Dying On The Pass

The restaurant business has a lingo all its own. "Dying on the Pass" is one term. The Pass, sometimes called the Window, is the heated, sometimes not heated, counter area where plated food is handed off from the kitchen (Back Of The House) to the servers (Front Of The House) and run to the tables. When an item is "Dying On The Pass" it means the plated food has been sitting too long at The Pass and is losing quality (temperature, texture, or appearance) before being served.

This term is usually an admonishment from the chef or a line cook for the servers to pick up the item or items and run them to the table. I think we all have been served, at one time or another, an item that sat a little too long and "Died On The Pass". It happens. People are human. They make mistakes. I'm not talking about dishes that "Died" before they got to the "Pass". I'm talking about dishes that were perfect when they arrived at the "Pass" but sat too long. The former is a story for another day.

If you get served one of these dishes you have a couple of options. You can send it back, or you could eat it, or you can play with it and not eat it. Personally, I prefer not to eat it, but I don't want to send it back. I will sit there and play with it so it looks like I ate some of it. Then pick up a burger on my way home. My problem is most of the places where I eat know I'm in the business. No one involved in the restaurant business wants to send anything back to the kitchen. They know what's going to happen. Most kitchens are a bit harsh in this situation, especially when it's busy. Someone is definitely going to get blamed for this dish "Dying On The Pass", a server, a cook, someone.

This situation is going to require a new dish to be cooked "On The Fly". "On The Fly" is an urgent request to make a dish immediately because a dish was returned, forgotten, dropped, or not entered correctly. It gets top priority in a kitchen, even if a cook has to use another table's order to supply the remake. This wrecks havoc with the timing in the kitchen. Seasoned cooks know this and take it in stride. The key to working in a professional kitchen is the ability to adapt and move on. 

This ability to adapt is necessary for every position in the restaurant. Especially when you are deep "In The Weeds". This can happen to servers or cooks or bartenders. It means you're overwhelmed and behind, too many tickets all at once, too many things that need to be done right now. There is a sense you are drowning and completely helpless. You get a glazed look in the eyes. You enter a brain fog where you can't think clearly. You start to panic. You can't breathe. The only way out of "The Weeds" is to not panic, take a deep breath, decide what are the 3 most important things to do, do them, then do 3 more, then 3 more. You pull yourself out of "The Weeds". You have grabbed a gas powered weed wacker and slashed your way out. Taking no prisoners. It's a good feeling.

Of course, this ability to adapt or to get out of "The Weeds" is useless if that particular item has been "86'ed". This means that the kitchen for whatever reason is out of this item. This term originated in the 1930's as soda fountain rhyming slang for the word "nix". A lot of kitchens have an "86" board that lists everything they are out of, including food items and alcohol items. Sometimes even customers.

Over the years "86" has evolved to mean in addition to out of stock, cancel an order, remove a customer, or stop doing something. In the effort to provide fresh items especially seafood, I would buy small lots of certain items. Occasionally we would run out and have to 86 that item. We bought fresh fish and seafood on a daily basis, so we would only be out for the night. The next day we would get a fresh supply. 

In the past, I have had to 86 a customer, mostly because of excessive consumption of alcohol. I always kept this to a minimum because the unruly customers are usually the people that spent the most money and come in the most frequently. No sense in shooting yourself in the foot. I have issued a lifetime ban on only 2 customers in my 40 years in the business, so you can imagine what they must have done to deserve that. Life is short. 

The "Pass" varies in size from extremely small to quite large. The smallest has to be the one at Bistrot Paul Bert in Paris and one of the largest had to be the 'Pass" at Citronelle in Washington D.C..

They come with heat lamps in some cases. I have never been a fan of heat lamps, so for the most part, I never use them. The only exception is on the line at the fry station. French fries and other deep fried foods by their nature tend to cool rapidly, so I would use a heat lamp to keep them warm before actually plating them. 

