Signing Off: We've Fled the Growlers and Turned Down the Heat

By Mitch Broder

A growler can be a container for beer.

It can also be other things, none especially pleasant.

The Growler Station, a small chain, squirts "craft" beer into jugs and bottles that you can take home, or wherever it is you like to take your beer. But no matter what "growler" makes you think of, it's probably not as appealing as brew, which could be the reason that the Eighth Street Growler Station has ceased to squirt.

At least it could be according to the axiom of Signing Off, which holds that while a name can conceivably make a place, it can definitely break it. At the end of a miserable day, the word GROWLER in big orange letters doesn't seem like the thing to convince you that this is the place to escape all the world's growls.

If you agree, here are more places that may have made the same mistake.

If you disagree, your closest Growler Station is now in Columbus, Ohio.

There are few times in New York life when high heat is attractive, and clearly not enough of them to support a burger joint by that name. But then, New York City is not currently starving for burger joints. And Waldy Malouf is a famous chef, so he'll surely come up with something cooler.

Animal Crackers are for people, but this store was for dogs. Thus your expectations were frustrated before you walked in the door. So you didn't. Instead, you went somewhere else to find yourself some cookies. And then, if you needed dog food, you went somewhere else for that.

This was a spiffy gift store, and it lasted for twenty years. But even with all its letters it couldn't handle today's numbers. It couldn't have helped that many customers who wanted to recommend it couldn't pronounce it, unless they were fluent in Superman comics. Still, it survives in Jersey City.

Cigkoftem is a Turkish chain that sells sandwiches of spicy wheat balls. But to the unversed, the name could suggest something you might get from excess smoking. If a place is selling just one food, it should make clear what that food is. Though I can't swear that it would have helped to have named the place Spicy Wheat Balls.

I can't say whether robatayaki is better known than cigkoftem...

... but I can say that Prohibit sounded awfully prohibitive.

And I can say that while we appreciate our bees and our desserts, we appreciate them separated.

And now they are.



Vintage New York always tries to understand.

GLASER'S BAKE SHOP HAS BEEN OPEN SINCE 1902 AND HAS NEVER FELT THE NEED FOR A MORE INVENTIVE NAME. READ ABOUT GLASER'S AND MORE THAN SEVENTY-FIVE OTHER CLASSICS FROM SIMPLER TIMES IN THE AMAZON TRAVEL BEST SELLER "DISCOVERING VINTAGE NEW YORK"!

Signing Off: You Name It — Just Don't Give Us the Wrong Idea

By Mitch Broder

They said they'd be Out of the Kitchen!

And now they are!

Think of the rent they could have saved if they'd never opened at all!

I don't like to mock this place. For one thing, it was homey, and for another, it had one of the best chocolate-chip cookies in the city. But its subliminal message was either that no one ever worked there or that no one was welcome — neither of which is what you want to impart to the crowd.

So now Hudson Street has one less takeout and the city has one less good cookie. And once again, the lesson is: Don't let this happen to you. Holding fast to the flimsy premise that stores' names can determine their fate, Vintage New York offers up the latest cases of nominal self-sabotage...

 Nobody wants to eat in a house full of crabs...

Nobody wants to live in a house full of shelves...

The last food you want to get from a factory is a meatball ...

The last spoon you want is one that was in someone's mouth when he was born...

This seemed like a place that was loaded down with too much baggage...

This seemed like a place that was telling you to go someplace else...

And this place promised you everything from A to Z, while it's perfectly clear to anyone that it was missing a D.

Vintage New York is only trying to help.

Signing Off: For Memorial Day, Dreams That Are Now Memories

By Mitch Broder

Maybe New Yorkers just weren't ready for the concept of borrowing chocolate.

Or maybe they were, and they just couldn't trust themselves enough to bring it back.

Either way, though it may have seemed like a concept that was overdue, The Chocolate Library didn't get enough people coming in to check things out.

