Showing posts with label menus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label menus. Show all posts

Sunday, July 24, 2022

Jar of Goodness 7.24.22: Menus for the Seasons

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for my Uncle Richard.

He’s my godfather, he’s my woodsy uncle, my alternate daddy. He’s a retired conservation agent. He’s recently hit a rough patch, health-wise, and I feel like sharing one of his (((many, excellent))) writings. This is one of my favorites, because he didn’t work hard on it; you know it just flowed from his mind naturally, in a single, beautiful concept.

It’s also a testament to the women in his life, especially his mother (my Grandma Schroeder) and his wife (Aunt Carole), who always knew how to make the dishes of the seasons, which he clearly loved to the point of idealization.

Yeah, there’s longing in this list, the way we long for snow in July, warm sunshine and green things in January, rain during a drought.

Anyone from rural Missouri will understand at least some of this list. Understanding some of it means you get the rest of it, too, by extension.

To me, it’s poetry . . .

Feel better soon, Uncle Richard.

Menus for the Seasons

Winter
Stewed Rabbit
Dumplings
Cooked Carrots
Waldorf Salad with Black Walnuts

Spring
Baked Wild Turkey with Dressing
Morel Mushrooms
Asparagus
Mennonite Biscuits with Molasses or Honey

Early Summer
Creek Perch Fried
New Potatoes
Peas
Polk Greens
Raspberries and Ice Cream

Midsummer
Fried Catfish
Fried Potatoes with Onions
Coleslaw
Sweet Corn
Blackberry Pie

Late Summer
Frog Legs
Green Beans
Tomatoes
Cucumbers
Blueberry Muffins
Homemade Ice Cream

Early Fall
Baked Doves
Baked Squash and Apples

Mid-Fall
Fried Squirrel
Biscuits and Gravy
Blackeye Peas
Sliced Tomatoes
Pecan Pie

Late Fall
B*B*Q Deer Ribs
Baked Potato
Cooked Turnips
Cornbread and Honey
Persimmon Pie

Early Winter
Baked Goose
Sweet Potato
Homemade Bread

Monday, October 4, 2021

Retro Menu: Hofbräuhaus am Platzl

Another retro menu! This one is not from a flea market—it’s from my dad! As you might know, my dad spent his junior year in college studying at the University of Paris, and naturally he did a lot of sight-seeing. One of the places he went was the famous Hofbräuhaus in Munich. I’ll tell you the story in my next post, but for now, I wanted to feature the menu.

Hofbrauhaus am Platzl Munich 1954 Menu

A very similar (almost identical!) menu is scanned and available online at the website of the New York Public Library. It’s from the same month as Dad’s (Christmas 1954), so I wonder if it had belonged to one of Dad’s fellow travelers, mostly students from Virginia’s Sweet Briar College. Hmm.

A few interesting things about this. First, although the beer hall was originally built in 1589 and remodeled extensively in 1897, it was almost completely destroyed in the bombings of World War II; only the historic beer hall itself survived. History indeed, even just in the twentieth century: It was here that Adolf Hitler had announced the goals of the Nazis at a huge gathering of a few thousand people in 1920, and the next year he was elected Führer of the Nazi Party. Yeah, right at this very beer hall. It took years to restore the building after WWII, and they didn’t get finished until 1958. So my dad was there when they were still repairing the place.

The artwork on the menu is remarkably good. Its artist, August Roeseler (1866–1934), was an accomplished character illustrator, especially when it came to depicting ordinary, middle-class folks, and dogs (he was nicknamed the “dachshund painter”), and his abilities were put to good use on this beer hall menu. The theme is obviously Gemütlichkeit!

The front cover shows all kinds of people cheerfully gathering at the HB bar for a stein of beer. It is as if the viewer is part of the crowd heading toward the bar. You can see the backs of the people ahead of you. The bartender is happily dispensing drinks. The people who are facing the viewer are super cheerful, because they’ve already secured a full stein and food for themselves! They’re heading off to their tables.

The man at the front left has a look of private, smug expectation, with his HB stein and its overflowing foam in one hand and a plate of food (a Grillhendl, or roast chicken?) in the other. He’s a heavy man, and he’s not young anymore, but he wears his hat at a rakish angle, and his eyes are crinkling as he grins beneath his big white mustache.

