Eisenberg's, a door to the past, reopens as S & P
Sandwich mavens Eric Finkelstein and Matt Ross of Court Street Grocers bring over 90 years of lunch-counter memories back to life.
When I heard that Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop had closed, I feared the worst.
Had the Flatiron District institution that had outlasted the Great Depression and Shake Shack mania succumbed to the pandemic upheaval? Were the honest sandwiches, Jewish-American flavours and folksy warmth of a New York lunch counter cherished by generations of lonely souls lost forever?
I’d mourned the disappearances of the Garden Cafeteria, Dubrow’s Cafeteria, Moshe’s Luncheonette, the Automat, and Cafe Edison. Not you too Eisenberg’s?
When a message taped to the papered-over front window offered hope that Eisenberg’s had found a savior, again I feared the worst. It’s what I do best.
If there were indeed new owners, could they be trusted? Would this be a loving restoration or a dreaded reinvention? Would the tuna sandwiches be prepared and served with the same care that always made the most basic things seem extraordinary?
I revealed my fears in a video I posted on Facebook and soon found comfort from a kind stranger in the comments section:
If I understood Larry Finkelstein correctly, he was basically saying that the individual who was going to reopen the door to Eisenberg’s was someone you could trust. A mensch, no doubt. A mensch who knew his tuna fish. Or was it possible I was reading a little too much into the comment?
It turns out Larry is the father of one of the two sandwich mavens behind the much loved Court Street Grocers, with three locations in Brooklyn and one in Greenwich Village. In restoring the old lunch counter at 174 Fifth Avenue, Eric Finkelstein and Matt Ross have reopened a door to the past.
I first wrote about Eisenberg’s for the New York Daily News in the mid-1980s:
Stepping inside the shop, with its long marble counter, soft light, high ceiling and dated fixtures, is like walking into an Edward Hopper painting.
How fitting Eisenberg’s rebirth this autumn as S&P has coincided with the opening of the Edward Hopper’s New York exhibition at the Whitney Museum. Hopper knew all about loneliness in the big city. He portrayed the solitude of New Yorkers seated at a diner counter or a cafeteria table with great poignancy.
“He reserved his greatest affection for the unexceptional,” wrote art historian and Hopper scholar Avis Berman, “drawing satisfaction from things that stayed as they were.”
Finkelstein and Ross could relate. The leaseholders of a legacy set about to preserve features that had lasted for the better part of a century, even as they couldn’t get permission to keep the most prominent one. The trademarked name Eisenberg’s had been withheld by the shop’s previous owner, hence their adoption of a new identity that reinstates a long forgotten one: The initials S & P last fronted these premises in 1928.
In our Q & A, Finkelstein revealed how determined he and Ross have been to ensure S & P measured up to the memory of Eisenberg’s. The interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
With Court Street Grocers you and Matt created your own thing. Here on a historic stretch of Fifth Avenue you have the pressure of preserving something mythical. Was that masochistic on your part?
We didn’t realise it was so masochistic or crazy at first. We wanted to do it because we knew that, most likely, the person who was going to take over this space was going to tear out most of what makes it special. We wanted to make sure it was preserved in some way. We felt that New York would be worse without it.
Were the first reactions encouraging?
When we were building up, people would pop their head in and say:
‘When are you guys opening?’
‘In a few months.’
‘Oh, thank God, because there’s no place around here to eat.’
You walk to 23rd Street, every storefront for the full half-mile is a restaurant. 22nd street is full of restaurants. But for whatever reason, people feel like they’re in a desert of places to eat.
Why do you suppose they feel that way?
There are not places that are amenable to people who are dining alone. There used to be a lot of places like this. It’s a place where you can come by yourself and get an honest meal. There are a lot of places up and down the street that are conceived of as being one of many, or test cases for a potential worldwide expansion. There are not many places that are just trying to serve something good.
Edward Hopper portrayed isolation and sadness in his paintings and yet we take great joy from them. Here at Eisenberg’s it’s kind of a lonely hearts club and yet we love to be here.
We’ll see somebody sitting at the counter looking miserable. We’ll go over to them and say, sorry, is there something we can do? And they’ll say, I’m just so happy to be here [laughs]. I think it’s the same reason people smile when they come here. It’s warm. The other day a nine-year-old came in with his family. He looked up and said, I think I’m going to like it here!
Some New Yorkers can be impossible to please. Nostalgia is in our blood. I imagine you answering to kibitzers insisting nothing is like it used to be.
We were just looking at your book [The Under $15 Good Eating Guide] from 1989, where you talk about this being a blast from the past. That was 33 years ago. I’ve seen articles from the 70s about this place and it being a throwback. People attached all this nostalgia to it. But it’s always been just a honest lunch counter.
We hear things: The tuna melt used to be bigger. That kind if thing. One of the things that’s not food-related that a lot of people say is: Why do you have to play music in here? They never had music at Eisenberg’s. Jodi has been here for 14 years. And she said there was music every day she worked here.
Our seltzer man, he’s third generation. He supplies us with our syrups as well. He can’t stop complaining about how this Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup is nothing like the one he grew up with. This one doesn’t mix with milk correctly. It doesn’t taste right… [laughs]
How do you respond?
When it comes to the music, I don’t know why – I probably shouldn’t – but I always say, you’re misremembering. This place had music. When it comes to the food, I just say we’re trying our best.
Then you’re sympathetic?
When I think back to when I used to come here towards the end, my expectations were not always met by this place, but I still loved being here. There are a few people from the old staff that are still working here, giving us access to the way they did things at Eisenberg’s. But we decided we would rebuild all the recipes based on our memories of what Eisenberg’s was, instead of basing them on what Eisenberg’s made. That’s what we’re sort of chasing when we’re trying all these rye breads and pastramis and corned beefs. The sign-making standards. The orange drink that I never had. We’re trying to have a place that lives up to the memory of what this place was.
That apparently includes an iceberg lettuce revival. You’re laying it on a number of your classic sandwiches and burgers.
If you talk to people in Los Angeles who go to The Apple Pan or In-N-Out, they genuinely love those burgers [both are topped with iceberg lettuce]. I think there were 30 years where if those people who loved those burgers opened their own burger restaurant, maybe they wouldn’t use the iceberg. I don’t think there was ever a time when people didn’t like iceberg lettuce. There is a period of time when we thought we didn’t like iceberg lettuce.
Iceberg lettuce is a timeless thing. Chopped liver and corned beef are timeless. That’s what we’re trying to do here: Capture those timeless foods that have gone away by virtue of there being someone convincing people that there’s a better way to do it.
How does your approach to New York lunch-counter classics differ from that of traditional diners and coffee shops that are managing to survive?
Many diners have shifted to a model where people get all of their supplies from one vendor. Efficiency is more important than quality or honesty in the food. We get our pickles from one guy, our corned beef from one another guy and our rye bread from another guy. That’s the only way to make sure that each of these things stay good.
We’re trying to do everything the best we can. There are some things that we still need to work on. What we want to do is set this place on a course where we can finalise all of these recipes and then just let it ride for another 100 years [laughs].
How did you come up with the Mel Brooks sandwich?
A friend sent us a New Yorker article about Mel Brooks, where he talks about what he orders in a deli. It’s a turkey sandwich with one slice of corned beef, coleslaw, Russian dressing and mustard. We loved the idea and decided we were going to do it even before trying it. As we were getting ready to open we assembled all the ingredients and it was just a perfect sandwich. It turns out it’s my favourite thing.
Does Mel Brooks actually prefer the high turkey-to-corned beef ratio as a matter of taste? Or is it due to a health concern?
I’m going to assume it’s a health issue [laughs].