The Greek's in West Harlem

Tuesday, June 16th, 2009.
The weather cool and breezy like heaven might be, I cruised across Amsterdam Avenue after picking up a scribbled-upon resume in the neon-lit Career Center at City College. The local restaurant & diner run by a few beautifully wrinkled Greeks with quietly laboring Mexican men, looking almost abandoned with the blinds partly drawn, and its decomposing but endearing white plastic signage over the door declaring that it is just that, The Greek's Collegiate Restaurant, waited on the other side of the thoroughfare. I had to grab something to nosh on before heading down to Williamsburg to tutor for that one tiring hour, and to prep myself for the phone interview for an internship but 2 hours off.

Some concerted searching for information on The Greek's on Google today only yielded a couple of happy recommendations of the souvlaki and pea soup, and a grieved declaration that the restaurant was facing an end to its days soon if the landlord would not let them renew their lease. The prospect of renewal, from what I read, seemed dark. But my experiences there are bright.

This local joint is a special place. Thriving, with bells dinging and plates clinking and feet shuffling along the linoleum floor, The Greek's, as I've come to know it from hearing the name tossed around the City College Campus, is an establishment with a real 1940's Midtown Manhattan diner look to it. From the fading sign outside to the rotating stools at the counter where classic pastries wait under plastic, to the old waitresses in blue formless shirts who chat forcefully with one another in Greek, it seems of another time and place. That's why it stands out, for it does not blend with the block where it sits, flanked by auto repair shops, bodegas, and little arroz con pollo y platanos type restaurants serving up classic food from the DR. Nor does it resemble at all the new cafes, products of gentrification and the New Harlem "Renaissance" (real-estate boom), such as Cafe One across the street, or the block of new restaurants, including Tres Pasos, over by the 1 train stop on Broadway.

So it's interesting to sit in The Greek's, watching Dominican girls go by, chatting and gesturing like mad, while the inside bubbles with a diversity of races, styles of dress, and accents. From above my vegetable omelette and steaming mug o' tea, I observe students, young and unknowing, an asian girl and a black guy in a smart casual work outfit sitting at a table in the back, thin, shaved-headed white guys going and coming, and a West Indian woman approaches the counter beside me to pick up her order. She drops a straw onto my mug of tea accidently while grabbing something, and I make a joke about how I'm going to start sipping hot tea through a straw from now on, and she chuckles like Misses Clause. The atmophere is jovial, and the youngish Greek men at the cash register recieve all the customers with the same "How you doin' today miss/sir?" and the old waitresses give them all the same slow, soft smile regardless. All come and go in this spot with pretenses dropped, and the Greeks just keep on doing business. And as well they should, I thought to myself, as I hopped from my beat stool and dropped six bucks on the counter for a big veggie omelette with home fries and a delicious mug of tea, and the cashier grabbed it and rung it up on the ancient register with a real bell and a lever to open the cash drawer.

I hope they can keep on forever. They're a real piece of history, sittin' on a hill in Harlem.