Sacred Cake

 

I’d be willing to bet that each of us has, somewhere back when we were very young (I get that that’s probably not as long ago for most of you as it is for me), a special memory that’s stuck with us over the years, of someone we wish we could see again, of a thing we wish we could find again or do again, or a food we wish we could taste again, just once before we shuffle off this mortal coil.

Mr. She, one of the world’s great storytellers is spoiled for choice in this respect. The tales of his childhood (born three floors above a bar on Pittsburgh’s South Side, into the second-generation of a Polish immigrant family, in which almost all the men were furnace operators, stove tenders, and welders at the local Jones and Laughlin Steel Plant), are full of poignant, loving, and sometimes bizarre detail–who here doesn’t want to hear about Father John McKaveny, the Catholic priest with the steel plate in his head (earned in World War I), and his foul-mouthed parrot? Or about how one of Mr. She’s earliest childhood jobs was to take a small handful of coins from his “barrel-shaped Polish grandma” and go up the road to the bookie’s every day to play the numbers as instructed? So many stories, so many characters, and such a life.

An awful lot of Mr. She’s early memories involve food. Lovely, warm memories like that of the pretzel shop at 2316 Carson Street–turning out pretzels by the thousands each day, and selling the “mistakes” and the broken ones, still hot, in brown paper bags, from the back door, for a few pennies each to the kids who’d line up around the block for them. Or of the loaf of bread he’d be sent by Grandma to collect every day, which sometimes smelled so good that by the time he’d reached home with it, most of the soft insides of the loaf had been prized out by his grubby little fingers and eaten, and only the crust was left. Disturbing memories of Kapusta, cabbage soup, an unpopular, but cheap and filling concoction that was, Mr. She swears, left to simmer on the stove for at least a week, quite possibly with a few dirty socks thrown in for a little extra flavor, until the entire building smelled of overripe cabbage and other underlying and even less pleasant odors. Or, czarnina, duck’s blood soup. (That one was a result of the “waste not, want not,” philosophy of the time, the family being anxious to use up every part of the duck, since they purchased it “on the hoof” as it were, and started out their cooking adventures by wringing its neck. Or even of the vegetable dish he thought, for most of his life, was called “suttocush,” thanks to Grandma’s imperfect command of the culinary idiom of her new home. That much-loathed concoction led to an aversion to an admixture of corn and lima beans which persists to this day.

They say that the sense of smell is, in many ways, the most evocative of memory. And still, coming across the smells of those foods can catapult him back to his childhood in a heartbeat or less.

But there is one food of his childhood that stands above all others; the most delicious treat, the one he hasn’t seen, tasted or smelled for almost seventy years, and the one he’d give almost anything to find, smell, and taste again.

Wilde’s birthday cake.

Gustav Wilde was a German immigrant who settled in Pittsburgh’s South Side and who, with his family, opened a bakery at 1711 Carson Street. His breads, cakes, and cookies were known for their high quality and their excellent flavor, and (apparently) the celebrated birthday cake was no exception. Mr. She just about weeps with joy, every time he thinks about it. The texture! The sweet (but not too sweet) frosting! The hint of . . . something! The beauty! “Veneration” is not too strong a word to describe his feelings towards this cake. There’s never, ever, been another like it! Nothing to compare, and nothing even half as good!

As I have found to my cost over almost forty years of marriage.

Those of you who know me know that it takes a lot to put me off my stride, that I generally rise to a challenge, and that I’m not backward about coming forwards when it comes to attempting new things. But, as good a cook and baker as I deem myself, I have been an abject failure on the birthday cake front.

Oh, it’s not for want of trying. I’ve written to the Pittsburgh newspapers and asked for help. I’ve put questions on the websites of Pittsburgh’s cooking shows. I’ve tracked down someone whose mother worked at Wilde’s during the years in question (mom didn’t know what I was talking about). I’ve found out that, when Wilde’s closed, Mr. Wilde sold the business to “Munch’s Lunches,” a local chain of bakeries and restaurants, and the recipes along with them. Munsch’s, in turn, sold the recipes to a bakery in New Jersey. And there the trail runs cold.

