August 17, 1992 |
Santo "Sonny" D'Angelo is just a butcher in the same way Ben Franklin was just a printer. Ben may have been Philly's first Renaissance man, but not its last. Like the old kite flier, D'Angelo is a creative free spirit not satisfied with simply rolling pot roasts. Artist, taxidermist, creator of new and exciting sausages and pates, star of his own meat-cutting video, purveyor of wild and exotic meats, D'Angelo is also a lover, aficionado and serious grower of orchids. Like wines, tropical fish and classic cars, certain objects have the power to obsess vulnerable individuals.
December 23, 2010 |
In the one-square-mile town of National Park, Edmond C. Read was the food fairy. At the end of his workday at A&P Food Markets, Mr. Read would take home day-old bread and pastries and drop them off to neighbors who needed a little more food on the table. He also would whip up various dishes and drive them down to the First United Methodist Church and the Republican Club. Food was his "charity work," his brother Harold said. It was also his job. Mr. Read, 86, a World War II veteran and longtime butcher, died of lung cancer on Sunday, Dec. 19, at home.
September 5, 1986 |
As veteran readers of this newspaper might recall, our guy Frank Dougherty has done much valuable work in helping to bring Nazi war criminals to justice. Last spring, Dougherty and I spent 3 1/2 hours on that subject, as guests on Frank Ford's WDVT talk program. "Wasn't 3 1/2 hours a little hard to handle?" someone asked Docko when he got back to the newsroom. "Of course," he admitted. "But that's all the time we had!" Obviously, Frank Dougherty has a lot more to say about Nazi war criminals.
December 8, 1995 |
He is the high priest of an autumn ritual. At his corner in Harrowgate, a city neighborhood of rowhouses and working people, Siegfried Karnas waits for the men to return from the woods. They come at all hours, bursting into his shop, jangling the wind chimes that dangle from the tiny pagoda hooked to the top of the door. Hunters victorious, they lay their deer at the feet of Karnas, master butcher. During the two weeks of buck-hunting season, which ends at sundown tomorrow, and the three-day doe season, which begins Monday, Karnas works day and night, turning deer into venison steaks, chops and sausage.
July 16, 1992 |
Walking into Tom's Market is like entering a time machine, stuck somewhere in past decades. Shelves are sparsely stocked with dusty cans of coffee, sardines, lupini beans and grape jelly in the dim, one-room grocery store. A white display case that once revealed cuts of fresh pork, beef and whole chickens now shows only a motley assortment of mystery meats. An antiquated cooler that held ice-cream bars and colored popsicles for generations of neighborhood kids makes a constant background rumble.
January 23, 1994 |
The palest of morning suns is just over the hump of Tussey Mountain. Gales of snow are whipping across the country lane in the subzero temperature. And the tattered green farmhouse is dripping with two-foot icicles. But clouds of steam already are piling into the frigid air from the outdoor scalding trough and the cast-iron cooking kettles. A dozen cars are crammed in the snow just beyond Herb Rudy's barn. And Rudy, with his knife, and Jake Wheeland, with his .22 rifle, are up in the pig pen trying to corner another pig. Here in the frost-bound valley between Tussey and Bald Eagle Mountains, in the frozen heart of a central Pennsylvania winter, the 137-acre Rudy farm is alive this morning with friends and relations, with corny jokes and spat tobacco juice, with steaming cinnamon rolls and sawed-up hogs.
November 8, 1993 |
Dean Bozman had already shown his stuffed bear, his freeze-dried birds, the big ol' bison head, and his eyeball collection, but he paused in front of the fridge. "I don't know, I don't want to offend you," he told a visitor last week, and he meant it. After some reassurance, Bozman, 46, gave the handle a yank, and the galvanized door of his walk-in cooler swung wide open. Entwined on the floor, their eyes wide, their legs stiff, their innards still cooling, lay two dead deer.
September 4, 2008 |
For nearly a decade, Celeste Morello hawked her slim paperback, The Philadelphia Italian Market Cookbook: The Tastes of South 9th Street, through a profit-sharing deal with a Ninth Street butcher, periodic signings beneath a banner on the street, and bookstores across the city. Copies sold to date: 25,000. But beginning in July, says Morello, the butcher suddenly stopped carrying the book, some market merchants seemed to shun her, and her taste of South Ninth Street turned increasingly bitter.
March 13, 2003
SPEAKING of disarming dangerous thugs, would U.N. weapons inspector Hans Blix please visit North Philadelphia next? Even the French might agree that Philadelphia's in-house drug dealers are in material breach of local gun laws - possessing weapons of crass destruction like the whopping-big Israeli-made Desert Eagle handgun likely used to wound sleeping 12-year-old Jonathan Quintana last weekend. If we're willing to send a quarter of a million troops to free the Iraqis from the Butcher of Baghdad, we ought to be willing to free our own neighborhoods from Saddam's spiritual cousins, like the Butcher of Berks Street.
January 10, 2013 |
The meat cases at Sonny D'Angelo's singular butcher shop were half-empty and a bit of a mess one day last week in the languor of postholiday Ninth Street. The lardo was buried under a slab of double-smoked bacon, and some sausage trays lacked for labels, though you could make out the hand-scrawled sign for a pumpkiny pork sausage (with bourbon and walnuts), a feature of one of his claims to fame - the meticulously artisan, labor-intensive, bread-free turducken. Business had been robust before New Year's, he said, with his seven-fishes sausage to make, his exotic game to pitch.