Belmar Freedman’s. Internet photo. Re-post from 2018.
By Paul Goldfinger, Editor Blogfinger.net
Freedman’s use to have many stores in this area, but their flagship in Belmar is all that’s left. The link below tells the story. We had announced this in “Wassup” but some Grovers wanted to talk about it, so we have moved it here.
The nostalgia at the shore never ends. People have so many associations. Freedman’s had the best challah breads and babkas (yeast cakes from Eastern Europe. The Freedman’s style was Jewish and made with chocolate or cinnamon. We have one in the freezer.)
During the recent Jewish New Year (It is 5774, but who’s counting?) we called Freedman’s to order a babka. They said we are not making them this year, but we have rugelach (another little Polish cake.) We were disappointed, so I ordered the rugelach.
When I got to Freedman’s to pick up the order (which included two challahs with raisins), there on the counter, right in front of me, were 2 babkas. I said, “I thought you weren’t baking these.” The young lady behind the counter smiled, shrugged and said, “I guess the baker changed his mind.” I loved the answer as I pointed to one of two that remained.
From JW:
Rats! the closing of the last Freedman’s Bakery is like the final nail in the coffin of the old Jersey Shore . Hope someone saves the classic 1950′s-60′s sign.
So where am I gonna get salt sticks–at Wegman’s? Don’t think so.
From Frank S:
Yep unfortunately JW is correct in that more & more “old” Jersey Shore places are disappearing. In no particular order I suggest we all patronize before they are gone : Vic’s in Bradley Beach, Vesuvios in Belmar, Hincks in Wall, The Circus in Wall, Franks in Asbury, Freddies in Long Branch, Original Windmill in Long Branch, Brothers in Red Bank, etc., etc. I probably forgot some.
THE JIVE FIVE: “My True Story.” A blast from the past from Gus Gossert’s 25 Favorite New York Doo-Wop Songs.
Conversation: NYC Street Series. By Paul Goldfinger. Click left for full view
By Paul Goldfinger (Some of us miss that Wegmans Café on the second floor; Will it ever return?)
Scene: Wegmans, Ocean. Upstairs café where they have numerous tables and chairs. It is a weekday morning, about 8:30 am. No one else is there. I arrive with my coffee, bagel, iPhone (to check BF) and The New York Times paper edition — looking forward to my mellow morning routine. I find a table with a view overlooking the store. I set everything on the table and sit down.
Disembodied female voice: “With all the tables up here, did you have to sit near me?”
I look around. There is a column facing me, and behind the column I see a woman sitting at a laptop computer. I didn’t notice her before, but now she is quite obvious.
She is about 40 years old and is staring at me, with a slight but (am I imagining this?) menacing smile. I instinctively react negatively to her voice, her tone and her appearance.
Men, I think, always incorporate an assessment of a woman’s appearance whenever they get to talk to one. I thought she was pretty unattractive, although, if it weren’t for her bad attitude, I might have found something to admire.
I stand up and step closer to her.
Me: “Are you kidding?” (I was incredulous, but I also considered the small possibility that she was just teasing.)
She: “No!”
Me: “Well then, I don’t care.” (I mean, really….is she nuts? — thought I. But maybe I do care…a little.)
She: “I’m putting my ear phones on.”
Me: Silence. I resume my morning activities.
Postscript: About 20 minutes later I look up and see that she is gone, but she left a souvenir: all her breakfast detritus. Normally I might have tossed it into the garbage, but it is, in an odd way, part of her, and I didn’t want to think about her for another moment. The busboy will get it.
Key West: Bacall moving in Bogie’s direction without any change in the weather to propel her. (Internet photo)
By Paul Goldfinger, MD, Editor @Blogfinger (Re-post from BF 2014)
A Ph.D. psychologist who lives in the Grove, collects seashells, and wears glow-in-the dark chartreuse sneakers, has evolved a hypothesis over 30 years or more having to with the behavior of women in late autumn, as the temperature grows cold.
