Lost City Asks "Who Goes to The Red Rose?"

For my latest "Who Goes There?" Eater column, I stayed local, going to the good old Red Rose.

Who Goes There? The Red Rose

You can walk the length of the gentrified restaurant row that is Smith Street, Brooklyn, and about the only reminder you'll find of how the neighborhood used to eat is The Red Rose. It's one of Carroll Gardens' few surviving red sauce joints, and the crowd inside doesn't in any way resemble the one you'll see in Po down the block. Nearly everyone who walks through the door seems to be on friendly terms with the Romano family, who run the place and own the building its in. Dad Tony founded the restaurant and can be seen shuffling among the white-clothed tables or sitting near the door, and son Santo is your gruff but affable host.

The front half of the narrow space, in particular, is treated by regular patrons like a communal living room. A mildly cacophonous mix of TV noise, piped-in music and Italian and Brooklynese chatter fills the air. Men with ponderous guts perch at the bar and watch the tube, keeping up a running conversation with Santo and showing no sign of leaving anytime soon. Friends—in running suits; in t-shirts; in suit and tie—mill about casually, standing, then sitting, then getting up again, ordering drinks ("Here's to bow-legged women") and plates, asking who exactly among the staff mixed their cocktail. It's insular and friendly. The quieter back is more the province of civilians, with a surprisingly wide range of diners. A young couple here, a table of soccer coaches there, a dinner meeting of executives from the Citibank branch on Court Street. On weekday nights, the restaurant may seem like a ghost town early on, but it fills up steadily as the night goes on, and is sometimes packed on weekends.

The Red Rose is actually more Old School Carroll Gardens than it first appears. The restaurant is only 26 years old—a respectable age, of course—but the Romano roots reach further back. Before opening the eatery, Tony ran a longstanding deli pizzeria on nearby Cheever Place, buying it from his godfather (seriously) in the 1970s. It serviced the nearby Sacred Hearts school (now a condo), feeding the Roman Catholic kids slices and meatball heros when they spilled out for lunch. When the school decided to serve meals in-house, the pizzeria withered on the vine and closed.

The Romanos took the pizza oven with them when they moved east to Smith Street. They also took their recipe for rice balls, which remains one of the best things on the menu. Prices are pretty cheap, and there's almost no bottle of wine over $20. Nothing bowls you over, but, if you approach the menu with the right attitude, nothing disappoints, either. Mainly, the place makes you feel at ease. The very young waiter/busboys (everybody seems to do everything here) may be among the most breezily friendly I've encountered, answering "No problem" to every request. Very likely, they don't have any problems. For customers don't go to the Red Rose to get uptight about their dinner. They go for a meal out that sorta feels like a meal at home.
—Brooks of Sheffield

Lost City's Guide to Carroll Gardens

This is the second in a series of neighborhood guides designed to lead those inclined to revel in classic Old New York to those places of authenticity and historical value that still exist. This time around I choose my own neighborhood: Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. Or South Brooklyn, if you like. The part of South Brooklyn bordered by Degraw Street on the north, Hamilton Pkwy on the south, Hoyt Street on the east and the BQE on the west. I'm also including a few places west of the BQE that some might deem parts of Red Hook or the horribly named Columbia Heights Waterfront District. Why? Because I want to, and because, to me, they feel as much of Carroll Gardens as they do those other areas.

Again, keep in mind: this is not meant to be a complete list. It's a selection, and some things you know and love will be left off. Also, I'm focusing on things that are still there, not extinct buildings or stores.

So, ladies and gentlemen, Carroll Gardens.

BLOCKS OF CARROLL AND PRESIDENT STREETS BETWEEN SMITH AND HOYT STREETS; AND BLOCKS OF FIRST, SECOND, THIRD AND FOURTH PLACES BETWEEN COURT AND HENRY STREETS: Find out why it's called Carroll Gardens. Back in the 19th century, urban planner Richard Butts equipped many of the brownstones with spacious front yards, lending an airy, grandish feeling to the area. These are the best blocks to see the effect. Criminally, Carroll and President are the only blocks protected by the nabe's teeny-tiny historical district, but the other eight blocks are just as beautiful, if not moreso.

JOE'S PERETTE (Smith near Carroll): Actually called Joe's Superette. But the "Su" fell off the old sign years ago and has never been replaced. A mangy old deli hiding one fantastic specialty: prosciutto balls. Order a half dozen for $3.50. Hot, moist and delicious, you'll wonder at how appearances can deceive.

RED ROSE RESTAURANT (Smith near President): The Smith Street restaurant revolution has ensured that little of old Smith Street remains. Even the Red Rose, an Italian red sauce joint, is only a quarter-century old. But it does things the way they were 50 years ago.

ARMANDO TAILORS: Next door to Red Rose. The tailor speaks Italian. His daughter translates. His brother makes homemade wine. The man knows his work.

D'AMICO COFFEE (Court near Degraw): A neighborhood landmark for decades. When they roast their coffee beans, everyone knows; the acrid smell saturates the neighborhood. I personally am not a fan of the product, but many drive miles to buy a sack of beans. And that the shop has local flavor to burn can not be denied.

CAPUTO BAKERY (Court near Sackett): In my humble opinion, the best bread in a neighborhood that has many sources of good bread. The long thin "Frank Sinatra" loafs are perfection. The interior is delightfully spare and the service efficient; this place is about bread, not fey charm. Good prices, too.


F. MONTELEONE CAMMERARI BAKERY (Court Street near President): Used to be two separate entities. They joined forces a couple years ago as a survival tactic. Combined, they represent more than 150 years of experience. Monteleone's specialty is mini-pastries. Cammerari does bread. The quality's fallen off since the union, but it's still worth a visit.