Heat lamps, to me, are a crutch. Instead of getting a dish out when it's at its peak, it allows you to let it sit there for a while. It doesn't ever get better sitting under a heat lamp. When I was cooking, I kept the dinner plates on the stove shelf so that they are warm, not hot but warm. Of course, some dishes are served cold (salads) and we kept those plates in our ice cream freezer in the cold pantry. This is another reason to not have heat lamps on the "Pass". A salad doesn't need to be warm. It needs to be cold. We even chilled the salad forks. 

Some restaurants have a number of "Passes", usually one in front of a particular cooking station, i.e. wood fired grill, cold pantry, wood fired oven, desert station. To the untrained eye this would look confusing but to an experienced server it's child's play. Otium in Los Angeles was a classic example of this phenomenon. 

This requires the server to be really on his toes to get all the different dishes for the table to the table at the same time. Most of the time there is an expediter, who assembles the orders on a main "Pass" and makes sure everything is perfect. They make sure the server has a complete and correct order. They also insure it gets to the table quickly, while it's at its peak. 

In my life, I have been lucky enough to have eaten in a number of really fine restaurants. Restaurants headed by some really fine chefs. Sadly, a lot of these chefs are no longer at the "Pass" for a number of different reasons. Some have died. It's a part of life. Some have retired. Cooking is a young man's game, with young man knees and other young man body parts. Some have been caught up in controversies that have ended their careers. I have lost a lot of friends and inspirations over the years.

Some are no longer on the "Pass" because they have moved on to be food influencers or food personalities. In some cases this was good and some not so good. Like a lot of things, which case it is, depends on who you talk to. You can't please everyone and everyone is a critic.  
 

Luckily, there are a whole new generation of cooks out there on the 'Pass". A lot of them are very talented cooks. They work their magic for old as well as new generations. Their job is a lot harder these days with everyone being a food expert and all the social media platforms exposing them. Everybody's a critic no matter what their knowledge or experience. I don't think I could do it today. I would be "Dying On The Pass". 

     

 

I Left The Cake Out In The Rain

I got down on the first, which was a Monday. I had been vacationing here the month of October for the past few years. The snowbirds had started to migrate, but it was before the crush of season. I rented the house at the end of Wightman Lane. I got a deal from the owner. He was a friend of Zack’s. He was an airline pilot. He came down the first of November. I always left the place well stocked. He told me he got some interesting people coming to his door looking for Rat. Well, if it worked for him, it worked for me.

The lot was covered with tropical foliage. The house had three bedrooms. Across the gulf-side was a large, screened porch. It had a wet bar in one corner and an outdoor dining table in the other. In front of the bar, there was a seating arrangement with two club chairs. The club chairs faced the water which made them perfect for sunset drinking.

After I got settled in, I went over to Zack and Mary’s house. They had sold the restaurant to two of their employees. The circulation in Zack’s legs hadn’t got any better. They had just returned from a trip to California. We had dinner and shared a couple bottles of wine. They told me about where they had gone and what they had seen.

On Wednesday, Mary left to visit her mother in Charlottesville. She would be gone for five days. Zack and I would have some playtime. He was back into his old ways. He was fun again.

We were sitting at the bar of the Mucky Duck on Thursday late in the afternoon. We had been on the water all day. We both were fried but in a good way. Nothing beats being on the water here. We were fishing but we were also catching. We pulled in three good size black groupers and a kingfish. We also caught a slight buzz drinking one or two cold beers. It was five or six, but nobody likes a “counter”.

It’s hard to describe the feeling you get when you’re coming back. You're zipping through that water with a cooler full of fish. The sun is warm on your back and Jimmy Buffett is in your ears. There's a salty coconut aroma in the air. You’re sun tired and the water around you is so blue. If it’s a real good day like today, a couple of dolphins will be surfing your wake. It was sweet.

We tied up at the dock, washed down the boat, and filleted the fish. We gave the fish to Victor the owner of the Duck. His chef cut them into portions and put aside two nice cuts of grouper for our dinner. We were having a beer at the bar. The Duck didn’t sell liquor. They sold only beer and wine. The sun was almost setting.

As we watched it, Zack said, “Rat, we’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have, but I know where you are going with this. We’re not going to stop playing gin. Your lack of skill has become the foundation for my retirement.” We only played for a few dollars, but the bragging rights were a gold mine.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not giving up yet. That streak of yours has got to end soon.”

