Sardi's Phone Booths Removed

Once Sardi's had a beautiful bank of wooden phone booths on the second floor. They worked and everything. Then, a year or so ago, the phones were yanked out and the booths stood empty, a victim of the bastards at Verizon, which had started fining restaurants and bars for retaining their phone booth phones. (The tragedy was repeated across town in the months to come.) But at least the booths still stood.

No longer. Sardi's phone booths are no more. The owners told me they were forced to remove them when the Fire Department complained they need more room to access the floor in case of a fire. (No doubt the department leveed a hefty fine on Sardi's and thus met some goddam Bloombergian quote.) Below, how the wall used to look.

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Apartments

The destruction of a building in the Theatre District recently reviewed that the building standing next to it once offered "Apartments." By the looks of it, it still does. I like the simplicity of the advertisement.

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: Kewpee Hamburgers Revisted

Four years ago, I went well out of my way to visit Kewpee Hamburgers in Racine, Wisconsin. I went because the fast food restaurant is one of only six franchises left in what was once a considerable Midwestern chain, and the only one left in Wisconsin. And the obscure inspired me. But I visited on a Sunday and, Racine apparently being a pious burg, everything was shut up tighter than a drum.

It took me until this month to find a second opportunity to visit Kewpee, a hamburger joint that reportedly inspired Dave Thomas to found Wendy's. This time I got in. It was a Thursday afternoon and there were few people about, inside or out. Racine's one of those mid-sized American cities whose downtown heart stopped beating sometime in the 1970s and has never quite sprung back to life. The sidewalks are deserted.

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Forgotten Coney Island Beauty

I was walking down Neptune Avenue recently when I passed this abandoned edifice of peculiar, Coney Island-esque grandiosity. What is that, I wondered. The oval, Moderne shape of the building, the decorative inlaid nickel in the shape of birds, snails and raindrops—it's just a wonderful, witty piece of neighborhood-specific architecture. Was is a bath house? An aquarium? A roller rink?

No, it was the Coney Island Fire Station Pumping Station. It was built in 1938, faced in limestone, and sits on a granite base. The Fire Department shut the station down in the 1970s. It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1981. But it doesn't seem to have gotten much love since then. I learned from the Milli Fiori Favoriti site that it used to be even more beautiful. Four pair of stone winged horses once flanked the entrances. You can see a picture below. The ponies now live at the Brooklyn Museum.

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Fultummy's Goes Belly Up

After a month or more of not being open for business, but not exactly being out of business, Fultummy's, the erratic sandwich place on Columbia Street, has official gone bust. The non-commital "Sorry, We're Closed" sign has been replaced by a real estate sign.

A Little Russian Bakery

There's not much around Mark Twain Middle School in Coney Island. A fire station across the street, some auto body shops. If you want something to eat, you have to walk a few blocks and then this is your only choice. I wasn't enthused upon entering, but inside I found a Russian deli of amazing variety and authenticity. They bake their own bread (I bought a high, narrow loaf of white; it was delicious), and have an enormous deli selection. They make the most of the small space; the shelves are chock full of goods and you could easily do your weekly shopping here (if you don't mind eating exclusively Russian fare). The clientele appears to be largely Russian; the signs are in Russian, with no translation.

The business is apparently quite an enterprise. They deliver bread to wholesalers and retailers, and ship to 40 states. The clerk said they had been there "a long time." But I think she just meant a long time in her way of looking at it.

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Bay Ridge Landmark Hinsch's to Be Saved

Out of the blue, there is now a fairytale ending to the sudden demise of Hinsch's, the historic lunch counter in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Brooklyn Paper reports:

Hinsch’s, Bay Ridge’s legendary luncheonette and sodaountain, will reopen under new ownership in November.

Gerart Bell, an owner of the Fifth Avenue restaurant Skinflint’s, confirmed on Saturday evening that he and two partners had reached a deal with landlord Anna Tesoriero to reopen the legendary greasy spoon, known for its egg creams, homemade candies and throwback decor.

“We’re shooting for Nov. 1,” he said.