But that’s not all. I’ve scoured the Internet. I’ve plumbed the depths of Mr. She’s memory for four decades now, to find out exactly what it was about this cake that was so appealing, so fabulous, so . . . perfect. To no avail.

Sadly, Mr. She’s ability to describe, in concrete terms (what an unfortunate metaphor in this case) exactly what it was about this cake that so entranced him, has always left almost everything to be desired. So, I roped in my mother-in-law, a pretty good baker in her own right. “Butter sponge,” she pronounced. With “buttercream frosting.” No other decoration needed, it was just so beautiful and so delicious all by itself.

So, more research, this portion practical and involving elements of culinary chemistry. Every German butter sponge recipe I could find. And when none of them passed muster, English butter sponges. French genoise. Eastern European sponge cakes. (Yes, I have a Polish recipe book. In Polish. Yes, I learned enough to figure out the recipe for the blasted sponge cake. Nie dobrze.)

Same with the frosting. It’s always too sweet. Or not sweet enough. Or too granular. Or too stiff. Or not stiff enough. And the flavor is never entirely right. (I’ve mastered the color, though. It’s white.)

Over the decades, I’ve produced some awesome cakes. With some delicious icing. But they’re always a disappointment when compared against the gold standard. Against his memory. Against his imagination.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere, I can’t help feeling.

I think perhaps it’s that I should just stop messing with that moment in time, and that memory, and just let them stand forever, perfect and untouched.

I think I’m done.

Before I throw in the towel once and for all, though, one final time: I don’t suppose any of you happen to have the recipe for Wilde’s birthday cake anywhere handy? Just a thought.

Failing that, have you have such a moment of perfect, un-recreatable, memory in your life? Please share.

Published in Group Writing
Tags:

This post was promoted to the Main Feed by a Ricochet Editor at the recommendation of Ricochet members. Like this post? Want to comment? Join Ricochet’s community of conservatives and be part of the conversation. Join Ricochet for Free.

There are 39 comments.

Become a member to join the conversation. Or sign in if you're already a member.
  1. Juliana Member
    Juliana
    @Juliana

    My husband is pretty sure pancakes from the Lighthouse restaurant (east side of Joliet) will be in heaven. He and his dad would stop there on Saturday mornings after he’d made the weekly payment to the Herald News for his paper route.  I’ve never been able to match them. Most likely because I don’t have a decades old flattop grill that cooked everything from bacon to hamburgers to pancakes. Since I have never tasted them, I don’t know what I am looking for in a recipe. That could be the same issue for you – you are baking in the dark, missing that sense of taste that you have never experienced. 

    I’ve come to believe that it was the surrounding experience that makes it so hard to recreate the food. Being with his dad, conducting grown-up business, and then to a small, hole in the wall restaurant, with smells of coffee and other breakfast foods cooking, all are mingled in with the actual taste of the pancakes. It cannot be recreated, as hard as we can try.

    • #1
  2. MarciN Member
    MarciN
    @MarciN

    I feel your pain. :-) My husband came from a family of cooks and chefs and bakers. It’s very frustrating. 

    I don’t recognize the name of the cake, but I will look through my old cookbooks. Perhaps it’s in an old book.

    But the icing you’re looking for might be made with this recipe. I cut it out of a newspaper years ago, and it’s my favorite icing for cakes. It’s almost like whipped cream in its lightness. It is not hard to make at all. The only problem with it–and it’s not really a problem–is that the day after you make it, you should keep the cake in the fridge. And that means you need to take the cake out of the fridge for a couple of hours before you serve the next day so the icing will soften up a bit. It will keep well for a day without refrigeration. No worries there. The sugar prevents the milk from spoiling (something I learned from King Arthur Flour website). 

    And by the way, you might write to King Arthur Flour and ask them if they know of the Wilde cake recipe. They might have come across it. KAF has educated more bakers in the Northeast than any other cooking school. They are used to working with professional bakers. Perhaps they knew of the Wilde Bakery.  :-) 

     

    Eileen Worthley’s Old-Fashioned Buttercream Frosting

    (for one 9- or 8-inch layer cake)

     

    1/2 cup plus 1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

    6 T of flour

    1 1/2 cups milk

    2 t vanilla

    1 1/2 cups sugar

    In a saucepan, melt 1/2 cup butter (1 stick) over low heat. Whisk in the flour. Gradually blend in milk, stirring constantly. Cook, still stirring, until the mixture comes to a boil (as for making a white sauce).

