The Strand Bookstore
The Strand was founded in 1927 and has occupied this choice spot on lower Broadway since 1957. Iconic doesn’t describe the half of it. The Strand used to boast of “18 miles of books,” and we have fond memories of meandering through its disheveled, dusty rows that had everything you could possibly want — and then some. The store has been remodeled in recent years, with a more modern floor design, lots of light and space to browse. We won’t wax nostalgic about the old Strand. This bookstore is still great!
The Galleries of Henry Street
Artists and those who display their works need cheap rent, and although nothing is cheap in Manhattan anymore, the best value might be on Henry Street, down here on the southern edge of Chinatown hard by the Manhattan Bridge.
We go to 56 Henry Street because that is the name of the gallery that is displaying ceramic pots we want to see, but the display — called Pot Shop — is not at 56 Henry Street for some reason but rather at 105 Henry Street, which we have difficulty finding because there is no signage outside. When we do find the gallery, the two employees who work there, once we get them to look up from their laptops, tell us that they put a sign outside a week ago but it was quickly covered with stickers from Chinatown street entrepreneurs.
Here is nostalgia, finally, washing over us as we recognize the unique dysfunction that once was New York City. Could Henry Street be the next Spring Street, raffish and underpopulated now but soon to be cool and impossible to afford?
And Pot Shop? Very interesting. We almost buy a pot.
The Bar Room at the Beekman
It’s time for a drink after all that runaround. The Beekman Hotel is close by in the Financial District, styling itself as a taste of old New York, but it’s really a modern sort of place, with a large area serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner at low, casual tables (though nothing casual about the prices) and a bar along one wall dishing up craft cocktails. Farther from the entrance is the cool section, above which rises a nine-floor atrium. Much is made of this space with its used books and throw pillows, but we think it would benefit from more separation from the rest. Still, a good place for a drink downtown.
The Mysterious Bookshop
We’re early for our dinner reservation at Frenchette, which is a 20-minute walk away in Tribeca, so we dawdle along the streets and accidentally stumble on a place called the Mysterious Bookshop on Warren Street, selling mystery and suspense books exclusively, with an entire section devoted to Sherlock Holmes. We hang out for a few minutes and then continue to the restaurant.
Frenchette
Something has gone awry with our dinner reservation. The restaurant thinks we cancelled it but seats us anyway because we’re early. We get the perfect server, experienced and quick to share the information he’s stored over the years, though we do miss the New York servers from our youth, haughty and arrogant, as if we weren’t quite good enough to dine there. They amused us no end.
The menu gets a complete rundown (“the steak is good but where else are you going to get duck au poivre?”), and we settle in, enjoying both the food and the bustle of servers and fellow diners.
A day well spent.