Beloved for Brunch, Sarabeth’s Closes Two Restaurants
The 45-year-old, home-grown company is regrettably shuttering two of its four restaurants in Manhattan–one in mid-town East and and one in Greenwich Village. Fortunately for pancake and French toast lovers, two remain: on Central Park South and the UES.
| 31 Aug 2026 | 11:23
The 45-year-old restaurant chain Sarabeth’s that started as a jam making operation in an apartment on the Upper West Side shut down its 381 Park Ave. South location (above) and its Greenwich Village location on Aug. 16 (
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The Sarabeth’s chain serves breakfast, lunch and dinner, but it was perhaps most famous for its French toast and pancakes. It is credited with making brunch popular long before it was a NYC “thing.” Now two of its four locations have closed. (
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Sarabeth’s served its last meals at two of its outlets–one at 381 Park Ave. South and aGreenwich Village location at 100 W. Houston St.–on Aug. 16 (
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New Yorkers should be old hands by now at the sad closings of our favorite shops, bodegas and restaurants.
Still, I felt a shock when I tried to enter my favorite Manhattan brunch place, Sarabeth’s on Park Avenue South and East 27th Street, recently only to find that it had been closed for good. The sign on the front door explained that this location and one in Greenwich Village were history. “Unfortunately, despite everything that was working well, the economics of running these two locations are no longer sustainable,” said the sign on the door.
Thankfully Sarabeth’s on the Upper East Side at 1295 Madison Ave. and on the UWS at 40 Central Park South remain open.
For me and many others, Sarabeth’s occupies a special niche on the city’s restaurant scene. It is clearly a cut above the greasy spoons–its prices speak for themselves ($33.75, before tip, for French toast or pancakes and a cup of coffee)
But the price tag was always worth it and did not seem excessive. The food was delicious. Even more to its credit, the hostess made a difference by greeting me by name every time and the wait staff was highly efficient.
I’ll miss the whole Sarabeth’s experience. If you know of a breakfast haunt within walking distance of my 10009 zip code, pass it along, please.
My distress extends beyond my selfish needs, however.
What does it say about our great city when an institution such as Sarabeth’s must close two of its restaurants because of financial concerns?
Is any place safe? Sarabeth’s afterall started in 1981 as a jam-making operation in Sarabeth Levine’s apartment, then it evolved to its first restaurant on the Upper West Side.
Listen, I could understand if it was a lesser shop or store. During Covid, several of my favorite neighborhood bodegas went belly up.
Sadly, though, bodegas are bound to be vulnerable in a time of an emergency. Rents can reach a point of no return. But Sarabeth’s?
Was it another of the all too common stories of a landlord trying to push a crippling rent hike on a local shop?
Or was there another lesson for us to contemplate?
Maybe hallowed, time-honored names are no longer in vogue with a new generation.
A few years ago, The New York Times jolted me by slighting Peter Luger of Brooklyn on one of its City’s Greatest Restaurants lists. At first, I shook my head at the apparent ignorance of the journalist who had overseen the survey.
Making A Pont
Then I reached another, more charitable and realistic conclusion. The journalist maybe wanted to make a point–that younger generation did not feel a need to honor the past, automatically out of habit, as if by rote, and it didn’t matter how many years Luger had distinguished itself with a certain kind of old-school red meat dinner.
The principle holds true of the new generation that wants to discover its own hangouts. Yes, they might grudgingly concede, Sarabeth’s is a landmark. BUT WE DON’T WANT TO FREQUENT A LANDMARK.
It reminds me of the “Seinfeld” episode when George berates a clown for calling himself Eric and not Bozo, the name of the clown that George enjoyed watching as a youngster. The clown (played, by the way, by Jon Favreau a few years before he made it big in the movie “Swingers”) called out George. “You’re living in the past, man!” Eric screeched at the hapless Costanza.
Perhaps someone, much younger than I am, might challenge by saying: Join 2026, man! This is a new day.
I’ll leave you with this thought on changing times. A decade ago, I was lecturing a class of college freshmen about the momentous news story of the day: Washington State and Colorado were about to decriminalize marijuana. I declared that this was an astonishing tale of the times, that not so long ago someone who got busted for possession of pot might go to jail for a few years.
I finished talking and spotted a class full of nonplussed students, who were actually laughing after I made my points. I asked them what the heck was so funny. “Professor,” one student said oh so patiently. “We don’t call it pot! That’s your word. We call it weed.”
I felt like they put me in my place. I was not keeping up with the times.
I wonder if that student would pull me aside today and say, “Too bad that Sarabeth’s had to close two restaurants in Manhattan. But it is a sign of the times.”