“Well, if you would like to try and end it right now, I’m game.”

“After we eat, there’s no rush.” He was quiet for a minute then he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

"Sure.”

“Have you ever had a perfect moment? A moment so perfect you can't put it into words.”

“Yes, when I was catching that big grouper today.”

"Yes, that was good moment but not what I mean. I’m talking about a perfect moment, one that breaks your life into two parts, before it happened and after.”

“Don’t ask me something like that. I'm not good at that touchy-feely shit.”

“Yes, I know. Give it a shot,” he said.

“The problem with a moment like that is you don’t realize it happened until it’s over,” I said.

“And you think it will happen again. And it never does,” he said.

“And then you question whether it happened at all.”

“Yeah…. Forget it.”

“I figure... if it’s that perfect a moment and you talk about it, it’s not so special anymore.”

“You’re right.”

He turned away to watch the sun disappear. I could tell something was bothering him, but I didn’t know what. When he turned back, we returned to more serious discussions, which had to do with fishing or politics. I don’t remember.

We played gin later that night. He didn’t break the streak. I didn’t see him again until sunset on Sunday. He was walking on the beach. I called him over to have a drink. He was slow coming up the steps. He sat in one of the club chairs. He stared out at the water. He had a look that concerned me.

“Zack, where have you been? I went over to the house a couple of times. I couldn’t find you.”

He looked at me and said, “I’ve been with Abby.”

I was at the bar. Hearing what he said, I dropped my glass. “You’ve been with Abby?" I hadn’t heard him say that name in twenty years. "Hang on. I’m going to need a drink for this and so are you.” I poured two doubles of single malt scotch then added one large ice cube to each.

“I’ve always wondered where I was going and when I finally got there if she would be there. I wanted her to be there.”

I shook my head and handed him his glass. “Tell me what happened.”

He took a sip and said, “She lives in Atlanta. She flew down. I rented a place at Casa Ybel. We had dinner and talked. We went for a walk on the beach. Things happened. We ended up spending the weekend together.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘together’?”

“We were ‘together’ in every sense of the word.”

“My guess is, Mary doesn’t know about this. She’s got an open mind but not quite that open.”

“No, she doesn’t know.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I left the cake out in the rain.”

“What?”

“Jimmy Webb."

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever have that recipe again.”

“Now you’re talking crazy. After what Abby did to you, I thought you let go of her a long time ago.”

“Memories don't go away when the other person goes away."

“No, they don't.” I knew that for a fact.

"I've thought about her for 20 years."

"She dumped you. Forget her."

He stood and walked over to the screen and looked out at the water. “I tried... From the first time I saw her until she walked out was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. How do you forget that?”

“Mary is not going to like this. Women don’t want to hear that another woman makes you happy, especially that kind of happy.”

“I’ve been making Mary unhappy for years.”

“She’s been good for you, Zack.”

“Yes, she has.... I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t know what to do… I missed the feelings…”

“The past is not something you can change. You need to let it go.”

“Yeah.” He looked away for a minute then said, "Did I love her back then?"

“It looked like you loved her. The question you should be asking is, did she love you?”

“She told me she did,” he said.

“People lie, you know.”

“You and I lied a lot. We told a lot of girls we loved them. You knew her. She never told me a lie. Did she ever tell you one?”

“No… She never lied,” I said.

“If the words come too easy, you don’t really mean them. Those words didn’t come easy to her.”

“How in hell did you find her?”

“I sent a letter to her parents. I knew they would get it to her.”

“You kept her parents’ address all these years?”

“It was her old address, her parent's house… We were kids back then."

"You send her one letter, after twenty years, and she agreed to spend the weekend with you? That must have been a hell of a letter."

“No, I’ve been sending letters for a while. I sent the first one four years ago.”

“You’ve been hiding this from Mary for four years?”

"I’ve been hiding stuff from Mary for a lot longer than that.”

I sat down in the chair beside him and looked out at the water. “Zack, you have fucked up. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I do know that when you’re married and you have feelings for someone that's not your wife, you shouldn't be married."

