One of Franklin Street’s most recognizable storefronts, Franklin Corner Cafe (210 Franklin St) is closing its doors after 17 years in business. Owner Mohammed Talukdar confirmed the final day of service will be Monday, August 4. Until then, remaining items are being offered at up to 50% off.
As the northern tip of Greenpoint continues to get glossier with luxury builds and upscale shops, Franklin Corner Cafe didn’t budge – steadfastly selling jumbo sandwiches for less than $10 and cheap coffee without irony or Instagram lighting. Until just a few months ago, it even maintained a quiet corner with a dusty desktop computer, still offering the “web surfing and e-mail” advertised on its original awning.
It’s no surprise that the late, acclaimed filmmaker and artist David Lynch counted himself among Franklin Corner Cafe’s loyal fans. Known for his affinity for the surreal hidden in the everyday, Lynch was reportedly a regular during his time in New York — with a particular fondness for the cafe’s sandwiches. A signed photo of him, inscribed “To the Franklin Corner Boys,” still hangs above the cash register. According to Greenpoint lore, he even stopped by for a sandwich just a few months before his passing earlier this year.
The reason for Franklin Corner Cafe’s closure likely comes as no surprise to those following recent local news: the landlord did not renew the lease. Back in March, the building was listed for sale by brokerage firm IPRG with an asking price of $3,650,000, advertising that “the 2nd-floor apartment, 1st-floor retail, and both garages will be delivered vacant.” By May, the property was officially under contract.
Franklin Corner Cafe joins a growing list of longtime Greenpoint fixtures that have recently shut down — from Pencil Factory to The Wild. As rents climb and development accelerates, the pressure on small longtime businesses is undeniable.
Franklin Corner Cafe wasn’t just a deli — it was a portal to a scrappier, slower version of Greenpoint that’s disappearing fast. For nearly two decades, it served sandwiches without pretense, kept its prices low, and never once tried to reinvent itself. In doing so, it became something rare: a place that simply was. Come Monday, the lights will go out and the signed Lynch photo will come down — but for those who knew it, Franklin Corner Cafe will always be a reminder that not everything needs to change.
Only transplants would romanticize a bodega…David Lynch ate there (potentially once), so what? People can make up any story they want about that. There are plenty of places run by longtime locals that didn’t have to compromise food integrity and service to look clean and inviting. This mythologizing about a run down hole in the wall is akin to thinking native New Yorkers are uncultured and incapable of having higher standards.
So wrong, dude. I’ve genuinely loved this place for years…20 of them to be exact. Not just for the food, but for the amazing people behind the counter who made it feel like home. The employees have always been kind, funny, and hardworking, and their presence is a big part of what made it special. It wasn’t about romanticizing anything—it was about real connection, community, and consistency in a city that changes fast.
Calling it a “run down hole in the wall” completely misses the point – and frankly, it reeks of the kind of cynicism that overlooks what actually matters to people who lived with it day to day. That place was never about trendiness or polish, it was about consistency, warmth, and a staff who treated you like a regular even if you weren’t. I’ve loved that spot for years, and the people who worked there made it what it was. If you can’t recognize value outside of aesthetics, maybe you’re the one romanticizing the wrong things.
I don’t need a bodega to feel a sense of community. They’re trying to make money like all of us and they did. Now they’ve moved on. End of story. Congrats for eating bodega sandwiches for 20 years, that is an impressive feat.
Wow, Mary, thank you for the congratulations—I’ll cherish that achievement next to my participation trophies.
But just to clarify: I didn’t need the bodega to feel community. I found it there, which is kind of the point. And yes, businesses move on. That doesn’t mean people who cared about them need to switch off their feelings like it’s the end of a Zoom call.
You’re free to shrug and keep walking. Some of us just prefer not to treat 20 years of genuine neighborhood connection like yesterday’s sandwich.
It’s no longer Greenpoint. It’s GreedPoint.
You could also call it Weedpoint.
A charming bodega with a lot of character, sad to see it go.