The Big Apple gentrification blitzkrieg has adversely impacted
almost every working class and industrial outer-borough neighborhood
with the permanent disappearance of those independently-owned, sometimes
quirky and eccentric, establishments whether they were restaurants,
cafes, drug stores, tailors, dry cleaners, shoe repair, "butchers,
bakers and candlestick makers" because of obscene rent increases. Their
replacements are the over-priced, cookie-cutter design, corporate chain
stores that appeals to the monied transient conformist lemmings.
Although I suffer severe bouts of profound nostalgia, a sort of New York fado for things lost forever, there is a glimmer of redemption in this destruction. I'm referring specifically to my particular personal haunts such as Florent and Hogs & Heifers in the meat-packing district, when it was a bondafide meat-packing district. Both of which debuted in the 1980s when only the most intrepid souls dared to venture into this verifiable real-life Blade Runner territory.
This same perspective can be applied to another personal classic culinary and architectural gem in the original Empire Diner, the beacon of West Chelsea, located within a half block of the then abandoned High Line. As the ultimate film noir venue with live piano performances serving comfort food at comfort prices, it was located near the nearby edgy independent galleries.
Ironically a deeper tragedy would have taken place if those memorable venues in these neighborhoods had somehow remained among the tectonic urban changes from meat-packing to tourist-packing boutiques, restaurants, bar/lounges, the High Line and the new corporate art temple, the Whitney Museum.
In other words even if the owners could have afforded and maintained the original character, grit, menu and affordable prices, the venues would be nothing more than a pitiful shell of its former self, a pathetic sellout to a new breed of unappreciative customers, trust-fund kids, and corporate types who would crowd-out even frighten the longtime loyal customers.
The entire existence of these venues was to serve as a refuge from corporate conformity and revel in an authentic urban venue which is opposite of the newcomers who want things safe, predictable and worst of all enjoy being told what to like and what to do. The old-timers want edginess, dynamics and independence.
These venues were just a sample of the everyman's and everywoman's fond memories of a bygone era. And luckily they've retained their dignity in their demise unlike the iconic athlete who didn't need the money but embarrassingly hung on far too long with greatly diminished skills that tarnished his reputation.
Although I suffer severe bouts of profound nostalgia, a sort of New York fado for things lost forever, there is a glimmer of redemption in this destruction. I'm referring specifically to my particular personal haunts such as Florent and Hogs & Heifers in the meat-packing district, when it was a bondafide meat-packing district. Both of which debuted in the 1980s when only the most intrepid souls dared to venture into this verifiable real-life Blade Runner territory.
This same perspective can be applied to another personal classic culinary and architectural gem in the original Empire Diner, the beacon of West Chelsea, located within a half block of the then abandoned High Line. As the ultimate film noir venue with live piano performances serving comfort food at comfort prices, it was located near the nearby edgy independent galleries.
Ironically a deeper tragedy would have taken place if those memorable venues in these neighborhoods had somehow remained among the tectonic urban changes from meat-packing to tourist-packing boutiques, restaurants, bar/lounges, the High Line and the new corporate art temple, the Whitney Museum.
In other words even if the owners could have afforded and maintained the original character, grit, menu and affordable prices, the venues would be nothing more than a pitiful shell of its former self, a pathetic sellout to a new breed of unappreciative customers, trust-fund kids, and corporate types who would crowd-out even frighten the longtime loyal customers.
The entire existence of these venues was to serve as a refuge from corporate conformity and revel in an authentic urban venue which is opposite of the newcomers who want things safe, predictable and worst of all enjoy being told what to like and what to do. The old-timers want edginess, dynamics and independence.
These venues were just a sample of the everyman's and everywoman's fond memories of a bygone era. And luckily they've retained their dignity in their demise unlike the iconic athlete who didn't need the money but embarrassingly hung on far too long with greatly diminished skills that tarnished his reputation.
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By Albert Goldson
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