Great photo! Now
all we need is a picture of the Old's Ben Deli on the corner.
Vicki DaBronzo replied
This is one of
many photographs I found at the Trenton Free Public Library (In the Trentoniana
Collection).
I remember
buying rolls, bread at Kohn’s Bakery! Good bagels too!
S. Warren St (near Lafeyette) 1955
14Linda Jaremback, Frank Bogage and 12 others
I remember it well!
It
Me
I remember the loggie was part
of the Delaware.
Rick
Houck my mother lived on the loggie.
Yes, and having to shake the
bottle because the cream was at the top.
Yes
Borden Castana delivered our
milk way back when
And when the milk froze in the
winter, and the cream on
top rose and pushed the
cardboard lid off!
And I remember the milk box
too.
Those were the days!
Yes, and Kerns soda too.
- Malcolm Richard Casway
- is that maurey Robinsons on s; broad st.
Trenton.n.j.
The milkman ran over my
dog. 
My Grandfather’s Dairy was
Jersey Maid in Bordentown and had home delivery 
routes
Yes I do!!
Yes! Willow St in Bordentown!!
I recall that my Mom would
occasionally leave a note asking the milkman to bring cottage cheese and a day
later it would appear on the back porch.
A lot of kids bore an odd
resemblance to the milkman.
o
Like
https://kahntrentonbathhouse.org/
KAHNTRENTONBATHHOUSE.ORG
The
Bath House
Remember it well
Went there for many years
The Bath House
(kahntrentonbathhouse.org) http://kahntrentonbathhouse.org/
Used to use it after softball on sundays.
§
§ Used to
use it after softball on sundays.
Malcolm Casway -is that Maurey Robinsons
on S. broad st. Trenton.NJ.
Herb Spiegel
A Disappearing Delicacy
As
ptcha—a classic Ashkenazic dish made from jellied calves’ feet—disappears from
deli menus, American Jews lose a culinary link to past generations
APRIL 24, 2012
Making
ptcha at home.(Tablet Magazine)
Ptcha, the humble dish of jellied calves’ feet, is on the verge
of extinction in America.
While matzo ball soup and latkes have garnered crossover appeal
as modern Jewish bistro fare, thus ensuring their survival here, this
gelatinous appetizer never found a non-Jewish audience, and even its Jewish
fans are disappearing, landing ptcha on the endangered list. In fact, the
number of names for the dish—also known as sulz, drelies, fisnoga, or holodets—is greater than the number of menus where it
still appears in New York City.
“I don’t think ptcha would be a big seller [for us],” said
Kutsher’s Tribeca owner Zach Kutsher, who doesn’t sell the stuff. “It never
came up in any menu conversations.”
Manhattan’s 2nd Avenue Deli does serve ptcha, but even there,
the customer base is narrow—and shrinking. “We basically make it in the store
for just a handful of customers who like it,” said owner Jack Lebewohl.
Ptcha is more than a dish, though: It’s a Jewish delicacy whose
American history carries a story of immigrants, struggle, and resourcefulness.
It’s a culinary heirloom that, unless passed on to the younger generation, will
break a link to generations past.
***
Ptcha originated in the 14th century as a popular Turkish soup,
writes Gil Marks in The Encyclopedia of Jewish Food.
The peasant dish was “based on lamb’s feet, known as paca corbasi,” he writes, “from the Turkish paca (foot), and called soupa patsas or simply patsas by the Greeks.” As the foot soup cooled,
the gelatin congealed. When this dish spread to Central and Eastern Europe,
cooks opted for cow’s rather than lamb’s foot and preferred the cooled jelly
over the hot soup. Marks explains: “The dish allowed cooks to transform one of
the least expensive parts of the animal into an Ashkenazic delicacy.”
Though ptcha was more popular in Eastern Europe, German Jewish
immigrants were the first to document ptcha in the United States, notes Bonnie
Slotnick, owner of New York City’s store Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks. “German
Jewish immigrants were famously very assimilated, even when they were in
Germany,” she said, thumbing through two separate halves of an 1890 edition of
the Jewish-American Aunt Babette’s Cook Book.
