Old New York: Discover It All in "Discovering Vintage New York"

By Mitch Broder

Walk by the Streit’s matzo factory and get handed a hot piece of matzo as you pass the open window of the matzo-cooling room.

Sit down at Marchi’s Restaurant and get served the one and only meal they’ve been serving there every night for the past 70 years.

Marchi's.

Slip into Marie’s Crisis Café and get amused by people singing show tunes around a piano before you break down and start singing along.

I can’t live around such opportunities and not tell people about them. That’s why I’ve written a book called “Discovering Vintage New York.”

About two years ago, I started writing Vintage New York the Blog. But long before that, I dreamed of writing Vintage New York the Book. And that’s just what I did — dream. But as vintage spots kept disappearing, I knew I’d better get to work while the dream could still come true.

The result is the first and only book to collect all the Manhattan restaurants, shops, cafés, and nightspots that take you back in time. It covers more than 75, and it spotlights 50 with profiles that tell you what each place is like now and how it got that way.

Katz's.

My blog, as its subhead notes, allows for “justifiable detours.” But the book travels exclusively on Vintage Road. All the spots are at least 50 years old (or very close to it). And all the spots, in some genuine way, evoke a bygone era.

The subjects range from the Café Carlyle to Katz’s Delicatessen, and from The Four Seasons to The Donut Pub. I spent hours at every one of them and interviewed people at every one of them. I wanted to get each spot’s history straight and to convey each spot’s unique charm.

A friend who once worked in publicity has called the book an “adventure map,” and though I have to leave terms like that to publicists, I secretly think she’s right. No one I’ve met along the way has known about all of these places, let alone been to all of them. Or even to a lot of them.

I add this in the book’s introduction:

I chose places that some of us see as the heart of New York — the ones that created the city that’s squeezing the likes of them out. When places like these close, people who always meant to visit them start grieving. I wrote this book to save you some grief.

More than that, I wrote it to tempt you to visit these spots for fun. They are precious places, and they almost always leave you with precious memories. I don’t want to say how many vintage places have disappeared since I started dreaming. I’ll just say that no matter what you think, nothing lasts forever.

I tell more about the book in the introduction, and I thank the many people who helped to make it possible in the acknowledgments. Still, I’m compelled to shamelessly steal my own words again, and repeat the first paragraph of those acknowledgments:

The people who most directly made this book possible are the people who own, manage, and otherwise tend to the places featured in it. Thanks to everyone who invited me in, showed me around, told me stories, and kept the places going long enough for me to show up.

And now I also thank The New York Post for introducing the book to New York City with a big splash, in last week’s Sunday paper. It was appropriate, since The Post is the oldest newspaper in the city, and yet it was nimble enough to scoop me on a story about myself.

Find what's really cool in “Discovering Vintage New York,” published today by the Globe Pequot Press. It makes a great gift. I’m not just saying that.

Old Yet New in New York: Papaya King Crowns the East Village

By Mitch Broder

They snap downtown just the way they snap uptown.

That’s all that matters. Papaya King East Village is a success.

Yes, the hot dogs that gave a second career to tropical fruit drinks have ventured from East 86^th Street to St. Mark’s Place. Thus, Papaya King has a second location for the first time in decades. And the dogs traveled well. Here, too, they’re one of the best bites of New York.

The new store is three times as big as the old, and it has a concrete porch. It takes some time to acclimate to all that luxury.  But the hot dogs are the same, which is to say perfectly tasty and snappy, as are the buns, which is to say perfectly fluffy and crunchy.

As is the papaya drink, which is to say perfectly creamy and frothy. It’s unlike any other fruit drink you know. It’s mysterious. And best left that way.

Papaya King, born on that uptown corner in 1932, has had other branches, but they disappeared despite the perfection. The original location was bought by a group of investors three years ago. The new store is their first attempt to build on history.

“It’s a good match for the brand,” says Blake Gower, the group’s head of development. “It’s a quintessential New York experience on a quintessential New York street.” He’s especially proud of the porch: “It’s one of the key design elements. It kind of makes this place feel like it’s always been here.”

Blake wanted to have a place that looked new to people who like new things and old to people who like old things, and he got as close as you could expect. The classic neon sign, for instance, is new and yet manages to say Old New York in the middle of the city’s body-piercing corridor.

Inside, the walls preserve a Papaya King tradition: little signs designed to enlighten you about frankfurters and fruit. But here they’re tailored to the neighborhood, as in: “Right across the street from where you’re standing was the legendary Five Spot Jazz Club. All the greats played there. Bet they wished for franks after shows.”

