Home again, home again, jiggity jig...

I got into town on Wednesday and within 90 minutes was putting down a couple of slices and a Manhattan Special at Francesco's (former Nino's on Henry St... across from Mazzola's)... that was about 5 o'clock. I took up a good amount of space- hadn't bothered waiting till after I dropped by my friend's place and still had my bags with me. Heaven... they make a good plain slice here- crisp bottom and a little bit of dough between that and the sauce. The Manhattan Special... perfect, just like it has been for the last 50 or so years... I had a smile on my face and it seemed like all the weight had been lifted from my shoulders... I was home... I was among family, some of "my own" and the stress of my day-to-day existence on the Left Coast just melted away.

After a quick call, I met up with some "family" two blocks away. I haven't seen them in what seems like forever and it was a great reunion. We dropped my bag at the apartment and headed right back out. As we walked and talked, I brushed my feet through crispy dead leaves... colors I never get to see in my new home. It is still strange to me to see the NY plates; I get a little excited when I see them in LA, but to see one after the other all the way down each block... it was... hmmm... comforting. We walked a little way to a place I had never been before, a place I had only read about. Lucali's, a brick oven challenger that stepped up to face the old champ, Grimaldi's. It couldn't have been any better than it was... I won't go into details here, Lucali's has earned its own post. I will say that I am very excited about my next opportunity to get there and I have a new "must visit" when people tell me they are going to NY.

Overall, a great trip (could there be a bad trip home?) The weather was typical of the season... somewhere beteween warm and cold, the sun out just enough to keep you warm when the cool breeze blew... that smell in the air- damp with almost a tangible quality to it, the scent put out by the decomposing leaves... one of the great smells of my city in the fall. I had four days to squeeze it all in again, to get those batteries to take a charge, and I was as excited as I could be. Somehow, I ate less on this trip than I normally do- don't get me wrong, I still ate more than the average tourist, just not as much as I think I should, would, or could have... just another reason to go back soon.

Central Park looks beautiful this time of year... the colors, the leaves are everywhere, the sun seems to have a different affect on everything. There were more people in the park than I expected on a weekday. I spent some time sitting on a bench in The Mall (if you don't know, google it) under a long archway of trees. The amount of satisfaction gained from just sitting and watching people walk by... I felt like I was there again. It is actually pretty amazing how you can sit among all those people and still get a sense of solitude... I didn't talk to anyone, I simply drank my coffee and had some alone time with my city and the little piece of nature that was there. Thinking back on it, I can't find anything that even begins to compare to the feeling.

I spent more time with family on this trip than I have in the past. I introduced my youngest brother to a lot of what the city has to offer; he has spent very little time here and I think it was an eye-opening couple of days. As usual, I spent the days leading up to the trip thinking about what I would have while I was home, especially the things that I can only get there. I got to most of them- bagels (GREAT everything bagels from Mazzola), buttered rolls with coffee from one of the fabled silver coffee carts downtown, dogs, pretzels, more pizza than you woulda thought possible... sushi over at Tomoe- they still make the best salmon skin roll I have ever had... and the city was just great. I know I felt better for walking around for those few days than on any sunny day here in LA.



The days seemed to pass in a hurry... A couple of days in Brooklyn and then I spent a couple of days at my brother's place... we had our usual Italian Feast of Meats- I was hard pressed to make sure I tried a little bit of everything with all the deli paper open on the table... I kept thinking there was something under the cappicola wrapping, or maybe something sitting under the mortadella that hadn't even been opened yet... The fresh mozz, as usual, was perfect- smooth and creamy with just the right amount of salt... and the bread... crispy-doughy bits of heaven covered in sesame seeds... chased with a Yeungling or two...or three... hmmmmmm... how many was that? So easy to lose count when I am with my brothers and sister... talk, eat, drink.. it becomes circular.

Lunch rolled right into dinner, and next thing I know, the youngest was frying up some chicken cutlets... I haven't had a proper chicken cutlet in... well far too long... made with the breadcrumbs I grew up with, fried in the olive oil Mom always used... the kid did good... I was sorta proud of him (could never tell him that though- make him too comfortable, he'll get lazy and stop improving)

We got out to see some family I haven't seen in way too long- since before my last trip, you know-a million years ago.  I started to feel better and better about being home. Nothing like seeing extended family to keep things in perspective... being around people who had been a such a huge part of my youth almost felt like it was taking responsibility off my shoulders... I didn't have to be the oldest, the guide, the example... I felt younger than I have in a long long time.

