Fresh Jersey Eggs (Open Thursday Only)

Fresh Jersey Eggs (Open Thursday Only) from mgo on Vimeo.

Jeremiah is back to mining the movies for the way New York used to be, and this time he’s watching Moscow on the Hudson, in which Robin Williams lives above the Thursday Egg Store (across from Wolinnin’s).

“People used to line up,” said Olga Worobel, who bought the vintage storefront at 72 East Seventh Street several years ago. For more than 30 years the store had been owned by the family that owns Shady Hollow Farm in Whitehouse, N.J., whose product was both the store’s namesake and its star attraction. The store would open on Thursday morning when the egg truck arrived with 500 dozen or so and close when the last gray cardboard flat was sold, about three hours later.

“The whole neighborhood came and stood in line and talked,” said Ms. Worobel, who is 30 years old and attended St. George High School on Sixth Street back when it was still mostly Ukrainian. “Waiting for eggs was like church: it brought people together.”

Digging around, I found the amazing video above over on Gothamist.

Eisenberg’s: Alive and Well


“Only the lobbyists.”
New York Lt. Gov. David Paterson, quoted by New York magazine, when asked by a reporter if he knew any prostitutes. (via Political Wire)

The second reason this picture made me smile was that for a few years, while I was working in the United Charities Building on Park Avenue South, I used to stop and pick up breakfast at Eisenberg’s every morning. Eisenberg’s was established the same year as the Great Stock Market Crash, and it’s not much more than one long counter. (There’s a single row of small square tables against the right wall where people can sit face-to-face and half in the aisle.) What always amazed me was that there were — like 6? — short-order cooks spaced out along counter, each taking orders. In the summer I would always order a bagel with vegetable creme cheese: one of the cooks would take a chunk of carrot and a piece of celery, chop them finely, and then fold in a gob of creme cheese — the sort of detail you see these days in ice cream parlors. A revelation, if all you know if the soapy taste of the prepackaged vegetable creme cheese. In the winter there were scrambled eggs — not so much scrambled as coddled in butter — loaded on a buttered Kaiser roll, and then topped with a couple of slices of undrained bacon. And I can still taste the strong coffee (light — half-coffee, half-Half&Half), after more than 20 years. Live long and prosper.