A Good Sign: Starbucks Coffee

Yes, Starbucks. Saw this branch of the coffee chain in Washington, D.C.'s Chinatown. Hey, a good sign is a good sign. And this kinda rocks.

The French Building

One of my favorite buildings in the City stands largely unnoticed on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 45th Street, the Fred F. French Building. With its unique and slightly bizarre combination of Art Deco and Eastern architectural motifs, you'd think it would stop people in their tracks on a regular basis. But folks just pass by, not bothering to peek inside the vestibules and lobbies, or crane their neck a small degree to survey the ornate metal work just about the two doorways.

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Jean's Silversmiths

Keep looking. You keep finding.

Jean's, a metal storefront with a plain name and a number, on a saddish block of W. 45th Street in Midtown, is a dealer in fine silver. You'll fine no silver plate inside, only sterling. Tea services, silverware, barware, jewelry, gifts, trays, candlesticks, objets d'art, from every decade of the last century and the century before that. Tons of it. Piles of it. From Tiffany, Gorham, Paul Revere, and dozens of other famous makers, many of the items sporting patterns rare and long since discontinued.

Jean's was founded in 1910, and has been in it's current location since 1958. It's still a family business.

It is one of those New York businesses that is so needed, and so knows what it's about, that it doesn't need to worry about the noise of showmanship. As you can see, the outside's nothing to write home about. The interior's even more ramshackle. (Given their wares, you can understand why I didn't even try to take photos inside.) The glass cases are all in good order, and the clerks are neat and prim. But there are pipes and duct work hanging from the ceiling, and the high tin ceiling surely began rusting when Roosevelt was in office. They're here to sell you Tiffany's old silver, not to look like Tiffany's.

People come into Jean's all the time, trying to sell their old silver. Nice people and nutty people. Jean's treats them all with dignity and respect. A Jean's worker can look at an item and deduce its era and producer in a few minutes. I myself can afford almost nothing in this store. But many a sparkly object caught my eye, and the counter staff showed me each with patience and deference. When I finally did find something I liked and could manage—a small matchbox case—they sent it to the back for a polishing and then put in a handsome box. That's service.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to El Viejo Yayo?"

My latest from Eater: 

Who Goes There? El Viejo Yayo

Compared to other Brooklyn neighborhoods like Carroll Gardens, Williamsburg and Bay Ridge, Park Slope hasn't been very fortunate in retaining much of its culinary cultural heritage. For years, I wondered if the Slope had held on to anyold bars or restaurants. If it had, they must be hiding in plain sight.

That's actually a good description of El Viejo Yayo, a huge, hyper-nondescript Dominican eatery that takes up the ground-floor space of three brownstones on Fifth Avenue between Bergen and Dean Streets. You wouldn't know it to look at the many simple, clean rooms and the rows and rows of dull tables and chairs, but the restaurant is 47 years old. (There was surely a interior renovation in the last few years.)

It was founded by a Cuban immigrant named Jeraldo (nickname: Yayo) in 1965 as a lunch counter. He served Cuban food, but when he sold the restaurant in the early '80s to Lepido Ramirez, from the Dominican Republic, the menu changed. So did the size of the joint, which now includes a few "party rooms." El Viejo is currently owned by Robert Garcia and chef Jerry Diaz. There is a second location on Ninth Avenue.

The food is good, and, given the whopping portions, reasonably priced. Just when you think you've gotten everything you ordered, another large square plate will arrive with more potatoes, more vegetable, more salad, more meat. There's no leaving this place without a doggie bag. I had the Mar y Tiera (steak, peppers, onions, shrimp) and the meat was simply seasoned, tender and flavorful. Nothing fancy, but well done on its own terms. Moreover, the broccoli and cauliflower were perfectly prepared.

As you might expect, given the joint's size, El Viejo is popular with families and groups celebrating all sorts of events. I also saw members of both New York's Finest, New York's Bravest and whatever it is they call correctional officers. A lot of Spanish is spoken. In fact, I may have been the only customer who didn't speak Spanish. And men seem to feel particularly comfortable here. They keep their lids on, be they wool caps or baseball caps, and slump in their chairs in sweatshirts, t-shirts and jean. One man arrived in his thermal underwear. Dinner wear enough for El Viejo Yayo, I guess.

—Brooks of Sheffield

John's of 12th Street—the Vegan Restaurant?

Something strange is going on over at John's of 12th Street, the century-old Italian eatery that has long been a bastion of solidity and tradition in the ever-morphing East Village. First of all, it seems as though the classic old neon sign has been taken down and replaced with a new facsimile.

Furthermore, and more shocking, the old red sauce joint is now vegan! Or partially anyway. They seem to still serve the Italian classic dishes, but there is also a vegan menu. Nothing against vegan food—it's not my choice, but I can see the virtues in it (if I squint a lot)—but it hardly seems a good fit for this place. Still, if it helps them remain competitive and brings more people in, I suppose it's a good thing. As long as they never scrap the old menu.

According to a comment on JVNY, the owners of John's worked on this menu for an entire year before debuting it and they are very excited about it.

