We met by way of the New York City Marathon; the roller skating marathon. It is little known Big Apple trivia, but in the Fall of 1980, there was a roller-skating marathon that covered the same mileage and territory throughout the five boroughs.
One of the participants was my boyfriend T.J. A draft resister who had lived in Europe during his “exile,” he said that race was like visiting twenty countries in a few hours. “It was great, Victoria. We’re rollerskating and people are cheering us on in Spanish, then Italian, then in languages I couldn’t even figure out.” He had recently moved to New York to become a partner in the first restaurant to feature Tex-Mex food, The Cottonwood Café on Bleecker and Bank Streets. His friend, Stan, a crony from Dallas, lured him with the promise of making a killing with this new place. He forgot to tell T.J. about the crappy apartment over the Opera Deli that he would have to share with five other guys and that he hadn’t yet signed a lease with the infamous Village landlord, Bill Gottlieb.
Stan’s powers of persuasion didn’t stop with T.J. He also convinced his friend Jerry to come board the Cottonwood train by promising the fledgling singer that he could perform there and be in charge of hiring all talent. Again, Stan forgot the minor detail of irate tenants not appreciating live music late at night while they tried to sleep. The last partner to sign on was Terry, the Canadian cowboy. Terry fancied himself to be Clint Eastwood and his weather-beaten look was carefully put together by his fashion designer wife, Sonia. She was the one with the bucks so Terry became known as the “money man” of the group. Everyone had their job; Stan was in the kitchen, T.J. was managing the wait staff, Jerry, the entertainment, and Terry, the bookkeeping.
The Cottonwood’s opening came within days of Reagan’s election. While women were donning suits with sneakers and Jerry Rubin was turning from yippie to yuppie, the guys at the Cottonwood were telling patrons, “Take off that tie, we have a dress code to uphold.” Appetizers were listed on the menu as “First Things First.” They didn’t have a liquor license, but with the Opera Deli around the corner you could easily get some Rolling Rock to accompany the Chicken Fried Steak and cornbread so dense you could brick a house with it.
After beating each other up while performing in “True West,” the Quaid brothers would dive into okra and mashed potatoes. The Ramones enjoyed Juervos Rancheros. Neighborhood people hung out for hours; there was no such thing as table turnover.
Unfortunately, the restaurant world is like marriage; partners put up a brave face for the public even when there are behind-the-scene conflicts. T.J. and Stan dissolved their partnership and then T.J. and I moved to Dallas, driving there in his MG Midget. Without the backdrop of the restaurant and the Village, our relationship soon proved to be all sizzle and no chicken fried steak and I returned to New York. Jerry’s banker girlfriend beckoned him to Houston and Terry’s wife Sonia decided to stop writing checks.
Stan went on to start up Tortilla Flats and The Acme Bar and Grill. He eventually left New York and is either sipping Pina Coladas in the Caribbean or is somewhere on the lam.
For the next seventeen years, the Cottonwood lived on with various owners and mangers. It stopped being a hot spot and eventually closed. Today, in its place is a restaurant featuring “continental cuisine.” Even Bill Gottlieb is dead.
Recently, I had a beer and burger at The Corner Bistro. I was a bit tipsy and asked my barstool neighbor, “Did you know that there was a roller-skating marathon in 1980?”
He said, “What am I supposed to do with that fascinating information?”
True New Yorker that I am, I told him.
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Yes, I remember the Cottonwood Cafe, although it wasn’t the “first” TexMex spot in the W. Village.
.”The Alamo” was on 8th Ave, just north of the Opera Deli. I remember when Cottonwood first opened, and there was a sign pasted to the front door saying “Forget the Alamo”!
I thought to try out Cottonwood, though Alamo was much cozier. I was meeting someone there, and was told I couldn’t get a table until my guest arrived. By that time, there were no tables available, and we waited a bit outside on Bleecker, and decided to ditch our plans, and never returned.
I LOVED Gulf Coast on West Street, sadly gone, anhand now it’s an empty chain linked fenced-in lot.
Thankfully, Tortilla Flats (where I used to go + hang out with Ray Davies, when he had a few runs at Westbeth) and ACME are still around!
