Mastoris Madness

There are diners; there are Greek diners; and then there is Mastoris.  Mastoris is located near Bordentown, NJ on Route 130 about three hours from Washington, D.C.  We discovered this throwback Greek diner on steroids about twenty-five years ago on a mission to avoid the New Jersey Turnpike at all cost.  Initially, our detour from Route 95 north to 295 to 130 was fortified by New Jersey pizza followed by a Carvel black cherry sundae cuddled together in an aging strip mall.  Then, fortuitously, we discovered a new place to refuel along the way.

Mastoris is a family-run business which began as a lunch wagon in 1927.  Today, it has become a destination eatery, seating more than 500 hungry patrons at once and employing a staff of more than 150 cooks, servers, bartenders, busboys, and dishwashers.  Physically, Mastoris is divided into a number of different environments, so one is not overwhelmed by the size of the restaurant.  

I enter through the bakery; to the right is the “lounge,” a bar with leatherette seating and a couple of TVs; I continue straight and enter the “diner” with its traditional bar stools and booths. To the left are smaller dining rooms, and in the back there is a larger area to serve tour groups on the way to and from Atlantic City. Most of the  staff has lived in the area for some time, adding to the local gestalt.

The menu is an elegy to current American dining habits.  The elaborate dishes range from  “Alex’s Seafarer” which includes lobster tail, crab imperial, shrimp, and scallops to “Gorgonzola Pork Chops” with cinnamon apples, gorgonzola cheese, and Alfredo sauce.  I think of a food item, and it is on the menu.  There are more than 85 different sandwiches (not including wraps), as well as every kind of pie one can imagine.  Choosing a meal is so difficult that I think about my selection for my next visit as well.

Mastoris emphasizes abundance, as can be seen from the accompanying pictures of a towering lemon merengue pie, which we devoured on a recent visit and a magnificent chicken caesar salad, which (as is the case with much of what patrons order at Mastoris) ultimately became “take-out.”  A weighty portion of cheese bread and cinnamon bread is placed on the table as soon as one is seated; a large bowl of soup accompanies every salad; and a large portion of fries accompanies every sandwich.  Yes, LARGE is the only way to go at Mastoris.

  I think I’ll have the grilled cheese with tomato and bacon (french fries on the side of course) and chocolate cream pie on my next visit.

To Schmooze or Not to Schmooze

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines  “schmooze” as follows:  “to converse informally; chat; also to chat in a friendly and persuasive manner especially so as to gain favor, business or connections.”  I must confess that I am a schmoozer but more in line with Leo Rosten’s definition in “The Joys of Yiddish” to have a “friendly talk” with no thought of gain.

There are variations to the schmooze. There is the long schmooze, which together with a prefatory “wind-up,” usually results in a lengthy, time consuming conversation.  There is also  the short schmooze which I believe is a true art form, enabling one to make a brief, meaningful yet superficial connection without consuming gobs of time.  Schmoozees are most appreciative of this technique, because it offers a quick personal  connection without impeding one’s daily tasks.

Take this morning, for example, when I brought some shirts to the cleaner.  John Bacon is the proprietor of Chevy Chase Valet. He is well-read, opinionated, curious, and fluent in Spanish, having spent his formative years in Ecuador -  a perfect schmooze companion.  However, there are limitations.  John has work to do and other customers who must be attended to, and his store is surrounded by parking meters attended by the very aggressive Bethesda Meter Police. A quarter gets me fifteen minutes, which is just enough time for a short schmooze even with another customer in front of me.

So I greeted John in Spanish and we exchanged a few sentences as I handed him my shirts. We paid a quick visit to the Persian Gulf to discuss the possibilities of future conflict while I reminded him in Spanish that I did want my shirts “en una bolsa.”  We pivoted to the Republican primaries, which led to a brief exchange about the future of the Washington Post.  As I left the premises I reminded John, “no starch.”  

All this for $.25.

Lobster Tales

February 11, 2012

On my way to pick up my daily newspaper at the local Safeway, I noticed signs plastered all over the store promoting their frozen Maine lobster tail sale (@$5.00 per tail), and Lobster Thermidor suddenly popped into my mind.  It has been years since I had savored that outrageously cholesterol-rich dish, and memories of my father asking my grandmother if she wanted to have ”Lobster Cuspidor” for dinner washed over me.

In between Julia Child’s two and half page recipe and the terse Epicurious one, I  

found my “Goldilocks” recipe in Craig Claiborne’s New York Times Cook Book and went to work.  While the lobster tails were cooking in boiling water for seven minutes, I diced and sauteed mushrooms in three tablespoons of butter.  At Robin’s suggestion, I used one of my favorites, a Corningware double boiler, to heat the sauce, a cup of heavy cream, one-half cup of Amontillado sherry, two egg yolks (which had been gently beaten into some of the cream), a dash of Worcestershire and salt and pepper to taste.

When the lobster was ready, I took the tail meat from the shell which I preserved, cut up the tail meat and added it to the mixture in the double boiler.  After five minutes,  I filled each lobster tail shell with the mixture from the double boiler, topped with dots of butter and parmesan cheese, and baked the ensemble in the oven for twelve minutes at 350 degrees.

The dish was served with extra sauce over rice, accompanied by a delicious un-oaked 2009 Catena chardonnay, our favorite Argentine vineyard.