A scene at a late-night diner in Jean-Pierre Melville’s Two Men in Manhattan, revealing some odd selections on its abbreviated menu. Gefilte Fish tops the list, with a trim 40 cent price tag that would equal out to a little under $4 today. Below that things get a bit fuzzier, although a little digging led me to the existence of Pickle Fleisch, sometimes spelled as Pickel Fleisch, which would fit with the obstructed text fragment on the second line of the board. This is not a dish I’ve ever heard of, nor something you’d ever encounter at a modern diner, but this academic paper describes it as an Alsatian Jewish cousin to pastrami. This fits perfectly, since Melville (born with far less flair as Jean-Pierre Grumbach) was himself a French Alsatian Jew by origin. As always, however, this only brings up more questions. Did this dish ever actually dot the menus of NYC Jewish boîtes, or did the director simply add it to his own fantasy menu of comfort food favorites? The NYPL’s menu archive turns up nothing on a variety of spellings, although this is far from definitive proof of anything. What it does confirm is that the item below on the list is definitely farfel. Meanwhile, here’s a sauce for that Pickel Fleisch. The interior of this diner, established by the film’s geography as existing in Ridgewood, was definitely shot on a set. Yet in keeping with the film’s gritty nocturnal aesthetic, the exteriors are real locations, the classic railcar structure belonging to The Oven and Griddle Diner, which advertises “Tables and Booths for Ladies” on it’s front facade. I tried desperately to track down any memory or hint of this distinctive structure, using the “Tip-Inn Bar'' across the street as a guide, but came up empty. Based on the likely proximity to the Ridgewood Rathskeller (whose entrance sign is featured in the preceding shot as the characters walk into the diner) I’m guessing it was somewhere near the Myrtle-Wyckoff station. The train tracks above, part of the BMT Myrtle Avenue Line, once ran all the way into Manhattan, over the Brooklyn Bridge. As of 1959, service continued out west to Fort Greene. Now most of the elevated tracks are closed, with a fossilized section stretching all the way out to Bed-Stuy, where it terminates in anticlimactic fashion. As a side note, I am about 50% sure my maternal grandparents had their wedding party at the Ridgewood Rathskeller, based on context clues and stories I’ve heard, although this is my first encounter with the name, and for all I know such places were a dime a dozen back in the late ‘40s. Inside, sparkling interiors and prominent Pepsi ads (an early instance of product placement?) clash with the old world menu. Interestingly, as part of the film’s French production structure, the interiors were actually shot on a soundstage in Paris, making this is all an especially artificial simulacrum. What interests me, however, is the chest-level griddle the counterman uses to make eggs. Were these ordinary at some point? They seem difficult to use, compared to the lower-level ones that are now standard. Finally, an orthodox eater confirms the disarranged nature of the scene. As past mingles with present, old world with new, and as night trickles into day, gefilte fish is served with a side of spaghetti.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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