In his planner, Florent Morellet carries a neatly typed sheet of paper that lists the celebrities that have frequented his Meatpacking District restaurant, Florent, over the years.
Under headings such as “Film/TV/Stage” and “Art/Design/Fashion,” you’ll find everyone from David Hockney and Jasper Johns to Chelsea Clinton and JFK Jr.
When his lease on 69 Gansevoort St. expires on March 31, rent will increase from $6,000 a month to approximately $50,000, and it’s unlikely a deal will be struck. Florent is currently battling his landlord in court over tax increases and is withholding rent as a result. The litigation also means he does not plan to simply pack up shop on the 31st.
“I talked to my lawyer and [the restaurant] will stay open for two or three months. I’d like to end on a high note and I think Gay Pride Day would be perfect.”
That’s June 29, in case you want to put it in your book.
He also says he’d like to hold a writing contest – “people could write their best story, the most insane story, of the restaurant” – with the winner receiving a dinner on the final night.
And those would be some stories. Since August 1985, his round-the-clock French diner has been a place where artists, actors and average joes rub elbows over a cup of coffee or a goat cheese salad. Sprung from the gritty gay bars of the ’80s, the noir-ish diner survived among the glittery bottle-service clubs that moved in. Now regulars are dropping by to pay their condolences to Florent.
“Where am I going to go?” laments a gentleman customer.
It’s become a familiar chorus, but one you won’t hear from Florent.
“I’m looking forward to the next stage in my life and at the same time I have great sadness about losing the restaurant,” he says, adding, “If you don’t get a kick in the butt, another 23 years down the road, let’s say, I would be 78 and sitting at the same table talking about, ‘When I opened the restaurant. . .’ ”
It is late in the afternoon and he is sitting at the table that the artist Roy Lichtenstein occupied every weeknight until his death in 1997.
Florent, who was diagnosed with HIV in 1987, took over the R&L Restaurant, a diner whose sign still hangs outside, in 1985.
He did little to alter the interior, which to him evoked Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks.”
“People say to me you should move it somewhere else, but you can’t move this place. It became what it is because of the decor that I found and the neighborhood that was.”
As ever, forces are keen to capitalize on an established brand. “I’ve talked with some people who are interested in doing a Florent in an air terminal,” he says, though where exactly he won’t say. “Flo on the Go, Flo on the Fly. That would be a really cool concept.”
While the next stop on his journey remains unclear, the legacy of his restaurant is easier to imagine. “I consider it a bit like Max’s Kansas City,” says Florent, referring to the legendary nightclub. “Once somebody dies or a place closes it becomes mythical. The people that were there start talking to the people that never were there more and more in an embellished way.”
He pauses and adds, playfully, “Or not. Maybe [it will be] the opposite for some – ‘Why did people sit in that dump?’ “