I had thought about getting over to Philly... coupla friends over that way that need a visit... and God knows I could use a quick stop into Jim's for a cheesesteak or two... hmmmmmmmmm...  but that is going to have to wait for next time... but then, you know I'll be there.


Next thing I know, it's a cold dark Sunday morning and I'm on my way back to Kennedy for an early flight. Can someone tell me where all the time went? It seems like every trip home... no wait- it isn't the trip there, it's when I have to leave- every time I leave, I think more about pulling the chain and getting off the Left coast... This trip more than any of the others, I felt it. I think it may have been the way I spent my time, doing 'regular' things, doing things I would actually be doing if NY was still my daily grind- seeing my brothers and sisters, regular 'home'-type meals, just spending the day wandering through the City...

Sometimes being away from home is tough. Sometimes going home can be tougher. I serve an important function though; I am a missionary, an emissary from NY, spreading the word about my beautiful city. It's never easy being away from the things you know... but when the pain comes, you rub a little dirt in it and play hurt... Me? I like to make a dish of macaroni, maybe some fried meatballs on the side- a little Guinea comfort food always helps; then a phone call to tell someone about it that can really appreciate it... whether they are around the corner or three thousand miles away... hey it's only a quick flight away! So salt that pot of water on the stove and let's get it started. Time for another great meal. 'Cause Johnny Tomatoes says so!!

These little town blues...

Ok... if you have done any reading here at all, you already know what this is about... I am headed HOME!!! In just a few days, I will be taking a trip back to the land of all things delicious. I plan to eat my weight in "NY-only" food: bagels, pizza, bread, hot dogs, cheeses, meats, pastries- the likes of which will not be found on this Left Coast.

So who has seen The Godfather? Remember when he says "... but one day, and that day may never come, I will ask you for a favor..."? Well that day has come. My brain has become more than a little foggy and I am a little concerned that I may forget something. Tell me what it is that I need while in town... I need YOU. I am sure that YOU will have the one thing... the thing I can't live without on this trip… the thing I absolutely need. And I am sure that will be the one thing just out of the grasp of my memory... so remind me... any and all help is appreciated. Tell me about it… and when I get back I promise to tell you all about it. You know my rules… I’ll keep writing as long as you keep reading.

So, somebody call the NYPD, the FDNY and probably Animal Control too... I'm heading home and it is going to be some time!! My Fair City may be the City that Never Sleeps, but when I'm done... she's gonna need a little nap! 'Cause Johnny Tomatoes says so!!

Easy as Pie

Dad was a great guy. I don't think I ever heard anyone with a bad word to say about him... even Mom (and she divorced him after 6 years... so, you'd think...). He worked in some of the roughest areas of the Bronx and never had a problem... Dad was just a nice, soft spoken Irish guy from Inwood (that's on the northern tip of Manhattan, for the geographically challenged) He liked to read, was a gifted singer, and had a killer voice with a serious vibrato that got him some work for a breif period doing voice-overs. Apparently God has a sense of fair play, because while I got stuck looking an awful lot like him (JUST KIDDIN DAD!!), my saving grace was I got his voice too... I still remember when I'd call him at work as a kid... before he knew it was me, he would drop his voice an octave and say "Hi, this is Mike Tomatoes"...

I guess to me, like most kids, my Dad was about as cool as it got. Me and my older brother got to do so many things other kids didn't get to do- we learned all the city games Dad played growing up, like box-ball, king/queen, curb-ball, and ring-a-livio. He was teaching me and my older brother to drive in the church parking lot on Saturday afternoons when we were 11 and 12 years old. We were taught every part of the City and most of the outer-boros, and the best way to navigate them either by train or in a car (including the dreaded Cross Bronx Parking Lot). We knew how to use most of the crossings on the Hudson, East, and Harlem Rivers to avoid traffic on the West Side Highway, the Deegan or the FDR. The radio in his car was always tuned to 101.1 WCBS FM, the quintessential New York station that played the music from his youth- Dad loved doo-wop and we used to listen to Cousin Brucie, Don K Reed and the Doo-Wop Shop, and Mr Music Norm N Night... all old school "real" music. Cagney was a big favorite of his too- Angel's With Dirty Faces, Each Dawn I Die, White Heat... All in all, I am hard pressed to find a bad memory... and that's great because I have come to find that it is true- we do become our parents. (my epiphany on that came when, during a lengthy commute in some heavy traffic, I found myself yelling "Awlright pal... drive it or park it!!" at the driver in front of me... a classic line from Dad)

