Tag Archives: frank sinatra


12 Dec

Four years ago we celebrated Frank Sinatra’s birthday around here the best way I know how. By having friends over and cooking them some of Frank’s favorite foods. Here is the link to that very special event. Today would be a good day to check it out. Right now, though, we simply—and quickly—mark a milestone. —MM

It was 100 years ago, on December 12, 1915, that a baby boy was born to Natalie and Antonino Sinatra, in a cold-water flat on Monroe Street, in Hoboken, New Jersey, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan. It was a difficult birth, one that came close to ending not very well. The baby, a big one at thirteen and a half pounds, looked as if it might not make it. Little Francis Albert did not begin to move at all until his grandmother Rose interceded, carrying the baby to a sink and running water over its seemingly lifeless body until it breathed.

Frank, as he later became known, did not overstay his welcome. He lived to be 82, respectable enough, I suppose, just not long enough, not for me.
For somebody who couldn’t manage his way through high school this Sinatra fellow did better than just all right for himself. Let’s face it, he ran the table pretty much anywhere he played. No musician in the history of civilization has ever attained this remarkable man’s accomplishment or stature.
Not. Even. Close.
His birth, I would argue, was nothing short of a miracle. That’s right, I said miracle. Just under 3 million babies were born on United States soil the year “Dolly” Sinatra gave birth to her son a century ago. And so Frank wasn’t simply one in a million; he was one in three of them!
Take them odds with you to Vegas, baby.

My dinner with Sinatra

11 Dec
A multi-course meal consisting of Frank’s favorite foods, in honor of his birthday.
On the wall in front of me, just above the printer that hasn’t worked since the day I plugged it in three years ago, hangs a framed Life magazine from June 25, 1971. “Sinatra Says Good-by and Amen: A farewell to 30 very good years,” the headline reads. A silhouetted cover shot shows a fifty-fiveish Frank wearing a powder blue PGA golf cap, waving and looking just a little bit put upon by the camera’s presence.
Next to this is another frame. It holds the program from the last time that I saw Sinatra perform, at Radio City Music Hall, in the fall of 1992. The ticket stub is pasted below it and next to that are four torn pieces of notepaper. Scribbled on the sheets, in very precise order, are the titles to each one of the 22 songs the man sang that evening, a thoughtful gesture from the fine woman who accompanied me.
I could go on this way for awhile, but you get the idea.
I liked the guy. Quite a lot.
When the news broke that he had died, in the spring of 1998, I was exactly where I am today. Sitting at my desk, transfixed by the magazine on my wall, the one that documented the (mercifully short-lived) retirement of the world’s greatest-ever singer of popular song.
“Good-by and Amen” indeed.
I miss Frank. Not a day passes that I do not hear his voice, if only in my mind. It is a fine voice, at once confident and exposed, reckless and deliberate, bullying and good hearted. The world is better with such a voice echoing through it. I hope that I never stop hearing it.
I often wondered what it might be like to have shared a meal with the man, at a table filled with the foods that he most enjoyed. Such a meal may have taken place at Patsy’s in midtown Manhattan. It is here, after all, where Frank and his many friends so often dined, at least at a point in his life. He had a lasting bond with the restaurant’s founder, Pasquale “Patsy” Scognamillo, you see.
Why would he not? Once, in the early 1950s, during a dark and lonely time in his life and career, Sinatra found himself all alone and with noplace to spend Thanksgiving. Learning this, Scognamillo, whose restaurant was supposed to be closed for the holiday, decided to open it so that his best customer and friend would have a place to spend the holiday. To make certain that Frank would not be sitting alone in an empty restaurant, Scognamillo gathered the families of his relatives and all his workers, plus as many other people as he could corral, to celebrate Thanksgiving Day at Patsy’s. All on just a day’s notice, and without his friend’s knowledge.
We should all be so lucky to acquire friendships such as this.
To honor Frank’s birth, which occurred on December 12, 1915, I set about to uncover the man’s favorite foods. The idea was to prepare the dishes in my own kitchen, and then serve them to my friends. I consulted (of course) the “Patsy’s Cookbook,” which clearly spells out what Sinatra’s favorite foods were: Clams Posillipo, Stuffed Artichokes, Arugula Salad, Fusilli with Garlic and Anchovies, Veal Cutlets Milanese and, for dessert, Lemon Ricotta Torte.
I learned a few other things from reading the Patsy’s cookbook. Sinatra liked meatballs but insisted (as do I) they be made with veal. He too used the tomato to gauge a kitchen’s skill level: “When you go to a new Italian restaurant, you should always try pasta with tomato sauce first,” he told his daughter Nancy. “If the sauce isn’t good, the rest of the food won’t be either.” He liked his veal cutlets paper thin, a concept I strongly endorse, and preferred always a light touch of garlic, a notion that I cannot so much get behind. He enjoyed a good sfogliatelle and pasticiotti. You may already know how I feel about good sfogliatelle and good pasticiotti.
On the days leading up to our celebration I imposed upon my friends this question to ponder: If Sinatra were alive today, and you had an opportunity to sit down to a meal with him, what would be the one thing that you would ask him? I received quite an eclectic mix of responses:
JOE: Why did you really retire in ’71?
JOAN: Don’t you just want to slug the singers who channel your style and make like it’s their own?
FRED: Did you really like the ribs at Twin Anchors in Chicago, or did you just stumble in drunk one night after a gig at the Pump Room?
SCOTT: Regrets? Only a few? Really?
JEFF: Would you honor this picker with a duet?
JOE: Why didn’t you ever do the album with Ella?
LARRY: Hey Frank, Ava or Marilyn?
RICKLIE: Is it true that the best was yet to come? And if so, what’s it like on the other side?
BILL: Did Momo give the order?
DANTE: Mia? Really?
KITTY: Why is it called a rubber tree plant?
MEATBALL: Before we crack open another bottle of Jack, would you mind singing “East of the Sun” for me — with the twice-repeated coda at the end?
Frank’s birthday dinner took place last night, at my home here in Maine. So that the foods on our table could closely resemble the ones that Frank enjoyed at his old hangout, every dish was prepared using the recipes from Patsy’s restaurant.
Clams Posillipo (basically steamed in a quick red sauce) is how our dinner began. It is said that Sinatra would often order two or even three plates of the clams at Patsy’s.
I grew up on Stuffed Artichokes (though always at the end of the meal). Patsy’s recipe includes chopped gaeta olives and capers, a nice addition to the usual breadcrumbs and cheese and herbs. I can see why Sinatra liked this so much.
Fusilli with Garlic and Anchovies. What is there to say? If a simpler vehicle for distributing such satisfying flavors exists I am not aware of it.
When I turned to the page in the Patsy’s cookbook that marked Veal Cutlet Milanese as Sinatra’s best-loved veal dish, I smiled for a very long time. Veal Milanese is a constant in my kitchen. If you have eaten at my home more than three or four times, the odds that I have not made a Milanese for you are approximately zero. You will notice that the Arugula Salad course is served alongside the veal. That’s because, in my preparation, the arugula salad is normally served right on top of it.
Based on the rest of the meal its finishing touch, a Lemon Ricotta Torte, makes total sense to me. It is a classic, light, not terribly sweet ending to a pretty traditional and simple Italian-American dinner.
Sure, it would have been just swell to enjoy it sitting across the table from Frank. But a good time was had by all, I am pretty sure.
Oh, and the music playing away throughout the evening was not in any way dissatisfying either.