Pork roll poseur? Tasting the challenger to Taylor and Case.

I had to do it. Honestly, I couldn't resist.

You may have heard that Whole Foods Market has done what many loyal New Jerseyans will label sacrilege. They paid someone to "reinvent" pork roll. Even more scandalous, they found a guy in New York, from a charcuterie named Vincenza's, to do it. And, by the way, they charge $14.99 a pound. For that price, you could get at least double the weight in Taylor ham or Case pork roll. Or scads more of the Shop Rite brand, if you're slumming. Just sayin.'

Now, you know I take my station as Hidden New Jersey reporter very seriously, as I do my dedication to the gift Senator John Taylor bestowed on a grateful state in 1856. If anyone is going to challenge the established hierarchy of the official meat of the Jersey breakfast, I'm going to check it out.

I heard that Whole Foods locations were selling the stuff as quickly as they could stock it, so I optimistically went to the Vauxhall location to try my luck. This is what I saw in the prepared meats case:

"Nostalgic for that Jersey breakfast treat?" Seriously? I could pick it up at the supermarket down the street. Small batches? Traditional linen casings? I spied the roll behind the counter glass to see that its place of origin is in Queens. Feeling generous, I supposed that they had to leave the area of Taylor/Case dominance to get someone uninfluenced to put together an original recipe.

I requested a quarter pound, and as the deli counter person sliced it, I asked if they were selling a lot of it. Indeed, several customers a day were calling to check availability, with many coming in to make a purchase. What I didn't think to ask was whether people are coming back for seconds. Sliced meat in hand, I wandered off to find a good kaiser roll.

Once I got home, I got all of the necessary items together:

(Yeah, I could have gone with fancier cheese, but it would have detracted from the experiment.)

The pork roll was sliced much thinner than the pre-sliced boxed version of Taylor ham -- probably somewhere between 1/8 and 1/16 of an inch thick. Consistent with the "finely crafted" aspect of the brand, there were actually inadvertent holes in some of the slices, probably where the meat hadn't been ground sufficiently.

I decided to cook it two ways -- traditional frying and the old reliable "I'm too hungry to wait" method, microwaving. This is one place where the Whole Foods folks win: the stuff fries up so quickly that there's no real advantage in nuking it...

... except for the grease, which will get soaked up by the paper towels you should nest pork roll in when you toss it in the microwave. The Whole Foods option, ironically, seems to kick off a lot more fat than either Taylor or Case, which, while offering a degree of deliciousness, is not exactly recommended by four out of five cardiologists.

And as I discovered, one of the big drawbacks of the thin, thin, thin slice is its inability to retain heat. By the time I got the cheese on it and transferred it to the roll, it was lukewarm. I didn't dare add ketchup, lest it drop the temperature another ten degrees or so. And it just didn't seem to be enough meat to measure up to the average-sized kaiser roll.

As for the taste, well, I'll give them this: it's got a very pleasant flavor, distinct from either of our storied brands. The label refuses to list the various spices, but a Bergen Record report says that coriander, port wine and white pepper are among them, combined with "natural smoke flavor," sea salt and sugar. I'll take their word for it. If they were going for something closely approximating pork roll, I guess they've accomplished that.

Thing is, I don't see the stuff overtaking our old traditionals anytime soon. Perhaps Martha Stewart will use it along with an artisinal cheese in her take on the Jersey Breakfast, but I'm guessing it'll be a long, long wait before you see it on a diner menu. Myself, I'm not convinced enough to spend the extra money, though I wouldn't toss the Vicenza's stuff if someone gave it to me. Bottom line, Senator Taylor's folks have nothing to worry about: they still have my business.


Addendum: Twelve hours after ingesting said gourmet pork roll, I awoke with agita. Not that I'm blaming the product. It just may have been my body's attempt to reject non-New Jersey pork roll like a mismatched donor organ.

Seeking Fearless Fido: missing Howard Johnson on the Turnpike

You might have noticed that in virtually every Turnpike service area, there's a smaller building next to the main building. The smaller is usually closed, even if it has signage for a Carvel or a TCBY. It leads one to wonder: if the structure is never open and there's no business there, why does it exist to begin with?

One of the old Howard Johnson's Turnpike snack bars,
circa 2000. Note the stylized signage on top.
Photo courtesy www.highwayhost.org .

To learn why, you'd have to go back to the early days of the Turnpike, when the service areas were conceived. Today's stops have a variety of branded food establishments, but until the early 1970s, there was just one: Howard Johnson's. In fact, the old purveyor of ice cream and clam strips had the lock on long-distance road food distribution in the state, holding concessions for both the Turnpike and Garden State Parkway restaurants. They'd mastered the art of serving hungry travelers and also operated restaurants on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and other states' roads. From what I've been able to gather (and dusting off my faint memories), HoJo's Turnpike establishments were largely cafeteria style, allowing them to serve large numbers of people efficiently while maintaining some semblance of being a restaurant with quality standards.

