In Memory of Cecil Wellborn (1926-2021)
I just finished reading Stanley Tucci’s new memoir Taste and I have been salivating ever since I laid it down. On top of that, I have been watching “In Search of Italy, his six-episode CNN series now streaming on HBOMax. Tucci grew up in an Italian family (second generation) and was raised on the many family dishes brought to America from their native Calabria. After a long and rewarding acting career he has come to realize at age 60 that he is now more defined by the food he cooks and consumes than the roles he plays. How wonderful!
Growing up in a average white, Anglo-Saxon meat and potatoes Midwestern family, my exposure to Italian cuisine was pizza and spaghetti with meatballs and tomato sauce. That was it. My first real job was working as a busboy at the Blue Note Restaurant, in Richmond, Indiana, from the fall of 1966 until the summer of 1967. Quin Tarquinio, its owner, hired me because he knew my dad who frequently entertained business contacts there. The restaurant was once a mainstay of downtown Richmond, but in the early 1960s it moved to the Holiday Inn on the east side back when the popular motel chain featured restaurants and lounges. The place served steaks and a few Italian dishes based on Tarquinio family recipes and I had an opportunity to sample some of these during my meal break. Still, for the most part, I tended to stick with dishes I knew well which certainly limited my range of exploration.
This all changed in the summer of 1968 when I visited Italy for the first time (Venice, Florence, Rome, Pisa, Tuscany, Milan, Lake Como and in between) and I was introduced to an authentic palette of Italian cuisine. I learned for the first time the myriad possibilities in crafting a pizza and the ingredients used. And I quickly discovered that spaghetti was not the only pasta out there. And what a wide variety of tasty cheeses that far eclipsed the pedestrian flavor of Kraft’s Parmesan. Those who know me or have read this blog regularly know that I am a cheesehead from way back in my early Wisconsin days. My eyes were opened wide, and my taste buds primed.
My tastes for Italian food changed appreciably after I moved to Tucson to begin my graduate studies at the University of Arizona. During the week I stuck close to campus, attending classes and burning the midnight oil in the library. I took most of my meals at the student union or at one of the campus dining halls. That said, I was always happy to see Friday roll around with the promise of some free time to myself.
More often than not I would join my colleagues in an outing to Gentle Ben’s, beer garden just off campus that had open three years earlier, in 1971. The original location was built in 1908 as a private residence, and over the years it has served as the university president’s house, a boarding house, and as home to several different fraternities. It would eventually morph into the first brew pub in Tucson. If we desired something more than liquid sustenance, we would often find ourselves wandering over to Caruso’s, an Italian restaurant and local institution on North Fourth Avenue, one of Tucson’s first historic commercial districts north of downtown since World War, I and it has been thriving ever since. Known to locals as "Fourth," it features a street fair every spring and autumn and when I first arrived in early 1974 it was already known as the city’s bohemian or counter-culture quarter with shops and galleries, bars, tattoo parlors, bookstores, and some great and inexpensive places to eat.
Caruso’s was opened by Nicasio “Caruso” Zagona in 1938 and it has remained in the Zagona family ever since. He eventually passed it on to his son Salvatore Vincent Zagona who just passed away earlier this year at age 100. I was immediately drawn to the place because it reminded me of what I always thought an Italian restaurant should look like. A small dining room with rural Italian scenes on the walls and tables covered with red and white checked table clothes and a large bowl of pepperoncini peppers to snack on while waiting for one’s meal. We would order a couple carafes of the house red wine and something to eat as we rehashed the events of the past week and what we could anticipate in the future. I began to spread my wings and try new dishes . . . the house specialty Lasagna al Formo [baked lasagna] and the conchiglie ripiene di pollo parmagiana [stuffed shells with chicken parmesan]. And there was the pollo Afredo and the delicious homemade polpette [meatballs] that would almost melt in your mouth. Almost everything came slathered in the house tomato sauce cooked in the large copper pot in the kitchen that had been there since the placed opened. It was the late great Anthony Bourdain who once said, “an ounce of sauce covers a multitude of sins.” I seriously doubt Caruso’s had anything to hide, but the sauce was wonderful, nonetheless. I would return to Caruso’s almost forty years later and the place looked the same from the street. And there was the familiar dining room up front, but there were more dining areas in the rear along with a large, covered patio. But the food was just as good as I remembered. That is all that mattered.
