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The lasagna may arrive dry, the pot roast tough. And the antipasto may be poured straight out of a can. But the chopped chicken livers, served with a side of saltines, are nicely creamy; the chicken Kiev juicy; the apple pie homemade. And the kitschy-but-charming ex-chorus boy waiting on your table engagingly relates the history of the place, whose neon sign has brightened up West 4th Street since 1952. Not much has changed since then—stepping into the subterranean spot is like stepping back in time, complete with sepia-toned lighting. Only the prices have been updated on the throwback American menu of antiques like eggs a la Russe, chopped tenderloin steak and prawns Florentine. And yes, some of the Stonewall-era crowd—along with the threadbare gingham curtains, sagging pressed-tin ceiling, and wine-stained tablecloths—have seen better days. But the friendly, blonde octogenarian who steps through the door each night around 8:30 p.m. positively shines. To nightly applause from diners, Fedora takes her spot behind the bar to serve up strong drinks, generous smiles, and a tale or two from the old days. So who cares that the mashed potatoes taste half-instant? You don’t come here for the food, after all. — Kathleen Squires

Chopped chicken livers, $3.50; Chicken Kiev, $14.95; apple pie, $3.50