Old New York Is Still Cooking in Tribeca

A portal to the past, glorious cookbooks and more

For those who cherish a life of cookbooks, travel, and decorative arts, a real find lies on the western edge of Tribeca in New York City.

Joanne Hendricks Cookbooks is a treasure trove of collectibles for anyone who wants to lose themselves in the pages of history, especially culinary history. We were told about this lovely retreat from the past and promised to get there. I was amazed that I’d missed it during my twenty-one years in Manhattan. I have been here since 2003, but the store was founded in 1995. What a discovery!

Finding the Store

After lunch at the Ear Inn on Spring Street, it was a quick sprint around the corner to Greenwich Street and the bookstore. There it was—a modest bit of history overshadowed by sleek, taller, newer structures. Two wooden gray signs whispering, “Cookbooks Antiquarian Out of Print Unusual,” hung modestly on either side of the door frame. By the signs were faux Greek columns framing the doorway. The door bore a simple brass plaque that read “Cookbooks,” and above that was a vertical sign on a white string that said “Open.” It was an invitation into this little world of culinary wonder. I couldn’t resist.

Pushing the door open, I slipped into a small, cozy space filled with shelves of books—mostly cookbooks. The fireplace wasn’t used anymore, but the room was filled with the warmth of the well-loved volumes surrounding me. Each book carried a history, a past life of someone’s kitchen, someone’s story.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

The books were labors of love, with authors who toiled over them, hoping they would last the test of time. The dog-eared pages of favorite recipes and the small splatters on the pages bore testimony to this.

These books were owned, used, and enjoyed. They outgrew and likely outlasted their first owners and were somehow lucky to avoid the dustbins in basements and attics. They came to land at 488 Greenwich Street, where they now had the opportunity to be found by someone else—maybe me.

The owner, Joanne Hendricks, has been collecting and selling these books for nearly 30 years. Ms. Hendricks knows books. She worked at a now-defunct bookstore on Chambers Street in Manhattan. She told me the bookstore owner had inherited the business from relatives who were book people. However, the owner she worked for didn’t always have in-depth knowledge of their inventory. Fortunately for customers, she did.

Her exacting sense of quality and eye for beautifully written books deserving another life make her store endearing. The offerings, which spoke of a bygone era of Julia Child and a book of etiquette from Tiffany, have undoubtedly inspired chefs' training in this upscale, gentrified neighborhood.

Ms. Hendricks and the cookbooks link the past and present in a perfectly aligned “food and neighborhood” marriage. Modernity through gentrification is one thing that could break this harmonious relationship.

“Have you been asked about selling the building?” I asked.

“All the time, but I won’t,” she said.

A foundation is a foundation. I liked everything about this store, especially Ms. Hendricks, the urbane host.

Hendricks purchased the building in the 1970s. At the time, no one was buying buildings. “It was old New York then,” she said. “A little dilapidated and no SUVs. Black and white, not color. The simple life.”

Then she asked me, “Have you seen the movie Love with the Proper Stranger? Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen are in it. Look beyond the storyline and see the setting. You’ll see the simple life, the black and white New York City.”

I looked down to see the book “Wars I Have Seen” by Gertrude Stein. I knew of Stein through Ernest Hemingway, whose history and books I had read. Hemingway had spent time with Stein in a mentor-mentee relationship, but then they had a falling out. Whether it was personal differences or professional rivalry, they parted ways. But Hemingway had respected her literary and artistic work and connections. I wanted to purchase Stein’s book but I had come for cookbooks. Stein would have to wait.

Treasures Found

I started perusing one wall. I would have been happy buying several of them, but I knew I would only have time to go through a few at once. I picked up “The Easy Way to Good Cooking [Anybody Can Cook]” by Gwen French, which seemed to have my name on it.

While I always make food, I still need a massive helping hand. Every bit of knowledge from French’s book would help me. Plus, the recipes seemed so practical and straightforward. Yes, I could see myself cooking with this compact 641-page tome by this prolific advertising/food writer. The bio read Ms. French, who had also appeared on television talking about food and giving food lectures at the Herald-Tribune Bride’s School. I had to look this up – it probably was a local event or feature like a bridal fair organized by the Herald-Tribune.

As someone who makes bread weekly and has had some loaves fall flat or end up as “hard tack” (one of my sisters-in-law shared that appropriate description with me when I said a loaf I had made was hard as a rock), The Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book was perfect. It encouraged me. I wasn’t alone, it seemed. One recipe stood out. “A Loaf for Learning.” I’m in, I thought.

I gave them to Ms. Hendricks, who put them in a bag.

If the bag wasn’t heavy enough, I spotted “Better Homes and Garden new cookbook, as I started to head out.

I gasped. My mother had dutifully used the same cookout to make the most delicious dinner rolls and Easter egg bread.

“I have to have this,” I said to Phil. He said nothing. He knew. I didn’t have to tell him. My eyes said it all. He paid.

“My mother sent me spiral-bound Campbell Soup recipe books,” I told Ms. Hendricks. “My mother knew I wasn’t interested in cooking. I guess I worried her.”

I paused, smiling wistfully. She looked at me, quietly listening. “They came in the mail to me after she died,” I said.

Phil broke the silence, asking about the receipt.

Ms. Hendricks then received a phone call, and I looked around further, deciding that I wasn’t done here just yet.

A Sentimental Farewell

“Oh my gosh, Phil, check this out, The Flavors of Sicily by Anna Tasca Lanza. She must be associated with the Anna Tasca cooking school I had wanted to attend one summer. I never got there, but that’s still on the list.”

“But you did get to Budapest and Lake Bled,” he said, reminding me of a food journey with a chef friend of mine. I needed her help with a cream cake recipe for my book, The Memory Book, One Woman’s Self-Discovery in the Mist of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy.

Ms. Hendricks hung up.

“This book comes too,” I said. “We’ll use it.”

Phil paid again, and I’m not sure how heavy the bag was now, but with four hefty books, it was time for us to absorb what we had and not acquire anything else.

“I’ll enjoy these, read them, and make dishes from them. I’ll be back.”

“Is it ok if I take a few pictures of your shop?”

“Sure,” she replied.

“And let’s get one of us.”

She acquiesced, Phil our photographer.

I felt Mom in my heart as I entered the cold, frigid air. I knew she’d get such a kick out of me wanting the Better Homes and Garden new cookbook. That would have made her happy. It will go right next to the Campbell’s Soup recipe books on the shelf.

An Invitation

Joanne Hendricks Cookbooks is not just a bookstore; it’s a portal to another time where stories and recipes come alive again. If you’re ever in Tribeca, detour to this magical little shop. You might find a piece of your history waiting on the shelves like I did.