FrankieI never did get the magic of the Melrose di...

2006-04-10T12:46:00.000-05:00

Frankie
I never did get the magic of the Melrose diner.
Yes my mother, when she did not bake , which was rare, did indeed order the "Buttercream" cake for our birthdays. But one piece told you that butter and cream were ingredients that never got close to this confection. It was more like a Lard enveloped sponge cake . But the "oohs" and "aahs" always followed the ingestion of a piece of this toxic pastry.
And that knowing look from the relatives as "IT" was brought into the room all aflame in candles. I was always afraid that if the icing caught , we were all gonners. these cakes are probably responsible for more coronaries in South Philadelphia than any cheesesteaks ever were.
Another thing about this bastion of epicurian repasts. The waitresses were always so surly, I just did not see the humor in being abused thru a meal. And then leaving a tip for the priviledge .
We don't even have to go into the fact that one was forced to share a booth with strangers, an uncomfortable thing in and of itself , now lets add the fact that we are going to eat together an intimate act if there ever was one. Listening to each others hushed conversations. Speaking low so that the strangers across from you don't hear all the gossip you are discussing, because GOD FORBID, this being South Philly , they could be related to the people you were talking about .It is lit so brightly it has all the ambience of a police holding cell.
But , the garbage is kept refrigerated and for South Philly domestic mavens this , and this alone was a sign from God that this Melrose deserved patronage.
Well that and a CB-5...the chopped beef, with cole slaw and fries.
But don't ask for a refill on that coffee, because Flo your waitress is gonna charge you , and while she goes to get the pot will be muttering under her breath, something about "these friggin bastards".Of course Broad Street being the funeral row that it is , made the Melrose the place after a veiwing, because nothing makes South Philly hungry like "The Deads". Great place to discuss how Pennsylvania Burial made aunt Concetta look so , lifelike, just like herself, if she was made of wax and wanted to have that joker smile on her dead face.
And her outfit, "Did ya see dat dress?" "Who picked dat out Helen Keller?" "Concetta never wore pink", "Whats at all about?" All these question would have appropriate answers as anyone who knew the deceased would have been privey to all the plans to bury her.
I have two main memories about The Melrose.
One was going on Halloween night , in costume after attending The Henri David Ball in center city with 6 friends. Such looks you have never seen. I was in green sequins , and heels ,huge hair ,jewels, supposed to be a Merman from the sea , looked more like a bad Ethel Merman cross dresser. My companions were equally attired in various forms of "costumes". We ate our late night meals, and caught a cab outside , as the patrons of the Melrose all watched us from the windows with looks of awe.Mind you the waitress was totally non-plused as she had "seen everything since working here".And she served us as if we were dressed in Sunday best, never batting an eye.
My second memory was going there after one of those famous wakes, for a very unliked member of my family. One which required much discussion after.
The Melrose was settled on as the Parlor of choice for this bitch session . We got there at a busy time and decided on the counter as there were four of us and as many seats in a row available.
My partner who is "Medican" or otherwise known as a non Italian had little if any experience with this whole process. And he was meeting for a first time , one of the more reprehensible of my clan. I was holding my breath as we ordered our meals, and trying to steer the conversation to some pleasant topic. This guardian of all things Italian for my family, ordered a BLT ....which came with MAYO ...MAYO, that condiment which is never uttered in a REAL Italian household. He proceded to scrape the mayo off of his bread , and with a dramitic turn twards my partner he plopped the mayo onto the edge of my partners plate. And as only he could say it, he pronounced that, this had been a mistake, and "they must have intended this for you". This act of superiority took my partner by total suprise, and he was stunned into silence. or as we say in SP..."he remained".
When we got home I explained the mayo thing and the attitude that all medicans are not worthy.
It did not matter that my partner comes from a family in Boston who can trace thier roots back to ancient times. Who is an architect, and a lovely man . Who possesses class and sophistication than this brute of an ogre will never know. He was simply ...not Italian. And the brightly lit Melrose was the stage my relative used to make that known.
The story does not end there.
With great aplomb my partner took this in his stride when I explained why this slight was done to him.
He took a cardboard box , big enough to hold a loaf of Wonderbread, a can of Spam, some American cheese ,and a box of lime Jello. He wrapped it all up and included a note which said " Nice to meet some of the family, enjoy lunch on me, my people will call your people lets get together real soon".
This box arrived on a day when the offensive family member was at home very sick with the flu. Laying on the sofa feeling sorry for himself.
He unpacked the box, read the note, and howled with laughter.
A phone call followed to my partner , and they became friends very quickly.
The box and its contents were displayed on the dining room table, for all to see, after moving the statue of the Madonna and the pope's photograph of course.
This new found connection did not last too long , as I made the ultimate faux pas a former SP resident could do.
I moved across the bridge into New Jersey. Out of SP, and the neighborhood that I lived in all my life. Away from my family, I am a trader.
The bond was broken not only for my partner but for me also. I am an outcast because I crossed the river.Italians are hardest on those they have blood ties to.
And my family was no different .
These days we barely speak, and only at weddings and funerals.
So a post wake discussion at the Melrose is out.
Any way if I get a "woolie" for a meal at the Melrose , I have to pay a toll now, and believe me it aint worth it.

Frank I have never been to Melrose. I have to fix ...

2006-03-28T11:29:00.000-05:00

Frank I have never been to Melrose. I have to fix this oversight. I was told by a fellow librarian of one supervisor who would spend hours in the diner during her working hours.

Comments on Ghost of South Philly: Melrose Aternum Or coffee and last suppers... Ch...

FrankieI never did get the magic of the Melrose di...

Frank I have never been to Melrose. I have to fix ...