~ Malden Musings ~ A Menu of Memories: The Highland Café’s Timeless Taste of Malden

By Peter Levine

The world we knew… Here we have (yet another) tribute to Malden’s iconic Highland Café and its indomitable General Manager (and much more) Dave Angelo. Through the marvels of modern technology, I am revisiting the delight I felt upon receiving a dogeared copy of an old Highland Café menu. Yes, here I am being a bit overly schmaltzy/nostalgic, but if you knew the (old) Highland, you know the feeling of which I speak and will kindly forgive the maudlin ramblings of former patrons in the September of their years…

Little known fact department: Wyc Grousbeck sealed the deal for the purchase of the Boston Celtics back in 2002 at a booth at the Highland Café. But I digress…

There’s a little piece of Malden that can never be erased, even by time. It’s woven into the fabric of old Edgeworth, where the air carried the sweet scent of Pearl Street Bakery’s bread, mingling with the hum of Tricca’s jukebox, the aroma of steak tips and roasted potatoes on the grill at Brandano’s and the crackling warmth of an oven baking the one and only Highland Café pizza. It’s a place that doesn’t live in history books, but in the hearts and minds of everyone who ever slid into one of those red vinyl booths or sat at the old bar with a cold Gansett and a heaping plate of veal cutlet parm.

The Highland Café menu that I possess, somewhat torn and frayed, but still holding strong after all these years, is more than just a relic. It’s a time capsule, packed with stories – stories of who we were and what we loved.

It’s a snapshot of a simpler time when the drinking age was 18 (a golden age for many!) and the Mass. meals tax was a sweet 5%, leaving just enough for an extra Vodka Collins at the bar. Back when a sirloin steak dinner could set you back $4, and you didn’t have to rob a bank for a fried clam dinner at $2.50. But it wasn’t just about the food – it was also the people. And the Highland had the kind of people you didn’t forget (mostly because you were probably related to one or two or most).

Imagine this: the soft summer night air slipping through the door, carrying with it the chatter of old-timers and strangers alike sitting at the bar, possibly running numbers, most likely talking nonsense, eating, drinking, swapping stories like old friends did, even if they’d never even met before. There was magic in the way it all seemed to come together. That was Malden in the 1960s (and beyond). That was the Highland.

The ladies who made sure your coffee (and cocktails) never ran out – Anna Puleo, Donna Pitts, Lucy Lally, Jeannie Lamphier, Dianne Wishoski, Annette Magistro, Peggy Gennetti and Mary Cole (to name but a few) – weren’t just servers; they were the heartbeat of the place. You didn’t just get a meal; you got the feeling you were part of something larger, something warm and unspoken. A smile, a quick chat, a wisecrack or two and the knowledge that these were the women who would bring your meal to you with love – served with a side of endearment, even before you took your first bite.

The regulars who gave the place “character,” such as Paul “Smokey” Cole, Jimmy Damiano, Billy Gordon, Tommy Walsh from the Gas Company, Johnny Kerrigan, Tommy Bennett and, of course, Walter Hook, whose claim to fame was being one of the arresting officers of the alleged Boston Strangler Albert DeSalvo.

And let’s be real Maldonia – once again, how could we ever forget that famous Highland pizza? The signature dish that put the Highland on the map – so sacred that Dave Angelo guards the recipe today like it’s a family heirloom. A large cheese pizza for $2.60? Unheard of. Extra toppings for 35 cents? You could practically build your dream pie for pocket change. But it wasn’t just the price. It was the taste – that taste, which lived somewhere between crispy, golden perfection and warm, gooey comfort. A pizza baked from an oven so ancient, it practically whispered secrets of every plate that had ever been slid out onto that countertop (truth be told, many of them were mine!).

Those nights sitting at the bar – cold Schlitz in hand, the heat of that pie searing the air – felt like you were part of something that would never end. A slow, steady buzz filled the air as the best bartenders in Malden – Paul Gennetti, Ernie Ardolino Sr., Kevin Hanley, Pete Trabucco, Richie Morando, John Puleo, Jimmy Cahill and the one and only Dave Angelo – served drinks that felt like history itself. A Beefeater Martini, Scarlett O’Hara or a Sloe Gin Fizz – all poured with skill – each one an invitation to forget the outside world and sink into the world that existed only inside the Highland, a world where one phone call, by one bartender to his wife, will live in infamy, forever etched into our collective consciousness until death do us part. Insert a great big smiley face.

And the food!? It was the kind of food that was more than just a meal; it was a symbol of comfort, of home and of those unforgettable nights. A time and a place we will never, ever forget.

There was a rhythm to it all: the familiar faces, the classic hits on the jukebox – ”Feelings” by Morris Albert, “Rhinestone Cowboy” by Glen Campbell, “It Only Takes a Minute” by Tavares – and the jibber-jabber of old friends swapping stories after a game of hoop, bocce or softball. Those were the moments that defined the space, made it sacred. And when the last song played, when the lights dimmed and the laughter faded into the night, the memories didn’t fade. They stuck to the walls that Frankie Schifano renovated. They stayed alive in every corner of that building, in every sip of brew, in every bite of pizza, to this very day.

