece of Josephine Cafiero, who was married to Frank Cafiero, the restaurant's chef and Sharkey's brother. (The above exterior shot, from 1949, is also from her.) Here it is:

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The Show Folks Shoe Shop in Better Times

I was browsing through an old magazine when I found this 1919 ad for the I. Miller shoe store in Times Square. The Miller building, which still exists, is familiar to all New York history buffs, owing to its one-of-a-kind statues along the south face, depicting Ethel Barrymore, Marilyn Miller, Mary Pickford and Rosa Ponselle, representing the arts of theatre, song, film and opera; and for its timeless motto, "The Show Folks Shoe Shop Dedicated to Beauty in Footwear."

It's been laboring as a garish TGI Friday's for some time, and the south facade has long been grimy and in need of a refurbishment. But this ad shows how clean and beautiful it once was: the statues white and free of bird dropping' and the windows—not cut in half by a TGIF floor plan—allowed to soar. We can also see that the wire cages on the second floor windows once held hedges.

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Lost City: Milwaukee Version: Karl Ratzsch's

Karl Ratzsch's Restaurant loomed large in my Milwaukee childhood. The old German downtown restaurant was where you went for special occasions. It's name evoked the kind of awe in a kid's mind that perhaps The Four Seasons and the "21" Club still do in New York. I remember going only seldomly, and being jealous when I heard of others going. In particular, my wealthy aunt and uncle's family's habit of going to Ratzsch's every Christmas day before coming to our house—and not inviting us to join them—was an annual source of frustration and anger to my mother.

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I. Miller Shoe Store to Have Sunnier Future?

TGI Friday's has always had contempt for the glorious building it occupied in Times Square. The garish chain cared not a whit that it had inherited the landmarked facade of the old I. Miller shoe store, the "show folks shoe shop dedicated to beauty in footwear." It left its southern wall, festooned with statues of the great performing stars of the 1920s, filthy, exposed daily to the elements and never washed or restored it.

Now comes the news that clothing retailer Express will take over the building. Will the company restore the building and its statues? One can only hope. Read more about the building's history and see how it originally looked here.

Lost City: New London Edition: Dutch Tavern

I've been lucky enough to visit New London, a down-on-it-luck maritime Connecticut city, a few times. Every time I walk the streets of its wonderfully preserved, 19th-century downtown, I make a point of darting down tiny Green Street and paying a call on Dutch Tavern.

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The Show Folk on the Show Folks' Shoe Shop Disappear

A few months ago, the news unrolled that the retailer Express was going to take over the old I. Miller show store in Times Square. A few folks expressed the hope that this might mean the unusual building might finally be refurbished. The previous tenant, TGI Friday's, had never given a damn about the century-old, landmarked structure, with its quartet of statues of famous performers—Ethel Barrymore, Mary Pickford, Marilyn Miller and Rosa Ponselle—from the 1920s.

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Lost City: Chicago Edition: Ohio House Motel

I would never stay at the Ohio House Motel, but I am fascinated by its continued existence on a considerable chuck of real estate in downtown Chicago. It's like somebody dropped a 1950s roadside motel in the center of a crowded city block. The check-in building and (now closed) Coffee Shop, as well as the lodgings, are a mere two stories high and sport a recurring diamond pattern that must have been fabulous when the place opened in December 1960. And there is plenty of parking. It's a wonder, given the overall style, that there's not an outdoor pool.

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Mystery on Nevins and Sackett

Certain buildings grab me on sight. I look at them and just know something interesting once happened inside.

Such a building is No. 285 Nevins Street, on the southern corner of Sackett, just a block from the Gowanus Canal. Three stories, red brick, with the street-level floor painted white. It's a residence now, but the angled door on the corner, the cast-iron pillar that divides it, the shingled mock roof that frames the first floor—all these details tell the knowing eye that this was once a place of business. Very likely a business that served the workers at the various busy businesses that lined the canal.

