Many years ago, I put in a lot of miles pulling an oar (or, in some cases, a pair of sculls) up and down the Schuylkill, wearing the colors either of the Undine Barge Club or The Haverford School. Won my share of medals and trophies and plaques and other hardware, which still collects dust around the house. Castle Ringstetten was locked up tight that day, but I remember what a wonderful museum of late nineteenth-century Philadelphiana the place contains. Back then (and still today, I'm sure), Undinians gathered there for several dinner meetings every year, each time beginning the meal with the traditional "Handle Oars!" (pick up silverware); "Toss!" (bang silverware on table); "Let Fall!" (drop silverware back on table, with as much noise as possible).
Well, I didn't get inside, but I wandered around back, where it appeared some horticulturally-inclined folks had been at work on an azalea garden...
By this time, I was good and hungry, so I wandered down to Fourth and Bainbridge Streets for a visit to the Famous Fourth Street Deli...
The Famous, as it's known among those who love it, was a favorite haunt during my Naval Reserve days at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in the '70s and the '80s. The fella who ran the place in those days -- David something-or-other -- would spot a bunch of us in uniform coming through the door and holler to the waitress who usually served us, "Stand by, Maggie! The fleet's in!"
My salivary glands still experience a Pavlovian torrent at the memory of huge piles of warm beef brisket on an onion roll, with cole slaw and Russian dressing, and a great big Kosher dill pickle. So, I guess you know what I had for lunch that day. It took some determination to finish the thing, it was so big, but I certainly wasn't going to allow any of that to escape.
Burping happily, I toddled off to my next destination, which I'll tell you about next time.
2 comments:
I will never forget a father-son dinner at Castle Ringstetten in 1968. Dad sat next to Danny Perleman's father, and the interpersonal chemistry was not going well. Finally, over coffee, Mr. Perleman started describing to Dad this revolutionary new coffeemaker that he was investing heavily in. this new invention dripped hot water at precisely the right temperature through the grounds and made a consistently superior brew. Dad went over the edge at that point, venting how real men drank boiled coffee with eggshells in it or something, and that Perleman was a effete Jewish snob, or something to that effect that made me want to crawl under the table and slit my throat, or at least bang my silverware on the deck. Every time I look at a Mr. Coffee machine I remember that night at Castle Ringstetten.
Poor old Pop. Sometimes I think he liked the taste of his feet. I often wondered whether he remembered what he was fighting against in WWII.
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