Bobby Short, the Prince of the Cafe Carlyle

Goodnight to Bobby Short

Last week we lost cabaret singer, bon vivant and all-around class act Bobby Short. He was synonymous with the Cafe Carlyle, a very "la-dee-da" cabaret room in New York's Carlyle Hotel. I actually didn't know that the Cafe was in a hotel for the longest time. The Carlyle Hotel is super nice and I doubt I would ever find myself in one of its rooms. Tres Swank.

But I was lucky enough to see Bobby Short perform in that club not once but twice, the second time with my now-wife. I wonder what she thought when I brought her there and just gushed about how cool it was going to be. The reason why it's odd is that the Cafe Carlyle, partly because of its Upper-East Side address and also because of it's high price tag, has the reputation (deservedly, I guess) of being a very white-bread, borderline stuffy sort of old money hangout. The thing is that Bobby Short had soul. He really did. I mean the soul that comes from Cole Porter and George Gershwin tunes being played and sung with gusto. And when they were slower, well they were really romantic. At least to me.

We were also lucky enough to see him out here on the West Coast at Yoshi's in Jack London Square. My lovely wife surprised me with tickets, one of the better surprises of all time, quite honestly. It wasn't even full, but that was great because we sat right up close. He was in his late seventies then and his voice was strained, but what a great performer. I guess he and Mick Jagger drink from the same fountain.

Anyway, I will always remember Bobby Short as my idea of the elegance of New York. Elegance in a Woody Allen's Manhattan, dry martini, wearing shoes with a great shine, really big flower arrangements, play now-pay later kind of way.

New York has lost a piece of her mosaic and there is nobody who can fill that void.

Sicilian Slices Found in the East Bay

I've never really looked, but I don't think I recall seeing Sicilian (or Siggy, as they used to say at Prima's) pizza slices anywhere in the Bay Area. These were all but ubiquitous in my area of upstate New York. I remember that when you had a couple of extra quarters, you could upgrade from a regular slice to Sicilian and get way more food. This was only if you couldn't afford two slices.

Today we finally went to Arinell's in Berkeley. The goal was to stop there, have a slice, then proceed to Gioia for a mini taste test. While Aileen got a "regular" slice with pepperoni and mushrooms, I was tempted by a Sicilian slice. I annoyed the tattooed pizza chef by asking for a middle slice. Cmon, man. Don't you want me to care what I eat?

The siggi slice was right on. A thick shelf of cheese across the top and a dry-ish fat, white bread almost crouton of a crust, moistened with olive oil. It's a poor man's focaccia. The crust tasted bland, which was OK. It was the right texture and the cheese was just thick enough. Tomato sauce was fine. All was helped by a shake of parm cheese and oregano. All in all, a very nice surprise. I wonder who buys it and why they started serving it.

Aileen's slice looked good. Properly muddled orange and red cheese/sauce mixture. Very promising. But the crust, while thin and crisp, was just boring and kind of cardboardy. It's as if they forgot an ingrediant (salt?) It was better than most, but we were on our way to Gioia so the bar was raised pretty high.

At Gioia, Aileen opted for a mushroom slice and I went with straight formaggio. Both were excellent, excellent. We decided that the sauce and cheese just have more flavor. We knew that the sauce is organic and that Will Gioia chooses several kinds of cheese to combine into that perfect mix of stretchy, chewy wonderful goo. Gioia wins again. Big surprise. Not.