From VOICES: Foodways by Lynn Case Ekfelt

Volume 33
Spring-Summer
2007

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It wasn’t until the early 1980s that a college boy in the wee hours of the morning ordered “the plate with all that garbage on it,” giving it the name that stuck and became so popular that the restaurant now has trademarked it.

Lynn Case Ekfelt is retired from her position as a special collections librarian and university archivist at St. Lawrence University. She is the author of Good Food Served Right: Traditional Recipes and Food Customs from New York’s North Country (Canton, New York: Traditional Arts in Upstate New York, 2000), available on-line from our New York Traditions gallery store.

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Nick Tahou's Garbage Plate by Lynn Case Ekfelt

Warning: Those suffering from high cholesterol should avoid reading this column. The descriptions alone may cause fatal clogging of the arteries.

Nick Tahou (pronounced like Nevada’s Lake Tahoe) is no longer alive, but the “garbage plate” served at his restaurant is still a mainstay of Rochester cuisine—primarily of the late-at-night-after-the-bars-close variety. Still, when my husband and I stopped for lunch at the original downtown Nick Tahou’s (yes, there now is a suburban branch), we found the place filled with customers, most of whom were happily tearing into garbage plates, although there are plenty of other items on the menu.

We had been just a bit apprehensive, having learned that the restaurant was no longer open twenty-four hours because there had been so many incidents there involving various weapons. However, a friend who is a native Rochesterian assured us we’d be fine eating there in the daytime and that we had to go to the original restaurant to get the authentic atmosphere. The clientele proved to be a happy multiracial mix of young businessmen in suits and ties, teens in baggy pants or sweats with baseball caps, old men in neatly pressed khakis and windbreakers, office workers, and three-generation families, with everyone much too busy eating to cause trouble.

My husband put me in charge of ordering, so while he grabbed a seat for us at one of the formica-topped tables, I went up to the busy counter and threw myself on the mercy of the young woman taking orders, explaining that I had no idea how to go about arranging a garbage plate. She very kindly walked me through the vast number of choices. You don’t just order a plate—you build one. For the bottom layer, you have a choice of two starches from the following list: cold baked beans, home fries, French fries, and macaroni salad. The next layer consists of any two of the following (again, your choice): cheeseburger, hamburger, steak, hotdog, white hot, red hot, grilled cheese, eggs, fried ham, chicken, or fish. Next come the optional chopped onions and mustard. Finally the entire plate is smothered in the secret meat sauce and served with Frank’s Red Hot sauce.

After some consideration I selected the beans and home fries base, topped with red hots and a cheeseburger, and, of course, the onions and mustard. When I carried the plate and its accompanying bread and butter back to the table, we stared at the mound of food and congratulated ourselves on our foresight in ordering just one plate to share. As I understand plate etiquette, the real aficionados stir everything together before eating it. That seemed excessive, since the individual items were already fairly well indistinguishable, so we settled for shaking Frank’s over the whole thing and tucking into it with our plastic forks. Interesting—although I don’t expect I’ll ever become a real fan of cold baked beans.

A sign over the counter proclaims that this restaurant, the home of the original garbage plate, was established in 1918. Apparently the roots of the plate lie in a dish called “hots and potatoes,” consisting of two hot dogs accompanied by either cold baked beans or home fries—very filling for hungry workmen during the Depression, according to Becky Mercuri in Sandwiches That You Will Like (2002). It wasn’t until the early 1980s that a college boy in the wee hours of the morning ordered “the plate with all that garbage on it,” giving it the name that stuck and became so popular that the restaurant now has trademarked it.

On her web site “What’s Cooking America,” Linda Stradley tells us that, although many other restaurants in the area have jumped on the bandwagon and serve similar plates, all have been legally required to give their dishes other names such as Dumpster Plate, Dog Dish, and my favorite: Plat du Refuse. There’s even a web site, www.geocities.com/garbageplates, that rates all such plates in the city, should you be planning a visit and want to sample the best of the best.

Doubtless the many fine chefs in Rochester cringe to think that their city is best known for its garbage plates, but generations of returning alumni from colleges as far away as Ithaca can’t wait to stop in Rochester for a plate—by whatever name.

Garbage Plate Meat Sauce

It goes without saying that Nick Tahou’s sauce recipe is a secret. Should you want to try making your own garbage plate, however, the following recipe is a ballpark approximation.

½ pound twice-ground beef
½ teaspoon chili powder
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon dry mustard
½ teaspoon black pepper
¼ teaspoon salt
1¼ cups water

Combine the ingredients and simmer for two hours, replacing water as needed to keep the meat from drying out. Serve over your choice of meats and starches.

Lynn Case Ekfelt’s Foodways column was published in Voices Vol. 33, Spring-Summer 2007. Voices is the membership magazine of the New York Folklore Society. To become a subscriber, join the New York Folklore Society now.