Gay Chili's

Remembering Elmo Restaurant

Cheers. Central Perk. Tom’s Restaurant. Moe’s Tavern. You want to go where everybody knows your name, right? Well, not really. Not me. I want to go where everyone is gay and the waiters are hot and the martinis are served in trapezoidal buckets.

Lucky for me, there’s a restaurant in Chelsea called Elmo.

My friends Rick Fromm and Harper Watters (Houston Ballet principal dancer).

The restaurant was founded by Robert (Bob) Pontarelli, who—in a strange mixing of worlds that only happens in New York City—used to be the director of American Ballet Theatre’s press department in the 1990s. Bob also owned the now-closed Barracuda Lounge, a bar where I used to perform as my drag persona, Ühu Betch. It’s also the bar where I believe I got Covid in March 2020.

Nostalgia smells so sweet—especially now that I’ve got my sense of smell back.

In a recent statement on Instagram, Bob shared:

“It was just confirmed to me that our building—home to elmo for 25 years—has been sold. Our lease expires with that sale.

The new owners will soon bring a residential building to our neighborhood.”

Though business is booming, Elmo will close its big gay doors on March 13th, 2026.

I moved to New York City in 2012 and found Elmo damn near right away. It embodied a particular Chelsea scene—where ballet dancers, Broadway performers, drag artists, and downtown creatives all mingled nightly. But my favorite part about Elmo wasn’t the food or its boozy offerings, it was the feeling that gay people could get together and giggle, no matter your age.

Demon twinks would sit at a four top slugging watermelon martinis while golden gays nursed their dirty vodka martinis in one of the booths. A drag queen and her minders would cackle over meatloaf on any given Tuesday evening. This was a place where the community came to get silly and it didn’t feel ruled by sex or being cool. Places like this are closing in New York City and call me an old biddy, but it makes me a bit wistful.

There’s a wholesomeness to a gay restaurant. It’s not a disco that’s open until 6am. It’s not the “afters” where poop smell is the main course. And I have never once seen a child inside the hallowed halls of Elmo. Let’s celebrate that!

It’s simple, really: Eat. Drink. And be Mary.

Elmo sits on 7th Avenue between 19th and 20th streets. ABT Studios are on 19th and Broadway. I cannot tell you how many times I—or one of my girls (ABT gays)—has, after a grueling day of rehearsal, shouted over our lockers, “Elmo?” Then we’d carry our exhausted, swishy fannies west on 19th Street, passing New York Live Arts and the chaos of 5th and 6th Avenues, and through the tall double doors of Elmo. There’s camp art on every wall and decor that reminds me of an airport Radisson lobby in a kitschy way. It’s clean and buzzy, with the bar to the left of the entrance. There’s often a DJ spinning the hits from the late 90s and early aughts. Cher, Deborah Cox, Amber, Lasgo. Y2K gay club gold.

I made a playlist for your enjoyment.

We’d sit down in a booth ideally, and some studly beefcake—inevitably with a sexy Latin name—would take our drink orders. “I’ll have a Hendrick’s martini with a twist. Dry. Extra cold.” I’d say through batted lashes, like some mincing 93 year-old in Palm Springs. (Highly aspirational, if I’m being honest.) And once the drinks came out, we’d order chips and guac or empanadas. One martini from Elmo and you’re good and drunk. Two and you’re in the hospital. How cost-effective is that? At straight establishments they measure the shots, charge you $25, and then spit in your drink, all while wearing leather aprons and fedoras and congratulating themselves on making it through two online bartending classes.

At a gay restaurant, you get a gay pour. Which, in turn, makes you not poor.

Now that’s a gay pour. My friend Jose Sebastian, ABT Soloist.

I went for my last supper at Elmo this past weekend, after a matinee of Othello at Lincoln Center. I had a grueling-yet-rewarding week. I’d picked up extra performances for an injured dancer and my body was longing for a break. When the curtain came down on the third act, I said aloud, “Where’s my martini?” I met up with my closest friends, one last time, at Elmo on 7th Ave. We toasted to the many good times we’ve had in that large room. We laughed as I ordered the meatloaf—my go-to. Jose looked at me and said, “Oh, she’s getting her SMOOTH LOAF?” And we all died laughing.

Goodbye, Elmo. You were a place for the making of memories, for us gays, young and old, to feel easy and safe. One of my besties has called it “Gay Chili’s” for decades. Here’s Chili’s mission statement:

To create a fun atmosphere, deliver delicious food and drinks, and provide great hospitality.

Now if that’s not Elmo, I don’t know what is.