Double Decker, Cannibal Sandwiches (1891); Roast Beef a la Astor House (1893); Bowery Lingo (1899)

[Barry Popik]

27 April 1891, San Antonio (TX) Daily Light, pg. 11?, col. 1:
SANDWICH-EATING DETROIT
<i>The Combination of Bread and</i>
<i>Meat the Leading Delicacy.</i>
Detroit Free Press.

"How many sandwiches are consumed un Detroit daily?" was asked of a
dealer in the more or less toothsome articles yesterday.

"You will not believe me," he answered, when I tell you that
Detroiters eat daily 10,000 sandwiches, yet that is a low estimate."
(...)(Col. 2)
The sandwich man concluded his philosophic homily on life and eating
with a seductive list of the various kinds of sandwiches that tickle
the public palate. As he gave them they are as follows: Turkey,
chicken, ham, oyster, sardine, salmon, ox tongue, roast beef, egg,
orange marmalade, double deckers and cannibal -- The latter meaning a
raw beef sandwich, being especially adapted to prize-fighters, and so
forth.
...
...
...
15 November 1893, Salem (OH) Daily News, pg. 3, col. 4:
<i>A Luscious Sandwich.</i>
There is served at the house restaurant -- and for that matter at the
senate restaurant -- a dish that is fit for the interior of any man,
high or low, rich or poor, old or young, whom the Lord has ever
suffered to live and sin. It is composed of a couple of slices of
tender beef, divinely roasted, inclosed between slices of bread,
divinely browned, and over all is poured a half pint of the golden
juice of the meat, vulgarly known as gravy, but whose right name is
"ambrosia." This dish in its entirety is down on the bills as "hot
roast beef sandwich." It had its birth in the once famed Astor House
and is the favorite brain child of a cook upon whom one day descended
an inspiration. For a long time it was distinguished upon the capitol
cartes as "a la Astor House." It has become so much a favorite with
the feeders in the big building, however, that its New York patronymic
has been dropped. -- Washington Post.
...
...
...
27 January 1899, Sandusky (OH) Star, pg. 1, col. 4:
OUR NEW YORK LETTER
<i>Bowery Eating House Lingo -- Snowshoes</i>
<i>in New York -- A Costly </i>
<i>Strip of Land.</i>

[Special Correspondence.]
Bowery English is a language of its own. It is distinctly foreign to
the Anglo-Saxon commonly in vogue in the ordinary walks of life. It is
used almost exclusively in the restaurants of the thoroughfare and is
apt to startle strangers. For instance, a customer not accustomed to
the life of the Bowery, who wandered into one of its restaurants by
mistake, might call for ham and eggs, and the waiter would yell to the
cook. "A slice for a gazabo wid a souvenir from de feather factory."
Or perhaps the customer would desire two eggs fried plain. The
waiter's order to the kitchen would be in the choicest Bowery dialect
about as follows. "T'row on a pair of de white wings an have de sunny
side up." A glass of milk would bring forth an order for cow juice
"wid an overcoat." A steak, "number seven;" beef stew, "mixed Irish,"
pork and beans, "Boston labor and Chicago capital," corned beef
sandwich, "stare the cow in the face;" mush and milk, "disturbed hen
fruit;" Spanish omelet, "Santiago cake walk;" chocolate eclair,
"French roll wid black dirt on it;" rice and cream, "Chinese white
wedding," and so on until every article on the bill of fare has its
own name. "Why do we talk dat way to de cooks?" asked one of the
waiters in reply to a query. "Why, dem blokies wouldn't know what
youse wuz talkin about if youse said it any udder way."

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