He prefers to be sort of anonymous, but he is convinced that his observations, which have been consistent over the years, are true and real, even though they have never been subjected to scientific scrutiny. We’ll call him Walter after Walter Reed, MD who helped find a cure for yellow fever.
Walter says that his concept has its roots in human biology, specifically the procreation of the species. He refers to the mechanism as being “of mammalian origin.” Basically the idea is that women are innately understanding that they must survive the winter and do so by finding a mate who can “keep them warm and have sex.”
The behavior reveals itself in a “subtle nuanced manner” since women, by nature, tend to be social and interested in the “other gender.” So what Walter has observed is that women, late in autumn, become more friendly to men. It is an “extension” of how they normally behave, but men will find women to be more attentive to them than usual: to offer to have coffee, or to come visit, or to have conversations. Men may miss this phenomenon unless they are looking for it. I would guess that it would be more apparent to available men.
According to Walter, women become more agreeable, smiling more and being more polite. He sees women as being “warmer” towards men than usual as the weather gets colder. He refers to this behavior as “controlled” but also being “frenetic” beneath the surface, behavior which he describes as “scurrying” while, at the same time, being more sociable and personable.
The end result is often an increase in coupling, relationships, engagements, socializing and dating . Have any of you experienced Walter’s theory?
On a beautiful September 4 morning, there were just a few scattered walkers, joggers, bikers and dogs tugging on leashes. The beach was totally empty. Lifeguard stands were standing together in a bunch.
Vicky Redfern is in town to sign papers for her new OG year-round home. She was wondering if there is anything to do here in the winter. Anybody want to comment on that? There are 12 comments below which are of interest.
My suggestion would be to take tango lessons. Here’s Gato Barbieri from “The Last Tango in Paris:”
“Easiest Game on the Boardwalk.” Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Paul Goldfinger
I grew up in Bergen County. When we were in high school, we went to Seaside Heights in the summer. We were focused on the girls.
If this were a weather report, we would describe an erogenous zone coming in from the north. We were too young to drink, so we would stand outside the Chatterbox on the boardwalk and hope for the best.
If we did meet some girls, we often thought of them metaphorically in terms of dessert. Take this song for example—by John Pizzarelli, a Jersey Boy, a performer who always has a gleam in his eye: —PG
We have been posting so much dreary nostalgic music lately—old Pachelbel himself is feeling down—-that we must lift everyone’s spirits. So, from the “new Asbury Park” we bring you our first centerfold edition.
The Blogfinger Girls were photographed on the AP boards during Bamboozle 2012. (Note: The festival will not be returning to AP next year—economic issues)–
Next centerfold will be from Ocean Grove. Anybody interested? (Men can volunteer also—we are an equal opportunity blog). Just submit your jpegs rated PG-13 or less. —Paul Goldfinger
The Blogfinger Girls getting bamboozled on the Asbury boards. By Paul Goldfinger, Blogfinger centerfold photographer
SOUNDTRACK: There’s something about these girls—They’re into the groove. Here’s Madonna–she wants to dance:
By Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger. Click on the images to make them bigger.
Chaim Kanner (1943-2000) was born in Nice. He studied in Europe and photographed in France and Italy. In 1967 he spent a year photographing in the US and Mexico. He worked as a professional photographer, first in the commercial field and then later in the fine art realm. He moved to the US in 1981.
I met him only once. It was in the 1980’s in mid-town Manhattan. He was a strange sight: an orthodox Jew in the traditional black garb and black hat, but what was unusual was that he was exhibiting photographs on the steps of a brownstone, selling prints to passersby.
I was drawn to the image of the French girl hanging clothes out the window. It was the sort of black and white “street photography ” that I prefer — very much like the work of so many great European artists. His prints were sophisticated and beautifully done and they didn’t seem to fit with his persona, especially the part where he was selling his work on somebody’s stoop. I only now found out that he was a pro and that he died in 2000.
