The Death of Pie

Robert Sietsema goes on an epic dessert binge to explore the current state of a New York institution: the diner pie.

Robert Sietsema

All photos by Liz Barclay (@liz_barclay)

In the post-WWII era, the city flooded with Greek diners, with a reported 600 opening in the five boroughs between 1950 and 1970. These establishments sported a distinctive look that can still be seen today: long formica lunch counters with swiveling stools, booth seating upholstered in red naugahyde, bright lights, waiters in stained black vests, and lots of shiny surfaces. At the time, Greek diners represented restaurateuring at its most straighforward and efficient.

The menus were compounded of American dining commonplaces, including eggs, soups, sandwiches, hamburgers, steaks, and seafood of a modest sort, and the occasional Greek, German, or Italian dish. But while the fare offered was simple and unambitious, the desserts were often made to appear extraordinarily lavish. Displayed by the front door in rotating cylindrical cases, they were intended to punch you in the eye the minute you stepped in the door.

In an era when mothers were increasingly working outside the home, for many children the place for a taste of pie was not home, but a Greek diner.

Pies were the center of attention, carrying on an American obsession that extended back to colonial times: Of the pies made in early 18^th century New York by both Dutch and English housewives, “apple was the universal favorite,” according to Richard J. Hooker in A History of Food and Drink in America. Greek diners carried on the fruit-pie tradition, but also added ice-box pies such as lemon, banana, chocolate, and coconut, incorporating refrigeration technology and tropical fruits into the canon, heaping the pie crusts with pudding, whipped cream, and meringue. In an era when mothers were increasingly working outside the home, for many children the place for a taste of pie was not home, but a Greek diner.

Photographer Liz Barclay and I decided to revisit diner pies, 60 years after they first appeared. We picked a neighborhood traditionally rich in Greek diners—in this case, Chelsea—and visited every one we could find in one single day of pie-dashing. In each diner, we’d order two pieces of pie. One would be the best pie we saw in the case, the other a more mundane example—apple if they had it, just for the sake of historic continuity. We visited 10 diners in all; here is the chronicle of our extreme pie run.

All photos by Liz Barclay (@liz_barclay) In the post-WWII era, the city flooded with Greek diners, with a reported 600 opening in the five boroughs between 1950 and 1970. These establishments sported a distinctive look that can still be seen today: long formica lunch counters with swiveling stools, booth seating upholstered in red naugahyde, bright lights, waiters in stained black vests, and lots of shiny surfaces. At the time, Greek diners represented restaurateuring at its most straighforward and efficient. The menus were compounded of American dining commonplaces, including eggs, soups, sandwiches, hamburgers, steaks, and seafood of a modest sort, and the occasional Greek, German, or Italian dish. But while the fare offered was simple and unambitious, the desserts were often made to appear extraordinarily lavish. Displayed by the front door in rotating cylindrical cases, they were intended to punch you in the eye the minute you stepped in the door.
In an era when mothers were increasingly working outside the home, for many children the place for a taste of pie was not home, but a Greek diner.
Pies were the center of attention, carrying on an American obsession that extended back to colonial times: Of the pies made in early 18^th century New York by both Dutch and English housewives, “apple was the universal favorite,” according to Richard J. Hooker in A History of Food and Drink in America. Greek diners carried on the fruit-pie tradition, but also added ice-box pies such as lemon, banana, chocolate, and coconut, incorporating refrigeration technology and tropical fruits into the canon, heaping the pie crusts with pudding, whipped cream, and meringue. In an era when mothers were increasingly working outside the home, for many children the place for a taste of pie was not home, but a Greek diner. Photographer Liz Barclay and I decided to revisit diner pies, 60 years after they first appeared. We picked a neighborhood traditionally rich in Greek diners—in this case, Chelsea—and visited every one we could find in one single day of pie-dashing. In each diner, we’d order two pieces of pie. One would be the best pie we saw in the case, the other a more mundane example—apple if they had it, just for the sake of historic continuity. We visited 10 diners in all; here is the chronicle of our extreme pie run.
Skylight Diner

Our first stop was Skylight Diner (402 West 34^th St, 212-244-0395), a multi-chambered spot just west of Penn Station, with a neon clock that reads Skylight Diner. At 11am, the place was nearly empty. The rotating case near the front door contained not a single pie, but it was filled with other pastries. The pies were located in square refrigerated case behind the lunch counter—clearly not the center of attention—with five choices: lemon meringue, apple, deep-dish apple crumb, cherry, and coconut custard. We picked the lemon meringue, the filling of which was deep yellow, and the meringue, though somewhat squished, nicely browned. The crust was sponge cake rather than a conventional crust. The slice came with a blob of whipped cream. The deep dish apple, our second choice, had a crumb topping sprinkled with powdered sugar. Both crust and topping were a bit refrigerator-burned. Neither pie was compelling, offering nothing that would make you want to eat it again.
Cloud 9 Diner

Down Ninth Avenue, a stone’s throw from the back of the General Post Office, we found the delightfully named Cloud 9 Diner (309 Ninth Ave, 212-971-9011), the moniker probably a reference to the hit 1968 Temptations song, and the vintage of the premises seemed about right. Though we were invited in after lingering outside by the manager, an elderly man with a Greek accent, the place seemed downtrodden, and there was only a single pie choice: apple. The slice looked as if someone had sat on it, and Liz complained about the meager amount of apple in the filling and its general glueyness.
Chelsea Square Restaurant