But what business? Over at the Department of Building website, there are two Certificates of Occupancy, one illegible, and one for a completely different address. (This sort of misfiling happens often at the DOB.) A property search tells us the building is owned by one Rafet Cekic. I'm just guessing, but I think that's a Serbian name.

Newspaper archives relate the grisly story that Michael Farrell once lived here. A car coupler, he died in 1894 at the age of 30 when an elevated train hit him at Third Avenue and 65th Street. Also dying here, in 1901, was John Hogan, aged one. And Mrs. William Miller, age 41, in 1918. A lot of death was recorded here, but nothing about who might have made a living.

The American Can Company was located at the same intersection. So there was an audience for a bar or grocery. But that's it. I can find nothing else. Anyone out there have any knowledge?

Poor Little Lambs

The Lamb's building on W. 44th Street, at one time home to the quizzical, once-storied actors club Lambs, has severed its connection to the theatre forever. The Church of the Nazarene, which has owned it since the early '70s (but allowed theatre productions and companies to use its beautiful, carved-wood, third-floor theatre), signed an agreement with some monster called Hampshire Hotels Group, which plans to convert the space when Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote "Oklahoma!" into a hotel.

Sad. But at least they can't touch the 1906 Stanford White exterior and interior—they're landmarked. So we can all still enjoy the outside edifice, even if we have to pay top dollar to glimpse the inside.

Though it's no longer got the reputation of the Players Club in Gramercy Park—another actors treehouse, but one that's still going strong in its original location—the Lambs once stood tall in theatre circles. Everyone was a member, including Irving Berlin, Fred Astaire, Bert Lahr and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. It was modeled after a London club of the same name—named after Charles and Mary Lamb, who apparently were the objects of much actor freeloading back in the 19th century. It was founded in 1869. The American version came in 1874.

The Lambs still exists, and is currently situated at 3 W. 51st Street. But it appears to be a kooky shell of itself, if the website is any signifier. The members hold "Gambols" and "Low Jinks, an unrehearsed entertainment" every Friday night, but who would want to go since the dues-paying roster now boasts not a single famous name. I scanned the list in vain for a figure I had seen on stage or film. Glenn Miller's niece. A mixologist who calls himself "The King of Cocktails." Gini Dustin, "Chanteuse Extraordinaire." "The Love Chef." Kids birthday party clowns. Who are these people? Oh, wait, I found somebody: Joyce Randolph. You know, Trixie from " The Honeymooners." She must have joined back in the '50s. And Abe Vigoda, who may be the oldest actor in the world. Oldest-looking, anyway.

And for all that anonymity, they still have a secret "Members Only" area of the site. Oooo. There's also a big ol' disclaimer on the home page, reading "The Lambs is a registered trademark of The Lambs, Inc. We are not the Lamb's Theater nor related to the Church of the Nazarene or its Manhattan Initiative. We are the original historical club which built the theater on West 44th Street in 1905 then sold it in 1973. Please do not allow misinformation and misrepresentation confuse you." Yeah, I'm sure people are misrepresenting themselves as Lambs all over town. The scoundrels.

New York Post Runs Article With Catchy Headline

The New York Post has run an article today that had a headline that's, I don't know, somehow familiar to me. It's just reminds me of something—can't say what. Anyway, it's written by Nick Carr, who runs a lovely site called Scouting New York. It's worth a read:

Hidden Gems of a Lost City

For four years, NICK CARR has been a film location scout in New York City, finding the perfect dark alleys, rooftop getaways and neighborhood bars for Hollywood. Carr, who chronicles his job at ScoutingNY.com, says, "What never ceases to amaze me about New York is how much there is to see if you take the time to look. Every street has a hidden gem or two: remnants of a bygone era, beautiful architectural flourishes, an interesting oddity or quirk. And yet, I find that most of it goes unnoticed by the hundreds, if not thousands, of daily passersby in too much of a hurry to pay attention." Here, Carr shares his 10 favorite finds, "the places that remind you that the city has a lot to offer those who take the time to slow down and appreciate it."