G. ESPOSITO & SONS PORK STORE: Next door to Monteleone. Choice pork products of all kinds, and prepared Italian specialties. A 86-year-old, family-owned holdout of the once predominantly Italian neighborhood. Sample the soppresseta.

MARIETTA (Court near Carroll): An old world ladies and men's wear shop that could be in the garment district. Basics, nothing fancy. Underwear, t-shirts, pajamas. Good prices. Run by a couple of brothers, it's named after their late mother.

CAPUTO'S FINE FOODS (Carroll near Third Place): Great mozzarella, meats, olives, homemade pasta, coffee, cookies, anything Italian you can think of. This narrow store with fine, friendly service has it all. Ask them to make you a sandwich. You won't be sorry.

COURT SHOE SHINE: Just a couple doors down from Caputo, an old guy keeps a ramshackle storefront where he sometimes shines shoes, but mainly gabs with whoever stops by. Rubber balls and other low-fi toys for the kids are also available. He's been there forever, says he put his kids through college this way. Has no intention of retiring. The model is Business as Hobby.

P.J. HANLEY'S (Court near 4th Place): One of the oldest bars in Brooklyn, it's history goes back a hundred years, when it was a hangout for Norwegian seamen. It doesn't look exactly timeless. But still a decent place to get a beer.

ST. MARY STAR OF THE SEA (Court near Luquer): Longstanding pillar of the Catholic community. Al Capone was married here.

DENNET PLACE: Tiny, one-block street behind St. Mary's that, it was once sagely remarked, looks like a stage set for Maxwell Anderson's "Winterset." The three-foot-high doors lead people to believe that it is home to a community of little people.

CARROLL GARDENS PUBLIC LIBRARY (corner of Clinton and Union): An original Carnegie library (Andrew's portrait still hangs), the interior is worth a look.

F.G. GUIDO FUNERAL HOME (corner of Clinton and Carroll): The old John Rankin mansion, which dates from 1840 and once stood in isolation on this plot with a clear view of New York harbor. The free-standing building is a fine example of Greek Revival architecture. Horse-drawn hearses lurk inside somewhere.

ST. PAUL'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH: Kitty-corner from Guido is this battered old church which has lost its steeple and, in a first many years ago, the many old model ships that once hung from its rafters. It's still a bit of a wreck inside, but that's part of its faded appeal.

OLD NORWEGIAN SEAMAN'S CHURCH (corner of Clinton and First Place): Once the center of Norwegian life in Brooklyn. Now condos. Built in 1865. The King of Norway visited in the 1950s.

NAMELESS DELI (corner of Henry and Fourth Place): Time-stands-still deli run by two old ladies who keep the front door locked, and only let you in if they like your looks. Old Carroll Gardens to a "T." A trip.


LUSO-AMERICAN CULTURAL CENTER (Henry near Rapelye): Mysterious, little-used community center for Portuguese-American events. Used to be a Methodist church eons ago. Very curious.

LUCALI (Henry near Carroll): A great new pizzeria. Included here only because it used to be the old Louis' Candy Shop and the owner, a local, has kept remnants of the store on the walls. He also uses equipment once owned by Leonardo's, a former, older pizzeria on Court Street.


MAZZOLA BAKERY (corner of Henry and Union): Another great neighborhood, family bakery. Good ciabatta and lard bread (chock full of prosciutto).

FERDINANDO'S FOCCACERIA: (Union near Hicks) Across the BQE and, at 104-years-old, the oldest restaurant in the area. A remnant on Union Street pushcarts days, when this area was a shopping mecca that rivaled Court Street. Frank Buffa continues the family concern, selling peerless Sicilian delicacies. It's been renovated a lot over the years to "look" classic, but still worth the trip. Potato Special and Panelle Special sandwiches recommended.

HOUSE OF PIZZA & CALZONE: Across the street from Ferdinando's, this 50-year-old pizzeria was recently massively renovated. The only thing that is the same is the name, which is a cool one. The new owners will tell you they make the pizza the way the old guys did, but it's not true. Something's missing.

New Look for Red Rose

Carroll Gardens mainstay, the Red Rose, got a new awning this week, just in time for its 30th anniversary. I don't hate it. It's red, anyway. To see how the Red Rose looked when it opening, see here. To see it's more recent look, here.

The Roots of the Red Rose

A few weeks back, I made the old Carroll Gardens red sauce joint The Red Rose the subject of on my my "Who Goes There?" columns on Eater. While dining there, I learned of the 26-year-old restaurant's long roots in the neighborhood.

Turns outs, the Romano family, who own it, began their career in food services not on Smith Street but on Cheever Place, the one-block strip a few blocks further west. Father Tony ran a deli-pizzeria there. It serviced the nearby Sacred Hearts school (now a condo), feeding the Roman Catholic kids slices and meatball heros during lunch. When the school decided to serve meals in-house, the pizzeria declined and closed.

Tony's son described where the pizzeria used to be and what it looked like. I took that information and doped out that this storefront must be the place. 62 Cheever Place. It's a dwelling now and looks pretty spic and span.

The Laundromat With the Butcher's Sign

I was walking down Smith Street past the Red Rose restaurant, the old red-sauce joint for forty years standing, when a photograph in the window caught my eye. I'd never seen it before. It was a black-and-photo of the eatery from the '70s. The sign and and storefront were different back then. And there was a vertical "Pizza" above the restaurant, betraying the joint's now-forgotten heritage as a pizza place.

But that's not what interested me. I noticed the business to the north of the Red Rose, Martino Bros. Prime Meat Market. Long gone, of course, but the pale, metal sign looked oddly familiar.

