Tag Archives: New Jersey

New York Egg Cream

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A refreshing and simple drink for the whole family.

When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey, my grandparents had a bakery in our home town of Cresskill. Across the street was a soda fountain named Dave’s — a place where you could go in for a soda or ice cream or ice cream soda or a variety other things. The counter was formica — I seem to recall it being yellow — and there were swivel stools in front of it. We’d go in with some loose change and walk out with whatever we could afford.

One of my favorite soda fountain drinks was something Dave called a “Gizmo.” It was a mixture of chocolate milk and seltzer. Many years later, I learned the real name for this beverage: an egg cream.

Egg creams are hard to get outside the New York area. They’re probably hard to get inside the New York area these days, too. After all, soda fountains are disappearing, replaced with fast food joints or vending machines. You can’t get an egg cream in a vending machine.

The recipe is easy:

  • 1 part milk
  • 1 part seltzer
  • generous helping of chocolate syrup

Take the milk and the chocolate syrup and mix it together to make a very dark chocolate milk. While still stirring (and this is important) slowly add the seltzer. If you stir just right, it won’t overflow the glass. Drink with a a straw.

A real New York egg cream calls for U-Bet chocolate syrup. I don’t think that’s available around here and, even if it was, I wouldn’t buy it. I never did like U-Bet. I prefer Hershey’s syrup, in the plastic squeeze bottle. Don’t get the “light” version — it’s terrible.

I actually keep straws on hand at home just for drinking egg creams.

I’m having one now. Quite refreshing.

I’m not sure where the name egg cream comes from. Someone told me that they used to put eggs in this drink. I can’t imagine that. I think it might have something to do with the creamy top that appears when you make it just right.

Chopsticks

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Use ’em or lose ’em.

The area we lived in in New Jersey had a huge Asian population — and that means lots of good Asian restaurants: Chinese, Japanese, Korean — they were all within 10 miles of our home. In those days, we ate out several times a week and would usually hit one Asian restaurant a week.

I got very good at eating with chopsticks. I’d learned way back when, in Boston on a trip with my friend and her father. We were sixteen and her father was there on business. We stayed in a suite near the Prudential building and would wander around the city while her father was at work. One night, he took us to dinner at Benihana. That’s the touristy teppanyaki steakhouse chain. They handed chopsticks all around the table, but by the end of the meal, I was the only one still using them. Even back then I realized that you couldn’t learn something without trying.

Through the years, I got lots of practice. Whenever I went to a restaurant with a fork and a pair of chopsticks, I’d use the chopsticks. This was good, because sometimes I’d go to a restaurant where the fork was missing. Like when I worked for the New York City Comptroller’s Office right after graduating from college. My partner was Chinese, originally from Hong Kong, and on payday, we’d go to Chinatown for lunch. Lucille (my partner) didn’t go to the Chinese restaurants where the tourists went. She went where the Chinese people went. I was usually the only non-Asian in the restaurant. She’d order food and I’d eat it. Sometimes, she didn’t tell me what I was eating until after I’d had some, afraid that I wouldn’t try it if I knew what it was. But I’ll try just about anything once. She brought pigeon for lunch one day and I even tried some of that. I didn’t eat the head or the feet, both of which were still attached. I do recall asking later if it was a local pigeon — New York has lots of pigeons. It wasn’t.

Lucille used to say that every time you try something new, you add an extra day to your life. It’s something that has stuck with me since those days long ago.

Now I live in Wickenburg and chopsticks are difficult — if not downright impossible — to find. And on the rare occasion when I do eat in an Asian restaurant — usually on trips down to Phoenix or up to Prescott or out to San Francisco or New York — I’ve discovered that my chopstick skills have deteriorated. I need more practice.

I got some the other day at the Kona Grill in Scottsdale. I’d gone “down the hill” on some errands: buy food for Alex the Bird, see a lawyer, visit a jeweler, and see a doctor. Mike had some birthday gifts to exchange and the Scottsdale Fashion Center mall had all the stores he needed to hit. So we met there when I was done with my errands. By that time, I was starved — I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Our first stop was the Kona Grill.

Understand that I’m not a big fan of chain restaurants. They tend to deliver mediocrity. This is especially apparent in the low-end restaurants — the ones where you can get a meal for under $10. I truly believe that places like Country Kitchen, for example, serve prepared foods that they heat up when you order it. Food that was prepared in some big factory and quick frozen or vacuum-packed before being shipped to the local restaurant.

Kona Grill is a chain, but it’s one that we’ll eat in. So are P.F. Chang’s, Macaroni Grill, and Outback Steakhouse. The trouble is, all the new restaurants going up are part of a chain. There are so few independent restaurants. When you find a good one (which is not easy in a place likek Phoenix), you should eat there regularly, just to preserve it. Someday soon, there won’t be any independents left.

