Early Bronx Memories

October 24th, 2015 § 2 comments § permalink

HG’s earliest years were spent in a fourth floor walk up apartment on Prospect Avenue located on the eastern fringe of the Belmont neighborhood in The Bronx. Southern Boulevard was a few blocks away and the Boulevard was bordered by the Bronx Zoo. Little HG would sleep with the roar of lions in the far background. HG was familiar with elephants, rhinos, hippos, lions and tigers long before HG ever saw a cow or a sheep. Horses were familiar, however. They pulled the wagons of fruit and vegetables that were familiar in the days of the Great Depression. Horses also hauled the ice wagons in those pre-refrigeration days. HG remembers the iceman (Icemen were always sturdy Italians) carrying a burlap wrapped block of ice over his shoulder to the HG family apartment. (Legend had it that the iceman was the illicit lover of Bronx housewives. Given the very taxing schlepping that was the iceman’s job, it seems dubious that the guys had energy left over for amorous dalliance). The milkman drove a white truck and delivered his product in the early dawn. A bakery chain, Dugan’s, sold its product from a truck. The driver would park his car and shout: “Dugan, the baker!!” Doughnuts and raisin bread were the Dugan specialties. Jewish Moms bought bread and rolls from Jewish bakeries and Italian Moms would walk to Arthur Avenue for traditional Italian baked goods. Relations between Jews and Italians on Prospect Avenue were cordial. HG’s father would often swap his home distilled Vishniak (cherry brandy) for the robust red wine produced at home by Italian neighbors. (In those politically incorrect days, the wine was referred to as “Dago Red.”). Street vendors were omnipresent. In cold weather, they sold hot sweet potatoes (with a pat of butter) for two cents; hot roasted chestnuts; steamed chickpeas with chicken fat and coarse salt. Summer was the time for chunks of coconut and Italian ices. HG and his little pals would augment these foods by stealing potatoes and roasting the “mickeys” in fires set in empty lots. In the summer, HG and the other kids splashed in water from fire hydrants while parents sat on improvised seating in front of apartment houses. HG very much enjoyed the itinerant street singers. They would launch into loud song and appreciative housewives would shower them with pennies, nickels and dimes wrapped in paper and tossed from windows. Sentimental love songs and ethnic favorites (“My Yiddishe Momma”) were big hits. Loew’s Elsmere on Crotona Pakrway was the nearest movie theater. HG’s late sister, Beulah Naomi, took four-year-old HG (she was 11) to the Elsmere in 1933 to see “Dracula” with Bela Lugosi (The movie was released in 1931 but it took two years before it reached The Bronx). The movie visit was ill advised. HG and sister were paralyzed by the horror of the vampire movie. It left HG with a lifelong fear of bats (and, of course, sharp toothed Hungarians).

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Horror Meals

August 26th, 2012 § 0 comments § permalink

HG was discussing “scary” movies with his knowledgeable six-year-old grandson, Haru Sakamto Freeman. Haru doesn’t like such films and neither does HG. When little HG was Haru’s age, his beloved sister brought him to a local cinema to see Bela Lugosi in Dracula. The little fellow was traumatized. Still has an unreasonably negative attitude toward mosquito munching bats. Discussion about horror led HG, inevitably, to thoughts of horror meals he has confronted. The worst was somewhere in Vermont. On a country road HG and famished family stopped at a pretty chalet that advertised German home cooking. Oompah music greeted HG and family as they entered and a jolly gent in lederhosen lead us to our table and a steam table buffet. Food must have lingered in that buffet for months. There was mold, congealed grease. Food was not only inedible, it was probably lethal. On another New England trip, HG encountered a New England clam chowder composed of library paste and stale flour. HG’s fury at this horrifying soup has become the stuff of a family legend, oft repeated. HG and BSK once went on a trail riding vacation in Wyoming. The starting point was an attractive ranch where HG and BSK were promised down home Western cooking. This consisted of “instant” potatoes, semi-raw baked (from the texture it might have been crow or vulture) chicken and canned string beans. Jello mold for dessert. After a day’s ride (great horses, spectacular scenery) we bunked at another ranch. Served steak (that’s the way it was described). HG sawed away with his steak knife. Could not make any headway. Had to content himself with Wonder bread (stale) and canned baked beans (luke warm). Rugged cowboy at our table managed to cut his meat and chewed loudly. “Mighty tasty,” said the ranch gourmand. In New York’s Chinatown, HG was once intrigued by a dish at a neighboring table that was being heartily enjoyed by a Chinese family. HG pointed at it and disdaining the advice of his waiter, ordered it. A plate of shoe leather and rubber bands on a bed of rotted fish heads (that’s the way it tasted). These are the only horror meals HG recalls. HG’s healthy food psyche has blanked the others.

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