Nineteenth-century German Restaurants in New York

[mascarpone]

[i came across this review while researching the Historical New York Times online via Proquest for my doctoral dissertation. It is interesting to see the parodistic fashion in which this immigrant group was portrayed by the anonymous Anglo-American critic.]

German Restaurants in New-York. More characteristic yet than the Broadway Restaurants conducted on German principles are the smaller ones scattered everywhere throughout the City,—queer, dingy, rattle-trap dining houses in which families of the Teuton race—men women and children appear to spend a great deal of their time. Take one as a specimen of the class. It is a small wooden house, standing in a row of similar cheap structures, close by one of the main horse-car avenues of the City. The street door opens right into the principle apartment, which is a room sadly out of perspective, owing to the settling of the timbres. The floor is covered with fresh sawdust. Rings of stale beer are observable on the small walnut tables, and the place reeks with the fumes of strong tobacco. The bar, which is also a counter for the exposition—as the term now goes—of a wonderful amount and variety of pungent viands, looks like a breastwork thrown up by a regiment of gourmands to oppose the march of famine. It is piled with joints and manufactured meats adapted to the strong German stomach; enormous fat hams, not thoroughly boiled, for the Germans prefer their pig undone; rounds of cold corned beef, jostled by cold roast legs and loins of veal; pyramids of sausages of every known size and shape, and several cognate articles of manufactured swine meat, of which it would be to much for the present writer to remember the names; baskets full of those queer, twisted briny cakes which go variously, I believe, by the names of pretzel and wunder; sardine-boxes piled upon each other, quite in the Pelion-in-Ossa way; huge glass jars of pickled oysters, flanked by huge earthen jars of caviare. Raw onions, in heaps, give a tone to the combined odors of all these, and through this confusion of smells come powerful whiffs of the Limburger and Schweitzer cheeses, without which the menu of no German restaurant would be considered complete. Conspicuously posted upon the walls are the weinhstn, from which documents you gather that white wine is to be had at from $1.25 to $3 dollars a bottle, and red wine at from $1-$4. The inevitable keg of lager-bier lies upon its slanting trestles, behind one end of the counter. Opening from this room there is a smaller one lower by a step, and beyond that, up a step is the real snuggery of the concern, which in Winter, suggests the joys of Summer to the habitués of the retreat. This is a room of irregular shape, running almost to an acute angle at its further end, and in this angle, by fencing off a few cubic yards of space with an ornamental iron railing, is formed a little delta of perennial verdure, roofed with glass. A fountain, presided over by an aquarian boy of cast-iron, painted white, plays in the center of the little oasis. Numbers of gold-fishes are swimming in the basin of the fountain, which is tastefully bordered by rosy sea-shells. The water plants in this plot are very vigorous and pulpy, and the ivy pursues its reptile course, with some weakness of purpose, among the intricacies of the vegetation. To give perspective and grandeur to the whole, the inevitable scenic artist has painted the walls with mountain scenery, his conceptions generally being of a mixed character, comprising such anomalies as Swiss chalets shaded by tropical palms. Photographs from cartoons by Kaulbach hang upon the walls. On a bracket in one corner there is a bust of Schiller, faced by one of Shakespeare in the angle opposite. Schiller is ever present in the German mind. The first monument erected in Central Park was that placed there by Germans to the memory of the poet—a massive head in cast iron gazing thoughtfully from its pedestal at the swans that navigate the lake.