In the front right is a woman and man who look as if life is finally getting back the way it ought to be. The woman’s stein is as big as her head. Roeseler apparently did a lot of works with people in this pose, looking straight into the camera and smiling.

In 1954, Germans were looking for reasons to smile.

In the front middle, a boy—a child—drinks from a big stein, too. He looks something like Peter Pan with his green cap and its long, curling white feather. He’s dapper in his lederhosen, crisp shirt, and tie. When he finishes that big beer, he probably won’t look so crisp. It’s a good reminder that prohibitions against children drinking alcohol are a relatively modern concept.

In case you’re wondering, the current German drinking age varies with the situation and the type of alcohol. Beer and wine can be consumed in public places by fourteen-year-olds, if they’re accompanied by a “custodial person” such as a parent. At sixteen, beer and wine can be purchased and consumed on one’s own. But you can’t have distilled spirits (whiskey, etc.) in public until you turn eighteen. Note that German alcohol law pertains to public places. At home, childrens’ welfare, including what and how much they eat and drink, is the responsibility of their parents or guardians, who are held liable if something goes wrong.

Back to the menu. A couple of details that might be easily overlooked are in the top corners. In the upper right, the white and sky-blue ribbons (traditional colors of Bavaria) are tied decoratively around some good ol’ pretzels. On the left, black and orange ribbons suspend—well, what are they? They’re big white radishes! Munich’s traditional colors are yellow and black, so I’m not sure what the orange and black symbolize. The radishes are easier to learn about.

Radishes have long been considered part of the traditional Oktoberfest menu, along with weisswurst and other sausages, senf (mustard), pretzels, liver dumpling soup, pork shanks/pork knuckles, and so on. Thinly sliced, now often spiral-cut white radishes, Bierradi, or bier-rettich, sprinkled with salt and/or pepper is a traditional garnish/relish. Red radishes or white Asian daikon will also be fine, if you’re thinking of putting together your own Oktoberfest menu.

The back of the menu continues the theme of “people from all walks of life.” They’re parading toward the viewer, encircling the logo and name of the business, forming a colorful wreath of the German population. I wish I knew more about historic uniforms, costumes, and fashion, but clearly there are businessmen, a hikers, a few dandies, a burgermeister or two, and I’m pretty sure that’s a birdwatcher, with his binocular case around his neck, at the left. Males outnumber the females nineteen to five, and three out of the five women appear to be servers (so, sexism, duh).

At the bottom, at the front of the two lines, are two boys; one is apparently a baker’s delivery boy, with his basket of bread hooked around one arm while he holds his enormous stein up to his face with both hands. The other boy, who looks incredibly young, wears a robe and holds his stein up: prosit! I wonder if the style of robe has some meaning, with its big golden cross on the front, formed by the robe’s lining and sash. Maybe someone who reads this will shed some light on it.

Finally, at the very bottom, is a whimsical dachshund—the artist’s signature touch—carrying several links of sausage. All together now: “Awwwwwww!”

As for the rest of the menu, I’ll just provide the images. I’m loading them as large files, so you can click on them and see them better.

There’s not much I can say about them, as my German’s nothing to write home (or anywhere else) about.

Do note, however, that the top of the first column on the second page, there’s a box under the heading “Spezialitäten von Heute”: Weihnachten 1954. That dates this menu at Christmas 1954. Also, at the bottom of the first column on the first page, there’s a box that reads: “Für die Feiertage und Sylvester: Die prima Weißwurst, jede Menge auch außer Haus erhältlich!”—an advertisement for the holiday season, including New Year’s Eve, that they have plenty of white sausage (weisswurst) that (I believe they are saying) is available for carryout, as well.

So much food, and so much food for thought. I hope you enjoy looking at, and pondring, this old menu as much as I have.

Friday, October 1, 2021

Retro Menu: The Italian Room, Partenkirchner Hof Hotel

Look, another retro menu that I bought at a flea market, er, antique mall! I got it for a dollar, and what a find it is!

It’s for a restaurant called The Italian Room, at the Partenkirchner Hof Hotel, in the town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Bavaria, Germany. It’s a resort town offering skiing in Germany’s highest alpine peak, the Zugspitze. The town was famous as the home of the 1936 Winter Olympics, where Alpine skiing made its first appearance as an Olympic sport. . . . Then the Nazis took over the hotel . . . and then the American Army monopolized after the war.