Still plunging southward, we reached the corner of West 23^rd and Ninth Avenue, where two diners face each other on opposite corners on the south side of 23^rd Street. Unfortunately, the well-regarded Moonstruck Diner—originally located on Sixth Avenue just north of Canal and once a haven for hipsters—was closed for renovations. So we darted into Chelsea Square Restaurant (368 West 23rd St, 212-691-5400), which, despite the grandiose name, was still clearly a Greek diner. It possesses two seating areas facing the street, and several more in the interior. As with the previous places, the restaurant felt unmistakably empty considering the hour and its humongous size. Only blueberry and apple were available, though the waiter noted rather wanly, “Sometimes we have cherry.” Both pies were cloyingly sweet, with a large proportion of cornstarch matrix to fruit. The blueberry pie appeared to be sweating like a boxer about to take a dive as it was delivered.
New Venus Restaurant

The name New Venus Restaurant (252 Eighth Ave, 212-243-0980) reflects the place’s Greek roots, and bas reliefs seemingly ripped from Hellenic monuments line the sherbet-orange walls. A Gay Pride flag flapped outside as we entered. Four pies were available: apple, cherry, blueberry, and lemon meringue. The latter was the best pie we ate that day, with a credible lemon custard that was tart but not too tart, and an over-the-top layer of meringue that lofted to a full six inches over the crust. This was the kind of pie that used to star in the rotating case. The cherry pie—Liz’s favorite type of pie—was disappointing, with a crust that could have been made of cardboard, and cherries that “just aren’t tart enough,” according to her.
Malibu Diner

We were now propelling eastward on 23^rd Street, where we next encountered the Malibu Diner (163 West 23^rd St, 212-691-1369), with a name that suggests Southern California’s sand and towering surf. In the window was a comprehensive display of Italian cookies, and inside the door another case filled with miscellaneous pastries that ran from multiple types of cheesecake to cupcakes and beyond. Nearly hidden in a third case was a display with what we were coming to realize are now the standard diner pies: apple, blueberry, cherry, and lemon meringue. In line with our methods, we picked lemon meringue and apple, and both came with mountains of whipped cream, drizzles of chocolate sauce, and a maraschino cherry, as if trying to distract you from the actual pie. The lemon meringue was something of a squished mess and didn’t taste very lemony, while the apple—with a thin, satisfactory crust and lots of apple filling—was the second best pie we ate that day.
Holiday Diner

What is it about diners hearkening to California for their sense of glamour? Our next stop was in the so-called Ladies Mile along Sixth Avenue at Hollywood Diner (574 Sixth Ave, 212-691-8465). Unlike the other places we’d visited, it was nearly full, and we chose to sit in a sidewalk area for Liz to get the best light. The choices here ran to blueberry, apple, cherry, and—odd man out—Boston cream pie, once a staple of diner desserts, now rarely seen. Invented at Boston’s Parker House in 1856, it is not—as many have labored to explain—a pie, but a cake. Nevertheless, it comes in a round pie tin, and is called “pie.” Ergo, it is a pie. The version here is chocolate-frosted and has a yellow-cake base. So far, so good, but now instead of custard, the filling on top of the cake looks and tastes like Cool Whip. The apple pie here is just okay, and our piece came a bit burned around the edges.
Good Stuff Diner/Chelsea Gallery Diner

We finally got to the Good Stuff Diner (109 West 14^th St, 212-929-2555), a place with a jazzy décor, but a Greek Diner nonetheless, and the site of a notorious murder a few years back. We looked in the pie case, saw the usual blueberry, cherry, apple, and lemon meringue, in already-familiar renditions, and decided we couldn’t stand eating them once again. Accordingly, we moved on to the Chelsea Gallery Diner (72 Seventh Ave, 212-691-5200), which was a popular place among Chelseans in the '90s but apparently closed last year after 30 years in business, illustrating the fate of many diners during the last decade.
The Diner

I was holding out hopes for an unusual type or even a good piece of pie at the MePa diner called The Diner (44 Ninth Avenue at 14^th St, 212-627-2230). The genius of this place—nearly thronged with tourists when we arrived—lies in inventing a new sort of diner menu, retaining some of the biggest hits but filling out the bill of fare the way a Boston Market might do, adding nachos, wraps, meal-size salads, and a steak frites accompanied by truffle fries to the mix. Also, from a truncated dessert selection, pie a la mode was the only item that concerned us. It came with ice cream and whipped cream; the ice cream was good and the pie was warm—except the warming had been accomplished by microwave, rendering the crust damp and listless. We ate the ice cream and left.
Conclusion

O Pie, what happened to ye? Today, the pies at diners are generally awful, probably as the result of two factors I can think of. Diners themselves are on the decline, and several of our pie slices tasted like they’d languished a good long time in the refrigerator case—once a proud display, but now a sort of pie prison. The other reason is our own evolving tastes. Where once a piece of diner pie may have been the best thing we could get our hands on for dessert, now the dessert possibilities are nearly endless. So go head, skip the diner pie, and go for a handful of macarons or a Cronut. But pie is not dead. As demonstrated at places like Pies ‘N’ Thighs and Four & Twenty Blackbirds, pie is still strong enough to rise again. But this time, its glory looks like it will exist outside the revolving display case of the old-fashioned diner.

The Death of Pie

Skylight Diner

Cloud 9 Diner

Chelsea Square Restaurant

New Venus Restaurant

Malibu Diner

Holiday Diner

Good Stuff Diner/Chelsea Gallery Diner

The Diner

Conclusion

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