Travelers on the Turnpike could also find comfort in the consistent food options up and down the road. Knowing you'll have a reliable choice means there's one less decision you have to make in a potentially stressful situation. I'm living proof: the only item I can recall eating at HoJo's is the hot dog in a distinctive New England-style bun, served in a cardboard sleeve branded with the Howard Johnson's logo. The kids menu always had it listed as the Fearless Fido, french fries and HoJo Cola included in the meal. It was my instant choice.

While the service in the sit-down area might have been quick, a percentage of travelers just wanted to grab their food and go. Maybe they were running late, or perhaps they had cranky kids who'd be a hassle to wrestle out of the car and into a cafeteria. That's where those little Turnpike buildings come in. Howard Johnson's operated them as snack bars where customers could order from a limited menu of easily-transportable foods and quickly get back to their cars and the road. Again, you knew what was on the menu (as your kids probably did, too), so there was very little to do but order, pay and run.

It was a good system, but apparently someone felt a need for change. Howard Johnson's lost the Turnpike and Parkway concessions in 1973, perhaps due to the internal issues that ultimately led to the chain's demise.  The snack bar buildings were closed when the new concessionaire took over, and to many, the transition marked the decline of service area fare. Burger King and Pizza Hut may be reasonable enough offerings, but the Turnpike, at least, has lost some of the reliability and uniformity it once prided itself on. How's a traveler supposed to manage his or her appetite? I've got enough on my mind without having to remember what fast foods are going to be available at the next service area.

The next time you stop at a Turnpike rest area, check out the Snack Bar building -- it won't be hard to identify. Let me know if it's open, and, if so, what they're selling. Oh, and if you smell hot dogs, do let me know!

White Rose System: still satisfying after all these years

My lack of direction on the Edison Information Trail continued as I headed toward lunch. You see, I figured that since I was already so close to Route 27 in Middlesex County, I'd continue south toward Highland Park and make a detour to the White Rose System.

It's not normally a difficult trip. Sure, there's a point in Metuchen where 27 makes a sharp 90 degree turn, but I've done it dozens of times. It shouldn't be a problem.

The key word there is "shouldn't." For some reason unbeknownst to me (bad gyroscope? Mercury retrograde?) I made a wrong turn and somehow ended up on New Durham Road. This isn't good. My GPS is on the blink and the map was no help because I didn't have my reading glasses (danged presbyopia!). I was left to my innate sense of direction, which was suspect at the time, and a bit of good luck.

The gods must have been smiling down on me, because I found myself back on 27 after five or ten minutes of driving through an unfamiliar part of Edison. From there I got down to Highland Park, did the appropriate flipdoodle turn to get to Woodbridge Avenue, and I was at the System.

The White Rose System, for the uninitiated, is a classic greasy spoon with unbelievably good burgers. It's the late-night bellybuster of choice for generations of Rutgers students, past and present, and is steeped in legend. Depending on what you choose to believe, the guys behind the counter could be convicts on a work-release program and shackled together behind the counter. I never believed it, but the fact that they always seemed to be stationed close to each other at the grill and register did give the story the tinge of truth. I really didn't care as long as they kept up their usual pace: having my order ready and taking my payment two seconds after I got the words out of my mouth. The place is open 24 hours (or 6 a.m. to 6 a.m. Monday through Sunday, if you read the hours on the door) and as with most places like that, it draws its share of characters, from working joes to blitzed frat boys, depending on the time of day.

Back when I was in school, it looked like a beat-up classic diner, complete with the sign on the front reading

WHITE ROSE SYSTEM

HAMBURGES

to which some wag appended the R in the proper place. Rumor had it that the sign had been painted over several times, with the same misspelling each time. Today, the place looks a bit tidier, and they've gotten rid of that old sign. 

The menu has also changed, with some healthier options to the classic hamburgers and fries. When I was there, a young couple was splitting a large slice of carrot cake, which would have been unheard of back in the day. My faith was restored when the counter guy served a good helping of scrambled eggs and Taylor ham to one of the dine-in customers.

I couldn't give you any details on the healthy choices because I didn't need to look at the menu. I ordered my usual:  California cheeseburger, fries and a diet Pepsi. Service was a little slower than I was accustomed to, but the meal was ready in a reasonable amount of time. Rather than eating in the joint -- it was always too crowded to do that when I was at Rutgers -- I stayed with my personal tradition and brought it to the car. There's just something about that aroma drifting about the cabin.

