On Halloween, Piccola Cucina Osteria Siciliana in SoHo served one last dinner in the little house that it built on Spring Street during the first year of the coronavirus pandemic.

The next morning, the owner, Philip Guardione, took everything he could save from the structure: 11 tables, chairs, live palms and ZZ plants, basket-shaped rattan chandeliers, space heaters. The rest — including white window shutters with adjustable louvers meant to give diners the feeling that they had arrived home at the end of the day — was hauled off by a trash-removal company.

Once the scrap wood was gone, the site where Piccola Cucina had served wine from Mount Etna and Sicilian classics like bucatini with sardines and fennel reverted to what it had been before the pandemic: a street-parking space, one of almost three million in New York City.

Four years after in-street dining gave desperate restaurants a way to hang on and New Yorkers a way to hang out, the very last of the Covid-era dining sheds are truly, finally, really disappearing.

The structures varied from simple lean-tos banged together out of a few hundred dollars’ worth of lumber to small, lovingly detailed odes to verdigris Beaux-Arts winter gardens, sleek Streamline Moderne luncheonettes and sunset-pink Old Havana arcades.

They came to have almost as many meanings as architectural styles. To some urbanists, they were a bold experiment in rethinking public space. To others, they were an eyesore. Restaurateurs saw them as an economic lifeline. Opponents saw a land grab.

Dining inside a popular spot, you could believe New York had embraced al fresco culture like Rome and Buenos Aires. Walking past an empty one at night, you might conclude that the city was throwing a permanent picnic for the rats.

It was never meant to last, at least not in the form it took during the depths of the pandemic. The city’s street-and-sidewalk dining program, called Open Restaurants, used an emergency executive order to allow restaurants to sidestep many existing laws and regulations about safety, parking, accessibility and fees.

Once the emergency ended, permanent rules were written after much wrangling between Mayor Eric Adams, the City Council, a herd of bureaucracies and the restaurant business. The guidelines are now far more stringent: Fully enclosed structures aren’t allowed, for instance, and many setups will have to be scaled back to a smaller footprint.

There were so many noncompliant shacks still standing that hauling companies and contractors have had a backlog of several weeks. All street sheds, even the ones that meet the new requirements, are supposed to be removed by the end of the day on Nov. 29. According to the Department of Transportation, any structures still standing the next day will be subject to fines of up to $1,000.

The season reopens April 1, creating a storage challenge for restaurants, which are not known for having lots of extra space.

As of Thursday, the Department of Transportation, which oversees the new program, had received 1,412 applications for roadway dining permits next year — a dramatic drop from the 12,000 businesses that applied under Open Restaurants.

Some owners are bitter about giving up roadway seating for the winter, particularly in December, the busiest month. (There are new rules for sidewalk cafes, too, which are allowed year-round.)

Restaurants excel at conjuring whole moods out of next to nothing. The New York Times took a closer look at several restaurants that have already taken down their creative street setups, and a few that have been holding out.

Building for the Long Haul

Balthazar, SoHo, Manhattan

The Open Restaurants program was originally scheduled to end after Labor Day in 2020. Few owners wanted to invest in such a short-term proposition, and many of the flimsier structures that were knocked together that summer were abandoned or falling down by the time winter came.

Balthazar took a longer view.

It waited a full year before coming back in March 2021, with three tented cabanas on Spring Street that were built to last. A peaked roof of red fabric matching the restaurant’s awnings was stretched over a sturdy metal frame. A wainscoted ledge next to the tables disguised heavy barriers that have withstood several run-ins with passing trucks. The floors were a water-resistant plywood that was dyed, not painted, so its deep blue wouldn’t be scuffed away.

The goal was not to make it look new. Ian McPheely of the firm Paisley Design worked to give the cabanas the soft, timeworn look that he helped bring to the restaurant’s interior when it was built in 1995. Keith McNally, the owner, obsessed over the lighting, finding antique table lamps and hanging globe lights that matched the ones inside.

“When you step into Balthazar, you feel like you’ve taken a train to Paris, and you needed to have that same sense outside,” said Erin Wendt, the director of operations for the Balthazar Restaurant Group.

When the cabanas were built, indoor dining was limited to 25 percent of capacity. The cabanas had space for about 40 seats and operated seven days a week, morning to night. The added revenue quickly covered their cost, which the chief executive of Balthazar’s restaurant group, Roberta Delice, placed at about $160,000. American Express and Resy picked up around $40,000 of the cost through a pandemic promotion.

Ms. Wendt said that after the structures were hauled off on Nov. 1, the restaurant had 72 fewer weekly shifts to offer its employees.

“We’re going to do everything we can not to lay people off, but everybody is going to take a hit,” Ms. Wendt said.

From Eyesores to Gardens

Cebu, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

Michael Esposito estimates that he poured between $75,000 and $100,000 into the two decks he built in front of Cebu Bar & Bistro. Street dining at Cebu began in late 2020 with movable barricades separating diners from the traffic.

Eventually, with his partner and his contractor, he designed one structure that stretched for 65 feet along Third Avenue and a second one, about half as long, on 88th Street. The sheds were wired for lights, space heaters and speakers.

A floral-design company was hired to turn these big black boxes into urban arbors. Cascades of artificial wisteria swayed below the ceiling, supplemented by live palms and ferns.

“We definitely wanted to look our best for everybody,” said Mr. Esposito, the owner. “If you go by one of the sheds that’s falling apart and filthy, it’s not a good representation of what’s going on indoors.”