SallyAnn and I married in December 1974, and she joined me in Tucson for the next year and a half until I completed my Master’s program at UA. We were living on two very modest salaries and so we did not eat out frequently. But we did venture out occasionally and often found ourselves at Luigi’s, a small Italian café halfway between the campus and our small apartment. SallyAnn worked at the campus library and at the end of the day I would walk there from the German department and together we would from time-to-time amble over to Luigi’s for dinner before heading home. This was usually on a Friday, and I did not have to worry about hitting the books later. It was a hole-in-the-wall place with probably no more than ten tables and a small counter with a couple of stools in the back. And like Caruso’s it had red and white checked table clothes and in the center of each table an old Chianti bottle as a candle holder. SallyAnn liked the veal parmagiana and I often ordered the linguini with white clam sauce prepared with finely chopped clams, garlic, anchovies (always a favorite on pizza), red pepper, and capers. This was a reach for me at the time as I had never eaten clams before and I found it all terribly irresistible and it remains one of my favorite Italian dishes to this day, especially when topped with some freshly grated pecorino romano. Unfortunately, Luigi’s and its building disappeared many years ago, but the memories are still clear, and I can still taste that clam sauce.
Mr. Wellborn was a regular diner at Scordato’s and so we were given the VIP treatment. I recall on our first visit we were given a table by a window with a fine view of the city in the distance while watching a squadron of javelinas (collared pecary) feeding on greens the kitchen staff had scattered among the saguaro cacti. One of the treats of the evening was our tuxedoed server preparing a lush and creamy fettuccini Alfredo at our table. I seem to recall that SallyAnn went for the veal parmagiana and I had the veal á la Scordato, a generous serving of veal Saltimbocca which was milk-fed veal scalloppine cutlets sauteed in olive oil with not too thin slices of prosciutto. Like its name it was an eruption of flavors; it tasted as if it wanted to jump out of my mouth. The owner came to our table to greet us along with a very nice bottle of Pinot Noir which was an ideal complement to a most memorable meal. After the meal Mr. Scordato invited us into the kitchen where his two sons worked (a daughter played piano in the dining room) and the flavorful scents hung heavy and afterwards we received a guided tour through The Tack Room, Scordato’s high end wine cellar. Who could not be sold on Italian cuisine after such a magical evening?
I ate at Scordato’s on my own during a business trip to Tucson a few years later and it was just as good as I remembered it. Sadly, on my last visit I found it closed and the building sitting vacant and rather forlorn as more and more development was encroaching on its once outlier location. Evangelos Vassious, another Tucson restauranteur bought the Scordato's in 1999 and remodeled and updated the once venerable restaurant. Evangelos served dishes from Spain, Italy and Greece. Vassious claimed he also bought the rights to the Scordato name and sued James’ two sons Joe and Daniel from using the family name in association with the popular Vivace and Trattoria Guiseppe, restaurants they owned and operated in Tucson. Vassious was awarded limited damages in 2004 and eventually went out of business suffering mediocre reviews. It’s not the name. It’s the food that counts. Trattoria Guiseppe has since changed ownership and Joe opened the upscale Scordato’s Pizzeria in 2010. Daniel Scordato has owned and operated Vivace since 1993 and I enjoyed a meal there on my last visit to Tucson.Daniel credits his father with teaching him the value of hard work and what it takes to make the customer happy. The success of Vivace is testament to that. On my visit I was sad to see that the fettucuine Alfredo was not on the menu as I suspected it would have been just as good as I remembered it from those many years ago. The menu did include osso buco which was a specialty dish at Scordato’s, and so I order it. I started out with grilled asparagus with Parma prosciutto mixed greens with shavings of parmigiano reggiano. The large veal shank was served in a vegetable-tomato sauce over polenta. It all took me back to that first memorable evening at Scordato’s. The father taught his son well.