Hey. I remember Cottonwood. I lived at Broadway/Houston in the 80s and used to
eat there qite a lot. I know Southwest cuisine very well and they did a really decent job
of serving up some tasty items. Black-eyed peas. So many nice dishes. I have a friend from Italy
just now moving to NYC and told her to see if Cottonwood was still standing. Would have been a miracle
I guess, then I found this. Thanks for the many great meals. I have been a chef a few times, I know how grueling it is, even if you love it. I live on a tiny island in the Italian Mediterranean now and there is, I swer to God, not a single decent place to eat anywhere on this island. It boggles my mind. It is all shit for the tourists and they don’t like it much either.This island belongs to Italy but these islanders are not really Italians, not really Sicilians, more like Italian Tunisians with zero talent for food. My wife is a master chef or else I would have offed myself probably. We both have non-food work in these years but we know how to feed ourselves. I even found some green NM chilis I can get shipped over here and we try a diverse menu..the kinds you see in NYC but never see much in Italy. Thanks for the narrative about good old Cottonwood. I personally have very good memories of it.
I used to live in Horatio Street in the west village in 1988/99 and we used to eat in Cottonwood on a regular basis. That extra mash potato and extra gravy with the chicken was the only reason I went! Just lovely for a guy from Scotland, it was like a cosy hug.
Lived across from the Cottonwood Cafe in the 80’s and was wondering if anyone knows the name of the guitarist/singer/songwriter who played a song with the only lyric I can remember: Early morning, highway shines, rain is falling, on the Carolina Pines, I packed up my troubles and I drove them all away, all along the road to Santa Fe. there was also a line “love the peanut man” which may have been a reference to Jimmy Carter.
Patronized the Cottonwood Cafe repeatedly while living with a partner in Soho until we left in ‘86. So glad to find this article on a “CC search”, as I made a special return to that ‘hood and was trying to find its former spot. Happily, you specify the exact intersection where I’m sitting in the park across the street, but no restaurant anymore (Continental or otherwise) in the spot I recall. Just retail! Thanks for affirming I’m in the right place.
To Michael Klock – I think the guitarist/singer/songwriter you are referring to is Johnny Rivers Bicknell. He was also the artistic director of the place. Around 1984 the group decided to open a branch in London – Johnny and some of the NY crew went over and set up a Cottonwood Cafe near Holborn station – my friend Rene was at the NY cafe and went over with them. She invited me to visit later and I got there on opening night, Dec 31. They had a flat upstairs where Rene, Johnny, the bass player (from New Zealand) and various other employees stayed. The Cafe was very cool – Johnny’s Tex Mex art, margaritas and really good Tex Mex. Good turn out for the grand opening. At around 10 pm when the band was supposed to start, the drummer hadn’t showed and couldn’t be reached. I sat in on drums and we played through midnight – ZZ Top, Texas Blues, Auld Lang Syne at midnight. The drummer had overslept and showed up around 12:30 and took it from there. I sat in with Johnny a couple times after that and years later even went to meet Johnny at his Bad Bones Cafe in Isla Mujere’s Mexico – but he was gone – the locals said he got sideways with the cops. True story.
I lived on 12th and Greenwich Streets. Cottonwood, Gulf Coast, Paris Commune, and Sung Chu Mei were my hangouts, then Florent. Each restaurant so distinctive from the other, but always lively with a diverse crowd. The good old days of the West Village
Loved the Cottonwood. Learned about it when I was studying at HB Studios, down the street.
I soon became a bartender at the Alamo (which Stan also founded, btw), around 1979, working for the manager, another guy from Tyler by way of Dallas ((like Stan), named J.W. Johnson. I met him via his sister, a classmate at HB, and a soon-to-be Broadway star.
JW was a childhood friend of my now-wife, and I met her at his wedding upstate at Terry’s “get-away” farm.
At the Alamo, JW set up an amp in that tiny place so we could play our music, because we were aspiring songwriters.
When the Alamo closed, JW became the manager of the Cottonwood and Stan went to start up Tortilla Flats. I would occasionally fill in at the bar, and then my wife and I started working as a singing duo, doing country/folk, and JW & Jerry would let us play on the little stage they had set up; probably our first-ever gig in what would be a forty-year partnership.
Another act that used to sing at the Cottonwood (and at JW’s wedding, actually), was a lovely gal named Shawn Colvin.
Jerry (Douglas), by the way, was kind of local big-deal in North Texas, as a member of a band called The Bee’s Knees. My wife was a fan as a teeny-bopper.
Eventually JW sold/closed the place and went to work for BMI in artist development. Stan went on again to found the ACME, on Great Jones St., which coincidentally my college roommate became a major investor in.
I had never been to Texas, but when we had to leave the city because of rents and having kids, we took our act to Dallas in ’89, and stayed there for 30 years, moving back the the Northeast in 2019, not far from where we met.