Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop, a narrow, anachronistic lunch counter on lower Fifth Avenue, went up for sale several times over the years. Each time, its regulars reacted the way you would if an aged relative was rushed to the hospital.
This was understandable. Eisenberg’s was getting up there in years. Under one name or another, it had been frying eggs and frothing egg creams on the same site, across from the Flatiron Building, since 1928. It appeared to have almost all its original parts, and they showed their age. There was a considerable chance that any new crisis at Eisenberg’s could be its last.
A buyer always turned up just in time. Even so, the faithful worried. A new owner might change the menu, might clean up too much, might even kill the spirit of the place entirely — introducing a cocktail “program” with boozy egg creams; replacing the PB&J with razor clams; staying open at night, with…
