We are in New York City for our anniversary.  14 years. We got married in New York. It seemed the appropriate place to celebrate.

A few years ago, I stumbled on to a restaurant here.  Old school kind of place.  I sat at the bar and visited with the bartender while I had lunch.

Pretty quickly, I realized that the bartender was also the owner of the place.

I had my lunch and a few drinks and headed back to my hotel. I didn’t even pay much attention to the name of the place.

Ever since that lunch, I have wondered… what’s the name of the place and the lady that owned it?

Here’s what I remembered:  It was on Lexington Avenue near the Kiehl’s store and not far from Bloomingdale’s.  Upper East Side.  

I decided to try and find it.  There it was! Donohue’s Steak House. 

On the window outside, a note from the owner, Maureen.  After 76 years, the place is closing.  This week.

I stuck my head inside and saw that the place was packed.  The booths.  The bar.  Everyone wanted to eat at Donohue’s one last time.

I finally got a seat at the bar.  I started talking to the regulars.  All of them sad.  I had a few whiskey sours and listened to their stories of all the years they had been coming to Donohue’s.

Where was Maureen?  Not behind the bar.  Eventually, she made an appearance.  Chatting with her regulars. She even made time for me.  

Maureen Donohue Peters is a big deal. So is Donohue’s Steak House.  Peter Wells from the New York Times did a piece for the paper about the place.  He calls her one of the “last true saloonkeepers in New York.”  Her father and grandfather started the place in 1950.  Much of what was in there then is there today.  Maureen has been a part of this place all her life.  She started working here 47 years ago.

While I sat at the bar, I was told of local celebrities in there with me.  Politicians.  TV News anchors.

Everyone wanted a last meal from Donohue’s Steak House.

I ate my hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and soaked it all in.  Damn good, by the way.

The locals all lamenting that this is one of the last of this kind of New York City institutions.  None of them knew where they would go next.

I’m so glad that I made myself go find Donohue’s Steak House.  

We are here a few more days.  I actually considered going to the Knick’s parade. I’ve never seen a real ticker tape parade.  Chat GPT mapped out my subway route.  Then, the folks at our hotel said don’t do it.  Too many people.  Not enough cops.  I’m a Spurs fan too.  Not that I would have broadcast that.  My excuse for not going is going to be, “I heard it might rain.”

Instead, I might head back to Donohue’s Steak House one last time.  A hot turkey sandwich.  A BLT.  A club sandwich.  A few whiskey sours.  There’s a TV in the bar.  I can watch the parade from there.

Here’s to Maureen and Donohue’s Steak House.

Some places feed you lunch.

The special ones feed you a memory you’ll carry for the rest of your life.