The menu is not expected to change, he added.

The news, which was broken on the Facebook page of Councilman Vince Gentile (D–Bay Ridge), comes just two weeks after the 63-year-old family business was shutteredon Sept. 29 after city health inspectors found the shop between 85th and 86th streets was a refuge for rats, with rampant roaches and improperly refrigerated food...

After the closure, Tesoriero said she would seek rent of more than $10,000 a month — up from the $7,500 a month that Logue was paying.

Bell declined to comment on the specifics of the lease, but did say that Tesoriero cut him a deal because she wanted Hinsch’s to stay open...

Skinflint’s has its own syrupy history — the Fifth Avenue restaurant between 79th and 80th streets known for its burgers used to be the Myer & Blohm ice cream parlor.

Final Seating: La Petite Auberge

Yesterday, I began a column which I hope I will only have to do very rarely. It's called "Final Seating." I will only write it when a former subject of my "Who Goes There?" column announces they're going to close. (This has happened a few times in the past, and I decided it was time to do something about it; consider the column a valedictory salute.) The inaugural column is about La Petite Auberge, the French holdout in Murray Hill that served its last souffle this past Saturday. The two owners couldn't have been nicer; a dying breed. Here's the column:

Final Seating: La Petite Auberge

La Petite Auberge was one of the last of the City's old-guard, French restaurants, a woody little refuge on Lexington and 28th where you could count on Le Filet de Sole Meunière and Les Cuisses de Grenouilles being on the menu—just as they were in April 1977, when owners Marcel Guélaff and Raymond Auffret, two sons of Brittany, first opened shop. In September, the two men decided it was time to retire. From the time they announced their decision in the New York Times, they were booked solidly every lunch and dinner; some regulars, desperate to get in their fill while they could, ate there every day until the final meal was served on Saturday night, Oct. 8. I spoke to the two genteel restaurateurs, distinguished men in suits and ties, the night before it all ended.

What was this neighborhood like when you first opened? Raymond Auffret: There were no Indian restaurants. It was mainly Armenian. There were Spanish, Italian, also French.

Was there a reason you chose this location? Marcel Guélaff: Yes. First of all, I was working at a restaurant here called Au Petit Paris. I worked there for 13 years. He worked there for seven years. And we know so many people. We thought those people would come here. RA: Also, it was personal. This is the restaurant where I learned my profession. It was a French restaurant back then. That was back in the 1960s. It was called Au Petit Paris. My mother worked here. My sister worked here. So we had a lot of connections here. As the years went on, when we bought it, it was a Brazilian restaurant. We felt a lot of…what do you say…good vibes. Marcel looked at a lot of other restaurants, but something was pulling us here.

Did the interior look different when you took over? MG: A little different. We changed the ceiling, we changed the floor. But the walls were left the same. RA: We called it La Petite Auberge, which means country inn. We wanted it to feel like a country inn. MG: You go to different little towns in France and you'll find an auberge, so many places called La Petite Auberge. RA: It's always a very nice restaurant, and when they call it "Auberge," it's usually an inn, so they always had one or two rooms if you'd like to stay overnight. We get calls all the time from travelers. They ask, "What are the rates?"

Has the menu changed much over the years? MG: The menu has been the same since we opened. We changed a few dishes. Not too many. RA: The main thing with us, we maintain classic, traditional French food. French food went through many things—nouvelle, fusion. We thought we shouldn't go along with the trend, and just keep doing what we do, and do it well. It's basically the same menu for 35 years. That's what brought the people coming back. They know what they're going to eat because it's still on the menu. MG: And what kept us alive is the best soufflé in town. People come from all over for the soufflé. Even Le Grenouille, the top restaurant in the city, people say our soufflé is better than theirs.

This was a popular place with the publishing industry in the early days. RA: When we first started, all the publishing companies were here. We used to have an honored guest who used to come here, Jacqueline Kennedy, when she was at Doubleday. MG: She used to sit in the corner booth, because she thought no one would bother her. Chelsea Clinton was here a few weeks ago. She was here with a professor.

