the catskills sandwich

Whenever a new or forgotten Interesting Food enters my consciousness I become fixated and relentless: I research and think about it, chase it down, and rhapsodize without end until another gem takes its place.  My friends laugh.   I laugh.   My wife and daughter laugh — or they roll their eyes.

Before retiring for the night on a recent Saturday I sat on the couch stripped down to my Penobscot Bay Paddle & Chowder Society tee-shirt and my boxers — dressed for bed but not quite able to pull away from mesmerizing online threads about the legendary Catskills Sandwich.

The Paddle & Chowder tee-shirt makes a good story on its own.   Last August we were standing outside of Micucci Wholesale Foods in Portland, Maine — ready to bite into our juicy sweet "slabs" of their signature pan pizza — when a man wearing said Paddle & Chowder tee-shirt saw our New York license tag and asked how we had come to discover Micucci's.   "A friend from Maine told me about it," I told him — adding that we had come to try the pizza.

I gawked at and expressed admiration for his tee-shirt with its graphic illustration of a split paddle over a steaming kettle of chowder atop a flame-engulfed broken canoe.  I thought acquiring one of my own was unlikely since I'm not a member of the Society — and I don't boat — but I asked anyway.  "Oh, they'd probably give you one," he said.

Not long after returning home from Maine I mentioned the shirt to my wife Kristin.  She ignored me.  But I went on Facebook, found the Society's page, became a fan, and sent a message to the President.  No reply.   A week later I sent another message, this time to the Treasurer. What Treasurer would decline a check in exchange for a tee-shirt, I thought to myself.   It worked.  $20 and a couple weeks later, I received a shirt of my own. 

Let me get to why I was researching the Catskills Sandwich.

Earlier that night Kristin and I were over at our friends C. & E.'s for dinner, discussing a lunch experience C. and I had shared a week earlier at Brennan & Carr, a famous roast beef restaurant located at the crossroads of several distinct Brooklyn neighborhoods — far, far from Manhattan.  After lunch, as we stood in the parking lot — I was snapping photos of the Hot Beef sign and admiring the restaurant's anomalous Tudor-like architecture — we met owner Eddie Sullivan.  Our chat hit upon many topics, including: why Eddie doesn't park in his own lot, how clean Brennan & Carr's kitchen is, how (regular customer) Marty always asks the waiter to first rinse his mug with warm water because he prefers his Bud not frosty, and how Brennan & Carr has had only three butchers (ie. those who are allowed to slice the meat) in the last 50 years.  Great place.

But back to the dinner with C. and E.  As C. and I told our wives the tale of roast beef, Brennan & Carr, and Eddie Sullivan my mind wandered to the phenomenon of Monte's Deli — a hard-to-find Italian sandwich shop on a quiet stretch of Avenue O in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

"Did I ever tell you about Monte's?" I asked the group.  "No," said C. and E.  Oh, where to start, I wondered.

[Truth told, my first thought was about coats of arms — and how Monte's and several NYC pizzerias have them (see above photos).]

"Monte's offers three sizes of bread," I said, "the roll, the football, and the hero.  And I always order the same thing when I go there: prosciutto di Parma and mozzarella on a roll or a football."

[The football, which is a mid-sized sandwich roll, was christened as such by an astute Monte's customer years ago.]

"I order it plain," I added, "Nothing on it like mustard or mayo, lettuce or tomatoes."

E. found this funny — and I too began to laugh.   After a minute, I paused to gather my composure (and dry my eyes), mentioned that I love this sandwich so much I've never deviated from it at Monte's — not even for the intriguing "Chinese" roast pork and Duck Sauce sandwich on garlic bread, the one I once read somehow connects with the Borscht Belt Catskills visited by Jewish New Yorkers two or three generations ago. E. lost it and laughed like crazy — so did I!

"Why would they have eaten pork?" she asked.  She thought I was mixed up.  I told her I couldn't remember what I had read.

And that's why later that night at home — wearing only boxers and a tee-shirt — I looked it up.

