After 43 years, a haven for politicos closes
For decades, a black-andwhite photograph hung behind the bar at La Serre, a portrait of Mario Cuomo announcing his candidacy for governor in 1982 from a podium with the restaurant’s logo and a cluster of microphones, as his political mentor, Albany Mayor Erastus Corning 2nd, looked on.
The photo documented a seminal moment in Albany political history and encapsulates the essence of
La Serre. The mahogany-paneled hideaway on Green Street, a few blocks from the Capitol, was a favorite power lunch destination and happy hour hangout for politicos, stockbrokers, lawyers and lobbyists with expense accounts.
It had sophistication and joie de vivre. The main dining area was a sun-splashed solarium — Laserre means “greenhouse” in French. Green leather banquettes accentuated a carved marble mantelpiece and tulip-shaped wall sconces cast a soft amber glow over lovers and deal
makers in intimate conversation.
La Serre was where couples toasted anniversaries and special occasions with a fine-dining experience of French wine, duck and goose pate, beef au poivre and duck a l’orange. Celebrities from an earlier era passed through as well.
Movie star Kirk Douglas, who grew up in Amsterdam, celebrated his 70th birthday at La Serre with his two sisters, who lived locally, and other friends.
The actor Maureen Stapleton, a Troy native, dined there, and so did actor Anthony Quinn and CBS anchor Walter Cronkite.
The late state senator Ronald Stafford and former Senate Majority Leader Dean Skelos both got married at the restaurant.
The late Assembly Speaker Stanley Steingut was persona non grata after he stubbed out a cigarette with his shoe in an upstairs private room, leaving an ugly burn mark on the carpet.
Along with catering to the politically powerful with discreet service, the French-themed restaurant was a trend-setter on the local dining scene when it arrived in 1977. Its menu featured vichyssoise for $1, a half-dozen snails for $2.25, crepes La Serre for $3.95, filet de sole for $3.95, and chocolate mousse for $1.75. Fortune magazine did a spread on the restaurant’s haute cuisine in 1978.
Now, after 43 years, crippled by the coronavirus pandemic shutdown and years of sliding business — further worn down by a long wait for a promised downtown revitalization that never materialized — owner and co-manager Anne Trimble decided to close the venerable establishment.
“The pandemic was the perfect storm for us,” said Trimble, 71, a mother of two and grandmother of four. She opened La Serre with her late husband, Geoffrey, in 1977, when both were in their 20s. She and her son, John, who co-managed the restaurant, jointly made the decision not to re-open. She will ease into retirement and her son, a commodities trader and real estate agent, is weighing options.
“We decided this was the right time,” Trimble said. “Running the restaurant has been a blessing. We worked with a wonderful staff and served many loyal customers who became friends. We don’t owe anybody any money at this point. We can’t keep waiting another 10 years for downtown to come back.”
Anne and Geoffrey Trimble married in 1972, a couple years after they met while both were attending the University at Albany and working as waiters at L’ecole restaurant at Stuyvesant Plaza. They dreamed of opening their own place.
Her father, John Treffiletti, a wholesale grocer and owner of the Star Supermarkets chain, in 1976 purchased a former stationary store at 14 Green St. that had been vacant for years after it was badly damaged by a fire. Trimble’s brother-in-law, Dr. William S. Jones, was also an investor and partner.
“Big John,” as her late father was known, was a longtime neighbor and close personal friend of Democratic machine boss Dan O’connell. He was also close to Corning, Albany’s 11-term mayor, and became a behindthe-scenes political power broker. Treffiletti was born at 105 Green St. in 1922, a son of Italian immigrants. His family started with a small grocery store in an Italian enclave of the South End — Albany’s ethnic melting pot. Treffiletti never forgot his working-class immigrant roots. He had a favorite saying: “If you can’t tip the shoeshine boys, you better polish your own shoes.”
I got to know Big John in the mid-1990s when I was researching my biography of Mayor Corning. He invited me to lunch at La Serre. We sat on the patio under the shade of sugar maples. He doled out stories of O’connell and Corning over loaves of warm Italian bread, fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, tomatoes, olive oil and vinegar. Glasses of red wine were poured and refilled.
He exuded Old World charm and conviviality. Time seemed to stand still when Big John held court. I got invited back.
At Big John’s communal table, I met Jay Donnaruma, a stockbroker who worked for First Albany Corp. at 90 State St. He and coworkers met for drinks at La Serre after work for years and he also attended monthly luncheons with a group of executives called the Hudson River Club, now disbanded.
“La Serre was just the perfect spot and it felt like a family,” said Donnaruma, who held his retirement party at La Serre two years ago.
Donnaruma introduced me to a group of raconteurs who were La Serre regulars, including Leo P. Dean, a World War II paratrooper who continued to sky dive and work full-time as an insurance agent until his death at 91 in 2015. In 2009, he was presented with the French Legion of Honor during a visit to France.
Leo liked to raise a wine glass filled with “Leo’s blend,” a mix of pinot grigio and merlot. “My first one today,” he’d say with a twinkle in his eye.
Last Thursday, I sat in the shuttered restaurant with Donnaruma and Trimble. They swapped stories about the cast of characters who animated La Serre, where everyone seemed to have a nickname: The Rube, the Prince of Darkness and Ranger Bob. Big John’s spirit hung over the place.
“My father loved La Serre and he made many wonderful friends here. It was where he came to socialize,” said Trimble, one of five sisters.
Trimble made a final pour from a wonderful red blend from Tuscany, a 2012 Le Serre Nuove dell’ornellaia. We had pored over old photo albums. On the stereo, Louis Armstrong blew his trumpet mournfully.
“We had a wonderful run,” said Trimble, whose voice choked up while remembering longtime customers who had passed away. Ref lexively, she rattled off numbers of the tables where they sat and their preferred brand of liquor in cocktails.
“It’s the end of an era,” Donnaruma said. “Downtown won’t be the same without La Serre.”