Broadway Blintz Legend Harry Edelstein Dies
There are the legends of Broadway who dance, sing, and act into our souls, and then there are the legends who do so with a smile, a kind word, and a hot bowl of matzo ball soup.
If you’ve ever been to New York, and gone to see a play, the chances are good that you have eaten at the Cafe Edison, aka the Polish Tea Room, or as we’ll call it today, the House that Harry Built. You see, Harry Edelstein, who founded the legendary Jewish coffee shop of golden dreams, has passed, at the ripe age of 91.
From the New York Times obituary:
Harry Edelstein, who with his wife, Frances, owned the venerable Broadway hangout affectionately known as the Polish Tea Room — a place where playwrights and producers, actors, stagehands and tourists could commune while stuffing down the last bites of an oh-so-hefty blintz — died on Monday in Englewood, N.J. He was 91 and lived in the Bronx until 2006.
Edelstein’s story is fascinating, and yet sadly common. Born and raised in Poland, he and his wife survived the Holocaust after having escaped a Nazi death squad and witnessed the mass grave containing both their families. They hid out in the country throughout the war, then made their way to America, worked in a variety of fields, and eventually ran their restaurant, the Cafe Edison, since 1980.
Cafe Edison, found in the Edison Hotel, is a hallmark from a golden era that’s no longer around except in our hearts. The ornate trim and moldings along the ceiling, the frescoes, the chandeliers, the palatial oval of the space, the whole fin de ciecle faded European wealth of it all contrasted nicely with the Jewish comfort food served at worn booths, along the beaten counter, and on tiny tables. It wasn’t a deli by the strictest definition. Edelstein didn’t define it that way, there was no counter or slicing machine out front, and you didn’t get that smell. But the menu put the emphasis on the Ashkenazi: huge bowls of matzo ball soup (softball sized), knishes, blintzes, lox and bagels, and pastrami and corned beef. It was slapdash, unfussy, and much less expensive than any deli nearby. The menu was rounded out with American diner classics: navy bean soup, burgers, omelets, etc… Edelstein built that perfect mix of American-Judeo dining, that quintessentially New York place that was Jewish enough to have street cred, but not so much that it was intimidating.
I’ve eaten there three times since moving here. The first was in the dead of winter, before a show, where I had some soup and a blintz with a friend. The next was with two other friends, one a comedian, the other a journalist, and we picked through mounds of chopped salad, soup, and some shoddy matzo brie. But the best experience was when I was invited there by Jennifer 8 Lee, my friend from the New York Times, for the monthly Times lunch there. It was a banquet of pure indulgence, the table piled high with so many dishes that you couldn’t move a fork without hitting a latke. Brisket, corned beef, and pastrami flew past our heads, as surly waiters whipped around. I chomped matzo balls with war correspondents talking about blast barriers in Baghdad, and fressed on pound cake with science editors. Considering the state of journalism, and how beaten down things had been for the industry, this was like sitting in the lunchroom at the war room, as the great camaraderie of newspapermen played out in front of me. It was a magical lunch. A whirlwind of information and saturated fat.
As Lee wrote in her Times blog today:
For two decades, the staff of The New York Times has engaged in an almost monthly ritual of heading to the Polish Tea Room for heaping plates of pastrami, lox, latkes and blintzes, which started after a 1987 column exposed the intimate camaraderie of the restaurant. The total price, including tip, for each person is $14. The tradition was led in part by Dick Shepard, a former culture reporter for The Times, and is continued today by Glenn Collins, a reporter on the Metro staff.
Considering the number of struggling and famous actors, playwrights, and directors Harry and his surviving wife Frances Edelstein served over the years, it’s suiting that Broadway will dim its lights in honor of its fallen adopted father. I think the best tribute we can all do is head down to the “Polish Tea Room”, order up a matzo ball and a blintz, and give Harry a standing ovation with our mouths.
