Arrive Magazine - July/August, 2009

Walter’s Hot Dog Stand, serving “split” dogs, opened in New York’s Westchester County 90 years ago and still

draws a crowd.

f i the makings of a Thanksgiving meal, right down to the cranberry sauce.

These dishes are certainly not the ultimate fine-dining experience, but mention them to anyone who grew up in Delaware, Maryland or upstate New York, and I’ll bet you hear rapturous moans of joy.

And you’d hear the same reaction f you mention Walter’s Hot Dogs in Westchester, N. Y., or Harrow’s Chicken Pot Pies in Massachusetts.

It’s like this: Some foods are by definition regional—say, cheese steaks in Philly, chowder in Boston or pizza in Brooklyn. But there are certain places that spin their own versions of dishes in such a unique way that the restaurants themselves become regional destinations. And I think that’s a pretty cool twist.

A lot of these places have been around or decades. Walter’s Hot Dog Stand in Mamaroneck, N. Y., originally opened in 1919, and Harrow’s in Reading, Mass., has been serving chicken pies since the 1930s. Some are, in the grand scheme of things, a little more recent. Sharkey’s in Binghamton, known for spiedies, opened in 1946; Jerry’s Seafood, home of the crab bomb, opened in 1983 in Lanham, Md.

But these restaurants—and surely scores more like them—have three things in common. They’re a little off the beaten track, there’s some unexpected twist in their signature dish, and all inspire fierce loyalty.

Serve up the Spiedies “It’s the marinade, you know what I’m saying?” That’s Larry Sharak, owner of Sharkey’s. He says his father was the first person to serve spiedies ( pronounced “speedies”) in Binghamton— using his grandmother’s recipe. “You could marinate anything: beef, pork, chicken, venison, any kind of meat you

t want. The meat is not really the priority. It’s the marination.”

At Sharkey’s, a brick building with a big tall sign with red letters out front, the kitchen staff cubes chicken and pork and then marinates it for four to five days. Then the meat is skewered and put on the grill. Just the meat. No vegetables, no mushrooms.

“It’s not a shish-kebab,” says Sharak.

After the meat is cooked, it’s served with bouncy slices of Felix Roma Italian bread. You take a slice of bread in one hand and, holding your skewer in the other, place the meat on top of your bread. Hold the meat in the bread and pull the skewer. Voila, spiedie. In the summer, Sharkey’s sells thousands of pounds of them.

My friend Kelli grew up in Bingham-on, and is a huge fan of spiedies, though she prefers the ones at Lupo’s S&S Char Pit in nearby Endicott, N. Y. (Spiedies

are one of those destination foods that are served in several restaurants—but only around Binghamton. Their fans are sharply divided.)

Kelli and I went to college in Oswego, N. Y., and, for a couple of years, she lived next door to two Binghamton natives, Darren and Nick. They were upper-classmen and played in a band, and we didn’t see them much except for when they were on stage. But one summer afternoon, Kelli’s father came for a visit, and he brought along some marinated spiedies. He fired up the grill and laid those skewers over the coals.

“Next thing you know,” says Kelli. “Darren and Nick were like ‘Hey! Kel! Haven’t seen you in a while! What’s happening?’ And I said, ‘Stop it. I know you smell the spiedies!’ ” She couldn’t refuse them one or two.