On this somewhat appropriate occasion, we remember The Chocolate Library and certain other city establishments that you may never forget. We don't judge them. Very much. All we do is to gently suggest that their closings may have had something to do with their names.

Whether or not compelled by its name, The Chocolate Library really handed out chocolates. They were free samples, of course, but they were very satisfying. The chocolates for sale were displayed on walls of sort of library-like shelves. It was all a little bit confusing. It was easiest just to eat the free sample.

But it's never good to lose a chocolate source, so we mourn the Library's passing.

As for the places below, well, our mourning level varies.

Macaroni Macaroni's macaroni is still at a couple of pizzerias, but Macaroni Macaroni itself may have been too much of a good thing. Especially with its sign complex that managed to communicate "macaroni" not just two, but six and one-third times.

"N.Y. Fresh Bites" sounded like something that you might get from a New York rat...

... and "Go For a Bite" didn't sound like waffles. Besides, everyone was going for a rub.

"Octavia's Porch" suggested a place that would be too cold in the winter...

... and "99 Below" suggested a place that would be too cold even in the summer.

Monster Pizzas might have had at least a somewhat acceptable name...

... if it hadn't tried to convince you that its slices were actual monsters.

There simply aren't enough people left who can afford Soho Living...

... and there simply aren't enough people left who know that they need good sense.


Vintage New York thanks them all for the memories.

Signing Off: Farewell to Hot Spots That Can't Take the Heat

By Mitch Broder

Actually, this winter is not as warm as you think, since the city has lost places that could have made it a lot warmer. All of them might have lasted if they'd only hung on till January. But maybe they didn't hang on till January because no one needed heat in July.

The above pizza joint, for instance, held some appeal on a chilly night but a lot less when the outdoor temperature rose to a tenth of its name. Then again, according to its sign, that name was 900 Degrees Degrees. So it could have been doomed by double talk. If not by its 900 competitors competitors.

Melting is another concept that's of marginal allure in the summer, and one that would seem unwise to link with ice cream anytime. There are nine Melt Gelato Bars in California, not to mention one in Tucson. But out there, they're used to stuff melting. In New York we like things firm.

The Home of the Famous Hot Water — Holby Valve — has moved to Newark, which prompts me to be content with hot water that's obscure. The complete sign reads: "Home of the Famous Hot Water Temperature Control Valve." But I hadn't heard of the valve till I saw the sign, and by then it was too late.

You wouldn't think there could be too much passion, but this place proved that wrong. Too bad, since this sort of heat tends to sell in any season.

Fortunately, The Boiler Room in the East Village is still boiling. I'm not sure why it has succeeded while the others failed. But I'm guessing they at least keep the beer cold.


Like almost every New Yorker, Vintage New York has no complaint with this winter.

Signing Off: More Reasons to Give Your Store Name More Thought

By Mitch Broder

As I continue to write of Manhattan haunts that have flourished for decades, I continue to find that they tend to have names like Katz's, Bill's, and Rocco's.

I also continue to find that the ones that get too creative tend to get into trouble — like, for example, Swich, Curl Up & Dye, and Dodo.

Since I posted about those last three places I have discovered more shuttered stores whose names I suspected might have contributed to their shuttering. Either way, their names left me shuddering. But you be the judge. Would you have lined up to get into these?

Could the menu perhaps have seemed too finite?

Could the menu perhaps have seemed too infinite?

Should any cantina be cosmic?

I would have questioned whether to go in...

Hiding won't sell the panini...

Success means never having to say Om Saree...

Then again, maybe Cinnamon was just the wrong spice...

Vintage New York takes no pleasure in store closings. It's just wondering.

Signing Off: Maybe I Should Just Become a Naming Consultant

By Mitch Broder

I have probed the issue of store names that may have sabotaged their stores but, of course, New York is a city that is forever topping itself.

Thus, as I kind of suspected it would, the time has come to give a send-off to Dodo.

