A Young Kid Experiencing Old New York

Documenting NYC's old-school restaurants, shops and other businesses with my daughter before they're all gone.

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Name: Trash and Vaudeville, 4 St. Marks Place Established: 1975 Status: Open but is moving from its original St. Marks Place location any day Update: It has moved to its new East 7th Street location Purchase: A Misfits dress for the kid 2020 update: On April 14, 2020, Jimmy Webb passed away at age 62 from cancer (though since it happened during the coronavirus pandemic, it’s hard not to wonder if that contributed to his death). Tributes for him poured in from around the world, from iconic rock stars and actors, to everyday people like us. He was the most authentic and sweet soul I've ever known, and way too cool to have goofy friends like us, but he was pure love, so generous, always there to lift you up. He sent the kid her first punk rock onesie as a gift. And then at his new store I NEED MORE, he helped outfit her for her 8th grade prom. I am just so angry and sad and lost hearing this news. Original post: In the new New York, being an institution is irrelevant. We lost a lot of so-called "institutions" in 2015, but the one that pains me the most is 40-year-old alternative mecca Trash and Vaudeville. Along with the long-gone CBGB and C'est Manifique (whose closing I lamented last year), Trash is one of the places that made me me. (No, I wasn't born a Goth female drag queen, I was carefully constructed.) I've been going to Trash for 30 of its 40 years, not just to buy clothes (back when I could fit into the sizes) and shoes, but also to commune with likeminded punks, Goths and raging queens. Like Patricia Field across town on West 8th Street (which moved years ago but is now closing its last location), Trash wasn't simply a store; it was a scene, a school, a lifestyle. Trash is where my first love (who shall remain nameless--don't want the boyfriends before him to know they didn't have my heart) bought a fly nose ring with a chain that extended to his ear cuff (hey, that was seriously cutting-edge in 1985). It's where I picked up my first pair of Dr. Martens and learned the meaning of the different colored laces. It's where I shopped alongside Joey Ramone and Richard Hell (not that they knew or noticed me). And it's where my kid got her first pleather jacket (in neon pink). But most importantly, it's where I made lifelong friends, like Jimmy Webb. Trash's longtime manager and buyer, Jimmy is one of the sweetest, stylish (he put my husband in his first pair of skin-tight vinyl pants back in the '90s) and most authentic people I know. He encapsulates all that St. Marks Place once was, a connection to the epicenter of NYC counterculture in the '70s and '80s. But he's not some relic. When it comes to what I think is cool, I admit, I'm usually living in the past. Meanwhile, Jimmy's more alive and with it than anyone I know, and always unwaveringly positive about what's to come. Like so many others, I see Trash's impending move as St. Marks' death knell. But, as St. Marks Is Dead! (Long Live St. Marks.) author Ada Calhoun pointed out in her insightful Times op-ed, it's only dead for me and my generation. And I get that. The St. Marks I remember and romanticize is just a blip in its four-century-and-counting history. But I'm going to mourn and eulogize it just the same. RIP Religious Sex, Boy Bar (later Coney Island High) which was across the street from the St. Marks Baths, Manic Panic, where I bought my first funky hair dye and desperately wished I was related to co-owner Snooky, hell I even miss the surly staffers at the Kim's Video on St. Marks and Second, and the bland pita sandwiches at Dojo. This is the St. Marks forever fixed in my memory, how it looked the first time I saw the block in 1984, when I finally got up the guts to stroll east of Astor Place, which my parents had warned me was "a scary neighborhood." Dorothy walked into a Technicolor Oz. I walked into a pretty colorful alternate world, too, even though most of its residents wore all black. Now that Trash and Vaudeville is leaving, I think I finally have to let go of that old Polaroid in my brain since nothing will be left (save for St. Marks Comics and The Sock Man--although wait, I spoke too soon). I'm glad my daughter got the chance to experience the original Trash before it went. She's been outfitted here since she was in utero: Jimmy sent us adorable Blondie and Ramones onesies for my baby shower, and we've been buying clothes for her ever since. (Note, extra smalls fit ten-year-olds!) She even got her first pair of glittery high heels at Trash (see pic above) though she won't be allowed to wear those outside our apartment until she's about 30 or so.  I wish I had more specific anecdotes about Trash to share, but visits to the store have been such a routine part of my family's life, it's like asking me to tell you about last Tuesday. I just know that once it moves, I'll have no reason to walk down St. Marks anymore. It will officially belong to another generation. If you want to say goodbye to the original Trash, go soon. It won't be there much longer as its building, once owed by Alexander Hamilton Jr., is currently for sale for $12 million! To be clear, Trash isn't being forcibly pushed out, he wants to go. Its owner, Ray Goodman, is a minority owner of the building, and he told EV Grieve back in July that St. Mark is "not as conducive for fashion shopping as it once was. Now it seems as if it's all food—fast food—and bongs... It has been 40 years. Maybe it is time to do a little facelift." Hell, even the seedy hotel next door, which used to offer hourly rates (um, don't ask how I know that) is trying to transform itself into a legit tourist lodging. A business called Trash on the new St. Marks no longer makes any sense. For more on the legacy of the store, check out this Times article, which is equal parts history and a profile of Jimmy's amazing life.  Kid's observations: "When I was little, I thought the mannequins were kind of creepy, especially this little kid one that had black and red hair, and was all busted and had punk studded necklaces on. Sometimes I would bump into it and be like, "Excuse me," and then scream, "Ahhhhh!" I was scared to go into that back room because I was afraid the mannequins would attack me."

On her favorite purchase: "I like when we bought the pink glittery shoes and found out a model once wore them on a runway!"

"Trash has what people used to think was cool, and that kind of makes it cool now because no one else is selling that stuff. If my classmates went in there, they'd probably be like, "Oh my god, they don't have jeans in here! What's wrong with this store?!" But I think it's cool."

On Jimmy: "When I was little, I kind of didn't want to go there because I thought oh no, we're going to bump into mom's friend and he's going to start cursing and I'll have to give him the evil eye. But now I feel like he's not just your friend, he's my friend, too. He's so cool. I don't think I've ever met a man his age who still bleaches his hair. If you wear something really outrageous, everybody else says it's weird, but Jimmy will say, "Hey, I like your outfit!"

On Trash's move: "We had this writing project where we had to draw a heart and write what was important to us inside it. I wrote a lot of things but I included Trash and Vaudeville. I know how important it is to you, and it's also important to me. I really like the idea of passing along stuff from generation to generation. Hopefully the store will still be around when my kids are here, and then I'll be able to pass it on to them. It won't be the Trash that I remember, but it will still be here and hopefully not just sell the regular junk you see at other stores."