So I walked about ten feet down the street and took a good look at the laundromat that had taken the place of Martino Bros. The sign was big, pale yellow and metal. Could it be it was the same damn sign the butcher had used?

I looked more closely. Sure enough. The owners of Smith Laundromat has just painted over the Martino Bros' letter and painted on their own name. Only they hadn't done so fantastic a job, so you can still see the outlines of some of the Martino letters, like "S," seen above.

Bad Days for Red Sauce Joints

News from Queens and Brooklyn indicates the City will soon be losing two of its more authentic Italian red sauce joints.

Over at Queens Crap, a readers post news that Salerno's in Richmond Hill may be gone for good. The restaurant has been around for more than 70 years, and was a location in "Goodfellas." The door has a sign saying "closed for renovations," but word on the street is otherwise, and no one is answering the phone.

Over in Carroll Gardens, meanwhile, Casa Rosa on Court and Carroll Streets is on the market. They're asking $3.3 million for the building and lot, and, with that prime location (right near the park, lots of foot traffic and services), they'll get it. The building's been around for at least 100 years, and most of that time its been a restaurant, though not always the Casa Rosa, which is a fairly recent place. For a time, it appears, it was a pool parlor, which is cool. The DOC site shows that while the address has incurred quite a few DOB violations over the last 25 years, all of them have been dismissed. Hmmm.

I'd be sad to see Casa Rosa go. Not that it's such great food, but it's one of the last red-sauce, old-style places that were once so prevalent in Carroll Gardens and are redolent of the neighborhood's history. If it vanishes, that only leaves The Red Rose on Smith, really. And, I suppose, Marco Polo, though that's a much fancier affair, and who knows what's going on with that place these days.

The photo's courtesy of Pardon Me For Asking.

Remembering Steak Row

Some time ago I posted an item about how one measure of the paling character of New York is that its streets used to have more interesting nicknames (Swing Street, Newspaper Row, The Bloody Angle, etc.)

One I forgot is Steak Row. East 45th Street between Lexington and First used to have so many red-meat joints that it won this moniker. By most accounts, the "Mayor of Steak Row" was John C. Bruno, the owner of the Pen and Pencil at 205 E. 45th Street. Also on this strip were Joe & Rose's and The Pressbox, The Editorial and Danny's Hideaway. These last three were founded by former Pen & Pencil employees.

Bruno died in 1965, and Steak Row started to fade soon after. A few joints still merited a mention in the 1976 New York Times Guide to Dining Out in New York. The Press Box Steakhouse at 139 E. 45th Street was termed to have the "atmosphere, neither elegant nor simple, [of] that of a slightly rundown businessman's pub." Joe & Rose (which was actually on Third) was said to have "the air of an old-timer," and a place where "you don't feel really welcome unless you're one of the gang."

Nowadays, there's hardly a trace. Remnants include Pietro's, which used to be on 45th but is now on 43rd, and The Palm. The Palm was never on 45th, but, being just around the corner on Second Avenue, is was somewhat considered part of Steak Row. As for the Pen & Pencil, John C. Bruno's son took it over when his father died and ran it for 33 years until 1998, when the landlord sold the building to a developer.

Read this article from 1959 for more:

NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, WEST, YOU'LL FIND THE "NEW YORK CUT" IS BEST

LIKE steak?

There are more good steak houses in one small area of New York, specifically between Lexington and Second Aves. in the East 40's, than you'll find in the average city of a half million population. There are so many steak houses in that neighborhood, in fact, that East 45th St., within those boundary lines, has become known as Steak Row.

It all started back in 1923, when CHRIST CELLA, a former plasterer, opened a tiny basement kitchen in an apartment house and gave it his name. A fellow immigrant from Parma, Italy, Colombo Pecci, followed suit by converting a Chinese laundry and shoe store into the present COLOMBO'S steak house. Next in line was John Ganzi, who opened THE PALM on the site of a former funeral parlor. Pietro Donnini then established himself in an upstairs room on the northeast corner of 45th St. and Third Ave. as PIETRO'S. SCRIBE'S was opened by Louis Agazzi, another immigrant from Italy, further up the street.

These men, along with Joseph Resteghini, John C. (PEN & PENCIL) Bruno, Dalmo Pozzi, Lino Conti, and Pio Bossi are the pioneers of Steak Row. Resteghini opened JOE & ROSE's in 1915 as a delicatessen with a tiny back room which became a restaurant. Resteghini's son, Fred, present owner of JOE & ROSE's, recalls that when Prohibition came in, JOE & ROSE's became a speakeasy, serving regular customers and all the other restaurateurs who patronized the place in their off hours. After repeal it reverted back to a legitimate Italian restaurant.

Charles Stradella owned a liquor store on Ninth Ave. which he sold in order to buy a small restaurant, in 1938, for his son, Danny. He took over a beer joint at 203 E. 45th St. and with the aid of his son-in-law, Dalmo Pozzi, created the original PEN & PENCIL, then known as Charley's Rail.

In 1939 John C. Bruno left the Hotel Lincoln's Blue Room to become headwaiter at the PEN & PENCIL (his wife was Frances Stradella, Danny's sister). With him, Bruno brought along Henry Castello. In the years that followed, Bruno's PEN & PENCIL was to become the spawning spot for three rival steak houses on Steak Row: The PRESSBOX, the EDITORIAL, and DANNY'S HIDEAWAY. They were founded by PEN & PENCIL employees who had been trained by John Bruno.

