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!
