HUNGRY GERALD

When Son Jeremy talks about restaurants, HG listens. That’s because he’s more than a chip off the old block. HG dines in his shadow. When Son Jeremy discusses Japanese food he is more than expert. He is definitive. Son Jeremy is married to a petite and pretty bundle of Japanese dynamite named Maiko. They have an enchanting four year old son, Haru. The trio thrive on Maiko’s ramen, gyoza, tempura and other building blocks of Japanese cuisine (Maiko gets fancier in the parties she caters for Brooklyn and Manhattan hipsters and Japanese financiers).  Son Jeremy, Petite and Pretty Maiko (and Enchanting Haru) rave about a Japanese noodle restaurant in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. It has a silly name–Samurai Mama–but seriously great food.  Yum, says Son Jeremy.  Like Tokyo, echoes Maiko.  More, Says Haru.  So, get there immediately while you can still get a table. Nitty gritty info:  Samurai Mama, 205 Grand Street (between Bedford and Driggs), 718-599-6161).  Say SJ, PPM and EH sent you.

HG attended City College of New York  (the Harvard of the Proletariat) in the years 1946-1950. The College was intellectually elitist and demanding. In those years it was very overcrowded due to the influx of returning World War Two veterans. That meant being flunked out if your grades fell behind. No appeals. The atmosphere was Jewish left wing, the sons of immigrants and the sons of families economically bruised by the Depression. Women were a tiny minority (HG refers to the West Harlem campus of the College). Argument, violent argument, was the favorite pastime of the student body. This was no dispassionate search for consensus or truth but rather a take-no-prisoners, humiliate-your-enemy exercise in sheer hostility and aggression. This contentious activity served HG as good preparation for his long career as a New York press agent.  It has not served him well in family discourse. Oddly, his family tolerates his excesses. HG subsisted on one meal a day, two oranges and many cups of coffee. HG had a modest athletic career. He was in the backfield of an incompetent football team.  The Beavers (that was the unfortunate nickname) played and practiced on the rock hard, virtually grassless surface of Lewisohn Stadium (the Stadium’s prime function was to house summer classical concerts, a highlight of now forgotten New York).  The oranges were consumed before practice.  After practice HG needed additional fuel for his homework, part-time job and –very once in a while–romantic dalliance.  So, off he went to a West Harlem restaurant identified with a simple name: Bar-Bee-Cue. Yes, this was down home, soulful African-American cooking. HG was the only white customer but since he was there at least four times a week he soon became a familiar. The counterman knew HG played football for the College so he was usually greeted with a smiling comment: “Did’n do so good on Sar’day, didjoo? When you gonna win one?” “Just wait. We’ll surprise you guys.”
Big laughs. Then came the meal. Big (and HG means big) pork spareribs smothered in a hot, semi-sweet spicy sauce. Mashed yams with a chunk of melting margarine. Macaroni and cheese. Collard greens adorned with chunks of ham hock. Well filled basket of corn bread. HG must emphasize: These weren’t portions. These were mini-mountains. All washed down with sweet iced tea. As much as you could drink.  The cost: Something like 75 cents plus a quarter tip from big spender HG. Allegaroo, indeed.

When HG was a wee lad pro football players had tough guy names. For example: Bruiser Kinard, Bronco Nagurski, Bulldog Turner, Tuffy Leemans, Ace Parker). Even those without nicknames sounded tough. Here are some last names: Younce, Cuff, Blozis, Cope. Today’s quarterbacks have vaguely aristocratic names (Peyton, Brett, Drew).  African-American players have imaginative, exotic names (Marshawn, LaDainian,etc.).   HG doesn’t think yesteryear’s grid tough guys would do very well against today’s 325-pound behemoths and 235-pound speedsters. HG had these deep thoughts as he watched ten miuutes of TV football this weekend: the last five minutes of Seattle-New Orleans and the last five minutes of Colts-Jets. Wow. Talk about action. Marshawn Lynch sealed the Seattle win by running through New Orleans tacklers who performed like a bunch of lyric and symbolist poets. And, the Jets launched an improbable last-minute, come-from-behind win culminating in a final play field goal. To be snarky, it was appropriate that the foot figured in the win given the foot fetish porn rumors that have been (to carry the metaphor too far) tiptoeing around the Jets coach and his wife. The Jets remain HG’s favorite team. Neurotic. Exasperating. Surprising. Kinda like New York itself. HG’s football weekend culminated in a four star Filipino chicken dish called Chicken Adobo. Spicy and lush. Look up the recipe at nytimes.com. HG promises: This will be your “go to” dish.
More football tonight as Auburn and Oregon battle. Dinner in front of the TV. Spectacular take-out (menudo, green chile stew, pork posole) from the wonderful El Parasol. Since HG will be rooting for the Oregon Ducks, confit should be on the menu. However, HG resides in New Mexico. Not Paris. C’est la vie.

