I read Wright Thompson’s fantastic Pappyland a few weeks ago, and something that kept crawling through my mind was how the best things take time to get good. In Julian Van Winkle’s case, and the case of people who make spirits or wine that people will pay top dollar for, time is really the most important ingredient. Age ain’t nothing but a number, as Aaliyah said; but it is when you’re looking at a bottle of bourbon.
The same could be said of diners, and it was 100 percent true of Eisenberg’s.
If you aren’t familiar, Eisenberg’s was a diner. Some people said it was a Jewish deli because of the name and because they served OK pastrami, but it wasn’t. Eisenberg’s was really defined by the things it wasn’t. Most notably, it wasn’t really mind-blowing or anything like that. It had old-school charm that maybe drew some curious Flatiron shoppers in, but I don’t recall anybody besides my own circle of fish melt fans and lovers of NYC institutions really ever talking about it as having anything that would particularly blow your mind out of your skull. And that’s why it was perfect. You didn’t need to expect anything. It was just a diner and it was really good at being that. I said basically the same thing on Twitter yesterday, but I would sit in Eisenberg’s for hours just reading or writing, ordering a coffee, then realizing I could use some soup, then maybe a sandwich and a soda, then some more coffee, and suddenly five hours had passed. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have that at Eisenberg’s or anywhere else for that matter.
Eisenberg’s is supposedly closed now. The whole story is a little weird and murky, about how it has been owned by the son of the founder of Warwick Hotels for the last few years, but he stopped paying rent when the pandemic started and seems he has just left the place to die. According to Chris Crowley at Grub Street, “the owner had moved the menu out to San Francisco,” to one of his father’s hotels, but that just makes me think of the scene in Beetlejuice where Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis are walking down that hallway and they look into that window where the souls of ghosts whose souls had been exercised go. “That’s death for the dead,” an old janitor tells them. That’s sort of how this feels.
It shouldn’t be that way. None of this should be this way. But Eisenberg’s, which was always pretty busy when I stopped in, deserved better. It was a great spot, one that, in my mind, was as important to its neighborhood as the building it’s named after (that’s the Flatiron, in case you weren’t paying attention). It was far from perfect, but it was literally always there. Since 1929, it was exactly what you needed. It aged perfectly and, I think, could have kept going if the whole last horrible year hadn’t have happened. But it did. And places like Eisenberg’s all over the country have closed up. We’ve lost a few generations worth of places that deserved better. And that, maybe even more than the fact that a place I loved and frequented for nearly 20 years is gone is what keeps me up: it’s going to take us decades to get back places like Eisenberg’s. It takes years and years of being exactly what people need, and lots of perseverance, through good times and bad, to make it that long. And Eisenberg’s made it through a World War, the 1960s, NYC falling apart in the 1970s and 9/11. That’s a ton of history that you can’t just up and build. Places need time to age. Eisenberg’s had that, and now it’s all gone.
Empty Your Pockets
Something I’ve found very enjoyable to look at are the occasional “What’s in my pocket” photos from L'étiquette. They’re just always done so incredibly well.
I don’t have a ton of words to spill out about these simple little photos of the stuff people keep in their pockets or bag or whatever. I just like to look at them. I think what you carry on you says a lot. In fact, I think some people don’t carry enough stuff on them. I think what draws me to these photos is that the people they pick always get it just right. Like, sure, it’s styled and all that, but I like knowing people carry sunscreen along with a Dunhill lighter or their passport and hand sanitizer.
As for me, I tend to change my wallet out every two years or so. My new one comes from Maison de Sabre, and I’ve taken to no longer carrying it in my back pocket, making me think it’s probably time to switch to a money clip or maybe a credit card holder or something. I’ve always always got at least two different kinds of lip balm, my keys, a notebook, a book and possibly a magazine, a Swiss army knife, hand sanitizer, a glasses case with my regular glasses if I’m wearing my sunglasses out, and a handkerchief. I always, carry these things in a bag, never my pockets, so I guess I’m disqualified from ever doing this.
Whitney Houston's Prog Rock No Wave Banger
At some point last year I started using Spotify in place of a used record store that I could physically buy records I’d never heard before from. This isn’t something I hope will last forever, but given the fact that I couldn’t go anywhere made me more dependent on the app than I’m comfortable with admitting. I also found myself reading and taking suggestions from more music blogs, especially New Commute, Aquarium Drunkard and The Quietus. I bought plenty of records in the last year, don’t get me wrong; but I’ve also been really focused on learning about new stuff in a far less expensive manner than dropping hundreds on LPs that I might not even like. Spotify has its many issues, but for me, if I really like something, I’m going to want to own it. I’m obviously a drop in the ocean, but if I find an album on there I like, I’m probably going to buy the record.
Of course, with older stuff, that’s sometimes tricky. Stuff on Discogs or eBay could go for a lot more money than I’m comfortable spending, so unless there’s a reissue floating around out there, then it’s likely I’m going to listen to older stuff on Spotify.
Which leads me to one of the best things I discovered in the last year. And I don’t mean I discovered it like nobody else knew it was there. I’m sure plenty of people knew about it, but somehow I didn’t. I say somehow because it really has a number of things I love all mixed into one. Namely a dual connection to the Canterbury prog rock scene and the downtown No Wave world I love so much, but most importantly, Archie Shepp and Whitney Houston.
Yeah, that’s right. It’s Whitney covering “Memories,” a song you might be familiar with if you’re familiar with the Soft Machine or other projects featuring Hugh Hopper and/or Robert Wyatt. It’s one of my favorite songs, specifically Wyatt’s version he did as a B-side in 1973. It’s Hopper’s song, but Wyatt’s version is my favorite.
I should say it was my favorite. The teenage Houston’s version with Shepp’s sax is perfection in my mind, and shows up as the seventh track on the 1982 album One Down by the band Material. I might do something longer on how this version came to be, but, man, it’s incredible.