Much later, Dad confided in me that he never stopped loving or missing Mom... and I knew it was true. He always asked how she was and stuff... One thing he was always after was old recipes, things she had cooked for him when they were on their National Tour (courtesy of the US Army). One of Mom's old recipes that I loved was for Hamburger Pie. It was great and satisfied my carnivorous side pretty well. And it was easy to make, too. One night Dad asked what I had made for dinner, so I told him and gave him a shopping list and directions on how to put it all together.

Here is where I need to pause and let you know something about Dad. He was smart man... he spoke four languages... he could effectively debate almost any point... and he made helluva pot of coffee. But he was no cook. Couldn't do it if his life depended on it. This was an easy one though- a pound of ground beef, a small onion chopped, some flour, a few tablespoons Worcestershire sauce, two eggs, a package of shredded Cheddar cheese, and a frozen pie crust. That is essentially the shopping list I gave him. Then the directions: Chop the onion and start sauteing in a pan; brown the meat in the same pan with the onion, drain it; add 2 or so rounded tablespoons of flour (to help bind it) and at least three tablespoons of the W sauce (not gonna try to spell that one again!).. more if you like a little zing to our Hamburger Pie. Mix it all up in the same pan, then pour it into the pie crust. Now beat the two eggs in a bowl and throw the cheese in, then pour the whole mix over the top of the meat, spreading it out to the edges. Bake it in the oven at about 375 for a half hour or so. When you take it out, let it cool for a little while before you cut into it otherwise it will fall apart. Thats it... easy right?

So I left these directions with my very intelligent, college educated father. Next night I get a call... whaddaya know?? The Old Man actually pulled it off... he had cooked it and it was cooling by the time he called me. It turned out just right. I got another call just a little while later; he had cut into it and was tearing through his first slice. And loving it. I couldn't help but be proud of him... this was a huge step for him. We talked for a few minutes, had a few laughs, and then I got back to whatever it was I was doing and he did the same. About an hour later I get another call. It's Dad again. "Johnny, my boy... I'm not sure how to tell you this... I ate the whole thing" he said with a little guilt to his voice. I couldn't help but laugh. I had, on more than one occasion, done exactly the same. I was sure he did it just like I did: the initial meal from the first sitting would usually account for a quarter to a third of the entire pie; as the night wore on and the pie sat on the kitchen table, I would begin to nickel and dime it to death... sliver by sliver till there was just a small piece left... "How could I leave that? What am I gonna do, tease myself with a nibble tomorrow?" I would justify it to myself as I cleaned the (pie) plate.

We had a lot of laughs, me and Dad... there were times when I would call him in the morning before I left for work- he was always up early to go to work too- if I thought of something funny... just a few minutes and the day was started with a laugh for both of us. He was a great guy, my Dad.

Nine years ago today, it was a Saturday night, Dad died. The big C snuck up on him and took him just a few days after it was found. I still remember going to see him on Friday night... and then Saturday, I brought him lunch from his best buddy's restaurant: a club sandwich, some well done fries with an ice cold Pepsi. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, or maybe because of it, we shared more than our usual amount of laughs. During a rare serious moment, I apologized for the times I had acted like a stupid kid, especially when I was old enough to know better. Dad looked me straight in the eye and told me to stop right there... I was just a young man growing up and those things were bound to happen... here he was, in the state he was in, giving me a pass, offering me absolution for transgressions that I knew then had hurt him so much... hell of a guy, my Old Man- he was all Man.

I know he's off somewhere with Mom right now having the longest picnic ever heard of. He brought the radio and she brought a basket with a little bit of all the things she ever made that he loved... and they're just catching up on old times, waiting patiently for their boys to show up.

So here's one for my Dad. If you find yourself in need of an easy recipe to follow, one that even my no-cookin' Dad could manage to throw together and enjoy, then try this one. I know you're gonna love it. And set out an extra slice... you never know who may drop in. 'Cause Johnny Tomatoes says so!!