I've been going to a more convenient White Rose in Roselle, and while their Cali cheeseburgers are very good, I was wondering how the two would compare. (There are a few White Roses in central Jersey, all independently run, with varying menus.) The Highland Park burger is still better, maybe a little heftier, and soaks the bun just right. I'm smiling now, just thinking about it. The fries come in a generously sized paper sack and are straight cut and thick rather than the crinkle-cut I recall, but they still stand up well against the ketchup the counter guy had squirted onto them for me. 

It's good to know that even when things change, they can remain largely the same. They may have cleaned up the outside of the joint and added to the menu, but it's mostly the food I remember. The taste hasn't changed a bit. All in all, it's a good lunch, even if my arteries will be clogged for a week. 

Oh, and I made a salad for dinner.

Chowing down at the Galloping Hill Inn

The Galloping Hill Inn in Union is a classic, founded in the '20's at a confluence of roads aptly called Five Points. It's the quintessential hot dog and beer kind of place, and when I was a kid, it looked like something you'd find on some rural road -- whitewashed exterior with ordering windows on both the street- and parking lot sides of the building, and a porch with picnic benches. The ordering process is not for the hesitant: customers crowd the broad (8-10 foot wide) window to shout out their orders as the counter guys randomly call "next." Often chaotic, but efficient. There's also a small dining room with waitress service. I can't really offer any commentary on it since I've never actually checked it out.

Like most road joints, atmosphere is half the experience at Galloping Hill. For years, the place was clad in whitewashed clapboard, eliciting the feel of a stand on a backwater thoroughfare. Sadly, they appear to be going for a diner look now, with enamel walls, chrome accents and faux-pressed tin ceilings above the porches. They've also totally enclosed the back-side counter area to create a quasi-interior seating area with benches and a dining counter for the walk-up clientele. That's a welcome addition in my book, as it gives you a quick option for those cold winter Galloping Hill visits.

Fortunately, the quality of my standard order hasn't changed a bit: a 'complete' hot dog (kraut and mustard) and cheese fries with a generous amount of the tasty yellow stuff. Yum. This is a classic tube steak -- nice snap when you bite into it, no gimmicks, though in my opinion, the roll is better suited to a cheesesteak or chicken parm than to a hot dog. Everything always tastes fresh, and given the traffic the place gets, nothing sits for long, anyway.

Five Points is a very busy intersection, so you can't really blame the Galloping Hill guys for moving the transactional part of the business to the back of the building for safety. When my sister and I first started going there in the mid-eighties, we'd eat our meals on the street-side porch and count the near-miss accidents. While we never actually saw a collision, we heard one once, first the screech of tires and crash of car against car, then the very loud string of obscenities expelled by one of the drivers. Jersey road food ambiance -- can't beat it.

Frank the Ripper: satisfying the hot dog jones at Rutt's Hut

The random post-flood driving and detours created a felix culpa:  a visit to Clifton's own Rutt's Hut, the home of the ripper.

What's a ripper, you may ask? Well, let's start with a tasty frankfurter, raw.  Toss it (gently, mind you) into a vat of boiling vegetable oil.  Allow it to marinate until the skin cracks. Then fish it out and place on a bun. That's a ripper.

When you get to the Hut, you're immediately confronted with a choice: sit or stand. Those who like to eat standing up, from a counter in a weirdly non-hygenic-looking white-tiled fast food joint, will go to the counter portion, which has a satisfyingly unattractive view of Route 21 below. Service is fast and courteous, cash only. That's where Ivan and I opted to go. (Standing helps the digestion.)

Those who like to sit while they dine will go to the dark paneled interior dining room, replete with an old man bar that probably still reeks of cheap cigars. Last I was inside, the tables were sticky, and estimating the waitresses' ages would require carbon dating, which would rationalize the slowness of the service. In its own way, though, the dining room is an experience which must be had, if for no other reason than to be entertained by the characters at the bar and the random signs posted on the walls. Rumor has long had it that Babe Ruth would stop at Rutt's occasionally, and one could easily imagine him at the bar for a couple of dogs, a couple of snorts and a beer chaser.

While still a mass-production outfit, Rutt's will take requests for variation on the rippers -- everything from the 'in and out' (lightly ripped) to the 'cremator' (left in the oil until, well, cremated).  They also offer a decent selection of other fast food items, though I really don't know why you'd go there for a tuna salad sandwich.  I guess they have to have something to rationalize the visit for people who get dragged there by rabid hot dog aficionados.