Jolly anniversary. This is the 100th post since HG launched Hungry Gerald upon an unsuspecting world in November.  Seems  timely to recall the late, great A.J. Liebling’s observation about a fine meal and amour. The gourmand and the lover receive a three fold pleasure. First: Eager anticipation. Two: Sublime fulfillment. Three: Delightful recollection. (Perhaps that’s why HG, who has shared a bedroom and dining room with Beautiful Sharon for approximately 48 years, has had such an enviable time on this strange, violent, fragile sphere we call The Earth).

HG first encountered this tasty, healthy, virtuous dessert in Chicago’s Greektown.   Simplicity itself.  Top some Greek yogurt (unsweetened and thick) with some walnuts.   Drizzle, according to your taste, with honey.  It used to be hard to find Greek yogurt but now it’s easily available from Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s.   HG also likes Greek yogurt sprinkled with smoked Spanish paprika as an accompaniment to lamb dishes. Also makes a nice companion to grilled or fried fish when mixed with finely chopped garlic, a bit of olive oil and lots of chopped, fresh dill.  Ompah!! (or whatever Greeks say when they break a bunch of dishes).

New York, for many decades, was much like Paris.  Life was lived in cafes and restaurants.  Before television became the dominant entertainment and news force,  New York gossip columnists (and, of course, Louella and Hedda in Hollywood), were important movers and shakers.  One of the class acts among the columnists was Leonard Lyons whose column, “The Lyons Den,” appeared in the New York Post and syndicated in 200 other newspapers  (today’s New York Post is just one big inferior gossip column leavened with right wing blather).  Lyons was literate, a CCNY graduate (like HG) and a lawyer.  His bitter competitor Walter Winchell left school after the sixth grade. There was plenty of show biz in “The Lyons Den” but also lots of good anecdotes about novelists, artists, political figures, etc. Hemingway was a particular LL favorite.  The column ran from 1934 to 1974.  LL called it quits on its 40th anniversary.  He died in 1976, age 70.  LL lunched daily in the Oak Room of the venerable Algonquin Hotel on W.44th.  His inevitable companion (and primary news and gossip source) was the celebrity lawyer (and author) Louis Nizer. Nizer represented (among many others) such marquee names as Johnny Carson, Charlie Chaplin, Mae West, Salvador Dali and the basketball star Dr. J—Julius Erving.  LL and Nizer were two short, intense men and their voices rarely rose above a whisper. They did not want to be overheard even though HG, an Oak Room regular, did his eavesdropping  best. HG always had a good table because he exercised with the hotel owner, Ben Bodne, at the same bleak health club.  (Before HG continues, Gentle Reader, a warning is issued not to confuse the  Algonquin Oak Room with the Plaza Hotel’s Oak Room and Bar, wondrous places that went downhill in the 70’s).  The Algonquin had a literary reputation  (the  famed Round Table–George S. Kaufman, Dorothy Parker, Alexander  Woolcott,etc.–met  there in the 1920’s).  Always lots of writers lunching with their editors in the Oak Room plus people from the New Yorker Magazine (located down the block). What did HG eat?  Four things were splendid: Roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding; seafood salad with lots of shrimp, lobster, scallops and crab meat–all first rate; the HG favorite of grilled sweetbreads atop Virginia ham, accompanied by perfect French fries and topped with sauce bearnaise. Dessert was a coconut snowball—vanilla ice cream rolled in freshly grated coconut and doused with bittersweet chocolate hot fudge. HG hasn’t visited the Algonquin in 25 years but in its day it  mimicked an aristocratic English country house with shabby carpets, gentle lighting,super-annuated waitpersons, comfortable chairs and lots of eccentricities.   For example: a mangy house cat was always pampered and had the run of the place. If a novelist presented an autographed copy of his (or her) just published novel, the novelist got a free room. A gracious bow to literature.

