Sacramento Region Restaurant Ashtrays

 I have not updated this blog for a long time, and I feel bad about that! I love reminiscing about old Sacramento restaurants, and I will be attending to this more moving forward. 

Moving onto the topic of the day (he said ten years later): Remember when restaurants had those little glass ashtrays with their branding on the bottom? Nearly every restaurant had them in the 1950's through the 1970's. I would love to find some with any Sacramento restaurant icon branding -- if you have any that you are willing to part with, please let me know! I am particularly interested in the dear old Palomino Room, my beloved Aldo's, and the truly iconic Coral Reef. 

Breakfast at the Palomino Room

The old Palomino Room in Sacramento was a steak house. They served lunch to local businessmen, and, at night, they produced fine grilled steaks. True, they had other stuff on the menu, but what the regular crowd showed up for were the steaks. Dad liked the lion sized rib steak, grilled rare, with a baked potato on the side – Dad like his slavered with butter and nothing else.

Then, on Sunday mornings, there was something really special.  See, the Palomino Room was closed every Sunday, as used to be traditional in the restaurant industry.  But some Sunday mornings, Harry and Ray and their chef, Nick would be in the restaurant, cleaning things up, making necessary repairs, and preparing for the week to come.

Whether this custom started merely to feed the staff that was in house on Sunday morning or as a thank you to their regular customers, I do not know, but word got around to the regulars that, if they came by on Sunday morning, breakfast would be served. The bar was open, and Mon and Dad usually ordered Ramos Fizzes or Bloody Marys.

The star of the show, however, was the salty and succulent breakfast served up by Nicolas. He got tremendous quality city style hams that he cut into thick, ½” thick steaks, 10” around. He broiled them on the grill until they had crosshatched carbon grill marks, making the ham utterly delicious. As a garnish for the ham, he grilled a slice of fresh pineapple. It was magnificent in its simplicity. He served it with simple, coarsely cut spuds that were buttery and had a hint of onion, and a pair of eggs, cooked to order. In those days, mine were scrambled wet, Mom’s were poached, and Dad’s, over easy.

Early on a Sacramento summer Sunday, it was heaven. I cannot find ham that compares to that in quality and texture, nor can I find the ambition to fire up the Weber at that time of day, but I may try soon.  It will never be the same at home – it will never be the dear old Palomino Room.

The Whispering Pines

A long, long time ago there was a steakhouse on Auburn-Folsom Road between Folsom and Roseville called The Whispering Pines. I only remember it from my fairly early youth, but I loved it. It was dark and in the triple-digit temperatures of the deep summer months it was deliciously cool. They served great steaks, thick and dry-aged and slightly charred off the grill. They were delivered on metal plates that were nestled on Bakelite trays – the metal plates were heated in the kitchen so the steaks were still sizzling when they got to the table. They had decent sides of house-made scalloped potatoes and little gravy boats of some sort of sauce that was completely superfluous. They also served salads that were composed of iceberg lettuce, a cherry tomato and some shredded canned beets. None of that mattered: At the Whispering Pines, the steaks were the stars of the show.

The Whispering Pines was far from my parents' home, and it was a fairly rare treat when we went. It is long gone now, but we drive by its old location on a fairly regular basis. It is an empty office building now. It is easy to spot, as it is right next to the Whispering Pines trailer park, and, sadly, whenever we drive by my mouth starts watering.

The Palomino Room

Since I am reminiscing about great old Sacramento landmarks that have passed into the mists of time, I must take a few minutes to recognize the old Palomino Room. I grew up in that place. It was a classic, old school steakhouse, back before the term "steakhouse" indicated that you were about to fork over $45 for a Porterhouse with no salad, no spud, no dessert, no nuthin'. The Palomino Room was first class. When I knew it best it was run by the Borowski brothers, Ray and Harry, both great guys who you just wanted to sit down with and have a few beers. The brains of the outfit was Ray's wife, Stella, and she made sure that the ship was run tight.

The Palomino Room, in the days that I knew it, was dark with wormwood walls and a wagon-wheel chandelier over the piano bar. Steaks and taters were the fare.

The one who inspired me the most though was their chef, Nick Jukich. Nick's brother fought on Tito's side in Yugoslavia. Nick didn't. His brother became a general, or something like, Nick became a cook in a steakhouse. Oh, but what a cook! The steaks at the Palomino had a distinctive flavor – it was Nick's secret. And it was great. First, it may go without saying, he was downright finicky about the quality of meat he served. Secondly, he seasoned with salt, and a lot of it. Finally, there was the oil. Next to the grill he kept a cup of oil that he prepared before service every night. It was regular grade olive oil infused with a healthy portion of garlic. He kept a pastry brush in it, and swabbed every steak with it before he put it down. Simple though it was, it was amazing. I think that Nick may have been the one who really made me want to grow up to be a chef. I am sure that he is long gone now, but I would pay money to have a nice long visit with him today.

In later years the place was taken over by David and Freddy, the sons of the original owners, and they did their best to update the ambience and bring the restaurant into the twentieth century. It was very nice, but it wasn't my beloved old Palomino Room any more. The menu went the direction of light, modern Italian, but it wasn't Nick's kitchen any more.

It's been said that what goes around comes around. I really hope that someplace like the Palomino Room comes around again soon. I am getting hungry.

Aldo's

The Flaming A. Aldo’s was a continental restaurant in Sacramento up until about a decade ago. It was a great place. Reviewers often bemoaned the fact that the quality was variable, and in the many years since Poul Culatte, Aldo’s original chef, retired, they may have had a point, but I invariably loved the place.

It was owned and presided over by the inimitable Aldo Bovaro, one of the most elegant gentlemen I have ever known. He was a good friend of my father’s, and, though ten years might have passed between my visits, he would always greet me with a hug and kisses on the cheeks and treat me as though I was his most prized guest. I think that everyone at Aldo’s always felt like his most prized guest, and that is what made the place so very special.

Aldo was Italian born but most recently expatriated from Uruguay. Aldo was a citizen of the world. He spoke numerous languages perfectly and fluently and he had traveled everywhere. Aldo and Poul were my first inspirations to pursue a cooking career.

The focus of Aldo’s restaurant was tableside service with lots of flambé. The restaurant was appropriately dark, waiters wore black dinner suits. In the spring and summer, Aldo would wear a white dinner jacket, and in the cooler months he, too, would wear a black suit. There was a pianist, Mario Ferarri, who was excellent, and, for a period of time, on Thursday nights, Aldo would sing Italian songs in the bar, accompanied by Mario. Mario would woo the young ladies, but their hearts belonged to Aldo.

I remember being impressed when my parents went in one evening, and were seated at a corner table – the matre d’hotel gave them menus and exchanged pleasantries with them. A couple of minutes later, Aldo appeared and seated himself at our table, and began to visit with them in earnest. When the waiter came by, he would not allow my parents to order, instead, Aldo took their menus away and gave them to the waiter. He said, “I will take care of you. I promise, you will have a fine dinner!”

I do not remember all the details of the dinner, but I do remember that it was excellent. I had escargots, because it was one of the few places in Sacramento where I could get them. I also remember the pheasants that were decorated with their own feathers and, around the time that the dessert zabiones were being served, Aldo brought a service cart out and prepared Caffé Diable. It was a flaming and alcoholic coffee beverage, served in demitasse, and it was tremendous. It remains to this day, my favorite after dinner beverage.

I could go on for days, reminiscing about Aldo and his restaurant. It was a heartfelt loss when I drove by one day and it was gone. It was one of the major inspirations in my life, and I pay tribute to it every time I prepare a meal.