Blake dug even further back to come up with the bamboo counter and the thatched grill awning laden with artificial fruit. They recall Papaya King’s origin as a stand called Hawaiian Tropical Drinks, where just fruit juice was sold, sometimes by a man crowned by a pith helmet.

The porch has wooden chairs that make you feel like you’re at the old homestead, until you notice the view of the St. Mark’s Hotel, the St. Marks Ale House, and Karaoke St. Marks (and you get a snootful of smoldering sandalwood from the nearby incense stand).

It’s a unique blend. But it could be what the neighborhood needs, since Papaya King could be what every neighborhood needs. Among nearby competitors is Japadog. But Japadog has hot dogs with bonito flakes. Papaya King has two hot dogs and a fruit drink for five bucks.

It has toppings, too, though not bonito flakes. But try a couple of these dogs straight.

As the longtime slogan promises: “Our Franks are Tastier than Filet Mignon.”

Eat royally at Papaya King, at 3 St. Mark’s Place, between Cooper Square and Astor Place, in New York City.

READ THE WHOLE STORY OF THE ORIGINAL PAPAYA KING — AND OF DOZENS OF OTHER CLASSIC CITY SPOTS — IN “DISCOVERING VINTAGE NEW YORK,” COMING ON JUNE 18 AND ON SALE NOW!

New Yet Old in New York: Reclaim Your Youth at Mr. Throwback

By Mitch Broder

Somewhere there’s a place where the Power Rangers still morph, the Smurfs still frolic, and the California Raisins still wrinkle.

It’s where the Nickelodeon blimp always sails and the Mighty Ducks always play.

It’s on East Ninth Street. It’s called, not surprisingly, Mr. Throwback.

It’s designed to look like the childhood bedroom that you left behind, specifically if your childhood took place in the eighties or the nineties. It’s filled with the kind of stuff that you most likely left in it. And now that stuff can be yours again. If you want it. And can afford it.

Yes, though it may be unsettling to people who come from earlier decades, nostalgia now refers to years like 1993. It means the Jerky Boys. It means the Spice Girls. It means “Beethoven.” It means “Full House.” They’re all here, waiting to comfort all the people who never forgot them.

Among those people is Michael Spitz, Mr. Throwback himself, who is thus, but only coincidentally, Mr. T. He never forgot them, so he got them back. And now he sells them. And when he’s not selling them he’s still happy, because he walks among them.

He was teaching t-ball to four-year-olds when his life went into reverse. But it wasn’t because of the four-year-olds. It was because of his parents’ house. “You see your old video games,” he says. “You see your old toys. You go into your basement. I guess the concept of the store was to bring back everything from my childhood.”

He brought back He-Man. He brought back the Ghostbusters. He brought back the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. They’re all here in the form of figurines and other playthings. He brought back Pokémon and Game Boy and Super Nintendo. Not to mention Hulk Hogan and the Energizer Bunny.

They’re in a space that’s actually a cross between a bedroom and a bedroom closet. It has scuffed-up wood floors and posters on the walls. Michael sits in the rear at a desk equipped with an Alf phone. On his tube television he runs a VHS tape of “The Mighty Ducks.” All day.

Other videocassettes on hand include “Home Alone” and “Free Willy.” Audiocassettes feature Billy Squier and New Kids on the Block. Everything’s sprinkled among period sports jerseys, jackets, sweatpants, caps, and T-shirts, along with T’s that celebrate the likes of the Backstreet Boys and MTV.

The sports collectibles are a big draw. “All the old brands I sell are coming back now,” says Michael, who is usually modeling some of the stuff in the store. “Stylists are coming in here because this stuff is so hot, they’re using it as inspiration to create their next lines.”

But everybody love the toys. “My favorite part of this,” Michael says, “is when someone comes in and says, ‘This is the coolest store ever.’”

“This is my life and I’m reliving it every day,” he says, and picks up a He-Man. “I played with this when I was a kid, and now I’m holding it again.”

Regress at Mr. Throwback, 428 East Ninth Street, between First Avenue and Avenue A, New York City.

New in New York: Another French Roll Rocks at Baguette Bar

By Mitch Broder

I can’t promise you a Houska House or a Pumpernickel Pub, but I can follow my report on Croissanteria with one on Baguette Bar.

And considering that the city is full of places like Popover Café, it could soon very well have a restaurant named for every bread and roll.

For now, Baguette Bar is the apparently the newest, undoubtedly the tiniest, and surely the most focused. It serves meat-and-vegetable sandwiches on toasted baguettes. If you don’t want your meat and vegetables on a toasted baguette, you’ll most likely have to take them in a pile.