Before I get to that, however, I should address my inspiration for the plain prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich.  It happened in Italy.   The sandwich man at Frontoni — a remarkable pizza farcita restaurant in Rome, where lucky customers could select fillings from dozens of choices (including meats, veggies, cheeses, seafood, and spreads) for a personalized hot pizza sandwich — recommended against adding a spread to my prosciutto and mozzarella.  I've never since forgotten his message — that certain food combinations are best left plain.  [Sad news: Frontoni closed its doors for good in January 2011; it had been in business since 1921.]

So at Monte's — where the prosciutto is top quality, the mozzarella is made fresh each day, and bread comes from a 93 year old bakery across the street — in spite of riveting temptations like the Catskills Sandwich — I still couldn't deviate from tradition.

C'mon, you may be thinking, try the damn pork sandwich already!  Well, I did.  But not from Monte's.   My late night research led to two valuable discoveries — one of which I have since visited three times in the last week.

First, the info discovery: according to Arthur Schwartz in his 2008 book Jewish Home Cooking, the Catskills Sandwich was invented in the mid-1950s at Herbie's — a late night gathering place for entertainers in Loch Sheldrake, NY.  Schwartz wrote that, "it was a dish that made first- and second-generation Jews of the 1950s, Jews who no longer abided by the kosher laws, feel like they were truly Americans as well as urbane and sophisticated.   Imagine what a scandal it was to observant parents and grandparents, what a delicious act of defiant assimilation it was, to eat Chinese roast pork on Italian garlic bread."

[Note/revelation: garlic bread is Italian!]

Second, I learned from a local blogsite that Court Street Grocers — a new store down by the elevated expressway about a half mile from where I live — makes a quality version of the Catskills Sandwich!  Prior to roasting, they marinate pork loin in tamarind and apple; they make homeade Duck Sauce with non-HFCS ketchup, mustard, sherry vinegar, apricot preserves, Sriracha chili sauce, cumin, and coriander; and they prepare their garlic bread using Italian ciabatta and a garlic-parsley-butter compound.  The sandwich makes for a sweet-'n'-sour, chewy-'n'-crunchy, meaty — and history-infused — food epiphany. 

And yes, go have one!  But also go because CSG is more than a sandwich shop.  It is a store that sells foods ranging from hyper-local (Granola Lab's handmade granolas from Brooklyn) to imported (Kewpie mayonnaise from Japan), and from obvious (Heinz Ketchup) to kitchy (Woeber's Horseradish Sauce, Nesbitt's orange soda).  Mouse-over the photo of CSG's Catskills Sandwich at the top of this entry to see a small cross-section of the store's diverse offerings.  Also, be sure to notice — in the bottom row, below the Kewpie mayonnaise — how this rambling story about my food obsessions sews up with good old-fashioned coincidence.  For there it is: Puttanesca sauce from Micucci Wholesale Foods in Portland, Maine.  I haven't tried it yet, but I know it must be good!

Map Micucci's. Micucci's website. 
Map Brennan & Carr. Tel. (718) 646-9559.
Map Monte's. Monte's website.
Map Court Street Grocers. Court Streeet Grocer's website. 

(Call ahead for days/hours.)

spaghetti & meatballs, eataly & iowa

A few years ago I started a different blog, called the Berman Food Mall. But my energy for regular writing fizzed out after a few entries. The concept was: imagine all of your very favorite foods and restaurants -- no matter where in the world they actually are -- together under one roof. Impossible? Probably. But what an alluring piece of real estate it would be!

The Berman Food Mall.

Now Eataly, a sprawling Italian mega-store chain has opened its first US location in New York (in September 2010). Here, one can experience a physical, real life version of the Food Mall -- but with Italian food only. With over 50,000 square feet, Eataly New York weaves its 14 restaurants into aisle upon aisle, counter upon counter of Italian specialty foods for sale.

The store's layout is both daunting and thrilling. In my first few visits, I have chosen to focus on only a few departments: the multitude variety of canned and jarred tomatoes, the meats and poultry from Pat La Frieda, and the pizza restaurant.