"If you leave Mary, there’s no coming back. She doesn’t work that way."

"I know."

“So, you're going to leave?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you see Abby on the side? Mary wouldn’t have to know.”

“She would know. I’m a terrible liar. She would know.”

“Well, you may be a terrible liar, but you’ve kept this from her for four years... or 'a lot longer than that'. Maybe you’re not as bad as you think.”

“Then I would be lying to myself.”

“What did Mary do?”

“Mary has never been happy with me. I don’t fit the mold of her perfect husband. I never will. But to answer your question, she didn’t do anything, I did this all by myself. I always thought all this, all these toys would make me happy. I was wrong.”

"Mary loves you. Why start all over again with Abby?”

“That first night… When I looked into her eyes… There was a look of recognition between us. It was like neither one of us had ever been a stranger to the other... Shit, I can’t explain it. I’ve never been good at words. If I was a college graduate, I'd be good. I’m just a cook.”

“Some cooks see what other cooks don’t. That makes them special. That means something.”

“It does. It means I’m not good with words… Rat… It took less than a minute and we were back there. Like no time had passed at all."

“Damn.” I said as I downed the rest of my drink, got up and poured another. “You want some more?”

“No, I’m going to need a clear head for this. Things never happen the way you think they will.”

“What the hell did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought we broke up because she didn’t love me, but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to meet her, face to face, one more time. Then I would know if things worked out right twenty years ago. Then I could let her go and get on with my life.”

“You're a fucking idiot."

“I know. I didn’t think our feelings could come back... No, I did. There was the letter she wrote after I sent the music."

“The music?”

“Yes.”

I looked over at my old friend. I thought at some point in the last twenty years, in a drunken state, he must have fallen and injured his head. There had been plenty of those drunken states. He had to have amnesia to have forgotten having his guts kicked out twenty years ago. And he must be suffering from Stockholm syndrome to still be in love with the woman who had done it. I was about to have him slapped with the Baker Act when he answered my next question. After that I couldn’t. “Why after twenty years?”

“… She made me laugh… I loved her…. and she always made me laugh.”

“She made you laugh?”

“I was a fool. I thought there were going to be plenty of women like her. I didn’t realize there would only be one. I reached the point where I would have given anything to hear her voice, to smell her hair, to feel her touch, to be with her just one more time. I would have given anything. Haven't you ever...”

He didn’t say another word. He shook his head, set his glass down and walked out the door. A long time ago, I had been a fool too and he knew it.

 

..."And One More For The Road"

There is a legend in the saloon business that Johnny Mercer wrote the words to the barroom ballad "One For My Baby (And One More For The Road)" at the bar in P.J. Clarke's in New York City, on the back of one of their cocktail napkins. It has been described as the best "getting drunk because your woman left you" songs ever written. P.J. Clarke's is exactly the kind of place you can imagine that happening. It has the right feel. 

Frank Sinatra made a lot of money off that song, as did Harold Arlen who wrote the music and of course, Johnny Mercer who wrote the lyrics. The owners of P.J. Clarke's have made a lot of money off the saloon business, selling food and liquor to their clientele, starting in 1884. 

During the 40 odd years of my food and beverage career, I have spent some time visiting New York City. P.J. Clarke's has always been a favorite haunt. I have always felt comfortable there. My first memories go back to the early 1970's, when I was working at the Golden Pheasant Inn in Buck's County PA. The owners of the Inn had an apartment in New York in the Sutton Place neighborhood in a building next to the Queensborough bridge. 

P.J. Clarke's is about a 6 block (5 minute) walk from the apartment. Back then I used to walk the city. I had learned how to use the subway system and how to hail a cab, but New York is a city you need to walk. Like Paris, walking the streets of New York, you get an understanding and feel for the city. When I say city, I'm talking about Manhattan. There is nothing quite like walking around Manhattan.

I don't think anyone told me about Clarke's or took me there. I think I found it on my own. Of course, that was a long time ago and my memory isn't what it used to be. If someone did, thank you, and I'm sorry I don't remember.

