Friday, October 26, 2018

Chicken Savoy Belmont Tavern NJ





Nearly every luminary with a photo on the Belmont Tavern's walls—"98 percent," resident raconteur Jimmy Cuomo will tell you—has actually eaten at the Belmont Tavern.
Step in off Belleville, New Jersey's busy Bloomfield Avenue, do a spin, and you'll meet them all, loosely grouped on the wood-paneled walls in plain black frames. Legendary songstress Connie Francis, a local girl. Jocks, like former Giants running back Tiki Barber and Knicks legend Ernie Grunfeld. Hollywood wise guys like Joe Piscopo and Frank Vincent. Clint Eastwood, who directed the film adaptation of the Jersey Boys jukebox musical set in the neighborhood, is a fan; he was in for a meal in 2013, popping hot peppers like they were jelly beans. Frankie Valli, the OG Jersey Boy, is one, too.
There are two begrudging exceptions to Cuomo's 98 percent: Joe Torre, since the skipper's son eats there, and Pope John Paul II. Cuomo has actually lobbied to revoke His Holiness' dinner dispensation ("The Pope can come down!"), but his waitresses won't let him.
The Belmont, which has been in Cuomo's family for decades, has long had a knack for luring in a certain class of notable, especially those with Jersey roots. Spend enough time at the bar, nursing a longneck and staring at the Deer Hunter American flag obscuring the marbled mirror backsplash, and you'll hear Cuomo, holding court in his Belmont polo, slip into stories, yarns thick with surnames like Pesci, Roselli, and  Gandolfini.


Stretch with The "YANKEE CLIPPER"


But celebrity customers are just one part of the Belmont's repute. A far greater part is evidenced by a sign visible from the sidewalk: Stretch's Chicken Savoy. There are plenty of dishes available on the Italian-American menu, but this is the one people come for, from near and far. It's a simple dish: Cut-up chicken rubbed down with a fat handful of garlic, hard cheese, and herbs, then roasted in a screaming-hot oven and splashed with vinegar, which sends aromas of schmaltz and spice right up to your nose.
It's now a dish found all over—but only in—northern New Jersey, and as with most hyper-regional foods, its devotees are as idiosyncratic as its birthplace.
The Belmont Tavern is actually two distinct businesses, working together on the strength of what locals whimsically refer to as a "Belleville contract"—a handshake. Cuomo's family took over the tavern portion of the operation, separate from the dining room, in 1965. Two years later, his father and uncle brought in Charles "Stretch" Verdicchio, a butcher-turned-chef with a nice touch on the line, a head of hair like Dean Martin and a knack for making friends.
Two of the largest photos on display at the Belmont feature Stretch. In one, he's proudly hoisting up a lobster with claws the size of Pomeranians. The other is him mugging for the camera, a bit of balled-up linen clasped in his hands, next to none other than Joe DiMaggio. ("Stretch—never did find out what was under the napkin," reads a scribble from the Yankee Clipper.)
Despite his seemingly high profile, nailing down solid information on Stretch is about as easy as nailing down solid information on D.B. Cooper. Even people who knew him, like Cuomo, or his son-in-law Norb Wroblewski, speak about Stretch in vague terms. He learned the trade from his dad and cooked out around the Hoover Dam as part of a New Deal job placement—they think. Back when the Belmont was big on live music, he'd pop out of the kitchen and sing a tune or two with the performers, they say. Neither seems exactly sure of where his nickname came from. (Best we could muster: He was lanky.)
And yet Stretch, who passed away in 1989, is still a big part of the Belmont's personality, with enough name recognition to tout his best-known dish in the window out front. Over the years, it's helped the restaurant back away from its unflattering reputation as a gruff goodfellas hangout and refocus its marketing. "Our perception now is not that it's a wise guy joint," says Wroblewski, not the only Belmont associate to swiftly shift subjects when Sopranos-style chatter arises. "It's that it's a good place to eat."
Like at many places up here, the staff still seems to maintain a bit of a wink-and-nod relationship with the mob mentality. 
"It's not an unusual dish," says Wroblewski, a former accountant and Army Reserve pilot married to Annette. "It's not difficult to make. We just don't tell anyone how we do it."





1 Chicken (about 3 lbs.)  cut in 8 pieces 

1/2 Teaspoon each of Kosher Salt and Black Pepper
4 cloves garlic - minced 
1 tbsp dried oregano 
1 tsp dried Thyme 
  1/3 cup grated Reccorino Romano Cheese 
3 tbsp olive oil 
  3/4 cup red wine vinegar   

Salt and pepper chicken pieces and saute in 1 tbsp oil in a large oven proof skillet till skin is golden brown. Using a mortar and pestle or a small food processor make a paste of the next 5 ingredients and spread evenly over the skin of the chicken. Transfer skillet to a 500 degree oven and bake 20-30- minutes until done. Remove from oven - pour off the fat and add 1 cup of red wine vinegar to the pan. Spoon sauce over the chicken. Serve chicken with the vinegar sauce.





In recent years, Wroblewski, along with his Ecuadorian-born chef Leo Lukar, has overseen the kitchen at the Belmont—"a little Polish kid that's cooking Italian," as he puts it. This has involved plenty of Chicken Savoy preparation. And he's right that it's simple, at least from an observer's standpoint. Pieces of bone-in dark meat chicken relax in rectangular pans, dusted in an unassuming blend of cheese, herbs, and spices. The bird slides into a hot oven, where the skin roasts to a swoon-inducing crisp. It bakes a little longer than you'd think.
At some point after the pans are pulled, they get doused down with a generous squeeze of red wine vinegar, which sizzles and caramelizes and clings to the meat like a second skin. Fans will tell you this is the key ingredient. "It's the vinegar that just romances you," says Ron Silver, a Chicken Savoy enthusiast who visits the Belmont (and its many competitors) specifically for the dish.
If there are other steps to the recipe, the Belmont isn't tipping its hand. The bewitching result: a juicy, garlicky, giddy, tangy paesano adobo that doesn't need any condiments or accompaniments to outshine everything else splayed out across the red-and-white checkered tablecloths. It's easily the most-ordered plate at the Belmont, so much so that Wroblewski begins baking orders well before dinner customers even begin showing up. He knows it's going to go, and it always does.
Savoy, which has been on the menu since Stretch's first days at the Belmont, has cultivated some serious local notoriety over the decades—partly because it's good, partly because it's popular, and partly because it seems simple enough for anyone to snag and stick on their menu. True success isn't that easy, but that hasn't stopped people from trying.