Finger-licking Good Times

(A reprise from 2010: Another Pat Mitchell's Story.)

I sometimes feel the New York City Department of Health, via its eagle-eyed restaurant and food-related inspections and recent letter grading, is a wee bit excessive and punitive to beleaguered small businesses. Once upon a time, in a decidedly less regulated era, there was Pat Mitchell's Irish Food Center. The place: Kingsbridge in the Bronx.

Every Sunday morning after Mass at St. John’s Church, it was the tradition of an awful lot of us to call on Pat Mitchell’s near the northwest corner of Kingsbridge Avenue and West 231st Street. After offering one another the sign of peace, the race was on to the place with the fresh donuts delivered from Willow Sunny Bakery in various trays, including repurposed beer-box trays and an especially large one—like a tub you would mix cement in—resting on the unwashed floor. The latter accommodated the heavily powdered-sugared mini-jelly donuts, crullers, and crumb buns, while the former contained the young fan favorite: frosted chocolate donut.

Now, I'd bet dollars to donuts that the contemporary health department bureaucracy would find fault with this retail arrangement. For starters, the donuts were completely exposed to the shop's hustle and bustle and—it should be noted for the historical record—the establishment wasn't renowned for its cleanliness. Post-Mass crowds cramming into cramped Pat Mitchell's to purchase donuts and rolls no doubt contaminated the whole lot of them with their wagging tongues, competing body odors, and general disorderliness.

One particular Sunday morn, I recall handing several frosted chocolate donuts from an aforementioned beer-box tray to a local kid working behind the counter. He grabbed hold of them with his two bare hands. From mine, which weren’t likely the cleanest, to his—the same hands that had been conducting numerous transactions that morning, including taking customers' money and making change. Evidently, there were no disposable plastic gloves around back then.

The icing on the cake, if you will, to this stroll down memory lane: When dropping the donuts into a paper bag, this teenage employee left his fingerprints in the frosting. He then did something that many people would have considered beyond the pale—even by Pat Mitchell's rather liberal standards. Just before Johnny on the spot took my cash, he vigorously licked chocolate frosting off his fingers. While they were finger-licking good times, for sure, this parting salvo took an unhealthy bite out of a one Sunday morning's breakfast a long time ago.

(Photo from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)