The meats are pretty much limited to corned beef, pastrami, salami, and turkey. The vegetables include corn (the cereal) and avocado (the fruit). On a standard sandwich you get one meat, two vegetables, and one sauce. Ketchup Mayo is a sauce. Ketchup is still a sauce.

The bar is about to roll out its Signature Sandwiches, which are based on five of its most successful combinations.

The New Yorker is pastrami, lettuce, red onions, pickles, and honey mustard. The Pirojok is corned beef, roasted red peppers, jalapenos, and spicy honey mustard. Lettuce does not count as a vegetable. Pickles and onions do. Pirojok means pie, even though it’s a sandwich.

The categorization may be challenging, but the concept is simple. The appeal of the simplicity is nicely explained by a comment on Yelp: “Cool New place downtown and its open super late! Perfect for when you’re really drunk and need something to eat…”

Just weeks ago the Baguette Bar space was a storeroom for Pink Elephant, the glittery new club whose entrance is around the corner on West Eighth Street. The club’s owner set up his brother, Ben Nahmani, and Ben’s friend Zachi Ozery as baguette baristas.

The idea came from places that sell comparable food in Israel. The furnishings came from a nearby defunct delicatessen. The location is the MacDougal Street corner of the regenerating West Eighth Street, just across from the appealingly simple Sticky’s Finger Joint.

The sandwiches, besides being panini-style, are also kosher-style, which means that the corned beef and pastrami are better than what you get at the diner. And they’re toasted not once but twice, the second time with an olive-oil glaze that Zachi says makes for “a much more nice taste.”

“Now,” he says, “I want people to recognize this product, and we’ll be able to open more.”

I’ll let you know when they do.

I’ll also let you know about the Brioche Boîte and the Sourdough Saloon.

Belly up to Baguette Bar, 179 MacDougal Street, near West Eighth Street, in New York City.

New in New York: Two Buddies Are On a Roll at Croissanteria

By Mitch Broder

As long as you’re going to open a humble neighborhood bakery, you might as well make it a global destination for crescent rolls.

It’s unusual logic. But Selmo Ribeiro and David Simon wanted something unusual. And so far, their humble bakery and global destination are doing well.

Having determined that they wanted to launch some sort of restaurant, they went on to determine that Alphabet City could use a homey café. They then determined that — at least locally — the croissant was a short-changed pastry. With that determination, they launched Croissanteria.

It’s a plucky alternative to the nearby Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts. It has tiled walls, ceiling fans, an antique mirror, and an antique bench. It’s comfortable. It has what any good bakery-café should have. With the addition of croissants that Parisians have said rival the ones in Paris.

They include almond croissants, chocolate croissants, and almond-and-chocolate croissants, not to mention apricot croissants, and just plain croissants. Those varieties come in full-size or mini, but you have to go full-size if you want the peanut-butter-and-jelly or Nutella-and-banana croissants.

Croissanteria makes gourmet sandwiches, and they all come on croissants. They include French Ham, Italian Tuna, and Smokey Turkey. The Prosciutto di Parma has “Buffalo Mozzarella, Sliced Prosciutto, Tomato, Basil, EVOO, & Cracked Pepper.” You wouldn’t think that all of that could fit in a croissant.

Selmo and David gave me a couple of croissants, though without Nutella, Buffalo Mozzarella, peanut butter, or EVOO. They were perfect — soft and fluffy, with a thin crispy crust and a buttery flavor. And without any of that pesky croissant greasiness.

These were croissants that virtually any neighborhood could use. And not at all what you’d expect from guys with backgrounds in hamburgers and smoked fish.

David worked for his father’s Catskill Artisan Smokehouse — known as Catsmo — which sells smoked salmon and caviar to places around the city. Selmo founded the Nah Nah Bah café and lounge, a burger joint on the beach in Lagos, Portugal.

The guys had met at Northeastern University, where they were roommates. “The one thing we really had in common,” Selmo says, “was that we liked going out to eat.” He adds: “We always spoke about opening something together having to do with food.”

David first went to Catsmo and Selmo went to Lagos. But they stayed in touch, and Selmo came to New York every year. They decided to open a bakery, but with a twist, Selmo says: “If you’re in New York, the more niche you go in what you offer, the better you can make it.”

They’re happy with their success as a global destination. But they seem happiest with their success as a humble neighborhood bakery. “We’ve gotten such a friendly reception from the neighbors and the neighborhood,” David says. “We focus on this, and try to make the place special.”

One day, Selmo says, they had to close for a plumbing repair. One of the regulars emailed him, in fear that they wouldn’t come back.

“I don’t know how he got my personal email,” he says. “But those are the small things that are just awesome. Really, really awesome.”

Get flaky at Croissanteria, 68 Avenue A, between Fourth and Fifth streets, in New York City.