I take no delight in its departure. Though it was not a vintage treasure of the kind I celebrate in this blog, it seemed like a nice little shop, staffed by nice friendly people who appeared merrily unaware that in English the word dodo is rarely affirmative, no matter how you pronounce it.

Dodo may be another of the victims of the demise of Tower Records, along with the joy of shopping for music without a computing device. Tower’s landmark store at Fourth Street anchored Dodo’s stretch of Broadway, whose fortunes have declined along with the pleasures of the last century.

Then again, Dodo may be another of the victims of a bad name. You don’t want to step into Dodo. You don’t want buy from a Dodo. A few years ago, there was a Dodo Café, which is arguably worse than a Dodo accessory store. Some people said the food was good. It went out of business anyway.

Still, this city is never short on successful places with dopey names. Conversely, Tower had a good name, and look at it now. Its upstairs is a gym called Blink and its downstairs is a stunt called the MLB Fan Cave, in which two guys are watching 2,430 baseball games, which just goes to show what happens to people when there are no more record stores.

In short, I can’t say for sure whether Dodo’s name killed Dodo, but just in case, let its death not be in vain. There’s a steakhouse on Broadway at 88th Street, for instance, which I somehow find less than inviting. Maybe it has to do with being old enough to miss records. I wish the place well enough, but before it expands further, I suggest it give serious thought to its name...

Vintage New York wishes good luck to the people of Dodo.

Signing Off: New York City Rejects Potty Vibe

By Mitch Broder

New Yorkers this year took a stand against eating a Chinese novelty food while sitting in a urinal.

I am so proud.

Kung Fu Bing, at 189 East Houston Street, posted a notice reading “Store Is Temporary Closed For Restructuring,” which, loosely translated, means “If You Liked Our Food, Feast on Your Memories.” All that was left inside were mirrors, counters, tables — and plastic chairs reminiscent of the more contemporary tinkling stations, such as the Toto Toilets Model UT104E#01 Low Consumption Compact with Integral Trap.

The restaurant, another notice explained, had been there to introduce “a unique integration of Asian flavor in the form of a sandwich. ‘Bing’ means ‘pancake’ in Chinese and is the heart of our concept and the secret of our success.”

The statement concluded with the hope that the bing would become “as popular as the ‘taco’ from Mexico, the ‘pizza’ from Italy, and the ‘naan’ from India,” though not the “hot dog” from Coney.

It’s not working out. Before closing after its brief stay in the East Village, Kung Fu Bing closed after a brief stay in Chinatown.

The failures may be partly related to the food. Online comments range from “Oily, gummy yet crispy” to “Greasy, nasty sauce, weird meat. One of the worst things I’ve ever tried.”

But maybe the failures are also related to the unappetizing chairs. If I had found bings before they bombed, I would have avoided them on the grounds of toilet seats.

Fast-food establishments, of course, are known for accommodations that encourage fast feeding — but they usually make at least a passing attempt at camouflaging them.

In any case, seating comfort rarely figures in dining reviews. I don’t get it. My butt aches enough as it is without paying to make it ache more.

Vintage New York believes that ninety percent of New York City restaurant seats could use a cushion.

Signing Off: Were Their Messages Properly Mixed?

By Mitch Broder

I would not trade my life for a perm.

I might trade my life for permanent hair, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that there was an Upper West Side salon that seemed to suggest that if I patronized it I would croak — and maybe that’s why it croaked.

City places are always going, but lately I’ve passed some places that whisper to me of something that may have hastened their departure. As I’ve gazed up at their sad awnings and thought about what I’m reading, I have not been able to keep from wondering … Could it have been the name?

Thanks, but not just yet...

Looks to be a long one...

Now I guess I'll have to...

Naturally, they dropped...

And so the cupcakes stopped.

Vintage New York extends its condolences to all lost NYC businesses. Most, anyway.