'The two passions of my life' says Frank Janisch, 'are Cooking and Theatre.' Since January 2002, he has pursued both his callings with Frankie J's Supper Club—whose dazzling neon sign shines like a beacon on the dark and forlorn stretch of Broadway just above Montrose—and upstairs, the Methadome cabaret, which hosts a revolving roster of fledgling comedy and improv ensembles. In April of this year, however, the double-threat entrepreneur took the next logical step in his fusion of Bread And Circuses, launching the cooking show+musical comedy+dinner party entitled Frankie J Supperstar.
The concept of Dinner Theatre dates from the early 1960s, when the Candlelight Playhouse in Summit, Ill., invited customers to a post-prandial play viewed from their tables. Later, the Set Gourmet Theatre and still-running Tony 'N' Tina's Wedding introduced the notion of dramatic action alternating with the various courses of the meal (a convention enduring in the ubiquitous Dinner/Murder Mystery companies playing nationwide). But Supperstar takes advantage of the club kitchen's resemblance to a stage to create a multi-discipline extravaganza whose focus is the meal itself.
We enter to find the usually open-to-view Frankie-stein's laboratory shrouded in a blackout curtain. We hand our alcoholic beverages over to a waiter (due to bizarre zoning restrictions, Frankie J's does not have a liquor license), and are informed by composer/ maître d'hôtel Tyler Bohne that on this Labor Day weekend, the piano player has gone AWOL and so the songs tonight will be performed a cappella. This news dissuades no one from staying.
While waiting for the show to start, we munch on bread still warm from the oven, accompanied by cocktails. Soon the lights dim, the servers assemble at the room's rear and burst into a rousing—if a bit unevenly pitched—chorus of 'Frankie J/Supperstar/Are you the chef that they say you are?/Frankie J/Supperstar/Why won't they let you put in a bar?' At its climax, the curtain is swept aside to the reveal the title character.
Janisch's credentials include certification from the Culinary Institute of America ('That other CIA' he quips) in addition to extensive experience studying and working at the ImprovOlympic. He welcomes us, directing our attention to the evening's bill of fare—listed with recipes—and warns us that he will be asking for volunteers to participate in the preparation of our dinner. 'Cooking is easy,' he assures us.
Our first volunteer—a matronly looking woman named Virginia—is given an apron and escorted to a spot downstage of the stoves, cabinets and real-life chef's assistants. A video-camera whose operator, I will later discover, is seated behind the pulled-back curtain soon has us gazing at a huge TV-monitor screen displaying close-ups of Virginia's hands as she chops onions, while Frankie recounts a childhood story of using the skins to decorate Easter eggs. By the time he remarks, 'This should only take 15 minutes, but with me talking, it's taking longer,' 17 portions of French Onion soup have been dished up. While we eat, Bohne—exhibiting a fine baritone voice—amuses us with a solo rendition of Herod's Song, the lyrics now altered to 'I am waiting/Yes, I'm a captive fan/I'm dying to be told that your sauces are not bland.'
My complacency is shattered when Frankie announces that I am to help with the salad. I protest my ignorance of the craft, but he insists that my inexperience makes me the PERFECT volunteer. I am happy to learn that the salad dressing is to be a vinaigrette and my contribution restricted to whisking oil and vinegar together. Frankie is patient and attentive at all times, addressing my fear of spilling something large and messy, answering my questions courteously—at the same time maintaining his audience patter and keeping an eye upstage on the arrangement of our demonstration greenfodder's 17 likenesses.
The enthusiastic strains of 'Food, Glorious Food' ('Show us how to prepare it/our entree's so huge/you might have to share it') heralds the shrimp scampi, sautéed with the assistance of another audience member as Frankie explains to us the difference between clarified and drawn butter and why the latter is better for this purpose. All I know is that it tastes wonderful, and that the comedy sketches provided by the waitstaff, followed by a soothing musical digestif ('Try not to eat too fast/No more indigestion/Spices that upset you now/You know that everything's all right/And we want you to eat well tonight') graciously permit us to savor our buttery provender without any pressure to hurry.
Frankie has whipped up, ex tempore, a plateful of chocolate-dipped strawberries for a couple celebrating their 55th wedding anniversary. 'Married 55 years,' he salutes them, 'And you chose to spend this very significant date in your life here, with me. I am honored to have you at my restaurant!' Janisch then reminds us that he was awarded a gold medal from his alma mater for his desserts, thus ascertaining that all eyes are on the TV-monitor for the arrangement of chocolate mousse served in a caramelized sugar-shell on a plate decorated with creams and syrups painted thereupon—techniques imparted by the prize-winning bonbonnier to a teenage audience member under the scrutiny of his date and several salivating spectators.
The finale includes musical homages to Brewer and Shipley, The Byrds, and Joan Osborne ('What if Frank were one of us?/Couldn't cook, like one of us?'), and a reprise medley of 'Food, Glorious Food' and 'Supperstar,' for which the singers don transvestite garb in memory of the 'Dragdalines' featured in the prototypical Taint! at the now-defunct Annoyance Theatre. We are then sent on our way, each of us now the proud owner of a cooking utensil (spatulas on the night I attended), the words of Frankie's gospel echoing after us into the night—'You don't have to be afraid of your kitchen any more.'
Frankie J Supperstar plays the last Sunday of every month at Frankie J's Supper Club, 4437 N. Broadway. Admission for the prix fixe dinner show is $42 per person and reservations are required. For further information, phone (773) 769-2959.
