The Ballad of Mel’s Burger Bar
An elegy for an egalitarian eden
On December 15, 2023—a day that will live in infamy—Mel’s Burger Bar announced its iconic location on Broadway between 110th and 111th Streets would be closing permanently.
Sundial, through tireless investigative reporting, uncovered a leaked text between an anonymous source and the son of Mel’s owner. When asked if Mel’s would be closing for the holidays or indefinitely, he responded, “Forever!”
He continued, “Unfortunately, it’s time. Neighborhood never came back like we thought it was and a perfect storm of other things. 14 great years but all great things must come to an end at some point.”
We may never know the true reasons for the decline of Mel’s. The harped-on COVID effect and a “perfect storm of other things” as explanations for the passing of such a beloved institution leave this journalist deeply dissatisfied.
The most compelling, evidence-based theory for the decline of Mel’s, based upon numerous interviews and cross-referenced analysis, is the following: Rumor has it the property that was Mel’s will soon be acquired by Comet, a private equity firm that is a subsidiary of the Clinton Foundation. The PE fund will then convert Mel’s into a fast-casual pizza joint that will put another beloved (albeit rat-infested) local institution, Koronet’s, out of business. Then Hilary, recently crowned professor of international and public affairs at SIPA, will personally take over the operation, expanding the square footage of the basement and employing unemployed SIPA alums to kidnap children from the local neighborhood and trap them in the basement of what used to be Mel’s. After a long day of impassioned lecturing in IAB 406, Hilary will retreat to the basement of this pizza shop and feast upon the dry-aged internals of the little children of Morningside Heights while participating in an Institute of Global Politics livestream discussing the need to carpet bomb the entire Middle East.
But that’s just a theory…
What is no joke is the warm place that Mel’s held in the hearts of the cold and divided Columbia community. Ah, let's shed a tear, shall we, for the tragic, heart-wrenching demise of Columbia's last bastion of egalitarian debauchery, Mel's Burger Bar. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, not by the sword, nor by the pen, but by the unforgiving, cold, and invisible hand of economics.
Now as we see the neighborhoods of the city succumbing to the stench of decay once reserved for the far-off wastelands of the Rust Belt, we're forced to confront the true victim of this cruel joke—the death of an icon, the death of Mel's, and with it, the death of everything it stood for: equality under the law of blood alcohol content, the freedom to sweat profusely in a crowded room with your peers, and even the freedom of the press. Yes, the Columbia Spectator mourns as well, its large coffers now bereft of advertising revenue sourced directly from Mel’s overpriced whiskey cokes.
Mel’s was a place where doe-eyed freshmen could arrive with nothing but a scrap of paper torn from their college-ruled notebook with “I am 21” scrawled on with green crayon, and still be welcomed with open arms. It was a place of true equality where all students from all backgrounds could congregate and mingle in jubilation.
With Mel’s passing, we will see the social inequality gap at Columbia widen even further. Now, students must make the pilgrimage downtown in a $50 Uber, only to purchase $25 “artisanal” cocktails with paper straws. Only the privileged few—with the financial backing of Daddy’s Amex Platinum—may regularly make this arduous journey to SoHo and the Lower East Side.
So the many will stay uptown, forced to go either to the greatly inferior 1020 or The Heights (which are soon to be acquired by the Clinton Foundation as well) or isolate in their rooms with Fireball and cheap plastic cups from Duane Reade like we’re all still quarantining.
Ah, the injustice of it all! To be condemned to a life devoid of Mel's sublimely mediocre house beer, its ultra-acidic, burning whiskey sour, and—let's not forget—a pretty damn good burger.
So, as the world outside endures its wars and terrors, we, the stalwart few, wage a war of our own—a war for the soul of Columbia, for the right to tell our tales over a decent burger and beer. And as the privileged continue to sip their espresso martinis at Soho Grande, let us remember what we've lost—not just a bar, but a beautiful symbol of unity and egalitarianism.
This mourner calls for a day of silence, not just for Mel's, but for the concept of joy itself, mercilessly snuffed out in its prime. A moment of silence, please, for Mel's and all it represented. The world may never know such a masterful blend of bad drinks and good company ever again.
Mr. Chimicles is the director of operations and a senior editor for Sundial. He is a junior studying history and computer science.