There is a saying that the trouble with eating Italian food is that five or six days later you're hungry again. It seems like that at times. There is a common misconception that Italian food is tasty because there so many ingredients. In fact, the reason why it's so mouth-watering is because there are less ingredients than in most other cuisines. It is pretty basic when you get right down to it. Too many people have tried to over-complicate it. Italian food is extremely simple. What makes it unique is there are so many different variations to consider . . . Tuscan, Sicilian, and so on. “Italian food really reflects the people. It reflects like a prism that fragments into regions.” Each of Italy’s 20 regions has something unique to offer. The bottom line is simple. It’s tasty and national. It’s colorful and makes you happy. What more can you really ask for?
There is an old Asian saying that tells us that when we sneeze someone is saying something good about us. And if we sneeze twice in a row? Well, not so much. Hmmm. Either way, if you believe this, it seems that folks are always talking behind our backs. I am not so sure I ascribe to this bon mot, just as I give no credence to the claim that if you sneeze with your eyes open your eyeball will pop out of your head. Blood pressure does increase when one sneezes and closing one’s eyes during a sneeze is purely reflexive. Personally, I seldom close my eyes when I sneeze and they have always remained right where they belong. Others say the heart skips a beat when a person sneezes yet signals from the brain control heart rate and this is not affected by any physiological changes that might occur when a person sneezes. The question has also been frequently asked whether sneezing will shorten one’s life. Sneezing is simply a natural reflex. Nothing more, nothing less.
We all sneeze. The average person sneezes roughly four times daily. It is a common reaction when our nasal passage or sinuses become irritated. And multiple sneezes are common and can mean the irritant has not been removed or it is simply a reaction to a reaction. Colder weather can also cause an increase in sneezing. It all makes sense to me. Yet now it seems I always, and I mean always, sneeze twice in quick succession. It makes a person wonder. They come on quick and are frequently violent enough to set my entire body a-quiver. They often scare me and any others in my general vicinity with their explosive suddenness and deserve at the very least a double Gesundheit or two blessings from God.
It never used to be like this. I have had asthma and allergies for years and I think nothing of an occasion sneeze. But now they seem to be more frequent . . . and louder . . . and always in twos. Always! So I am starting to wonder if this sternutation might hold a deeper significance. Perhaps it is an admonishment that I may be suffering from bad karma? Or something I have said or done has offended and people are talking about it unbeknownst to me. Or is it just a couple of sneezes?
Sneezing is a powerful physical reaction when the body produces pressure in the respiratory system from the lungs to the nose. A sneeze can propel droplets of mucus from the nose at a rate of up to 100 miles per hour! This fact alone has led me to suspect that a six-foot social distancing is insufficient to protect someone from being infected with the coronavirus. Yet another good reason to wear a mask when you are in public.
I have heard that one should say “pickles” or hold one’s breath if feeling a sneeze coming on. It is far important to allow a sneeze than to try and repress it. The respiratory pressure created by holding in a sneeze can be up to 25 times greater than the pressure created by the sneeze itself and this can potentially lead to the rupturing of an eardrum, damage to blood vessels in the eyes and nose, or even to the rupturing of a pre-existing brain aneurysm, a life-threatening injury that can lead to bleeding in the skull.
So I guess there is no reason to read into the situation more than what it is. I will continue to sneeze as many times as it takes to get the job done and leave it that. All I can say is “God Bless Me Everyone!!”
With COVID vaccines and boosters available, there has been less of a need to “eat vicariously” as there are now a growing number of venues offering outside seating, and even indoor dining is possible under the right conditions. Nevertheless certain places remain off limits as far as I’m concerned due to their limited space or policies regarding masks and social distancing. To enjoy these I have to rely on my fond memories of past visits and meals enjoyed.
For tasty like home-cooked soul food there is the Florida Avenue Grill, at the corner of 11th Street, NW. I have been residing on the fringes of DC for over 45 years and I am not sure how it is possible that I never crossed its threshold until eight years ago.