1.) The East Village Beach House

1st Avenue at 1st Street, Manhattan

It's as if a tornado blew in from Cape Cod and deposited a beach house onto the East Village. Perched on the roof of a four-story brick apartment building is a shingled cottage, complete with bay windows and a weathervane-topped cupola. The owner calls it "Up-Upon-It" (a joking reference to friends with cottages in Sagaponack), and rumors abound that it is surrounded with sand and lawn chairs.

2.) The River Below Manhattan

Visible at 2 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan

Hundreds of years ago, dozens of rivers, brooks and streams dissected the island of Manhattan. All were eventually filled in or diverted underground via manmade canals, the only remnants of their existence left in the names of streets traversing their former locations (Water Street, Spring Street and Canal Street, among others). Incredibly, at least one such stream, the Minetta Brook, continues to flow to this day. Once cutting a path from 21st Street and Sixth Avenue through the West Village into the Hudson River, the brook was driven underground by developers in the early 1800s (the odd angle in Minetta Street allegedly follows its original footprint). A glass fountain in the lobby of 2 Fifth Avenue with pipes reaching down to the Minetta offers a rare glimpse to its continued existence. Check it out after a heavy rainfall to see water barreling up as the brook rages deep below the streets of Manhattan.

3.) The Skinniest Building In Midtown

19 W. 46th Street, Manhattan

Measuring in at an astonishing 12-feet-wide, this four-story Midtown oddity can only be described as a brownstone that has been sliced in half. Towering office buildings on either side seem to be squeezing it out, as if desperate for breathing room. With only enough space for a single row of windows running up to the slated mansard roof, the interior is further reduced by a stairwell on one side of the building. As a fellow location scout once mused, "Perhaps this building came first, and everything else was built around it?"

4.) The Wizard of Park Avenue

470 Park Ave. South, Manhattan

With such landmarks as Grand Central Terminal and the MetLife building to steal your gaze, one could be forgiven for not noticing the ornately-decorated bronze clock overhead. Designed by artist William Zorach and inspired by the building's history in the silk trade, the clock is beautifully decorated in crawling silkworms and lush mulberry leaves (a silkworm's favorite food). However, the marvel here is a bearded wizard perched atop the clock. At the start of every hour, the wizard waves his wand, causing the man kneeling before him to swing a hammer against an anvil, tolling the hour. This awakens the "Queen of Silk," who rises up from a cocoon and remains aloft until the hour has finished striking. Incredibly, the clock is still fully powered by wooden pendulums (though due to the expansion and contraction of the wood, you probably shouldn't set your watch by it).

5.) 23rd Street and Fourth Avenue

Southeast corner, Park Avenue at 23rd Street

I love finding remnants of a New York that no longer exists. Fading brick-wall advertisements, train tracks to nowhere and stone-carved logos for defunct businesses serve as a reminder of just how hard it is to fully erase the past. One such telling artifact can be found at Park Avenue and 23rd Street. Here, bronze lettering on the southeast corner building identify the adjacent streets, but the Park Avenue side is strangely marked "Fourth Avenue" -- even though Fourth Avenue terminates downtown at 14th Street! In fact, Park Avenue was once entirely known as Fourth Avenue. In the early 1800s, a steam-engine trainline ran the length of it, bringing a sizable amount of filth and pollution to the avenue. The underground tunnel at 38th Street (now a car underpass) was once an old train tunnel, on top of which was planted a landscaped garden. This section became known as Park Avenue, a name that eventually spread in a bid to draw interest back to the heavily polluted area.

