April 29, 2016
Here is an excerpt from Craig LaBan's online chat: Reader: Where is the best Indian food in Philly? Any good options for regular takeout? Craig LaBan: There are a couple more obvious options, like Indeblue and Tiffin. But I find the best authentic Indian food to be in the far western 'burbs, at places like Indian Hut, Bangles, Devi. Recently, though, I've also had good luck at a few spots in town. Try the stylish new Chaat & Chai in South Philly, a colorful small-plater dedicated to street foods, something different, with some modern presentations of South Indian cooking.
October 28, 1996 |
Before he could think about it, before he could choose, Frank Munafo had taken his place behind the white enamel counter of his family's brand-new Italian Market butcher shop, wielding the cleaver, grinding the beef, filling the sausage casings and making a living in meat just like his father and grandfather before him. The year was 1948, and he was just 16. Now, at 64, with a touch of white in his wavy brown hair, he and the enamel counter (now...
December 7, 2009 |
Harry G. Ochs Jr., the feisty Italian teenager who apprenticed at the Reading Terminal Market when it was still a lively railroad hub and stayed on to become its iconic butcher and for more than half a century the market's convivial public face, died yesterday. Mr. Ochs, 80, was more than just another prime butcher at the market. He was a living link to its storied past, for decades holding down a stall at center court, hailing customers like a carnival barker. His meat stand was there through fat and lean, serving generations of Philadelphians who marched down loyally for Christmas roasts and spring lamb at Easter.
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.