Ah… the spiedie, that unique, tasty, “Triple Cities” treat of uncertain origin. Who invented it? When did the idea strike? Was it a favorite recipe from a foreign land, brought here by a hard working immigrant, or just a spur of the moment idea to try something different at the Sunday back yard cookout? Sadly, we’ll probably never know, although it’s not for lack of a “true story”; everyone seems to have one; this is mine.
I became acquainted with the spiedie in the late 1940s when my father, Frank J. Zedik (known to all as Zeke), left the New York State Police and decided to go into the bar business. He and my mother, Edie, bought what was then known as ‘Gene’s Bar and Grill’ located on the third block of Oak Hill Avenue in Endicott; the building, no longer there, was next to the little park and carousel.
The previous owner, Gene Krauwinkle, passed to my father what was reported to be the “original and best spiedie recipe”. He supposedly got it from the person who founded Camillo’s Restaurant (Home of the Spiedie) that was located on the Geo. F. Highway, just east of Endwell. (You’re probably thinking “reported to be”… “supposedly”… that’s not specific at all, but such is the tale of the spiedie.)
The particular type of spiedie that I recall is not frequently seen these days, although Sharkey’s in Binghamton may still be serving something similar. My parents started with two or three freshly cut and boned legs of lamb, the only meat that was ever used. The meat was trimmed of excessive fat, then sliced in inch thick ‘steaks’. The steaks were trimmed to remove the shiny muscle sheath which, if not removed, will result in a chewy spiedie, then cut into inch wide strips which were diced into oblong pieces suitable for skewering.
The seasoning, again not frequently seen today, was dry, and consisted of salt, black pepper, freshly crushed garlic, chopped dry parsley, and chopped fresh mint leaves… all spread over the meat that covered most of a kitchen table. The meat was mixed by hand until it was all thoroughly seasoned after which it was placed in roasting pans to be refrigerated overnight. The spiedies were ‘strung’, the following day, in a tightly packed line about eight inches long on stainless skewers, then stacked in waxed paper wrapped groups of fifty and stored in the refrigerator until evening when the customers began ordering them.
These dry seasoned treats were cooked over a charcoal fire in a stainless steel stove designed for that express purpose, allowing the skewers to be constantly rotated to insure even cooking. The charcoal burned at an almost constant temperature with the help of a built-in fan. The spiedies, when thoroughly cooked, were removed and sprinkled with my father’s “magic sauce”, after which a slice of Italian bread was speared with the skewer point before serving. The customers never found out that the “magic sauce” contained in that dark bottle and used to moisten and add a little zip to the product, was actually plain cider vinegar. Their periodic attempts to guess the secret ingredient were a constant source of amusement.
All of those mentioned in this reminiscence have long since passed, but, along with my memories of them, the taste of their delicious spiedies lingers.
Frank Zedik
07-30-02
[published in The Press & Sun-Bulletin, August 03, 2005]