In the years that followed, you’d think of those nights when the world felt a little less complicated – when the bar stools and booths at the Highland weren’t just seats, but little corners of comfort, like home. And even now, when you look at that menu, with its quaint prices and faded ink, you can still hear the laughter, still taste the pizza and still feel the warmth of the people who made that place more than just a restaurant. It was a sanctuary, a gathering place, a living, breathing part of Malden.

And while we can never quite go back to those days, the memories live on. Kris Kristofferson’s words never rang truer: “I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single [Highland] yesterday.”

And in Malden, at the Highland, those yesterday’s still shine.

The best is yet to come… You probably thought Dave Angelo from Public Facilities was just another pretty face, didn’t ya? Wrong! Dave’s not just holding his own – he’s gunning for the title of “Top Dog,” nipping at the heels of Mike “The Professional” Bartlett as one of Eric Rubin’s best hires (newcomer Mike Martorano is said to be an up and comer also). But for anyone who knows his past, it’s no surprise. Before his Public Facilities journey, Dave was the backbone at Stinger Cahill’s Forestdale Cemetery (frankly, truth be told, word is that he made Stinger the star that he became) years after being kingpin in the local restaurant scene, the heart and soul behind the legendary Highland Café – that family-run haven with a history as rich as Dave’s memory.

Dave grew up in that iconic joint, practically raised in the kitchen alongside his father, John, who bought The Highland back in ’79. By 1990, Dave was the go-to guy, along with Steve Carlin, Derek Wilson, Frankie Kelly and a cast of hundreds over the years, cranking out up to 500 pizzas on a Friday night. Mornings started early with Dave scrubbing bathrooms and flipping the “open” sign by 8 for the regulars, though I can’t say I was one of them at that hour. By noon, he’d have the menu drawn up and be back in the kitchen, crafting what was easily the best pie in town.

But the stories don’t end there. Dave’s memory is like a vault – he remembers everything, including where, as they say, “all the bodies are buried.” Not that we’re talking literal bodies… well, most times anyways. After I forgot to mention The Highland in my “old man’s bar” piece some time back, Dave was quick to give me a good-natured nudge. And I’m glad he did because, in his massive repository of factoids, he reminded me of a little-known tidbit: Before it was the Highland (1940s?) it had an edgier moniker – “The Bucket of Blood” – thanks to a few too many legendary characters from back in the day who gave it too much “character.”

So, here’s to Dave Angelo: master pizza maker, public servant extraordinaire, guy with all the good stories (tall and otherwise) and the man with the patience of a Saint. For Dave, here are 20 questions for each time I beat him one-on-one under the lights at Devir Park back in the summer of ’73 (“Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” was the soundtrack to that summer btw). For Malden’s reading pleasure…breaking news, due to submission deadlines this article had to go to print without Dave’s answers. Fret not, they will appear at a later date. But here are a couple of answers anyway, with me taking liberties and venturing to guess he would have volunteered if time had allowed…. Amaka, Pete Trabucco, Miss Willard, Bert Cioffi, The Squire and Mr. Schlagel (insert smiley face).

As Peter Falk’s iconic TV character Columbo would say, “Just one more thing, sir” – it was a very good year…this menu, such an incredible piece of local history! This slice of Malden life is not just a memento of a bygone era, but a living tribute to the patrons, the flavors and the atmosphere that made the Highland Café so iconic to so many. I hope my humble reflections – the names, the prices, the music – painted at least a muted picture of a time and place where community and good food were the heart of everything. The original joint “where everybody knows your name.”

Postscript 1: To conclude… I hope you once again felt the warmth of that oven baking fresh pies, the hum of the jukebox playing those classic hits, the memory of Paul Gennetti gently asking you to drink up cuz it’s closing time, and the familiar buzz of the crowd enjoying the simple joys of a night out. And the names of the people who served, tended and poured – that’s the real heart of it.

Postscript 2: In closing… The specialness is not only that I have a physical piece of that history, but also the emotional connection that brings it all to life. This menu, with its prices and drinks, is not just a relic of the past, but a doorway back to a moment in time when everything was a little simpler – and yet, still felt full of meaning.

Postscript 3: In conclusion…I think it’s more than a “flashback”; it’s a reminder that those special little moments, shared with others in a place you love, are what stay with you. Whether it’s the smell of fresh bread, the laughter/buffoonery at the bar, or of toasts made, glasses raised – it all adds up to something much bigger than just an old meal. It’s about connection – both to the people who shared those moments with you and to the space where it all unfolded.

Postscript 4: Last but not least… Again, I apologize for heartstrings tugged (manipulated?) – and for meandering (guilty) – but if you know of how we/I feel, then you know. Those memories are something you wouldn’t trade for anything (well, maybe a Topps ’52 Mantle). They live on, as strong and cherished as ever, every time you look at that menu, every time you see Dave or his brother Johnny (Puleo) drive by the old Highland, or just plain remember those special days. Long live the Highland Café.

—Peter is a longtime Malden resident and a regular contributor to The Malden Advocate. He can be reached at PeteL39@aol.com for comments, compliments or criticisms.