The Pottsville Dairy

Most cities have hundreds of streets, but one or two streets always become better known than the others. It may be because of the shopping opportunities, the nightlife, or historical significance, but it’s the streets that the tourists and travelers always visit and snap pictures of. Remember the last time you were on Beale Street in Memphis? Now you know what I am talking about.

  Mahantongo Street in Pottsville is such a street.  Mahantongo Street is nestled on the foothill of Sharp Mountain (the mountain named after Necho Allen's favorite cheese), and it runs for approximately thirty blocks. It is Schuylkill County’s equivalent of Park Avenue, Champs-Élysées, Mulholland Drive, Wisteria Lane, Wall Street, Sesame Street, the Donner Pass and Rodeo Drive, all rolled into one.  Just imagine that conglomeration.

On a recent walking tour of charming Mahantongo Street, I was lucky enough to be at the Ice Cream Dairy when the Forbes list of richest people was breaking news on T-101.  The Dairy Owner was a trillionaire! Everyone at the dairy bar broke into thunderous applause -  an applause so loud that ice cream fell out of the cones as  hundreds of pigeons flew from the upstairs and out through the broken windows, circling the city in a victory lap before returning to the Dairy.

 The success of the Dairy was due to the popularity of one product and one product only, that of Prothonocherry Ice Cream.  It was the ice cream recipe that, I, bb trout, created and sold away to the Dairy for a song and a dance (specifically, the Hokey Pokey if you really want to know what song and dance) and it made the Dairy owner rich beyond belief.  It took time for the flavor to gain popularity. First, people had to learn how to spell and pronounce the name, but once that happened, Vanilla and Mustachio were both soon discarded to the dust bin of historical flavors.

 Now people just can’t get enough of it.  It is a hit at the Pottsville American Way Fair where it great on funnel cakes while taking in a Moon Walk ride.  Soon people from everywhere began to flock to Pottsville to get a double-dip cone and take photographs of America’s Oldest Ice Cream Dairy, where ice cream was originally dug out from the containers by the bare hands of breaker boys who moonlighted at the Dairy after leaving the mines.  The ice cream scoop had yet to be invented.  Incidentally, the breaker boys are credited with creating Rocky Road ice cream, another favorite in the city.

If you are not familiar with the Dairy, it is just a stone’s throw down from “Les Soupe Cuisine” – Pottsville’s critically acclaimed Français Soupe Kitchen. Yes! Now you know where it is!  Where lovers sit on the patio in the moonlight, listening to the voices of the Edith Piaf and Maurice Chevalier impersonators, while partaking of the soupe de jour, cheese fondue, the magnifique frog legs, and of course, pie a la mode (with Prothonocherry ice cream, of course).

 To the untrained eye the Dairy appears battered, dilapidated and decrepit, but that is part of its allure to the tourists who flock there in droves. It, along with the neighborhood, shed its patrician residential tone many decades ago.  The bourgeoisie was run out of town, resettling in Orwigsburg.

I heard some say that “the Dairy building should be cited for Quality of Life violations” While others say “a trillionaire could surely afford to replace the broken windows.” To them I say leave the building alone, give the citations to the hapless, tax-paying citizen who doesn’t’ shovel the snow within minutes of the snow landing on his or her sidewalk.  To the critics, I say our Dairy building is the mirror of our city, a reflection of our inner souls, it is what we have become. To the critics I say, "Qu'on leur coupe la tête! Now can I finally have another scoop of Prothonocherry? And make it a double dip, s'il vous plaît.”

                                                                       Please watch this video.
                                                            S'il vous plaît regardez cette vidéo.

basketball and soup

February and March are the months when all the tourists flood into Pottsville, and I don’t like it. For one thing, it is hard to cross Market Street carrying pepperoni pizzas with all the cars heading to and from Martz Hall. Yes, Martz Hall. It is basketball season you know. The Hall is the site of countless play-off games. Basketball is popular around here; so popular that some people’s skin actually turns orange and bumpy. People come here from all over eastern Pennsylvania to watch the games. On Feb 8th, the line of traffic was so heavy for the Pine Grove- Marian girls’ game and the Shamokin-North Schuylkill game my pepperoni pizzas got cold as I waited to cross the street. Luckily, in a few weeks it will all be over and these out-of-towners will be gone. Pottsville will get back to its sleepy self.

Not many of you realized that this is the city’s biggest tourist season. That‘s because we try to keep it quiet. Too much attention may get these visitors to stay awhile. You know, maybe they would want to get a bite to eat after the game if they had information on what’s available. If that happens, then that means the locals, including me, may have to wait longer to get served. That is intolerable. That is why there are banners on all of the entrances to the city proclaiming, “Welcome to Pottsville. Enjoy the Games and Hurry Home!”

Some people suggested that the city tap into these visitors with promotions –flyers could be given out to at the door with discount coupons to local restaurants and promoting other things in the area. They say that it could be a boost for the local economy. I think this is a terrible idea. These basketball games are for families, and families should go home and eat together, not roaming around our streets. Also, I like the peace and quiet of eating in a restaurant where I recognize every single face. Unfamiliar faces make me paranoid when I am dining.
By the way, my favorite food is soup; any kind of soup – gazpacho, cold beet borscht, bouillon, gumbo, consommé, bouillabaisse, porridge, broth, chowder, or even vichyssoise. If it’s not liquid, I don’t want it.

Not surprisingly, my favorite local restaurant is the Soup Kitchen on Mahantongo Street. It’s right across the street from the Yuengling Brewery, the biggest tourist attraction in the city. Sometimes the tourists leave the brewery, take photographs and then head over the Soup Kitchen for a bowl of the “soup de jour”. The Kitchen is the only eatery within walking distance. Yes, I know the Creamery is also across the street, but even if you could get inside the locked-up Yuengling dairy, you won’t find anything edible inside anymore, not even one stale ice cream cone. That is why I stick to soup.
Some people have suggested that having a restaurant or bistro near the Brewery would be good for both the local economy and the city image that is projected to the thousands of tourists visiting the Brewery. Again, I argued vehemently against that idea. Pottsville should be for Pottsvillians. These goody two-shoes can hand out packets of Sweet ‘n Low to the hungry tourists as they leave the Brewery if they are so worried about their hunger pains. That should be enough to tide them over until they get out of the city. Give me a break. I want to be left alone with my soup.

This weekend, before heading to a basketball game, I plan to dine alone at the Kitchen, I will crumble some soda crackers, and then slowly consume only the vowels in my alphabet soup. You know, A, E, I. O, and U; in that order. I will then ask for a doggy bag and carefully remove all of the consonants and take them with me to the game.

We are in the midst of March madness around here and everyone goes nuts.