The amount of business done in many such rickety, unpromising places as the one just described is sometimes really astonishing. There is no lack of steady patronage during the daytime, when diners come dropping in, by twos and threes, to make havoc of the spiced victuals and fresh tapped lager-bier. But at night, when the German theaters and other places of entertainment have disgorged their multitudes, then the carver of the cold pig has to gird himself up for his work, and the youth who “the spigot wields” in front of the trusted kegs is driven to his best pace in dealing out the Seidl of creamy malt. The company at these resorts at night is a very mixed one. The legal and medical professions—in German—are fully represented. Tradesmen and brokers of every grade abound, many of them bringing their wives and children with them. A young good looking man, with heavy amber moustache and closely cropped head, is an extensive rare dealer of birds and rare animals of all sorts, and is reputed to have amassed a fortune in the business. Should you have occasion for a rhinoceros, a boa-constrictor, or a harpy eagle from Surinam (these are mere luxuries, of course, and I am only supposing a case,) you can obtain them to order from that enterprising German meerschaum face and amber mouth-piece. He has agents in all parts of the world, and may be dreaming, as he sits there in his own cloud of smoke, about expected advices from across the seas of a giraffe, or a gorilla, bespoken for some spirited showman. Observe that person that looks so much like a Russian boyar in his long green caftan heavily trimmed with fur and a cap to match—a man with a marked stoop in the shoulders, and wearing blue spectacles on his nose. That is a well known—nay, renowned—musical composer, and conductor of concerts organized upon the monster principle. Musicians of more humble pretensions are also mingled with the throng. That small, pale-faced man, holding to his heart a brass ophiclide wrapped in green baize, and somewhat taller than himself, is currently believed to drunk from forty to sixty glasses of lager-bier every day the year round, except holidays—when he drinks more. Men with fiddle cases abound, and there sits a man with both a fiddle case and a wife. See what a fine wholesome appetite the lady has. She calls for caviare, and when it comes she chops up with a large slice of raw onion, and, having added to the whole a squeeze of lemon-juice and a liberal dusting of black pepper, spreads the savory mess upon thickly buttered brown bread, and attacks it with zest. Her companion prefers the spicy sausage, to a roll of which, about four inches in diameter, he addresses himself emphatically. “Deep as the rolling Znyder Zee” are the draughts of creamy beer indulged in by the hearty couple. But beer is not the only liquor ordered by the customers. Many bottles of Rhine wine are circulating at the tables, and there is a fair consumption of Kirschwasser, Kornschnapps, arrack, and the various other strong waters more or less in use among the Germans.

On a far greater scale than beer-houses just described are the German places of entertainment where music is offered for the gratification of the customers. The largest of these halls—some of which are capable of accommodating from two to three thousand people at a time—are situated in the Bowery. Many are roofed with glass, and fitted with fixed tables, which extend in rows, from end to end of the room. Common wooden benches, instead of chairs, are provided for the customers. From the afternoon until a late hour at night, musicians ply their art industriously in a gallery overhead. The players remove their instruments from their lips only to exchange them for mugs of lager-bier. In the intervals of the music they light their pipes or cigars, and sit gravely studying the scores before them, as if they smoked in quavers and crotchets, and drank whenever they had forty bars rest. It is common to see a table in these places occupied only by one family, the smallest baby of which comes in for its share of lager-bier. The tall glasses, like lamp chimneys, that stand before some of the customers, contain Weissbier, a large glass being necessary to allow for the quantity of froth arising from that light and acid kind of malt liquor. Numerous waiters—many of them mere boys—weave themselves out through the crowd, with half a dozen mugs of lager in each hand, and a couple of the lamp-chimney arrangements full of Weissbier tottering atop of all. Small Teutonic girls, with their yellow hair strained back to a painful degree of tightness by semicircular combs, patrol the alleys with little trays before them, offering assorted bon-bons for sale. The side-alleys games of various kinds are carried on. There is invariably a shooting-gallery of some twelve yards in length, where the bold marksman from the Hartz Mountains, perhaps, pops little shuttle-cock bolts from a spring gun at a grotesque figure made of painted wood, which, when hit on a bulls-eye whisks round on a pivot, and jerks a lovely woman of painted wood into its place. The walls in some of these resorts are decorated with cartoons of wondrous conception. I remember one terrible battle-piece, about forty feet long by twelve high, in which that small but redoubtable chieftain, Gen. Sigel, who was the favorite leader of the American Germans in the early days of the war, figured to much advantage. He was represented as careering upon a romantic steed over a battle-field thickly strewn with the bodies of dying Confederates and of dead, waving over his head a falchion of romantic length. Fritz, the waiter, who served under him in Germany in 1848, will recommend you to some ragout of acid flavor because it was a favorite dish of Sigel’s, and there was a compound beverage named after him in one place that I recall.

