Manhattan's Master of Toasters; The World's Fair Ice-Skating Rink

I thought nothing could top the stupidity of the TV Guide crossword puzzle (sample clue: "Play or Movie: Cat on a Hot Tin ____"), but a certain unnamed game show came close the other night, with this question: "What is the main ingredient in toast?"

I snorted with the disdain I used to reserve for Carl Sagan, but then it struck me that maybe it was an existentialist type of query. Perhaps the most important ingredient in toast is the toaster itself. One person who would certainly agree with me is Michael Sheafe, who enthusiastically sells working vintage toasters at two Manhattan flea markets, and also has a website, Toaster Central.

"It started a few years ago," he says, "when I bought a 1937 Sunbeam toaster at a sale in an old barn. I polished it up, and I have been using it ever since. I found out later that the same model is in a collection at the Museum of Modern Art."

After that, he started going on buying sprees, rounding up the silvery machines and restoring them to their former glory. While Sheafe deals in other appliances, the odd waffle iron or the occasional popcorn popper, toasters remain his favorite thing. When you look at his website, it's hard to not get caught up in his enthusiasm. I never realized there were so many variations on the basic model. He goes into loving detail about the various Proctors, Kenmores, Sunbeams and Toastmasters that he has for sale, describing their Bakelite handles or the art-deco wheatsheaf designs etched into their sides. Each toaster offered for sale merits its own paragraph, highlighting what makes it so special.

For instance, the Proctor Dual Automatic, circa 1948, is listed as having an "ovoid case without a center seam and has braided trim where it joins the base." Not only was Yvonne De Carlo featured in its ads ("My Proctor rates an Oscar for perfect toast!"), it also boasted an unusual feature?either handle operated the push-down lever. Another model, a Sunbeam, had "Radiant Control" and no levers at all. Apparently, you just dropped the bread in, and when it was done, it rose up silently like a monolith.

One of the more interesting entries is about the Toastmaster 1B14. It sounded a little like some secret military weapon to me, and in fact the company did stop making toasters during WWII and started producing ammunition, among them shells for an antiaircraft gun known as the Chicago Piano. I wonder if, when confronted by pale, untoasted bread, diner patrons were told by sassy waitresses, "Hey, don't you know there's a war on?"

I asked Michael if he had a favorite toaster.

"The Birtman," he replied immediately. "I don't have all the manufacturing information, but it had a window on the side, so you could watch the toast."

I do adore everything about Toaster Central, from its old advertisements, such as the one that shows two couples making toast while watching television, to the recipes reprinted from the booklets that used to come with the toasters. If you're not ready to invest in an actual toaster, you can buy note cards that feature four of the best-looking models.

To really get the full force of Michael's personality, though, one should visit his booth, where he will regale you with tales and show off the toasters. (The bags of bread strewn around, ready to be transformed into toast points, are a nice, homey touch.) The first time I went, I bought a small toy toaster, probably from the 50s, with pink plastic handles and little tulips on the side. What really sold me, though, was when he demonstrated the weird, ratcheting noise the spring mechanism made when you pushed on those handles, as if it were indeed making toast for some insane tea party. He also had another miniature toaster that was somewhat more sinister-looking, dangerous in that way that only antique electrical devices can be.

"Can you imagine giving that to a child today?" Michael said. "That was made by a company in Muncie, IN, that also manufactured iron lungs for polio victims."

I'd like to see Easy-Bake Oven try that.

I have long had a favorite toast, courtesy of the Royal Navy ("To our wives and sweethearts, may they never meet"), but now I have a place to buy a favorite toaster.

Michael Sheafe sells at both of the Green Fleas?on Saturday at E. 67th St. and York Ave., and on Sunday at Columbus Ave. and W. 76th St. He may be reached at 744-3773 or at www.toastercentral.com. For more information on the flea markets, call 721-0900.

Ice Queens

I look upon Queens as the redheaded stepchild of all the boroughs. It doesn't have the glamour of Manhattan, certainly, or the charm and history of Brooklyn. It doesn't have Coney Island. It doesn't even have the equivalent of Staten Island's ferry. How many quaint, picturesque movies are set in Queens? The only Queens-centric movie I can come up with off the top of my head is Queens Logic, which was basically a high school yearbook with dialogue. (It did feature Tom Waits, my personal hero, but it also had John Malkovich as a gay fishmonger and Kevin Bacon as Kevin Bacon. A major plotline consisted of people trying to figure out who gave Joe Mantegna a black eye.)

No, the only way you are going to have a Woody Allen moment in Queens is to go to the World's Fair Ice-Skating Rink at Flushing Meadows. It is an indoor rink, but it's right in the shadow of the wondrous Unisphere, which they still light up at night. They offer lessons (think how proud you will be to say you are a graduate of the World's Fair Ice-Skating School), and have public skating sessions on Wednesday afternoons and in the afternoon and evening, Friday through Sunday.

Kevin Bacon can often be found there, renting out the skates, and John Malkovich runs the concession stand. It is rumored that Joe is a silent partner, still as independent as a hog on...you know.

The World's Fair Ice-Skating Rink can be reached at 718-271-1996. On Friday evenings and on weekends, admission is seven dollars. Otherwise it is four dollars. Skate rental costs four dollars at all times. For information about lessons, call 718-592-6200.