"FrankSinatra" news and stories

Frank Sinatra was a man who loved to dine. Indeed, he was many a restaurants' favorite patron, from the neighborhood pizzeria to more upscale spots. Additionally, his picture hangs in hundreds, probably thousands of places he never even set foot in because Sinatra means Italian food.

The ultimate in Frank-revering restaurants has opened in the new Encore casino in Las Vegas, where Sinatra (Well, what would you call it?) is the first restaurant fully sanctioned by Ol' Blue Eyes' family. So sanctioned that it's bursting with enough memorabilia to stock a museum; not only photos, but gold records, Grammys and Frank's Best Supporting Actor award for From Here to Eternity grace the dining room, which puts a glossy, post-modern spin on Sinatra's signature Palm Beach style.

Heading up the kitchen is executive chef Theo Schoenegger (formerly of LA's Patina) whose Italian cuisine eschews red sauce and Mama Dolly's pasta for dishes possessed of a more minimalist elegance with a few simple, fresh ingredients applied to maximum effect. Order up a chairman-approved cocktail and toast the good life.

Frank Sinatra's classic My Kind of Town, makes several references to famous Chicago landmarks as in the line "Chicago is the Wrigley Building," I'd like to think that if Old Blue Eyes were a fan of that city's food, the tune's first line would be: "Now heartburn like this could only happen to a guy like me/And only happen in a town like this."

After all, the Windy City is the inventor of deep-dish pizza and the Chicago hot dog, two gutbusters guaranteed to make you reach for the Rolaids. Today's edition of The Toledo Blade had a fascinating article on the history of these classic dishes and several others.

One of the most important features of a Chicago hot dog, apart from the truckload of toppings, is the wiener's texture, it should have a distinct snap when you bite into it. One thing that should never dress a Chicago dog is ketchup. Most everything else seems fair game, though. Chicago dogs are dressed with mustard, bright green relish, chopped onions, pickled hot peppers, tomato slices and dill pickles. The one optional ingredient is celery salt, which goes back to the days when the city was a big producer of celery.

I must confess that Chicago's other claim to culinary fame, deep-dish pizza, doesn't rank very high on my list. Nevertheless, it was interesting to learn that what I consider to be a horrible pie was first served at Riccardo's in 1943, and that Pizzeria Uno was started by that restaurant's liquor manager.

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With the all the scurrying around that preceded Christmas, I missed the obit for Jerry Berns, the longtime host and co-owner of New York City's famed 21 Club. Berns, who welcomed presidents and celebrities, until he sold the onetime speakeasy in 1985 for $21 million died at the age of 99.

The number 21 figures not only in the club's address (21 W. 52 St.), but it also happens to be the date that the affable Berns passed away, December 21, 2006, to be exact.

Known as Mr. Jerry, Berns was associated with 21 for 50 years. During that tenure he warmly welcomed everyone who walked through the doors from the likes of Frank Sinatra and Humphrey Bogart to more ordinary folks. Berns also served as a trustee of the Culinary Institute of America. Thanks to his efforts to spur the directors to move the CIA to Hyde Park, N.Y., he was one of the first people to be named to its Hall of Fame.

Incidentally the number plays another eerie role in the restaurant's history. Pete Kriendler, the other co-owner also died on December 21, five years earlier in 2001. As far as I can tell the number 21 has nothing to do with the number of chutes and levers that helped the club avoid detection by the police during its heyday as a speakeasy.

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