HUNGRY GERALD

The outrageous, neurotic, showboating Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk Jets triumphed. Sweeter than a Mallomar. More delicious than an Egg Cream. Nice to see Tom Brady thwarted. Guy looks like a movie star. Dresses like an Italian fashionista. Is married to a world famous, gorgeous model.  Makes about $50,000,000 a year. Not fair.  Why should he have it all? HG relished his throwing the ball away with an “Oh,drat!!” expression. HG watched the game at the opulent Arizona home of his pals, the G’s. In tribute to a Noo Yawk win we dined on delicatessen (faux New York) from Chompies of Scottsdale. Corned beef was quite good. Tongue passed muster. The rest? Reasonable. As the sage (HG) said: You don’t go to Paris for the sun and you don’t go to Arizona for the food. Following the Chompies feast HG repaired to the G’s wonderfully comfortable media room to watch “The Social Network”. Brilliant film. Made better for HG because the thoughtful hostess, lovely Judy G., provided HG with a large slab of Chompies halvah for movie munching. That’s a hostess with the mostess.

Whole Foods critique: Breads (baguettes, sourdough, ficelles, ciabatta)  are all splendid and well priced. Produce: Spotty and pricey. Recently, some over the hill scallions were priced like caviar. Meat: New York strip is steakhouse quality. Great.  Rack of lamb is badly trimmed. You pay for a lot of fat. Pork chops are mediocre (dry). Note: Trader Joe has fine pork chops (from the USA) and lamb chops (surprisingly, from New Zealand) at a very reasonable price. Chicken: Splendid. Fresh sausage and bacon: Ditto. Cheese: Good variety. Good condition. High prices. Take out prepared food: Lousy. Fresh soups: Good (chicken noodle is the best).   HG’s conclusion: There’s some good stuff. The 365 brand has value.  Shop with caution. They don’t call it Whole Paycheck without reason.

In the post concerning Sunday roast beef dinner Chez Grandma and Grandpa Kent, HG noted that plum pudding was the weekly dessert. No. It was pie. Plum pudding (also called Christmas pudding) was reserved for Christmas.

Beautiful Sharon spent some of her earliest years with her English emigre grandparents in Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. Every Sunday, she had a very traditional dinner served at 4PM, the same hour Freeman Family enjoyed Sunday Dinner in The Bronx. The Grandmother and Grandfather Kent menu: Juicy, rare roast beef au jus. Creamy mashed potatoes. Yorkshire pudding. Overdone brussels sprouts or carrots and peas. Dessert: Plum pudding well soaked in brandy and topped with hard sauce. There was fiery English mustard and freshly grated horseradish on the table. Pre-dinner ceremony:  Sharon’s grandfather vigorously sharpened his horn handled carving knife  (Fortunately, Sharon has inherited this knife and the accompanying fork and has put it to good use). Post-meal ceremony: A leisurely drive along the St. Clair River. Confession: HG is envious and wants to eat that dinner. Beautiful Sharon has never prepared it, not even once, in 48 years of (otherwise) marital bliss.  Oh well, a London visit is scheduled in the near future.

Here’s a legendary tale from the Lindy’s press agent community from way back when. It may give readers an insight to HG’s beginning career in show biz press agentry. Louis Sobol was the kindest and gentlest of the Broadway columnists (circa 40’s to 60;s). Jack Tirman was a classic movie press agent. Jack calls Sobol: “Louie, Louie. This is a movie you must see. It’ll break your heart. The human characters. The realism. At the same time it’s got humor and a million laughs. Tears, a lot of tears, yet you’ll be rolling on the floor.” Sobol tries to interrupt. “Jack! Jack!” Tirman can’t be interrupted.  He’s on a roll. “The direction, the dialogue, the lighting. Unbelievable. The greatest.” Sobol gives up. “Okay, Jack. I’ll see the movie. What’s its name?”   Pause. Pause.  Says Jack: “Call you right back, Louie.”

Famed in fact, fiction and fable, Fire Island in the 50’s and 60’s was one continual, raucous party (at least in the Ocean Ridge section where HG and Beautiful Sharon had a dune house). There were the hearty partying topless ladies playing volleyball (this got the rapt attention of five-year-old son Jeremy). There was the “sixish”….a very heterosexual boy-meets-girl impromptu cocktail bash that took place on a stretch of sand near the ferry. There were the spur of the moment parties that took place on the rear decks (built high off the ground) of dune houses. These sometimes became so crowded that the deck collapsed. That was serious. There were injuries. But the rear deck parties went on. (A long out of print book, “Saloon Society” by an HG friend, Bill Manville, captures the spirit of that Fire Island/Greenwich Village era). Alcohol and weed fueled those parties, not food. However, there were some good catch of the sea events. Juan Junyer, the Catalonian sculptor and friend of Picasso, would join with his medical writer wife, Dolores Canals, and do a backyard fish barbecue. Juan would buy striped bass, sea bass and some other varieties..whatever was running..from local fishermen. The fish would be gutted. Dolores gave them a big hit of garlic infused olive oil.  Juan put them in a hinged grill of his own design.
Barbecue for a few moments. Lemons. Tabasco. Beer. Magic. Then there was the moules meuniere feast  by a woman who had spent some years in France. Mussels by the bushel, garlic, white wine and crusty bread (from an Italian bakery in Patchogue). Possibly best of all was the fried fish bash hosted by Hobby Miller, unofficial Mayor of Ocean Ridge and the neighboring community of Davis Park. Hobby had some huge cast iron pans and these were filled with bubbling Crisco. Filets were dipped in a spicy batter. Into the pan for a brief bath. Perfect. The most eccentric parties were those thrown by Willa A., a colorful, acid-tongued lady. She was the queen of misguided excess. Once, she served a shrimp curry that was so blazingly hot it seared the inside of HG’s mouth and caused HG’s lips to puff  into a ludicrous pout.  There was nothing to drink.  No beer. No wine. No water.   HG commented, with some difficulty, on the degree of heat and lack of liquids.  Willa retorted, in a shout: “It’s supposed to be hot!! Here’s some yogurt. It will cool you.” It didn’t work. It took ten days before HG’s mouth was back to normal.

