Butcher in His Prime
the new-old schatzie's makes a move on the west side meat scene
it's possible that nobody loves meat like tony schatzie, a fifth-generation butcher who just made his way west from the other side of the park.
despite joining the already prestigious ottomanelli? brothers and oppenheimer prime meats in the neighborhood meat purveyor competition, schatzie isn't worried. especially since, in his not-so-humble opinion, he serves the best of everything.
"the best meat sauce you ever had, i make," he said.
that statement was followed by claims of serving the best brisket ("tell bobby flay to get his butt down here"), butter, cream cheese, dried pasta and, of course, the best meat.
resident nancy dobi would modify those declarations, slightly.
"the best thing about schatzie's is him. he's just so friendly and neighborly," she said.
born and raised in manhattan, schatzie (nobody calls him tony) has worked with meat for most of his life. even with the onslaught of mega food stores and the hyper-organic craze, he still manages to carve a niche for himself in the business.
"the only thing that keeps this business alive is selling a quality product," he said while inspecting cuts in his walk-in. "you see this?" he said, pointing to a vacuumed-sealed hunk of meat. "it's marbling, this, it's a prime london broil."
schatzie's moved to amsterdam avenue and west 87th street in january after closing the madison avenue location due to a steep rent hike. the new-old schatzie's prime meats sits next to another legend, the 100-year-old barney greengrass, "the sturgeon king."
one recent afternoon, as schatzie pointed out photos of his father working the old shop and one of him at age 13, another repeat customer came in.
"do you have the fried oysters today?" the young puerto rican woman asked as she sipped a milky iced coffee.
schatzie gazed at her over the shiny surface of the meat case and produced a small bowl of the palm-sized oysters. as he packaged them up he gently flirted, something he does naturally, but without intent. after all, schatzie knows that when he gets home, his girlfriend of 15 years will cook up the piece of meat he brings, light some candles, pop the wine and the pair will have their nightly romantic dinner.
this kind of old-fashioned approach to life is something schatzie revels in and mourns the loss of.
"when i first broke in [to the business], only woman, never a man, would come in," he said as he cooled off by the beverage fridge. "but now, the way people shop is different and everything is so expensive. by the time people get here, they don't have any money left."
aside from the change in clientele, the art of butchering is something that has gently faded-though a recent resurgence is slowly creeping through the outer boroughs. now we are accustomed to prepackaged chicken legs and disguising meat to look less like an actual animal.
when schatzie first sold a piece of meat at the age of 12, he had yet to cut his own tenderloin or chop.
"first thing i was allowed to do was cut the liver," he said. "next, i got to clean the chicken guts and then, only then, you got to talk to the ladies."
the family opened its first butcher shop in 1911 in astoria, queens. in the 1920s they moved to west 104th street and broadway, and then to the bronx. that shop closed in 1969 and relocated to the upper east side. the upper west side new shop is much like the east side location and even boasts the original cooler door, which was taken by his grandfather in the 1930s from one store and placed on each new refrigerator. because the health department frowns on using an 80- plus-year-old wooden door around raw food, schatzie hung the relic on the wall, next to the original cash register that his father used. he also still has, and uses, his father's half-a-century-old biro meat saw and old-school meat grinder.
where will all this history and paraphernalia go once schatzie, a young-looking 67-year-old, retires? his two sons, jimmy, 22, an actor, and richard, 28, an assistant coach, both chose other careers. for now, at least, schatzie isn't thinking about it and continues to get up each morning at 7 a.m. to prepare scrumptious cuts of grass-fed beef, free range chickens, piles of barbequed brisket, fried chicken, lamb legs and an array of freshly made salads. twelve hours later, when he is done hacking apart pork shoulders, slicing hunks of meat into steaks and gabbing with the clientele, his day finishes. he packs up and goes home to dinner and music lessons ("i sing dean martin and frank sinatra"), knowing that he spent the day serving and "trying to find whatever i can that is really better."