    Let the mixture cool to room temperature; it cannot be used when warm.  Whisk in vanilla.

    Cream remaining 1 cup of butter with the sugar until the mixture is light and fluffy.

    Gradually beat in the cooked milk mixture, beating until frosting is fluffy and of spreading consistency, about 5 to 10 minutes.

    • #2
  3. EB Thatcher
    EB
    @EB

    Juliana (View Comment):
    I’ve come to believe that it was the surrounding experience that makes it so hard to recreate the food.

    I think this is the reason.  Your husband remembers the childhood delight of his birthday cake, the specialness of the day, it happened once a year, etc.  No one could compete with that.

    • #3
  4. OkieSailor Member
    OkieSailor
    @OkieSailor

    She:

    I think perhaps it’s that I should just stop messing with that moment in time, and that memory, and just let them stand forever, perfect and untouched.

    I think I’m done.

    Before I throw in the towel once and for all, though, one final time: I don’t suppose any of you happen to have the recipe for Wilde’s birthday cake anywhere handy? Just a thought.

    Even if we could recreate such cherished moments of our pasts we could never recreate our starry eyed memories of them so we must content ourselves with the, probably not accurate, memories. But bless you for trying anyway.

    • #4
  5. Front Seat Cat Member
    Front Seat Cat
    @FrontSeatCat

    That is the most delightful story. I grew up in Brookline. The Blvd was loaded with shops as you described, immigrants (legal) who opened stores displaying their expertise, Polish, Italian, German, Jewish, Greek, it was great.  I had to get the bread. While I didn’t eat it, I carried it too closely and it ended up smooshed.  Chipped ham was a big thing – you have to be from Pgh.  I think you are more competing with a memory than the actual cake, especially in the memory as a small boy. You probably nailed it, but a memory always seems more exaggerated than reality. I love that you got the color of the icing right!!

    I’m going to read your story to my sister. She found an old Polish cookbook (in Md) and I’ll ask her to scan it.

    • #5
  6. PHCheese Inactive
    PHCheese
    @PHCheese

    Boy that picture of East Carson Street brings back some memories.Isalys and a babushka lady and the street car to Carrick. I had a friend that owned Blue Ribbon Meats on Carson but I forget the address.  I swam at the indoor pool near there, I think it’s still there. Wish I could help with the cake. A good  friend of mine owns Jenny Lee. Next time I talk to him I ask about Wilde’s. Those bakers were all good friends back in the day. There was a bakery on Shiloh St Mt Washington that had the best doughnuts. I think the name was Wells Bakery. Never had any like them since.

    • #6
  7. Front Seat Cat Member
    Front Seat Cat
    @FrontSeatCat

    PHCheese (View Comment):

    Boy that picture of East Carson Street brings back some memories.Isalys and a babushka lady and the street car to Carrick. I had a friend that owned Blue Ribbon Meats on Carson but I forget the address. I swam at the indoor pool near there, I think it’s still there. Wish I could help with the cake. A good friend of mine owns Jenny Lee. Next time I talk to him I ask about Wilde’s. Those bakers were all good friends back in the day. There was a bakery on Shiloh St Mt Washington that had the best doughnuts. I think the name was Wells Bakery. Never had any like them since.

    I went to high school on Mt. Washington and I remember a bakery where you could get great sandwiches if you didn’t like the cafeteria that day. Isalys was my favorite place to eat, along with Big Boy and Howard Johnsons because they gave you balloons and gifts.  We’re going to find this cake recipe and that’s all there is to it. I also have fond memories of riding the street cars.

    • #7
  8. She Member
    She
    @She

    Thanks for the Pittsburgh memories, @phcheese and @frontseatcat

    Mr. She worked his way through college at Isalys (the one in the photo).  Maybe you met him one day without knowing it, PHC.  His grandmother (the other one) and my mother-in-law most of the time I knew her, lived in Carrick.  I’ve ridden that streetcar.  Small world.