The Italian Room, which dates to the American Army’s use of the hotel, is long gone. I think this menu dates to about 1950. The Partenkirchner hotel was a “leave and rest center” for the US Army. The last line of the front of the menu reads “USAREUR Leave and Rest Center”; USAREUR means “US Army in Europe.” (Now, it’s the USAREUR-AF, since the US Army Africa was combined with it in 2020.)

The hotel is still there, having gone back into private ownership in 1959. It’s now called Reindls Partenkirchner Hof. It looks like an amazing place. You can read about its history here.

While you’re online looking at stuff, here’s another hotel in the area that has a similar history; its website has a more thorough description of postwar American presence in the area. Indeed, the different hotels in the Garmisch area served different cuisines; one offered a “Chuck Wagon Steak House,” another had a “Pagoda Room,” another had a “Hawaiian Room.” These and other cuisines moved around among different hotels.

And here’s a big long, scrolly-scrolly page of memorabilia about the US Army in Garmisch.

Anyway, I’m just sharing this menu. Remember that you can click on my blog pictures to make them bigger.

I think it’s interesting that they were offering Italian food at the literal peak of the Bavarian Alps. Perhaps this was supposed to offer American soldiers a break from the wursts, schnitzels, kartoffel, spätzle, and kraut.

I’m also amused by the artwork on the front, depicting stereotypical scenes of sunny Italia—all those lusty, rustic, romantic Italians playing guitars, dancing with tambourines, and drinking wine from a wineskin. Mamma mia!

The inside of the menu is preprinted with a color field guide to pasta shapes, so you don’t have to embarrass yourself by not knowing your mezzanelli from your bucatini, or your ragitone from your denti-delegante. You had the choice of pasta, then you could decide to have it with tomato sauce, meat sauce, meat balls, or fresh sausage. Saturdays and Sundays, the specials were lasagne and ravioli. They also served pizza, which you could customize with toppings.

I often think about how American soldiers, returning from Europe, brought back with them a love of Eye-talian and other then-exotic cuisines. Back in America, they were likely to say, Yeah, let’s go out for a pizza pie!

The “Chef’s Specials” were typed (using carbon papers; this was before photocopiers, of course) and stapled to the more permanent menu.

I’ll let you read the rest of the menu via pictures. It’s a really interesting mix of what apparently was truly fine food prepared by people who knew what they were doing, and dishes like “Cheeseburger,” “Fried Chicken,” “T-bone Steak,” and “Bacon Lettuce Tomato” sandwich—stuff familiar at any American diner.

Whenever I find something like this at a flea market, er, antique mall, I pretty much figure that it was left over from someone’s military mementos. Someone had served in Europe, as part of the USAREUS, then probably passed away, and his (yeah, probably a “his”) family or survivors jettisoned the stuff. I find it fascinating. I hope you do, too.

Sunday, September 26, 2021

Jefferson City’s Das Stein Haus: Retro Menu

With a chill in the air and time Oktoberfests starting up, we turn our thoughts to the Holy Trinity of Bratwurst, Sauerkraut, and German Potato Salad (GPS). And beer. And other Germanic things. And look what I found at a local flea market recently: an old menu from Jefferson City’s longtime German restaurant, Das Stein Haus.

I’m old enough to remember when it first opened in 1981. It was a big deal, because it was very near to where my Grandma Renner lived (her house is gone now; Southwest Animal Hospital is where her house used to be, so you can see how close it was to Das Stein Haus).

Grandma Renner, who was already pretty housebound at that point, especially being practically deaf, was really tickled when the dashing young restaurateurs—native Germans, no less!—stopped by her house to introduce themselves with their German accents! Later, they even brought her some food. Helmut und Dieter!

It was so thrilling to have such a nice, fancy restaurant so near! And German!

. . . Yet we rarely went there. I wonder why not? Perhaps because it was too fancy . . . or pricey. Or perhaps because Grandma had trouble getting around and couldn’t hear well in crowds. Perhaps Grandma Renner—despite growing up knowing some German and having learned her “Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name” in German—was not quite a German cook. She was more of a Midwestern American cook, more familiar with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and country ham.

Or, perhaps the family just wasn’t in the habit of going out to fine restaurants very much. Frugal Midwesterners. We all mostly ate at home. And with its tablecloths, cloth napkins, and use of charger plates, Das Stein Haus certainly seemed high falutin’, for the early 1980s.