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Name: Carvel (stand-alone store), 5612 Metropolitan Avenue in Ridgewood, Queens Established: Late ‘50s/early ‘60s Status: Open! Kids’ treats: Ice-cream cones (oversize sugar ones, of course) Mom: Abstained (I know, I must have been temporarily insane!) Last year, during our annual holiday homes search in Queens with some friends, I heard about a festively decorated house on the corner of Metropolitan Avenue and 79th Street. The home turned out to be a bust (after Christmas In Jamaica Estates, everything else in the borough pales). But we found something spectacular right across the street: a vintage, stand-alone Carvel ice-cream shop. Like many people who grew up in the Northeast in the ‘70s and ‘80s, Carvel inspires a variety of reactions: warm nostalgia, giggles at the memory of the low-rent, Tom Carvel-narrated commercials, and cravings for its unfortunately titled treats like Cookie Puss and Fudgie the Whale. But while I’ve long been familiar with the brand, I’m not sure I ever had Carvel growing up. Manhattan (at least the Upper West Side) was bereft of stand-alone Carvel locations; they were relegated to the ‘burbs and the outer boroughs. So as much as I goofed on Carvel (and laughed at Patton Oswalt’s hilarious riff on its bizarre signature cakes for seemingly every holiday), I really didn’t have any firsthand experience with its ice cream. So this visit truly popped my Carvel maraschino cherry. I marveled at the exterior: the analog marquee with plastic letters; the giant, deteriorating, decorative ice-cream torches (or is turrets a better word?) flanking the angled storefront; the antique machines spewing out ice cream... I felt like I was visiting a part of Old New York that I, as a born and bred Manhattanite, never got to see and enjoy back in the day. Of course, all the kids saw was ICE CREAM. And I guess that’s as it should be. It was hard to get any coherent observations out of them. After all, Cookie Puss (Cookie O'Puss at St. Patrick’s Day!) and Fudgie the Whale didn’t have any special meaning for them. They just looked like cheesy ice-cream cakes, not an entire childhood frozen in time. In researching this post, I was floored by Tom Carvel’s innovations (and the fact that he looked kind of like the “Time to make the doughnuts” guy). He began operating a sole ice-cream truck in 1929 (yup, the same year as the Wall Street Crash) and built it into a massive franchise over the next 60 years (and filed lots of patents, too!). And yet for my generation, he will always be that creepy guy with the gravely voice who did the Carvel commercials. A lot of people don’t even seem to realize he was the owner! As if someone would have cast him as a voice-over artist. I wish I could have found out more about this particular location, but the young lady behind the counter, though very sweet, didn’t have the info. She guessed that it opened in the late ‘50s and that sounds about right. And clearly, it’s barely been renovated since, which is fantastic. Before we left, the staffer handed us a photocopied paper with coupons that never expire. I’m hoping we’ll find the occasion to go back. Kids’ observations: “Fudgie the whale--that just sounds wrong.”  “Are we even still in the city?”  “Why does that cake have a cone for a nose?” “Can we come here every Christmas?”

[divaraven]

Name: Washington Square Diner, 150 West 4th Street  Established: Late ‘60s/early ‘70s  Status: Open! Kid’s meal: Pasta with marinara sauce, and a black and white shake Mom’s meal: Chicken sandwich smothered in mushrooms, bacon and cheddar cheese, and an ironic Diet Coke   When I started spending the bulk of my time downtown as a teen in the mid-’80s, the Washington Square Diner was my orienting landmark. I would get off the 1 subway at Christopher Street and attempt to wander east, unsure of how to navigate the twisty, non-grid streets. The one place I always used to give me a sense of geography? This iconic diner, with its unmistakable neon sign which glowed even in the dead of night (it’s open 24 hours!).  My personal history with the diner is long. As a wannabe hanger-on with the 8th Street Playhouse’s Rocky Horror Picture Show gang, I frequented the long-gone Tiffany Diner after the midnight movie, but somehow, as my focus turned from Sweet Transvestites to skins, skas and punks, the Washington Square Diner became my go-to spot. After I got my first-ever paycheck at the Macdougal Street outpost of Reminiscence, I remember inviting everyone who happened to be sitting in Washington Square Park to dinner there, my treat. (That ended about as well as you’d expect, but I did make a lot of new friends that night!) And as a supervisor at the Lincoln Center Tower Records (in the classical department!), I would take the 1 down to the diner whenever I worked a closing shift so I could have apple pie à la mode (warmed in a microwave, of course).   Whenever I find myself hungry in the area, I always eat here. Fancy it’s not, but the minute I see that familiar signage (love the non-neon “steaks, chops, sea food” sic shingle around the side, too) and multi-page menu with 24/7 breakfast, my body tingles with happy, warm nostalgia. I don’t come for the food but for the feelings.  I tried researching the history of this place both online and in person (the staff, though sweet, seemed confused as to why anyone would care when the restaurant opened). But exactly who founded it when remains a mystery. I did discover that from the ‘40s through 1968, it was the site of a legendary lesbian bar named the Pony Stable Inn, where Beat greats (and non-lesbians) Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg met and developed a lifelong friendship. Before that, it was the Mad Hatter Tearoom, a famous bohemian haven that attracted artists like writer Sinclair Lewis and actresses the Gish sisters. At some point it became the diner we know today, and while it’s not exactly a hotbed of rebellion (it seems to cater to NYU students and old-timers like me), I was tickled to read that in recent years the Occupy Movement has used it for secret meetings (man I hope that’s true!).  Although the signage is, I suspect, original, the interior has been updated somewhat. But it never got a total reno like the Waverly Restaurant up the block. So the Washington Square Diner still seems trapped in a cozy time warp with its kitschy wall art, counter and stools, massive menu and more shades of brown than the ‘70s.       My daughter and I have actually been to the Washington Square Diner many, many times, which may be why it was difficult getting adorable observations out of her (that and the fact that, at 10, she’s getting a little surly). She’s also been complaining that the only Old New York venues we visit are restaurants, so I need to make a point of adding some stores, shoe repair places, pharmacies and other businesses to my list. But she did have a couple of insightful comments. 

Kid’s observations:   “The paintings on the wall look old-timey.” (Just look at that “Classic Hats” illustration. It looks like something you might find in one of those hotel art sales.) 

“That's weird: With most neon signs at least two letters don't light up anymore. All of these do!”  In regards to being able to see the cooks at work, “It's good because you can be at least 98% sure that they're not putting chemicals in your food.” *Yeah, good luck with that.) 

In response to, how can you spot an authentic old diner, “It doesn't have annoying new people in it. And no tourists.” I have taught her well. 