    Trying to remember the name of the bakery on Mt. Washington that I remember from when we lived there, 78-86.  (Do either of you remember  the Frozen Egg and Fruit Company)?  

    Swimming pool is probably the Oliver Bath House on 10th St.  Yes, it’s still open.

    I do my bit for donut veneration at Joe’s Bakery in Little Washington.  Not sure if it’s still open, Joe has had some serious health problems lately.  Must check next time I’m in town.  They are sublime, especially the ones dredged in granulated sugar, which assumes a wonderful greasiness and stick to your face when you bite into them.

    FSC, I had a couple of friends who were boys in high school (part of group who did good deeds on weekends, not “boyfriends”) who were from Brookline.  I lived in Bethel Park myself (Go Black Hawks!)  Good luck with the Polish cookbook.  I have a couple.  One is Kuchnia Jarska (Vegetarian Cooking).  Can’t find the other one at the moment.

    I also have one called Polish Cookery: Poland’s Best-Selling Cookbook Adapted for American Kitchens, by Marja Ochorowicz-Monatowa.  That one is excellent, and the tip for sealing pierogi with a glass or a cookie cutter is a lifesaver and stress-reliever extraordinaire.  I highly recommend this book for anyone who wants to try out some Eastern European cooking but wants an understandable recipe to follow.  No Wilde’s birthday cake, though.

    • #8
  9. She Member
    She
    @She

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    Isalys was my favorite place to eat, along with Big Boy and Howard Johnsons because they gave you balloons and gifts. We’re going to find this cake recipe and that’s all there is to it. I also have fond memories of riding the street cars.

    Wot?  No Eat ‘n Park?  Shame.  My mother-in-law is spinning in her grave.

    BTW, Mr. She says that the standard order, from the Polish folks at Isalys was “half-poun’ cheep ‘am.”  He probably chipped, and sold, several tons of it over the course of a few years. 

    He was born at 1828 Carson Street, which is now the location of Piper’s Pub.  At the time he lived there, the first floor was Urasik’s Saloon (not sure of the spelling).

    • #9
  10. She Member
    She
    @She

    Juliana (View Comment):

    I’ve come to believe that it was the surrounding experience that makes it so hard to recreate the food. Being with his dad, conducting grown-up business, and then to a small, hole in the wall restaurant, with smells of coffee and other breakfast foods cooking, all are mingled in with the actual taste of the pancakes. It cannot be recreated, as hard as we can try.

    I completely agree.  One of my special memories is (don’t laugh) the steamed suet dessert (which we call pudding) known as “spotted dick” which, when served with lumpy custard (similar to what you call pudding) poured over it, was sheer ambrosia to a British schoolgirl who’d just completed a seven-mile weekend run up and down the Malvern Hills in the wind and sleet of a cold November day.

    I can’t imagine that it would have the same effect today, absent the surrounding circumstances, even if I recreated it exactly.

    • #10
  11. She Member
    She
    @She

    MarciN (View Comment):

    I feel your pain. :-) My husband came from a family of cooks and chefs and bakers. It’s very frustrating.

    I don’t recognize the name of the cake, but I will look through my old cookbooks. Perhaps it’s in an old book.

    But the icing you’re looking for might be made with this recipe. I cut it out of a newspaper years ago, and it’s my favorite icing for cakes. It’s almost like whipped cream in its lightness. It is not hard to make at all. The only problem with it–and it’s not really a problem–is that the day after you make it, you should keep the cake in the fridge. And that means you need to take the cake out of the fridge for a couple of hours before you serve the next day so the icing will soften up a bit. It will keep well for a day without refrigeration. No worries there. The sugar prevents the milk from spoiling (something I learned from King Arthur Flour website).