Anyway, a lot of years have gone by. I have no idea what happened to Dieter, but Helmut’s still there running the place. Reviews of the restaurant vary widely. Some people say it’s the Greatest Ever, Five Stars; others say it’s abysmal, dark and dusty, with overpriced “meh” food and pathetic service. Apparently some of the problems people have with Das Stein Haus is that Jefferson Citians are not accustomed to making advance reservations; we rarely need them in Missouri restaurants, so if you show up and no table is available, it seems outrageous.

The last time I went there was a night I needed a little cheering up. The neon lights appealed to me, and I thought it might be fun to go there, where nobody knows me, to sit at a bar, and have a drink. Maybe to strike up an interesting conversation. . . . And hey, I’m Germanic, sort of. . . . The bar was awful. First, it was smoky (this was before JC’s non-smoking ordinance went into effect, but I’ll bet it still has that stale stench). No one in there seemed happy, or perky, or even very awake. It was the kind of bar where, if you sit there too long, looking around, you’ll decide to stop drinking forever, because you don’t want to end up like this crowd. . . . And then I overheard some loud, homophobic conversation nearby, so I decided I truly didn’t belong there at all. So I haven’t been back. It’s not my scene.

Could be, the dining room is much better. But then, the last time we ate in the dining room (nearly twenty years ago), I realized my cooking is just as good, plus I would have better bread and better salads (at the time, I recall it being a standard iceberg lettuce salad and mass-produced soft sandwich bread, very underwhelming).

Anyway, I’m not here to review Das Stein Haus; it’s been a long time since we’ve been there, so who knows. The place is a true Jeff City treasure that has withstood the test of time, and at least the exterior of the building, as it’s aged a little, has actually gained in charm.

And—not counting frankfurters and hamburgers—where else in town can you get an array of German food?

So, here you go—a blast from the past—an old menu from Jefferson City’s Das Stein Haus. I’ll bet it’s from their first decade in business, ca. 1981–1991. If you know more, please leave me a comment below.

It’s interesting how the menu hasn’t changed much at all, except for the prices doubling or more. (See their current website, where the menu is under “services”.) There’s a good chance that the recipes might have changed somewhat over the years, even though the name of the dish is the same, but who knows.

Also, I’m pretty sure the display type on this menu was originally hand drawn line art. “Jerry Sanford” is the artist’s signature at the bottom of the second page. You don’t see much hand-lettered type anymore; it’s all digital today.

Das Stein Haus has been around a long time—forty years!—and it’s been a lot of things to a lot of people. So what do you think? What are your memories of Das Stein Haus?

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Sunshine Inn Menu

Greetings, friends! It’s so dreary today, I decided to share a little “sunshine” with you—in this case, an old to-go menu from the Sunshine Inn, a wonderful vegetarian (well, mostly vegetarian) restaurant that used to be one of the best reasons in the world to visit St. Louis’s Central West End. It opened in 1972 and quickly became a landmark. Plants in the windows. And rather plain, but somehow quite elegant decor. Cloth napkins.

Ahhhh . . . the Garden of Eden Salad; the house Creamy Sesame dressing. The quiches. The Great Harvest dinner rolls. Cream Cheese on Date Nut Bread. I used to like their egg salad sandwich, served open-faced, with cheese. Let’s not forget “RZOJ,” iced Red Zinger (Celestial Seasonings’ hibiscus blend tea) with orange juice, and the Viennese coffee (they were serving that waaaay before there was a Starbuck’s on every corner). And, joy of joys, the Golden Lion—the Sunshine Inn’s signature vegetarian burger.

It closed in 1998, and ever since then, the earth has always been a little off-kilter. Losing restaurants like this are a prime reason I needed to learn how to cook.

This to-go menu was printed on both sides of a single sheet of paper, and I’m pretty sure it dates to the late 1990s—I wish I had one from the late eighties, which was when I went there the most. (Alas.)

I’m posting this because I know there are other people out there who pine for the Sunshine Inn perhaps more than I do. Of course, I mean no copyright infringement. I’m keeping the files kind of big so you can hopefully read the type better. (Remember: you can click on the images to see them larger.)

I see value in old menus like this—what were the main ingredients of a dish you liked so much. What things went well with other things. Ideas for reconstruction and inspiration for new construction. I’ll bet there are restaurants you miss like crazy, too.

If you’re someone who misses the Sunshine Inn, I hope you’ll leave a comment and tell me which menu items you loved the most.

Enjoy.