New Italian Restaurant Takes Old Italian Grocery's Place

Tavola, an Italian restaurant, has taken up residence in the Ninth Avenue midtown address occupied for 121 by Manganaro's Grosseria Italiana, which closed in 2012. (I wouldn't be surprised if Tavola is only the second commercial tenant the building has seen.) It opened in late September 2012. (I'm reporting on it now, because it's the first I've seen it since it opened. Better late than never.)

It's heartbreaking to see the space taken up by a new business, but it could be worse. The owners of Tavola seem respectful of their predecessors. The facade is unchanged, the tin ceiling remains, as do the wooden shelves that once held groceries, and they've made good use of the vertical neon sign. Also, the old blue-and-white metal sign that once hung outside now adorns one of the inside walls. Minus the "Manganaro" part, that is. I guess the family must have taken that part with them.

The owner bought the building, so there's a chance Tavola will stick around for a while.

So I Had a Friendly Experience at Manganaro's

I was passing by Manganaro's Grosseria Italiano on Ninth Avenue and—despite the possibility that I would be verbally abused—I decided to stop in and order a sandwich. I figured I don't know how long this century-old place is going to be around—there have been stories, and counter stories, about the building being sold and the business shuttered in recent weeks. So I had better suck it up and experience the place while I could.

The store's about a mile long. It goes back, back, back, past a lot of counters and shelving and artifacts to the lunch room. This means there's no turning back if you go in for a bite, no easy out. So if you're worried about being chewed out by the owner (it happens), forget about making a graceful exit.

I went back. The owner was sitting at one of the tables, chatting with three friends. I did not ask for service, or clear my throat or anything, afraid I would offend and set her off. Besides, I was happy biding my time looking at all the pictures on the wall. Finally, she said, with a smile and a friendly tone, if I wanted something. I said, yes, indeed, I'd like the Manganaro's Special sandwich. She set about making it with care, laying on the various Italian meats and cheeses, vinegar, oil, and vegetables on a half loaf of fresh Italian bread.

She asked if I wanted something to drink. Again, I didn't wish to ignite her anger, so I ordered a soda I didn't want. I'm pretty sure she overcharged me. The sandwich was $10 and my bill was $13. Of course, this is New York. The soda could have been $3. I doubt it, though. But she included a cookie for free, so I didn't mind. And she was perfectly sociable the entire time. I couldn't believe it.

Plus, the sandwich was delicious.

Manganaro Grosseria Italiana to Close

We seem to be in one of those periodic spells where the New York landmarks fall like dominos. Monte's Venetian Room definitely gone for good. O'Connor's Bar to be changed beyond recognition. Karl Ehmer leaves Ridgewood and its building becomes a storage facility. Carmine's gives up finally.

And now we hear that Manganaro's Grosseria Italiana, one of the bedrock institutions of Ninth Avenue in Midtown, with roots going back to the late 1800's, will close, and the owner will sell the building. The frozen-in-time place will shutter as soon as a deal is sealed. So hurry up. This is obviously not the usual circumstance of a rent hike, since the Manganaros own the building. Business has been slow, said owner Salvator Dell'Orto. I'll post more about this in the future. For now, read more here.

The shop began as a wine store in 1893 and expanded into hero sandwiches—they are said to be the inventors of the form by the way—and red sauce fare during the Prohibition, attracting garment workers, Italians in the neighborhood, and the patrons of the then Metropolitan Opera House. Business began to decline with the arrival of the Lincoln Tunnel (which forced the demolition of much of the neighborhood) and the more recent arrivals of places like Whole Foods and Zabar's. The notoriously surly attitudeof the waitstaff may not have helped.