    And by the way, you might write to King Arthur Flour and ask them if they know of the Wilde cake recipe. They might have come across it. KAF has educated more bakers in the Northeast than any other cooking school. They are used to working with professional bakers. Perhaps they knew of the Wilde Bakery. :-)

     

    Eileen Worthley’s Old-Fashioned Buttercream Frosting

    (for one 9- or 8-inch layer cake)

     

    1/2 cup plus 1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

    6 T of flour

    1 1/2 cups milk

    2 t vanilla

    1 1/2 cups sugar

    In a saucepan, melt 1/2 cup butter (1 stick) over low heat. Whisk in the flour. Gradually blend in milk, stirring constantly. Cook, still stirring, until the mixture comes to a boil (as for making a white sauce).

    Let the mixture cool to room temperature; it cannot be used when warm. Whisk in vanilla.

    Cream remaining 1 cup of butter with the sugar until the mixture is light and fluffy.

    Gradually beat in the cooked milk mixture, beating until frosting is fluffy and of spreading consistency, about 5 to 10 minutes.

    Thanks for the recipe and the great ideas, @marcin.  

    • #11
  12. Front Seat Cat Member
    Front Seat Cat
    @FrontSeatCat

    She (View Comment):

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    Isalys was my favorite place to eat, along with Big Boy and Howard Johnsons because they gave you balloons and gifts. We’re going to find this cake recipe and that’s all there is to it. I also have fond memories of riding the street cars.

    Wot? No Eat ‘n Park? Shame. My mother-in-law is spinning in her grave.

    BTW, Mr. She says that the standard order, from the Polish folks at Isalys was “half-poun’ cheep ‘am.” He probably chipped, and sold, several tons of it over the course of a few years.

    He was born at 1828 Carson Street, which is now the location of Piper’s Pub. At the time he lived there, the first floor was Urasik’s Saloon (not sure of the spelling).

    I forgot about Eat N Park – the last time we visited the area it was still there!!

    • #12
  13. PHCheese Inactive
    PHCheese
    @PHCheese

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    She (View Comment):

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    Isalys was my favorite place to eat, along with Big Boy and Howard Johnsons because they gave you balloons and gifts. We’re going to find this cake recipe and that’s all there is to it. I also have fond memories of riding the street cars.

    Wot? No Eat ‘n Park? Shame. My mother-in-law is spinning in her grave.

    BTW, Mr. She says that the standard order, from the Polish folks at Isalys was “half-poun’ cheep ‘am.” He probably chipped, and sold, several tons of it over the course of a few years.

    He was born at 1828 Carson Street, which is now the location of Piper’s Pub. At the time he lived there, the first floor was Urasik’s Saloon (not sure of the spelling).

    I forgot about Eat N Park – the last time we visited the area it was still there!!

    Eat N Park had the rights to use  the Big Boy name for years. They gave it up to save the royalties. Anyone remember Bards Dairy Stores?

    • #13
  14. She Member
    She
    @She

    PHCheese (View Comment):

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    She (View Comment):

    Front Seat Cat (View Comment):

    Isalys was my favorite place to eat, along with Big Boy and Howard Johnsons because they gave you balloons and gifts. We’re going to find this cake recipe and that’s all there is to it. I also have fond memories of riding the street cars.

    Wot? No Eat ‘n Park? Shame. My mother-in-law is spinning in her grave.

    BTW, Mr. She says that the standard order, from the Polish folks at Isalys was “half-poun’ cheep ‘am.” He probably chipped, and sold, several tons of it over the course of a few years.

    He was born at 1828 Carson Street, which is now the location of Piper’s Pub. At the time he lived there, the first floor was Urasik’s Saloon (not sure of the spelling).

    I forgot about Eat N Park – the last time we visited the area it was still there!!

    Eat N Park had the rights to use the Big Boy name for years. They gave it up to save the royalties. Anyone remember Bards Dairy Stores?

    Yes.  My friend Dave worked at Bard’s Dairy Land (how I remember the name) for several years.

     

    • #14
  15. Clifford A. Brown Member
    Clifford A. Brown
    @CliffordBrown

    @she reminds us that food memories may be little about the objective biochemistry of the recipe and much about important experiences or relations associated with the food. I think back to an olfactory hallucination, one month into sucking my food through a straw, with my jaw wired shut after an accident. I walked back into my apartment after church and distinctly smelled tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches — what we had as a family for many Sunday lunches. 


