Frog’s Legs

Every week you’d find us at Nathan’s in Oceanside having our usual lunch, a hot dog and fried clams for my dad, frog’s legs for me, and we’d split an order of fries. For a short time the two of us would spend Saturdays together. If the weather was nice we’d go to Salisbury Park and we’d play shuffleboard, or if it was hot, he’d take me to the kiddie pool where I’d splash around.  After we worked up an appetite we’d head to Nathan’s.

Today there’s a Nathan’s at virtually every rest stop, and half the malls in the USA, but back then there were just two; the original in Coney Island and ours in Oceanside on Long Island. It was my favorite place. In addition to the fine cuisine they had a mini amusement park with rides, and who doesn’t love rides? There were different lines for different food, the hot dogs and hamburgers at one counter, the fried food at another. First we’d get my dad his hot dog, and he would eat that on the way to get the rest of our feast at the fry counter. In the back was a cavernous space filled with rustic picnic tables, where we’d sit and eat.

My father was one of the most literal people I’ve ever known. He was a terrible punster, a great joke teller, but if he told you a true story there would be no embellishments or exaggerations, nor any consideration given to you, or your sensibilities. He embraced the concept of ‘tell it like it is’ long before tie-dyed tee-shirts and buttons offered that advice. One Saturday as we were devouring our lunch I asked him “Why do they call these frog’s legs?” “Because that’s what they are” he replied. “From frogs???” “Yes.”

I wasn’t squeamish, and I already liked them, so I kept eating my actual frog’s legs while I did some serious considering. I’d never imagined a frog big enough to have legs this size, I doubt I’d ever seen a frog at all. I had spent my entire life living in Brooklyn and then Hempstead, New York, not exactly frog or any other type of country. OK, so really big frogs, got it. What did they do with the rest of the frog? Never mind, I don’t want to know, as I mentally worked through the whole frog issue something much worse started nagging at me.

I was afraid to ask, but I had to know, I ate them all the time. I loved them. “What about hot dogs?” I think I closed my eyes and held my breath waiting for the answer. “Not dogs” he said. Whew! It is a mercy he didn’t elaborate. I don’t know what I’d thought those frog’s legs were when I’d started eating them. Perhaps he read me the menu and I selected them because I thought the name was funny. This was kid food before chicken nuggets and took over the world.

Those days are some of my most cherished childhood memories. My mom died in the spring of 1965, and that was the end of our Saturdays together.  After that my father started working on weekends, and our lunches at Nathan’s ended. I didn’t see frog’s legs again until I was in culinary school and we prepared them in the Escoffier Room. Somehow they weren’t nearly as appealing in a fancy French restaurant, as they’d been sitting at a picnic table after a day in the park with my dad.