He said he suspects his efforts to dress up the avenue may have smoothed the way with the local community board, which recently approved Cebu’s plan to come back in April with a street-dining area that meets the city’s new rules.

Mr. Esposito’s proposal has room for 75 seats, about three-quarters of what he used to have. When the old structures were taken down on Nov. 8, much of it went into storage in the hopes that it can be repurposed next year. The roofs had to go, though, and he will not have as many hours to offer his employees, especially over the winter.

“We’re still fortunate to be given the opportunity so I’m not going to complain at all,” he said.

Privacy on a Busy Street

Don Angie, West Village, Manhattan

The public-health rationale for outdoor dining was that fresh summer breezes could help slow the spread of the coronavirus. But as the weather turned cold, restaurants faced a new challenge: keeping their customers safe and warm.

Don Angie came up with an innovative solution: two “cabins” with a total of nine private compartments. Designed by GRT Architects, each room had baseboard heating, insulated walls, velvet curtains at the entrance and space for up to six people. Clear plexiglass dividers let customers see other diners without having to share their air.

Scott Tacinelli and Angie Rito, the chefs, taped parallel rows of auto-detailing decals over the partitions to give them vertical pinstripes.

“It took a really long time to get them straight,” Ms. Rito said. “Scott and I took a whole day to put up those lines.”

“It was more than a day,” Mr. Tacinelli said. (The two are married.)

Diners, and celebrities in particular, appreciated the privacy they could get by drawing the curtains. Some cabin regulars have yet to set foot inside the restaurant, the chefs said.

The two cabins cost about $75,000. The larger one was demolished last year, and the remaining one was hauled away on Nov. 12. To make up for some of the business they will lose over the winter, the chefs are thinking of serving lunch on Fridays and staying open an extra half-hour each night, although people aren’t as willing to eat late as they were before the pandemic.

Although they have applied for permits for the new program, they said they aren’t sure yet what their new structures will look like.

Still Standing, For Now

Empire Diner, Chelsea, Manhattan

As the Nov. 29 deadline approaches, many street structures are still in place around the city.

Empire Diner, the 1946 stainless steel dining car on 10th Avenue, is hoping to keep the slim, monochromatic building it calls the Pavilion right up to the last minute, said Stacy Pisone, one of the owners.

Designed by Caroline Brennan of the firm Silent Volume in 2021, and built at a cost of $150,000, the structure echoes the diner’s streamlined Art Deco contours. Portholes cut into white panels alternate with the vertical plexiglass windows that wrap around three sides of the structure. When a coalition of urban-planning groups that supported street dining gave awards to seven outstanding structures in 2021, the Pavilion was one of the honorees.

Ms. Brennan wanted to give people eating in the Pavilion’s 40 or so seats something to look at, and the Brazilian street artist Eduardo Kobra was commissioned to paint a wall above the diner. In a nod to West Chelsea’s galleries, the mural features portraits of Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring and Frida Kahlo.

“We call it Art Rushmore,” Ms. Pisone said.

Neighbors, including some of the local gallerists who often rented out the space for dinners, have suggested a big, celebratory send-off inside the Pavilion before it is torn down. Ms. Pisone, who hasn’t scheduled the demolition yet, doesn’t have the heart for it.

“I can’t even think about doing a party,” she said. “It’s just so sad.”

Ayza, NoMad, Manhattan

East of Herald Square, Ayza Wine Bar is trying to hang on to its outdoor dining area through the end of the year. Partly, the owners hope to take advantage of the busy holiday season. Mostly, though, they are confused about how the new rules affect them, because the regulations were written for structures, and what Ayza has on East 31st Street isn’t a structure, exactly.

It’s a trolley car.

This struck Ayza’s owners as an ingenious solution during the pandemic. Purchased from a sightseeing-tour company in Boston and refurbished with 20 seats at a total cost of about $25,000, the trolley had large, unobstructed openings that allowed air circulation. Its dimensions were almost exactly what the city allowed. Because it was up on wheels, rain water ran right under it. And because it was more solidly built than the typical wooden shed, it was safer from minor collisions.

“I would feel bad for the person who hits the trolley,” said Zafer Sevimcok, one of the owners.

Mr. Sevimcok said he has applied for permission to operate in the street next year. He isn’t sure whether his application will be approved, though, because the new regulations do not have a trolley option.

In case the city cracks down, he has a backup plan: He will call a mechanic to charge the battery and then drive the trolley away

Restaurant Photography: Lila Barth for The New York Times (Piccola Cucina, Empire Diner and Ayza). Jonah Rosenberg for The New York Times (Balthazar, Don Angie, Oscar Wilde). Marissa Alper for The New York Times (Cebu). Karsten Moran for The New York Times (Dawa’s).

Produced by Eden Weingart and Andrew Hinderaker

A minor, 2.3-magnitude earthquake struck in Connecticut on Wednesday, according to the United States Geological Survey.

The temblor happened at 7:33 p.m. Eastern about 1 mile northwest of Moodus, Conn., data from the agency shows.

As seismologists review available data, they may revise the earthquake’s reported magnitude. Additional information collected about the earthquake may also prompt U.S.G.S. scientists to update the shake-severity map.

Aftershocks in the region

An aftershock is usually a smaller earthquake that follows a larger one in the same general area. Aftershocks are typically minor adjustments along the portion of a fault that slipped at the time of the initial earthquake.

Aftershocks can occur days, weeks or even years after the first earthquake. These events can be of equal or larger magnitude to the initial earthquake, and they can continue to affect already damaged locations.