enthusiastically.
Adele introduced Minette to Eddie, then they walked the short distance across the midway to the pool, presently being repainted in preparation for its opening on Decoration Day. After a few minutes Minette’s sister, Georgiana Frances—Frannie—appeared with a big grin on her face. “Sis!” she called out excitedly, hurrying toward them.
“I got the job!” Frannie announced. “It’s all pretty simple. I keep the ladies’ locker rooms tidy, I hand them towels and bathing suits when they need them, take the used ones to the laundry…”
At sixteen years old, Frances was Minette’s opposite in many ways: petite and dark-haired where Minette was tall and blonde, polite and sweetly timid where Minette was blunt and no-nonsense. But in one way they were similar: they were both absolutely gorgeous with apparently a minimum of effort, which depressed Adele more than she could say.
“Congratulations, hon,” Minette said, giving her a hug. “You’ll be the best locker girl Palisades has ever seen. Frannie, you remember Adele, Frank Worth’s daughter—they lived on Cumbermeade too?”
“Oh, sure,” Frannie said, “your dad directed movies. Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you too, Frannie.”
“I’ll take you home, sis,” Minette offered. “Adele—see you on the midway. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Sure,” Adele called after, more than a bit wistfully. “See you.”
* * *
Once their concession stand was clean and shiny enough to pass muster with the Rosenthals, Eddie and Adele turned their attention to their product. Following instructions given them by their predecessor, they used an automatic peeler to peel enough potatoes for a test batch, then a stainless steel cutter that cut one or two potatoes at a time into large size pieces (so they retained more moisture). The cut fries were then stored in large containers filled with water and five ounces of Heinz malt vinegar. Eddie filled the cooking vats with Mazola corn oil, heated one to medium temperature and one to high, and lowered a basket of fries into the medium-hot oil for two minutes—“blanching” them, cooking them most of the way through. After draining, the fries were immersed in the high-temperature vat—“flash-frying” them for a minute and ten seconds until they turned golden brown. Eddie sprinkled them with salt, scooped them into one of the white paper cones, and topped them off with malt vinegar.
His first bite took him back to 1922. But he felt even more transported on opening day, when the smell of the fries mingled with the smell of waffles and the nearby Carousel fired up its lilting calliope music. Crowds began making their way up the midways, the air filled with ballies from concessionaires—and two of the best were located near the Stopkas. Curly Clifford—Italian, handsome, black wavy hair—was a magnet for the ladies, who flocked to his canary stand as he strummed his ukulele and sang:
Canary Isle where birds are singing
A little while, and I’ll be bringing
A song of love, to my lady fair (music will fill the air)
You’ll hear my song, I’ll see your smile
Then I’ll belong in Canary Isle …
Few were the women visitors who, having heard this sung as if only to them, could resist spinning the wheel to win one of Curly’s warblers.
His fiercest competition came from the stand next door: Helen’s Radio Shop, run by longtime concessionaire Helen Cuny—as always dressed impeccably, with only a slight accent betraying her Viennese origins. With an amused glance at Curly she addressed the tip:
“Oh, ladies, don’t listen to this one’s promises of a fairyland romance! He’s a charmer, but how many charming men have you met that you can trust? Fill your own air with music with one of these fine, dependable radios by Emerson—yes, that’s right, Emerson—available here exclusively at Helen’s Radio Shop! Step up, take a chance, win a brand-new radio!”
Eddie’s
Adele introduced Minette to Eddie, then they walked the short distance across the midway to the pool, presently being repainted in preparation for its opening on Decoration Day. After a few minutes Minette’s sister, Georgiana Frances—Frannie—appeared with a big grin on her face. “Sis!” she called out excitedly, hurrying toward them.
“I got the job!” Frannie announced. “It’s all pretty simple. I keep the ladies’ locker rooms tidy, I hand them towels and bathing suits when they need them, take the used ones to the laundry…”
At sixteen years old, Frances was Minette’s opposite in many ways: petite and dark-haired where Minette was tall and blonde, polite and sweetly timid where Minette was blunt and no-nonsense. But in one way they were similar: they were both absolutely gorgeous with apparently a minimum of effort, which depressed Adele more than she could say.
“Congratulations, hon,” Minette said, giving her a hug. “You’ll be the best locker girl Palisades has ever seen. Frannie, you remember Adele, Frank Worth’s daughter—they lived on Cumbermeade too?”
“Oh, sure,” Frannie said, “your dad directed movies. Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you too, Frannie.”
“I’ll take you home, sis,” Minette offered. “Adele—see you on the midway. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Sure,” Adele called after, more than a bit wistfully. “See you.”
* * *
Once their concession stand was clean and shiny enough to pass muster with the Rosenthals, Eddie and Adele turned their attention to their product. Following instructions given them by their predecessor, they used an automatic peeler to peel enough potatoes for a test batch, then a stainless steel cutter that cut one or two potatoes at a time into large size pieces (so they retained more moisture). The cut fries were then stored in large containers filled with water and five ounces of Heinz malt vinegar. Eddie filled the cooking vats with Mazola corn oil, heated one to medium temperature and one to high, and lowered a basket of fries into the medium-hot oil for two minutes—“blanching” them, cooking them most of the way through. After draining, the fries were immersed in the high-temperature vat—“flash-frying” them for a minute and ten seconds until they turned golden brown. Eddie sprinkled them with salt, scooped them into one of the white paper cones, and topped them off with malt vinegar.
His first bite took him back to 1922. But he felt even more transported on opening day, when the smell of the fries mingled with the smell of waffles and the nearby Carousel fired up its lilting calliope music. Crowds began making their way up the midways, the air filled with ballies from concessionaires—and two of the best were located near the Stopkas. Curly Clifford—Italian, handsome, black wavy hair—was a magnet for the ladies, who flocked to his canary stand as he strummed his ukulele and sang:
Canary Isle where birds are singing
A little while, and I’ll be bringing
A song of love, to my lady fair (music will fill the air)
You’ll hear my song, I’ll see your smile
Then I’ll belong in Canary Isle …
Few were the women visitors who, having heard this sung as if only to them, could resist spinning the wheel to win one of Curly’s warblers.
His fiercest competition came from the stand next door: Helen’s Radio Shop, run by longtime concessionaire Helen Cuny—as always dressed impeccably, with only a slight accent betraying her Viennese origins. With an amused glance at Curly she addressed the tip:
“Oh, ladies, don’t listen to this one’s promises of a fairyland romance! He’s a charmer, but how many charming men have you met that you can trust? Fill your own air with music with one of these fine, dependable radios by Emerson—yes, that’s right, Emerson—available here exclusively at Helen’s Radio Shop! Step up, take a chance, win a brand-new radio!”
Eddie’s
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