Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: Totero's

Like most of the best bars and restaurants in Wisconsin, Totero's in Racine looks like somebody's house,  except it has a sign on it. You enter on the Mead Street side of the corner place, through a little breakfront. Surrounding the building are the bleak, bereft streets of the once-industrial, southern Racine neighborhood of Lakeside.

There is often a line, for this 72-year-old, family-run restaurant is only open Tuesday through Friday, and even then for just two hours, from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. The peculiar schedule harkens back to Totero's roots as a lunch place serving the working men in the area. There used to be dinner hours, but they were eliminated a number of years back. Despite—or maybe because of—the limited window of opportunity, Totero's packs them in. People take the time to visit in the middle of the day, queue up and load up on homemade, hearty Italian fare.

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THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 134 Union Street

This is the fourteenth 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.

134 Union Street was obviously built by the same outfit that erected 132 Union. Unlike its brother, the little bathroom windows were bricked over at some point. But the cornices and fire escapes remain the same.

The address has been a laundromat for some years, but, as the below tax photo (barely) shows, it was once a market in the early-to-mid 20th century. The nature of the market and its name can not be learned because of the damn pushcarts that block the view of the storefront. I used to find those pushcarts charming, but too often they've gotten in the way of my pictorial research. 

Beyond the picture, I have found out little about this address, except that one Mary Buonarati, 17, lived here, and got married in September 1923. Not much, but there you are.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have collected all the "Union Square Project" columns in one place. The can be found near the top of the right hand bar of the blog. 

Smith Canteen Preserves Pharmacy Past

I walked into Smith Canteen, the new trendy coffee and lunch joint in Carroll Gardens, and thought: another new Brooklyn place trying to look like old Brooklyn. But no. The tile floor and tin ceiling and wooden shelving are old. They're all part of the old pharmacy that once occupied this space many years ago. I'd never noticed because for years this corner space was a gallery that had its walls covered up in black. There were no windows through which to notice the old architectural details.

UPDATE: This, according to the Smith Canteen site: "the location was a pharmacy as early as 1901. The article, from that year, talked about the pharmacist’s engagement to a countess from Italy, who was sailing to New York from Europe. Much of the original space remains–the tile floor, the woodwork, the mirrors and half of the ceiling. (The other half was falling down and had to be replaced.) Some of the original zinc-lined cabinetry remains as well. It was probably used to keep things cool in the pre-refrigeration days. Jane didn’t remove anything from the space, except some modern glass shelving and light fixtures, and designed the new components around the original ones. The space inspired other aspects of the project as well. The logo, by M+E, references the burgundy floor tiles, and the color of the counter references the blue-green tiles."

Bed Bug Club Is Exterminated

I never knew what the Bed Bug Club, at the south east corner of Smith Street and Third Street in Carroll Gardens, was. But now I know one thing about it: it's gone. There used to be a sign in the window advertising the presence of the (perhaps joke) club. Not it's gone.

I never took a good look at the space. With the weird name, the pictures of the World Trade Center in the window, and the Don't-Come-Near-Me vibe of the place, I always assumed it was a private club. But peering in at the vacated address, it looks more like a repair shop of some kind. There's a counter with various fix-it equipment behind it, and lots of non-funtioning clocks and electronic equipment sitting around. I remember an old guy with white hair, heavy dark eyebrows and a large jaw would sometimes sit outside the place.

THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 132 Union Street

This is the thirteenth 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.

It's been a half a year, but now I'm back with a few more additions to my ongoing Union Street Project.

The House of Pizza and Calzone, at 132 Union Street, is the second oldest, and second most famous, business on the block (the first being the century-old Ferdinando's Focceceria). It was founded in 1952 and is now on its third owners. Paul Diagostino, the current owner, bought it in 2004 from Onofrio Gaudioso and John Teutonico, the raspy-voiced old guys who bought the restaurant in 1963 after working there together for five years. Who founded the pizzeria, I can not say. But one thing I do know—it used to be located a few doors to the west many years ago. It's present location, at 132 Union, is its second. (I believe the original building no longer exists.) According to the Department of Building, they've been at 132 since 1959. I love the Certificate of Occupancy's description: "retail sale of pizza pie and hot sandwiches."

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Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Joe and Pat's Pizzeria?"

Another "Who Goes There?" from Staten Island, and another pizza joint. I'll be filing a few more of these before I run out of column-worthy S.I. pizzerias.

Who Goes There? Joe and Pat's Pizzeria

The unending debate about who makes New York's best pizza rarely ranges beyond the usual suspects in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Yet lowly, ever-disrespected Staten Island has more than a few seasoned veterans in the game.Denino's is the best known. But Joe & Pat's Pizzeria on Victory Boulevard is hardly a neophyte. Giuseppe and Pasquale Pappadardo, from Naples, opened the restaurant in 1960. The only trace of the old building is the neon sign, for the old place burned down in 1999. It was a rebuilt in an anonymous fashion, with Greek diner-like tables protected by a long barrel ceiling painted with a cloudy blue sky and a mannered sunrise and crescent moon. Call the style Pizzeria Tiepolo.

