Fanelli Cafe (Fanelli’s to the initiated) is as reliable a spot as anywhere in the five boroughs. Presiding over the corner of Prince and Mercer Streets since the 1870s, it’s the city’s second-oldest continually operating food/drink establishment. As the world around it changes then changes again, Fanelli’s abides, a cozy, unpretentious space where the neighborhood can eat and drink.
On any given night Fanelli’s has a crowd, the nature of which swings wildly depending on the day. Walk in on a Wednesday evening and you’re liable to find a few locals quietly attending a drink or a meal to the strains of casual conversation (the place doesn’t play music). But on a Saturday night, you might not even be able to walk in at all–the throng mashed right up against the door. If you manage to cross the threshold, you’ll find a narrow pair of rooms with old-world character: pressed-tin ceilings, dainty light fixtures, tile mosaic floors; a gorgeous, ornate back bar carved from dark wood and fitted with mirrors that hide the cold storage. On the wall, you’ll see the place’s history in posted liquor licenses, photos of boxers (including now retired bartender/raconteur/luminary Bob Bozic) and a subtle patina born of persistence.
Drink-wise, you won’t be disappointed if you stick with classics: straight liquor, a cold beer; a martini, manhattan, negroni or their ilk. If it’s busy, you’ll be frustrated if your order is zeitgeisty, overcomplicated, or wishy-washy. Keep it simple. Service is brisk when it’s busy, steady when it isn’t, with virtually no concession to the preciousness or entitlement running riot on the streets just outside. In the front room, order at the bar. In the back room, wait for a server. The newly-christened tables outside present somewhat of a gray area, so take your cues from the staff.
The food is pretty good, comes out fast, and rings in at a reasonable price, which feels like a series of small miracles considering the snobbish contemptibility of nearly everything else in the neighborhood. It’s tavern-fare i.e. sandwiches, soups, salads, pastas, and fried bits. It’s not impressive but everything tastes good and does the job, and that’s just fine with us.
Fanelli’s endures and we’re lucky for it. If you value personal space or your sanity, avoid it on weekends when the euro-tourist crowd and influencer-contagion runs rampant on SoHo’s cobblestone streets. The recent turn as a sceney hangout isn’t its fault and may well burn itself out–only time will tell. But on weeknights it still presents the perfect place to duck in for bite, a casual evening of conversation, a space to unwind.