Anyone remember Walter Winchell? In his prime he was God,  the most powerful force in media (a column syndicated in 2,000 newspapers reaching 50,000,000 readers and a top rated weekly radio broadcast with 20,00,000 listeners).  WW’s journalism career began in 1924 when he invented the gossip column  at the New York Evening Graphic and continued for decades at the New York Mirror.  The Mirror closed in 1963.  Television replaced the gossip column as a mass media force.  WW couldn’t adapt.  His family life a tragedy, he died in 1972 (age 74). One person came to his funeral.  WW was a vigorous anti-Nazi and after World War Two an even more vigorous anti-communist and a Joe McCarthy admirer.  WW’s feuds were vicious and since he was close to FBI head J. Edgar Hoover he was a dangerous enemy.  WW made and broke careers.  In 1952,  HG was a Hearst journalist and a moonlighting night club press agent.  An HG client was heavyweight champ Joe Louis  (and the night club he fronted).  HG penned a prose poem about The Champ and his latest showbiz girl friend.  Off it went to WW who published it in full  (bold type, no less).  WW  sent HG a note: “Keep it comin’,Keed…WW.”  Of course, that’s exactly what HG has done for the last 58 years.  Okay, let’s talk about Lindy’s.  WW held court at two venues:  Lindy’s Restaurant  (Broadway and 51st) during the day and the Stork Club at night.  Lindy’s was called “Mindy’s” in the “Guys and Dolls” fictions of Damon Runyon.  Unlike the fictional “Mindy’s,” mob guys did not frequent Lindy’s.  (Yes, in the 20’s and 30’s it was the hangout of  crime kingpin Arnold Rothstein and his nefarious buddies).  Latter day  Jewish mobsters liked Lower East Side spots like Dubiner’s.  Mafiosi preferred red sauce joints.  Irish mob guys (Hell’s Kitchen and the docks) were not interested in cuisine.  Lindy’s had a big show biz following, especially among comedians.  Milton Berle and Jack E. Leonard were regulars.  Lots of music business people.  Agents, managers, horse players, bookies, gamblers, garment center biggies filled the tables.  Lots of Yiddish (most of it obscene) was spoken. Waiters were imperious (legend had it that tips made them owners of numerous Bronx apartment houses).  WW’s table was surrounded by press agents who fed  him column items and whose careers and finances were dependent upon his whims. The film, “Sweet Smell of Success” with Burt Lancaster as the megalomaniac columnist and Tony Curtis as the nasty press agent, Sidney Falco, captures the WW-press agent relationship accurately.  HG has often noted that he is a graduate of the Sidney Falco College of Public Relations and Mass Communications. The food, HG, the food?   Lindy’s food was great.  The kind of menu you don’t find any more. Certainly, there were  Jewish specialties like pickled herring, corned beef, pastrami, blintzes, matzo ball soup and goulash. But, there was the best eggs and sizzled sausage platter in town.  A Virginia ham and aged swiss cheese sandwich was without equal.  Kippers and eggs.  And, those  combination sandwiches!!   HG’s favorite was a construction of turkey breast, tongue, swiss cheese, cole slaw, sliced onion, Russian dressing….your choice of rye or pumpernickel bread.  Apple pancakes were a specialty and, of course, New York cheesecake.  Lindy’s cheesecake was  legendary…..and unlike many legends, it lived up to its reputation.  Lindy’s had a long run…1921 to 1969. The founder, Leo “Lindy” Lindemann died in 1957 (his absence was felt).  The name was bought. There are three Lindy’s in New York now. Tourist traps.  Sad. As sad as WW’s lonely end as a Los Angeles recluse.

Search your supermarket shelves (maybe in the “ethnic” Mexican section) for 505 Green Chile Sauce (505 is the Santa Fe County area code). Heat some gently. Pour it over some scrambled eggs accompanied by warmed, buttered tortillas. Enter the” Land of Enchantment” (that’s what it says on the New Mexico license plates).

