The Red Flame Diner in midtown Manhattan is just north of Bryant Park, just east of Times Square, and for three years, across the street from the office I worked out. As far as midtown lunches go, it wasn’t the cheapest option, but a few times a month I would order a grilled cheese sandwich with a side of fries, often with tomato or bacon. I know what you are going to say: technically that’s a melt.

The diner was also a favorite of our friend Ana who works at a bank around the corner. The Red Flame was a favorite of her and her colleagues whenever they worked late. And plenty of other midtown professionals found themselves there for lunch meetings or a quick bite alone. And there were regulars who clearly lived someplace nearby, retired old men and little grandmas. And then the pandemic struck.

Like most people in Manhattan, my office pivoted to remote work. Twice a month I trekked into Manhattan to check in on the mail, deposit checks, and scan any important documents that came in. In the first weeks, when I walked from Brooklyn, the city was desolate. Bodegas, coffee shops, lunch spots, and even the Red Flame were closed, like the opening sequence of 28 Days.

Eventually, the diner opened to serve the handful of people still in midtown. They built out an outdoor dining shed using a large amount of street frontage, but what they didn’t have was a steady stream of office workers, even with few other places open.

On days I traveled to midtown, I ordered lunch from the diner: grilled cheese and mozzarella sticks. LIke nearly everyone else, mine was a takeout order, and I ate alone at my desk.

Ana, who had worked remotely for about a day, had returned to the office full time. The bank, to encourage in-person work, had begun supplying workers with free lunch. No doubt the free food hit the diner’s bottom line pretty hard too.

John Katsanos and his three brothers opened the diner in 1979. Despite the shiny glass appearance, the building its located in actually dates to 1931, on a block filled with other old institutions of New York City whose time has passed, like the Harvard Club and the Algonquin.

It’s funny though, that in researching the Red Flame, there isn’t much said about it, except for journalists having lunch. Recently, David Remnick in the New Yorker and somewhat less recentlyAlex Shoumatoff writing in Vanity Fair, both mention eating there. Even Sam Sifton in the New York Times, reviewing another restaurant, jokes “Nuela is not a restaurant in which to discuss Goethe or your impending divorce, the situation in Afghanistan or your desire to have another child,” and then follows up with “Maybe the Red Flame”.

We did not discuss Goethe, on our recent visit, though after wrangling a four-year-old all afternoon, we might have had some choice comments about more children. The miserable winter cold had kept us locked inside for weeks, and finally we had to plan an outing to entertain our four-year-old.

We hit up Grand Central Terminal’s MTA store where the holiday train display remained and delighted for a solid 30 minutes. Then we bounced over the FDNY Fire Zone, a free fire department propaganda museum consisting of half a fire truck and a large collection of miniatures, plus a Fire Truck Store. A hand-knitted scarf was lost en route, but after retracing the steps, I recovered the pint-sized knit. By the time we wrapped up, everyone was hungry. Luckily, we were just a few blocks from the Red Flame.

There were just a handful of people in the late afternoon when we arrived. We had a nice booth overlooking the street where piles of snow had covered a few cars that had not moved in more than a week.

My wife ordered the San Diego Omelet (ham, peppers, onion, American cheese). This is a pretty classic presentation, though personally I prefer hashbrowns a bit crispier.

Our four-year-old demanded French fries, and then proceeded to ignore them for twenty minutes. But when they first arrived, they were cooked well.

I started with matzo ball soup. I like their presentation with a compact ball and basic broth. The ball was dense, and held its form. Sometimes diners will allow the matzo ball to become super saturated with broth, causing a big mushy mess.

Since we were already ordering a plate of fries for our four-year-old, I added onion rings. The grilled cheese was just as I remembered, a simple but solid choice. The cole slaw is heavy on the mayo and strangely a little sweet – typical of diner slaw. I’ve had better, but it’s not really something to quibble over.

Eating here with my family was an odd experience since to me it was always coded as part of my work life. My wife of course had heard gabs about this place, either because I mentioned it or we would talk about with Ana. I felt like we were pulling back the curtain on my other life.

It’s rare to have these two worlds collide, but we all survived. In some ways, working in midtown seems like something that I was doing yesterday, but it’s actually been six years since I was there daily.

When the office lease was expiring where I was working, I had to spend a few days packing up the office in preparation. Everything was going into storage for an indefinite period of time – and I didn’t know then the job would be ending in a few months. I ate take out from the Red Flame on those days. It definitely was better eating in the restaurant.

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