Most of the time, I went to Clarke's for lunch. I would go at 11:30, when they first opened to be sure to get a table. I would go in the 55th Street side entrance, which puts you at the tables at the end of the mahogany bar. To the right is the entrance to the back dining room. These few tables were in the main bar area of the saloon. It was rare that I sat at the bar. I liked this area because you had a table and still could see everything going on. 

Clarke's is the kind of place that from 11:30 when it opened, until 11:59, no one is in the place but employees. At 12:01, it's completely full with 3 and 4 deep at the bar. Mostly with men dressed in expensive suits - bankers, stockbrokers, ad men and lawyer types, drinking and eating. This was 1973, so I'm sure that there were women too, but it's the men that stand out in my memory and the expensive suits.

The servers and bartenders, that I remember, were men too. I know for a fact there were women servers and bartenders, but I only remember the men. They were grumpy old men dressed in white long sleeve shirts, black pants, long black ties, a long white apron, and long in years with 40 to 50 (I had 24). They did not put up with any bullshit. In my early years, some had black sleeve garters. They tended to be gruff but acquired a big smile and friendly nature when they realized you were in the business and going to leave them a good tip. Most were of average height and a bit stocky.

Back then, they had a simple order pad system. There was a small paper pad on each table and at the bar. You wrote what you wanted (1 Guinness, 1 Cheeseburger, rare, 1 French Fries) and then handed the slip to the waiter or bartender. He brought you what you ordered. It was a pre-digital age system. It worked quite well. 

The menu was fairly simple back then as well. It was typical saloon food, i.e. Hamburgers, Hot Dogs, Steaks, Meatloaf, French Onion Soup, New England Clam Chowder, Caesar Salad, Shrimp Cocktail, Oysters, Cheesecake... They also had a favorite of mine Steak Tartare. Yes, raw beef, with all the correct garnishes - capers, minced shallots, Dijon mustard, minced parsley, gherkins, and of course the raw egg yolk on top. A side of Tabasco was always included to be sure it was spicy enough for you. 

They had another favorite of mine, the "Stoli Martini Up". In the early 1970's Pepsi worked a deal with the Russians to import Stolichnaya vodka into the United States. Clarke's had it and introduced me to it. They served it ice cold and with a twist of lemon. It was delicious. It went well with the Steak Tartare too.

I wasn't the only one to like it either. It was a favorite of Cate Blanchett as well. This was evident in the movie Blue Jasmine.

Up at the front, across from the end of the main bar, was a grill counter which at this time served hot dogs, hamburgers and sandwiches. If you were short on time, you could step up to the main bar and get the beverage of your choice, then turn around and step over to the grill counter and get something to eat. You had to stand while you ate but for a lot of people this wasn't a problem. They have since taken out the flat top grill and put in an iced seafood raw bar. The counter still has that old comfortable feel.

The main bar, most of the time, was 3 or 4 deep with customers drinking, talking, and engaging their compatriots. After 12:00, all the tables were full and there were people waiting for the lucky ones to get up and leave. This grill counter was a big plus for some, who were short on time. Everyone seemed happy to be at Clarke's no matter how crowded it was. The crowds added to the ambiance of the place. 

A lot of famous people hung out at Clarke's. A lot of unfamous people hung out there too. There were tourist like me, who felt at home here. And there were the locals who lived nearby. They just liked the fact that Clarke's was still there after all the years. 

The building was built in 1868 as a 4 story townhouse. It was constructed in a neighborhood of working class Irish immigrants. The ground floor was converted to a saloon in 1884 by a man named Jennings or Duneen. The early history is a little vague. The upper floors were used as residential apartments. The saloon served the local Irish laborers. It was by no means fancy. 

Patrick "Paddy" Joseph Clarke immigrated from Ireland in 1902 and started working there as a bartender. After 10 years, he had saved enough money to buy the business and renamed it P.J. Clarke's. He and his family lived in one of the apartments above the saloon. He never bought the building itself. He had a long term lease and a benevolent landlord.

