Sticky Buns

In the world of pots and pans, there are two types of persons. There are cooks, and there are bakers. Where cooks are prone to a pinch of this and a dash of that, bakers insist on precision. A baker will meticulously calibrate; a cook would sooner fudge. While the baker will refuse to stray from a recipe for fear that any alteration could crumble the pie or deflate the cake, the cook will stretch the stew with an extra carrot or a bit more broth. For the most part, expertise in cooking and baking are mutually exclusive.

FOR A WEEK, LaVeta and I have avoided talking about our rocky relationship. Sure, we smile at each other in the morning and exchange pleasantries during dinner. We play with the children in the evening and say "I love you" at bedtime. But the fact is, our marriage is in trouble. I know. You've been thinking we're the perfect family. Our kids are cute. We laugh with each other. We work together. In another time and place, those things would be enough. These days in the Jones household, they're not. Given the economy, you'd think our problems would have something to do with money.

After attending Phoenixville Senior High School's sporting contests and school functions for nearly a half-century, Marian Turoczi, 80, is more than just a sports booster. She is the sticky-bun lady. During football season, Turoczi comes to every Thursday practice, her arms laden with more than 200 made-from-scratch sticky buns for the 50 players - as she has been doing for 33 years. (And for years before that, she had attended the games as an avid fan.) Her husband, Al, 75, helps by washing the baking pans.

Sticky buns for 10,000? No problem, said Jack McDavid, owner of Jack's Firehouse in Fairmount, when he got the call to take part in the Clinton inaugural's sprawling food-music-arts gala called "America's Reunion on the Mall. " McDavid is one of 60 food vendors from around the United States who will feed all comers at the festival on Sunday and Monday between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Also taking part is James Banks and Company, a catering firm in Aston, Delaware County. Up to a half-million people are expected over the two days.

So there you are on South Street, it's morning, and you're looking for something breakfast-like. It's too early for a beer at O'Neil's; too early for the jalapeno-studded french fries at Copabanana. Then you spot the sign for Pattie's Hot Buns and the words cinnamon buns. Inside, there's Pattie herself, blonde and ultra-cool, wearing shades and cutting fresh rolled dough with a swirl of cinnamon in the middle. The menu here is short and entirely sweet: cinnamon buns ($1.49 each)

If, while nestled all snug in your bed, visions of sticky buns dance in your head, it's probably Steve K's fault. They're one of the many dishes the owner of the Ritz of Philadelphia touts - frantically, passionately, appetizingly - on late-night radio commercials. Insomniacs across the region might recognize K's voice from a frequently aired ad, in which he chides an announcer who notes, "It has come to our attention that the Ritz of Philadelphia has the finest sticky buns in the world.

Whom he wept for or why, no one could tell, but Wallace Ingalls cried in court yesterday, holding a paper napkin to his eyes with manacled hands. The scene occurred in Superior Court, where Ingalls was arraigned on charges of murdering his 5-year-old nephew, Dante Johnson. First Assistant Camden County Prosecutor Dennis Wixted told the court that Ingalls, 33, repeatedly whipped his nephew with a belt because the child had eaten a half of cup of sugar and some sticky buns. The boy was hospitalized Wednesday and died yesterday.

In 1963, when Carolyn Fly was 16 years old, she came down with rheumatic fever and was ordered to stay home from school for a year. It was then, like any other teen, that she wanted a brand-new stereo. Her mother told her to earn the money for the stereo by baking, recalls Carolyn's father, Harold Fly. So Carolyn baked. Her brother set up a little stand along Route 73 and sold the Pennsylvania Dutch delicacies created in their mother's Schwenksville kitchen to those passing by. After a year, Carolyn bought her stereo.

There are many good reasons that the Ingleneuk Tea House is celebrating its 76th anniversary, but the most compelling is that the charming Swarthmore restaurant is a genuine treasure. Ingleneuk has been operated by the same family since it was established in 1916. Sara Kurtzhalz Perrine, granddaughter of the founders, is the third generation to run the place, which takes its name from the Scottish word for "table by the hearth. " Tradition is evident in more than just ownership.

When Harry Kalas wrapped up his Phillies-Cubs broadcast the other night and signed off, he came into the press room at Veterans Stadium with three boxes under his arm. One of them contained cheese puffs, one an assortment of cookies and one sticky buns. "Courtesy of one of our fans," Kalas told the press room staff as he placed the boxes out on a table. "Enjoy. " On a given night up in the broadcast booth, Kalas and his partners are apt to receive a wide array of small gifts from the fans.