Theatrical entertainments used to be a feature of many of these great beer saloons; but the law no longer allows performances of the kind to be mixed up with lager, although music and dominoes are not considered as incompatible with beverages to any desired extent. In the saloons there are often aviaries stocked with a great quantity of birds. Some of those little enclosures are already described, are fitted with curious models, representing mountains and chateaux and cottages, the real rocks covered with real moss, [sic] There is always a fountain among these, the water from which turns the wheel of a little mill, and keeps in motion a number of small wooden figures, engaged in various occupations, agricultural and domestic. Crowded as these immense halls are at night, it is very seldom that any disturbance occurs in them. Two or three policemen, in citizen’s garb, are on hand in each, indeed, but their services are often not called into requisition. Here and there loud talking may be heard at the tables, for Germans are very disputatious, and lager-bier, notwithstanding all that has been affirmed to the contrary, is intoxicating in its effects. But the excitement produced by it seems to be of a mild and innocuous character. Gambrinus, the patron saint of Bavarian beer, is but a drowsy duplicate of Bacchus, after all; nor does the festive goat, whose gambles on the sign-boards of the beer houses are supposed to typify the playfulness of the Teuton in a state of malt, appear to be exactly the right animal in the right place.

It is notable how much the German’s idea of domestic felicity is disconnected with his own roof and threshold. He works assiduously at his daily calling from daylight until early afternoon, looking at his dwelling as a workshop only, and fleeing from it with his wife and children at every available opportunity, to take his ease in the Garten Wirthschaft, which is really his home. Some of the poorest among the artisans drudge laboriously every day in the week, looking forward to Sunday, especially in Summer, as a carnival time when it is right and proper that a good part of the six day’s earnings should be invested in libations to Gambrinus. In a little shop hard by where I am writing, there has sat for years, day after day, all these weeks round, a gruff old German shoemaker, browed and bearded like a satyr. His workshop measure about ten feet by six. The sleeping arrangement for himself and family, at the farther end of it, is a pitch-dark closet, not much larger than an ordinary cupboard.  Rough grained enough he seems to be; he must have his bit of verdure nevertheless; and there it is, a sickly geranium, pining at the window in its earthen pot. On Sundays he and his wife spruce themselves up a little, and, having packed a basket with everlasting sausages and Swiss cheese, away they go with their two small children, until they bring up outside some holiday grove outside the city, where speculators have set up their alters for the sale of refreshing beer. And this is the regular délassement, at New-York, of thousands like my old satyr who pulls at waxed ends, and hammers upon shoe soles, in the little shop yonder, for sixty to seventy hours of every week, the year round.—Atlantic Monthly for May (New York Daily Times 21 April 1867, p. 2)

Administrative note: This material is in the public domain.

Edited August 6, 2005 by mascarpone (log)

[Megan Blocker]

[i came across this review while researching the Historical New York Times online via Proquest for my doctoral dissertation. It is interesting to see the parodistic fashion in which this immigrant group was portrayed by the anonomous Anglo-American critic.]

Administrative note:  This material is in the public domain.

←

Very interesting...as a resident of Yorkville, I'm always interested to learn more about New York's Germanic heritage! One of my favorite Sunday spots for a beer is the sidewalk in front of Heidelberg. I suppose that I do enjoy it somewhat for its kitsch value, but also because it is one of the few authentic places left in a neighborhood once known as "Little Germany."

[rich]

I wrote that review. I thought it was lost forever. 1867 was a bad year for me. I was helping Andrew Johnson get through his presidency after he was acquitted at the impeachment trial.

You could tell I was in a foul mood by the way I described the people of the "Teuton" race. And the only decent meal I had in weeks was at Peter Luger - they really had good steaks in those days, but the french fries were a bit greasy.

[wesza]

My Father-in-law operated a business located on the lower east side at "105 Eldridge Street" that was on three levels. Retail Shop up a few steps, Basement and sub-basement. His business was a wholesale dry goods business.

What always fascinated me, was that the sub-basement still had the Original Chopping Block, frame of the "Ice Box" and it was obvious where the coal burning stoves and smoker had been set up in the mid 1850/60's when the building operated as a "German Restaurant & Lodging House" we were never able to get any information accept for some bills and papers that remained stuck onto the wall of the sub-basement. It did appear to have still been in business during the 1880's as that was the date on several invoices.

