Wow! AOL featured Italian Hot Dogs on their newsfeed this week. They made the mistake of inserting onions in with the potatoes and peppers which is NOT how Tony Goes made them. And he made the best. The Casino restaurant was THE place to buy them in Trenton, New Jersey. The internet tells me the place is still there. Though I know Tony Goes must be gone or be the oldest man in the US of A.
Now that the Warrenton Woman’s Club Cookbook is available, you can find the recipe for Italian Hot Dogs in there, the way Tony Goes made them, complete on Torpedo rolls. If you can find those rolls anywhere. Remember them? H-m-m-m. The aroma floated through the air at the Italian People’s Bakery up the street from the Casino. The cookbook has 240 pages of some 400 and more recipes of various kinds from all over the States plus tips, helpful hints, quick fixes, basics, terms, and more. It sells for $15 plus $2 S/H per book.
The Italian Hot Dog has become the Jersey Dog, very different from Nathan’s, the Coney Island Hot Dog, the Michigan Dog steamed with a meat sauce on it, and Texas Weiners (my mom’s favorite) the list goes on and on. As American as apple pie? No, the hot dog!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Collecting Menus
It’s true. I like eating out, not every night and not just out, but in good restaurants. This doesn’t mean expensive, but eating from the hands of chefs that care, that take the time to use fresh ingredients wherever possible and use herbs instead of just adding more salt.
So I’m always trying new spots to add to my favorite places. Yesterday on the spur of the moment, I popped into the car and drove to Raleigh to take a few photos of haunted places that will be featured in my almost-ready-for-the-publisher book. I planned to just zip in, point & shoot and zip out again. Alas! I was denied entrance to the grounds until two hours later.
What to do, now? Well, why not have an early lunch. I headed for one of my favorites when I haven’t researched another restaurant, Vic’s Italian on Blake Street. Missing one parking spot, I drove around the two blocks to get back to it and whoa……….there sat a new place that the not-quite-good German place vacated. I checked a little closer before opening the door to Troy Mezze Lounge.
The walls are painted a quiet red (oxymoron) in the wrapped bar area where the bar stools stand on an angle, tilted a bit outward, which gives a very welcoming appearance. Four lamps hang on long chains over the bar, laced with fancy designed metal that gives off a cozy light. The dining room has a sponged wall that appears to be the same red. The décor is very tasteful and not overly intrusive.
Clay Pot of lamb and fresh vegetables in their own juices, with herbs and topped with just enough cheese are plated with rice or bulgar pilaf and a touch of red cabbage was my delicious choice. Their website is: http://www.troyml.com/index.htm
Jenna tendered me all the attention I needed and gave me a tub to take home half my Clay Pot so I could sample their delicious Figmusi-Samolina Pecan Fig cake topped with mascarpone & fresh strawberry slices. It was a generous slice, so I took half of that for later, too.
So I’m always trying new spots to add to my favorite places. Yesterday on the spur of the moment, I popped into the car and drove to Raleigh to take a few photos of haunted places that will be featured in my almost-ready-for-the-publisher book. I planned to just zip in, point & shoot and zip out again. Alas! I was denied entrance to the grounds until two hours later.
What to do, now? Well, why not have an early lunch. I headed for one of my favorites when I haven’t researched another restaurant, Vic’s Italian on Blake Street. Missing one parking spot, I drove around the two blocks to get back to it and whoa……….there sat a new place that the not-quite-good German place vacated. I checked a little closer before opening the door to Troy Mezze Lounge.
The walls are painted a quiet red (oxymoron) in the wrapped bar area where the bar stools stand on an angle, tilted a bit outward, which gives a very welcoming appearance. Four lamps hang on long chains over the bar, laced with fancy designed metal that gives off a cozy light. The dining room has a sponged wall that appears to be the same red. The décor is very tasteful and not overly intrusive.
Clay Pot of lamb and fresh vegetables in their own juices, with herbs and topped with just enough cheese are plated with rice or bulgar pilaf and a touch of red cabbage was my delicious choice. Their website is: http://www.troyml.com/index.htm
Jenna tendered me all the attention I needed and gave me a tub to take home half my Clay Pot so I could sample their delicious Figmusi-Samolina Pecan Fig cake topped with mascarpone & fresh strawberry slices. It was a generous slice, so I took half of that for later, too.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Book Collecting in Warrenton NC
Now that I’m on a fixed income with living costs rising (I remember Mom complaining about this and not paying attention) I have curbed my book collecting to only those I will use in research and of course, Jane Austen related books.
Soon after I arrived in North Carolina, I managed to pull out my credit card for a few at Oakley Hall Antiques. One of the books, a first edition of 1962, “The Way We Were” by Mary Polk was inscribed to Mary Jane from one of the book’s minor characters, Fairfax Polk Mitchell. A treasure, indeed, even though the cost was much higher than the original price. It was still reasonable. I justify this expenditure on my limited budget by telling myself that it’s important to learn the history of where I live.