    This conversation is part of our Group Writing Series under December’s theme of Veneration. Have you had an encounter with a saint, or someone who is truly venerable? Is there a sports figure who you believe is venerated, and what do you think of it? What is venerated in our society today? We have some wonderful photo essays on Ricochet; perhaps you have a story to tell about nature, art, or architecture that points to subjects worth venerating. Have we lost the musical, written, visual language of veneration? The possibilities are endless! Why not start a conversation? Our schedule and sign-up sheet awaits. Our January theme will be Renovation. You can reserve your day now.

    •  
    • #15
  16. SParker Member
    SParker
    @SParker

    Butter seems about the only variable here–assuming Mr. She’s ability to detect distinct flavorings (almond extract vs. vanilla for instance) is up to snuff.  He might be ancient enough to have lived in the happy times when butter in America had some taste to it.  It varied locally, I believe, with the grasses the cows ate.  The butter at my grandparents’ had an assertive character.  Bold is an understatement.  “Love me like I am, or get the Hell out of the kitchen” is closer.  Have you ever tried using a European-style butter?

    • #16
  17. Ansonia Member
    Ansonia
    @Ansonia

    I don’t know what possessed me (well, actually, I do. It was the odor of the wild grapes in the warm sun.) Heavily pregnant with my first child, I went hunting to find the grapes I could smell and, even though I had never made jelly before, made jars and jars of wild grape jelly. I used no pectin beyond what was in the skins of the grapes. It still jelled perfectly.  The flavor—not as sweet as store jelly—was unbelievably good.

    I remember, every step of the way, my mother told me it was completely unreasonable of me to think I could make jelly. I completely agreed with her and still knew I would do this well. The recipe was in The Joy of Cooking. I remember how much my dad enjoyed it.

    • #17
  18. PHCheese Inactive
    PHCheese
    @PHCheese

    SParker (View Comment):

    Butter seems about the only variable here–assuming Mr. She’s ability to detect distinct flavorings (almond extract vs. vanilla for instance) is up to snuff. He might be ancient enough to have lived in the happy times when butter in America had some taste to it. It varied locally, I believe, with the grasses the cows ate. The butter at my grandparents’ had an assertive character. Bold is an understatement. “Love me like I am, or get the Hell out of the kitchen” is closer. Have you ever tried using a European-style butter?

    After WWll most butter in the US has been produced from sweet cream.  In the old days the cream was not processed before it would become cultured by bacteria that it was exposed to  in the time it took to made it to the creamery. There was also on the market  whey butter made from the fat  globules floating in the liquid left over from cheese making. It had a high acid taste. I haven’t seen it for years. I liked the taste of it. Trader Joe’s sells a French butter made from cultured cream. It’s all we use in the PHCheese house. It also has a 82% butter fat vs 80% for most US  butter.

    • #18
  19. Susan Quinn Contributor
    Susan Quinn
    @SusanQuinn

    I’m sitting here trying not to drool all over myself! Everyone’s comments are making me hungry! I’m not much of a baker without a very clear recipe, and even then I tend not to bake much because I eat too much of what I bake!

    I only hope that Mr. She appreciates your efforts–you are such a treasure!

    • #19
  20. Kay of MT Inactive
    Kay of MT
    @KayofMT

    PHCheese (View Comment):
    Trader Joe’s sells a French butter made from cultured cream.

    I can’t find a Trader Joe’s in Montana.

    • #20
  21. The Reticulator Member
    The Reticulator
    @TheReticulator

    Kay of MT (View Comment):

    PHCheese (View Comment):
    Trader Joe’s sells a French butter made from cultured cream.

    I can’t find a Trader Joe’s in Montana.

    If Montana were shrunk to a proper size, it would be easier to find things there. 

    • #21
  22. PHCheese Inactive
    PHCheese
    @PHCheese

    Kay of MT (View Comment):

    PHCheese (View Comment):
    Trader Joe’s sells a French butter made from cultured cream.

    I can’t find a Trader Joe’s in Montana.

    Go milk a cow, hear there are a few there.

