Ever in motion, seemingly always changing for the worse, New York City is defined by a shimmering palimpsest of ethnic cultures making faint but indelible marks on the city’s fabric, with even the firmest imprints in danger of someday vanishing beneath the pile. This means that the previous generation’s culinary traditions are perpetually in the midst of being washed away, a process witnessed most recently with the staggering disappearance of pizzerias from Manhattan over the last decade, with classic diners, donut shops and coffee spots displaying an even more marked decline. On the same chopping block sit Jewish delis and appetizing shops, once ubiquitous clearinghouses for culinary tradition that have by now been whittled down to a few choice holdouts. These stalwarts include the Upper West Side’s Barney Greengrass, which as far as I can tell is the last one still serving a once-common Old Man food: Heads and Wings. This is fitting for a place that opened in 1908, and has maintained the same prime Upper West Side location since 1926. Heads and Wings is one name for the collars and fins of Gaspe Nova, also known as “Collars and Flegals,” which get smoked to a golden brown hue. I’ve always been a fan of breaking down leftovers to conserve the best hidden bits clinging to the carcass (my yearly Thanksgiving night turkey deconstruction has become a cherished tradition), so digging into these definitely scratched an itch. Located just behind the gills, the salmon’s collar is a circular cut that runs around the clavicle, spanning from head to belly. The wings are the joint areas that attach the fins to the body. I assume both are rich in Omega 3. I was bemused by the idea of a meal formed from such scraps before eating it, and having done so, am now afraid that it may not be around much longer. Some foods are destined to die out, and it isn't always the lesser ones that meet this fate; despite its antique status, Heads and Wings isn’t one of those dishes that it makes sense to consign to the dustbin, like kishke (sorry derma fans) or the weirder fringes of the kugel family. Like a form of Ashkenazi BBQ, these things are smokey and salty and fatty all at once, the intense richness cut by a pile of sweet broiled onions. In an ideal universe I would propose having some on hand to apply on reheated leftover bagels, the inherent warmth of which makes them inhospitable to lox and cream cheese, but which would go perfectly with a pile of these delectable odds and ends. Sadly, while sturgeon and sable will likely last as long as appetizing stores and serious bagel spots stay in vogue, this one seems far more endangered. You can possibly find your own loose bits of collars and wings at the high-end Russian supermarket Gourmanoff, which I’ve in the past disassembled to make my own lox spread, but I don’t think such rough cuts would make for the best Heads and Wings experience. The point may also now be entirely moot, as I discover that the luxury Gourmanoff experiment has ended, with the store reverting back to the regular old NetCost it once was. At the other end of the Jewish food spectrum, yet just as endangered, is the old deli coldcut known as Rolled Beef. Prepared in a similar fashion to pastrami, in a just world Rolled Beef would replace the inferior cold sliced version of the brisket churned out by companies like Boar’s Head. Beautifully marbled and perfectly unctuous, it can still be found at Sarge’s Deli in Manhattan, an ironic fact considering the place is not Kosher; Ben’s Best, quoted in the aforementioned article, has since closed, and I’m not sure it can be found anywhere else. Liebman’s in the Bronx apparently makes their own, but I don’t see it anywhere on the restaurant’s menu, which I think indicates that it’s a special run item only purchasable via a “sandwich kit” online. Located in Riverdale, Liebman’s (where I’ve enjoyed the pastrami sandwich with a nice side of kreplach soup), also claims to be the last of over a hundred Jewish delis in the Bronx, which is an incomparably tragic fact if true. With so few delis left, I worry about delicious outliers like cold tongue and chopped liver, but Rolled Beef certainly seems to be the next on the chopping block. Great dishes like Matzo Brei and Gribenes may also be on their way out, but you can easily make them at home, a fact which can keep the fire lit until a rediscovery eventually happens. If Rolled Beef disappears, like the Montreal deli specialty Speck, which I fear may have recently lapsed into extinction, then it may be gone forever. The same may go for other outmoded oddities still on my list to try: Tongue Polonaise, Potted Meatballs, Eingemachtes, Karnatzlach and Ptcha. We’re now down to one classic Kosher Dairy restaurant (the ever-imperiled B&H), and as even seemingly secure outer-borough bastions like Jay and Lloyd’s continue to drop like flies, it will get less and less easy to find things like this. The least we can hope is that there will always be pastrami and Cel-Ray available somewhere. Doing my part to tide off the end, I took two stabs at baking an Onion Board, the anglicized name for the focaccia-esque bread sometimes known as a Pletzel. Of Polish origin, with many successive varietals both old world and new, it’s also the origin point for the bialy. Versions of varying thickness are still sold at Kossar’s, as well as Barney Greengrass, where it’s alternatively known as a “Bialy Wheel.” My versions were thicker, particularly the round one (a deep dish pletzel?) employing both poppy seeds and capers in addition to the compulsory onions, and operated off this basic recipe, with a few modifications. Maybe next I’ll try my hand at Eingemachtes, as summer’s bounty gives way to fall, a perfect time for some light preservation.
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