After reading up on La Frieda, I decided to purchase several pounds of their beef for hamburgers to serve at my daughter's upcoming birthday party. My assessment: without question, the quality of these nutrient-rich burgers was many notches above the stuff available at other stores. My guests raved about them, too -- and I'm pretty sure they weren't just being polite. But despite the best intentions of all involved, I was left with about 1⅓ pounds of extra beef.

So the next day I called Kristin, my semi-vegetarian wife, at work, and asked her if she would eat spaghetti & meatballs for dinner. She said yes!

Next up, the dual purpose phone call to Iowa. It was Kristin's Great Aunt Julia's 97th birthday, and it had been a while since she and I had spoken. We chatted for a while -- about the family, her health, etc. -- and then I got to the burning topic: her recipe for meatballs. She gave it up!

Mix together: a little over a pound of ground beef, a cup each of bread crumbs and grated parmesan, some garlic powder and sweet basil, one egg, a little milk, salt, and pepper. Brown them in a pan, add them to a tomato sauce, and simmer for one hour.

I tweaked it slightly. Instead of garlic powder, I sautéed three cloves of minced garlic and used them along with the oil; by "sweet basil" she had meant dried basil flakes -- I substituted chopped fresh basil; I felt it needed two eggs instead of one; and a "little milk" turned out to be about ½ a cup.

I cannot remember her meatballs well enough to know if my rendition tasted anything like hers. But the entire time I spent making them, AJ was on my mind. Arthritis now prevents her from chopping, and she no longer makes meatballs. She also can't fry up her incredible late summer peppers. Boy, was her shit good!

Now, for all I know, the earth may be out of balance forever, all because AJ can no longer cook. So my meatballs were a tribute to AJ. I'd better call her about it soon just to let her know that I love her, and that her meatball recipe is totally top notch.

Map Eataly New York (call ahead for days/hours).

the faicco's & john's sausage alliance

The other day, when I visited John's Pizza on Bleecker Street, it was quite easy to decide what to have.  Co-owner Peter, Jr. had told me that besides plain, his two favorite toppings are sausage and anchovies.  My friend M. and I split a small pie with half of each of those.  The anchovies were a treat, both quality-wise and because I rarely order them. (M., in fact, preferred them over the sausage!)

 And while sausage is also not an everyday food for me, I do especially like it when it one or two subtle flavors (in addition to the requisite pork (or chicken or turkey) flavor) shine through.   In the case of the Faicco's sausage served on the pizza at John's, this refinement arrives in the form of fennel. It pops up approximately every other bite and brings a bit of savory to the otherwise cheesy and tomatoey affair of very good coal oven pizza.

Ever since John's began offering sausage as a topping (probably in the 1950s), they have sourced it from nearby Faicco's Italian Specialties - only one block away.  (John's, having opened in 1929, is one of America's oldest pizza restaurants.  Decades ago neighbors referred to it as "the pizza store.")  

Faicco's sells many varieties of sausages, butchered and sliced meats, cheeses, sandwiches, and other top-notch Italian food products.  The fennel sausage is made daily from pork shoulder, fennel seeds (Egyptian imported), salt, and pepper.

New York is quite blessed with a multitude of very fine pork stores - businesses that are usually not only about sausage and meat, but generally feature other extraordinary foods.  The parsley and cheese sausage at Anthony's, which was once on my corner (but is now a bank), was my personal favorite. Thankfully, I still have Esposito's nearby (aside from great sausages and cuts of meat, they make an excellent homemade tuna salad and an eggplant parmesan that is one of the best I've ever had - whoever said vegetarians can't shop at pork stores?!!).  

And in Greenwich Village, Faicco's remains a real gem of a shop. Originally established in 1900 on Thompson Street, Eduardo Faicco, an immigrant from Sorrento, moved his shop to Bleecker Street in the 1940s.

Click the photo above (of coiled and pinwheeled chicken sausage) to navigate a few more photos from my recent visit to Faicco's.  Or better yet, stop by Faicco's for a properly made Italian hero, or a pound or two of excellent homemade sausage.

Map Faicco's (two locations); Map John's Pizza (four locations) (call ahead for days/hours).