One of the things that drew me to New York City in the late seventies was a sense of history that was distinctly missing in the suburbs of Middle America, including those of Buffalo NY, where I was raised. However, since around the mid-nineties as much of the urban flavor began to bleed out of New York City, a great number of the old restaurants and mom and pop establishments have been replaced by suburban super stores and coffee house chains. It was somewhat ironic for me therefore, visiting Buffalo for the first time in 14 years, to find Parkside Candies exactly the way I’d always remembered it. A salesperson I spoke to said that its been at this location since 1927, without having had any major renovations. The factory is housed in the rear of the building, behind the store, and still produces some of the best candy I can ever remember eating. The sponge candy, which they’re famous for, is completely addictive and truly worth going out of your way for.
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On the way back to New York from a weekend outing at the Delaware Water Gap, my brother Gavin suggested we make a short detour to Rutt’s Hut in Clifton, NJ for a couple of their deep-fried hot dogs, or “rippers”. Gavin, being an eager road food enthusiast, had been planning a visit ever since seeing the place on WQED Pittsburg’s surprisingly entertaining A Hot Dog Program. Its located on an unexpectedly industrial stretch of Clifton – so industrial, in fact, that at first we thought the GPS was leading us astray. But as we drove a few feet further down the road, it suddenly appeared out of nowhere, its parking lot butted right up against the barriers of Route 21, down below. The hot dogs, fries and onion rings were truthfully short of spectacular, but the interior, which looks as if it hasn’t changed in decades, is worth the trip alone. And to boot, I was served a deliciously cold, expertly made classic martini (gin, of course) in a small, vintage-y glass, the type of which I recall my parents drinking from during their occasional Cheever-esque cocktail parties. No pretentious, unwieldy boutique stemware for this unassuming bar crowd.
As I photographed the place virtually unnoticed by the clientele, I struck up a friendly conversation with John and Kathy Salamone, who said that they had been loyal customers for years. We talked about how rare it is that places like this still exist, seemingly untouched by the passing of time. Kathy later emailed me and said that I might want to mention in the post that Rutt’s Hut opened its doors in 1918. I wondered how much, if at all, it had changed since then, and how much longer it would be around before commercial development forces it’s demise.
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I’m always hesitant to give away my personal favorites when it comes to bars and restaurants, but Eric Asimov at The Times did a review on The Ten Bells months ago, so its not exactly a secret. It is, by far, my favorite Sunday afternoon/date/casual get-together-with-friends place. Seems that almost every New Yorker leaves town on the summer weekends for the beach and/or country, but that’s when the people who stick around, (including me) get to take advantage of the fact that reservations that are impossible to get at any other time of the year all of a sudden are not so difficult to procure. The same is true of the bars that I frequent. Like any savvy New Yorker, I’ve always avoided the weekends (Thursday-Saturday) and the onslaught of tourists for quieter times, and Sunday afternoons at The Ten Bells is the calm in the eye of the storm, so to speak.
Happy hour oysters, $1 ea.
David. His posture in this photograph reminds me so much of Manet’s Bar at the Folies Bergeres.
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