Danny's Hideaway (& His Inferno), at 151 E. 45th St., started as a one-room bistro seating six, with Mamma Rosa doing the cooking and Danny acting as his own waiter and barkeep. Within the next dozen years the operation was to expand to take in three four-story buildings, with 11 dining rooms seating 300, two separate kitchens and two completely stocked bars on different levels.

Outside, a 60-ft. awning proclaims it the home of DANNY'S HIDEAWAY and His Inferno; His Music Room; His Menu Room; His Key Room; His Nook. Celebrity parties have become his specialty and everything has been celebrated there from the signing of a new TV contract to the taking of a bride.

One of the youngest restaurateurs on Steak Row, and certainly the smallest—he weighs 130 pounds, stands 5 ft. 2 inches on tiptoe—Dante Charles Stradella, as he was christened (Stradella means "little street"), is also probably the most photographed. The walls of his restaurant are adorned with some 2,000 photographs of celebrities of stage, screen, TV, radio, sports, advertising, magazines and newspapers, and in at least 90 per cent of these pictures Danny appears as a host.

DANNY'S HIDEAWAY still is largely a family affair. Mamma Stradella died several years ago but sister Dora's husband, Pete Berutti, is Danny's maitre d'hotel; sister Josephine's husband, Dalmo Pozzi, is treasurer and general manager; and Frank Longo, the office manager, is a cousin.

The secret of Danny's success, aside from good food, is his gentleness of manner and his quiet charm. He is a hard-working host who doesn't find it beneath his dignity to clear a table or pinch hit in the kitchen during rush hours. His own explanation is simpler. He merely says, "I like people."

Danny's success spurred Henry Castello and Harry Storm, both PEN & PENCIL bartenders, to team up with former VOISIN waitercaptain Fred O. Manfredi and open the PRESSBOX. ChaLles Fallini and Lino Conti, onetime chefs at PEN & PENCIL got the same notion and they, too, teamed to open the EDITORIAL, next door to Danny's.

Bruno's Pen & Pencil expanded from 203 E. 45th St. to a larger location at 205, on the premises of a former soda fountain. John redecorated the new place to include watercolor paintings by Milton Marx of famous writers, from Lord Byron down, and at least two great newspaper publishers—Joseph Medill Patterson and William Randolph Hearst.

(It was, incidentally, the pre-World War II patronage of newspapermen and magazine employees in the neighborhood which inspired the local restaurants to take such names as PEN & PENCIL, EDITORIAL, PRESSBOX, FOURTH ESTATE, LATE EDITION and FRONT PAGE. In those days a steak dinner could be had for $1.75. Today, the same platter costs nearer $7.00.)

John C. Bruno, tall, still slim and handsome, is an opera fan (owns a box at the Metropolitan every sea-son) and indulges in an expensive sideline—horse racing; but can still take time out to tell you how to cook a steak. Several seasons ago, to introduce his restaurant to a newer set of patrons, he employed publicist Michael Sean O'Shea to stage semi-annual champagne-and-steak supper parties for celebrities of the stage and screen. At one memorable affair that went from mid-night to dawn the guests included Ethel Merman, Joan Crawford, Tallulah Bankhead, Shirley Booth and Ginger Rogers.

Around the corner from Steak Row is THE PALM on Second Ave., originally a newspaperman's hangout (its walls are decorated with cartoons) but now too expensive for most newspapermen unless they have expense accounts.

Across the street from THE PALM at 834 Second Ave. is MIKE MANUCHE'S and that was formerly CAMILLO'S. (CAMILLO's is now at 160 E. 48th St.) Mike is a former Air Force pilot who took up the restaurant business more or less by accident after the war and made a success of it. He is, incidentally, the husband of Martha Wright, the TV star who succeeded Mary Martin as Nellie Forbush in South Pacific on Broadway and played the role for three successive seasons.

The Assembly, at 207 E. 43rd St., is another steak house, and a good one, under the management of a young man with the picturesque name of Ronnie Drinkhouse, who learned the business from his father. The ASSEMBLY is a favorite lunching place for United Nations personnel.

Someone Else Gets It!

The Village Voice's esteemed food critic Robert Sietsema has hit upon an idea that Lost City has been championing ever since I hung out my blog's shingle back in 2006: Classic restaurants and bars should be landmarked! The idea is a tricky one—how do you mix active commerce and historical preservation? Where do the merchant's rights end and the public's begin? Still, the notion is important and, during this critical period when the City's culinary heritage is fast eroding, it needs to be taken up and given some serious thought.

My initial thoughts on how such a set-up would work fall along these lines. You can't really grant landmark status to a working restaurant or bar, because, unlike a beautiful edifice or historic neighborhood, it's a breathing commercial enterprise. How do you preserve the concern if business is bad, and the place can't make money? How can you make an owner accept landmarking if he wants to retire and no one wants to assume control of the eatery? It's complicated.

But certainly, places like Katz's and Old Town Bar shouldn't be at the mercy of developers and real estate booms. They are part of the City's fabric. They belong to everyone, to history. So we should make it as easy for them to survive as possible. The City should give classic restaurants property tax breaks, or buy the buildings from the landlords and become the landlord, charging the restaurants a dollar a year. This will encourage the restaurants to stay put, for as long as the people in charge want to do. And if the owners want to get out, the City could orchestrate a transfer to another willing owner who would preserve the traditions of the place, interviewing capable and interested candidates.

Here is Sietsema's article:

A Modest Proposal--Restaurant Landmarking

I was hurrying down West 125th on the way to a new Ethiopian place a friend had tipped me to, when I stopped short. One of my favorite soul food spots, M& G Diner, was shuttered tight as a drum. The place had long been a 24-hour pit stop for southern-style fried chicken, sweet corn muffins, collards laced with fatback (and later, smoked turkey), creamy mac and cheese with extra cheddar melted on top, and the cryptic barbecued rib sandwich.

