How a city learned to eat well
By Dawn Drzal |
November 1, 2009, Sunday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
IN 1815, Paris had 3,000 restaurants; New York had none. (In fact, the word itself wouldn't enter the American lexicon until the mid-19th century.)
Those forced to eat out could choose between "a slab of beef or mutton with potatoes and gravy" at a boardinghouse or chophouse, reports William Grimes, a New York Times domestic correspondent and formerly the newspaper's restaurant critic, whose latest book is a chronicle of New York's transformation from a Dutch village at the edge of the wilderness to what he sees as the most diverse restaurant city in the world.
In the 1820s, Grimes reminds us, time spent eating was time taken away "from the serious business of making money," and Manhattanites were distinctly lacking in culinary sophistication. Even at the best hotels, the notion of courses didn't exist: everything was set out at once, squab compote jostling with cream puffs.
At the sound of a gong, the American guests stampeded the dining room where, to the surprise of their European counterparts, they set about "gobbling down" their meals "in silence."
So it was quietly revolutionary when, in 1827, two Swiss brothers named Delmonico brought "a whiff of Paris" onto William Street with their "little French confectionery and cafe."
Delmonico's, Grimes writes, "established the tone for fine dining in New York almost overnight, and it would remain preeminent until the 1890s."
New York took decades to recover from the Prohibition era. Craig Claiborne (whom Grimes credits with single-handedly inventing serious food journalism) went so far as to call New York in the late 1950s "a hick town."
In his autobiography, Claiborne writes: "Prohibition and the Depression had dismantled the glorious edifice of dining erected at the turn of the century. The Second World War had completed the process."
Then came Joseph Baum. Part showman, part visionary, he enlivened the city's restaurant scene.
Grimes, not unexpectedly, is very acute about the modern age, beginning with the arrival of nouvelle cuisine in New York in the 1970s. As for today's "era of the entrepreneurial superchefs," this vivid and vastly entertaining history positions it as the latest but hardly the final chapter in the culinary saga of the city with the bottomless appetite.
Those forced to eat out could choose between "a slab of beef or mutton with potatoes and gravy" at a boardinghouse or chophouse, reports William Grimes, a New York Times domestic correspondent and formerly the newspaper's restaurant critic, whose latest book is a chronicle of New York's transformation from a Dutch village at the edge of the wilderness to what he sees as the most diverse restaurant city in the world.
In the 1820s, Grimes reminds us, time spent eating was time taken away "from the serious business of making money," and Manhattanites were distinctly lacking in culinary sophistication. Even at the best hotels, the notion of courses didn't exist: everything was set out at once, squab compote jostling with cream puffs.
At the sound of a gong, the American guests stampeded the dining room where, to the surprise of their European counterparts, they set about "gobbling down" their meals "in silence."
So it was quietly revolutionary when, in 1827, two Swiss brothers named Delmonico brought "a whiff of Paris" onto William Street with their "little French confectionery and cafe."
Delmonico's, Grimes writes, "established the tone for fine dining in New York almost overnight, and it would remain preeminent until the 1890s."
New York took decades to recover from the Prohibition era. Craig Claiborne (whom Grimes credits with single-handedly inventing serious food journalism) went so far as to call New York in the late 1950s "a hick town."
In his autobiography, Claiborne writes: "Prohibition and the Depression had dismantled the glorious edifice of dining erected at the turn of the century. The Second World War had completed the process."
Then came Joseph Baum. Part showman, part visionary, he enlivened the city's restaurant scene.
Grimes, not unexpectedly, is very acute about the modern age, beginning with the arrival of nouvelle cuisine in New York in the 1970s. As for today's "era of the entrepreneurial superchefs," this vivid and vastly entertaining history positions it as the latest but hardly the final chapter in the culinary saga of the city with the bottomless appetite.
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