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Authors: Mark Kurlansky
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slightly more expensive than that served in the cafeteria, is light, tasty, and briskly served. Again, the store specializes in odd knick-knacks, the delight of feminine customers who would ordinarily turn away from heavier fare. Above all, it has glorified the sandwich.
The pièce de résistance is the toasted “three decker” enclosing ’tween decks unusual and sometimes insidious food combinations. These may include cold meats, fish mixtures called “salads,” hamburger, bacon, cheese, jelly, peanut butter, bananas, tomatoes, relish, pickles, and chopped eggs, all garnished with condiments or dressings. The popular cheese-burger is a doughty bit combining grilled hamburger and melted American cheese served on a soft bun and tasty enough to ensnare even the one-cylinder appetite.
In New York’s summer heat the customer may “drink” his lunch, in which case he has a wide choice of cold drinks and ice cream. Or he may dawdle over the substantial banana split, variously known back-counter as a “house boat” or “the works,” constructed of ice cream, strawberries, crushed pineapple, whipped cream, maraschino cherries, and chopped nuts, all resting heavily on the banana. Cold weather brings hot beef tea, Ovaltine, tea, coffee, chocolate, and hot milk.
Hot miniature dinners are sometimes offered: chilled fruit juice, a bowl of excellent soup, a salad, and such entrées as boiled beef tongue with raisin gravy, potato and spinach, or chow mein with rice and noodles—even leg of lamb with potato, diced carrots and mint jelly. Desserts include everything from plain pie to the hot fudge Mary Ann. All this may be had for a very reasonable fixed price.
That a drug store soda fountain can offer such a variety of food and drink with seemingly limited facilities is surprising, but these places are equipped with the latest time-saving devices and organized to separate the functions of each worker. The drip coffee is served from glass pots kept constantly in use on a five or six burner gas or electric plate, making possible the continuous brewing of fresh coffee. A small broiler and grill (the “radio,” in a luncheonette gob’s jargon) turns out orders of crisp bacon or ham and eggs. Each electric toaster keeps sixteen slices of bread revolving on its wheel. A small aluminum steam table holds containers of hot meats and various shining pots whence are ladled the soup, gravies, and hot vegetables. Jelly, pickle jars, and mayonnaise are handily lined up.
During rush hours the sandwich man deftly and swiftly builds “three deckers,” completing each success with a shout: “Take it away!” The steam table man dishes out hot dinners. If the job is not too “hot foot,” the sandwich man may handle both. The waiters serve the food, mix the drinks, and punch the checks. Used dishes are tossed into a sink under the counter where they are cleaned in a jiffy by the “bottle-washer.” All is compact, tidy, stream-lined.
The stool diner does not loiter. Waiting customers may be lined up behind him three deep. Dare he rest a moment, he may be the recipient of sub-zero glares or even a little verbal “needling”: . . . “He’s tryin’ to scrape the design off the plate—” . . . “Give ’im a couple tooth picks—” . . . “Let’s try hollerin’ fire!”
Italian Feed in Vermont
MARI TOMASI
Mari Tomasi was born of northern Italian parents on January 30, 1907, in Montpelier, Vermont. Her father, who had traveled in South and Central America, chose the Green Mountains because he said they reminded him of his native lake region in Italy. Her sister was a nurse and her brother and four cousins were all doctors, and it was Mari’s ambition to study medicine also. But under financial pressure after her father died, she went to Trinity College in Burlington to study teaching. Soon she dropped out to write freelance newspaper and magazine articles. Although she became city editor of the Montpelier Evening Argus, she
The pièce de résistance is the toasted “three decker” enclosing ’tween decks unusual and sometimes insidious food combinations. These may include cold meats, fish mixtures called “salads,” hamburger, bacon, cheese, jelly, peanut butter, bananas, tomatoes, relish, pickles, and chopped eggs, all garnished with condiments or dressings. The popular cheese-burger is a doughty bit combining grilled hamburger and melted American cheese served on a soft bun and tasty enough to ensnare even the one-cylinder appetite.
In New York’s summer heat the customer may “drink” his lunch, in which case he has a wide choice of cold drinks and ice cream. Or he may dawdle over the substantial banana split, variously known back-counter as a “house boat” or “the works,” constructed of ice cream, strawberries, crushed pineapple, whipped cream, maraschino cherries, and chopped nuts, all resting heavily on the banana. Cold weather brings hot beef tea, Ovaltine, tea, coffee, chocolate, and hot milk.
Hot miniature dinners are sometimes offered: chilled fruit juice, a bowl of excellent soup, a salad, and such entrées as boiled beef tongue with raisin gravy, potato and spinach, or chow mein with rice and noodles—even leg of lamb with potato, diced carrots and mint jelly. Desserts include everything from plain pie to the hot fudge Mary Ann. All this may be had for a very reasonable fixed price.
That a drug store soda fountain can offer such a variety of food and drink with seemingly limited facilities is surprising, but these places are equipped with the latest time-saving devices and organized to separate the functions of each worker. The drip coffee is served from glass pots kept constantly in use on a five or six burner gas or electric plate, making possible the continuous brewing of fresh coffee. A small broiler and grill (the “radio,” in a luncheonette gob’s jargon) turns out orders of crisp bacon or ham and eggs. Each electric toaster keeps sixteen slices of bread revolving on its wheel. A small aluminum steam table holds containers of hot meats and various shining pots whence are ladled the soup, gravies, and hot vegetables. Jelly, pickle jars, and mayonnaise are handily lined up.
During rush hours the sandwich man deftly and swiftly builds “three deckers,” completing each success with a shout: “Take it away!” The steam table man dishes out hot dinners. If the job is not too “hot foot,” the sandwich man may handle both. The waiters serve the food, mix the drinks, and punch the checks. Used dishes are tossed into a sink under the counter where they are cleaned in a jiffy by the “bottle-washer.” All is compact, tidy, stream-lined.
The stool diner does not loiter. Waiting customers may be lined up behind him three deep. Dare he rest a moment, he may be the recipient of sub-zero glares or even a little verbal “needling”: . . . “He’s tryin’ to scrape the design off the plate—” . . . “Give ’im a couple tooth picks—” . . . “Let’s try hollerin’ fire!”
Italian Feed in Vermont
MARI TOMASI
Mari Tomasi was born of northern Italian parents on January 30, 1907, in Montpelier, Vermont. Her father, who had traveled in South and Central America, chose the Green Mountains because he said they reminded him of his native lake region in Italy. Her sister was a nurse and her brother and four cousins were all doctors, and it was Mari’s ambition to study medicine also. But under financial pressure after her father died, she went to Trinity College in Burlington to study teaching. Soon she dropped out to write freelance newspaper and magazine articles. Although she became city editor of the Montpelier Evening Argus, she
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