When I got home, I did a bit of research on the web and in my own collection of books about New York City. I turned up almost nada. Judging by the décor, the current M & G exterior, and its curving interior linoleum counter, the place certainly originated in the 1950s or earlier. The front remained emblazoned with the slogan, "Old Fashion' Good" - the fussy apostrophe dating to a time when people still cared about correct punctuation.

In fact, M & G was one of the last remaining soul food holdouts in Harlem, a beacon on West 125th Street that instantly evoked the history of the neighborhood going back to the Harlem Renaissance and beyond. There are only two or three of those old-timers that remain.

In the ensuing nights, I had a recurring nightmare that Katz's on Houston Street - one of my favorite restaurants in the world - also closed. Overnight, a condo tower rose on the site. In one version of the dream, a place called Katz's is installed in a ground floor retail space, but it looks like a fast-food joint on the Interstate, and the indifferent counterguys are slicing the pastrami and corned beef on slicing machines.

Why does it have to be this way? Why is our culinary birthright at the mercy of the whims of real estate developers? The city is quick to grant giant tax abatements and other goodies to developers, why not to restaurateurs?

Indeed, we need some sort of cultural landmark system that will forestall the decimation of our cultural treasures. If the city readily permits condo towers to rise over Williamsburg and the Lower East Side, destroying the low-rise character of the neighborhoods in the name of economic progress, why can't we be allowed to retain a handful of restaurants that really matter?

How the mechanism of this Heirloom Restaurant Designation would work is not the point of this piece--certainly, there would be many details to work out. It shouldn't be connected in any way to the Landmarks Preservation Commission, which is in the pocket of real estate developers, and often seems concerned only with saving brownstones.
But I've started a list of restaurants and other purveyors of prepared food I'd like to see preserved, and fear are in danger of disappearing. I'd love to have additional suggestions.

1. Katz's Deli (Manhattan)
2. Totonno's Pizza (Brooklyn)
3. Mitchell's Soul Food (Brooklyn)
4. Lemon Ice King of Corona (Queens)
5. Patsy's Pizza (Manhattan)
6. La Taza de Oro (Manhattan)
7. Pete's Tavern (Manhattan)
8. Veniero's (Manhattan)
9. Court Pastry Shop (Brooklyn)
10. Eddie's Sweet Shop (Queens)
11. Nathan's Hot Dogs (Brooklyn)
12. Calandra's Cheese (Bronx)
13. Margie's Red Rose (Manhattan)

To Robert's list, I suggest these additions:

Old Town Bar
McSorley's Old Ale House
John's of 12th Street
Delmonico's
Brooklyn Inn
Bamonte's
Barbetta
Ear Inn
Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden
Peter Luger
Rao's
Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop
P.J. Clarke's
Subway Inn
Yonah Schimmel's Knishery
Sardi's
Barney Greengrass
Keen's Steak House
Le Veau d'Or
Homestead Steak House
L & B Spumoni Gardens
Everything on Arthur Avenue
Alleva Dairy
Caffe Roma

Lost City's "Who Goes There?" Columns

The following are the collected editions of the "Who Goes There?" columns. Each edition originally appeared on Eater.com.

As the introduction to each feature states, the purpose of the series is to crack the doors on mysteriously enduring Gotham restaurants—unsung, curious neighborhood mainstays with the dusty, forgotten, determined look—to learn secrets of longevity and find out, who goes there. (Venues that have since closed their doors are designated by an asterisk. Those designated with a hashtag have changed management.)

Who Goes There? Dominick's
Who Goes There? John's Pizzeria
Who Goes There? El Quijote
Who Goes There? Lexington Candy Shop
Who Goes There? Donovan's Pub
Who Goes There? Roll 'n' Roaster
Who Goes There? Piccolo Venezia
Who Goes There? Tom's Restaurant
Who Goes There? Prime Burger*
Who Goes There? L&B Spumoni Gardens
Who Goes There? Colandrea New Corner
Who Goes There? Lupe's 
Who Goes There? Frankie & Johnnie's
Who Goes There? El Sitio
Who Goes There? Il Tinello
Who Goes There? El Viejo Yayo
Who Goes There? Joe & Pat's Pizzeria
Who Goes There? Marchi's
Who Goes There? Lee's Tavern
Who Goes There? Sarge's Deli 
Who Goes There? Toledo
Who Goes There? The Tap and Grill
Who Goes There? El Parador Cafe
Who Goes There? Villa Berulia
Who Goes There? Randazzo's Clam Bar
Who Goes There? Liebman's Kosher Deli
Who Goes There? Bohemian Hall Beer Garden
Who Goes There? J.G. Melon
Who Goes There? DeFonte's Sandwich Shop
Who Goes There? Isabella's 
Who Goes There? Mont Blanc
Who Goes There? Hinsch's*
Who Goes There? Brennan and Carr
Who Goes There? Stage Deli
Who Goes There? Gargiulo's
Who Goes There? Charlie Mom
Who Goes There? Mario's
Who Goes There? King Yum
Who Goes There? Sam's Pizzeria
Who Goes There? Capsouto Freres
Who Goes There? Two Toms
Who Goes There? Marco Polo
Who Goes There? Sardi's
Who Goes There? Wo Hop
Who Goes There? Quatorze Bis
Who Goes There? La Traviata*
Who Goes There? La Rivista
Who Goes There? Von Westernhagen's*
Who Goes There? Puglia Ristorante
Who Goes There? Trieste
Who Goes There? Monte's Trattoria
Who Goes There? Suzie's Chinese Restaurant
Who Goes There? Sofia Ristorante
Who Goes There? Le Rivage
Who Goes There? Rolf's
Who Goes There? Armando's
Who Goes There? Fortune House#
Who Goes There? Zum Stammtisch
Who Goes There? The Red Rose
Who Goes There? El Paso Restaurant
Who Goes There? Sammy's Roumanian Steak House
Who Goes There? La Mancha
Who Goes There? Forlini's
Who Goes There? Sevilla
Who Goes There? Spanish Taverna*
Who Goes There? Donohue's Steak House
Who Goes There? Pietro's
Who Goes There? Brooks 1890 Restaurant#
Who Goes There? La Ripaille
Who Goes There? Isle of Capri
Who Goes There? Heidelberg Restaurant
Who Goes There? Lanza Restaurant
Who Goes There? Francesco Centro Vasca
Who Goes There? John's of 12th Street
Who Goes There? Gino*
Who Goes There? Le Veau d'Or
Who Goes There? Ralph's Ristorante Italiano
Who Goes There? Les Sans Culottes
Who Goes There? Gene's Restaurant
Who Goes There? Villa Mosconi
Who Goes There? Tripoli
Who Goes There? Rocco Restaurant#
Who Goes There? Pergola des Artistes
Who Goes There? Queen Restaurant
Who Goes There? Spain Restaurant
Who Goes There? Fedora Restaurant*
Who Goes There? Tour Va Bien