    • #22
  23. Kay of MT Inactive
    Kay of MT
    @KayofMT

    PHCheese (View Comment):
    Go milk a cow, hear there are a few there.

    I sometimes make my own. We have a creamery in the area. Kind of pricey, $7 a quart.

    • #23
  24. Duane Iverson Member
    Duane Iverson
    @

    Lard! So many old family recipes called for lard. In our modern age we use shortening. I’ll leave it to Nina Teicholz to tell you why Shortening isn’t a good idea: and lard tastes better. My “sacred  cake” was my mother’s Baking powder biscuits. No I never got there but lard got me closer.

    • #24
  25. She Member
    She
    @She

    Duane Iverson (View Comment):

    Lard! So many old family recipes called for lard. In our modern age we use shortening. I’ll leave it to Nina Teicholz to tell you why Shortening isn’t a good idea: and lard tastes better. My “sacred cake” was my mother’s Baking powder biscuits. No I never got there but lard got me closer.

    Love lard!  Especially “Lardy Cake,” and that’s one of those special memories of my childhood . . . 

    https://www.bbc.com/food/recipes/lardy_cake_80839

     

    • #25
  26. Kay of MT Inactive
    Kay of MT
    @KayofMT

    Duane Iverson (View Comment):
    Lard! So many old family recipes called for lard

    Unfortunately, lard is made from pig fat. Jews are forbidden to eat that, and my daughter is deathly allergic to pork, she goes into shock from it.

    However, from my childhood, my grandmother used lard, and now my corn bread, purple hull peas and turnip greens just don’t taste as good.

    • #26
  27. barbara lydick Inactive
    barbara lydick
    @barbaralydick

    She (View Comment):
    Mr. She worked his way through college at Isalys (the one in the photo). Maybe you met him one day without knowing it, PHC. His grandmother (the other one) and my mother-in-law most of the time I knew her, lived in Carrick. I’ve ridden that streetcar. Small world.

    That wouldn’t be the Flying Fraction – the 77/54  – would it?  Do you remember Rege Cordic’s radio skits about that street car?  (And the rest of his stable of characters) His radio program was required listening, especially for those of us who wanted to start the day with some hearty laughs.

    Loved, just loved you story.  Happy childhood memories are the best and last a lifetime.

    Speaking of Big Boy.  That was the first fast food hamburger I ever ate.  Loved their sauce – sooo much better than Mickey D’s.  When I moved to SoCal there were a few Big Boy’s out here but they didn’t use the same sauce.  It was more like McD’s.  A few years later when I was back in Pgh I just had to have a Big Boy.  While enjoying it I asked if I could purchase a large jar of the sauce – even offered large dollars.  No luck!

    Are there any Eat ‘n Parks left in Pgh?

    Bummer about the Steelers this year.  The sport’s pages in the local papers must be filled with post mortems…
    .

    • #27
  28. She Member
    She
    @She

    barbara lydick (View Comment):

    That wouldn’t be the Flying Fraction – the 77/54 – would it? Do you remember Rege Cordic’s radio skits about that street car? (And the rest of his stable of characters) His radio program was required listening, especially for those of us who wanted to start the day with some hearty laughs.

    Loved, just loved your story. Happy childhood memories are the best and last a lifetime.

    Speaking of Big Boy. That was the first fast food hamburger I ever ate. Loved their sauce – sooo much better than Mickey D’s. When I moved to SoCal there were a few Big Boy’s out here but they didn’t use the same sauce. It was more like McD’s. A few years later when I was back in Pgh I just had to have a Big Boy. While enjoying it I asked if I could purchase a large jar of the sauce – even offered large dollars. No luck!

    Are there any Eat ‘n Parks left in Pgh?

    Bummer about the Steelers this year. The sport’s pages in the local papers must be filled with post mortems…

    Thanks, @barbaralydick  Lord.  Rege Cordic.  Old Frothingslosh.  A Pittsburgher, beloved of Pittsburghers, and who we were glad to see back, after his delusions of grandeur, and a promised “national career” didn’t pan out (What Wikipedia says is:“the flair for Pittsburgh-centered satire, it seems, was difficult for Cordic to import to the more sophisticated Los Angeles radio market.”  Yeah.  That.  A “feature,” not a “bug,” as it were.)

