Old New York: A Sad Last Look at What's Left of Big Nick's

By Mitch Broder

It was clear almost immediately that I was not going to be getting a hamburger.

And yet I stayed. Surely someone would show up and say it was all a mistake.

I'm never in the last four stages of grief. I enter denial and I stay there. This applies to the loss of places as much as to the loss of people. So when I visited Big Nick’s Burger Joint & Pizza Joint a few days after its closing, I was sure that it would be coming back. Despite all that crap in my booth.

Big Nick’s is the joint that had more character in its 28-page menu than most restaurants in New York today have in their 28-day lifespans. Ironically, for all its earthiness, it gave the Upper West Side class. It closed last week because its space can now be rented for the price of 10,000 hamburgers a month.

Nevertheless, Big Nick — ever the gracious host — invited me in, even if, for the first time, I would have to leave hungry. I roamed the ruins, unsure what I craved more, the earthiness or a hamburger. It didn’t matter. Neither one could have existed without the other.

The earthiness included framed photographs of mostly stars of the future, and little signs for selections like the Sumo Burger (“Over One Pound [1 LB.] of Meat”). The hamburgers included 60 varieties among which was the Sumo, although, if you were going strictly by weight, that one should have counted as two.

Nick always embraced his jointhood. He put quotes on the back of the menu like: “Big Nick’s is a 24-hour dump that … inspires affection.” His place was a roadside diner, except that the road was Broadway. On his tables, there was never a laptop. On his TVs, there were always Three Stooges.

Nick is actually Demetrios Niko Imirziades, who arrived from Athens in 1961 to make his Broadway debut. He washed dishes. But he also diligently attended restaurant school and worked his way up to manager at the coffee shop that he would buy in 1964.

He renamed it The Burger Joint (now the name of the unconnected joint at Le Parker Meridien). A few years later, he unveiled the Big Nick burger in response to the Big Mac. In 1976, he renamed the place Big Nick’s. The name was accurate. Nick had once excelled in discus and shot put.

Through the years, Nick has opened and closed about a dozen other joints. One was Big Nick’s on 71^st Street, which still exists but is no longer his. The last to go, before the flagship, was the nearby Niko’s Mediterranean Grill & Bistro, which closed in 2011. It had been inspired by his mother’s cooking.

I thought of all this as I trudged past the now burgerless grill, the now empty stools, and the now Stoogeless television sets. I thought of it as I gazed at the corner booth where I once sat with Nick, when he told me that it was the booth in which he’d had a heart attack thirty years ago.

Now, before I left, I spoke with Nick outside. He seemed confident that he’d be opening another place, around 20 blocks up. “It’ll be a little bit more limited menu,” he said. “It’ll be a combination of what I sold at Niko’s and what I sold at Big Nick’s.”

“I will know in September if something’s happening, and if it doesn’t work out, maybe we’ll try something else,” he said. “Nothing is set a hundred percent.”

Except for this: The old Big Nick’s will be back. I know it. No need for anger, bargaining, or depression.

And definitely no need for acceptance.

Big Nick’s was on Broadway at 77^th Street. I’ll let you know when it comes back.

VISIT THE CITY’S OTHER VINTAGE SPOTS BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE. FIND THEM ALL IN THE NEW BOOK “DISCOVERING VINTAGE NEW YORK.” IT COVERS OVER 75 PLACES THAT TAKE YOU BACK IN TIME. IT INCLUDES THE WHOLE STORY OF BIG NICK’S.

The Primeburger Coffee Shop: Have Lunch With Some Tomatoes

By Mitch Broder

Among the best scenes for meeting chicks in Manhattan are the lounges, the clubs, the cafés, and that old place where you eat in a high chair.

The chicks you meet there may live in Argentina, but I never promised a lasting relationship.

The place is The Primeburger, whose menu attraction is the Primeburger, but whose main attraction is its portrayal of 1965. It has barely changed since its renovation that year, which is why it still has the high chairs, which I personally see as airplane seats, which doesn’t make them any less humbling.

The seats are in three-sided nooks. The nooks have two seats in each side and an end table in each corner. They’re like little living rooms. When you sit, your waiter locks you in with a swiveling fake-walnut tray. When food is on it, you can’t get up. Neither can the chicks.

I recently had four Argentinian chicks in my living room (not including the women above). They were tourists, as many Primeburger patrons are. We were sitting there facing each other. They had to at least smile at me. Fortunately for them, I was more interested in 1965.

The Primeburger began as part of a chain called Hamburg Heaven. The store opened in ’42 and became The Primeburger in ’65. The current owners bought it in ’76 and decided that one renovation was enough. That has helped them survive, not that it’s hurt to be across from St. Patrick’s.

The walnut Formica walls are original. The blond Formica counters are original. The black perforated conical midcentury-modern light fixtures are original. The mechanical change-maker is original, the burger broilers are original, and at least one waiter is, too, though they all wear white coats with “The Primeburger” embroidered on them, so they will all look original.

Most of all, the seats are original — and rare, if not unique. People wait to sit in them, because the people who are already in them tend to stay there. “I take pictures all day long,” says the co-manager Michael Di Miceli. “We get people in here on their first day in New York, and they come back the whole week.”

So there might be time for a lasting relationship, though I’m not looking. I chatted a bit with my chicks and sent them packing to Argentina.

Of course, you may not even get chicks. Your may get four men in black suits, which is what replaced my chicks. But then, that could be just what you’re looking for.

Make friends at The Primeburger, at 5 East 51st Street, between Madison and Fifth avenues, in Manhattan.   

The Red Flame Coffee House: Don't Look Twice, It's All Right

By Mitch Broder

When I finally returned to one of my favorite New York coffee shops, I thought it was a bank.

Eventually, everything in New York is.

It was the massive new glass façade that forgivably led me astray. But when I looked through it, I saw the truth: It was still my coffee shop. Dressed like a bank.

The coffee shop is the Red Flame, near Times Square, which used to call itself a coffee house but now calls itself a diner. It closed last year for renovations. I was afraid to go back. Places that completely evoke the feeling of an era should never close, especially for renovations.

What I realized was that the Red Flame didn't completely evoke any era. I hate to say it. It had atmosphere, but it didn’t look like much. It opened in 1979 and had been made over since, but the last motif was — well, red. A renovation held promise.

When I focused, I saw that the layout was just the same. Mostly, the motif has been changed from red to white. Everything seems white, except for the seats, which are brown-yellow-and-green — which, oddly enough, evokes 1979.

I sat in my usual booth and had my usual waiter, who still brought me a newspaper and didn't ask where I’d been so long. Soon after, he brought me what is still one of the best diner hamburgers, along with still-excellent lentil soup and still-sweet slaw in a white pleated cup.

The tables still have fresh flowers. People still wait to sit down. I suspect that if I’d gotten a Coke, it still would have been refilled. And they still give out New York calendars, but this year I was too late. Maybe that will teach me not to be so afraid of change, but I doubt it.

Find The Red Flame at 67 West 44th Street, between Fifth and Sixth avenues, in Manhattan.