Brooklyn Knish History

Hey everyone, welcome back to *Brooklyn Echoes*, the podcast that keeps the borough’s legends and memories alive. I’m your host, Robert Henriksen.  Ah, those golden days of the 1960s and ’70s in Brooklyn, when the air hummed with the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the earthy aroma of fresh-baked knishes wafting from pushcarts and corner stores. Back then, as a kid roaming the streets or lounging on the beaches, the knish wasn’t just a snack—it was a ritual, a warm, doughy hug in wax paper that chased away the chill of a breezy afternoon or fueled your energy for stickball games on the block. Vendors dotted the borough like friendly sentinels, their carts steaming under the summer sun or bundled against winter winds, calling out “Hot knishes! Get ’em fresh!” in accents thick with the old country’s lilt. These weren’t fancy eateries; they were the heartbeat of neighborhoods from Canarsie to Brighton Beach, where immigrant families turned simple potatoes into portable feasts, stuffing them with onions, kasha, or cheese, fried crisp or baked soft.

Let’s start with the beaches, those sandy stretches where knishes reigned supreme. On Brighton Beach, under the shadow of the elevated tracks, vendors trudged through the crowds in the ’60s, their pushcarts laden with trays of golden squares, the oil still glistening from the fry. You’d hear them before you saw them, hollering over the crash of waves and the squeals of kids building sandcastles. A quarter got you one—piping hot, the flaky exterior giving way to creamy potato filling that melted on your tongue, maybe sprinkled with salt or dipped in mustard from a communal bottle. Over at Coney Island, amid the roar of the Cyclone and the scent of Nathan’s franks, knish sellers set up near the boardwalk, competing with cotton candy spinners for your allowance. In the ’70s, as the crowds swelled with families escaping the city’s heat, these beachside vendors became legends, their carts like mobile kitchens churning out dozens by the hour. One spot that bridged the beach and the street was Shatzkin’s Knishes, a Coney Island fixture since the ’20s, but thriving in our era with its no-frills stand dishing out potato pies to sunbathers and strollers alike, right there on Surf Avenue.

But the real queen of the knish scene was Mrs. Stahl’s in Brighton Beach, that iconic shop at the corner of Coney Island Avenue and Brighton Beach Avenue, under the rumbling El tracks. Founded back in 1935 by Fannie Stahl, a local who started peddling her homemade knishes on the beach in the ’20s, it hit its stride in the ’60s and ’70s as a pilgrimage site for anyone craving authenticity. Picture it: a modest storefront with a faded sign, the windows fogged from the ovens inside, where bakers rolled dough thin and stuffed it with secret-recipe fillings—potato for the purists, kasha for that nutty bite, or spinach for a twist. In those decades, it was open year-round, drawing lines of locals in bell-bottoms and kids in flip-flops, especially on weekends when families flocked from nearby apartments. For 25 cents, you’d snag one wrapped tight, the heat seeping through as you bit in, flakes crumbling onto the sidewalk. Mrs. Stahl’s wasn’t just a store; it was a community hub, where Yiddish banter flew over the counter, and regulars swapped stories while waiting. Even after Fannie passed the reins to family, the place kept its soul, outlasting rivals until the early 2000s, but in our youth, it was unbeatable—the knish that tasted like home.

Other stores peppered the borough, each with its own flair. In Coney Island, Hirsch’s Knishes popped up as a rival, frying up squares on West 12th Street, their greasy goodness luring beachgoers who wanted something heartier than ice cream. Over in Bensonhurst, small delis like those on 86th Street sold knishes alongside pastrami, but the real action was the pushcarts roaming neighborhoods. And oh, the vendors by name—folks like Ruby the Knish Man, that unforgettable figure in Canarsie, wheeling his metal cart through the streets in the ’60s and ’70s. Ruby Oshinsky, with his weathered face and booming voice, sold his mom’s homemade knishes—round, potato-packed beauties—outside schoolyards like P.S. 115 or on corners near Rockaway Parkway. For a dime or fifteen cents, kids would swarm him after the bell, the steam rising as he lifted the lid, handing over treasures that were still warm from the oven. Ruby was part of the bigger “Mom’s Knishes” operation, run by the Cohen and Oshinsky families, who at their peak had up to 30 pushcarts fanning out across Brooklyn, from Brownsville to Flatbush. In summers, Ruby headed to the Catskills, but come fall, he was back, a fixture in our daily adventures.

Then there was Joe Fama, the knish guy on the Lower East Side spilling over into Brooklyn vibes, pushing his cart along East Broadway in the ’70s, his calls echoing like a siren’s song for workers on lunch breaks. And don’t forget the unnamed but beloved “Hot Knish Guy” in Canarsie, a staple in the ’60s, slinging squares from his insulated box on avenues like Flatlands, where the scent drew you from blocks away. These pushcart sellers were everywhere—near Prospect Park on chillier days, offering warmth to picnickers, or in Crown Heights, where Jewish and Caribbean flavors started mingling in the ’70s. The Cohen family’s network meant vendors like Ruby’s kin dotted places like Sheepshead Bay, their carts stocked with kasha knishes for the fishermen coming off the boats. It was a family affair, with moms and wives baking in home kitchens, dads and sons peddling on the streets, turning humble spuds into a livelihood amid the changing city.

Those knishes on pushcarts and beaches captured the essence of Brooklyn’s youth—simple, satisfying, and shared. Whether you were dodging waves at Manhattan Beach with a salty one in hand or munching under the boardwalk lights at night, they were more than food; they were threads in the tapestry of block parties, school days, and lazy summers. Even as supermarkets crept in and tastes shifted, those vendors held on, their legacy baked into every bite we remember so fondly.

If you like this podcast, Check out our new Brooklyn Echo’s Audio podcast at The Brooklyn Hall of Fame were we have been recording episodes to stream  at your favorite streaming services like Apple or Spotify.