For instance, the book makes no mention of Passover and instead names Easter
the ideal time to serve “metropolitan apple pudding” (ahem, haroset). She
pointed to the ptcha recipe, listed in German as sulze von kalbsfuessen rather than as ptcha. Aunt Babette’s Cook Book’s treatment of sulze and Passover, Slotnick explained, holds a
mirror up to a generation of Jews eager to adapt their customs to those of
their former country Germany and their new homeland America.
In 1918, The International Jewish Cook
Book reconnected ptcha with its Jewish heritage and included
“those time-honored recipes which have been handed down the generations by
Jewish housewives (for the Sabbath, Passover, etc.).” Author Florence K.
Greenbaum, a Central Jewish Institute cooking teacher, includes two ptcha
recipes, as well as instructions for setting the Passover table and “rules for
kashering.”
Marks’ Encyclopedia notes
that ptcha was “well received by most of the first generation of American Jews
to be brought up on the dish” and was served at weddings. However, Lynn Jawitz
of Long Island, a second-generation American who grew up eating ptcha, laments
that her Galicia-born grandmother made the dish constantly. Her bubbe spent her
life cooking it not out of celebration but out of utility. “They had tough,
tough times during the Depression,” Jawitz recalled. “When you’re taking these
bones and making stuff out of them, it just sort of shows that maybe you
couldn’t afford the meat.”
Judy Bart Kancigor calls ptcha “standard shtetl fare” in her
2007 book Cooking Jewish: “My friend Marci
Klein thinks good [ptcha] must be covered with a thin film of soot, as her
mother always cooled it on the fire escape.”
Rose Levy Beranbaum, award-winning author of The Cake Bible, told me via email about her memories of
ptcha. Although her Russian émigré grandmother served it to her uncle, who
loved the dish, she wrote: “I would never have dreamed of touching it.” Still,
Beranbaum includes a ptcha recipe in her 1994 book Rose’s Melting Pot and states that this meal, developed
by Jews who “could not afford more expensive cuts of meat,” was also a “truly
ethnic delicacy, a sort of Slavic/Jewish soul food.”
Lebewohl, who as a toddler immigrated to the United States with
his family after World War II from a displaced-persons camp in Italy, recalls
being raised on the savory jelly. “My mother made ptcha all the time, and I
developed a taste for it for that reason,” he said, which is why he still
includes it on his eatery’s menu. “It’s the type of food that you come in to
eat that reminds you of home, that reminds you of what your mothers and
grandmothers used to make.”
However, the demand for ptcha is slowly declining. Lebewohl
said. “I’m 63 years old, and the people who normally eat it call me ‘Hey,
sonny!’ ‘Hey, kid!’ That gives you an idea of the age of the people who eat
it.” He remembers one elderly woman who, up until about 10 years ago, would
call the restaurant every year to order a tray of ptcha for her husband’s
birthday. “And then, all of a sudden, she stopped calling,” he said. As long as
ptcha remains a relic of the turn of the century, the Depression, and the Lower
East Side shtetls, it will pass on at the same rate as its mostly elderly fans.
So, is there any way to bolster ptcha for the younger
generation? Beranbaum had one idea: “What with all the garlic and wonderful
chewy morsels, perhaps the best way to get people interested is to change the
name to something more appealing. It is not that dissimilar to various
gelatin-based recipes that come from other European countries such as France
[which has] oeuf en gelée.”
Alain Cohen, owner of Los Angeles’ Got Kosher, notes that his
“old school” Tunisian dishes with calf’s foot, such as t’fina camounia, now court “a crowd of American fans
[who] like to explore new dishes.” Beranbaum and Cohen suggest that, in order
to preserve ptcha, restaurateurs must rebrand the dish for foodies in search of
the luxurious and exotic.
After all this talk about ptcha, it’s time for me to try
some—for the first time. As I sit on a midnight-blue barstool at the 2nd Avenue
Deli’s counter, I slice into the bizarre, obscure appetizer that I’ve been
researching for weeks. I take a bite, and as the garlicky gelatin hits my
tongue, I’m surprised that it’s not the unappetizing peasant dish I was expecting.
I had assumed that ptcha would be as musty as the 1890 copy of Aunt Babette’s Cook Book. Instead, it is savory and
sour and satisfyingly mushy. With its neat appearance, its translucent amber
hue, and its settled flecks of meat, it looks not unlike an odd gem, luminous
and undiscovered.
***
There was also the dinner bell
diner in Ewing at parkway and Olsen now Duncan donuts
No comments:
Post a Comment