Greetings from...

From Scoops to Nuts

Published on Tuesday, 22 January 2013 17:26

Written by David Bennett

A tribute to Ray Klavon

We first published this story in By The Way magazine, number 4 back in 2003. We re-post this now in tribute to Ray Klavon, a great guy who did a great thing by reintroducing the classic ice cream parlor to Pittsburgh's Strip District. Ray died last week at the age of 64.

Nostalgia sweeps over me whenever I step into Klavon's Ice Cream Parlor at the edge of the bustling Strip District in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It's more than the proprietor's handlebar mustache and the authentic, old time dessert treats, such as egg crèmes (using real U-Betcha syrup), phosphates, and sundaes. It goes beyond the old woodwork, the stained glass, and the old stools. Klavon's (pronounced kla-VON's) is no imitation; it's a genuine 1920s family-owned soda fountain and a must-see destination when visiting Western Pennsylvania.

James and Mary Klavon opened the store as a pharmacy back in 1923. Throughout the room, you can still see displays of old medicine bottles, scales, and remedies, although Klavon's no longer operates as a drug store. The pharmacy was boarded up in 1979 while grandson Ray Klavon pursued his teaching career in the Pittsburgh Public Schools. As Ray Klavon approached retirement, he reopened the store as an ice cream parlor in 1999 – and fans of old-time soda fountains can count themselves lucky that he did!

Twinkies Shminkies: Dinah Fingers point to a better treat

Published on Tuesday, 20 November 2012 11:03

Written by Randy Garbin

The lavishly creamy filling in a Dinah Finger.

With the whole world currently obsessing over the future of the Twinkie, I took the opportunity to travel up to the Red Arrow Diner in Manchester, New Hamphire to have a chat with owner Carol Sheehan. Long before the venerable snack cake made national news, Carol and crew had concocted her own version she called Dinah Fingers. 

On my drive up to New England, I stopped at a convenience store and snapped up package of original Twinkies, thinking that for old time's sake, I'd indulge just one more time. As a child, Twinkies were a go-to snack cake, and if I had a spare quarter (they cost about $1.50 now), I grab a package and wolf them down. I said farewell to the cake with much less enthusiasm, but at least I reminded myself why I don't eat them anymore. Lifeless, bland, and teaming with preservatives, this was an experience I would not miss. 

Ed Patrick's diner dreams take flight

Published on Tuesday, 13 November 2012 18:47

Written by Randy Garbin

Can a well-heeled, well-meaning diner neophyte keep his Tin Goose on course? 

The story of how the Tin Goose Diner flew into to Ohio starts with a bittersweet birthday present I gave to myself. On my birthday in March of 2008, I took the day to drive up to Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania  to talk to owner Noel Behan, the then-owner of the Sunrise Diner. The Sunrise was considered by most people in diner world as one of its most famous. Its degree of preservation and its unique, photogenic location tucked into this historic, railroad town and artist community made the Sunrise a top-ten roadside destination. Most people familiar with the Sunrise at least know it from any number of photos taken from the same vantage point: From a high angle up Packer Hill Road. If you have a collection of diner photos that includes the Sunrise, you likely have that shot.

The Sunrise Diner just before moving to Cleveland for restoration in 2008. The Sunrise had already languished on the market for at least a year when I got a call from Noel, where I listened to him kvetch about his recent dealings with Daniel Zilka and his fervent desire to replace this diner with a deck for his existing pub, J.T.'s Steakhouse. In a claim I've heard far too many times, he told me, "I'm willing to give it away. I just want it gone." 

Behan recently purchased the property next to his pub that happened to include this gorgeous-but-weathered 1949 O'Mahony diner. Reports in local television and papers drummed up only a few nibbles, but one of them was Zilka who pledged to Behan a five-digit payout that would never materialize.

I pressed Behan on the wisdom of replacing a famous and beloved historic landmark with a deck he could use only three months out of the year. "I don't want to be in the diner business," he replied adamantly. When I got home, I called Steve Harwin who soon after struck a deal with Behan that involved actual exchange of money, and the diner soon left Pennsylvania for the Diversified Diner workshop.