How long had Justice Sonia Sotomayer gone here before she was appointed to the Supreme Court? MG: She was a regular here, and she had a party upstairs before she left for Washington, D.C. She was so nice a lady.

You two simply decided to retire. RA: Yes, we decided 35 years was a good number and we wanted to retire while we were both still healthy. Not because we have to, but because we want to. MG: But one thing I would like to mention. Like a lot of our friends, we are not happy at all with the ABC [the restaurant grading system of the New York Department of Health]. I think that's ridiculous for New York City. And the Health Department, they are killing a lot of restaurants around the city. They come three or four times here. Each time they come, you have to pay a fine—$1,000, $1,500, $3,000. That's not fair what they're doing.

RA: They always find something. They always come when we're in service. They nitpick. It's like the traffic policemen. They have to give out so many tickets… It's very difficult. In order to have an "A," you have to be under 13 points. But a silly thing can put you over the edge. Before you know it, you're above 13 points. Then you get a "B." Nobody wants to put a "B" in the window. And now, what is happening because of the new system, you get people who take advantage of other people's misfortune. As soon as we had an inspection, we get a call. "Hello. We notice you got inspected by the Health Department yesterday. We saw you had so many points. We're offering our service."

What service? MG: To fix it. To tell us what we have to do. RA: All it is, is a big scam. We're not new in the restaurant business. We know what's going on. But a new person is going to panic and think, maybe I should have these people come. And they're going to pay them thousands of dollars. MG: A restaurant with an "A" is no better than one with a "C." Because a lot of those [inspectors], they don't know food. When you serve Gigot, leg of lamb, you can not put that back in the refrigerator. It should be served rare. And they don't know that. You know how we got one point? The coffee machine. The server did not clean the machine right away, and the inspector was here [to see it]. What, the waiter should clean the machine, or serve the coffee first? You serve first, no? I would like to talk to Mayor Bloomberg. He is wrong about this.

Are you going to be taking the decor with you? MG: No. Very little. RA: Personal stuff. We're both from Brittany, so the [decorative] plates, we're going to take those.

Do you know what's going to come into the space? RA: Oh, yes. An Indian restaurant. Just what we need, right? They like the walls, because they want to make something high end, a little different. I guess it's supposed to resemble an old country home from their part of India. They're going to get rid of the bar and open the windows in front so you can see through. But the walls are going to stay. That's real wood. You can't even put in a nail, it's so thick. 

—Brooks of Sheffield

Missing Louie Shoe Rebuilders

I am certain that nobody else in this athletic-shoe-loving world cares about this but me, but it's getting harder and harder for New York to get a shine on its shoes. I recently noted the disappearance of Star Shine off Times Square. There is no place to get a shoe shine in the Theatre District now. Grand Central has always been a hive of shoe shine stands; businessmen on the way to the office or important meetings have long been the clientele. But I noticed the other day that one of the long-standing shine joints—the one down the 45th Street Passage, I forget the name—had decamped.

Soon after, I passed down 32nd Street alongside the Empire State Building and was reminded that Louie Shoe Rebuilders—a longtime resident in the skyscraper—had left a couple years back, replaced by some anonymous food chain. One of the things that distinguishes New York from other cities—aside from the extensive subway system, and swarm of yellow cabs, the numerous food carts, the ubiquitous newsstands, the breakneck pace of the pedestrians—was that you could easily get a shoe shine, wherever you were (at least in Manhattan). This aspect is disappearing. Along with it, is yet another avenue in which a small businessman can get a leg up in this expensive town.

Fifth Avenue Pizza Sign Gone

The old-school Fifth Avenue Pizzeria closed back in 2008. But the owners of the the slice joint, and the landlord, left the sign up for several seasons for the visual pleasure of passersby. It was a simple sign, one of those white and red jobbies that I'm sure the Coca-Cola company paid for by the hundreds back in the day. But it always made me smile.

Now it's gone. Someone has rented the place, and construction is underway. The place has been gutted and the signage removed. This won't be one of those places that leave up the old sign, to be uncovered decades later. Alas.