[divaraven]

Name: Viand Coffee Shop, 673 Madison Avenue Established: 1976 Status: Open! Kid’s meal: Cheeseburger and fries, and a chocolate milk shake Mom’s meal: Tuna salad platter and iced tea

I have a love-hate relationship with the Viand on 61st and Madison. What I love: It’s the only place in the neighborhood where you can get a simple, relatively affordable meal in an unpretentious atmosphere. Its no-frills facade and old-school, rust-and-white decor are in stark contrast to the surrounding high-end businesses (Barneys is kitty-corner to the eatery). And yet Viand attracts an eclectic crowd, from tourists to ladies who lunch to workmen to locals looking for a slice of Old New York. It’s such a sliver of a spot that the booths are only one-seat wide, but we usually eat at the counter, anyway.   What I hate: cash only (I have left Marlena there multiple times while I dashed out for cash as the in-restaurant ATM never works), closes too early for a post-show dinner (59E59 Theaters is just two blocks away) and no public bathroom. Usually when you’ve got a kid and beg, toilets magically open up for you, but not at Viand! The place also has a confusing history. According to the Times, there were once four Viands in Manhattan (including Mayor Bloomberg’s now closed favorite diner), all owned by brothers James and Peter Katsihtis. But as of 2007, they only owned the Viand on 61st, dubbed “The Original” in bold font on the cover of its menu. However, a New Yorker article from 2001 claims the owner is one George Kontoziannis (though there’s no address listed, the writer is clearly talking about this Viand because he mentions its proximity to Maxim’s, which was just across the street). I’m going with the Times on this one since a google search turns up a lot of Katsichtises in the restaurant biz, and nada on anyone named Kontoziannis. Whoever owns it, I thank them. I immediately get a smile on my face when I walk in here. It’s like running into an old friend in a place you’d never expect to see that person. The turkey sandwich with gravy is the closest thing the joint has to a signature dish, but I admit, I usually stick with burgers or breakfast (the tuna salad platter was during a health kick). Sitting at the counter is, of course, the way to go, especially if you’re Rubenesque like me. I’d rather balance on the round seat than stick out of the side of the booth and get whacked by the waiters running up and down the thin aisle. The place seems to do okay business, and even when it’s half-empty people are always popping in for take out. I do worry about its future though. It's like spotting a playground with a seesaw, or a checkered cab (we saw one recently, though it wasn’t picking up fares, it was just to rent): You just don’t believe these types of things exist anymore in NYC. Kid’s observations: “Mom, the red seat matches your hair!” “The chandelier is kind of fancy but the rest of it is not.” “These booths are really tiny. You couldn’t even fit two of me in here!” “My milk shake is so good I want to marry it.” When I left her to run out to the ATM: “They were all very nice to me. They even gave me candy and let me spin on the stool.”

[divaraven]

Name: Tom’s Restaurant, 2880 Broadway Established: 1940s Status: Open! Kid’s meal: Pancakes with vanilla and Oreo ice cream Mom’s meal: Eggs and corned beef hash

I admit, I have complicated feelings about Tom’s. Even though I grew up nearby, it was my family’s last diner of choice, probably because at the time, there were so many other options, plus it was always overrun with Columbia students. But then Suzanne Vega wrote her song (yes, it’s about this Tom’s not the one in Brooklyn), and a few years later its exterior became the Seinfeld diner*. By the ‘90s it was an internationally known destination (it even boasts its own documentary) with long lines at every meal. On the one hand, I think this is awesome, and it’s certainly contributed to helping the spot survive and thrive. But just like I refused to wait to get into clubs like Danceteria and Mars back in the day (that’s what “dating” the bouncers was for), I loathe the thought of standing on line just to get a seat to order eggs and corn beef hash (sadly, as a middle-aged mom, my hookup powers have long since shriveled). But with Manhattan diners an endangered species, Tom’s is pretty much the only Old New York choice in the area these days (though there are a few new old-fashioned eateries, like Deluxe NYC, which aim for the same vibe, only more upscale. Kind of like that whole “luxury bohemian living” paradox Penny Arcade and others have been yelling about for years). This is my long-winded way of saying, I now feel a certain nostalgia for Tom’s, even though I never really went there. So I told the kid (who’s also allergic to waiting) we were going to suffer through standing on line... which was relatively brief since we were happy to sit at the counter. Honestly the counter is always the way to go at these retro gems. Just look at those seats! That awesome, distorted, red-and-white plaid pattern (does that even have a name?) Plus they’re cushy and they spin. My 10-year-old prefers the counter to the booths (my butt doesn’t totally agree but that’s my problem), and the service is always quicker, too. Understandably, Tom’s is steeped in Seinfeld. Everywhere you turn there’s an article or caricature or autographed head shot with some relationship to the iconic sitcom. But it’s also got standard diner decorations of bills from all over the world, and lots and lots of sports memorabilia. The staff is warm but no-nonsense; their goal is to get you out of there, fast, especially at weekend brunch when the line snakes out the door. While no one comes here for the food alone, it was better than I had remembered. Or maybe it’s just nice to get omelets in a greasy spoon that are, in fact, greasy, not to mention the whole egg and not just the whites. Of all the places we’ve visited so far, Tom’s inspired some of my favorite quotes and observations from the kid. Kid’s observations: "What’s Seinfeld?” (Apparently I have taught her well.*) ”It's noisy but not too noisy that my eardrums bust off.” Regarding the “Be nice or leave” sign: “Y wouldn't be allowed in here." (NB: The name of my kid’s class bully has been shortened to the first letter of her name because I’m not a total asshole.) "So this place is popular because of a sitcom?" “The guy at the front is friendly and organized. Those are good skills to have. Because if you're not organized, you probably wouldn't be that friendly.” “The pancake is warm but not so warm that your tongue will burn, and it's also not very sweet. But the ice cream is very sweet and cold but not so cold that you get brain freeze.” “The chef's motto is all about yum!”

* = On a completely unrelated yet perhaps illuminating note, I despise Seinfeld. And no, it’s not because I’m a self-hating Jew. But that’s for another blog.

[divaraven]

Name: Ukrainian East Village Restaurant, 140 Second Avenue Established: 1960s (I think) Status: Open! Kids' meals: Challah French toast and blueberry pancakes Moms' meals: Potato pancakes and mixed pierogi Last September on the same day that we visited egg cream haven Gem Spa (and just a few weeks before my late dad’s terminal cancer kicked in), we went to this under-the-radar eatery. Although the kid and I had been to Veselka a few doors down countless times, we had never tried this Ukrainian restaurant, mainly because I didn’t know it existed! A throwback to when the neighborhood was known as Little Ukraine, and located down a long hallway in the Ukrainian National Home, it’s easy to miss. Its only sidewalk advertising is a blackboard listing the day’s specials. Since the building looks like some kind of community center, you would never venture in unless you knew the restaurant was there. I have to thank my friend Joanna Spencer for the suggestion! It was a Sunday afternoon between lunch and dinner, and the place was completely empty, which made the experience even more surreal. It was like we had been transported to another continent and time warped to the past. The wood-paneled walls, the old-lady chandelier, the two-star hotel-quality paintings of the old country, the ethnic dresses ensconced behind glass and the menu full of dishes I had never even heard of. Aside from our waitress, who was exceedingly warm though often absent, the vibe was akin to a cemetery (though judging from the huge banquet room in back, it can host quite the party). Neither the kids nor the moms had the chutzpah to try some of the more exotic items (maybe next time), so we went with the traditional options, including potato pancakes and pierogi. Though I still have a soft nostalgic spot for Veselka, which I used to frequent after every Starshine Burlesque show I hosted, the food at the Ukranian East Village Restaurant was superior, plus we didn’t have to wait for a table and the kids had a blast drawing on the lacy paper place mats (in fact they stole a bunch to work on at home). Yes, the hours are weird--heck the whole place is weird! But that’s what makes it so wonderful.

