I’ve only lived in Pittsburgh continuously since 1978, hardly long enough to make me a native. Three of my grandchildren, however, really are Pittsburghers, being fourth generation on their mother’s side. But if there is one thing that the entire family has in common it is a devotion to the Strip.
I didn’t know about the area until a neighbor, realizing that I liked to cook, invited me to go there with her some months after we arrived. So I packed up the baby and off we went. It was enchantment at first sight of the gritty, rough streets, the discolored awnings, the chipped signage, the quintessential steel town.
Our first stop was Wholey’s, where the air tanged with just the right combination of cool ice and sharp, salty ocean that reminded me of visits to the old Fulton Street Fish Market in Manhattan. I still enjoy walking around Wholey’s looking for items that aren’t showcased; that’s how I found their sushi-grade saddle of tuna, hidden away in one of the freezers.
I liked the Benkovitz fish market on Smallman as well, an establishment that I had found to be willling to cater to unusual requests. So it was the perfect source when I got the inspiration to make classic French turtle soup; they were able to procure of box of high-grade meat for me. What a misguided idea. I don’t know about French kitchens, but mine got filled with a rather unpleasant odor that took hours to cleanse out with open windows all over the house; the soup never did materialize. Unfortunately, Benkovitz Seafoods closed suddenly in 2013 after nearly 100 years in business.
Not a fan of fish? Simply go to the venerable Strip District Meats, which has almost every meat that used to walk around. Their lamb is especially appreciated by myself and my husband.
Another longtime denizen of the Strip on Penn Avenue is Pennsylvania Macaroni, fondly referred to as Penn Mac, the foundational Italian food store. For that I turn to a memory that my dear friend Susan has of first seeing roughly six-foot-long dried salt cod. Not knowing what it was, she approached a sales clerk for an explanation. Susan continues: “She explained the Christmas delicacy required soaking the salt cod and then cooking it. At that point, in my imagination, I was in Italy, far away from Pittsburgh!”
The Strip was not always so enticing. In the 19th century the area was a perfect location for boats to dock with supplies for the several factories that were located near the shore, in addition to the later railroads. Eateries were for laborers; the 1926 Pennsylvania Railroad Fruit Auction and Sales Building (today’s shopping mall The Terminal) was just that, a place for offloading mainly produce.
Most of the goods at the produce terminal building were picked up for distribution around the city. In the very early days such transportation of goods was done by horse-drawn wagons plodding across town. Some local misty memories aver that the wagons, with horses, were lowered from the hill on a lift and backed up after filling carts full. The stores, carts, horses, and lifts are are gone, but there is still a bit of outdoor-produce-shopping nostalgia to be found on Penn.
I once heard that there was a dairy company that operated on two sides of Smallman, sending their wares from one side to the other via underground tunnels. Those tunnels may have been the same ones used by bootleggers to store illicit booze and evade federal agents during Prohibition; there are great tales of agents chasing them through the maze, only to lose their prey in the labyrinth. I’ve often wondered why nobody has started tours of those tunnels, much like the catacombs of Rome and the sewers of Paris.
Speaking of dairy, for decades Klavon’s was perhaps the most nostalgic place in the district to induge everyone’s ice cream fantasies, a true bygone-era ice cream parlor and soda fountain, complete with a vintage telephone booth. I had forgotten how difficult those were to get in and out of and how hard the seats were, until I wriggled into the Klavon’s model.
Nothing stays the same. Klavon’s is now gone. Old factory buildings that had been shuttered have been refashioned into upscale apartments. Numerous start-up companies have also begun settling into the wider Strip District area. Surely it is only good business to meet their expectations for food and and other items—hence the several commodity stores that have arrived selling objets d’art and clothing. Plus furniture, of course, for all those new spaces, including custom manufacturer Gene Sanes.
I’ve been delighted that shops catering to intrepid home cooks are now more plentiful in the Strip—interesting oils and vinegars at the Olive Tap, unusual spice mixes and extracts at Penzey’s (try their double-strength vanilla), and dozens of kitchen gadgets at In The Kitchen. Penn Fixture and Supply, further up Penn towards Lawrenceville, caters to the restaurant industry, but also sells retail. It’s a different, expensive world of equipment, worth a visit for the true food hobbyist. Don’t mind driving a bit further up Smallman? Lawrenceville, the funkier sister community to the Strip’s rugged “steel city” aura, has numerous upscale restaurants (Senti, Piccolo Forno, Poulet Bleu, et al.), in addition to artists’ studios and retail galleries.
As for beverages in the Strip, there’s the senses-enticing Prestogeorge, home to hundreds of coffees and teas. (I have finally settled on my favorites after gallons tried at home, yet I always seem to cave and savor yet one more.) That’s a good place to stop to cap off a hearty breakfast at one of the Strip’s best-known “diners”—DeLuca’s or Pamela’s or Kelly O’s. On the go, there are myriad Strip-original or -unique venues, some very long established—from the famous first Primanti Bros., Sunseri’s (Jimmy and Nino), Allegheny Coffee and Tea Exchange, and Enrico Biscotti (with its international-inspired classes) to Bella Notte, Salem’s, DiAnoia’s, and Peace, Love, and Little Donuts.
I do hope that the Strip keeps its last bit of grittiness, including those not-always-even sidewalks on Penn, as well as those pesky, noisy bricks on Smallman. It is very convenient to purchase clothes and gifts and sweets en route between restaurant stops, but a large chunk of the district’s classic atmosphere, not to mention the excitement of searching for new and interesting food discoveries, would disappear if the area becomes just another polished, unending shopping center.
I’m actually looking forward to the next big cuisine emporium opening up. The Strip now encompasses Italian, Greek, Chinese/South Asian, British-pub (sounds like a restaurant, not a food store; but perhaps it should be part of any future “northern European” additions) Middle Eastern, Mexican, and seafood offerings.
Scotch haggis, anyone?
Cynthia F. Weisfield is an art historian who often writes for the Journal of the Print World. She also lectures locally about art, especially Abstract Expressionism. In addition, she writes for several local publications about art and food, her primary hobby. Cynthia has a degree from the University of Chicago; she lives in Mt. Lebanon.