Purl One, Chug Two

La Casita, the yarn shop that opened three months ago in the Boerum Hill space that once housed bistro Patois, has opened up a wine bar in back!

The owner expects to have the wine list ready by the end of the week. Right now, there are just a few selections by the glass, and a few by the bottle. White, red, rose. Even a "house wine."

Nice idea. Weird idea. Knitting requires concentration. Won't a glass or two cause the lines to go astray a bit? Some kid's gonna get a pretty funny looking set of booties.

What In Helen's Is Happening Now?

I lot of things I loved about Carroll Gardens have fallen by the wayside during its recent, decade-long transformation from sleepy Italian-American enclave to bubbling yuppie enclave, but there are few I miss as much as the lost, and seemingly little lamented Helen's Italian Cuisine at 396 Court Street near Carroll.

It was one of the old-school Italian eateries of the neighborhood, best represented now by the Red Rose on Smith and Casa Rosa on Court. I liked it better than those two, however. The southern Italian food smacked more of home cooking (the lasagna was particularly savory and good), and the slow and often tipsy service had a lot of family character to it. I believe the silver-haired, main waiter was Helen's son (Livio was his name, I think). If you were in a hurry, it wasn't a good idea to eat there.

There was a wooden vestibule that separated the interior from the street, and a simple rack with hangers for hats and coats. Orders were passed through a small square window in the back. There were tables and cozy booths. Wine was served in small, stemless tumblers the way it's done in Italy. Prices were low.

The facade's most distinctive characteristic was an all-a covering wall of gold, corrugated metal—bit of which are still visible as part of the faceless card and gift shop that replaced the restaurant. It was an ugly look, but utterly unique. A work permit in the window of said shop says the reconstruction work is being done. Hard to imagine what sort of redo might make that drab store exciting. I remember when Helen's closed. A man told me the family hoped to reopen it in another location. Sadly, never happened.

A Visit to the Holiday Train Show

I went to the New York Botanical Garden's annual Holiday Train Show for the first time this year—something I've long wanted to do. I always expected that the model trains would simply pass through a kind of fairytale village, albeit on a very large scale. I had no idea that the buildings in question were near exact replicas of New York City and New York State landmarks. Everything from Grand Central and the Empire State to Brooklyn brownstones and the Old Stone House, all jumbling up in some condensed, highly forested version of the metropolis. The Brooklyn, George Washington, Manhattan and Hell Gate bridges tower above.



As this Dec. 5 New York Times article indicates, all the structures are made from organic materials—things that might be found in a botanical garden. Among them: elm bark, alder cones, cloves, gourds, date vines, acorns, palm leaves, grasses, black locust shelf fungi, willow, canella berries, pine bark, walnut shells, okra pods, bamboo, cedar bark, oak, hickory, black walnut, eastern red cedar, sugar-pine-cone scales. They are created by landscape designer Paul Busse, and include famous mansions further upstate.



A number of buildings were new this year, such as the old Merchant's House of Greenwich Village, seen above, and the Rose Center for Earth and Space, below.



No landmark was too big or too small for commemoration. Above is St. Patrick's Cathedral. And here is the Little Red Lighthouse.



The show also has, somewhat eerily, several buildings that don't exist anymore, including the below theatre, once on 46th Street, and a Fifth Avenue mansion (further below) that was torn down in the 20s. There also are a few bygone Coney Island artifacts.

Happy Birthday, Yonah!

City Room has published a nice tribute to Yonah Schimmel, which is celebrating it's 100th year:

The lowly knish, that humblest of pies, has turned 100, or at least the place that sells them has. No one knows for sure, of course, when or where the knish was actually invented. Nor does anyone know the precise date a knish became a knish. But in 1910, Yonah Schimmel’s opened a knishery on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Since then, the knish has been elevated into a staple of political campaign fare. It has been imitated, mass produced, fast frozen and Americanized.

Yonah Schimmel’s knishery, meanwhile, survived at 137 East Houston Street largely untouched, a relic in a gentrified neighborhood (the bakery and restaurant is sandwiched between a hotel that bills itself as being located in “trendy SoHo” and an art movie house).