Alexander Lobrano, in HG’s opinion, is the ideal food writer. He writes knowledgeably and gracefully in his website “Hungry For Paris’.   His book, “Hungry For Paris,” is the essential, reliable guide to that city’s bistros and restaurants.  HG finds Lobrano very compatible because he likes the kind of food HG likes.  Moreover, Lobrano can really write.  His style has a civilized sparkle   Lobrano recognizes that dining is not confined solely to food and wine. Ambience and atmosphere are  important.   Chilly greetings, incompetent or condescending service, loud voices, vicious arguments emanating from an adjoining table….all can ruin a meal. But, most vital is the company you are keeping at the table.  Lobrano seems blessed with a host of stimulating friends…men and women from all parts of the world. It is not surprising that Lobrano has many friends. The man and his writing radiate joy. He not only makes you hungry for food; hungry for Paris….he makes you hungry for conversation, companionship and life.

Two of HG’ favorite food/restaurant books are “Between Meals, An Appetite For Paris” by A.J. Liebling and “Blue Trout and Black Truffles” by Joseph Wechsberg. Both authors are deceased. Their books are compilations of articles the writers did for the New Yorker Magazine. Wechsberg’s book is a bit dated but still rewarding in detailing a cream and butter based cuisine that has virtually disappeared.  Liebling will never be dated. He was a remarkable journalist who wrote about boxing, war, Paris, food, restaurants, colorful characters, Southern politics and Broadway low life. He never wrote an awkward sentence and everything he wrote had grace, humor and humanity. Some of the his books are, besides “Between Meals”: “The Sweet Science” (about boxing–Sports Illustrated hailed it as the best sports book ever written); “The Honest Rainmaker” (about the inimitable Col. John R. Stingo);  “Earl of Louisiana” (about Gov. Earl Long of Louisiana); “The Road Back To Paris” (World War Two); “The Second City” (Chicago); “The Telephone Booth Indian” (Broadway low life).  He also wrote, for the New Yorker, a continual series called  “The Wayward Press,” a brilliant critique of American journalism.  In all, he wrote 16 extraordinary books.

Liebling was the sourest, unhappiest looking man HG ever encountered.  Overweight, rumpled, wearing thick lensed glasses, Liebling was not a pleasing sight.  HG often saw  him at New York’s Algonquin Hotel in the company of other New Yorker writers and editors.  There was a lot of laughter but Liebling never smiled. HG once sighted Liebling at the bar of a Chinese restaurant.  HG gave a waiter a note for Liebling: “May I buy you a drink in recognition of the great pleasure your writing has given me?”  Liebling fixed HG with a truly nasty look and shook his  head emphatically signifying: “No.”  Born in 1904, he died in 1963.  Doctors had warned him that his overeating was killing him.  He ignored them. And died.

How to get Beautiful Sharon mad. Repeat the statement of Max Beerbohm, the English caricaturist, critic. essayist, novelist, wit and exquisite dandy: “Why do strawberries picked at dawn from a dew-kissed field never taste as good as those purchased from a greengrocer?” Belying her elegance, BS is a woman of the earth. She had her first garden at the age of 8. She remembers plucking a carrot from the earth, giving it a quick dusting and relishing it as a snack. A neighbor’s seckel pears were a treat. An expert tomato grower, BS scaled culinary heights when resident in New Jersey. Her home grown beefsteak Jersey tomatoes were paired with home grown basil, locavore mozzarella cheese and extra virgin Sicilian olive oil for the ultimate summer treat. BS has cultivated baby potatoes, heirloom lettuces and sweet radishes in a garden 9,000 feet up in the Rockies. She has successfully grown a multitude of herbs in the salt spray of Fire Island, Nantucket and Prince Edward Island.  Those herbs are still flourishing in New Mexico.  Fresh is her mantra. Home grown is her religion. Her family has reaped the meal time benefits.

While HG was being nurtured on chicken fat, Nova Scotia smoked salmon and locavore pastrami, Beautiful Sharon, reared in Canada and the Midwest, absorbed a radically different cuisine. After some searching interviews, HG is ready to divulge the culinary history of Beautiful Sharon’s formative years. You will learns it in upcoming posts. Know your breath is bated and your anticipation is at a fever pitch.