Goodbye Old Friend...

As our good friends at Gothamist mentioned yesterday, the Howard Johnson's (hereinafter referred to as HoJo's) in Times Square has been sold and will be closing. This is sad news indeed. HoJo's represents one of the last remaining shreds of the old Times Square, a blessed place that was full of hookers and trannies and tranny hookers. Now we are left with but a shell of it's former self, a new, hallow commercial wonderland. 7th Avenue, what has become of you? You sold out. And don't you snicker Broadway, I'm talking about you too. Since when did you guys get so proper, so clean, so safe? Why can't you be more like 8th Avenue, which has opened it's arms to commercialism, while still holding onto it's skiviness. Sure, there is a Ben and Jerry's and a Starbucks, but look across the street from them, at Stiletto Gentlemen's Club and porn paradise DVD Explosion. Filth and consumerism, living together, side by side, in harmony. This is how it should be.

But alas, it's not. Time can only stand still for so long, and viewing the decor inside of HoJo's, it has for roughly 40 yrs. So to pay our respects, I, with my faithful sidekick and sister, Lindsay, decided to dine, one last time, at HoJo's. We decided to say goodbye by enjoying a plate of Fried Clamstrips, a signature HoJo's dish, and a sundae.

(I apologize in advance for the quality of these photos, as they were taken with a camera phone. It's times like this that proves one should always carry their normal digital camera with them at all times, just in case the sale of a shitty yet nostalgic restaurant is suddenly announced.)

There it is, a small midwestern Mecca smack in the middle of the "Crossroads of the World."


And a horrible shot of the sign...


As we stepped into HoJo's, every last detail speaks of a much different era. It was like stepping back in time, in every way. The first thing we encountered, like a bat to the face, was the perfume of the hostess/cashier/grouch at the front of the restaurant. We identified it immediately as Avon Odyssey perfume, the same scent our mom wore during the 80's. Ahh, good times...

Then we took a good look around...




It was like having the ability to visit Akron, Ohio in 1983 just by stepping through the door. The place was fairly empty as we sat down at our booth. Now, not to belabor the point, but we were astonished how old everything looked. Even the paper placements looked like they had been designed, and printed, 40 yrs ago. All of the signage, same thing. Wierd.

Our waiter, a middle age Pakistani with a sunny demeanor, came over and greeted us. Now, throughout this post, I may make some cracks about this place, but let me tell you, half of the restaurants in the city wish they had service this good. This guy was at the top of his game, friendly, attentive, everything you could want.

After asking us "Would you like to start with beverage, a cold beer perhaps, or glass of wine, or cocktail, maybe?" we ordered. I ordered a Molson. Why a Molson? I'm not sure. I never drink Molson. I am the kind of guy that orders a Corona in a Mexican restaurant, or a Sapporo when I go for sushi, but what goes with HoJo's. Going with a Bud or Heineken seemed too ordinary for an occassion like this, so Molson it was. Lindsay went with her typical "I'll start with a coke." Now, Lindsay doesn't like to drink alcohol while she eats, who knows why. For some completely irrational reason, this bothers me. I hate drinking by myself. So to save herself my rant about "Why aren't you drinking?" she always says "I'll start with..." so as to imply she will be ordering a drink, which she never does. She doesn't know I realize that she does this, but oh, I know sis. I know. It's a familiar dance.

The drinks came. My beer was served with a glass. A tiny, tiny glass.

I have no idea why they serve beer in these tiny glasses, but we were loving it. We wanted to have a complete dining experience full of little noteworthy oddities like this, and they did not disappoint.

We then ordered. Two clam strip dinners, with fries. The waiter mentions how a lot of people have been ordering this today, and was confused why. While we were there, we also saw a few other people taking pictures in the restaurant. Perhaps this idea wasn't all that original.

He brings over the rolls. These rolls were right out of a store bought package, and if I had to guess, microwaved. But also, delicious. Delicious in the way a peanut butter and jelly on Wonderbread can occassionally hit the spot.

Then the food arrives.

My eyes light up. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. (I love deepfried anything.) I start to devour these things.
Lindsay: "How are they?"
Mark: "Um, exactly what I expected."
I loved them. They weren't fine cuisine, but they sure were tasty. I'm almost done as Lindsay throws one down in mild disgust.
Lindsay: "These taste like rubberbands."
Mark: "Delicious goldenbrown rubberbands," I say as I start to eat them off of her plate, going for the big juicy rubberba...er...clams, all of which are now gone from my plate.

Then, I immediately feel nauseous. The rubberbands must have expanded in my stomach, and I am full. Real full. Bad full. And Lindsay, like the devil himself, utters the last phrase I want to hear, yet can't refuse.
Lindsay: "Let's get dessert."
So she asks our waiter for the menu. He asks "Have you been good?" to which Lindsay, slightly confused, replies "I think so."

He brings over the menu, and we look at the dessert section.

Lindsay: "Hey look, it says it right there, you can only have dessert if you've been good. Good thing I said yes."

I also loved the fact 'you're' was spelled wrong. It's a huge pet peeve of mine, but here, it seemed charming. Like when old people say "li-berry."

We ordered.
Lindsay: "We'll have the banana split, no pineapple sauce."
Waiter: "No pineapple?"
Lindsay: "No."
Waiter: "You don't like pineapple?"
Lindsay: "Ah. No. Not really."
Waiter: "I'll give you extra chocolate sauce then."

Now, being a fat kid at heart, I'm thrilled by the idea of this sundae coming. I also feel as if I am about to split at the seams. A feeling which I completely forget about as soon as the sundae appears.


It was the perfect dessert. The traditional vanilla, chocolate, strawberry sundae, with chocolate syrup and strawberry sauce. It was terrific. Lindsay exhibited the same enthusiasm for this treat that I did for the clam strips.


She loved it.

The kid who wanted to throw up clam strips 5 minutes earlier now happily scraps the metal dish, hoping to get one last spoonful of deliciousness.

Overall, it wasn't a great meal, but we had fun. It's so different than anything you experience in New York, and for that one reason, it's sad to see it go. It's important to remember your roots, and HoJo's is the one pair of shoes the stripper who married rich holds onto, in the back of the closet, to remind her of where she came from, to keep her humble. HoJo's is our stripper shoes.

They haven't said when this place will close, and the wait staff didn't know either. I will probably never go there again. (Actually, I've only been there one other time in 8 yrs.) But, nevertheless, it's a loss. And when they decide to finally close Stiletto, to open a Jamba Juice, you can bet I'll go there too. The pictures will probably be better too..