For our visit, we chose the hot dog, lightly ripped (for me, big shock), the hamburger with gravy (for Ivan) and a plate of onion rings (shared). The dog was just as good as I remembered it to be, and while the o-rings were maybe a little more well done than I usually go for, these irregularly-shaped treats were a tasty diversion from the uniformity of the average fast food version.  Ivan mentioned that the gravy was a good addition to the burger, something I'd never have considered using as a topping. Reminds me:  the Hut's hot dog relish is well known and treasured in hot dog maven circles.  They even sell it in pint and quart sizes for you to take home.

Stuffin’ our Faces in New Brunswick

Twilight was fast approaching in Salem County when we started our way toward the Turnpike and home.  Ivan must have been reading my mind, because he suggested that we take a detour on Exit 9 and grab dinner at Stuff Yer Face in New Brunswick. Saying that is like suggesting I might like to breathe:  it’s a total no-brainer.  (Does this guy know the way to my heart, or what?)

How much do I love Stuff Yer Face?  I started going there as a Rutgers freshman, and I still return several times a year for one of their signature strombolis. They’ve made this basic Italian staple an art form, offering dozens of variations filled with any number of cheeses, meats and vegetables. Some have described it as a rolled-up pizza, but that doesn’t begin to explain how freakin’ good it is. Oh, and you know celebrity chef Mario Batali? He started his career there as a line cook, so I can honestly say I ate his creations before he got famous.

Now, usually I make my SYF jaunts on a quiet afternoon, but this time we’d likely get there at its busiest.  Would it be loaded with noisy college students, making us look like the quintessential mom and dad? More importantly, would we get a table before we both died of hunger? That last question was also complicated by a Turnpike warning sign prompting us to detour onto Route 130: that added an extra 15 or 20 minutes to the trip.

Not surprisingly, there was a 30 minute wait for a table when we got there, so we headed to the bar so Ivan could check out their extensive menu of brews.  It definitely lives up to its reputation. While there, we chatted briefly with a couple of very polite frat boys who were celebrating a birthday with pitchers of a neon-blue libation. At the other end of the bar, a couple more in our age range was whiling away their table wait by playing darts with their young daughter.

We got called for a table right at the 30 minute mark, and I didn’t even have to look at a menu: Emily boli (vegetarian) and an enormous diet soda.  And please bring it quickly.  Not long later:  yum.  And a delicious way to conclude a long, eventful day of wandering, birding and exploring.

It’s kind of neat, actually:  when I started going to Stuff Yer Face back in the 80’s, it was rare to see anyone there over the age of 30.  It seems that my contemporaries keep returning, even as the place continues to be wildly popular with Rutgers students today.

Chowing down at Toby's Cup

One of the highlights of the serendipitous Phillipsburg trip was a visit to one of Route 22's quintessential road food establishments: Toby's Cup. It's long been on my list of destinations, but for whatever reason, it took till now (and, I guess, the participation of a road trip partner) to get there.

This is one of those places where it's not so much about the food itself as the experience. In fact, it's the kind of eating establishments that separate the cool people from the snobs on sites like Yelp and Urban Spoon. If you're deriding the place for how disgusting it is, you just don't get it.

The Cup, eastern exposure, as seen from the parking lot.

I wasn't fully prepared for the maneuver you have to take if you're going to get into Toby's tiny parking lot, but having learned how to drive on 22 in Union County, I knew what must be done. On the second pass, I rapidly decelerated from highway speed to about five miles an hour to make the sharp right turn, and be ready to grab the spot closest to the road, all without starting a chain collision behind you. Basically, without experience knowing where the place is, you're going to have to do the second pass, anyway: the whole shack is probably less than 100 square feet in size. Blink and you'll miss it.

Upon our visit, there were already five or six people standing in the cramped customer standing area, waiting for their orders to be called. As Ivan noted, you'd need to go outside to change your mind. Fortunately, we were the only ones who hadn't put in an order, so the counterman took our requests pretty quickly from behind a plywood countertop that also held Tootsie Rolls (2 cents per) and Tastykake fruit pies. There's not a whole lot on the menu; hot dogs, hamburgers, cheese steaks, and, interestingly, a variety of shake options. Soda comes in cans, and chips are available instead of fries. Fair enough.

As we waited for our order, the crowd thinned out and we were able to take a look at the stuff posted on the wall next to the counter window. If you wanted your hair cut, or an old train set, or your driveway plowed in the Lopatcong area, this apparently was the place to find your source.