Kids’ observations:

“Look! There are plates on the ceiling!”

“It's awesome and different because it's inside of a long hallway that looks like a parking lot.“ (Clearly my child’s experience of parking lots is very limited, if that’s what she thinks they look like.) “It's really nice because it's just so fancy. I like the chandelier.” (Sad that a chandelier automatically equals fancy in my kid’s book.) “The food is good--too good! I got a little full.” And perhaps my favorite quote of the day: When asked if the food came from a particular country, my daughter’s friend answered, “Yes, France. I had French toast!“ I also want to note that another Old New York East Village staple, B&H Dairy, just reopened five months after that devastating explosion closed the place down. The kid and I shall make a pilgrimage soon, especially since we really enjoyed writing it up last summer.

[divaraven]

Name: Cafe Edison, 228 West 47th Street Established: 1980 Status: Closed December 21, 2014 Kids and moms all shared (the only way to eat a meal like this): Matzo ball soup, blueberry and cheese blintzes, latkes (potato pancakes for you goyim out there), chopped liver and potato salad platter (no, the kids did not touch that), two chocolate milk shakes, two iced teas and one hot chocolate

I realize this blog has been dormant for many months, and there’s a reason for that. In October of 2014, my father was diagnosed with a very aggressive type of cancer and he died the day after Thanksgiving. (Historically a very strange day for me: my husband and I got married the day after Thanksgiving in 2005, and we lost one of our beloved dogs the day after Thanksgiving 2010, so many happy/sad anniversaries to mark around that holiday). The loss of my dad was overwhelming, both practically (dealing with his estate) and personally. For months, I didn’t have the time, energy or, frankly, the focus for this site. It was hard enough keeping up with my regular (i.e. paid) writing assignments, continuing to parent my daughter and trying as much as possible to act, for lack of a better word, normal, and not broken. This blog is personal in the sense that it’s me out with my daughter, sharing our Old New York adventures and our thoughts about how the city is changing, but it’s never been a chronicle of our day-to-day lives. And yet I couldn’t return to it without acknowledging this huge loss, which for me is connected to the site’s theme. My father raised me on the Upper West Side. He was an avid collector (mostly of music but also of other things like lesbian porn!) and a prolific writer. He instilled my love of movies, theater, literature, writing and NYC. He approached life as an archivist, filing away recordings, books and cultural experiences in his steel trap of a mind. I won't lie: As a very young child, there were times when I felt that I had to compete with his obsessions for attention. But as I got older, he was able to share his passions with me, and he helped shape me in so many ways. This blog wouldn’t exist without my dad. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without his indelible influence. And I certainly wouldn’t be writing for a living had I not watched him hammering away on his old typewriter, using just two fingers. During these last months of silent mourning, my daughter and I and our friends have continued to seek out Old New York places (posts on the Hungarian Pastry Shop, the Ukrainian East Village Restaurant and the now-closed Micro Museum are forthcoming). I always hoped to find my way back to this blog, I just wasn’t sure how or when. But with so many fellow NYC parents kept emailing me about it (apparently there are people out there who enjoy reading about our Old New York outings!), I couldn’t abandon it. I was truly moved, and inspired to return. It was important to me to jump-start this blog with my post on the dearly departed Cafe Edison, because in a way, my grief over losing my dad feels connected to losing the NYC I knew and loved. Cafe Edison opened in 1980 when I was nine and the city (and the Hotel Edison) were seedy. There have already been many eloquent tributes to this late, lamented, latke palace, a longtime mecca for artists, actors and the unpretentious that was affectionately known as the Polish Tea Room. Cafe Edison served up Jewish comfort food way better than my culinarily-challenged bubbe used to make, and was one of the last places in the Theater District where you could grab a quick and satisfying bite without dipping into your pension (oh wait, I don't even have one of those). Now, instead of actual old-school diners, we’re left with new “authentric” imitators like Brooklyn Diner and the Times Square outpost of Junior's (which I admit I do like--the location may be new but at least it’s an offshoot of a real Old New York business). Cafe Edison was usually packed, and rightfully so. Coming here wasn't about the eats, it was about the paradoxical experience: the ornate ceiling, columns and chandeliers in contrast with the world-weary waitresses and the screw the Atkins' diet menu. It was a favorite of theatergoers and theater makers, which is why so many boldfaced names signed the petition to keep it open and Tweeted their support. Thanks to its carb- and sugar-heavy dishes, Edison was a kid favorite, too. Just look at the elated looks on the faces of my daughter and her friends! These photos were taken during a visit in November 2014 as part of a rally to try to get the owners of the building not to terminate Cafe Edison’s lease. Despite a monster turnout and lots of media coverage, the push was unsuccessful. 

My dad passed away a few weeks later, so his death and the demise of Cafe Edison will be forever linked in my memory. I feel lucky that my daughter had the chance to know my dad for nine years. And I hope that I have as positive an influence as a parent on my daughter as he had on me. Doing this blog with her is part of that, a living document of our shared exploration of the city that has been our family’s home for four generations.*

Kids’ observations: All three kids observed that the waitress “looked really overwhelmed.” She was! It was quite the crowd. After trying to flag her down for water three times, my daughter added, "The waiters don't listen to your orders here, huh? They're very rushed.” I explained that in this case, it was a good thing, a testament to a successful lunch-in. "The architecture is different. It looks like nicer masonry and stuff.” As you can tell, my kid’s friend is the daughter of an architect. "It's really fancy looking but the food isn't fancy at all.” My daughter’s other friend, succinctly capturing what made Cafe Edison so special. All of the kids marveled at the ceiling, an element I really hope they keep when they eventually open whatever pretentious and pricey “name chef” eatery takes Cafe Edison’s place. I probably won’t eat there, but I may pop my head in to see what’s left. “These are my favorite latkes ever!” said one of the kids, for the record, a Catholic who definitely knows her Jewish food. Our party made the cardinal sin of trying to use a credit card to pay. All the years I went there and I never could remember it was cash only! * = My kid is a fourth generation New Yorker on my mother’s side, and second generation on all other sides!

[divaraven]

I'm glad we already made it to De Robertis Pasticceria & Caffe...

