Omelet à la Stripper: How Gypsy Rose Lee Inspired My Love of Cooking

I am often asked about my culinary influences, and there were many. I have the usual suspects—my European family members, of course, and Julia Child and other TV chefs. But one was surprising: Gypsy Rose Lee. Yes, the stripper. She’s been dead for 56 years, but her name still resonates, mainly to show biz buffs who remember the musical based on her best-selling memoirs, *Gypsy.* In our current sexually charged era, strippers are downright quaint, and we might see a few bumps and grinds in old movies. But strippers were a lightning rod for moralist groups. In fact, most people would be surprised to know that Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia won his campaign to shut down New York’s burlesque houses as early as 1937. This meant that Gypsy and her curvy colleagues had to find other ways to pay the rent. Today, perhaps she would have migrated to OnlyFans, but back then her options were squeaky clean and limited. She ended up in Broadway musicals and revues (once replacing Ethel Merman in a Cole Porter show!), and even writing a mystery novel that was turned into a movie for Barbara Stanwyck. There’s your background about Gypsy and stripping. There is a line, spoken by a stripper, in *Gypsy*: “You’ll pardon me, but to have no talent is not enough. What you need to have is an idea that makes your strip special.” And Gypsy’s secret to success was her mind, which she put to good use. Her body was, to tell the truth, average, and her bust was certainly not her best feature (although she was statuesque). She was a top-notch conversationalist, and for a few years, she hosted a talk show on a local TV station in San Francisco. It aired every afternoon as I came home from school. I pulled up a chair in front of the miniature TV in the kitchen. I was spellbound as Gypsy interviewed all sorts of people, but especially the musical stars coming through the city with touring shows or at the big nightclubs like the Venetian Room, the Hungry I, and El Matador. I would end up cooking for a few of them. But what really drew me in were her live cooking demonstrations. Once, before signing off for a commercial, she told the viewers to gather eggs, salt, pepper, butter, a bowl, a fork, and a medium skillet, because when she returned, she was going to make a French omelet and we should cook along. I quickly gathered the ingredients. I was just old enough (around 12) to reach the range, and I had plenty of confidence because my parents had taught their three boys how to really cook—beyond cold cereal and sandwiches. Mom said it was for selfish reasons so she could stay in bed longer. But when she went back to work when I entered junior high, my brother Greg and I took responsibility for making the family dinner. (Doug was still too young.) My brothers are great cooks, but not professionally. Gypsy was a good teacher, and I managed to make a very respectable omelet. One of the things she emphasized is that a French omelet is delicate and fluffy, with a -ale yellow exterior, and is cooked in a pan over low heat. It is not like the American diner version, which ends up golden brown from cooking on a griddle. I kept developing my omelet skills, which culminated when I took a job at a busy restaurant where I had to cook a couple hundred of them every weekend brunch—and lived to tell the tale. Barely. But when I worked on a cookbook with Sarabeth Levine, the Queen of New York Brunch, I picked up even more tips. Just don’t strip while you are cooking, as those butter burns can be hell. But Gypsy wasn’t the only stripper in my life. Many years later, my husband Patrick and I lived in a big loft apartment in Jersey City overlooking the World Trade Center. We had the top floor with a private roof garden, which sounds really cool, but it sadly gave us a front-row seat to the tragedy of 9/11. We never had contact with the owner, who was rumored to be a Russian businessman. Our contact was our building manager, a terrific, vibrant businesswoman, realtor Leona Beldini. Other tenants who grew up in Hoboken spread the rumor that she was the former star stripper, Hope Diamond, The Jewel of Exotic Dancers. (When New York outlawed burlesque, nearby New Jersey towns happily picked up the slack.) We blew this off as hearsay, but then three things happened. First, we were the only tenants in the building for about a year because gentrification in the Palisades neighborhood was just beginning. Two of the most popular restaurants in New Jersey are now in our local bodega and laundromat, to give you an idea of the current hip factor. One morning, Leona called us and asked: “Did you hear any strange noises last night?” No, it was quiet. “Well, someone broke into the apartments below you and stole all the appliances. A neighbor says they saw a moving van in front of the building, but that’s all we know.” That was chilling. We felt lucky no one came up to our floor. Then, a couple of years later, we were watching the news on TV when a story about fake antiques came on. We recognized the owner of our building as the protagonist: a Russian with an antiques shop in New York City. It turned out that he had a record in antique trafficking! Had he upset someone, and they decided to take payment in the form of dishwashers and washing machines? I never found out. Lastly, Leona had a run-in with the law over allegations in a political scandal concerning her role as our town’s Deputy Mayor. There is an entire book on the subject, *The Jersey Sting*. I am not going to comment on that point in her life. All I can say is that our dealings with her were great and she was the best building manager I ever had. But in the publicity around her trial and (and conviction, at age 75), it came out that she really was Hope Diamond, which only gave me more respect for her. While we never shared recipes, I’d kill for that waist! My people will call your people. Rick P.S. Want more of the good stuff? Paid subscribers get access to The Recipe Box, where I keep the best recipes I’ve collected over a lifetime in food and publishing. Pull up a chair, because there’s plenty more to dish. Uncovered with Rick Rodgers is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Uncovered with Rick Rodgers at rickrodgers.substack.com/subscribe