Mornings are still chilly here in New Mexico.  So, a hot breakfast is imperative.   HG’s first choice has always been oatmeal.  But, HG now varies it with a steaming bowl of Quaker Oats Instant Grits

.   Yes, HG is opposed to anything “instant” and anything “lite”. But, what did sage Dr, Johnson say about consistency,  small minds and hobgoblins?   Anyway.   HG enhances the grits with some big spoonfuls of grated parmesan (real parmesan reggiano from Italy and not the unspeakable Australian ersatz). Zing go the ayem taste buds.

Sidney Kaye was a tough, funny, erudite New Yorker. He bought the Russian Tea Room (originally a tea room hangout for Russian emigrees but turned into a restaurant by Sidney) in 1955 and ran it in singular fashion until his death in 1967. His widow, Faith Stewart-Gordon, took charge of it for a number of years before its eventual sale and transformation into an ornate fancy-schmancy joint that HG has never entered.   Sidney and the RTR  were original and eccentric.  An example: One winter he decorated the room with Christmas decorations. He liked them so much they never came down. Winter or summer it was always Christmas at the RTR. Another example: Service could sometimes be spotty since a number of the waitpersons were ancient former Russian ballerinas whose careers had flourished in Czarist days. Sidney would never dream of replacing them (the Grim Reaper did the job). Another example: There was no Siberia at RTR. Every table was a good table but the best tables were the three rounded red leather banquettes on the left, facing the bar, as you entered. The first table was occupied by a ballet critic Sidney disliked. When HG asked Sidney why the critic got a favored table, Sidney replied: “I dislike the man but his taste in dance is impeccable.”   Second table went to Robert Herridge, producer of TV dramas.  HG once tried to brain him with a cast iron pan before being restrained.  But, that’s another story.  Third table went to HG. Why?   HG will never know. The RTR was (and is) located on W. 57th Street a few footsteps east of Carnegie Hall.  HG’s offices were directly across the street so the RTR was HG’s place for late breakfast, lunch, post-work vodka.  The HG charge account would grow to astronomical proportions but Sidney never blinked. “You are the least of my worries,” he would say. An incident from HG’s 57th Street days. The building manager leased the offices adjacent to HG to a number of ladies who vigorously disciplined gentlemen who paid lavishly for punishment. These were very noisy neighbors and interfered with HG’s business operations. HG complained. As a compromise, one of HG’s neighbors offered a solution. She would punish HG gratis. HG declined. Police entered the situation. HG’s neighbors departed. Peace and quiet prevailed on floor 14. Back to RTR and Sidney Kaye. The food was Russian and delicious. Favorite starter was Eggplant Oriental  (chopped eggplant and tomatoes with flavors heightened by olive oil, garlic, lemon juice and Hungarian paprika). Then there was robust borscht, topped with sour cream and accompanied by flaky pierozhki (meat filled pastries). Other great dishes: Blini with red caviar, sour cream and melted butter; karsky shashlik (lamb cutlets with rice pilaf); pelmeny (Caucasian meat filled ravioli served in a strong chicken consomme with lots of dill, sour cream and mustard sauce). HG once saw Jackie Onassis and Mike Nichols order seconds of this heavenly stuff. Of course, there were the usual Russian crowd pleasers like Beef Stroganoff and Chicken Kiev. Dessert: Raspberry Kissel, a fruit and whipped cream concoction. To drink: A good wine selection including a nicely priced Pommard; ten flavors of iced vodka; strong tea served in a glass with cherry preserves (just as my father, Harry Freeman, liked it). The RTR catered to a lively crowd of musicians (from Carnegie Hall), theater people (including a goodly number of stars); dealers in antiques and art; managers, agents and producers of all types and levels of competence. A nice buzz. There was one thing Sidney wouldn’t tolerate. HG was having a vodka at the bar when a large man used the N-word. Sidney heard. He grabbed the man by the tie and a coat sleeve. He shouted: “We don’t serve bigots!!!” and literally threw him out the front door.   Sidney Kaye.  HG’s kind of a restaurateur..