Restaurants I Have Known and Loved (a sequel)

Yesterday I wrote about the fast food restaurants of my youth while growing up in Miami. But that was 44 years ago, and I've eaten a few meals since then. Hence, a sequel (and, as sequels like to say, This Time It's Personal).


I'm not quite finished with Miami:

Florida is of course known for its seafood. But my family, which, as I wrote yesterday, moved there from New Jersey when we were all pretty young, never caught on to that. The only seafood I ate at home came from a can. Maybe twice in 15 years, my parents treated visiting relatives from up north to dinner at a seafood restaurant. My sister and I came along, of course, so that our cousins wouldn't be bored stiff. But afterwards, my mother never said to my father, "Hey, remember that lobster we had that time? Why don't you pick up a few on your way home?" It just never became an acquired taste, for any of us. I had my first shrimp when I was 20; it opened a whole new world.

I had my first deep dish pizza at My Pi, which opened during the 1970s in Sunny Isles. I thought it was strange and exotic, but once I moved to New Jersey, I learned that a slice of hot New York pizza is the only way to go.

New Jersey/New York:

As I mentioned yesterday, I got my fill of White Castle burgers during the four years I lived there. But for hot dogs, the place to be was Nathan's Famous. On the streets of Manhattan, you could stop at any Sabrett sidewalk stand for a decent dog, but Nathan's Famous was the filet mignon of wieners, and Nathan's in Times Square was the place to be. Many times I sat in the window watching the flotsam and jetsam of what was midtown New York in the 1970s as I savored a frank and those legendary fries. It was one of those places I never thought would vanish, like the Bleecker Street Cinema and Tower Records, but it turned out that nothing was forever, not even disco. (Well, we were pretty happy about that.)

But that was just one side of the river. It surprised me how many Garden State residents refused to cross over to the Dark Side that was New York City. For them, there was only one place in New Jersey to go for a true, all-American meal. They went to the diner. Any diner, actually. You've probably been to one almost wherever you are, or likely a facsimile of one. The original diners were prefab structures, many of which had a stainless steel exterior. They stayed open late. Their laminated menus did not include sushi. It was the place for almost anything -- lovers' assignations, late-night kibitzing with the gang, reunions, even funeral parties. I once accompanied a large family as they made a beeline for the nearest diner following a relative's burial service. Diners fit any mood and serve any purpose (including eating). Don't be fooled by imitations.

Kansas:

When most people who've never been there think of Kansas, they think of The Wizard of Oz. When I think of Kansas, I think of In Cold Blood. Different strokes, I guess. But where food is involved, most native Kansans probably think the same thing: chicken fried steak. It was difficult to avoid in any town you went to, and who'd want to try? It was great for breakfast with biscuits and gravy, great for dinner with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. So what if every time you pulled up to a restaurant, your arteries began acting like a dog going to the vet? It was worth the risk. One of the best places for chicken fried steak in Wichita (all my favorite Kansas meals were in Wichita) was the Cowboy, where they cut off your necktie if you walked in wearing one. The Cowboy closed before the 1980s ended, though, probably because the whole country was moving toward healthier eating. I'm sure that's why Grandy's must have gone under. Grandy's was a popular chain best known for its generous country breakfasts. It was fast food, but you sure couldn't eat it fast. People probably stopped going when they realized it was cheaper just to inject Crisco into their veins.

If I should ever find myself on Death Row for some silly reason (still stuck on In Cold Blood, I guess), I know what I want my last meal to be: a chicken salad sandwich from downtown Wichita's Old Mill Tasty Shop. It's just over 80 years old and still has the original lunch counter. The shakes are to die for, but it's the chicken salad that makes me wish I'd never moved away. I once pestered the owner for the recipe, but she handed me a menu instead. My favorite employee was Gale, who was an Old Mill veteran with an eternally sunny disposition and who always wore a button that said, "Why Be Normal?" Getting seated at lunchtime was a challenge; there are plenty of booths and tables, but the place really does need more space. That being said, though, I wouldn't change a thing. (Once, years later, I wrote to ask if they could ship me a chicken salad sandwich. The owner mailed me a menu instead.)

I should mention Spangles, just your basic burger chain that originated in Wichita and expanded to include many locations throughout south central Kansas. I mention it because I lived there when the first store opened, and in the months preceding that grand event, the owners held a citywide contest to see who could come up with the best name for it.  The woman who came up with Spangles won free meals for a year for, I'm not certain anymore, probably at least a year. I remember thinking it should have been for life.

Washington:

I've never had a geoduck (pronounced "gooey-duck"), but apparently people ate them in Western Washington. (Nobody I knew, but certainly someone.) They're clams, but how they fit into the clamshell I haven't a clue. The geoduck looks like -- there's no getting around it -- an elephant schlong. I've never seen an elephant schlong, but I'm willing to bet there's a resemblance. Google some images and see if you don't agree. My friends and I did that at a party recently, and it was all we could do -- all of us trying to be good Christians -- to refrain from saying what we were thinking. Hysterical laughter ensued instead.

If you're looking for a good steak, the Metropolitan in Seattle is pricey but outstanding. I prefer Daniel's Broiler, which is in Seattle but there's also one in downtown Bellevue, on the other side of Lake Washington (the area known as the Eastside). It's pricey but outstanding -- and also the best steak I've ever eaten. I loved that steak. I wanted to marry it and take it on a cruise.

Being on the Pacific Rim, the region has a large Japanese population, and what I liked best about Seattle and the Eastside was the proliferation of teriyaki restaurants. I acquired an insatiable appetite for it and must have ordered teriyaki chicken with white rice (hold the veggies) at least once a week for 14 years. If you're ever on the Eastside, visit Teriyaki Madness in Kirkland. Not only is it delicious, but the portions are so large that I'm still working on a dinner I ordered in 2004.

Maine:

I'm almost 62 and still can't negotiate a lobster. (Yes, after 19 years in Florida, I finally had lobster.) I mean all the pulling and the twisting and trying to use that nutcracker thing. The one time I finally figured it out, the paucity of meat wasn't worth the month I spent in physical therapy. Mainers love them, though, like most seafood aficionados. I took the easy route and ate lobster rolls instead. Lobster rolls are sandwiches filled with lobster meat, soaked -- soaked -- in butter and slathered -- slathered! -- in mayonnaise. When you order one, you might as well just scrape half of it onto your lap, since that's where it's going to end up anyway.

Idaho:

So far, I can only vouch for Idaho cuisine here in Boise, my latest hometown. You have no idea how happy I was to come here from Maine and find Yokozuna Teriyaki after five years of deprivation in the Northeast. It's easily as good as the teriyaki in Washington. Once a month or so, I walk to their downtown location and order my usual -- chicken teriyaki with white rice (hold the veggies) -- then sit in their window overlooking 8th Street and read a book or watch the passersby.

Chandler's is the most expensive steakhouse in Boise and possibly the whole state. In order to eat there, I'd need a couple of friends to cash out their 401(k)'s. That would take care of dessert.

Finally, Black Bear Restaurant specializes in large portions. It's so named because not even a black bear could finish a meal there. You're guaranteed to bring home leftovers, but you'll need two people to haul the takeout box to your car.