It has been immortalized in fiction and film (most recently in Woody Allen’s “Whatever Works” when Larry David takes his Southern girlfriend on a date to Grant’s Tomb and then for a knish) and fine art (including Hedy Pagremanski’s painting at the Museum of the City of New York).

Yonah Schimmel’s, its original tin roof intact, describes itself as the oldest knishery in America.

“People ask, ‘Are your knishes fresh?’” said Ellen Anistratov, who owns the knishery with her father, Alex Wolfson. “I say, ‘They’re a hundred years old.”

A knish is loosely defined as a thin dough shell filled with potato or buckwheat groats (kasha) and finely chopped onion, but the ingredients run the gamut from spinach ($3.50) to blueberry cheese ($4). While Mrs. Anistratov recently invented a red cabbage variety, she remains a traditionalist.

“You can make what you want and call it whatever you want, but it doesn’t make it the real thing,” she said. “I don’t mean to insult anyone else, but a knish is round, baked and made of potato or mixed with potato. It’s not square. It’s not fried.”

When several women visiting from Long Island came to the bakery recently and were disappointed not to find the square variety made popular by street vendors and some delicatessens, Mrs. Anistratov offered a persuasive defense of her handmade, kosher knishes that arrive in the ground-floor shop (soup, kugel and egg creams are served, too) from the basement ovens on an original dumbwaiter and have the heft of doorstops.

“Would you like to wear Chanel, or a copy of Chanel?” she asked.

No government agency authenticates knishes, but Harry Golden, the chronicler of Jewish America, pronounced Yonah Schimmel (the spelling of his surname varies) the “inventor” of the knish, and Leo Rosten, the Yiddish maven, defined a knish as “an American nosh” popularized by a number of celebrated bakers, “in particular, Yonah Shimmel.” (Rosten added that the word had mysteriously taken on several other meanings, citing it also as “a term of abuse. He has the brains of a knish.”)

In “The Underground Gourmet,” Milton Glaser and Jerome Snyder wrote in 1968 that “No New York politician in the last 50 years has been elected to office without having at least one photograph showing him on the Lower East Side with a knish in his face.”

Mrs. Anistratov, a fashion designer by training, insists that her knishes are not only tasty, but healthy, too, without eggs, oil or yeast.

“I had a cold a month ago,” she recalled. “I couldn’t get better until I had a knish.” (The health value is unverified, but an academic paper by doctors at Albany Medical College several years ago describes a patient’s “rapid and unexpected recovery from acoustic trauma” after eating a potato knish).

According to one account, Schimmel, an immigrant from Eastern Europe, began peddling his wife’s knishes in Coney Island in the 1890s. He later abandoned his pushcart and his career as a Torah scribe and he and his cousin, Joseph Berger, opened a store on Houston Street. Two years later, Yonah returned to teaching Torah, and Mr. Berger and his wife, Schimmel’s daughter, Rose, took over the business. In 1910, the store moved across the street to its current site.

Today, the shop ships knishes overnight anywhere in the United States and also sells them fresh at some New York food markets.

Wait. Yonah's cousin married his daughter?

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Giambelli Is Done and Gone

Giambelli 50th Ristaronte, an old-school Italian mainstay in Midtown East, has closed its doors for good.

I passed by the unassuming red-brick building yesterday. I peered in the window, because I had long been considering the place as the subject of a "Who Goes There?" column. Instead, I found a sign saying: "To all our wonderful customers. Sorry we are closing our doors due to take over by the MTA. Thank you!"

I walked across the street to the Maloney & Porcelli steakhouse and the maitre d' confirmed that Giambelli's was gone for good, and had closed a month and a half ago. (I looked around the web, but haven't seen any news coverage of this). "It's a shame," he said. "We complimented each other for years. When people wanted Italian, I'd send them over there. When they wanted a steak, he'd send them here." He said the MTA seized the property through Eminent Domain for an upcoming construction project.

Giambelli was founded by Francesco ''Frank'' Giambelli, who died in 2006 at the age of 90. He was born in 1915 in Voghera, outside Milan, Italy. Frank came to the U.S. in 1954 to open Giambelli's Ristorante, originally located on Madison Avenue and 37th Street; it relocated to 50th and Madison Avenue in 1960. In 1995, during Pope John Paul II's trip to New York, Giambelli's served the Pope and fifty Cardinals at the Cardinal's residence. The cuisine was northern Italian. The interior had off-white walls, light brown banquettes, picturesque paintings, Classical bronze statues, and riotously colorful floral arrangements. One account said that a long-stemmed rose was given to each female guest.

Bring Out Your Dead!: 2007

The Year of Our Mayor 2007 isn't quite over yet, but I figure the jackasses who run this City (developers, real estate agents, corporate CEOs who live far away and the backroom City Hall politicians they own) will be taking a break from their wrecking-ball shenanigans for the holidays. So, it's as good a time as any to toll the bell on the priceless and irreplaceable landmarks and businesses that were lost to good ol', sad ol' New Amsterdam during the previous, grievous nine months (the second straight year in which this blog has had to do what no one in power has the time or inclination to: NOTICE!).