6.) The Little Building Under the Bridge

Vernon Blvd. at Queens Blvd., Queens

Once the headquarters for the renowned New York Architectural Terra-Cotta Works (suppliers of terra-cotta for Carnegie Hall, among countless others), the building became vacant after the company went out of business in the 1920s. It acquired landmark status in 1982, after which Citibank -- owners of the property since 1970 -- sealed it up and left it to rot. Recently, Silver Cup Studios announced plans to build a new studio on the lot behind the building, with promises to restore it. However, the plan seems to have stalled, and the little building under the bridge continues to decay. That it still stands despite decades of neglect is a testament to the quality of its construction.

7.) The Studebaker Showroom of Bedford Avenue

Bedford Avenue at Sterling Place, Crown Heights, Brooklyn

Studebaker, one of the first automobile manufacturers in the US, once had a sizable presence in New York, including this former car showroom. Made of white concrete and white terra-cotta, the building is in pristine condition. A recent renovation sadly removed the two-story wrap-around showroom windows on the ground level, but Studebaker emblems, logos and imaginative Gothic flourishes thankfully still adorn the exterior. The building dates back to a time when this area was known as Automobile Row. You'll find remnants from the era around the neighborhood.

8.) The Secret Owl at Columbia University

Columbia University Campus, 116th Street at Broadway, Manhattan

One of the most beautiful and pleasant places in New York City is the Morningside Heights campus of Columbia University. Built on the site of the former Bloomingdale Insane Asylum (only a single red-brick building, which once housed wealthy men with mental illnesses, remains from this era), the campus covers an astonishing six city blocks without a single active cross street bisecting it. Located in the center of campus is the statue of Alma Mater, sculpted by Daniel Chester French and a symbol for the university. Inspired by Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, Alma Mater's arms are raised invitingly toward the campus as if welcoming in the knowledge around her. But Alma Mater harbors a secret: an owl, hidden in the folds of her robe and completely invisible at a distance. There are a number of legends about the rewards that will come to a student that finds the owl: marry a Barnard girl within the year, become class valedictorian, general good luck, etc. As I would hate to deprive you of any of these potential riches, I will leave you to find Alma Mater's secret owl on your own!

9.) The American Merchant Mariners' Memorial

Battery Park, northwest corner, Manhattan

One of the most moving public art pieces in New York City is a haunting tribute to commercial sailors who lost their lives at sea. The memorial, designed by artist Marisol, was inspired by a true event during World War II, in which a Nazi U-boat attacked an American merchant marine vessel. While the marines desperately clung to their sinking ship, the Nazis photographed the victims, then left them to the open seas. The memorial is directly based on one of those photographs. In the sculpture, two men are desperately crying for help atop a sinking boat while a third tries to pull a victim from the water. There is an unbelievable sense of desperation and frustration in the piece, as the drowning man struggles, veins bursting from his arm, to grab hold of the seaman above and salvation as the waters of the Hudson mercilessly lap at his head, often completely submerging him. The piece is rendered all the more chilling when one reads the final line of the historical marker: "Left to the perils of the sea, the survivors later perished."

10.) The Immortals of Times Square

TGIF Restaurant, 46th Street

at Seventh Avenue, Manhattan

Long before it was a TGI Friday's, the building was a showroom for Israel Miller, a famed shoemaker for Broadway shows. A motto from the period still lines the top of the building: "The Show Folks Shoe Shop Dedicated To Beauty In Footwear." But the real highlight here, my favorite hidden gem of Times Square, is the row of four statues positioned high up on the West 46th Street wall, each depicting a famed Broadway actor of the 1920s in costume as their most notable role. A public contest was held to choose the top actors of the day in the categories of drama, comedy, film and opera, resulting in such picks as Ethel Barrymore (Drew's great aunt) for her work as Ophelia. Despite being covered in dirt and grime and completely ignored by millions of tourists, these statues continue to stand proud in front of gold-leafed backgrounds, having attained the rarest of rare: a permanent place in Times Square.

