The Patterns of History

 

Orchard Street on the Lower East Side
maybe about turn of the 20th Century

Dinner on my own again tonight, and I was dithering between shakshuka and scrambled eggs with corn and goat cheese (more about all of that another night) when my computer reminded me that I had signed up for a webinar on tenement kitchens from 6:00 to 7:00 tonight.

Several years ago, I reviewed a book titled 97 Orchard Street, a fascinating history of one tenement building on New York’s Lower East Side. The book traced the history of various families who occupied the building, as the waves of immigrants poured into New York from various countries. First, in the mid-1800s, came the Irish, forced to flee the potato famine. Then, around the turn of the century, refugees from the pogroms and harsh conditions in Eastern European countries, and by 1940 immigrants from south of our border. Little did I realize at the time that 97 Orchard Street and a companion building at 103 were the center of a museum devoted to the study of immigration. Next time you’re in New York, the Tenement Museum at 103 Orchard is well worth a visit.

Tonight’s program was on tenement kitchens and looked at three successive families—the Moores from Ireland and the Rogshefkys from Russia, who both lived at 97 Orchard, and the a single Puerto Rican mother (Romanika?) who lived at 103 with her two sons (97 had by then been condemned). A knowledgeable curator walked us through each kitchen—the first two apartments probably some 325 square feet where conditions were so crowded, children slept in the kitchen. We saw the progression from coal to gas to electricity. Each segment featured a typical dish from the family’s culture—boxty, from Ireland, was a pancake-like dish prepared with grated potatoes, egg, and seasonings. Several viewers commented that it looked like Jewish latkes, and I did think it emphasized the similarity of cultures—many feature their own versions of the same food, with a different name.

The Jewish/Russian dish was cholent, a stew put on to simmer before sundown on Friday and eaten after services on Saturday (Shabbat or holy day) when orthodox Jews are forbidden to cook. Cholent is made mostly of whatever is on hand, and usually includes beans of some kind. In my years of being married to a Jewish man and coming to love the food, this is one dish I never was served or tried to cook.

The dish for the Puerto Rican woman was a rice pudding—sorry the name escapes me—made with coconut milk, and the process of making coconut milk was painstakingly described. You did not just go to the local grocery and buy a pint. The dish also had several seasonings, including what looked to me like a lot of cinnamon. Again, this demonstrates the link between cultures—several viewers chimed in to say that rice pudding was a staple of their Jewish backgrounds.

This program interested me partly because I’m interested in American history but more because increasingly my food interest is on American food, and I well realize that our culinary traditions involve a lot of the melting pot—we have absorbed and incorporated from the many immigrants who have been welcomed to our shores. No better illustration exists than the popularity of Mexican cuisine which may have first moved into Texas (and in many instances become Tex-Mex) but has also moved throughout the country.

It struck me as I watched that one of the lovely benefits of retirement is that I am free to dart down this rabbit hole and that. When I read the news in the morning, if a particular item interests me, I can take the time to search out more information on the internet. So it was tonight—I wanted to watch this, and I could easily take the time out from what I meant to accomplish tonight. My deadlines are my own.

Supper? I had a ham and cheese sandwich. I’ve got another dinner on my own this week and will have to decide between inventing shakshuka for one or those scrambled eggs. Hmmmm.

 

Len Berk and appetizing stores

 

Whitefish salad

           When I was growing up in Chicago, there was a Jewish deli (is there any other kind?) next to the neighborhood theater, and we walked by the display window a lot. I was always a bit horrified by the dead fish in pans and the shriveled-looking sausages hanging above them. Venture in there to explore? Never!

But then I grew up, married a Jewish man from the Bronx, and found myself eating in the deli a lot—and loving it. When we traveled, the first thing we looked for in a new city was the deli. The marriage didn’t last, but for years I have said I got two really great things out of it: four wonderful children and a love of Jewish food.

So yesterday, I found myself a new hero. His name is Len Berk, and he is the last of the Jewish fish slicers. Twenty-some years ago, at the age of sixty-five, Berk, a retired CPA, went to work slicing fish at Zabar’s, a world-renowned appetizing store in Manhattan. These days, because of Covid-19, he stays home, but he misses his job and friends at Zabar’s. Yesterday he was interviewed on a program sponsored by The Forward (formerly The Jewish Daily Forward), a news media organization for a Jewish-American audience. Interviewed with him was New York Times food columnist Melissa Clark.

They talked about almost everything in Jewish food—belly lox, Nova lox, chubs (baby carp), hot smoked salmon (I was grown before, on a trip to the Pacific Northwest, I finally understood there is a vast difference between hot- and cold-smoked salmon). I had to look up milchig (milky) and I’d never heard of chicken carp (according to Berk, it’s what Jews ate before black cod became common and popular). The mention of whitefish salad sent me searching for a recipe—the one I found was developed by Bobby Flay, which I found sort of surprising. The mention of a bialy set my mouth watering for that taste that is like no other (like a bagel only it is not boiled before baking and instead of the bagel’s hole has a depression that is filled with chopped onion and maybe garlic and bread crumbs—heavenly!). They talked about sharpening knives and making gravlax (cold salmon cured with salt, sugar, and dill), which I’ve always wanted to try. I’m a bit scared of spending a lot for the salmon and not having it come out right—but Clark made it sound so simple.

But there’s a lot more to Len Berk than slicing fish. He writes a column for The Forward and has written about his first job as a teenage soda jerk in the Bronx, his lifelong affair with Chinese cuisine, including food trips to China, the customers he has served, including Seinfeld and Itzak Perlman and the 105-year-old man with whom he developed a slicing ritual that had to be followed every Friday when the gentleman shopped. One column advised novices on the difference between cod and sable, kippered and baked salmon. Berk, a gourmet all his life, is a veritable encyclopedia when it comes to Jewish food.

It’s no accident that he worked at Zabar’s appetizing store. Some say that designation means a store that sells fish and meat; others say it is a store that sells food you eat with bagels; still another suggestion is that it sells meat and dairy, whereas a kosher deli will not mix the two. Other well-known appetizing stores are Russ & Daughters, Sable’s, Sadelle’s, and Frankel’s.

Len Berk and appetizing stores are a whole world away from Texas and brisket and beans, but I was delighted to spend an hour in that world.

Now about the gravlax—or as Berk would have you say, the graved-lox….

Want to see Len Berk in action? Here's a video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BtKjZNjZrk&feature=youtu.be