On the two serving levels it was all open and had space enough to easily seat in excess of 300 guests as each level exceeded 6000 sq. feet.

Having grown up eating at "Luchows", Steuben's Tavern" and other German Restaurants it's surprising how we managed to lose, German Restaurants, Jewish Deli's, Appetizing Stores, The Catskills Borscht Belt and even low priced French Restaurants such as "Champlain 49th Street", "Cafeterias", Dairy Restaurants" and so many places unique to NYC and environs.

Irwin

[mascarpone]

[i came across this review while researching the Historical New York Times online via Proquest for my doctoral dissertation. It is interesting to see the parodistic fashion in which this immigrant group was portrayed by the anonomous Anglo-American critic.]

Administrative note:  This material is in the public domain.

←

Very interesting...as a resident of Yorkville, I'm always interested to learn more about New York's Germanic heritage! One of my favorite Sunday spots for a beer is the sidewalk in front of Heidelberg. I suppose that I do enjoy it somewhat for its kitsch value, but also because it is one of the few authentic places left in a neighborhood once known as "Little Germany."

←

I recommend an academic yet interesting book by Stanley Nadel titled "Little Germany" Ethnicity, Religion, and Class in New York City, 1845-80 (University of Illinois Press, 1990. )

. . . German New York was the third capital of the German speaking world. Only Vienna and Berlin had larger german populations than New York City between 1855 and 1880. (p. 1)

[Megan Blocker]

I recommend an academic yet interesting book by Stanley Nadel titled "Little Germany" Ethnicity, Religion, and Class in New York City, 1845-80 (University of Illinois Press, 1990. )

. . . German New York was the third capital of the German speaking world. Only Vienna and Berlin had larger german populations than New York City between 1855 and 1880. (p. 1)

←

Thanks! I'll check it out....I could use an injection of academia.

[docsconz]

This presents an interesting illustrations as to how cities can change over time - at least in the US. Current day NYC bears essentially no resemblance to this description. Even today ethnicity in various parts of the city is extremely different than it was say even twenty years ago. With that comes changing dining patterns and food availability. Only a few of the food items mentioned in that article would still be considered common in the city today - at least as compared to how they existed then.

[Todd36]

Go to your local Barnes & Nobles and pick up a copy of "King's Handbook of New York City 1892". It's a reprint. It has an extensive description of restaurants of the time. I bet most people would be surprised for example to learn that New York had multiple Japanese restaurants in 1892. There was much more diversity than one would have suspected, most general areas of cusine found in New York today were represented. The proportion of the mix has been vastly altered.

[Boris_A]

most people would be surprised for example to learn that New York had multiple Japanese restaurants in 1892.  There was much more diversity than one would have suspected

←

As a side note, it seems that this kind of cultural export of "typic" restaurants was a real fashion of that time. In many cities of Europe, you can still find German "beer halls", Spanish bodegas, Viennese coffeehouses etc. all founded at the end of 19th century. I believe this was strongly influenced by the "world exhibitions" which have been very fashionable at that time.

[Todd36]

most people would be surprised for example to learn that New York had multiple Japanese restaurants in 1892.  There was much more diversity than one would have suspected

←

As a side note, it seems that this kind of cultural export of "typic" restaurants was a real fashion of that time. In many cities of Europe, you can still find German "beer halls", Spanish bodegas, Viennese coffeehouses etc. all founded at the end of 19th century. I believe this was strongly influenced by the "world exhibitions" which have been very fashionable at that time.

←

That's probably part of it. Like what we are talking about in the current Bruni thread, I think societal forces are a significant factor as well. The middle class is getting larger, there is more money available, the cost of eating as a portion of your income is dropping (which means more money is available to spend on luxory goods, e.g. eating out), New York has a pool of single men who will prefer to eat out etc..... There are many things in that King book that are interesting. One is that it covers a wide price range of restaurants. Another is the sterotypes it is creating...or repeating. For example, Japanese restaurants are described as clean and wholesome. Whoever wrtote the food section clearly was eating out in ethnic restaurants or knew someone who did, across a wide variety of cusines and price ranges.