A Love Letter to Lincoln Center
Some might say it’s Art Deco gems like Rockefeller Center and the Chrysler and Empire State skyscrapers. Others might have the Flatiron building high on the list. Or maybe Stanford White’s Washington Square Arch. Or the Plaza. Or even the Frederick Law Olmsted masterpiece that is Central Park. For me, New York’s most iconic architectural landmark is Lincoln Center.
Sixty years ago, this would have been a controversial opinion. “Is Lincoln Center of Flop?” read the headline of a Town & Country story in the March 1965 issue. “I hear that Lincoln Center is going to be a designated a Federal disaster area,” was the quote of an anonymous source. “It is still too early to say,” the story went on, “with any assurance of finality, whether it will turn out to be a priceless addition to New York’s cultural life or a $150,000,000 blunder.” Well, we know how this story ends.
Okay, to be fair, the acoustics in what was then known as Philharmonic Hall (which later became Avery Fisher Hall, and then David Geffen Hall) really were terrible. But it was just one of those things we accepted as a fact of New York life, kind of like how the Van Wyck is never not under construction, or how JFK is never not hell on earth. Not like this ever kept us from going anyway. Because none of that stuff matters in the end, does it? We often love what we love simply because of the way it makes us feel, whether it’s because it delights our senses, or triggers dormant emotions, or provides solace during difficult times. Lincoln Center checks those boxes: it isn’t just a grand symbol of New York’s cultural evolution, it’s also a sacred space that holds so many personal memories.
As a kid growing up in New Jersey, trips into the city with my parents and grandparents almost always meant we were going to Lincoln Center. Usually it was to see the New York Philharmonic at Avery Fisher (mom and dad are not opera people), or, on most special evenings, my aunt Chee-Yun would have a recital at Alice Tully. Winter was my favorite time of year for these outings, mainly because it was fun to admire the grande dames of the Upper West Side swirling around that travertine lobby in their minks. And because there is nothing like frigid February weather to make a cavernous hall feel cozy. The big treat, though, was that we always had our pre-concert dinners at Shun Lee Café (sizzling rice soup and Peking duck every time), a ritual we stuck to regardless of the season. When my grandma passed away a few years ago, I found a little picture frame clock in her apartment with a photo of the two of us at Shun Lee, probably taken more than two decades ago. It’s now my most valuable possession.
Even as an adult, the allure of this place has never faded. During Covid, I would often leave my apartment to head up to Central Park, but then gravitate instead to Lincoln Center’s 16-acre campus for my daily intake of fresh, socially distanced air. It was (and still is) never crowded. I can while away entire spring afternoons getting lost in a book on that grassy slope on top of Lincoln Ristorante and on crisp fall weekend mornings, nothing brings me joy like a post-pilates spinach bureka and coffee from Breads and zoning out by the reflecting pool (why meditate at home when you can do it here?). And I remain of the opinion that the fountain, at night, is one of the best date spots in the city.
In the sweltering heat of July, there is no better indoor activity than American Ballet Theatre’s summer program at the Metropolitan Opera House. Speaking of, what better excuse is there for dressing up to the nines than for a night at the opera? And although I still love—and still regularly go to—The Nutcracker, I’m now looking forward to when my friends’ kids are old enough so I can take them too (and win points as the coolest aunt ever). By now, I probably don’t need to tell you how excited I am about Gustavo Dudamel’s impending tenure.
But the best part about Lincoln Center is that for all of its grandeur, it’s also incredibly welcoming. Take, for instance, wonderful programs like the Met Opera’s Fridays Under 40 series and the NYPhil’s special subscription rates for those under 35. Or that this has become as much a place for foodies (good luck getting a table at Tatiana) as for theater geeks. Or that in the summertime, the plaza turns into a giant turf-covered playground for kids. I’ll admit this is not my favorite iteration of LC, but I understand why it’s is an amazing thing. Which is all to say, Lincoln Center is, without a doubt, an elite institution—the GOAT, dare I say—but it’s never elitist. And isn’t that what New York is really about?
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