Sunday, September 19, 2010
TASTE OF THE PAST
A friend was in New Jersey this summer. At the shore. I asked him to bring me some salt water taffy when he came back home.
He did.
I had my first piece yesterday.
I can't eat it. I have partials now. Like any other old geezer, I sucked my way through the piece. Let it melt in my mouth.
Memories flooded back.
This was the real deal, incidentally. You can find what they call salt water taffy anywhere these days. But it doesn't count unless it is made on the board walk in one of the many Jersey Beach towns.
They have these big taffy pull machines. It is quite a spectacular operation.
There has to be the tang of the salt air folded into it. Of course, they don't put salt water in. It is just the air.
My Mom and Dad went "to the shore" every year from before I was born until I was about 12.
They went the week after Labor Day and stayed in a rental house, one of two, that belonged to a preacher that had served in my home town.
We went to Ocean Grove which is an old Methodist encampment, the same deal as Martha's Vineyard. There was a huge church and the town was liquor free. They closed it to autos on Sunday. Asbury Park (wild night life) was right next door and Bradley Beach on the other side (Jews) but all the towns had continuous and contiguous board walks with plenty of concessions on the Asbury side.
I used to have "utopia" dreams based on the pavilions and concessions there. The rides and carousel.
We would go to the beach every day good weather or bad and then walk the boardwalks at night. And/or go to the movies.
I saw Cagney in White Heat. The Thin Man. Others a kid probably shouldn't see. In those days, my parents would go into the movies at any time and sit through the end and then watch the next show until it came around to where they had started. Can you imagine that?
The boardwalks were wonderful.
There is a new show in HBO about Atlantic City. I read about the set they have built in LI NY with photos. It is the same thing. Perfect reproduction. Even rolling chairs to ride in along the walk. And amid the games, the greasy food and the other amusements were the taffy places.
Where we went, the taffy was long and cylindrical. The ones my friend brought back are sort of round. Bigger extrusions chopped off.
A blast from the past. All those memories. How evocative can you get than a little piece of genuine salt water taffy?
