I am late on the story this morning, but I have a decent reason. I attended a small but very moving memorial at the cemetery for those veterans who gave the last full measure of devotion to their nation. Considering how almost universally dismal the recent events overseas have turned out, this ceremony with active and retired folks was held under deliriously blue skies and warm temperatures that belied the advancing snows of winter that are pummeling the upper midwest, and which will be here soon enough to strip the last gaily-colored leaves from the trees.
It was an honor to be in the company of other veterans, and I am still a little choked up. There was going to be a luncheon later for some of the participants, but I had things to do and rolled home a little after the ceremony at 1100 on the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month concluded. It is Veteran’s Day now, but that was the moment of the Armistice that concluded the bloodiest episode in Mankind’s bloody history in 1918, and the fields of France fell silent for the first time in four long bloody years, and remained that way for almost twenty-one years until the Panzers roared again.
I decided to not think about The Dead and instead contemplate lunch. You know how much I enjoy Willow, but I think I might wind up there later and would be tempted to have a glass of wine, and we know what happens when that starts so early in the day.
I wished there was a real restaurant of the caliber of the legendary Katz Deli in New York. That is the place where they shot the legendary scene in “When Harry Met Sally,” in which Meg Ryan simulated an orgasm to prove to Billy Chrystal that Women are indeed creative artists. After she finished the older lady at the next table looked up at the waiter and said: “I’ll have what she’s having.”
We did not eat at that precise table, but it was close enough. I heard a disturbing story on the radio the other day that the increase in beef prices has rendered the margins on their famous brisket and pastrami sandwiches so narrow that no one can really make a go of the deli business anymore, unless you have paid off the restaurant. Katz opened its doors in 1888 and has been creating the best sandwiches in New York, and hence the best in the world, since then.
We can step outside if you want to claim the Carnegie is better. It is in Midtown, anyway.
During World War II, the three sons of the Katz family were all serving their country in the armed forces, and the family tradition of sending food to their sons became the company slogan: “Send A Salami To Your Boy In The Army.”
And that’s just what they have done. I have the shirt with the logo on it from a magical trip to New York a while back. I bought one of the three-month-aged all-beef hard salami and ate it for a week- cold, sliced and fried, sandwiches, with a cheese platter and moutarde chaude. I can only imagine what a treat it would have been to hear the words over the ship’s loudspeaker reverberate with the most welcome words any sailor can hear: ‘COD on the Ball with 10,000 pounds of mail!”
And then get a real Katz’s salami, mailed from the lower East Side of New York. I would have been the most popular guy in the Ready Room, no question. At least for the fifteen minutes it was still there.
Many a soldier and sailor have had their morale buoyed by the arrival of a package from home containing something that did not taste vaguely like jet fuel. One day on Gonzo Station in the Indian Ocean Miss Piggy, the US-3 cargo jet brought us parcel mail, and I got a box from Great Aunt Eleanor, who lived in a sleepy little town in Florida called “Orlando” long before Disney’s Mouse showed up.
The box contained something that might, weeks before, have been brownies. They were no longer, and into the shit-can they went, but I thought kindly about Aunt Eleanor, and how she remembered the War, and her boys overseas. I wrote a letter to her- remember those? And told her she was the squadron Saint, and everyone loved the baked goods- I couldn’t really tell what they had been, so I figured a general description was worth it.
In the spirit of the day, and sending food to our forces overseas, a pal in Mexico sent me a suggestion for something quite delicious. She says it will take care of anyone all day and beyond. I think I might try to bake one this afternoon. I even have a boy overseas I can send it to. He might prefer the salami, but I think this would make it in better shape than Aunt Eleanor’s brownies.
It would be a change for him from the Sushi out in town, or the shit-on-a-shingle in the mess on the ship.
Here is a real blast from the past, from Marion Cunningham, via Baja California. It is War Cake:
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra and Marion Cunningham
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303