We arrived at Kona Grill at happy hour. Mike and I aren’t big drinkers, but the happy hour menu did include half-price selected appetizers, pizzas, and sushi. So we settled at a high-top in the bar, ordered some appetizers and sushi and token drinks, and prepared for a feeding frenzy.

They gave us chopsticks, probably because we ordered sushi. Now I’ve never been to Japan, but my understanding is that in Japan, sushi is “finger food.” That is, you eat it with your hands. (If you’ve been to Japan or live in Japan now and can set me straight on this, please do use the comments link — I’m genuinely curious.) I usually use chopsticks — mostly to get practice — but I’ll use my fingers when I eat big sushi — you know, like futomaki — that you can’t stuff into your mouth at one go. I’ve found that my chopstick skills are no longer sufficient to hold together half a piece of sushi after I’ve bitten into it. (It could also be the sushi chef’s rolling skills.)

Anyway, we enjoyed a good, cheap meal and got our chopstick practice. We also got a chance to walk around a big mall that wasn’t crowded with 15-year-old, tattooed kids on cell phones.

Next week, I’ll be in Mountain View, CA with my editor, Megg. She’s already asked what kind of food I like so she can buy me dinner on the publisher. I’m hoping to get some more chopstick practice then.

Fort Lee, NJ

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We spend some time along the retreat route.

Fort Lee, NJ is a town on the Palisades of the Hudson River. It’s known primarily for two things: the George Washington Bridge crosses the river at Fort Lee to the upper end of Manhattan island and George Washington’s retreat route runs right through it.

Of course, there was a fort. It sits high on the Palisades, just south of the bridge. There isn’t much left of it, but there is a nice park with paved paths and lookout points with benches. The Americans used the fort to lob mortars onto British ships sailing up and down the river.

Until the Americans ran away.

I’m making fun, of course. Back in those days of the Revolution, the American army did a lot of retreating. What’s weird is that there are signs along the retreat route proudly proclaiming that they ran away right past where the sign now stands. But we did win.

We had some time to kill before meeting my sister and brother and some others for dim sum, so we went for a walk in the park. And we got a few treats.

Fife and DrumThe first treat was the re-enactment stuff going on. I don’t know if they do this every Sunday or if we just happened to stop by on the right day, but there were men in revolutionary war uniforms doing the kinds of things the soldiers did back then. Like marching around with a drum and fife. Or with guns. Or setting up a camp near the mortar lobbing area. Or building a shelter without any modern tools.

camp I don’t know why these guys were there, but they were definitely into it. Their outfits looked great — but a lot cleaner than they would have been 230 years ago. Sadly, there weren’t many spectators. The park was pretty empty. It was as if they were performing for themselves. Maybe something was going to start later on. We didn’t hang around. We had dim sum to eat.

George Washington BridgeWe also spent some time at one of the lookouts, watching the bridge and the river flowing beneath it. I took some pictures (of course). And I can recall some of the facts that I’d read about the bridge while in my hotel room.

The George Washington Bridge — or GWB, to the locals — was once the longest single span suspension bridge in the world. It’s still one of the 15 longest. (It’s about 2 miles across the river.) It was built in the 1930s and was originally designed with two levels of roadway, but budget cuts kept the bridge to just the upper level until the early 1960s when the lower level was added. It’s the primary crossing from New Jersey to New York — I can’t remember how many millions of vehicles cross each day. The bridge’s original design called for the towers to be faced with local stone so it matched the Palisades on the New Jersey side. That plan was nixed along the way and the bridge is painted regularly. They just finished doing some rennovation on the towers — you can still see some of the scaffolding on the New York side in this photo.

When I was a kid, my family had a small motor boat. We kept it at home, on a trailer. We’d go boating in the Hudson River. The boat ramp we used is just south of the tower on the New Jersey side. We’d go on day trips around Manhattan island or past Ellis Island (before they fixed it up) and the Statue of Liberty. The water in New York Harbor was always rough; the water in the Harlem River was always smooth. Hells Gate, where the rivers came together with the Long Island Sound, was a crapshoot.

Leaves and SkyAnyway, I also took some time to lay back on the bench and look up at the sky through the leaves of an oak tree. It was nice to be among trees that were a good deal taller than I am. The area is lush with vegetation, like a jungle waiting to reclaim the land.

And just beyond it is I-95 with traffic and exhaust and the sound of cars and trucks.

We left the park right around noon and headed into town. Fort Lee (or Fort Ree, as we sometimes call it) is known for another thing: good Asian food. With a huge Chinese, Japanese, and mostly Korean population, it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Want some of the best dim sum in the New York metro area? Go to Silver Pond on Main Street in Fort Lee. You won’t be disappointed.

And if you have time, check out the Fort Lee Historic Park. Maybe those guys will be camped out again.