The little Italian restaurant on New York’s 50th Street has passed on, replaced by something else. Just like so many other things lately.


I used to chuckle at aging folks who lamented the departure of some old institution —!\qa venerable store, a favorite restaurant, even a TV show that’s been on for years — but I’ve since come to understand their mentality. Because places and things long familiar to me are starting to change and disappear.


Cinquanta had anchored its spot near Manhattan’s tony Fifth Avenue since I don’t know when. I know I first ate there 15 or so years ago, and it was a mandatory stop every time I went to the Big Apple.


Despite its prime real estate address, it was unpretentious and inexpensive (for New York, anyway) and it was run by real Italians who made you feel you saved a bundle on plane fare to Rome every time you visited. I loved the interior: a long, narrow space that managed to be both stylish and cozy, decorated in a kind of art deco, like a private dining room on a chic Italian luxury liner.


I turned several people on to the place — enough that I would joke about the “Cult of Cinquanta.” I would get tormenting cell phone calls from friends vacationing in New York bragging “guess where I am.” We all knew about Silvio, the owner, and the hostess with her colorful wardrobe and keen memory (“I remember you ... I remember everything” she once said to me on a return visit). And, of course, there was dinner.


Or rather, the dinner: Veal Cinquanta, a thinly-pounded piece of veal, lightly breaded, with a squeeze of lemon over the top. That was it — a simple dish that tasted like a million dollars. Like the restaurant itself, I got friends hooked on that dish, as well, to the point where we just ended up ordering it every time (insert cell phone message: “Guess what I’m eating!”).


My last visit there was in July. I’m glad I went. One last time to wave the menu away and say “no need — I know what I want.” Then, a few weeks ago, came the fatal phone message from a friend visiting New York who was trying to contain his apoplexy: Cinquanta was gone.


This, in a year when Chicago’s Marshall Fields department store became Macy’s and they tore the rooftop sign off our own Watt & Shand building in downtown Lancaster. Yes, there are greater tragedies in the world, but these little losses have a way of adding up, until one day you do, indeed, become one of these old — or not so old — people who wonders where the world as they knew it went.


At least there’s comfort in good memories. So perhaps saying “rest in peace” to Cinquanta or the Marshall Fields name or the Watt & Shand sign is a rather grim farewell.


Let’s just say “arrivederci.”


Stephen Kopfinger is a Sunday News staff writer. Contact him at skopfinger@lnpnews.com or at 291-8799. blog comments powered by Disqus