Here we go. (Cue the mournful snare drum.) Since Jan. 1, 2007, New York City has lost:

Jade Mountain (one of the last old-style chop suey joints, closed after the death of its owner)
Gotham Book Mart (shuttered at this time last year, but now officially dead)
Gertel's Bakery (rent dispute, made way for condo tower, now living on as wholesale business)
Moondance Diner (following landlord dispute, picked up and moved to Wyoming)
Cité Restaurant
Vinylmania Records
The Lamb's Club
Jahn's Ice Cream Parlor (Forest Hills location)
Claremont Riding Academy
Ralph's Discount City
Kurowycky Meats
Rose's Turn
Morrone Bakery
Ramberg Marine
A five-story, 176-year-old warehouse between John and Platt Streets
Cedar Tavern (condos again)
The Wall Street Journal (lost to Rupert, anyway)


Meanwhile, on the Endangered List:

Chumley's (closed for business since April when its chimney detached itself from an inner wall; still hoping to reopen, which may require a miracle)
P&G Bar (lease running out in landlord dispute)
Katz's Deli (owner keeps fucking around with us about whether he's going to sell out)
The besieged Red Hook Ballfields Food Vendors (cross your fingers)
Admiral's Row (inside Brooklyn Navy Yard)
Community Book Store (Park Slope)
Chelsea Hotel (whatever's going on over there, it's fishy and full of foreboding)
Astroland (scheduled to die this summer, but given a one-year reprieve by Thor Equities)
Woodside's St. Paul's Episcopal Church, circa 1874 (damaged by fire)

On the Bright Side:
Monteleone pastries and Cammareri bakery reopened as a double act on Court Street in Brooklyn
The Second Avenue Deli reopened on 33rd Street.
The former Gage & Tollner will have life again, not as a TGI Friday's, but as Amy Ruth's
B&B Carousell in Coney Island may be restored to life

And These were Landmarked:
Domino Sugar Plant
Sunnyside Gardens
McCarren Pool
Lord & Taylor (Manhattan flagship store)
Eberhard Faber Pencil Factory complex
Staten Island's Standard Varnish Works Factory and Gillette Tyler Mansion
The Voelker-Orth Museum, Bird Sanctuary and Victorian Garden in Queens

Depending on how you look at it, this year was even worse that last year. But that's sort of like comparing the Great San Francisco Earthquake to the Great San Francisco Fire. What's the point? It's all of a piece and it's all bad.

THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 124 Union Street

This is the fourth post of "The Union Street Project," in which I unearth the history of every building along the once bustling Brooklyn commercial strips of Union Street between Hicks and Van Brunt, and Columbia Street between Sackett and Carroll.

The first three entries of the series, I tackled three successive edifices on the north side of Union Street, each right next to the other. I'm now temporarily skipping over the south side, mainly because the next few addresses on the north side—137, 139, 141 and 143—are proving to be stubborn characters, revealing little if any of their history.

About 124 Union, meanwhile, I learned plenty. The fairly unremarkable, three-story, red brick building is home today of a Stop One deli, known to everyone in the neighborhood as Mrs. Lee's. Mrs. Lee is the chatty, friendly, charitable woman who runs the store with her husband, Mr. Lee. Mrs. Lee is a big presence on the block, and well appreciated. If you're a little short of cash, she'll wave a dime or two, or just round down the amount. And if you need to pay tomorrow, that's OK, too.

Before Mr. and Mrs. Lee arrived, this was Joseph Pizzimenti's fruit and vegetable store.

On Jan. 2, 1959, the building was at the center of a bizarre kidnapping scheme in which a "stout blonde widow," Jean Iavarone, took a newborn from St. Peter's hospital. She committed this rash act in order to trap Pizzimenti, with whom she had been living, into marrying her. Iavarone had had bad luck with men. Her first husband divorced her, and her second had died. She had four children by each marriage, and was forced to give up the children to orphanages and foster homes. She couldn't get them back until she was settled. Her crazy scheme was to drag Pizzimenti to the altar by insisted the stolen baby was in fact him.

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No City for Wise Men

We're on code red of the cultural threat color systemhere in New York City. The New York Sun reported today that the one and only Gotham Book Mart has closed its doors, posting a sign that says "The landlord has legal possession of these premises pursuant to warrant of Civil Court." Translation: the Mart is overdue in its rent and the landlord WANTS HIS MONEY!!!

It feels like the mid-90s, doesn't it? Remember a decade ago, when the toppling of classic, independent book stores in New York rose to crisis level. Shakespeare and Co., Books & Co., The New York City Book Store, Scribner's, Coliseum—they were dropping like flies. Folks wringed their hands and nobody did a damn thing about it. (Coliseum eventually reopened on 42nd Street.) The ink-letting seemed to have been stemmed in recent years, possibly because Barnes & Noble couldn't figure out where else to open a store in Manhattan.

Through it all Gotham Book Mart stood firm on W. 47th Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues, though it, too, went through a rent scare of its own and eventually had to move to a new space in 16 E. 46th Street (where the former H.P. Kraus antiquarian bookstore once lived.) It was hard to imagine Gotham going. More than any other New York book emporium, the 86-year-old place is drenched in literary history, a haunt of such writers as Auden, Gorey, Updike and Miller. The photographs on the wall told it all. It deserved landmark status, but, of course, good old capitalistic America doesn't hand out honors like that to mere stores. If they can't make it, then a Sephora can. Law of the jungle.

In a perfect world, landlords would be honored to have such a tenant, and charge them nothing just for the boasting rights of strutting around town saying a New York cultural treasure was housed in one of their buildings. But in the real world, it's not surprising a landlord would fail to be impressed by the Book Mart. They can't read, after all. Except for leases, and those they have their lawyers read to them.

My guess is that the store never survived the move and regulars didn't know where to find it. Many habitues complained for years that it should abandon its place on 47th, where it was the only business not directly involved in or catering to the Diamond District business. I liked it there. It was such an anomoly, so weirdly situated, like finding a shoe repair shop on Madison Avenue. A very New York bit of surrealism.

Its digs on 46th Street were fine, but possessed of much less dingy, tumbledown charm. The Sun article says the owner Andreas Brown is "in negotiations." Somebody step up and pay this guy's bill, please!