First the Dodgers Leave, Now This

And you wake up, you try to face the world with a cheerful mood, you browse through the news of the day—and you find another great chunk of New York is chucked into the dustbin.

Just yesterday, I was bidding farewell to Cafe La Fortuna on the Upper West Side. This morning, the Brooklyn Eagle tells me Armando's, an anchor of Brooklyn Heights' Montague Street will be closing March 16 after 72 ever-lovin', blue-eyed years.

We can't blame the landlord this time, because the restaurant owner is the landlord. Peter Byros, who's owned the one-time Sinatra haunt for the last 27 years, has decided to redevelop the property, and has already rented out the space to another eatery. This place isn't just some old Italian joint. It's a real slice of Brooklyn history. The Dodgers used to eat there after the game. Norman Mailer ate there. Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller reportedly dined there when Miller lived in Brooklyn Heights. (Monroe is commemorated on the walls with several photos and one not-altogether cheesy oil painting.)

A waiter said the place will become a sandwich shop, serving panini and such, with no bar.

Almost as sad as losing the restaurant is losing the great neon sign—the last on the strip and one of the best in the city, with its mix of blue, red and green light, slightly Deco lettering and illustration of a lobster.

Some Stuff That's Interesting

Whole Foods announced it's not coming to Gowanus. Nobody is surprised. [Curbed]

The New York Police Department still uses typewriters. Some people are surprise. (Not me. I'm pleased. And not only because the story caused the Post to run a picture of "Barney Miller.") [NY Post]

Someone wants to put the screws of Joe Jr.'s former landlord. Hey, I'm all for putting the screws to landlords, whatever the reason. [Eater]

New screw-up named to lead MTA. [City Room]

The Museum of the City of New York is opening a speakeasy, which is about the coolest thing the Museum of the City of New York has ever done. [City Room]

Tony Avella tells off CB7 in no uncertain terms. [Queens Crap]

A Perfect Storefront: Astoria Music

Among the ugly chains stores on 30th Avenue in Astoria is this charming shoebox of an enterprise, Astoria Music, where you can buy musical instruments, get instruments repaired and take music lessons. All in that tiny place. I love the display window, with its hanging guitars and drum sets.

How old is Astoria Music? Would you believe, 1922? And always in the same location. It was founded by the Greek Badgetakis family, all of whom were musicians. In the 1960’s a grandson, John Badget, took over, and in 1982 George Phillips, also a musician and also Greek, bought the business.

During the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s, the shop was also recording studio and record shop. If we are to believe the store's website, famous musicians who recorded or bought merchandise here included: "Tony Bennett, Jimmy Rushing, Louis Armstrong, Glenn Miller, Junior Mance, Milt Jackson, Lenny Tristano, Bix Beiderbecke, Dizzy Gillespie, Ben Webster, Buck Clayton, Cannonball Adderly, Woody Herman, Clarence Williams, Eva Taylor, Fats Waller, Billie Holiday, Mercer Ellington, Lena Horne, Ethel Merman, Illinois Jacquet, Charlie Mingus, Russell Jacquet, James P Johnson, Lester Young, Milt Hinton, Count Basie, Jimmy Heath, Nat Adderly, Benny Waters, Ella Fitzgerald, Phil Schaap, Roy Eldridge, Clark Terry, Percy Heath, John Coltrane."

Hard to believe. But I hope it's true.

The Last Vestige of the Nefarious Sire Brothers

There's a collection of three slim, handsome buildings on W. 58th Street between Seventh and Broadway that look about a century old. Two are easy to identify. 215 W. 58th is a firehouse, built in 1906. 213 W. 58th, the AIA guide tells me, was the Helen Miller Gould Stables, built in 1903. The origins of 211 W. 58th, however, weren't as easy to discover. 

It was the carved word near the cornice that got my attention: SIRE. What did it mean? The structure is older than its fellows. According to the New York Landmarks Preservation Commission, it was built in 1885 in the Victorian Gothic style. 