Because it's closing in December after 110 years. When the kid and I visited earlier this year, the staff denied rumors of selling the building and closing, but becoming an instant millionaire is hard to resists. We will try to make it down there for one last pignoli tart. Also of note: I contributed to New York Magazine's The Everything Guide to Last-Chance New York, spotlighting longtime institutions that may soon turn to dust. I did the sections on NYC's last slot-car racing joint, Buzz-A-Rama (which is on my to-do-with-the-kid list), and the Barclay Classes. Meanwhile, the kid and I have been on many Old New York adventures over the past few weeks, but personal responsibilities have kept me from blogging (short version: dad's in the hospital). But I hope to find the time to share some of our outings over the Thanksgiving holiday.

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Name: The Donut Pub, 203 West 14th Street Established: 1964 Status: Open! Kid’s treat: Chocolate frosting doughnut with rainbow sprinkles, black and white cookie (which she shared with a friend later in the day) Mom’s treat: I was feeling selfless so I got a jelly doughnut for dad, who was at home  Sometimes I find it hard to remember back to a time when America didn't run on Dunkin' and Nü Yorkers didn't wait on line for cronuts. But when my daughter and I happened to pass The Donut Pub yesterday, the decades disappeared. Though this vintage treat spot was on our list of places to visit, we didn't set out to do so on Sunday, we were just trying to grab the subway. But once I saw it and the memories of middle-of-the-night snacks came rushing back, I insisted we make a pit stop. Clearly I'm not alone in my admiration for this 24/7 doughnut dive. The pic I posted on Facebook of my daughter posing in front of the neon sign got lots of love, and some great comments about the veteran counter ladies, numerous prostitute and Louis CK sightings (not together), and how it thankfully outlived the Dunkin' Donuts that opened and closed just down the block. For my part, I remember frequenting the place back in the early '90s when I was, shall we say, spending time with a guy who worked at a framing store a few storefronts away. The man shall remain nameless because, frankly, I don't remember his name. I do recall a lot of other things about him, but that doesn't have anything to do with Old New York, just Young Me. (Ah, the days when I lived on a diet of doughnuts and zeppoles and could still look hot wearing a bra as a top). Even though Donut Pub is family owned and still looks to me about the way it did 25 years ago, it's not immune to the changes in the city, not to mention the doughnut market. Just look at the sign that asks, "Have you tried our Croissant Donuts?" The nice thing is, you won't have to wait on a long line with awful people to try this cronut, even though I prefer to stick with the good old-fashioned fried dough creations. Kid's observations: "I've never been to a place that sells doughnuts that's not Dunkin' Donuts or doesn't also sell other bakery stuff." When I asked, "How is this different than Dunkin' Donuts?" She replied, "In Dunkin' you're not meant to be in there for a long time because the tables are pushed to the back. But here I felt like you were meant to stay and enjoy it. It's welcoming. Plus it's not a chain." "It looks very old, especially the sign. The letters look like they'll wear out soon." When I pointed out the sign that said The Donut Pub hosts cooking parties: "Me want my birthday here!" "The doughnut was delicioso!" No I have no idea why my nine-year-old still talks like she watches Dora. Right now, you can divide most NYC doughnut eaters into two camps: the ones who'll take two subways and a bus to visit their favorite independent artisanal doughnutery and the ones who make due with Dunkin'. The Donut Pub is for those of us who don't run with either. Man I wish I lived closer.

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Name: Jan's Hobby Shop, 1435 Lexington Avenue Established: Bought by current owner in 1973, but originally opened long before so we decided it qualifies Status: Open! Purchase: Airfix Volkswagen Beetle model kit (inspired by our never-ending game of Punch Buggy, reconceived as Point Buggy in my family due to the kid's nasty right hook) The kid had been griping for a while that we were going to too many restaurants (how is that a legit complaint?!), so we decided to check out Jan's Hobby Shop on the Upper East Side. Originally located on York Avenue, it moved to Lexington Avenue in 2003, so while the space itself looks modern, the vibe and, especially, the owners are decidedly Old New York. We were greeted (or, more accurately, sized up) by a mature woman with dyed blond hair, caked on mascara, and a scowl and attitude that seems to have chased many a customer out. (See the Yelp reviews.) Turns out that's Collette, the mother of Fred Hutchins, who convinced his parents to buy the business back in 1973 when he was just 15-years-old. That might sound like a teenager's dream, especially since he admits he's always been "obsessed" with making miniatures (don't call them models unless you're in the mood for a lecture about their differences). But taking over the shop was actually a pragmatic decision: His father had fallen ill and they needed a new source of family income. "I didn't have a childhood after that. I just went to school and work, no playing."  Four decades later, the mother-and-son team continues to run the shop, with is packed from floor-to-ceiling with kits of every sort, meticulously organized by theme: trains, planes, cars, boats, robots, and an entire section dedicated to Star Wars and Star Trek. I admit, I am totally crafts challenged. The only things I can make with my hands are obscene gestures. So I never went to Jan's growing up. But my daughter transforms everything into art projects, she even saves the labels we cut off clothes and pastes them into an ever-growing wall collage. So she was wide-eyed the minute we set foot in the store, her first-ever hobby shop experience. Kids' observations: "This [classical] music is perfect--it's like 'dum-dum-dum,' the kind of music you play when someone is saying something really important, like he was." "I was surprised to see they had so many paint by numbers." (Interestingly her uncle got her one of those kits for her birthday, which is what inspired me to put the shop on our list.) After looking at an incredible ship he crafted: "Wow that guy is really good at following blueprints. It's amazing he built all those things from scratch by hand! You have to have a lot of patience to do that... which I do not have." "Other places we've gone to, they don't have this kind of history. This guy has owned this place since he was 15!" Mom's observations: Fred and I talked at length about his shop, and how NYC has changed over the decades, especially the last one. He grew up in Yorkville in the '60s and '70s and didn't have the nicest things to say about that. (Getting robbed and mugged brings out negative thoughts in some people.) But I was more interested in hearing his take on the fall of so many of the small businesses on the Upper East Side and the rest of the city. "There's very little creative aspect left in culture," he said without bitterness. I guess he's resigned himself. "There used to be independent art stores all over the Upper East Side. Not anymore. Even Lee's on 57th Street is selling toys! We have an open-ended lease with reasonable rent but I haven't groomed a successor so I'm not sure what will happen. Look around you, in a few years none of these stores will be here." For now and hopefully for a while, you can find Fred in Jan's Hobby Shop (who's Jan you ask? Why the original owner, they never changed the name). In nice weather, he also proudly sails his stunning handmade ship (see pics above) at Central Park's Conservatory Water model boat pond. "I've been putting her in the water for the better part of 50 years now."

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After 31 years of (mostly) 24/7 service, Yaffa Cafe on St. Mark's Place is gone. Once its iconic mural of the owner (a dead ringer for Sandra Bernhard I always thought) was covered by a Google App ad last month and it closed for "renovations," I figured the end was nigh. Why do so many of these veteran restaurants go out with a whimper instead of banging loudly on all of their pots and pans? Although Yaffa didn't technically quality for this Tumblr since I predate it (remember, only businesses established pre-1971!), it was a favorite of my family's due to its outlandish decor, which made up for the blandish food. I took the photos above when covering my favorite things to do with kids in the East Village for Mommy Poppins last year. (Unlike me as a teen, my kid and her friends were at Yaffa sans hangovers.) I just looked over my list and over the past 12 months, we've lost several of my picks. Will there come a day when they're all gone?

