Photo by Kat Carney
Restaurants, like people, sometimes vanish. Or they reinvent themselves. Fortunately, the Italian eatery La Vineria has reemerged at Ninth Avenue and 50th Street—good news for every foodie on a budget—which is pretty much everyone these days.
La Vineria, an innocuous gem, was wedged in near the swanky Shoreham Hotel on West 55th Street. After my first meal there several years ago, it became my civic duty to direct guidebook-clutching tourists away from pricier Midtown eateries to this fabulous, no-frills Italian fave. But after 15 years, as I hustled off this past October to a new freelance gig, instead of finding a warm glow behind the restaurant’s half-moon shaped window, the glass was smeared with cold, white paint. Not even a “Closed for Renovation” sign to soften the blow. I went into mourning.
Three months later, on a bitter January afternoon, I decided to sample a new patisserie on 10th Avenue and West 46th Street I’d read about. (What can I say? These days food is more reliable than sex.) And the ruby-red sign of an Italian restaurant winked at me from the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 50th Street. I read the menu, and its appeal was noted but I was craving an almond brioche. As I turned to leave, a culinary memory exploded.
“Did you guys use to be on West 55th Street?” I asked the hostess.
The dark-haired, elegantly dressed woman beamed and replied: “Yes we were!”
“I thought I’d lost you for good!” My bellow attracted a man from behind the bar, his chest puffed out like a cannoli. “You remember us, hon?”
“Sure. A restaurant off Fifth Avenue that served brick-oven pizza. I loved your place. It was always filled with Italians.”
He glowed. “You remember it well,” he said. “The building was sold, so we had to move.” He grabbed a menu and danced it in front of my eyes: “How about lunch?”
I looked around the sunlit, spacious room; the light bounced off the brick wall just right. But my lunch furlough was almost up, and I still had French treats to score. I took a pass. “Then come back soon,” he said and slid a brick-red business card into my palm.
A month later, I did. La Vineria’s was the perfect place before an evening performance of Speed the Plow with William H. Macy. (Too bad Jeremy Piven didn’t stick to pasta instead of sushi.)
The new location doesn’t allow for a brick oven, which is a loss, but it’s twice the square footage of the former space, which includes a bar area. A fresh bread assortment was served, accompanied by lentils in a red pepper spiced olive oil for dipping. I welcomed the reunion.
As I nibbled fresh focaccia and studied the menu I received an assist from a 12-year-old at the next table: “The broccoli soup is really good.”
It had to be. What kid recommends a vegetable soup? Rich in flavor and not cream, the soup vanished quickly, and was followed by a Lasagna Bolognese: thin sheets of pasta, layered with cheese and a slow-cooked meat sauce in an elegant brown crock, a dead ringer for a dish made by a friend’s mother back in Italy. My plan was to eat half and take home the remainder. The plan failed.
After a second glass of Montepulciano (very nice, and only nine bucks) I dove into the dessert menu. When you are fortunate enough to reunite with an old friend, counting calories or carbs isn’t allowed.
> La Vineria
737 Ninth Ave. (betw. W. 49th & W. 50th Sts.)
212-247-3400
La Vineria, an innocuous gem, was wedged in near the swanky Shoreham Hotel on West 55th Street. After my first meal there several years ago, it became my civic duty to direct guidebook-clutching tourists away from pricier Midtown eateries to this fabulous, no-frills Italian fave. But after 15 years, as I hustled off this past October to a new freelance gig, instead of finding a warm glow behind the restaurant’s half-moon shaped window, the glass was smeared with cold, white paint. Not even a “Closed for Renovation” sign to soften the blow. I went into mourning.
Three months later, on a bitter January afternoon, I decided to sample a new patisserie on 10th Avenue and West 46th Street I’d read about. (What can I say? These days food is more reliable than sex.) And the ruby-red sign of an Italian restaurant winked at me from the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 50th Street. I read the menu, and its appeal was noted but I was craving an almond brioche. As I turned to leave, a culinary memory exploded.
“Did you guys use to be on West 55th Street?” I asked the hostess.
The dark-haired, elegantly dressed woman beamed and replied: “Yes we were!”
“I thought I’d lost you for good!” My bellow attracted a man from behind the bar, his chest puffed out like a cannoli. “You remember us, hon?”
“Sure. A restaurant off Fifth Avenue that served brick-oven pizza. I loved your place. It was always filled with Italians.”
He glowed. “You remember it well,” he said. “The building was sold, so we had to move.” He grabbed a menu and danced it in front of my eyes: “How about lunch?”
I looked around the sunlit, spacious room; the light bounced off the brick wall just right. But my lunch furlough was almost up, and I still had French treats to score. I took a pass. “Then come back soon,” he said and slid a brick-red business card into my palm.
A month later, I did. La Vineria’s was the perfect place before an evening performance of Speed the Plow with William H. Macy. (Too bad Jeremy Piven didn’t stick to pasta instead of sushi.)
The new location doesn’t allow for a brick oven, which is a loss, but it’s twice the square footage of the former space, which includes a bar area. A fresh bread assortment was served, accompanied by lentils in a red pepper spiced olive oil for dipping. I welcomed the reunion.
As I nibbled fresh focaccia and studied the menu I received an assist from a 12-year-old at the next table: “The broccoli soup is really good.”
It had to be. What kid recommends a vegetable soup? Rich in flavor and not cream, the soup vanished quickly, and was followed by a Lasagna Bolognese: thin sheets of pasta, layered with cheese and a slow-cooked meat sauce in an elegant brown crock, a dead ringer for a dish made by a friend’s mother back in Italy. My plan was to eat half and take home the remainder. The plan failed.
After a second glass of Montepulciano (very nice, and only nine bucks) I dove into the dessert menu. When you are fortunate enough to reunite with an old friend, counting calories or carbs isn’t allowed.
> La Vineria
737 Ninth Ave. (betw. W. 49th & W. 50th Sts.)
212-247-3400
