Celebrating 100 years of Harriet, the heart of Stage Deli
Good morning, pastrami lovers!
Today, I want to talk about my mother, Harriet. Of course, my father was the soul of Stage Deli, but my mother was its beating heart.
July 6th would have been her 100th birthday. So, to commemorate her centennial, we threw a big party (with a rather large feast, of course). Family and friends all gathered as we told stories about my mom. For those who couldn’t make it in person, we solicited letters and emails from distant relatives in California and New York. Everyone responded. It was such a special event, and a fine opportunity to not only celebrate her life, but to freshen her memory for the younger generation, too. For them to understand who she was and her indelible impact on not just the Stage, but every single person who met her. It’s crucial to preserve our collective heritage.
My mom was many things, but for the Stage, she was the consummate hostess. The charming, energetic, beautiful, always perfectly dressed mistress of ceremonies. It was a perfect partnership between my mother and father, both romantically and professionally.
My father was the structure: the recipes, the execution, the sheen of the kitchen. But my mother was the glue. More than that, she was the beauty, the artwork, the very aesthetic of Stage. She held the deli together with her charm, elegance, and oh, her joy. My mother’s middle name was, fittingly, Joyce. She was the very epitome of the name, possessing an uncanny ability to make every person who came into the deli feel like a long-lost best friend.
Running a restaurant was not something my mother signed up for when she got married. Harriet grew up in a well-to-do household. Her parents had other plans for her. They didn’t envision her schmoozing and hobnobbing at a restaurant. But, when Jack opened Stage in 1962, she took to the business immediately.
The loving hospitality — the softer side of running a restaurant — came naturally to her. Fit like a white glove. Remember, in her younger days she was a stage performer with local Jewish women's groups. She would perform Broadway musicals, and she just loved being on stage dancing and singing. My mother, Harriet Joyce Victor, was a fountain of joy and exuberance. It sprung from her like rising water, and everyone, including Dennis Rodman (yes, that Dennis Rodman), recognized it.
One of my favorite stories about her was her relationship with Rodman. Back in the early 90’s — the “Bad Boys” era of the Detroit Pistons — Rodman started coming into the restaurant by himself. Nobody knew how he heard of the place, but he quickly struck up a relationship with my mother. Obviously, he came with a reputation. He was sort of a lost child who needed guidance, and my mother loved to nurture.
They were a perfect match, Dennis and Harriet. She loved to engage with lost souls. So, he would often come into Stage after lunch, around 2 or 2:30 when the restaurant was a little quieter, and he would sit and talk with my mother. Sometimes for two hours! When he was on the road, he would sometimes call into the restaurant. My sister, Sheila, would answer the phone, and he would say, “Hey Sheila, it’s the black sheep of the family.” He actually considered himself part of the family. That’s how much he took to my mother. They would talk like mother and son.
In fact, when he took a hiatus from basketball and considered coming back, he got my mother to go with him to a game. To this day, Dennis lives in our basement (kidding! — please don’t take that part seriously). Anyway, the point is my mother was able to see the humanity in every person. Everyone loved her. She made people feel good, and worthy, and human. She had a knack for that.
My mother also loved to bake. Any sort of family gathering we had, there were more desserts than people. We would throw these incredible parties on New Year’s Day. My parents would put out a glorious spread — mounds of meats and cheeses and fishes and salads. But the star was always at the dessert table. At least fifteen different desserts.
Harriet is the reason that desserts are still such a prominent fixture here at the Stage — directly responsible for our coffee cake, bobka, carrot cake, rugelach, and our delicious chocolate cake. She built a wonderful foundation of colorful desserts here, and to honor her legacy, we expanded upon that bedrock, serving an outlandish selection of confectionery treats, each one made with her unique sense of sweetness. Every so often, I pull up one of her old recipes and start baking. It’s a way to stay connected to her after all these years.
To this day, my mother’s grace and my father’s chutzpah remain my guiding light. I strive to be a blend of both my mother and father (biologically, mission accomplished). I’m a chef in the kitchen and I aim to be a gregarious host in the dining room — a 50/50 blend of Jack and Harriet. No, I’m not as good as either of them (don’t remind me!), but I like to think I got pretty darn close.
So huzzah to Harriet Joyce Victor, her 100th birthday, and her enduring legacy. May her memory remain as sweet as her coffee cake.
- Steve Goldberg