BY EILEEN STUKANE | Walking along Greenwich St. the night after Sandy blew through town, we were enveloped by the darkness. The only way to navigate the cracks in the sidewalks and the appearance of curbs was by flashlight. Then, like coming upon Oz, a corner restaurant filled with light. The Left Bank, which has been on the corner of Perry and Greenwich Sts. just more than a year, was illuminated with hundreds of burning candles on tables and shelves, and along the sturdy concrete bar. Every flat surface was a station for more flames. The restaurant was aglow and the free-standing blackboard at the doorway proclaimed that a chicken/sausage jambalaya was being served.
Owners Laurence Edelman and Micheline Gaulin had arrived during daylight to find the Left Bank unscathed. Edelman had come from his home Uptown in the powered part of the city and Gaulin had cycled over the Brooklyn Bridge from Park Slope. There had been enough ice in the refrigerators to keep food cold through two days. The gas stoves were still working.
“At a time when there were so many displaced people,” said Edelman, who is also Left Bank’s chef, “either we were going to open or I was going to sit home and worry about everyone.” He already had the perfect amount of food in the kitchen to fashion a meal for every one of the 65 seats in the place. As it turned out about 70 West Village neighbors showed up. Some paid $20 for a restaurant dinner served in candlelight, while others enjoyed glasses of wine or beer.
What was happening that night and continued to happen for the next four nights — until the Saturday that electrical power returned to Greenwich Village — was the birth of an old-fashioned gathering place, a Grange Hall or a country tavern. People who only nodded at each other on Hudson St. were now talking to each other, sharing batteries and news of places to charge cell phones and computers. They began planning car rides Uptown, and invitations for hot showers. Word of mouth spread, and during each of the four nights of total darkness, more and more people guided by flashlights, came inside. By the fourth and last night before power, about 100 people visited Left Bank.
Edelman continued to cook by candlelight in the kitchen, increasing the menu to a selection of four meals. One of his busboys brought ice in a livery cab from Harlem. The cab driver gave Edelman his phone number and said he would drive ice Downtown whenever he got the call. The driver made all of his appointed deliveries for a fair fee for a ride from Harlem. Gaulin tended bar, no fancy mixed drinks, but wine, beer and drinks on the rocks, as long as supply lasted. Amazingly, most of the staff even managed to make it in. If visitors wanted to stay until 2 a.m., they were welcome.
And while the Village Halloween Parade was cancelled, at Left Bank, Halloween was right on schedule. Waiter Colby Fuller, appeared in full Elvis regalia, white cape flowing as he turned from table to kitchen to bar. A witch arrived with a ring toss game. Get the rings on the breast tubes or that penile protrusion below her waist. Many tried; few succeeded. Masks and wigs and laughs were shared. The scary aspect of Halloween lost out to the holiday’s humorous side.
With the name Left Bank, you might think that the cuisine was French but Edelman creates a melange of a menu with French, Italian and New American accents. He focuses on sustainable meats and seafood, and locally grown, seasonal produce. During those four days he was able to offer a range of choices that included Fiorentine kid goat ragu, smoked salmon, homemade sausage and sea bass.
“Some people said we were providing a public service by staying open, but I didn’t look at it that way,” Edelman said. “I had mixed feelings because it was a very difficult time for some people. I was happy to be helping to contribute to something positive and be part of the neighborhood. A few days into it, I realized that something was happening, something spontaneous, that was taking on a life of its own.”
For those of us who have lived in Greenwich Village for decades, it was the camaraderie of the old Village, coming alive in total darkness.
