On the Side: Transplanting Shank's

On 10th Street south of Christian, which is still old-school South Philly, a Plexiglas box of leaflets was affixed to the door at Shank's luncheonette last week, confirming rumors that had been swirling for months.

"Shank's is Relocating," they said. "Since 1962."

Which is to say that the luncheonette - typically prefixed with the words "classic Italian" - has been there since then, though they round it off: "For 48 years," the all-woman (all in black) counter staff will tell you, following the lead of Evelyn Perri, the owner and matriarch.

The fuller name of the place is Shank's (for Evelyn's late husband, who died 16 years ago last month) & Evelyn's, perhaps the only lunch counter extant that still boasts a framed print (near framed photos of Frank Rizzo, Bill Cosby, and the late congressman Tom Foglietta) of the helmeted dictator Benito Mussolini.

"A conversation piece," is the current explanation."

But that is only one of a number of reasons that it is hard to envision Shank's outside the bosom of South Philadelphia, and even more so in Center City, where a space at 15th and Sansom - behind the Union League, no less - is under serious consideration.

"My mother [Evelyn] sold the building," explained daughter Pamela Poppa. "She wants to try Center City where it's happening." (Shank's will close April 30; another cafe is proposed for the address.)

The other reasons it is hard to envision involve its sheer longevity; a grandfather had a tire shop here before the lunch counter. Its stock of old-shoe regulars who treat the place, especially during downtime, like it's their own kitchen. And a service ethos that, while it can be affectionate and familiar, can have a dark side, as a Zagat review up on the wall puts it, veering rapidly into "surly."

One reason is certainly not the food: Center City should be so lucky to get this sort of authentic, really-home-style Italian - long tongues of crisp-fried eggplant and comfy red sauces, beautiful chicken cutlet, thinly breaded and pan-fried - "never deep-fried!" - and roast pork sandwiches dripping with freshly sauteed spinach.

The charms of attitude are best appreciated, of course, secondhand. So last week you could hear tales. One was from a shop owner in the Italian Market, a block away, who'd brought in chefs Jacques Pepin and Pierre Franey, quietly soliciting Evelyn to pay special attention to their plates. "I don't care who they are," Evelyn boomed. "Everybody here gets treated the same!"