Lost City Asks "Who Goes to The Famous Oyster Bar?"

I thought, by finally dining at The Famous Oyster Bar, I might crack this mystery of a restaurant, which has dumbfounded me for 25 years. Who owns it? How have they managed to hang on to this prime piece of real estate (54th Street and Seventh Avenue) for more than 50 years? Do they own the building? What's their secret? I have been able to uncover little on my own, because it seems that no one has ever written the story of the longstanding restaurant, in either newspaper or guidebook form.

But I left discovering only that the place has been owned by the same Greek family since 1959 and has always been in the same location. There are no framed reviews or stories on the walls that would have told me more. And the waitresses are not forthcoming.

After digging through newspaper archives and finding nothing about the Famous Oyster Bar prior to the 1980s (the results of health inspections, mainly), I begin to doubt the joint's story. Maybe it didn't open in 1959. Since the idea of it's being a "famous" restaurant is obviously a fantasy, maybe the owners also made up the founding date. The only think dissuading me from this theory are the neon signs, the only thing about the Oyster Bar that does look like it's been there since 1959.

I'll get to the bottom of this one if it's the last thing I do. In the meantime, here's my Eater column:

Who Goes There? The Famous Oyster Bar

This year, the Grand Central Oyster Bar has collected pallets of publicity in connection to its 100th anniversary. Meanwhile, the restaurant that calls itselfThe Famous Oyster Bar, which has been sitting on the same Midtown corner for more than half a century, continues its habit of attracting near zero notice decade after decade.

Having lived in New York for some time, I usually enter long-standing restaurants with some basic knowledge of their history and reputation. But The Famous Oyster Bar has stumped me for 20 years. I've often paused outside it to admire the classic postwar neon signs screaming "Oyster Bar" and "Sea Food." But I've never known anyone who ate there; never read a review of the place; never found it written up in any New York food guides, past or present. I've often wondered where they got the chutzpah to call themselves The Famous Oyster Bar (certainly, that wasn't the joint's original name), when the Grand Central is, by any measure, galactically more celebrated.

I have no doubt that many a tourist wanders into the strategically placed restaurant under the misapprehension that they are in the Grand Central Oyster Bar. And you do get mainly tourists here, most of them seemingly happening upon the place by chance. Judging by their unfamiliarity with the surroundings and the menu, there were few second-timers in attendance the night I recently dined there. The joint does get some local traffic, however; a couple of theatre professional were talking business at one table. And one guy at the bar didn't look like he was going anywhere.

With the South Street Seaport institution Carmine's having shuttered in 2010, The Famous Oyster Bar can safely lay claim to the most kitschy nautical decor in the city. A life preserver reading "Oyster Bar" hangs on the wall. There's a Titanic model under glass. Sea shells adorn the ceiling and there's a maritime mural along one wall. The menu is replete with seafood. It's the kind of place that still does Oysters Rockefeller and Lobster Newberg. Prices are typically Times Square: that is, expensive. Seafood is pricey, of course. But this isn't good seafood. The oysters were passable, but the clams were rubbery. And the soft shells crabs only acceptable. On the plus side, the service was unflaggingly friendly and attentive.

I couldn't find out much more about the history of the joint, except this: it has been run by the same Greek family since opening in 1959, and has always been at the same location. According to Internet records, the owner is one Angelo Agnonostopoulo. Finally, I have to point out that, for a place that goes by the name The Famous Oyster Bar, it's odd that they had only two selections: Blue Point and Wellfleet. The restaurant also has no raw bar. So, technically speaking, it's not only not famous, it's also not an oyster bar.

Nice neon, though.

