As a Hungarian living in New York City, for me, the Hungarian Pastry Shop is more than just a café—it’s a rare and comforting bridge to home. In a city that moves fast and constantly reinvents itself, the shop’s warm, unchanging presence feels like a quiet embrace from Budapest itself. The scent of coffee and fresh pastries like Dobos-torte or walnut strudel evokes memories of family kitchens and Sunday afternoons back home. Sitting in the shop, surrounded by conversations and books instead of screens, reminds me of the slower, more deliberate pace of life in my home nation. It’s a space that preserves pieces of Hungarian culture—language, flavors, and a sense of community—and makes them feel alive in the heart of Manhattan. The Hungarian Pastry Shop doesn’t just serve food; it offers delicious pastries and belonging.
Over the decades, the Hungarian Pastry Shop has become a haven for writers, students, and locals alike. Its cozy, Wi-Fi-free environment encourages patrons to engage deeply with their work and conversations. The shop also offers a warm welcome as it is family owned. Notably, several acclaimed authors have penned significant works within its walls, including Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me, Julie Otsuka’s When the Emperor Was Divine, and Nathan Englander’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank.
The café’s menu boasts a variety of traditional Hungarian pastries, such as Dobos tortes, Linzer tarts, and poppy seed strudels, alongside its signature Hungarian coffee—a blend flavored with almond extract and topped with whipped cream. In 2023, the shop underwent renovations funded by a grant from the Backing Historic Small Restaurants program, enhancing its façade with a custom-designed mosaic while preserving its historic charm.
Situated at 1030 Amsterdam Avenue, directly across from the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in the Morningside Heights neighborhood of Manhattan, the Hungarian Pastry Shop continues to be a vibrant part of the community, offering a warm atmosphere and timeless pastries that have made it a beloved New York City landmark.
But with pastries notwithstanding, this place is about the atmosphere; it has the vibe of people once found in the cafes of Paris or Heidelberg or, indeed, Budapest. You hang out here, and you attain a kind of intellectual street cred. Ask any Columbia alumnus about it, and you’re sure to unleash a torrent of postgrad nostalgia.
1956 was a tumultuous year for Hungarian history. The Hungarian Revolution against the Soviet Union was in full swing, infiltrating the lives of every day Hungarians as Soviet tanks rolled into the streets of Budapest. My family was no exception to this. My great uncle Irvin at the time was 15. He along with his family saved up money to cross the Austrian border. The Austrians opened up their border, yet it remained dangerous. He along with many other young individuals and soldiers made the treacherous journey to freedom. My father’s family immigrated to America shortly after the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. Unfamiliar with the English language and American culture, my grandmother struggled to find and maintain employment. Only a few years later, she found the Hungarian Pastry Shop. At the time, it was purely authentic, almost as much as today. The staff consisted of immigrants like her, who brought the recipes that comprised their sugary confections and daily sales.
Approximately 39,664 people in New York City identify as Hungarian—myself included. However, in 1920 there were 64,393 people born in Hungary residing in New York. The number is decreasing, and Hungary’s net population is decreasing with it. Yet, the Hungarian Pastry Shop remains a strong and sturdy pillar in the Upper West Side community. Yes, it no longer houses real Hungarian delights. But it is just as important to me and to New York City residents.
Susanna Steinberg, a senior at Chapin High School and a regular at the Hungarian Pastry Shop gave her input. Over the past five years, the Hungarian Pastry Shop has seen Susanna through many transformative stages in her life, from writing high school application essays as a middle school student to filling out college applications. Below is an excerpt from our conversation.
“My typical day at the Hungarian Pastry Shop looks like ordering the same slice of carrot cake and cinnamon cappuccino, finding a small table in the back, opening up my computer, and connecting to my personal hotspot because they don’t have wifi. I’ve been consistently going to the Hungarian Pastry Shop for five years now. To me it’s a place of community, because I go there every week. So I recognize the same faces, the same workers, and a lot of the same people that are there. It’s also a place where I can be really productive and lock in for like five hours. People just enjoy being together. Also it’s right next to Columbia, so it’s kind of like a lifeline for academic work. It’s a place for intellectual pursuit, but most importantly it’s a place for community,” Steinberg said.
“One of my favorite parts of the Hungarian Pastry Shop is when I’m reading and I talk with senior citizens and strangers about the books,” she said. “It just happened yesterday while I was reading Angels in America, and it’s just a very heartwarming feeling. People just enjoy being together. I wrote all of my college application essays there and I still think to myself ‘thank you, Hungarian Pastry Shop.’ It really is more than just a cafe,” Steinberg said.
There may be no Wi-Fi, and the lighting in the long, narrow room is mediocre, but the coffee refills are free and the pastries are large and sweet. In the glass-front counter near the entrance to the shop are Dobos tortes (sponge cake layered with chocolate buttercream and topped with hard caramel), Sacher tortes, strudels and Hamantaschen, almost all made in house.
I also spoke to an older gentleman who wished to remain anonymous.
“You know, I’ve been coming here since the early ’80s—back when the pastries were smaller, the coffee was weaker, and nobody had a laptop,” he said. “It wasn’t about taking photos or finding Wi-Fi. You came here to read, to think, maybe argue about politics with a stranger over strudel. Me? I just read my paper. Same corner, same cup, every morning. This place changes like everything else, but it’s got a kind of soul that doesn’t.”
Karla, the mother of an employee and a native Hungarian, shared her perspective on the shop’s future in the ever-changing urban environment.
“I think it will stay, because I think in order to be happy, you want to have things that change around you and you want to also have things that don’t. Keeping this place as it is is very, very important for the neighborhood, because without it this would be a different place. Because it’s not a chain, it’s very personal and I think these are the kind of places that you need to make people feel good.”
The Hungarian Pastry Shop features a wealth of customers stemming from all different backgrounds, ages, and other demographics. It is a hub for exchange and interaction–one that cannot be hidden among the crowded streets of New York.
As a Hungarian living in New York City, for me, the Hungarian Pastry Shop is more than just a café—it’s a rare and comforting bridge to home. In a city that moves fast and constantly reinvents itself, the shop’s warm, unchanging presence feels like a quiet embrace from Budapest itself.