Turns out Sire is a name. And quite a name it was once upon a time. A name everyone knew and a name that commanded attention. And a name that many people probably cursed. The Sire family, which hailed from Germany, was a real estate clan founded by Benjamin Sire. Ben have five sons: Albert, Henry, Meyer, Leander and Maurice and they all went into the business in one way or another. 

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The Times Does Right By La Grenouille

La Grenouille is the last of the great French restaurants that cropped up in New York before and after World War II. The rest, Le Pavillon, Lutèce, La Caravelle, La Côte Basque, Lespinasse, have all died. (Le Veau d'Or is still around, but I think it would even admit that it is no match for La Grenouille.) And yet, the restaurant gets no respect, no attention. Until today. Sam Sifton wrote—I don't want to call it a review—more an homage to the grand old lady of French cuisine in today's New York Times. This notice nearly made me cry, the tone of respect and appreciation was so sincere and heartfelt. Every New York culinary institution should be so extolled as precious and irreplaceable. Read:

LA GRENOUILLE turned 47 on Saturday, the last great French restaurant in New York. As on its birth night, there was snow outside the old stable at 3 East 52nd Street, and this made the soft, glittering light of the brocaded interior seem all the more inviting, the flowers towering out of the corners all the more welcoming, the sheer elegance of the place all the more arresting, important, rare.

The decline of great French cooking in New York has been a subject of discussion among the food-obsessed for decades, since at least the closing of Le Pavillon in 1971. In the last decade the talk has turned funereal, with the demise of Lutèce, La Caravelle, La Côte Basque, Lespinasse.

Brasserie cooking survives in New York, even flourishes under old mirrors and subway tile. We will always have steak frites.

But the quiet opulence of the traditional haute cuisine that was first brought to New York by Henri Soulé for the World’s Fair in 1939 and which flourished at his Pavillon and other restaurants in the years that followed? The whole marvelous Tom Wolfe scene of it: blanquette de veau and Beaumes-de-Venise, and ladies in finery beside gentlemen in soft cashmere jackets and rolled silk ties? C’est fini!

A series of recent meals at La Grenouille suggests that isn’t so. Not so long as Charles Masson, who has run it since 1975, greets his customers at the door, quiet and French and welcoming. Not so long as people can take a seat on a scarlet banquette at his restaurant, sit beneath a spray of flowers and eat sumptuous food out of Escoffier. It has been this way since his father, also named Charles, opened the restaurant in 1962 with his wife, Gisèle.

The crowd is amazing. There are city patricians, upscale travelers, romantics celebrating anniversaries, cads with escort-service friends, priests drinking Burgundy and spooning soup past their dog collars. There is jewelry everywhere, evidence of plastic surgery.

There are Thackeray characters come to life in a modern age. Some have spent too much time in the sun, doing nothing much more than turning the pages of a book. Others, eyes darting back and forth, examine the restaurant and chart customers as handicappers do horses at Belmont: Are the flowers less resplendent than in years past? Perhaps, ever so slightly, yes. Is the carpet threadbare? Not in the least, though those waiters may qualify! Is that a daughter or lover in the corner with that old lion? Oh, please. Have the Montrachet to start?

Back in the kitchen, the executive chef, Matthew Tropeano, spoons forcemeat pike into simmering broth. He naps the result with sauce and gives the plates to waiters who have known no other service. They present their customers a paragon of quenelles de brochet in the Lyonnaise style, a textbook example of classic French cuisine.

The dish is executed perfectly, a kind of beige-on-beige masterpiece devoid of irony or deconstructionist camp. (Only those without heart would call it gefilte fish.) It is delicious without being overwhelming, without being much more than ethereal pike, light as mist, buttery rice, a shellfish cream sauce with just a hint of nutmeg, a dab of American caviar. It is wonderful to eat at La Grenouille.