I did a little boning up on the history of the place beforehand and learned that it has been a mainstay along this section of Florida Avenue near Howard University in the Pleasant Plains neighborhood since it was first opened by Lacey C. Wilson, Sr., in 1944. Originally just a counter and two stools, the place is now has a long counter facing the grill and a row of small booths lined up opposite the counter under the windows. The walls are covered with framed head shots of the known and unknown who have been coming here regularly over the years, including my old boss, former Attorney General Janet Reno, who frequently ate here. It was lucky to survive the riots and fires that gutted this neighborhood after the assassination of Martin Luther King in April 1968, due in large part to Wilson sitting near the entrance armed with shotgun. His son, Lacey Jr., who had been a successful nightclub owner in the city, took over the ownership and operation of the diner in 1970. Described in an earlier Washington Post review as a diner “as greasy as it is venerable,” it is far from being your iconic greasy spoon diner. The food menu is basic, but the food and ingredients are fresh and served piping hot.
Known mainly for its all-day breakfast fare, it also serves lunch and dinner entrees, including pigs feet, chitterlings, fried catfish and croaker, fried pork chops, fried chicken, and half-smokes (a DC staple any time of the day). I was joined on my first visit by my old friend Michael G. Stewart, a gifted photographer and artist whose photos can be found throughout this blogspot, and his son Spencer, a noted authority on diners and currently the purveyor of fine vintage clothing at his store in Bozeman, Montana.
Michael and Spencer opted for breakfast, but being so close to lunchtime I went for the steamed pigs feet served with generous sides of collard greens and potato salad. Our waitress gave me a rather big-eyed stare when I placed my order, but I assured her I knew what I was getting myself into. There are lots of bones and fat, but once you navigate through these obstacles, there is some succulent meat to be had. I recalled a particular order of BBQ pigs feet I had several years earlier outside of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, so I figured I was up to the challenge.
The generous portion of pigs feet served up that morning was, I will be honest, not exactly what I was hoping for. This is not to say it was not good; it was just not what I was expecting and it was a great deal of work with very little reward. But thems the chances you take when you are adventurous with food. I’m sure there are many who think this is the bee’s knees, and they are probably right. Yet when I next return I will try something else.
I had heard and read that their scrapple is very good – Andrew Zimmern lauded it back in February 2013 on the seventh season premiere of “Bizarre Food America,” calling it a soul food “out of necessity.” I have never thought of scrapple as soul food (see http://www.lookingtowardportugal.blogspot.com/2012/03/everything-but-oink.html), but I did order a side just to see if it lived up to the hype. It did and then some! Crispy on the outside, soft yet not mushy on the inside. I could have made a meal out of it alone!
As it turned out Tim Carman of The Washington Post had reviewed the Florida Avenue Grille the very day of my first visit. So, did Carman agree with my own assessment? I read it when I got home and found it lukewarm, at best. He and some friends were there just a week ago before closing, the sole (not soul) customers ordering “a late-ish dinner” while the cooks and wait staff were trying to clean up, close up, and get to wherever they needed to be. But he claimed he was on a nostalgic mission . . . to see what all the fuss was about before the diner itself upscaled to match the evolving neighborhood around it. The new owner, who is also one of the local developers, is, according to Carman, thinking of adding salads and sandwiches to the long-standing soul food repertoire . . . like this is the only way to insure the place’s survival. It has been here for almost 70 years and is doing just fine. Unlike Carman, I did not come to see what the fuss was about, or to feed a nostalgia bug before what has been is no more. I did note with some interest that Carman had also ordered the pigs feet . . . “this glaringly unglamorous pile of steamed trotters whose tangle of softened skin, fat and gelatin almost melts on my tongue while its heat provides a welcome bit of irritation.” To each is own, I guess. Unlike Carman, I was not out to prove anything or satisfy anything more than the urge for a good meal where a good meal is by and large guaranteed. And unlike Carman, I did not leave disappointed. The Florida Avenue Grill is just what it claims to be . . . nothing more and nothing less.
Finally, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. It is an adage with which I happen to agree. If you want sandwiches and salads, or a beer or a glass of wine instead of juice and coffee, then the U Street corridor and all of its restaurants and bars is just three blocks to the south. Besides, Ben’s Chili Bowl, on U Street, has stuck to its original fare and look since 1958 and it is still going strong. Even President Obama and former French president Sarkozy have made a special effort to dine here. So I see no reason why there is a need to change the Florida Avenue Grill. It is fine just the way it is!
