The first time I went to Fanelli Cafe (at the corner of Mercer and Prince Streets), I was meeting my boyfriend at the Angelika Film Center on West Houston Street and needed to grab a bite beforehand. I chowed down on a burger and fries ($22, plus $1 for cheese) and itched to strike up a conversation with the man next to me at the bar, but I was short on time and my hands and face were slathered in ketchup.
Instead, I ate my meal, feeling a rivalry well up in me when my neighbor was instead chatted up by the fellow on his other side. “I could have thought of a better conversation topic than baseball,” I thought to myself, as I finished my burger in silence.
More recently, I visited Fanelli Cafe several times in quick succession, always finding the bar room packed until I wised up and visited on a Sunday morning shortly before noon. Fanelli Cafe is the second oldest food and drink establishment in New York City (since 1847; second only to The Ear Inn).
Amidst SoHo’s ever-changing storefronts and throngs of visitors, Fanelli’s stands apart as a spot that has changed very little over the years. It was bought from the Fanelli family in the early 1970s by Hans Noë, an architect who was buying up properties in the area and renting them to artists. He passed away last month, but one of his sons, Sasha Noë, has kept the bar running without any significant changes since he took over around 2000.
Fanelli Cafe doesn’t try to be anything other than what it’s always been. The dappled ceiling is stained yellow from decades of smoke, the wooden bar shows its age, one wall is decorated in aged pictures of boxers, and the bar’s tables are covered in waxy, red-checkered tablecloths. Behind the main bar room is a side seating area, the entrance permanently marked with the sign “Ladies & Gents Sitting Room.” There is no music playing in the background, though there is a muted TV in one corner, which was playing A Farewell to Arms (1957) on my last visit. As one customer noted, “I think this is the only bar where you don’t get a Guinness glass when you order a Guinness.” Instead, you get whatever’s on hand, and it tastes none the worse. One of the few changes over the years has been the addition of an outdoor soup kiosk, where you can order soup to go.
Seated at the bar, early that Sunday afternoon, I watched as two men in late middle age finished macchiatos before switching to Guinnesses. At one of the tables, a pair of young women in cardigans and jeans met for lunch, their shopping bags placed beside them on the floor. A couple walked in with a young boy. The door had barely shut before the woman exclaimed, “This is the emptiest I’ve ever seen it!” Within an hour the bar was full, but in the meantime I took advantage of the relative calm to chat with some of my neighbors at the bar.
Always a good place
A worker from a nearby store stopped in for a bowl of chili (hold the sour cream), a bowl of bread, and a beer. “I work in the area, so I just come by for my lunch break,” he noted, before agreeing that the bar can be more intimidating in the evening, once it fills up. He often stops in for lunch thanks to the vibe, the history of the space, and the friendliness of the bartenders. He ate and excused himself, while a man in his early 30s who’d come in around the same time remained, nursing a beer after he’d finished his burger. I should have sensed that his sweatpants and t-shirt covered a dark start to the morning. Our conversation began with him soberly explaining his experience visiting the bar over the years, due to a job he previously held across the street.
He continued his patronage even after finding a new job. “It’s always a good place. I come less now, but I know what I get when I come here.” Then the conversation nosedived. “Sorry, my girlfriend and I broke up this morning, so I’m in a place right now.” Naturally, I ordered another beer and took this opportunity to learn everything about him and his relationship. The bar began to fill up, including a couple who worked in finance that stopped in for a drink, a pair of two older women drinking martinis, and a young red-headed woman in a trench coat drinking an aperol spritz and posting the experience on Instagram.
Still standing
In a world of overstimulation and overconsumption, there’s something special about Fanelli Cafe’s ability to remain a standby, for everyone from the quiet worker seeking a lunch break to the heartbroken who just needs something familiar. The very first couple I met at the bar perhaps understood this best. “We’ve been here 10,000 times,” the man said, wearing a Vietnam War Vet cap and blue jeans. His wife nodded in agreement.
Though they’ve lived in Staten Island for the past 30 years, they grew up in the neighborhood, which they’ve watched change time and again, and provided examples of some of their other favorite haunts that have closed: “There used to be Cafe Español, but they’re gone. Spanish Restaurant. Best in the world. I’d been going there since college. Used to have a lobster dinner for $19.” Now, it’s only Fanelli’s that they visit each time they’re in the neighborhood, but as they stood up to leave, they pointed out that it wasn’t just the places like Fanelli’s that are so important,
“It’s the people you meet along the way.”
