FOOD
Stolen Moments
By JONATHAN REYNOLDS

Published: January 4, 2004 in the New York Times

In my one-man show, ''Dinner With Demons,'' my mother isn't treated
with much kindness. Although what the play says is true, it omits the
concern and sense of helplessness that made her, like most people,
paradoxical. She was a single parent with a hefty divorce settlement
and so befuddled by her two children that she frequently overreacted
with almost-comical extremes of punishment. But there were other
moments.
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Two days after a Christmas in the early 50's, she planned to take me
to a classical piano concert and, as a special treat, dinner at
Schrafft's, the upscale chain of restaurants that infiltrated the
Northeast in numbers rivaling the telephone booth. At one point there
were nearly 50 of them. I didn't look forward to classical piano at
all and didn't even look forward to Schrafft's -- too stuffy for my
taste. Furthermore, she had been particularly generous at Christmas
and I had bought her almost nothing, so I felt considerable guilt.

The day before the outing, I walked by the neighborhood jeweler's
window and fell in love with a gold-plated cigarette lighter
completely covered in mother-of-pearl. Although it would look more
like a souvenir of Las Vegas to my eyes today, at age 8 or 9 I'd
never seen a more dazzling object. Mother loved to smoke Pall Malls,
long unfiltered cigarettes that no doubt helped lead to her early
demise at 62. On an allowance of 60 cents -- 35 of which went toward
the Saturday matinee at the Trans-Lux around the corner -- I hadn't
saved a nickel, and the lighter cost $12.

So I stole the money for it.

From her.

She left her purse lying on the bureau every night, and late Friday,
I popped it open while she was frying chicken for my sister and me
and hurriedly grabbed a wad of bills. Early the next morning, I went
to the jeweler and bought it, its pink, turquoise and lustrous white
finish changing magically in front of my eyes. She was astonished and
thrilled. ''It's beautiful!'' she said in true amazement. ''How
thoughtful of you.'' Within a minute or two, she sussed out the
situation and began the tenderest of third degrees. ''How ever could
you afford it?''

''Oh, I have some money.''

''It's the sweetest thing, and I'm filled with gratitude. But I know
how much allowance you get. Where did the money come from?''

I decided to face the suspicion head on. ''I didn't steal it!'' The
more I protested, of course, the deeper the hole I dug.

Just before the concert, I lacquered on a handful of Wildroot Cream
Oil, despite instructions that urged only a dab.

''Mmmm, there's so much of it,'' Mother scowled, noting the shiny
greaseball helmet that had previously been my hair.

''I like it like this,'' I said, and then tightening my own
handcuffs, I said again, ''I didn't steal it!''

This time, she didn't respond.

We went to the concert, and I tried to sleep with my head on her
shoulder, but she gently pushed it away because of the Wildroot bear
grease. ''This is new,'' she whispered of her houndstooth suit
jacket. I dozed off, waking just in time to head for Schrafft's.

Schrafft's was by then an institution of middle-class comfort. Its
first ''store'' (as even the restaurants were called), offering candy
and confections, opened in 1898 on Broadway, thanks to Frank G.
Shattuck, who had been the top candy salesman for W.F. Schrafft &
Sons. It lost money until his sister Jane was recruited from Syracuse
to create a brief menu. ''It was a much more genteel time then,'' his
great-grandson Frank M. Shattuck said. ''Everyone wore hats and
hand-made suits. And if you were a lady, it was safe to sit at the
soda fountain and drink gin from a teacup.''

Frank M. has never been in the restaurant business; he is an actor
and a tailor specializing in dashing $5,000 suits. One day in 1980 he
went into the last remaining Schrafft's -- ''It wasn't really a
Schrafft's, just a pizza place with a dirty old sign'' -- and made
off with 2,500 recipes from the safe. ''I asked the guy if it was
O.K. to take them, and he said yes, and a week later I sent him a
bottle of Jack Daniel's.''

Frank M.'s uncle Gerald M. Shattuck worked at several of the stores.
''It all came out of the Victorian era. Menus changed every day -- we
didn't want people to get bored. My grandfather was very concerned
with quality. Our steaks would have put Peter Luger to shame. And it
was clean, which is not so unusual today but was then. The most
popular dishes were Lobster Newburg, Creamed Chicken on Toast, Fillet
of Sole and, of course, the hot fudge sundae.'' Of the
168-and-counting recipes for hot chicken dishes, more than a quarter
were fricasseed, creamed or dumplinged in some fashion, including
Creamed Chicken and Sweetbreads on Southern Spoon Bread, Spiced Peach
and Peas. Seen that anywhere lately?
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These deluxe emporia had such devoted customers that some left their
favorite waitresses money in their wills. The employees may have been
treated better than the customers: they were often profit-sharing
partners, and most were kept employed even during the Depression.
''The same waitresses worked there year after year,'' says George C.
Shattuck, Frank M.'s father, ''sometimes two or three generations. We
really were a family.'' At one point, more than 7,000 large.