This was right before the First World War and the neighborhood was industrial and blue collar. Paddy ran a straight, friendly neighborhood saloon known for keeping a clean bar, decent beer and a warm welcome for his patrons who were mostly laborers, dockhands, delivery drivers and brewery men. It was respectable but lively, a workingman's place without fights. The Third Avenue Elevated Train ran right in front of Clarke's and rattled the glasses on the back bar. The track structure shaded the front of the building but no one cared. Everyone felt at home. 

With the start of Prohibition in 1920 things changed. Clarke's made it through Prohibition by illegally selling bootlegged liquor and bathtub gin that Clarke made in the bathroom upstairs. It was a "Speakeasy". In New York and the rest of the country Clarke's was not alone in this respect, i.e. the "21" Club, the Stork Club, and Chumley's. The neighborhood was starting to change and so was his clientele. Men and women started drinking together. What a novel idea.

During and after the 2nd World War, Clarke's started to attract a more upscale clientele, including some famous people. The most famous nighttime customer was probably Frank Sinatra. He had his own table in the back room, Table 20. The most famous daytime customer was probably Jackie Kennedy Onassis. She sat in that middle area I liked so much, by a window. 

A lot of the crowd included writers, newspapermen, actors, and musicians. CBS had a building nearby so a lot of their staff and newsmen hung out at Clarke's, like Walter Cronkite, Edward R. Murrow and Eric Sevareid. Nat King Cole was a fan of the bacon cheeseburger naming it the "Cadillac of Burgers". It's called that on the menu to this day.

Buddy Holly proposed to Maria Elena Santiago in Clarke's on their first date. Paul McCartney, Peter Falk, Ernest Borgnine, Ethel Merman, Truman Capote were all regulars. Actor Richard Harris would come directly from the airport to Clarke's for his "usual", 6 double shots of vodka. 

The author Charles R. Jackson who wrote "The Lost Weekend" was a regular at Clarke's and several other bars in the area. The bar in the novel is called "Gus's". Jackson's favorite bar was close to Clarke's and was also named Gus's. In the movie Director Billy Wilder liked the look of P.J. Clarke's much better so he made a copy on a Hollywood soundstage. They couldn't shoot in the actual P.J. Clarke's (they tried) because of the lack of control over the sound and lighting. They did shoot some of the exterior scenes in New York City. He obviously knew what he was doing because the movie won Academy Awards for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Screenplay. It also won the Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival. 

I never saw any of these people in P.J. Clarke's or never recognised them if they were there. I did see some people that were famous to me. One day at lunch, I saw singer Dionne Warwick at a nearby table. On another day, Liza Minnelli was sitting at the bar. I saw actor Ben Gazzara at a nearby table a couple of times. I knew him from the "Run For Your Life" television series. I was lucky enough to catch Dustin Hoffman coming out the 55th Street door as I was walking in. He was with a slender much taller woman, I later found out she was his wife and a ballerina. All these folks just added to the mystic and charm of P.J. Clarke's. 

One of the most unusual aspects of P.J. Clarke's is the visual impression you get as you walk south on Third Avenue. A skyscraper, 919 Third Avenue, starts at 56th Street and encompasses the whole block except for the corner of 55th Street where P.J. Clarke's sits. It looks as if this building was built around Clarke's. It was one of the things that attracted me to Clarke's in the first place. I never knew the whole story until much later.

The story is pretty interesting. In the mid 1950's they started tearing down the Third Avenue Elevated Train. It was ugly and had outlived its usefulness. It darkened the avenue, depressed property values directly underneath, and created constant noise. The demolition transformed Third Avenue. Property values rose, the sunlight returned, and much of the avenue was rebuilt. 

The area around Clarke's became prime property for a skyscraper location as real estate developers moved the skyscraper dynasty from the southern part of Manhattan to the north. In 1942 the building had been bought by the Lavezzo family for $19,000. They opened an antique refinishing and furniture repair shop on the upper floors. They became the benevolent landlord for P.J. Clarke's. The Clarke family moved to a nearby apartment and commuted to the saloon. P.J. Clarke died in 1948 but his family continued to run the business.

In the mid 1960's, Tishman Realty and Construction began to assemble all the lots on the east side of Third Avenue from 56th Street to 55th, P.J. Clarke's block. They wanted to build a 47 story office tower. By 1965 Tishman had accumulated all the property on the block from Third Avenue halfway to Second Avenue, except for Clarke's building on the corner. They were a "holdout". The Lavezzo family refused to sell. 

