Edible Memories: Marchi’s in NYC, Patricia Murphy’s in Yonkers

Recollections of two very different family dinners—one in a Kips Bay townhouse, the other in a sprawling Yonkers establishment that could’ve been a country estate

By Florence Blecher

“Memorable and prix fixe”: The antipasto start of the five-course dinner at Marchi’s in Midtown Manhattan. Photo: Mitch Broder’s Vintage New York.
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September 25, 2024

Some restaurants are memorable for their food overall, or for a particular dish—Moo Goo Gai Pan at a Chinese restaurant in Riverdale; a bittersweet chocolate mousse at a French restaurant in Midtown. Others are memorable for specific occasions, involving, perhaps, a tower of sparkling fresh vegetables, or a groaning dessert table. Or maybe the memory lingers of a headwaiter preparing Cherries Jubilee or Baked Alaska. Some are “everyday” dining spots, some are “occasion” restaurants, and certain restaurants are capable of serving double duty, i.e., they bridge the gap. That was not the case either with Marchi’s in Manhattan or with the Patricia Murphy’s Candlelight Restaurant in Yonkers. Both were visited by my parents, my big brother, and me in the 1950s and 1960s, when I was going to elementary, middle, and high schools. Each, discussed below, demanded the time allotted to “an occasion.”

Marchi’s, in nonstop operation for 90 years, finally closing in December of 2019, was discreetly located in a brownstone on a tree-lined street in Manhattan’s East 30s-Kips Bay area (and identifiable by the family crest on the vine-covered facade). This family-run restaurant was an event, a spectacle with wonderful food, for which we always dressed up. The ambiance was welcoming, like that of the dining room in a private home. The meal—memorable, prix fixe, five-course Italian, served without a menu—was always the same and always wonderful. The first course: antipasto—a yard-high tower of fruits and veggies, featured fennel and melon, with salami and flaked tuna at the base—along with a salad, created by Signor Lorenzo Marchi, of tuna, olives, capers, chopped celery, parsley, and red cabbage. Then came a loose lasagna of big, flat noodles interspersed with meat sauce and theatrically sprinkled Parmesan cheese. Third was deep-fried fish, served with cold beets and string beans vinaigrette. Roast chicken and roast veal with tiny button mushrooms were next. Dessert, along with a glorious display of fresh fruits, was a tracery pillar of crostini—light, papery fried pastry strips dusted with powdered sugar as well as a warm lemon fritter, served on a separate plate. You came to know and anticipate the arrival of each dramatic, glorious course in that intimate, cozy space, with a garden patio out back for the warmer months. But no more. “The clientele is loyal, but it’s time to shut down,” announced Christine Marchi, the founders’ daughter-in-law and most recent proprietor as the end drew near.

“Illusion and aspiration” in Westchester County: The sprawling Patricia Murphy’s Candlelight Restaurant in Yonkers.
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Dining at Patricia Murphy’s Candlelight Restaurant was a very different style of event, taking place in a completely different kind of world—north of the City, in Yonkers, Westchester County. It was said that up to 10,000 diners per day flocked there. From the large parking lot, guests—including chartered busloads from upstate New York—would descend into a large, meticulously planted garden that included an artificial pond complete with swans and with greenhouses off to the side. In spring, there were acres of tulips, daffodils, and roses lining the down-lighted paths, then chrysanthemums in the fall. The Christmas season brought endless orchids from the restaurant’s own nearby greenhouses. The ceilings in the dining rooms (there were several) were draped in pink and white—a bit like a glorious carousel or circus tent, but MUCH more elegant. The food was competent WASP fare with a little flair, but what Patricia Murphy’s was known for—what all the Patricia Murphyies, whether in Yonkers, Manhasset, Fort Lauderdale, or Deerfield Beach. were known for—was the popovers. Special waitresses known as Popover Girls would walk around and ceremoniously place one of those light, airy puffs on your bread plate, along with a tiny, individual crock of honey butter.

Not to mention Santa, in season, or a fairy princess in a special front vestibule who’d stop by to give all young girls a deep rosy-pink candy lipstick with which to feel Oh so grown up. You could stroll the grounds and greenhouses after you dined and select an orchid plant to bring home as a reminder of your magical evening.

Like the differences between the City and the suburbs, Marchi’s was grounded in tradition, while Patricia Murphy’s was about illusion and aspiration. One fed the soul (and the stomach) while the other catered to the mind, was cerebral, was about intention. One was intimate and family-style. You didn’t need to ask about or select your dinner because you already knew—just as if you were a guest dining at the home of friends. The other was informed by postwar dreams. Fashionable, perfect—an unflustered June Cleaver is pretty much the same as an unflustered Donna Reed, i.e., they’re equally unflusterable. Some days you crave a pink and white fantasy, and other days you just need a hug.

Former New Yorker Florence Blecher now resides in Los Angeles with her three dogs. A retired architect and former TV production person, she is active in city planning matters and occasionally dabbles in writing.

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