Believing in continuing self-education, I also bought a 1953 first edition “Southern Accent” by Warrenton native, William T. Polk. Only the dust jacket is a bit worn, the book is in fine condition. A soft cover of “Poems of the Great South” edited by Jim Stratz and Jerry Medina went onto the pile also. Life without poetry is not a good life.
Another book or two finished out the purchase of the day. While Dot was tallying up and zipping my card, we began talking. She filled me in on some western North Carolina history where she was raised, then followed with some local history. From there we talked about books, business, fashion, people and movies. An hour later my head was filled with lots of good stuff, my bag with great treasures and my heart was full. I love shopping in places where the welcome is gracious and the personal touch is used generously.
Soon after I arrived in North Carolina, I managed to pull out my credit card for a few at Oakley Hall Antiques. One of the books, a first edition of 1962, “The Way We Were” by Mary Polk was inscribed to Mary Jane from one of the book’s minor characters, Fairfax Polk Mitchell. A treasure, indeed, even though the cost was much higher than the original price. It was still reasonable. I justify this expenditure on my limited budget by telling myself that it’s important to learn the history of where I live.
Believing in continuing self-education, I also bought a 1953 first edition “Southern Accent” by Warrenton native, William T. Polk. Only the dust jacket is a bit worn, the book is in fine condition. A soft cover of “Poems of the Great South” edited by Jim Stratz and Jerry Medina went onto the pile also. Life without poetry is not a good life.
Another book or two finished out the purchase of the day. While Dot was tallying up and zipping my card, we began talking. She filled me in on some western North Carolina history where she was raised, then followed with some local history. From there we talked about books, business, fashion, people and movies. An hour later my head was filled with lots of good stuff, my bag with great treasures and my heart was full. I love shopping in places where the welcome is gracious and the personal touch is used generously.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Adventures in Book Collecting
Adventures have happened to me over the years, all in the quest of building my personal library. Nearly driving off the mountain above Bath, England comes to mind immediately. I had already bought a few books in Bath and decided that exploring the area around it, was a good idea. That was just before I found myself on a single lane dirt road that ran around the side of the mountain and a car came approaching me. I froze. To my right were trees, bushes and a drop down about 500 feet. I wasn’t about to move. The other driver, probably a resident and used to such moments, unkindly drove with a part of her car half way up the mountainside to get around me.
Who thinks of England being a mountainous country? Again I came close to falling off the mountain but this time I drove to a seaside town in Cornwall to see where Daphne Du Maurier lived after she became famous for her fiction. The coast of Cornwall is breathtakingly beautiful with areas of sheer rock jutting out over the smashing waves breaking on huge boulders below. The road I was on overlooked a village nestled on the shoreline, between rising rock on both sides.
The streets that led off my road ran down to the sea. Straight down. ‘Well, I thought, the townspeople must drive down those streets or they wouldn’t be there, right?’ I turned my English, gear-shift-on-the-left car into the street and thought I was going to fall end over front down the macadam! As the car sped on without my foot on the gas, I spotted a street to my right, made an instant decision and swerved the car around the corner, and around the next corner again heading back up off this damn mountain! Gears were grinding, the car screeching in protest, sweating more than I was. People passing by on the sidewalks raised their heads to look at me in wonder, eyes wide but not as wide as mine. I wasn’t sure my car couldn’t make it. I kept pressing on the accelerator, finally reaching the overlook road. Whew.
I found a spot to pull over, put the car in park, got out and kissed the ground while thanking the Angels in the same breath. Another quick decision made-I’d leave Du Maurier for another time.
Who thinks of England being a mountainous country? Again I came close to falling off the mountain but this time I drove to a seaside town in Cornwall to see where Daphne Du Maurier lived after she became famous for her fiction. The coast of Cornwall is breathtakingly beautiful with areas of sheer rock jutting out over the smashing waves breaking on huge boulders below. The road I was on overlooked a village nestled on the shoreline, between rising rock on both sides.
The streets that led off my road ran down to the sea. Straight down. ‘Well, I thought, the townspeople must drive down those streets or they wouldn’t be there, right?’ I turned my English, gear-shift-on-the-left car into the street and thought I was going to fall end over front down the macadam! As the car sped on without my foot on the gas, I spotted a street to my right, made an instant decision and swerved the car around the corner, and around the next corner again heading back up off this damn mountain! Gears were grinding, the car screeching in protest, sweating more than I was. People passing by on the sidewalks raised their heads to look at me in wonder, eyes wide but not as wide as mine. I wasn’t sure my car couldn’t make it. I kept pressing on the accelerator, finally reaching the overlook road. Whew.
I found a spot to pull over, put the car in park, got out and kissed the ground while thanking the Angels in the same breath. Another quick decision made-I’d leave Du Maurier for another time.
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