Why did it go out of business? ''New York became quite a dangerous
place in the 60's,'' Gerald M. says. ''Our main competitors were
Longchamps and Childs. We all stopped about the same time. Schrafft's
lingered for quite a few years after Pet Inc. bought it, but they
pretty much abandoned it and probably sold the leases alone for more
than the purchase price.''

I didn't know the store's history when I sat down with Mother after
that concert; I only knew it seemed hoity-toity, and the chopped
steak with gravy I'd had on a previous visit wasn't as good as its
counterpart at Hamburger Heaven. Plus you had to wear a tie and sit
up straight, even though you thought you already were. She ordered
the Lobster Pie.

''You'll have to return the lighter,'' she said quietly. The jig was up.

''But I want you to have it.''

''I know, dear, and it's the sweetest present I've ever received, but
it wasn't your money.''

''I could save up for it.''

''Of course, . . . but you need to return it now. When you have the
money, then you can buy it.'' She knew me. I saved a few cents for a
couple of weeks, then Double Bubble got the better of me.

''Try some of this lobster.'' I screwed up my face. No way. The Irish
Stew I ordered was exotic enough and, except for the turnips, warmed
up the winter outside. Mother had a dark rhomboid on the shoulder of
her new suit.

''What's that?'' I said, slurping the warm veggies and lamb chunks.

''You went to sleep. Your hair is very greasy.'' I didn't understand.
Wasn't she trying to keep my head off her shoulder? ''Well, yes, but
you looked so tired, and you're my son.''

I took a bite of her pie. It was thick and sweet, with the brilliant
briny flavor of real lobster, and was the first comfort food I can
remember.


Schrafft's Lobster Thermidor

4 cooked lobsters, about 1 1/4 pounds each
6 tablespoons butter
1 minced shallot
1 tablespoon lemon juice, plus more to taste
3/4 teaspoons paprika
Pinch cayenne
Salt and pepper to taste
6 ounces small white button mushrooms, sliced
3 tablespoons flour
1 1/4 teaspoons powdered mustard
1 1/2 cups chicken stock or mild seafood stock, or a combination
2/3 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese.

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Split lobsters down the middle and
remove and reserve meat from tail and claws. Discard everything from
the head and remove the front legs, without detaching the cartilage
that holds the head and tail together. Rinse and dry shells and set
aside.

2. Cut reserved meat into 1/2-inch dice. Saute in 2 tablespoons
butter, add shallot, lemon juice, paprika and cayenne until warmed
through. Season with salt and pepper. In another pan, saute mushrooms
in 2 tablespoons butter until tender.

3. Set aside mushrooms and lobster meat. Melt the remaining butter in
the pan the lobster was cooked in. Stir in the flour and mustard and
cook for 2 minutes. Slowly whisk in the stock, then the cream,
stirring constantly, until thickened, about 5 minutes. Add the
lobster and mushrooms and cook 2 more minutes. Season with salt,
pepper and lemon.

4. Spoon mixture into the shells, sprinkle with cheese and bake until
the cheese is lightly browned, 10 to 12 minutes. Serve immediately.

Yield: 4 servings.


Simmering Irish Stew With Dumplings

For the stew:
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 pounds lamb stew meat, cut into
1 1/2-inch cubes
1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon pepper, plus more to taste
6 carrots, peeled and cut into 2-inch pieces
2 turnips, peeled and cut into
1-inch chunks
1 small onion, sliced 1/8-inch thick
3 potatoes, peeled and sliced
1/4-inch thick
4 tablespoons flour
Butter as needed

For the dumplings:
1 1/2 cups flour
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup parsley
3/4 cup milk
2 tablespoons butter.

1. Heat oil in a large pot over high heat and brown the meat in two
batches. Return meat to the pot and add 12 cups water, 1 teaspoon
salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Simmer for 1 hour.

2. Add carrots, turnips and onions and simmer for another hour. Place
potatoes in a small pan and ladle enough broth over them to just
cover. Simmer potatoes until just tender. Pour stock back into meat,
leaving just enough to keep potatoes moist. Season with salt and set
aside.

3. When vegetables and meat are very tender, strain the stew. Let the
broth set until fat accumulates on top. Skim fat off and measure out
4 tablespoons (if you have less, use some butter).

4. Heat fat in the pot over medium heat. Add flour and stir for 2
minutes. Whisk in the broth. Cook, stirring, until mixture thickens.
Add meat and vegetables and reduce heat to a simmer.

5. Whisk together flour, baking powder and salt. Whisk in parsley.
Heat milk and butter until butter melts, stir it into the flour
mixture until just combined. Drop rounded spoonfuls onto the
simmering stew. Cover and cook for 10 minutes. Serve with reheated
potatoes.

Yield: 6 servings.

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