Our 80th Anniversary Continues!

Zabar's is one of the longest running shows on Broadway. To celebrate our 80th anniversary we want to put the spotlight on our co-stars, our valued customers. Without you, there would be no Zabar's.

Thank you to everyone who submitted wonderful stories and memories about Zabar's or told us why they loved us. We have chosen the following submissions to star today. Stay tuned for more.

 

Submitted by Cynthia Schaffner, NYC

The day I became a New Yorker…

I grew up in Iowa City, Iowa, and in 1972 I married a New Yorker and happily moved into an apartment on the Upper East Side. In the 1970s Julia Child taught us how to cook. We watched her TV show and we worked our way through The Art of French Cooking. Around 1974 Julia became very excited about a new machine from France that chopped, kneaded, pureed and julienned in seconds--a French Cuisinart! I had to have one. But they were expensive. In Iowa City we only bought retail, if we couldn’t afford something we went without. Well, by now I was beginning to understand that there were other ways of getting what you wanted, and I saw an ad in the New York Times that Zabar’s was expecting a quantity of Cuisinarts and would sell them at a 30% discount for as long as the supply lasted. So I saved up my shopping money, took from my savings and got up early on the appointed sale day and stood in line to buy a Cuisinart. I was intimidated by the banter of the real chefs in line, and when the doors opened the line became a throng, and against all my tendencies to demur, I elbowed my way through the crush, and when I finally got close to the counter I grabbed a clerk’s arm, handed over my cash and bought a brand new French Cuisinart in its original box. By the time I got home I was exhausted and triumphant. And that was the day my husband decided I’d become a New Yorker.

Zabar’s got in trouble with the Cuisinart Company for discounting the food processor and so owning one of the nefarious Zabar Cuisanarts doubled the pleasure. The triumph never faded and I used that machine for many long years and for many delicious dinners!

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Submitted by Erica Heller, NYC

As far as I’ve been concerned, which is 50 years + and then some, our neighborhood has forever been bisected by one very important and telling detail: The Zabar’s people and the Fairway people. Where I come from, Fairway never had a chance. I grew up here in the 50s, attended P.S. 87, lived at the Apthorp with my mother, younger brother, and my father, the write Joseph Heller. We did not worship at a synagogue or a church. Our holy place was—and is—Zabar’s. Every Sunday morning my Dad and I would make the slow trek, as if from our shtetl, dragging back bags and bags of bagels, onions, cream cheese, kippered salmon, sable, tomatoes, pickles and finally, rugelach. With the Sunday New York Times spread out over my parents’ bed, doing double-duty as a tablecloth, we’d chatter and chew away, until what looked like enough food for 50 starving truck drivers in the store was reduced to a few pitiful crumbs on a platter.

This was our weekly ritual. Regardless of moodiness, lack of sleep, having been out too late the night before, or with hours of dreaded homework stretching out before us, the four of us came together this way every Sunday, and it always ended up with laughter.

The neighborhood has lately been the victim of some appalling plastic surgery. No more can we wander into and out of Levy’s Stationers, Robert Payne Furs, or even Schrafft’s. Thank heavens we still have Zabar’s, for the matzoh ball soup when we’re sick, the caviar when we’re celebrating, and everything else in between. I could write arias for the stuffed grape leaves alone! Odes to the creamy mushroom caviar! Not for me is the new baby in the neighborhood, Trader Joe, nor Fairway, with it’s narrow aisles and wide shopping wagons, guaranteed to make someone volubly unhappy every 15 minutes at least. Not for me the fussy, overpriced, too-too precious ambiance of Citarella. My father’s best and oldest friend, Irving aka Speed Vogel, was employed at some point in the 80, as a herring taster for Zabar’s. My father loved his life, writing books and acting the role of celebrity. But one day, I took a walk in Riverside Park with the two of them and Dad was definitely sulking, as Speed kept dipping his hand into a Zabar’s bag of tasty olives. Finally, my father brayed, like a 4 year –old: “How come YOU get to be at Zabar’s all day eating, and I have to go write books”? Speed stopped walking and considered his response thoughtfully. “You have to write books so that Philip Roth doesn’t win the Nobel {so far he hasn’t), and I have to work at Zabar’s because I’m having too much fun and will surely be fired there soon/” (He was.)

Today, I’m far older and also a writer. I even carry on the anti —Philip Roth —–Nobel campaign in my heart, posthumously for my father. In fact, it may well be in my DNA.)

I would write more but have made myself far too hungry writing this, so am about to take the exactly 123 steps, from the Apthorp to Zabar’s, and worship at the shrine.

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Submitted by Leslie Merims, NYC

A number of years ago a food processor I bought at Zabar’s jammed just a few hours before a dinner party.

I called Zabars in a panic!

In just a short time Saul Zabar was standing in my kitchen fixing the problem. What a surprise for my husband to come home and find Saul Zabar at our sink. That's a neighborhood store...our neighborhood store.

Coincidentally, I celebrated my 80th birthday this year and also live on Broadway.

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Submitted by Linda Dalton (Lesser), Las Vegas

My dad, Larry Lesser, was a truck driver for a company called Globe Paper & Twine back in the 60's & 70's. One of their customer's was Zabar's - where he would deliver their paper bags and other merchandise.

Double-parked in front of a significantly smaller 1971 Zabar's, he and his helper Jimmy would bring the merchandise in through the double metal doors outside and down into the ancient, narrow basement. And, on those too few occasions I got to sit beside him as a 12 year old "helper", the wonderful employees at the deli counter would gift us with a sandwich of our choice for the road.

