The first I heard that Durgin-Park was closing came in an email from my brother-in-law. He had seen the transcript of a December Ark Restaurants Group earnings call, during which it was mentioned that Durgin-Park was likely to close.
And then the general public got the word from The Boston Globe, which was passed on to me in short order by Frederick, a faithful Pink Slip reader, by both of my sisters, by my brother-in-law (again), and by my Boston-local brother. Oh, and by one of my cousins.
All, of course, knew that I am a proud alumna of Durgin-Park, a venerable (and not all that good) Boston restaurant that first opened its doors in 1827. (And, yes, you read that right.)
Durgin was known for a few things: Prime Rib, surly waitresses, and Indian Pudding.
The Faneuil Hall restaurant will close on Jan. 12, according to restaurant manager Kenneth Thimothee, who cited financial reasons including an increased minimum wage.
“It’s very unfortunate, but the costs are too high,” he said. (Source: Boston Globe)
Well, I’ll call BS here.
I’m sure there are financial reasons: high rent and fewer patrons. But that increased minimum wage is just happening as of January 1, and I’m sure that those costs could easily have been passed on to diners – costs buried in the hefty prices folks were already paying for uninspired food.
I mean, do people really want the same menu items that were on offer in 1827? Or 1973?
Because I just looked at the menu, and not much has changed since I exited the building in March of 1973.
Oh, there are some additions: Caesar Salad, and Mama Park’s Signature Meatballs and Spaghetti. But most of the stuff – Prime Rib, Lamb Shanks, Chicken Liver, Scrod - is same-old.
As for “Mama Park’s Signature Meatballs over Spaghetti”, talk about calling BS. I can pretty much guarantee that neither the mother nor the wife of Durgin-Park co-founder Eldridge Park had ever heard of meatballs and spaghetti, let alone come up with a recipe for it. In 1827, there were barely any Irish immigrants in Boston for the Yankees to look down on, let alone Italians, who flooded in 40 or 50 years after the famine Irish arrived.
If they were going to put Italian food on the menu, they should have gotten recipes from Mary S. or Angie, two of the classic old-gal waitresses from my era at Durgin. Mary S. was from Boston’s Italian North End. Angie, I think, was from Revere.
Angie (major bouffant hairdo, died jet-black even though Angie was getting up there in years) and Mary S. (somewhat cranky but very sweet by the standards of the old gal waitresses) were just two of the brigade of long-time Durgin waitresses I worked with during the year I was there.
Flo (head gal, who one time ran into me while she was beelining the wrong way into the kitchen; this would have been fine, if I hadn’t been balancing six cups of boiling hot coffee on my wrists – a Durgin waitress trick. I missed nearly a week of work, uncompensated, of course, even by the skimpy pay that waitresses got – I think it was $1.15 an hour. By the way, that $1.15 an hour for a tipped employee translates into $6.67 an hour in 2019 terms. So I’m definitely calling BS on the fact that the new tipped minimum wage in Massachusetts of $4.35 was going to break Durgin-Park’s back. Gussie was another of the old gals. If Flo was a bulldozer, not only barreling into the kitchen the wrong way, but being an occasionally mean and erratic head waitress, Gussie – her second in command – was a gentle soul who always played good cop to Flo’s bad. I noticed that there were a number of mentions of Dottie in the comments on the article. I’m sure they were referring to Dottie L, not Dottie F, as Dottie L was one of the saltier of the old gals. Maybe 25 years ago, I went back to eat at Durgin for the first time. This was nearly two decades after my tenure there, and Dottie L was still working. I spoke with her, but she didn’t remember me. Until I reminded her of the incident in which my roommate threw a strawberry shortcake at the owner. Then she recalled us. (You had to be there. Joyce was almost entirely justified. The owner was an absolutely raging crazy man, a bellowing drunk who bullied not just the waitstaff, but the customers as well.) There was Fox Hole Rita, named for her regular station. Marilyn and Pam, whom Joyce and I knew from our all having worked at Union Oyster House the year before. Marilyn and Pam were in their late twenties, so near age peers – especially when compared to the old gals – and we used to share packs of Marlboros, which we’d leave in cubby holes so that they were convenient when we needed a break. As anyone who waited during my era can tell you, you really needed to smoke so that you had a reason to take a break. And so that you could tell the head waitress when she came looking for you, “Just let me finish my fucking cigarette.” I fondly remember Jeanie, who was a very butch woman, her hair Brylcreemed into a boy-cut DA, but who ALWAYS helped out a fellow-waitress when you needed someone to water, bus, check on a table. Nina, Colleen, and Sharon. A mother-daughters combination. Nina took the nasty Durgin waitress to a new level. I once saw here leaning out the unscreened window, raining change down on the heads of her departing customers, and telling them to “shove your tip up your fucking asses.” Ah, Durgin-Park. Although I have eaten there only two times since 1973, I already miss the idea of Durgin’s Indian Pudding, a cornmeal and molasses concoction that was definitely old Yankee. And definitely delish when served warm with vanilla ice cream. Sometimes we were allowed to eat it; other times not. On the not days, our dessert choice was restricted to “Coffee Jelly”, a wonderfully slimy homemade, ultra-strong coffee jello. Alas, I see, it’s no longer on the menu. While the Coffee Jelly was fine, it was no Indian Pudding. Permission to eat Indian Pudding depended on the day’s whim of the owner. When it was a disallowed day, we could hide out in one of Fox Hole Rita’s stations, with someone standing guard to make sure the old man wasn’t around to see us sneaking the Indian Pudding. Ah, Durgin. I’ve worked at some crazy places, but it was probably the craziest places I ever worked. Arbitrary. Insane. But it sure prepared me for the work world in terms of learning how to deal with all types. With non-sensical rules, with arbitrary decisions, with brutally demanding everyone, with tiring on-your-feet (other than when sneaking Indian Pudding in a Fox Hole table.) And I can’t think of any other job I ever had that was more fun. I texted a link to that article on Durgin’s closing to my friend Joyce, who lives in Dallas. She told me that she was crying a bit when she heard. Me, too. -------------------------------------------------------------- For anyone so inclined, here’s the recipe for Durgin-Park Indian Pudding:
Old-Fashioned Durgin–Park Indian Pudding
For many, the recipe for Durgin–Park Indian pudding, served warm and topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, is the gold standard.
Total Time: About 7 hours
Hands-On Time: 30 minutes
Yield: 8-10 servings
Ingredients
- 1 cup granulated yellow cornmeal
- 1/2 cup black molasses
- 1/4 cup granulated sugar
- 1/4 cup lard or unsalted butter, softened, plus more for baking dish
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
- 2 large eggs
- 6 cups (1 1/2 quarts) warmed whole milk, divided
- Garnish: freshly whipped cream or vanilla ice cream
Instructions
Preheat your oven to 450° and generously grease a 2-quart baking dish, preferably one made of porcelain or stone.
Whisk together the first seven ingredients and 3 cups of the warmed milk.
Bake until the mixture begins to bubble, about 10 minutes; then stir in the remaining 3 cups of milk. Reduce the heat to 275° and continue baking another 5 to 7 hours.
Serve warm with freshly whipped cream or a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Source: New England Today/Yankee Magazine.
1 comment:
Belated praise: great post.
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