I was recently strolling through the aisles in Shoprite and I found a piece of my youth. 

When I was young and innocent (stupid),  my father z’l was once on patrol with the Auxiliary Police in Ft. Tryon Park. The owner of the Green Leaf Café was chatting with him and mentioned that he needed some teenagers to work his hot dog carts on Sundays. My father was proud to offer my services and told me to show up the next Sunday.  

Sunday came, I skipped school and headed up to the park and manned a hot dog cart for several hours. Of course, I didn’t eat anything, and it was difficult doling out those great-smelling wieners all afternoon. One option you have on a Sbarros cart is to have Spanish Onions thrown over your hot dog. And boy did those smell good! 

Now, Sabrett, the company with the carts, is selling this sweet concoction in a jar (see picture) with a Hechsher, and the calorie/sugar counts are reasonable, too. 

Anyhow, my job at the cart lasted only one week, as a senior matron of the community saw me in the park and reported it to Rabbi Stern, who explained to me many Halachic complications that could arise from the situation, as well as the importance of coming to school. 

Another job I held as an adolescent was as a late-night waiter at Honey G.’s restaurant, “My Place,” on Amsterdam Avenue. (BTW, see my post here for some real Amsterdam Avenue nostalgia.) My best friend Samson would work there from 6- 9 p.m. on weeknights, and I would work 9-12. We made three dollars an hour plus tips. My shift had far fewer customers (and tips), but was easier and left more room to get to know them. The cook would leave at 10, and then the waiters would run the grill as well.  

Someone told me that in the old days, when the Mikveh was on Audubon Avenue, many husbands could be seen eating pizza alone at Chopsies while waiting to walk their spouses home.  

As a kid, I would occasionally have dinner in the YU cafeteria. But I was never taken to the place called “Greasy Spoons”. (Its actual name was “Tov Me’od”.) In fact, I don’t even remember hearing about it until the time that someone drove by (1983, see article HERE )and shot bullets through the storefront, prompting YU to partially close the Avenue and build up the security around the Yeshivah. 

Growing up on top of Wadsworth Avenue – long after most of the Kehilla was on Bennett or west thereof- was an experience I hope to write about in the future. If you are at all interested, some years ago I wrote a whole blog about our building: someoneoncelivedhere.wordpress.com . I only wish my mother a’H would have lived to see how many young couples would repopulate our area and Wadsworth Terrace.