The Scene: Grimaldi’s Under the Threat of Eviction

by Nate Freeman

The line at Grimaldi’s yesterday afternoon stretched halfway down the waterfront Dumbo block, as it does most days-the pizza place has developed a reputation, through TV spots and gushing travel book write-ups, for being “the best.” But the pie-seeking clientele may not linger on that Brooklyn sidewalk for long: tomorrow, the landlord will walk into the state supreme court and ask for the eviction of the institution, possibly forcing Grimaldi’s to move from its flagship locale.

The Wall Street Journal reported yesterday that Darryl Vernon, the lawyer seeking to kick the restaurant from its current digs, claims Grimaldi’s owner Frank Ciolli owes the landlord $40,000 in rent, as well as $12,250 in property taxes and district charges.

How will this affect the kneading and saucing that’s gone down here since 1941? I stopped by to find out, and walked in past the “NO SLICES” sign, dodging the waiters in matching black tee shirts. Gina Peluso was working the cash register. Shop manager Peluso has run a tight ship here since her father Frank bought the place from Patsy Grimaldi in 1998.

She claimed to be unfazed by the news. “We’re not going to have to move, it’s already being handled,” she said as she yelled take out orders to the kitchen staff. Waiters would come and reach around her shoulder to scoop up a cup of Parmesan.

If the worst-case scenario were to come about, she said, Grimaldi’s would take its talents to another part of town. “By the time we’d get evicted we’d have another place.”

What about the famous coal-burning oven you have back there?

“We’d have a new oven,” Peluso said and shut the register, smiling at the woman as she hands over her change. “We’ll see.”

Outside, the line had picked up more length, and the Grimaldi’s employee burdened with working the door told me I was on the late side-the TV crews were here in the morning. I asked for his name.

“Max,” he said.

Last name?

“You sure you want it? It’s really long-it’s Polish.”

His name is Max Sluszkiewicz.

He went on to explain that the publicity-and the possibility of relocation-didn’t exactly send the Brooklyn born-and-bred sprinting toward the Hudson. “We didn’t have any regulars customers, all tourists,” he said.

Max was not lying! Moments later a man with a voice slathered in a European accent asked me if he could “have a booking for the pizza.” The first people I approached in line had trouble understanding me, and in broken English they revealed themselves to be Gaelle and Mary. They’re on holiday from France! Jim Joyce was from Long Beach, which is close, yet this was still his family’s first Grimaldi’s experience. Carol Johnson from Haywood, California was another first-timer, but said it would be a “shame” if it had to move.

“My son said we have to go. You saw it on TV or something?”

She turned to the short kid standing to her side.

“The best places to chow down!” he exclaimed. (Could he mean this Travel Channel show?)

Then a thin-haired graying man leaving Grimaldi’s spotted my notebook and called out to me.

“I’m shocked that they’re closing,” he said, making his way down Old Fulton Street. “What, they not paying their taxes or something? Well, if so, then they should close. Get that down!”

Consider it done.