Last week Mr. Sax and
I took a trip to Atlantic City. If your only idea of the town is through the
HBO series, “Boardwalk Empire,” you’re getting some of the flavor, but hardly
the whole enchilada. The city’s history, tied to booze and vice, is woven into
the present. A.C. is still a gamey, even ridiculous, place, but that’s part of
the charm, or at least that’s my opinion.
I grew up in Atlantic
City. It was my childhood home. I lived on Raleigh Avenue and attended the
Richmond Avenue School. For the most part, my part of town was staunchly middle
class. My best friends fathers were a surgeon, a psychiatrist, and a funeral
director. My own father, while still alive, was in the music business. Elementary
school is one big blur, but memories of life outside school remain vivid. Four
seasons of the year we played on the beach and walked the boards. We lived on
sub sandwiches, frozen custard, fish freshly caught. We rode bikes or took the
Jitney or walked by ourselves everywhere. We were savvy at dealing with
tourists. By 10, I was an expert panhandler.
My mother wore a mink
stole when she left the apartment. In those days, the grand hotels, the Marlborough
Blenheim, the Traymore, the Claridge, the Shelburne, the Ritz Carlton, the
Ambassador, and Chalfonte-Haddon Hall were still in operation, but the mid
1960’s, the town was seriously run down. It was a big deal when Atlantic City
was chosen to be the site of the 1964 Democratic Convention. Lyndon Johnson
actually stayed in a beautiful house very near our apartment. The convention
and the press coverage, however, cast a harsh light on the corruption of the
city, and afterwards things faded fast. By the early ‘70’s, the grand hotels
were being demolished and the town was overcome with drugs and pimps and the
homeless.
Legal casino gambling
revived Atlantic City, bringing thousands of visitors back to the shore. In
1978 Resorts International opened its doors. I’m not here to argue whether
legalized gambling really is a good thing, but I am happy about the new and
glam Revel entertainment complex.
Erected in what was for 50 years the most blighted part of the city, The
Inlet, Revel, which is gorgeous, got off to a rocky start. Morgan Stanley, the
90% majority owner, discontinued funding for continued construction, and put
its stake in Revel up for sale. Love him or hate him, Governor Chris Christie offered
Revel $261 million in state tax credits to assist the casino once it opened.
Will the state’s gamble pay off? It’s a big bet with lots
at stake. Not being a gambler, I still proposed to my spouse a visit to Revel to
celebrate a major anniversary. Major foodies, over two and a half days and
nights we dined at world class restaurants featuring Iron Chefs, Michelin
chefs, James Beard Award winners, and food concepts from New York, Philadelphia
and Washington, D.C. We laid out in the sun. We swam in the outdoor pool. We
walked the beach and the boards until our feet were falling off.
Speaking of food, what didn’t I eat? I had Sack O Subs, Steel’s
Fudge, Fralinger’s almond macaroons, clams on the half shell, steamed clams,
escargot. At American Cut, headed by Iron Chef Marc Forgione, Mr. Sax had a
steak he raved about. I loved Robert Wiedmaier’s Mussel Bar. At Village
Whiskey, we snacked on Iron Chef Jose Garces’s duck fat fries and deviled eggs.
Other famous chefs featured at Revel include Alain Allegretti, Luke Palladino,
and Michel Richard. On Saturday we lunched at Bally’s at Harry’s Oyster Bar.
Located just off the Boardwalk, under an umbrella in the sun, I had a half
dozen little neck clams on the half shell, followed by an order of steamers in
garlic broth. Mr. Sax had a grilled seafood platter featuring lobster, clams,
scallops, oysters, flounder, and crab cake. Buzzed on Bloody Mary’s, afterwards
we entered an arcade at the base of Steel Pier to spend $20 in quarters playing
Skee ball. That was great.
A friend back home had asked me to place a bet for her on
the roulette wheel, but we didn’t do it because we can’t gamble. Neither Mr.
Sax and I could make sense of the slot machines, and we were afraid to lose our
shirts at the blackjack tables or in the poker room, or at mini baccarat, or
craps. We did get a kick out of
Ivan Kane’s Royal Jelly Burlesque Club, where round the clock pretty
women wearing very little prance and strut their stuff.
What was my favorite part of the trip, aside from a chance
to walk past my favorite childhood haunts and the homes of my old friends? It
was Mr. Sax’s unrestrained joy returning to our room at 4 a.m. after an hour
and a half of dancing at the HQ night club when he was too wound up to sleep.
They were hosting a Madonna party, as the singer was in town. “The doorman was
stopping lots of people, but he let me right in,” my husband gloated, slipping
between the sheets. He attributed this to a cool hat purchased that afternoon
at Irene’s. His elation was so
exciting. I was so glad for him.
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