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Mayfair's Lou-Roc: Mea culpa runneth over

Category: Lou-Roc Award

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Written by Randy Garbin

Mayfair Diner, Philadelphia, PA. Could be worse...

This just might make a little history. At least for Roadside. I think I need to revoke a Lou-Roc award.

Last weekend, I visited Philadelphia’s Mayfair Diner for only the second time since the Mulholland family sold it in November, 2006 to mega-restaurateur Michael Petrogiannis. After my first visit last year, I thought I’d avoid any further pain by never returning. I can best describe that experience as akin to attending a wake for a dearly departed friend. Though Michael had yet to perform any renovations, the overall experience — even during our post dinner visit — wreaked of death.

When RoadsideFans creator Glenn Wells sent along a photo of the Mayfair a few months ago showing recent exterior renovations, I felt that Michael had finally gone too far. I regarded the Mayfair Diner as simply one of the most splendid examples of diner preservation on the landscape. Its size, its history, and its menu had few equals, and the Mulholland family displayed their reverence for their diner that came out in everything they did. We featured Jack Mulholland’s daughter, Debbie on the cover of issue 27 of Roadside because of her efforts to help revive the surrounding neighborhood. Whenever I named my top five diners, I would always put the Mayfair on that list.

So, then, why bother tinkering with it? What could possibly be the point?

Mayfair manager, Manoli, with Gary Zemola of the Super Duper Weenie, talking shop

I returned to the diner with two close friends and world-class diner experts (who shall remain nameless for now). We had no plans to stay long. We only wanted to take a few pictures and assess the damage. When I walked in the door, the host stood ready to greet us and lead us to a table, but I told him I just wanted to take a look inside. He said through a thick accent, “I see you guys were taking pictures outside?”

“Yes,” I replied, “We’re diner guys. We like to take pictures of diners.”

“Oh, really? Well, can I ask you, what do you think of what we’ve done?”

I don’t get asked this very often. Most owners that hack up their pristine structures rarely ask me what I think. Their confidence in their infallible instincts tell them that they know what’s best.

“Can I be perfectly honest with you?” I countered.

“Of course.”

“I don’t like it. I wish you had left it alone,” I told him, though he never broke his smile. “I loved this diner, and I regarded it as perfect.”

“Really?” he said, and without skipping a beat, he shook my hand, introduced himself as Manoli, a partner in this business, and then gestured toward the counter. “Please, come on inside and have a cup of coffee. Let’s talk about it.”

For anyone who knows the Mayfair, they know that a walk past the counter stretches a good 60 feet, so I could see many changes while on this little stroll. My friends and I sat down and dug in for a rare moment of preservationist “point, counterpoint.”

“Just to preface everything I’d like to say here,” I told Manoli, “I had a long-running relationship with the Mulhollands. They advertised in my magazine, and I generally thought the world of them. I was shocked when I heard the news that they had sold out, and further shocked to hear who they sold it to.”

Michael Petrogiannis now owns four of the largest and/or most famous diners in Philadelphia plus ten other restaurants, but truthfully, I’ve not heard good things about what happens after he takes them over. I visited one of his other restaurants for breakfast several years ago, but never returned despite its proximity to my house.

The Mayfair's counter area definitely benefits from the splash of color, but the design of the countertop itself missed the mark.

Manoli calmly and pleasantly explained the situation to us. He earnestly believed that the diner needed an updating, both to freshen up the interior atmosphere and to correct some mistakes made by the Mulhollands. The diner’s interior received most of the updating with new lighting, new furnishings, and to my chagrin, new acoustic tile ceiling panels over the original Formica. Outside, however, the Mulhollands did little more than restore the diner’s Flex-glass stripes, install new doors, and string a band of neon across the great length of the diner, all work done in the late 1980s. The diner always looked amazing enough.

However, Manoli’s changes are something of a mixed bag as well. The new treatments intended to raise the diner’s curbside profile look ridiculous. First, I’m sick to death of the “roll” treatment I’ve seen on so many new retro diners and on too many renovations of older diners. This effect derives from a 1940s motif and pushes the classic streamlining of a 1950s unit into caricature. The turreted panels above that tell me that the designer devoted about ten minutes to the task and burped up an idea that should have lead the way into the bottom of the waste basket. The only good thing I see from this awful mistake is its lack of permanence. A good wind storm should blow it all away with minimal damage to the original structure.

You want to raise the diner’s profile in a crowded urban environment? Okay, I get it. But use the diner’s design. Don’t fight with it.

New booths, table tops, and seat upholstery.

Inside, Manoli did a few things for which he deserves some credit. I love the new ceiling. The interior shines again as a result. I even like the glass tiles under the counter. This has become a popular treatment in many restaurants lately, including the recently reopened Mendon Diner, but the big splash of color brings some much-needed warmth to the dining area. The red onyx countertop, however, didn’t need the bump-outs. Again, the designer introduced a design that fights with the original, and worsens it with the new arch-backed booths with walnut wood-pattern laminates. Yet here again, Manoli scores with the new laminate table tops. He should have put that on the counter as well.

Finally, few things raise a bigger red flag for me than changes made to the counter. Just as you cannot have a church without an altar, you cannot have a diner without a counter. Yet, Manoli removed nearly a third of that expansive, glorious counter, replacing it with tables and chairs, and installing 6-seat booths in that area where once the diner had only 4-seaters.

Despite my bubbling disgust, I still listened to Manoli explain. One of the least obvious changes he made was adding space between benches. Let’s face it: Americans loom much larger now than they did in 1956 when O’Mahony crafted this palace. Manoli can’t tell his fat customers to go elsewhere, especially since they probably spend the most money, so he has to accommodate with more room for their guts. Then, to retain the same number of seats — if not add a couple — Manoli had to sacrifice the twelve stools. Even so, the Mayfair still boasts one of the largest counters of any diner on the roadside today.

Manoli claims he has received many thanks from long-time customers happy to see some new energy jolted into their landmark Philadelphia diner. The atmosphere we experienced during this visit bears out this sense of gratitude. During our early Sunday afternoon visit, I found the Mayfair humming in a way I frankly haven’t seen in a half-dozen years or more.

And what is almost a testament to the progress of his efforts, Manoli tells me that the Mulhollands still stop by on almost a weekly basis.

So in the end, I have to admit my error. The Mayfair does not deserve a Lou-Roc and so with apologies to Manoli and to Michael Petrogiannis, the reward is hereby revoked.