UPDATE: The neon sign has not been altered. John's owner wrote in to say that it's "the same neon John's sign that's been there nearly forever, but the white background was cleaned up and painted a while back." Whew. He also said the old menu will never be abandoned, and the new vegan menu has brought in new customers.

What's That Thing on Top of O'Connor's?

As has been reported earlier on this blog, the classic Brookyn dive O'Connor's (est. 1931) has been in the process of being ruined for a year or so now. The new owner said last year that he planned to expand the bar, add a big back room, crank out some fish and chips and other pub fare, add a stage for music and a second floor with beer garden.

Well, I guess that ugly white carbuncle plunked down on top of the black-painted bar is the beer garden.  Beauty. I wonder if it ever occurred to the owner that people come to O'Connor's because it's O'Connor's, not because it's a family joint or a hip youth mecca; or that, if people want to go to a modern beer garden, they now have about four dozen options in the city, including some good ones in Park Slope, and probably won't choose O'Connor's?

The inside, meanwhile, still looks basically the same, except that it's been noticeably cleaned up—not a dust speck anywhere—the old wooden phone booth is gone (*sob*) and a television has been added, piercing the one-time dive-bar silence. (I don't have a picture because you just don't take a picture of the interior of a dive bar full of barflies. It's not done.)

One thing that hasn't been changed, I'm happy to say, is the impossibly old and decrepit men's bathroom. I'm including a couple pictures here, not to gross anybody out, but because I'm fascinated by the wear and tear the old tile floor in the restroom has endured. The half-door into the stall, and the paper towel hung on a pipe are also nice touches.

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The Old Pointy House Down Union

This post is not part of the "Union Street Project," though the house in question is on Union Street, and we're looking at before and after pictures. 76 Union is nearly at the end of that long Brooklyn street, a few doors up from Van Brunt Street. It's one of a pair of narrow, peaked buildings that are unique to the area. Recently, a regular reader mentioned to me that he had always been interested in the buildings and wondered if I knew anything about it. Since they've always intrigued me as well, I decided to mail away to the Municipal Archives for a picture.

The tax picture tells us that the building has taken some knocks over the years—the arched window at top has been lopping in half, the other windows robbed of their unusual lintels, and the doorway obscured by an awful metal hood—but basically looks the same. The old chimney, the little dormer window on the roof, the fire escape, they're all the same. (74 Union, next door, has been completely refurbished and is in much better shape.)

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Owner of Montero's Bar Dies

JVNY relates the sad new that Pilar Montero, the namesake (though not the original namesake) of Montero's Bar, the timeless waterfront watering hole, died on Jan. 14.  "On Tuesday, January 17th, there will be a one-day viewing at Raccuglia & Son Funeral Home, which is located at 323 Court Street at Sackett Street from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m.," notes Montero's Facebook page. "Please feel free to pass this information on to others. We welcome you to share your memories of Pilar here, on our Facebook Page. We at Montero's thank you for the love and support." She was 89.

Pilar was born in Greenwich Village. Her father worked on a ferry that went from Manhattan to Brooklyn. She and her husband, Joseph, opened Montero's on Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue in 1947. Given its location, nearly at the foot at Atlantic, it naturally became a port in a storm for longshoremen and sailors. The bar has long had the nautical theme it retains today. After Joseph retired to Spain in the 1990s and passed away, Pilar stayed on and ran the bar. She could usually be seen sitting on her regular stool, at the end of the bar near the window, wearing a beret.

Her sister-in-law, Emma Sullivan (Joseph's sister; both the children of Ramon Montero), for many years ran the Long Island Restaurant, the ancient eatery just up the block which closed a few years ago and is constantly rumored as reopening under one management or another. (Construction has been underway the past couple months.) The two participated in a long-simmering feud of byzantine proportions (described in detail here) that caused them not to speak to each other for decades. I can't help but be curious if Sullivan will go to the funeral.

A Glimpse of Foffe, a "Game" Restaurant

A couple years ago, I posted an item about the history of Cafiero's, an Italian restaurant and political gathering place that used to exist for many decades on President Street near Columbia in Brooklyn. A reader wrote in and said:

Your comment about the waiter telling you what was available that night reminded me of Foffe, the Italian Restaurant that used to be on Montague St. (I think it closed 10 years or more ago.) Anyway, the first time I went in there (about 1986), it looked like a set from The Godfather with plush red banquettes, and only men as waiters in starched white aprons. Really old waiters. I looked at the menu and ordered a steak. He came back from the kitchen a minute later and said, "The steak doesn't look so good tonight. I wouldn't feed it to my wife and I hate her."

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THE UNION STREET PROJECT: 13 Union Street

This is the fifteenth 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.

When I submitted my request to the Municipal Archives for a picture of 136 Union Street between Hicks and Columbia, I got back a piece of paper saying the archive could not locate the photo. First time that has happened.

But the old photo of 134 Union, as well as local neighborhood lore, shows me that, before being the Everyday Athlete gym, it was an Italian bakery that specialized in Panella bread. That name of the bakery I do not know.

In 1899, 10-year-old Mary Hardy fell from a window here. She survived. Miles Purdy wasn't so lucky two years previous. At age 54, he was found dead in his bed. That is all, except that the building has been heavily altered over the years, and not for the better. Nothing of the original facade remains.