It didn't take long until we had our bag of food and were back out to the car to eat. The dog wasn't bad -- they fry them in oil much like Rutt's Hut, and that's not especially my favorite way of having them, but it was okay and the skin gave a nice snap when I bit into it. Ivan's hamburger was reminiscent of what I used to get at my grade school cafeteria: vaguely gray meat with a taste you can't quite put your finger on, except to say that it definitely isn't 100 percent beef. Nothing a little ketchup and mustard can't remedy. And, of course, you can't put a price on the experience of reliving your childhood through meat of questionable origin.

Would I go back again?  Yes, if I was in the area. I'd opt for a second dog (at 75 cents a pop, they're a bargain anyway) and check out one of those shakes. Plus, I want to see how many people could possibly fit into that phone booth they call a counter area.

Storming the mountain (Garret, that is)

Danged if the weather didn't suddenly turn colder just as the weekend arrived.  That meant that this week's Sue/Ivan field trip was done in chilly, chilly weather.  And what better place to go in chilly weather than a mountain?  To be more specific, it was Garret Mountain in Woodland Park (formerly West Paterson), an oasis of nature in the highly-urbanized greater Paterson area.  More than 500 acres of the mountain are set aside by the Passaic County parks system for walking, hiking, cycling, horse riding, you name it. And its location at the northern end of the first Watchung Mountain ridge makes it a bit of a haven for birds (and birders), particularly during migration season.

We started our day by parking in the Elvis lot, known for the Presley impersonator who's been known to perform there for passers-by. It was really quiet, aside from a few passing cars and a runner or three. No chirping, cawing or quacking, though there were a few mallard ducks on the little bit of pond that wasn't frozen over. We proceeded to a wooded area with small streams running through it, and ran into a couple of other birders, as well as some birds. I was able to get some photos of a red-bellied woodpecker, but a friendly chickadee was a much closer (and much easier) subject, perching on a limb right next to us. He was apparently looking for handouts, which one of the regular birders is only too happy to provide.

Tromping a bit further up the mountain, we checked the underbrush for additional birds but the area was very, very quiet. Apparently the birds were smarter than we were, and had opted to spend the day someplace a bit warmer.  The occasional turkey vulture flew overhead, scanning for prey.

The reward for all of that tromping was an observation area at 500 feet above sea level, with sweeping views all the way to New York City. George Washington stationed troops here to keep an eye on potential British incursions into New Jersey from occupied Manhattan during the Revolutionary War. Today, it also offers a really great view of the city of Paterson, America's first planned industrial city. Alexander Hamilton, the nation's first secretary of the Treasury (among other things), believed that the country's best chance for economic independence was through industry. The theory was that if we could manufacture our own products, from our own resources, we'd have little need for imports from our former European rulers. He and several other like-minded men created the Society for Useful Manufactures, which then went about developing the area's industrial base.

Paterson (named after the New Jersey governor at the time) was built along the site of a roaring waterfall that Hamilton saw as an excellent power source to run mills and factory turbines. Eventually, the city became home to the Colt gunworks, the Rogers locomotive works and a variety of textile mills.  In fact, Paterson was known for a long time as Silk City due to the strength of that industry within the city. Thomas Edison located one of his illuminating factories there, as did the Wright-Curtiss operation that built the aircraft engine for the Spirit of St. Louis.

Paterson has always been a bit of a

gritty city, but with that grit also came a bit of wealth enjoyed by the owners of those manufacturers. From the heights of Garret, you can still see a fair share of grand public buildings among the bodegas and check cashing places. And within the confines of the reservation is Lambert Castle, a turreted brick mansion built by one of the city's silk magnates in the 1890s. It's now open to the public periodically for tours.

As we continued our hike around the reservation, we came upon the restored observation tower Lambert built as part of his estate. While it was closed to visitors, it's another nice place to rest a bit and enjoy a spectacular view.

All in all, it was a rather sparse birding day but an interesting exploration of an area I'd known relatively little of. It's always good to get some altitude on a hike -- it brings some air into the lungs and blood into the leg muscles. It also builds an appetite, and we were ready to grab some sustenance. After spending a few hours on a mountain with a set of turreted buildings, where better to go than the Castle? So yes, we drove to Clifton and stormed the White Castle.

Now, I'll digress for a moment here and share a little something about my choice in companions. Any man who wishes to hang out with me must be cool with my penchant for road food. Any statement about it being 'unladylike' or even 'gross' will disqualify a potential beau. I found it tremendously reassuring that Ivan encourages visits to the Castle. He even shared an activity that could change a visit from merely good to epic: the construction of one's own castle from the leftover burger boxes. Why I never thought of this myself is truly a mystery, but I guarantee that this information will be used in the future.

Oh, and he chose to hang out with me for several hours after the Castle visit. Now that says a lot about the guy.