Better to sit at one of the small tables in the less glamorous front room, opposite the enormous pizza ovens and near the rear table where the waitstaff and Joe Pappadardo hang out when not working. Pappadardo himself—sporting an alarming, but endearing, toupee as thick as shag rug—helped push together two small tables together when my wife asked if it could be done. "The wife's always boss," Joe said with a smile. Joe's brother Pat left the business in 1974 to start a real estate company that still stands across the street. A picture of the two young men back in 1960 hangs on the wall. The resemblance is hard to catch. There are also a lot of framed reviews and articles on the walls, but one doesn't get the impression that the restaurant's reputation has gone to Joe's head. It's still very much a workaday pizzeria.

Joe & Pat's pie is known for its crust's delicate thinness and the sauce's sweetness. As with the pizzas made in Naples, a grown man would have no trouble eating a whole pie. There's a menu full of other dishes, of which my wife was perfectly happy with an angel hair pasta with broccoli, eggplants, garlic and oil. The cashier told me that people come from all over to eat at Joe & Pat's, but that the clientele is mainly Staten Islanders. And, yes, pizza people on the Island have their fierce allegiances. Joe & Pat's devotees stick to Joe & Pat's.

When I profiled a rival pizza joint, Lee's Tavern, on this site a month back, a reader commented "I guess this place is technically within New York City [but] probably 90% of the viewers of this site are more likely to get pizza in Moscow or in Tokyo in their lifetimes than in Staten Island." Perhaps true. But I'm going to continue to visit Staten Island in the future, just as I will pay calls on The Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn. The outer boroughs have done the better job these last ten years in preserving their mercantile masterpieces. While the avenues of Manhattan increasingly drown in an ocean of Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks and Applebee's, the sprawling lands beyond the bridges still have places that make you ask, "Who Goes There?"

La Rose Cubana Cigars Leaves Sixth Avenue

Walking up Sixth Avenue in the 30s, I noticed that La-Rosa Cubana Hand Made Cigars had flown the  second-floor coop it's occupied since 1958. The company, however, has not died. It's decamped all the way up to 187th Street in the Belmont section of The Bronx. That's what I call relocating!

Here's a nice account from Stogie Guys about what used to go on in the shop:

While only a brisk 10 minute walk from Nat Sherman Cigar’s glitzy flagship store at 5th Avenue and 42nd Street, La Rosa Cubana’s second floor mini cigar factory and shop on 6th avenue (between 30th and 31st streets) could be worlds away. As a lifelong New Yorker before seeking it out, I have walked past it at least a handful of times without taking notice of the neon signs proclaiming “La Rosa Handmade Cigars: Cuban Seed.”

To get from the street to La Rosa you need to ascend a daunting flight of steep, rickety stairs, but as you approach the top the smell alone makes the trip worthwhile. The small one room factory/shop is taken up primarily by presses, rolling tables, and prep areas where the Dominican “cuban seed” cigars are produced. The rest of the room consists of a simple “lounge” consisting of two chairs and a table and a display case/humidor from which any Stogie Guy can select from the many styles of cigars that La Rosa produces. The cigars come in most popular sizes, plus the nearly 1-inch in diameter 6 1/2 inch by 60 ring gauge “King Churchill.”

And while I’ll spend more time on La Rosa’s cigars in future StogieGuys.com articles, I must say that there is something so very authentic and pleasing about seeing handmade cigars produced in front of your very eyes. And I’m certain that when I do get around to enjoying that King Churchill, it will be that much better because I have seen the effort, attention to detail, and years of experience that went into creating it.

The old sign, which I've previously appreciated, remains. May it remain so.

This Was La Petite Auberge

La Petite Auberge closed its doors last October after 34 years of selling old school French food and old school New York hospitality.  This is the space today. The awning is gone and, just as the owners promised, an Indian restaurant, Anjapper, is on the way. Can't see what they're doing inside, but last fall the owners told me this:

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. 

A Steak Row Memory

From a reader, a memory of Steak Row:

"My grandmother rolled into the Pressbox with Grandfather for dinner in the early '60's. They loved the place and counted Henry, Harry and Freddy as friends. Grandmother spied Henry Morgan at the bar and, although not much of a stargazer nor he much of a star, was moved to hail him: "Oh, Henry, I know who you are but you don't know who I am!" in her Dewar's-inspired slightly English accent. Henry turned, eyed her and replied: "Let's keep it that way Toots." I don't believe Grandmother ever again watched What's My Line."

Lost City: Wisconsin Edition: George Webb's

I was recently returning from a late evening in Milwaukee and feeling a bit peckish when, passing a George Webb's restaurant, I remembered that every branch of the southeastern Wisconsin diner chain is open 24 hours.

I swung my car into the strip mall that contained the diner and took a seat at the long counter. There were eight other people there at that late hour, half of them stuffing solid food into their booze-filled bellies. This is not to say the atmosphere was unsavory. While some Webb's might have fallen into the "greasy spoon" categories in years past, and the chain has a reputation of sorts as a haven for undesirables, today the chain is mostly clean and respectable.

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