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Name: La Caridad 78, 2199 Broadway Established: 1968 Status: Original closed July 23, 2020 but new 72nd Street location opening in 2023! Kid’s meal: Yellow rice and black beans, and fried sweet plantains Mom’s meal: Yellow rice and Cuban sausage George's meal: Fried pork Cuban style with yellow rice 2023 update: After an Old New York business closes, there’s rarely a happy epilogue. But La Caridad, which served Cuban-Chinese eats for 52 years on Broadway at 78th Street before closing during the pandemic shutdown, is reopening in a new location as per West Side Rag. Reportedly it’s the same owners. Can’t wait to visit! 2020 update: Like so many other Old (and new) New York restaurants, La Caridad 78 was done in by the COVID-19 pandemic. On July 23, 2020, the West Side Rag posted that the eatery had vacated the space and there was a for rent sign in the window. In addition to all the people this virus has and will continue to kill, it’s also murdering our city. RIP. Original post: There seems to be more chatter than ever about Old New York thanks, perhaps, to the just-opened Nightmare New York haunted house featuring an '80s subway-themed room that's been getting a bit of backlash. (Full disclosure, my friend Tim Haskell dreamed it up and he's lived in NYC for quite a while. It's meant to be tongue in cheek, so calm the fuck down and give me your wallet while you're at it!) Since launching this Tumblr in July, I've certainly found myself reminiscing more than ever about what the city looked and felt like when I was growing up, in particular the Upper West Side where I lived for the first 22 years of my life (save for two and a half years in Paris. Yes, I know I'm spoiled).  The Upper West Side is stuck in a strange state between Old and New New York (or what my husband has started calling the Nü New York). Thanks to beautiful, meticulously maintained and often landmarked residential buildings, Riverside Drive and West End Avenue look almost completely the same (from the outside, anyway--the people living inside them, that's another story). Many side streets are also similar. But hit the commercial hub of Broadway and I don't recognize anything. When I'm on the M104 bus, blocks and blocks go by where nothing dates back to my youth--or even a decade! It's all banks and Duane Reades/CVS's/Rite Aids and artisanal restaurants that probably won't last two years. This is my long-winded way of saying, it's been really tough trying to find Old New York businesses on the Upper West Side. La Caridad 78 Restaurant is one of the few left! Granted, with its lunchroom-style seating and no-frills décor, it's not much to look at, inside or out. Frankly, it never has been. But its mix of Cuban and Chinese dishes (not Cuban-Chinese fusion, the cuisines are segregated on the menu) is the Proust Madeleine of my Upper West Side youth. Thanks to an influx of Chinese immigrants by way of Cuba after Castro took over, NYC was dotted with Chinese-Cuban restaurants in the '60s and '70s, especially on the Upper West Side. I even remember a kosher Chinese-Cuban place that, like so many of these joints, is no more. But La Caridad 78 is still here (though there are no longer lines out the door like there were back in its heyday) serving generous portions of ethnic comfort food to taxi drivers, construction workers and locals more interested in eating than atmosphere. I think the last time I was here was in the '80s when I worked at the Lincoln Center Tower Records. Yes, I would walk that far for solid Cuban food--not for the Chinese. Frankly, I've never even tried the Chinese dishes here. For me it's Cuban all the way, and though I admit to spicing almost everything up with hot sauce, the fried plantains were the best I've ever had (don't tell my Puerto Rican mother-in-law that please). I was also impressed there are still lunch specials on weekends! Try finding that at a straight Chinese restaurant. Kid's observations: Upon hearing "uncle" George order pork: "You're eating Wilbur!" When our dishes arrived in under five minutes: "OMG, that's the fastest food ever!" "It tastes like my abuela's homemade rice and beans. It's delicious!" "The plantains are way better than my school's!" "I like the pictures on the wall. It makes the place look old." Noticing the Christmas lights on the wall: "I have no idea if that's for early Christmas or year-round. It makes me want to sing 'Jingle Bells.’" "Why do they have pictures of their food? It's weird and creepy. You should have pictures of people, not food." After our meal, we strolled uptown and stopped at Westsider Books, which was known as Gryphon Books when I was growing up. It's famous for being the last used bookstore on the Upper West Side and, as we walked in, I realized guiltily that it was probably the kid's first experience ever in a secondhand bookstore! A voracious reader (more than I ever was), her jaw dropped at the sight of floor-to-ceiling books, though she seemed a bit intimidated at the thought of picking through them. Ultimately she found an old hardcover biography of her namesake, Marlene Dietrich, with lots of glamour shots. Even though it was in pristine condition, the owner gave us a great price, perhaps because he was working alongside his own nine-year-old daughter. I wonder how many kids they get in there. Outside on the sidewalk, street artist Honschar, whose beautifully written and well-chosen quotes I've long admired, was working on a piece. In honor of Westsider Books, it was a quote by author Margaret Atwood: "Reading and writing, like everything else, improve with practice. And, of course, if there are no young readers and writers, there will shortly be no older ones. Literacy will be dead, and democracy - which many believe goes hand in hand with it - will be dead as well." It was part of a project Honschar was doing, traveling up Broadway and stopping at longtime businesses to write relevant quotes along with the year they opened. It seemed like such a wonderful complement to this blog, clearly we were destined to meet. We talked for a bit and I gave him a couple of bucks and then, to the kid's delight, he drew her name. For a few hours, our experiences--eating at La Caridad 78, browsing Westsider Books, meeting a street artist--reminded me of the Upper West Side of old. You can still find flashes of it if you look hard enough.

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Name: Gem Spa, 131 Second Avenue Established: 1920s, though it started using its current moniker in 1957 Status: Closed May 6, 2020 Kid and mom’s treat: Shared a black-and-white egg cream and a bag of Cheetos 2020 update: On May 6, Gem Spa officially closed, one of the countless small (and big!) businesses killed by the coronavirus pandemic. The owner released a statement, but you already know what it says. With no end in sight to the shutdown and no sustained financial assistance from our government, ma-and-pa places have no choice but to cut their losses. Losing this 100-year-old institution and Jimmy Webb from Trash and Vaudeville means St. Marks Place and the old East Village really is dead. I wonder what will be left of our city when this is all over? We had three main goals when visiting Gem Spa last weekend (it was the kid's first time though apparently her young companion was a vet!):

