Manganaro's to Tavola
Back in February we saw the gorgeous, heartbreakingly authentic (and scary to some) Manganaro's shutter after 119 years in business on 9th Avenue. The family that owned the place had had enough and we worried that a Subway or 7-11 might take its place.
On a recent walk by, I spotted a new sign: TAVOLA.
The sign is in the vertical style of the old Manganaro's sign, with a buff of faux rust to make it look old, and I wondered if the Dell'Orto sisters had decided to start up a new business. So I asked the neighbors.
"It's a new guy," I was told. "They're making brick-oven pizza."
The front has been completely redone, though in keeping with the antique look of the place. A peek at the inside, however, shows a total gutting. Honestly, I can't bear to look at it, all clean and bright.
I loved the old place so much--the long, dark walkway through festoons of hanging salami, into the back dining room with its little mismatched tables and chairs from the 1960s, the plastic-on-felt tablecloths, the crummy wood paneling, the big Toledo scale, the faded photographs of family members and forgotten movie stars. It was perfect.
Well. At least it's not another fucking 7-11. And, who knows, maybe you'll see a Dell'Orto sister or two once in awhile.
RIP
Previously:
Manganaro's Grosseria
Manganaro's Vanished
Manganaro's Gutted
Red-Sauce Joints
On a recent walk by, I spotted a new sign: TAVOLA.
The sign is in the vertical style of the old Manganaro's sign, with a buff of faux rust to make it look old, and I wondered if the Dell'Orto sisters had decided to start up a new business. So I asked the neighbors.
"It's a new guy," I was told. "They're making brick-oven pizza."
The front has been completely redone, though in keeping with the antique look of the place. A peek at the inside, however, shows a total gutting. Honestly, I can't bear to look at it, all clean and bright.
I loved the old place so much--the long, dark walkway through festoons of hanging salami, into the back dining room with its little mismatched tables and chairs from the 1960s, the plastic-on-felt tablecloths, the crummy wood paneling, the big Toledo scale, the faded photographs of family members and forgotten movie stars. It was perfect.
Well. At least it's not another fucking 7-11. And, who knows, maybe you'll see a Dell'Orto sister or two once in awhile.
RIP
Previously:
Manganaro's Grosseria
Manganaro's Vanished
Manganaro's Gutted
Red-Sauce Joints
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