Maybe They Should Keep It

Longstanding Carroll Gardens pizzeria Sal's was apparently part of a movie shoot last month that caused them to temporarily rename themselves "Salducci's." Guess the filmmakers thought that would make this very Italian joint even more Italian. The pasted-on awning is still there, as is the decal on the glass door. I kind of like the name better. Maybe they should keep it.

El Faro Indefinitely Shuttered

According to Eater and various sources, El Faro, one of the oldest Spanish restaurants in the City, and one of the oldest period, will be shuttered indefinitely followed a visit by the health department that forced it to temporarily close its doors. The owner, Mark Lurgis, said he has to raise $80,000 to make the necessary changes and will stay closed until he does so. (No doubt, the DOH charged its usual ludicrous inflated fees.) The restaurant's kitchen is 150 years old.

Ironically, this is the restaurant I had planned to visit for my most recent "Who Goes There?" column. The night I scheduled to visit was the night it closed. I changed my plans and visited El Quijote, another Spanish standby, instead.

The Lost Colony

I passed by the midtown location of Colony Records, the iconic music store in the Brill Building that went out of business last month after a half century in Times Square. The place is empty, but the signs remain. I wonder what will become of them.

Fire Hits Carroll Gardens' D'Amico Coffee

A small fire last week temporarily silenced D'Amico Coffee, which has been roasting and selling beans on Court Street in Carroll Gardens for 64 years. A first broke out in one of the roasters, causing the business to evacuate the premises and some interior damage.

A large, long, hand-written sign now in the window says D'Amico is currently roasting in another location, while the old roaster will be "out of service for a while." "It will take more than a small fire to stop us!" the message concludes.

That last remark is likely a veiled reference to the community troubles D'Amico has been battling in recent months. Lately, some extremely annoying parvenus, newly moved to the neighborhood and chock full of a sense of entitlement, have been complaining about the smell that emanates from D'Amico which the shop is roasting coffee. They have demanded that the store stop roasting, or amend their equipment, and have sicced the police and fire department on the little indy business many times. D'Amico has openly complained about this treatment through similar hand-written signs posted in the window.

Now, I've never particularly liked the acrid odor D'Amico makes when it roasts coffee. I personally think they regularly burn their beans. But I've always recognized that that smell probably has a greater right to be in Carroll Gardens than I do. It was here before I was, and has been there for decades. And the scent, to me, represents a part of the character and heritage of the neighborhood, as well as signifying the labors of a family business with deep roots in the neighborhood. The yuppie newbies who complain about it are the sort of people who give gentrification a bad name. They should close the newly replace windows on their $3-million brownstones, give their designer clothes an extra dry-cleaning and politely shut up.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to El Quijote"?

Twenty-four years in New York and I finally made it into El Quijote. What took me so long? I don't know. Something about the joint always seemed a bit cheesy to me. Maybe I associated it too much with the too-bohemian-by-half residents of the Chelsea Hotel. Also, the prices didn't help. If the dining experience was going to be a miss, I would be out $50 in the experiment. Now, of course, I wish I hadn't been so standoffish. El Quijote has a lovely, frozen-in-time interior and not bad food at all. Here's my Eater write-up:

Who Goes There? El Quijote

El Quijote is one of those restaurants you pass by a hundred times, occasionally peering into a darkened window as if into a mysterious cave, but rarely go inside. Because, you know, that cave's always gonna be there. One can go spelunking another day.

But El Quijote, which was founded in 1930, may not be as permanently affixed to 23rd Street as we'd all like to hope. It is, after all, taking up ground floor space in the historic Chelsea Hotel, which is now owned by real estate developer Joseph Chetrit. The plans for the old hotel are not clear, but most expect the spaces inside will be converted to condos. Either way, there are few people living inside the landmark anymore, according to my bartender.

The fact that there are empty rooms above has not hurt El Quijote's business. Its base of regulars runs wide and deep throughout lower Manhattan. "We've been here for 80 years," said the maitre d' simply, indicating with a shrug that my question required no answer. On a recent Wednesday, the lane of tables and booths on the front room's western end was quickly filled up with twosomes and foursome: old, young, friends, married, work colleagues. Those who arrived late or without reserved tables were exiled to the Siberias of the Cervantes Room and Dulcinea Room. The restaurant, as you can tell from those names, goes in for the Don Quixote schtick in a big way; the west wall mural is all windmills and dozens of Man of La Mancha statuettes clutter the shelf above the bar. Back in 1967,New York Times restaurant critic Craig Claiborne was already commenting on the joint's "certain tawdry appeal."

Not willing to accept a table in the back rooms, I decided to eat at the bar. I felt like I was in a scene from a Douglas Sirk film. El Quijote is a calming place. The ceiling are high and the lights are low. The waiters wear black jackets, and the muzak soundtrack never ventures past the hit parade of 1960.

My bartender was ignorant of many of the mainly meat and seafood choices on the menu. He only knew what he liked, and he liked "to eat heavy." He recommended the sirloin tips for an appetizer. They came on a sizzling pan, with plenty of hot peppers and were not bad at all. Also quite decent was the crab cake, "from a recipe by owner Manny Ramirez" (the director of my "dining fantasy," the menu told me). It was moist and tender almost to the edge of soppiness.

Less impressive was the Margarita, which the eatery boasts is the best in town. It is, in fact, only average. They do, however, let you choose your tequila. (Once upon a time, the restaurant used to send up Margaritas to the residents of the hotel.) Also to avoid is the "Secret Sangria," which derives from a "coveted recipe." I saw the coveted recipe in action. It involves the bartender upending any stray red wine dregs into a plastic pitcher. I did not see anyone order the "Daily Double," in which $33 buys a person two one-and-a-quarter-pound lobsters; or the 56 oz. porterhouse steak. The bartender said he once saw a man eat the latter all by himself.

—Brooks of Sheffield

New Marco Polo Partly Revealed

Marco Polo Ristorante, the Carroll Gardens landmark that is undergoing a makeover, has partly revealed its new look. The faux fieldstone frontage has been removed in favor a faux hacienda thing. Not sure if it's better. Just different. The subdued hand-painted sign, however, is a major change from the former red neon. I assume there's an awning on the way.