1. To make like Tom Hanks in Big and get a fortune from Zoltar out front 2. To get an egg cream made the old-fashioned way 3. To giggle at the look on my glamour-obsessed kid's face when she realized, despite the name, there weren't any sparkly gems or mani-pedi services Mission accomplished! As Jeremiah's Vanishing New York pointed out in his tribute to this St. Mark's staple, Gem Spa may be the only newsstand in the world with its own Wikipedia page, thanks to its reputation for making amazing egg creams and being a counterculture gathering spot (hippies, punks, freaks and now grumpy natives looking for an Old New York fix). To be fair, when you walk in, it's easy to think it's just any old newsstand, stocked with candy and magazines and sodas and snacks. But look more closely and you'll see the delightfully cocky "egg cream at its best" sign (printed out by someone who knows the difference between it's and its, so rare these days) and the soda fountain setup next to the register. Although our Gem Spa soda jerk didn't want to appear in my pics, he was very sweet and quickly whipped up a pair of black-and-white egg creams for the girls (they actually wanted straight chocolate but there was a miscommunication somewhere... not like anyone complained). They picked up some unhealthy snacks, too (yup, as a mom, that's how I roll. Plus, why bother eating something good for you while sucking down seltzer mixed with Fox's U-Bet syrups?).  It was hard to get the little ladies talking about Gem Spa. It's a pretty quick, in-and-out experience, after all. My kid's best observation? "It's very soda-y." Just think, when she's a teen she can come here to buy clove cigarettes like I did back in the '80s. On second thought, let me not think about that.

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Name: De Robertis Pasticceria & Caffe, 176 First Avenue Established: 1904 Status: Open... for now Update: Set to close the first week of December 2014 after 110 years as per Gothamist. Kid’s treat: Mocha tartlet and a box of assorted cookies to bring home to daddy Mom’s meal: Mini pignoli tart and iced cappuccino  Back in July, the kid, hubby and I visited Veniero's Pasticceria down the block, but while it may be swankier and older (1894!), De Robertis looks and feels more authentic to me (though considering that word's usage in articles like this one, it seems to have lost all meaning when applied to anything in NYC). Still, Veniero's feels like a tourist experience with a perpetual line of out-of-towners clutching their Fodor's Guides at the the door. I've never even seen De Robertis half full, which is how I like it, but also explains why it may not be long for this world. Its website has lapsed and back in May, EV Grieve reported that a real estate listing said the building, which is owned by the De Robertis family, was for sale and would be delivered vacant. But I believe in miracles (or, at the very least, guilt and the power of nostalgia). Recently, two other longtime NYC family-run businesses, Arthur's Tavern in Greenwich Village and my beloved Junior's in Brooklyn, took their buildings off the market despite being offered tens of millions of dollars to sell. So maybe De Robertis will stick around for a while longer. The young man who served us (a family member, of course) swore it wasn't closing (that turned out to be a lie, see above), and reminisced with me about the neighborhood (he grew up around the corner) back in the day. You'd never get that kind of remembrance at Veniero's! Kid's observations:  "The mosaic tile squares on the walls are so pretty. If you stare at them long enough, they start to look like a face. That long line is the nose." "Mom look! They have those old-timey cup thingies [holders] like Eddie's!" "Look at the tile on the floor. There are anchors! And I like the swirls on the sides." "The refrigerator is from 1904 which is when they opened. Cool." "The squares on the mirrors match the design on the floor." [This is the kind of thing I would never, ever notice. The kid has a great eye!] "I like the old pictures on the wall and that broken cable just hanging there for some reason. I feel like this place is owned by people, not a company." Jeremiah's Vanishing New York has a great post about De Robertis from 2007, but as you can see from the pics, it's become a bit more rundown as of late. Not that I'm complaining--perhaps that's intentional to keep the Starbucks crowd the owners complain about away. I hope so.

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Name: B&H Dairy Kosher Restaurant, 127 Second Avenue Established: 1942 Status: Open! Kid’s meal: Fried pierogi (I originally ordered boiled in an attempt to be healthy but the cook talked me out of it--it did smack of ordering a Big Mac and a diet soda) and a chocolate shake Mom’s meal: Matzo brei and potato pancakes (no I didn't eat all that in one sitting) Context is everything. My first-ever visit to B&H took place after seeing a rare revival of the Marx Brothers' first Broadway show, I'll Say She Is, directed by my seems-like-he-was-born-in-another-era pal Trav. S.D. That left me in the perfect mindset for Jewish comfort food at this sliver of a luncheonette, where a Hispanic chef whipped up delicious carb-heavy delights like my late Brooklyn bubbe used to make---only much better. He certainly seemed like an authority on the cuisine--when a customer kvetched that apple sauce wasn't the right accompaniment for matzo brei, the chef insisted it was "traditional." My friend Elyse, who was also at the show with her daughter, was the one who suggested B&H for a post-performance dinner. Although I probably spent more time on that stretch of Second Avenue as a teen than I did in my own bedroom (it was located in between St. Mark's, Love Saves the Day and Kiev, after all), somehow I had never actually seen B&H (it's narrow, sure, but certainly not invisible). That's what happens in NYC when you're not looking carefully, you can miss some real gems. Jeremiah's Vanishing New York has a wonderful post about B&H's history, which includes vintage pics that came straight from the founder's daughter, and a link to a 1978 New Yorker piece written by my friend, Stanley Mieses, about a retiring counterman. Judging from the old photos, it hasn't changed much over the decades, though it has added the words "vegetarian food" to its awning, and there's a newish wall mural that looks like a set design sketch for Fiddler on the Roof (as you can see from this article, it wasn't there last year). But the fresh art certainly reflects the Old Eastern Europe vibe. I admit, the kid was so involved in her impromptu play date (and, since it was late, also overtired, overstimulated and over-sugared thanks to the chocolate shake), that it was hard to get her to focus and talk to me about her observations. We certainly both remarked on the chef's "Challah Por Favor" shirt, especially since she is a Jewrican herself (yes, just like Juan Epstein and Geraldo Rivera). B&H sells the tees, actually, and I considered buying one for her but they don't come in kids' sizes. Kid's observations: "I really love their Challah bread [pronounced "Ch-allah, which shows you what a terrible Jewish mama I am that I haven't taught her how to say it correctly]. It's fluffy and there's so much butter! Can we take some home?" "I like that I can watch him cook like some of the other places we've been to. I guess in the old days everyone wanted to see their meals being made." "Can we always eat dinner in the middle of the night? It's fun!" [For the record, it was 9:30pm.]