I bought two photographs from him that day. They were inexpensive, perhaps $10.00. I still treasure the image of the girl from Nice — because it is wonderful but also because of how I acquired it. — Paul Goldfinger (note: click left for a larger view)
ADDENDUM: The above article is reposted from January, 2013, but now (below) we show the second Chaim Kanner photograph which I have. It, like the other one, is a silver gelatin print which he made himself. It is a gorgeous urban landscape which I love, taken in Paris of the River Seine at the Pont Neuf.
Although the subject is rather trite, that is irrelevant because his result is so beautiful. The strikingly clear lighting, the composition, and then the print itself make this version special. I photographed the same scene when I went there, but his is so much better. I can’t believe I bought this on a mid-town stoop.
The name Chaim is of Hebrew origin and means “life,” Just like the toast “L’chaim” means “to life.” You may recall the song from Fiddler on the Roof. My grandfather’s name was Chaim, but the anglicized version was “Hyman.” Looking back on it, I wonder which one he preferred. I called him by his third name—“Grandpa.” In fact, I wanted to name our oldest son after him, but Eileen objected to having a son named “Grandpa.”
Eugene Atget, a French photographer, became famous photographing old Paris. Here is a link to our 2013 post about Atget including an example of my own work trying to emulate the master: Blogfinger on Atget
This Disney song is on everybody’s favorite list. When the Disney cruise ship comes into port, it is playing this song. But Tammy Scheffer, a young jazz singer, provides a new twist. Tammy was raised in Israel, but now she lives in Brooklyn, NY where she composes, teaches and performs a style of music which she calls “contemporary jazz.” She works with musicians who share her interest in finding new sounds and musical techniques. Our featured selection is from her first CD (2010) : “Wake Up, Fall Asleep.”
This song, “When You Wish Upon a Star,” starts out with the melody, but then heads off into the starry night with an instrumental section featuring an alto sax and Tammy’s vocal interpretations. Then, at the end, it returns to earth with a soft landing.
Reposted from August 21, 2012 —By Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger.net
This post was originally published by Blogfinger on July 17, 2012—exactly four years ago today. The Bastille Day tradition in the Grove has continued and was celebrated again this 2016 summer.
Here is the 2012 report:
July 14 was Bastille Day, and certain Grovers of French heritage had a party to celebrate. There were French foods including mussels and paté. Chandon champagne flowed, there was live entertainment, French sailors with red pom poms on their hats, and lots of laughs. Notice the efficient use of outdoor space at OG parties.
Paris, July 14, 2012
If you are having a party, send us some photos so that we can all enjoy it vicariously. No names — just pictures. You might recall our most recent Halloween party report last October.
These photos are by Lee Scogno of Ocean Grove who also added an Italian touch by bringing his own recipe: pasta with clams. The naked photos of Bridgette Bardot in her prime have been rejected by our censors. —-Paul Goldfinger (Doigt d’or).
SOUNDTRACK; Play this while you look at the photos. Madeline Peyroux sings “J’ai Deux Amours” which means “I have two loves.” That’s a French thing to do, but none of that was going on at the OG Bastille Day party, but then again, who knows?
Note: Run your cursor along the bottom of the slide show, and a tool will appear to let you view the photos more carefully. (Cursors—foiled again!)
This appeared in 2013, so it is fun and timely to post it again..And don’t fail to read the 34 comments. Do your homework for the HOA parking forum on Jan 23.
Use the BF search engine on the top of the page and search under parking, RSIS, etc. Don’t let the Home Groaners Board steamroll you with their usual lawyerly, pedantic propaganda.
