It’s been a long time since Wall Street rocked after dark.
But the newly reopened Delmonico’s has brought some big time buzz to FiDi, which, except for the Stone Street boozing zone, can still be quiet at night despite thousands of new residents.
Delmonico’s, at 56 Beaver Street in the district’s historic heart, is the best revival of an iconic New York restaurant since Graydon Carter brought the Waverly Inn back from the dead in 2007. But while the Waverly first opened its doors in the Roaring ’20s, Delmonico’s launched in the ’30s — the 1830s.
Many customers who’ve flocked to the historic steakhouse since it reopened last month after a four-year shutdown might know little of its rollicking, celeb-mecca history. Before Delmonico’s devolved into another mediocre steakhouse in the 21st Century, it generated enough lore, legend and myth to fill a dozen Food Network installments — or a Netflix series. Contrary to an oft-told tale, Abraham Lincoln never ate there, but Mark Twain did.
The Delmonico’s story “began “like a fairy tale” in the Swiss mountains where “three brothers lived on a small farm,” former New York Times restaurant critic William Grimes writes in his book, “Appetite City: A Culinary History of New York.”
Giovanni and Pietro Delmonico opened a cafe and pastry shop at 23 William Street in 1827 which they ran “on strictly French lines.” They later brought in their brother Francesco’s son, Lorenzo, to run the show.
Delmonico’s moved to its current corner location in 1837 after a fire destroyed the original. It was America’s first “fine-dining” restaurant. Chef Charles Ranhofe introduced NYC to classic French cuisine and it was the first eatery where women could dine without men. The classic Delmonico ribeye steak cut, lobster Newburgh and baked Alaska were all invented there.
Delmonico’s closed during Prohibition and lay empty until the Tucci family rescued it in 1926 and made it a hotspot.
Behind the triangular prow of the eight-story building the restaurant calls home, there was a buttoned-down lunchtime scene where Rockefellers and other stock market wheeler-dealers held court amongst pink tablecloths, Lalique crystal and plush draperies in elegantly appointed rooms on two floors.
By night, the restaurant morphed into a boldface-packed supper and dance club.
In the 1950s, 60s and 70s, Frank Sinatra, Eartha Kitt, Cary Grant, Lana Turner and Princess Grace of Monaco used to alight from limousines onto a sidewalk that was otherwise devoid of life after the New York Stock Exchange shut down at 4 p.m. Regular performers included Bing Crosby, Doris Day and Chubby Checker, according to the 2022 book “The Delmonico Way: Sublime Entertaining and Legendary Recipes from the Restaurant that Made New York!” written by Max Tucci, the restaurant’s global brand officer and grandson of one the restaurant’s previous owners.
Rock Hudson sneaked off to an upstairs penthouse for private needs. There was a secret bedroom “whose walls never revealed their secrets,” Tucci writes. Delmonico’s protected guests from prying eyes with owner Oscar Tucci’s ironclad rule: NO PAPARARAZZI EVER INSIDE DELMONICO’S.
Gypsy Rose Lee once stripped atop a table and covered her private parts only with menus. Once in 1957, Tucci sent a limo to pick up Lena Horne following her performance in “Jamaica” on Broadway. Though exhausted from a night onstage, she thrilled the house by singing “Stormy Weather” and “Summertime.”
Behind the scenes, Delmonico’s also launched the careers of many men who would go on to be integral to the city’s restaurant scene. Le Cirque impresario Sirio Maccioni; Tony May, who ran the Rainbow Room and San Domenico; and Harry Poulakakos, who launched Harry’s steakhouse, all worked there in their youth.
Lello Arpaia was a waiter and manager at Delmonico’s from 1963 to 1969, before he struck out on his own to open such restaurants as Lello, Scarlatti and Bellini. He vividly recalled the exacting standards to which Oscar’s son, Mario Tucci, held his troops.
“We were like soldiers,” Arpaia told The Post. “Our fingernails had to be exactly right — they checked every morning to make sure they were clean.
“As a captain, I had only two tables with eight seats to take care of. But I had to cook in front of customers” because Tucci insisted on tableside preparation … Mario had a fetish about the caesar salad,” Arpaia chuckled. “We couldn’t cut it with a knife. We had to use a fork and spoon to separate the leaves to preserve the scent of the romaine.”
The Tuccis sold the restaurant in the 1980s and it went dark during the pandemic, when a legal battle among partners destroyed its mojo and nearly felled it for good.
But new principal owner and managing partner Dennis Turcinovic along with business partner Joseph Licul signed a lease in 2022 with a plan to bring Delmonico’s back to life. They spent $4 million on a top-to-bottom, wall-to-wall redesign that preserves the original’s splendor and spirit with coffered mahogany walls, Bernardaud china, white tablecloths and plush carpeting.
Although boldfaces such as Clive Davis, Tamron Hall, Carol Alt, Wesley Snipes, Brenda Vaccaro, Julia Haart and Ramona Singer have made the scene since last month’s reopening, no one expects a full-scale Hollywood return. But the new Delmonico’s doesn’t need them.
On Saturday night, every seat was taken. Executive chef Edward J. Hong — an alum of Aureole, Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare and Clocktower — cooks steaks that live up to the legend. The signature “Delmonico” is an 18-ounce prime, wet-aged specimen of Brandt farm ribeye — more flavorful than most. Even better was the deep-mineral-flavored, 22-ounce bone-in ribeye that’s dry-aged for 65 days in a Himalayan salt room. At only $85 versus the Delmonico’s $79, I strongly recommend it.
Everything else was as good, especially a crab cake that was 95% crab and a fabulous Caesar salad — mercifully not made at tableside — laden with anchovies and a creamy myung ran dressing made from pollack roe.
Unlike most new places that seem to raid Starbucks for “talent,” the poised, mature floor team hail from places such as Le Cirque, Marea and the Four Seasons.
I asked Arpaia if he missed Delmonico’s after he left to start his own restaurants.
“Yes, I missed it, the glamour, the genteel way of serving people,” he said. “I still miss it today.”
Of course, Delmonico’s might be very different in three months — or one month. Fine new restaurants can lose their juice in the blink of an eye. But I hope it holds up for longer — say another 186 years.