There was "Cream Doughnut Guy," who stopped by Liscio's Bakery in Glassboro nearly every day on his way home from work for a sugary treat, soon after "DHL Brownie Man" had been there for his daily chocolate-iced brownie. And then there was Betty Mason, 78, who had come by the storefront on High Street at least twice weekly for nearly her entire life for some good Italian bread, a few doughnuts, and maybe some sticky buns. But sometime after the big post-church rush yesterday morning, the bake shop - which has been called Liscio's Bakery for the last 10 years and which was the Elite Bakery for so many years before that no one can remember the original name of the place - ceased operation.

FOR A WEEK, LaVeta and I have avoided talking about our rocky relationship. Sure, we smile at each other in the morning and exchange pleasantries during dinner. We play with the children in the evening and say "I love you" at bedtime. But the fact is, our marriage is in trouble. I know. You've been thinking we're the perfect family. Our kids are cute. We laugh with each other. We work together. In another time and place, those things would be enough. These days in the Jones household, they're not. Given the economy, you'd think our problems would have something to do with money.

The landmark Ingleneuk Tea House, where author James A. Michener washed dishes as a Swarthmore College student and Henry Ford 2d dined homestyle, spooning out his own mashed potatoes, is up for sale. Sara Kurtzhalz Perrine, 50, third-generation owner of the converted 19th century mansion at 120 Park Ave., said it's time to turn the business over to folks "with new vision and ideas. " The planned sale of the 83-year-old institution is a testament to changing times and tastes.

In 1963, when Carolyn Fly was 16 years old, she came down with rheumatic fever and was ordered to stay home from school for a year. It was then, like any other teen, that she wanted a brand-new stereo. Her mother told her to earn the money for the stereo by baking, recalls Carolyn's father, Harold Fly. So Carolyn baked. Her brother set up a little stand along Route 73 and sold the Pennsylvania Dutch delicacies created in their mother's Schwenksville kitchen to those passing by. After a year, Carolyn bought her stereo.

When Harry Kalas wrapped up his Phillies-Cubs broadcast the other night and signed off, he came into the press room at Veterans Stadium with three boxes under his arm. One of them contained cheese puffs, one an assortment of cookies and one sticky buns. "Courtesy of one of our fans," Kalas told the press room staff as he placed the boxes out on a table. "Enjoy. " On a given night up in the broadcast booth, Kalas and his partners are apt to receive a wide array of small gifts from the fans.

If, while nestled all snug in your bed, visions of sticky buns dance in your head, it's probably Steve K's fault. They're one of the many dishes the owner of the Ritz of Philadelphia touts - frantically, passionately, appetizingly - on late-night radio commercials. Insomniacs across the region might recognize K's voice from a frequently aired ad, in which he chides an announcer who notes, "It has come to our attention that the Ritz of Philadelphia has the finest sticky buns in the world.

Sticky buns for 10,000? No problem, said Jack McDavid, owner of Jack's Firehouse in Fairmount, when he got the call to take part in the Clinton inaugural's sprawling food-music-arts gala called "America's Reunion on the Mall. " McDavid is one of 60 food vendors from around the United States who will feed all comers at the festival on Sunday and Monday between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Also taking part is James Banks and Company, a catering firm in Aston, Delaware County. Up to a half-million people are expected over the two days.

There are many good reasons that the Ingleneuk Tea House is celebrating its 76th anniversary, but the most compelling is that the charming Swarthmore restaurant is a genuine treasure. Ingleneuk has been operated by the same family since it was established in 1916. Sara Kurtzhalz Perrine, granddaughter of the founders, is the third generation to run the place, which takes its name from the Scottish word for "table by the hearth. " Tradition is evident in more than just ownership.

In the world of pots and pans, there are two types of persons. There are cooks, and there are bakers. Where cooks are prone to a pinch of this and a dash of that, bakers insist on precision. A baker will meticulously calibrate; a cook would sooner fudge. While the baker will refuse to stray from a recipe for fear that any alteration could crumble the pie or deflate the cake, the cook will stretch the stew with an extra carrot or a bit more broth. For the most part, expertise in cooking and baking are mutually exclusive.

After attending Phoenixville Senior High School's sporting contests and school functions for nearly a half-century, Marian Turoczi, 80, is more than just a sports booster. She is the sticky-bun lady. During football season, Turoczi comes to every Thursday practice, her arms laden with more than 200 made-from-scratch sticky buns for the 50 players - as she has been doing for 33 years. (And for years before that, she had attended the games as an avid fan.) Her husband, Al, 75, helps by washing the baking pans.