Talk about locations of the damned! I can't remember all the things that were there (T shirt shop and music store are a couple that come to mind) when I lived in HP, and who knows how many more things since then. As you say, EC, let's check it out while it lasts.
I'm not much of a fan of Eastern European cuisine, with a couple of exceptions*, but I do like beef stroganoff, which I saw on the menu for Cafe Dacha. That's enough to make me want to eat there, but don't me expect me to share. Unless you're ordering stroganoff too.
* In addition to stroganoff, I refer to my mad love for the not necessarily authentically Eastern European Stouffer's noodles Romanoff, the demise of which I have bemoaned on these pages before. Thank God for copycat recipes and the LTHers who have pointed me to them.I have a wierd sort of sentimentality about that intersection, Central and Green Bay. One day when I was in high school I was crossing the street there and got hit by a car. I went flying, my shoes went flying, I later developed a bruise on the whole left side of my body, but I was otherwise miraculously uninjured physically (I did have some hesitation psychologically crossing streets with cars approaching on my left for at least two decades afterward). Things were simpler in those days: no cell phones, no lawsuit, no cops, no ambulance; I said I was okay and walked away. The woman driving the car that hit me happened to be a coworker of my dad's, and she of course felt terrible about it and endeavored to contact him to say how terrible she felt about it, which did not sit well with my mom because my dad was in the hospital at the time and she had not warned him in advance that I'd been hit by a car. Come to think of it now, I don't remember either of my parents being terribly concerned that I'd been hit by a car. But they had other worries at the time.
"Your swimming suit matches your eyes, you hold your nose before diving, loving you has made me bananas!"