By Kathy Arlt: Contributing writer @Blogfinger (reposted from 2012 after receiving a January 2016 letter from a former waitress—see comments)
If The Sampler Inn was the most famous cafeteria in Ocean Grove, the Homestead was probably the most famous restaurant. It was in business for a long, long time, as this newspaper advertisement from the May, 1974, Neptune Times shows:
The precise date of its opening is hard to determine. Doing the math from the ad, it would appear to have opened in 1914…except for the fact that the 1973 season-opening announcement boasted that that would be its fifty-eighth season in business. (Somewhere along the line a 59th season got lost.) Ted Bell’s book, Ocean Grove in Vintage Postcards, puts the opening date at 1915, which is what one of the Homestead’s postcards proclaims. But further complicating the story of the Homestead’s very first opening day is a report from the Asbury Park Press in 1979, after the restaurant was closed forever. That newspaper stated that the Homestead began in Ocean Township in 1918 and was subsequently moved to Ocean Grove in 1938.
Whatever the true story is, there’s no doubt that the Homestead was a very popular place (famous for its fruit cup, which came topped with orange ice and a melon ball with a sprig of mint), and there are many people who remember the restaurant. I met one of them two years ago, at—of all places—El Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum in Santa Fe, New Mexico. When a docent saw me write “Ocean Grove, NJ” in the guest book, she exclaimed, “Ocean Grove! I worked there as a waitress one summer, at the Homestead restaurant.”
She was too busy to talk to me about her experience, but no problem. I had another source of information, closer to home: my sister-in-law worked at the Homestead during either the 1973 or ’74 season, and she told me all about it.
Now, my sister-in-law is not from New Jersey; she’s from Massachusetts, and she was attending the College of New Rochelle, in New York, at the time. That was where she saw a notice on a bulletin board seeking waitresses for the Homestead restaurant in Ocean Grove during the summer. She took the job, despite knowing nothing about Ocean Grove, and, in her own words, “nothing about making money as a waitress. Because the town was dry, there were no drinks to pump up the bills and improve the generosity of the patrons. The tips were generally quite small.”
And the waitresses had expenses. They had to buy their own uniforms, and weekly rent for their lodgings in “a large, ramshackle Victorian on Seaview Avenue” was deducted from their paychecks. Everyone working at the Homestead was busy from the minute the doors opened in the morning until they closed at night, including the “rowdy eccentric crew” of dishwashers, who were the life of after-hours employee parties.
“At the end of the summer, I ended up with very little money to show for my efforts, so was not inclined to repeat the experience the following summer,” she told me. “The value of the experience was that I think I was one of the few people at Stetson Law School [in Florida] who had even heard of Ocean Grove, much less experienced the rules of ‘no bathing suits anywhere but the beach and on the boardwalk,’ ‘no booze’ and ‘no cars on Sunday.’” This gave her something to talk about when she met my brother.
But she has other memories of her summer working at the Homestead and living in Ocean Grove. She remembers driving around with her friend Pattie looking for a Saturday night parking space that wasn’t too far from the chained-at-midnight gates. And she got her ears pierced that summer, “in a jewelry store on Main Avenue, by a German lady who told me, ‘Once you do this, you can wear earrings always, and wake up looking vonderful.’” And finally, she remembers hanging out with another waitress, named Chantal, from New Mexico.
It would be too much of a coincidence if Chantal was that docent I met two years ago, wouldn’t it? Well, maybe…but then again, maybe not.
And where was the Homestead restaurant, some of you are probably wondering? Well, it was just too hot for me to go take a picture of it last week, but I’m sure you can identify it from this postcard:
I never had the chance to sample the Homestead’s fruit cup. After it closed in 1978, the site became a Perkins Pancake House. I did eat there a couple of times, wondering how and why a chain restaurant came to be located in such a prime beachfront spot: the view over the ocean was spectacular. I’m not sure what replaced Perkins, or what replaced whatever replaced that. I do know that the beach replenishment project of the 1990s put so much sand between the back windows and the ocean that there’s no table-side view of the ocean anymore.
JOE WILLIAMS AND COUNT BASIE “There Will Never Be Another You.”