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Name: C'est Manifique, 328 East 9th Street Established: 1959 (though in a different location) Status: Closed Kid bought: a moonstone necklace (correction, kid picked it out and mom paid for it) Mom bought: my second Darth Vader ring, see above This post is a long one. But it has to be. It's also the first post I've written that made me cry--and not just because the business closed soon after we visited. (Let's face it, if you're going to weep every time a ma-and-pa store, restaurant or bar shutters, you're not tough enough to live in NYC.) But my family and I had a long and involved history with C'est Manifique, a jewelry store founded back in 1959 by the Albrizio family, so this one really hurt. I have my father to thank for introducing me to the shop when it was located on MacDougal Street. It was 1984 and I was a newly minted Goth. In an effort to bond, he bought me my very first razor blade earring from C'est Manifique (just one, no pairs, it was the '80s!). Soon, I was visiting the store regularly along with every other Goth/punk/skinhead/rocker/weirdo in the city to stock up on handmade eyeball rings, skull bracelets and fly earrings (which my then-boyfriend wore in his nose). The owner, Alfonso "Funzy" Albrizio, had a classic Noo Yawk accent and a deep appreciation of wild style. He took lots of photos (Polaroids as I recall) of me and my friends and all of his other eccentric customers (including lots of celebrities), and plastered them on every inch of available wall space between the jam-packed jewelry cases. There was so much visual overload at C'est Manifique, visiting always felt more like going on a treasure hunt than a shopping spree. In 1994 Funzy was brutally murdered by an unstable customer. I remember hearing the news on the radio. And then the shop closed, and I thought that was the end of it. A few years later, I asked a friend and fellow jewelry junkie where he got his broken pieces fixed. When he said C'est Manifique my jaw dropped. I had incorrectly thought it shuttered for good (apparently it was just for a few weeks). It felt strange walking back into the shop. I noticed most (though not all) of the pictures on the walls were gone (buried with Funzy, fittingly), but aside from that, everything looked just as I remembered. The man behind the counter greeted me and asked what he could do for me. I hesitated before saying, "This is going to sound really strange, but I used to know the man who owned this shop. He took pictures of me and my friends. But I know he was killed." "That was my uncle," Albert Albrizio said, and that was the start of our friendship. No, Big Al (as he was called to differentiate from his son, Al Jr.) and I didn't hang out beyond the store. Yet we had one of those very close retail relationships. Whenever I walked in, he came out from behind the counter to give me a big hug. He helped me pick out presents for my friends and family almost every holiday season. In 2005, when I told him I was getting married, he showed me and my husband an incredible assortment of wedding and engagement rings, always mindful of the prices (he knew we didn't have much). When my engagement ring broke, Al fixed it. When my husband's wedding ring was stolen at the airport, he had the exact same band made. And after I had my daughter, he and I talked in depth about parenting, how sometimes the challenges seem to outweigh the rewards, until suddenly you realize it's the other way around in the long run. We also talked real estate (he tried desperately to buy the MacDougal Street building when it was on the market but it didn't work out) and how dismayed we were at NYC's devolution. I even wrote a short article about C'est Manifique for Back Stage. Al cut it out and proudly hung it in the window next to my head shot. It stayed there for years but got torn down around the time he was forced to clean up the store due to fire codes (or something like that--I just remember that it was quite the transformation!). Once the store relocated from MacDougal to East 9th Street in 2012, Al more or less retired and I admit, I didn't drop by as often. But I wish I had. I found out that Big Al had died from C'est Manifique's Facebook page when his son posted that it was his first Father's Day without his dad. I regretted not trying to take our friendship beyond the store. (I also regretted not pitching an article like this to the New York Times since I had been one of the many customers who inquired about buying the heirloom chandelier earrings that were never for sale.) I know Big Al had a lot of friends like me, people who came by and had intimate conversations, but never exchanged phone numbers. I guess we figured we'd always know where to find him.  When I read that C'est Manifique was indeed closing for good via Jeremiah's Vanishing New York, the kid and I ran down there. We weren't able to attend the closing night party, but in a way, I'm glad we came at another time. The minute we walked in Al Jr. came out from behind the counter, just like his dad used to, hugged me and marveled at how big my child had grown. I got to meet his mom and Big Al's sister. I told them the whole story above. I wanted them to know how much the store and their family had meant to me over the decades. And yes, I had tears in my eyes the whole time, just like they did. Even the kid got sniffly. I also made one last purchase: I realized the only ring on my left hand that did not come from C'est Manifique was the Darth Vader band, so of course, I had to fix that by buying a second Darth Vader ring for my right hand. I asked the kid what she thought of the place but honestly, she was too bummed out to go into any details. She just kept asking me why? Why do all the cool things close?

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Name: Eddie's Sweet Shop,105-29 Metropolitan Avenue Established: Late '20s or '60s, depending on your point of view Status: Open! Kid’s and mom's treat: Shared a banana split with chocolate and vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup and two cherries (the kid ate both!). I also had an iced cappuccino with cinnamon and whipped cream. So I'm really getting my maraschino cherry popped with this project. Just like Williams Candy Shoppe, I'd never been to the legendary Eddie's Sweet Shop in Forest Hills, Queens. I think the last time I was in the neighborhood was the night I slept over at a gorgeous goth boy's house when his parents were away... and that was back in the '80s. (The identity of said hot goth shall remain anonymous since we're connected on Facebook, but have fun clicking through my friends to find him--I know a lot of boys who wear black!) As a teen, I thought Forest Hills was some kind of weird, Stepford Wives-style suburb that somehow sneaked into the city limits. Now, seeing Forest Hills as an adult and a parent, I understand the appeal. Everything is so darn clean and cute, which is why Eddie's fits right in. According to a surprisingly well researched Patch article, it was originally opened sometime in the '20s as Witt’s Ice Cream Parlor and was rechristened Eddie's by new owners in 1967. But judging by the awesome interior and menu, little has changed, save for the prices, and the current owners promote it as being almost a century old. Somehow I was under the impression that Eddie's was a luncheonette but when the kid, my pal George (the kid's second dad), his roommate and I arrived for dinner, we realized we'd be eating backward. Eddie's only serves drinks and desserts. Not that any of us were complaining (and notice Marlena's ice cream-themed frock--she was dressed for the occasion!). The counter was full (I love that it's where people prefer to sit here) so we grabbed a table and admired the molded ceiling, gilded mirrors and old-fashioned phone booth (re-purposed as an ATM because it's cash only). We also ogled our teenage waiter--he looked like he had just walked out of a S. E. Hinton novel. Seriously, George and I couldn't stop staring at him until my child, totally embarrassed by our behavior, threatened to tell him. As my husband is fond of saying, I'm a dirty old lady. Kid's observations: "The lanterns [she means the old-fashioned lights] are cool. They look like mushrooms."  "The mirrors are so cool. They look like windows!" [She's right, they're divided into four panels.] "I like the cup holders. I've never seen those." [And I hadn't seen them in years. I'm not even sure what you'd call them but she's talking about these. Or see the pics above.] I was also impressed with the two-tiered metal sundae plates so that as the ice cream dripped off, it fell into a dish instead of on the table.  Everything at Eddie's seemed so authentic to its history, and though I suspect some things have changed during the last 90s years, it truly is a transporting experience. And yes, the desserts are delicious--and I'm not even much of an ice cream person (I know, I know). And did I forget to mention the wall of retro candy? Since we started dinner with dessert the kid chose a candy ring for an appetizer. She didn't go to sleep until midnight thanks to the sugar high.