The revelations start early. A waiter brings an amuse-bouche, perhaps more perfunctorily than is currently normal in most New York restaurants. He neither issues a greeting nor attempts to make the action dramatic.

“This is a split pea soup,” he says. The offering is roughly four spoonfuls’ worth. Each is a cloud of magnificent flavor — salt that raises the vegetal from its depths, cream that makes it buoyant. It lingers on the tongue. The tiny dish expands the mind.

It also concentrates its focus. For there will be no lemon grass foam to confuse matters on the menu of La Grenouille this evening, no huckleberry confit or magret sliders.

This is a classic French restaurant (with classically high prices; a three-course prix fixe dinner starts at $95). Its strength is still, as Bryan Miller wrote in The New York Times almost 20 years ago, the excellence of its stocks, the basis of its magnificent sauces.

Begin your meal with sweetbreads, then. They are the thymus gland of a calf, two lobes separated by a soft tube of flesh. (Someone always asks!) Here they are trimmed in the manner of miniature chicken breasts, then sautéed until crisp, leaving a creamy interior.

Accompanied by a small bit of demi-glace made piney with rosemary, they provide an instant view of a world in which plenty is not nearly so important as quality — a world in which the point is to experience small, rich pleasures, one by one by one.

In that line, there is also foie gras, of course, fattened duck liver seared beautifully and served with port, melting velvet in the mouth. There is a magnificent country terrine, studded with pistachios and served blessedly at the temperature of the room, so that it spreads easily and caresses the tongue.

On a brisk winter evening, you might begin with risotto, now served with buttery wild mushrooms, each grain separate and pliant and rich.

A slightly rakish salmon tartare arrives piled on a large and perfect blini with more of that American caviar on top to heighten the experience. (Ravioli with lobster and tarragon achieves a similar effect, plus cream.)

And a simple endive salad highlights the bitter sweetness of the green, then sweetens it with slick pear, chalky walnut, the rough, salty excellence of Roquefort cheese.

For main dishes, there are those quenelles. Also frogs’ legs sautéed in butter with parsley and garlic, a nod to the restaurant’s name (in France, une grenouille is a frog). The legs are delicate, flavorful, addictive and impossible even in this luxe setting to finish with knife and fork. (The waiter will bring you a finger bowl when you are done.) There is an excellent plate of veal kidneys, sautéed in a flash of Cognac until just browned around the exterior, served with a thick, piquant mustard sauce. There is another of sirloin, crimson beef dominoes on a plate, with creamy pommes boulangère.

There are beef oxtails of uncommon excellence, braised until sticky in red wine, a dish the late Pat Buckley once said she would choose as her last on Earth.

And for those experiencing the restaurant for the first time, or returning to it for the first time in ages, there is Dover sole. Named for the English port in which it was first popularized, Dover sole is slightly less bathmat-shaped than its relative the flounder. It is prized by diners for close-grained sweet flavor, and by restaurants for ease of filleting, which is why it’s so often done tableside.

Here, grilled and then sauced with butter, and served with soft, golden mustard sauce, it achieves a kind of transfiguration: France brought to Midtown, a vacation in a bite. It’ll change the color of your mood ring.

Let us stay happy through the end of this meal. Wise diners will, as they order the sole, also ask for the preparation of a soufflé for dessert, perhaps the one scented with Grand Marnier. (The unwise will ask for tarte Tatin and receive a wan example in return.)

During the winter of 1997, when La Grenouille was just 35, Ruth Reichl wrote in the restaurant’s most recent review in these pages that it was not for nothing that a parade of soufflés crosses the dining room each evening. “I don’t think there is a better soufflé in New York,” she wrote, and awarded three stars.

That is still the case. It is a magic-trick dessert, a dreamlike concoction from the night kitchen: perfection unsullied. And it stands, in its way, for the importance of La Grenouille. This is the bastion now. It is worth the expense to put on your best and experience it. It is part of why you are here.