It’s thrilling to me that this restaurant has hardly changed since my fourth birthday, 35 years ago, when the waiters sang "Happy birthday, Princess Aurora" (so seriously that I thought I’d convinced them it was my real name); the velvet armchairs and silk-fringed lamps that were here in 1971 are here now.
Because they take no reservations (leading to one- and two-hour waits that once excited me almost as much as waiting for Christmas—something newcomers don’t appreciate), it wasn't until I was fourteen that I was seated in the trolley car right inside the huge brick factory building. Much later, I got to sit in one of the "beds"—the booths made out of brass and wrought-iron bedsteads—and only then, after twenty years, did I feel like I’d had the full experience. But I was far from finished, and I don’t think I’ll ever be—unless the remodeling Chloe has seen turns them into something entirely different. [Added after Chloe's comment.]
As to the food and service, it seems that everyone I know who has not been coming here since age four is unimpressed by both. Maybe it’s nostalgia, but I love it. Try the Manager’s Favorite with mizithra and marinara.