    From the Wikipedia article:

    Louie Adamchevits, the Garbageman was one of the best-known regulars. He spoke with an unspecified ethnic accent, called his garbage truck “Catherine” and was proudly featured in Better Homes and Garbage magazine. He had a reputation for his hip boots and his Polka “yipping and stomping” awards. Roquefort Q. LaFarge was the fussy studio announcer, Mr. Murchison was the mean boss, and Max Korfendigas was the always-tipsy golf pro. Every year, Cordic ran his brick throwing contest from the bluff down to the B&O train yard below. It was run by “Greasy Thumb McGilligan” and the fake contest drew hundreds of viewers to the bluff to see the event.

    Guess ya just had to be there.  Or from Pittsburgh.

    The 77/54 “Flying Fraction” was indeed one of the Carrick streetcars.  For most of my time in Pittsburgh, I was living in Bethel Park, so my street car to get home from downtown was the 47D Shannon Drake.  The old line is still in use, although the rail cars have been spruced up a bit.  Same in Beechview, Brookline, Mt. Oliver, and a bunch of the other, older neighborhoods.  One of the reasons I like Pittsburgh.  It hasn’t completely escaped the politically correct bug, but by and large, the old co-exists pretty happily with the new.

    Yes, Eat ‘n Parks abound, although not quite as plentifully as in the past.  My granddaughter was raised on E&P as the preferred “dining” place, and I’ll never forget taking her for something to eat while her mother negotiated the purchase of a new car, when my granddaughter was about three.  It was in Delmont, PA (about half-way between Washington and Altoona), and I had discovered that there was an Eat ‘n Park in the vicinity.  I took her to it, pulled into the parking lot, pointed at the sign, and said,   “do you know what that says?” “Yes!” she replied excitedly and hungrily, “that says “yunch!”

    The Eat ‘n Park in Altoona is also the site of one of her more memorable moments, when, probably a few months prior to the story recounted above, she stood up on the bench of the booth we were sitting in, lifted up her skirt (as little girls are wont to do), and shouted out, much to the amusement of the assembled company, “I HAVE BIG GIRL PANTIES ON!”

    I love Eat n’ Park.  So many happy memories.  Not least, those of my mother-in-law, who, on being told that we’d take her anywhere she liked for dinner on her birthday, always thought hard for a minute, and then said, “umm.  Could we go to Eat ‘n Park?”

    Life is simple.  Life is sweet.

    PS:  I think Big Boy is gone.  There was one in Wheeling WV when we moved out here, but it’s gone too.

     

    • #28
  29. barbara lydick Inactive
    barbara lydick
    @barbaralydick

    She (View Comment):
    Old Frothingslosh

    The Pale Stale Ale with the Foam on the Bottom

    Think it was available during the Christmas holidays

    She (View Comment):
    “the flair for Pittsburgh-centered satire, it seems, was difficult for Cordic to import to the more sophisticated Los Angeles radio market.” Yeah. That. A “feature,” not a “bug,” as it were.

    A damn good feature, at that.

    Some years back I got a hold of Mr. Cordic when I was asked to co-host a radio program for women in business to see if he would be interested in helping with some humor.  He said he had retired and didn’t want to dip his toe into those waters again.

    As it happened, the other co-host, a reporter for the local Fox network, didn’t think the idea was a good one.  She didn’t think humor belonged with that subject.  Idiot.  Oh, the mind reeled at the possibilities!!  What fun we could have had injecting some needed humor in an otherwise somber, often dry, subject.

    BTW, the project never got off the ground – and she was a part of that outcome.

    • #29
  30. Front Seat Cat Member
    Front Seat Cat
    @FrontSeatCat

    Kay of MT (View Comment):

    PHCheese (View Comment):
    Trader Joe’s sells a French butter made from cultured cream.

    I can’t find a Trader Joe’s in Montana.

    Then you may need to find an antique shop that sells a butter churn….

    • #30
Become a member to join the conversation. Or sign in if you're already a member.