—Brooks of Sheffield

A Memory of Old Ludlow Street

Found among the comments on an item I wrote about the changes on Ludlow Street back in 2008, from the actual owner of the once-popular Ludlow Street Cafe:

I owned The Ludlow Street Cafe and The Piano Store. I lived on Ludlow St. since 1967 and Jack Forster worked for me (Hi Jack) and was right about the guns and that it was NOT a job for a guy just out of college! (Hey Gaby we NEVER sold a piano? We sold lots of pianos!) Before gentrification got out of control it was fun. The block is now unbearable--not then. We had 3 bands a night 7 nights a week. The food was good and it was cheap. Girls would bend over garbage cans--we kept the backyard dark. Drug dealers provided something wanted--if they sold in the bathrooms they were fine. We had no C of O--our legal limit was 74. Fri/Sat night we'd have well over 200 people. They never bothered us for it but clocked us $1,500 for selling a beer to a cop who looked 30. The brunch was first-rate. It was all fun and firsts and I feel responsible for bailing when I did--if it had kept it's rough edges Ludlow St. might have survived. We NEEDED the bodegas selling bags of dope 8-Balls of coke on 

A Good Sign: York Deli

Just the Pepsi sign, I mean, not the awning. Bold. Simple. In Yorkville.

A Perfect Storefront: 3 Star Deli & Grocery

I haven't done one of these features in a while, but I couldn't pass up the chance to showcase this little York Avenue gem of a storefront. It's the old-school signage that primarily makes it, of course. (That sort of sign that lists exciting attractions found inside like "Newspapers, Hot Coffee..," etc., never gets old.) The seven-digit phone number, hanging sign and happy riot of color (blue facade, red awning, yellow sign) all contribute to the charm. The cryptic "Peaceful Deli" written on the awning adds a bit of mystery. And the name's not to be discounted. 3 Star Deli & Grocery. I guess that's according to a three-star rating system, right?

Here are some previous "Perfect Storefront" features. Looking back, I've posted more than I thought.

Furniture on Fifth

The Hutwelker Building is a handsome, simple, red-brick, four-story structure on Fifth Avenue and 19th Street in the South Slope. You'll see it's odd name—and that it was erected in 1896—if you crane your neck and look up to the cornice. And, if your eye is sharp, you spy what sort of business it used to hold from a darkened, barely noticeable, vertical sign running down the corner edge: Furniture.

Charles Hutwelker was not in the furniture business, but the wholesale grocery business. He started a meat packing business in Brooklyn in 1884 and was prosperous enough to build a couple large cold storage buildings up on Hall Street in 1909 and 1919. Hutwelker died in 1924. At some point after that the building became a furniture store. Apparently, this stretch of Fifth was once a furniture mecca of sorts; another one-time huge furniture store sits right across the street.

The building was renovated about a decade ago. It's now filled with smarmy, expensive loft apartments. 

A Taste of Bay Ridge in Park Slope

I was surprised the other day, walking down Fifth Avenue in the South Slope, to spot a familiar blue and yellow awning I had been used to seeing in Bay Ridge. It was unmistakably Leske's Bakery, a Swedish icon from the southern edges of Brooklyn which, after briefly closing in 2011, was bought by new owners and reopened. Now, it seems, the owners are intent on expanding. This new outpost is the first of what a clerk told me the owners hope will be a few new Leske's around the city. It's a nice turnaround for a classic Brooklyn business that very recently was on the brink of extinction.

The layout inside is very similar to that of the Bay Ridge store, with the counter and shelves of delicacies to the left as you walk in. I had a black and white cookie, and an almond danish, both of which were fresh and delicious. (I'm not a fan of the iconic black and white city, but I will agree with what others have said, that this is the best example in the city.) I had been unaware of the Leske's tradition of serving free coffee from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. every day, but apparently this is so.

After 128 Years, Block Drugs Expanding

You can always depend on Block Drugs. No matter how much the East Village changes, no matter how many stores come and go and Second Avenue, the 128-year-old corner druggist with the huge neon sign is always there at the southwest corner of Second and 6th Street.

Until now. No, Block isn't going away. It's actually expanding. A sign behind the roller shutter of the building beside it tells us "Block's Vision Care" is "Coming Soon." What a pleasant surprise that one of the city's oldest small businesses is thriving and growing, rather than shrinking and disappearing.

The drug store is currently owned by Carmine Palermo, whose father bought the business in 1962. According to a past article, the business was supposed to open in April. Obviously, it's taking a little more time.