I sure wish I could pick my dad's memory for more details of those wonderful days, but he left me in 2008 to join my Mom in Heaven. However, I still keep my cherished link with Zabar's every single morning as I enjoy their coffee that's shipped to our home in Las Vegas.

Thank you everyone & happy happy birthday.

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Submitted by Madelynn Heintz

Many, many years ago (about 40), I lost my job and collected my unemployment insurance uptown at around 95th St. It always left me feeling depressed because I had so little money. One day, to cheer myself up, I stopped at Zabar’s on my walk back downtown and took a ticket at the appetizing counter thinking how wonderful it would be to have a little bit of lox. When my turn came, I asked the counter man (I think it was Sam) for an eighth of a pound. He looked down at me, dead serious, and replied, "you mean a half of a quarter lady?---are you having a party?"

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Submitted by Sara Yood, NYC

By the time I was ten years old, my mother trusted me alone in Zabar's on a Sunday. After spending a weekend in New York, we'd get in the Volvo and head uptown. Dad parked in front of that fire hydrant on W. 80th St. and waited. We had a system worked out: I'd stand in line at H&H for the bagels while she went across the street to get numbers at the fish counter and the deli counter. She'd hand off the deli counter number to me ("one pound of Virginia glazed corned beef, please") and take care of the fish, and then we'd meet in the bread line for rye bread (the one with the little black seeds) and bialys. Depending on how early we made it, this would take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Then we would jump back in the car (usually with a chocolate bar and some extra bagels for snacking) and head home to Worcester, MA, a Jewish food desert.

I had a crush on the lox slicer with the piercing blue eyes when I was fourteen. (I got over it when I decided he looked like Derek Jeter - the Red Sox fan in me was no longer interested.) There was a female lox slicer for a year or two, and we once witnessed a doctor who had taken her on a date swing by the counter to say hi. When the woman rebuffed the doctor's attempts to flirt, the older Jewish slicer standing next to her said "oh come on, he's a doctor, why didn't you offer him a sample?" "What am I supposed to do, jump over the counter? I'm working here!" It's a story that has stayed in our family for years.

Now that I live in New York (on the UWS no less), Zabar's is no longer a luxury but more a safe haven, where I can kibbutz with the cheesemongers about goats in New Marlborough, MA and josh the coffee guys about why they even bother carrying decaf. Zabar's is my connection to the food of my grandparents, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

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Submitted by Doron Steger

My brother-in-law, who lives on a kibbutz in Israel, loves Zabar’s and generally when he visits NYC we wind up at the store.

When working at the kibbutz or strolling in Tel Aviv or hiking in the Golan, people notice him wearing his favorite hat (Zabar’s) and surprisingly many actually recognize the name.

I've inserted a picture of him below at his daughter's wedding wearing the hat instead of a yarmulke.

Looking forward to celebrating with you till 120 and beyond.

Comments

[Ivy Mansky]

I recall when I first moved in with my husband, I looked for employment and felt uncomfortable depending on him. Someone said, "you live a block away from Zabar's. You'll never go hungry." He was right.
It was delightful reading the anecdotes.

[Jill Idelman]

It was the spring of 1988 and I was in my late 20’s. Only a few years out of college, (a graduate of
Kansas State University) I had found myself unsure of my future as a radio news reporter. I decided to
take an adventure and took a position as a House Manager for a family who resided in The Dakota. Part
of my responsibilities was to stock the kitchen of food supplies necessary in cooking and feeding
for this wonderful family. I will always remember the first time my instructions for shopping included
directions and a small grocery list to Zabar’s. Being from Kansas, the name Zabar’s seemed odd to my
mid-western ear. But I was excited to journey away from the neighborhood grocer near 72nd and
Columbus. Walking west to Broadway and uptown to the “low 80’s” was one of my first adventures
on that first week in living in my favorite city! As I approached the area, I recall seeing H & H Bagels, and
then my final destination, Zabar’s. The aromas that touched my senses were unforgettable. I was in awe
of the hundreds of cheese varieties…in Kansas we had maybe 5! The aroma of the fish, bakery, breads
and coffees were the most fabulous smells I had ever experienced in a supermarket.
However, on that spring day in April of 1988, I had one mission…
That mission was to purchase two Zabar’s Chicken Pot Pies. I had no idea that one could purchase a
large pot pie that was not in an aluminum foil container and came in a small blue box. My mother was a
fabulous cook, but chicken pot pies were reserved for the night’s we had a babysitter...and they were
frozen! Zabar’s Chicken Pot Pies became one of my favorite meals with my “new” New York, Upper
West Side family. My time in New York as a semi-resident was only for about 18 months. As I made the
choice to return to the mid-west to be married and start my own family. Each time I return to NYC for a
visit, Zabar’s is ALWAYS on the list. To this day, I receive the Zabar’s catalog and weekly email
blogs… and dream of the memories of living in New York City, The Dakota Apartment’s and the best
Chicken Pot Pie’s a mid-western girl could EVER taste.
Mazel Tov, Zabar’s to 80 fabulous years and thank you for being part of my life’s favorite memories!

[Steven Blum]

Zabars is and always will be a New York icon. I am from Detroit and when I visit New York, it is number one on my go to list. From all the wonderful smells and vast array of products makes Zabars a no brainier destination point.