They were offered extravagant amounts of money. Their reasoning was both personal and practical. They didn't want to lose the family property and they didn't want the saloon (their tenant and source of steady income) displaced or demolished. 

After years of negotiations, Tishman and the Lavezzo family came to a compromise. The Lavezzo family would sell the land and the air rights to the property. They would retain the building under a 99-year leaseback. Tishman would preserve the saloon as it stood although for structural and zoning reasons they would have to remove the top 2 floors. This unusual deal allowed Tishman to proceed with building the skyscraper around the saloon rather than over it. 

Clarke's stayed open during the construction. They did close for a few weeks with the removal of the top 2 floors and some added structural reinforcement. The Lavezzo family closed their antique business and became a benevolent landlord. My guess is, Tishman had supplied them with enough cash to make this work for them. 

They built this building around Clarke's and it looks like it. This deal added to the mystic and the history of both buildings. In 2002 ownership of the business changed hands and the new owners did a total gutting of the place, from cellar to roof. They took thousands of digital pictures before and carefully removed everything and put it in storage. At one point there was nothing inside but the brick structure. There was nothing from cellar to the roof, no floors no roof, nothing. They structurally reinforced the building and added all new electrical and plumbing. They brought everything up to code. Then they replaced everything just like it was before, exactly like it was before, including the men's urinals. They wanted the place to last another 100 years. I imagine this place was a real money maker.

The upper floor eventually became Sidecar, an additional dining space. You enter on 55th Street. Named Sidecar for the drink or the passenger compartment attached to the side of a motorcycle? I don't know. It has been used as an private club, additional dining space, and a space for private parties. It is adjacent to the main saloon business downstairs, so the motorcycle connotation makes sense. It makes a nice addition to Clarke's. 

I recently read one of the long-time waitresses, Pat Moore died. She had worked there for 45 years, longer than any other employee. So for sure, they had women working there when I first started enjoying the place. She was famous because she was a former model and dated Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Warren Beatty, and William Shatner. I'm sure there were others. She was quite attractive. She was famous at Clarke's for her fantastic memory in taking orders and the fact she made everyone feel welcome even if you weren't famous. Sad to say I never had the chance to meet her. 

Also famous at Clarke's were the urinals in the men's room. They were huge, white porcelain structures. The room was small and dark wood paneled. The urinals were about 5 feet tall, 2 feet wide, and 18 inches deep. They sort of envelope you. Every time I've been in the men's room throughout all the years, the urinals have had a large block of ice in them. I'm sure when they did the renovation in 2002 they retrofitted them with flushing mechanisms, but you can't tell. They have always had the block of ice when I've been there. Of course I could be mistaken. My memory isn't as good as it used to be.

There is one thing I do remember very well. I once took a long walk around the main part of Manhattan. It was late at night and I was under the influence of a wee bit of alcohol. When I say a long walk, I mean a long walk. I started at the apartment after a night of hitting the bars on 1st Avenue. There were a lot of them, like Maxwell Plum and the original T.G.I. Fridays (the "singles bars" of the era and I was single).

I decided I needed "one more for the road" and walked over to P.J. Clarke's. I had "one" and started walking back to 2nd Avenue on 55th street. When I got to 2nd Avenue, instead of turning left to head back to the apartment, I turned right and started walking. I walked all the way down to Canal Street. Then took a right and walked over to Greenwich Street. I took another right and walked up to Columbus Circle.

This put me right at the southern edge of Central Park which sits on 59th Street. The Queensborough Bridge is also known as the 59th Street Bridge, so I was almost home. This walk was about 10 miles total and took me about 4 hours but I wasn't counting. The sky was just beginning to lighten as I walked (stumbled) into the entrance of the apartment building. 

Why I didn't get mugged or arrested, I can't tell you. I guess that old saying "God looks out for children, fools, and drunks", is true. I know I covered 2 of those categories, if not all 3. I know for sure I wouldn't have made it without that "one more for the road".