HUNGRY GERALD

HG is very fond of the English dinner custom of serving a savoury — after the main dish and before dessert (or pudding as it’s described on the Sceptered Isle). HG’s favorite savoury is the Welsh Rarebit. This cross between a fondue and a grilled cheese sandwich is perfect with the remaining dinner glass of wine, Guiness or port. The meal is prolonged in a civilized and leisurely fashion. Conversation flourishes. Essentially a cheddar cheese sauce, the Rarebit is made by whisking melted butter with a bit of flour, adding mustard (Keen’s powdered, preferably) and Worcestershire sauce. Whisk with some Guiness until smooth. Add a pound of very sharp grated cheddar to sauce pan. Keep whisking. You desire a concoction without lumps. Pour over toast. HG advice: Make this in advance. Refrigerate and reheat. You don’t want to interrupt your meal by doing a lot of whisking.

HG and BSK have happy memories of a trip to London some decades ago accompanied by a young SJ. After theater on the South Bank, we would stroll across a bridge to Rules on Maiden Lane, London’s oldest restaurant (founded 1798). After theater snack was oysters and Guiness This was followed by Welsh Rarebit and port. SJ tucked into everything in healthy fashion and did not refuse when offered a Cuban cigar. He puffed away, turning an attractive shade of green. Thereafter, he discreetly turned down offers of Maduros.

Joy. HG read with delight Sam Sifton’s glowing NY Times review of Marcus Samuelsson’s Harlem restaurant, Red Rooster. This is the restaurant Harlem needed. This is the restaurant New York needed. Obviously, it’s got the sparkle and buzz and energy that only a truly diverse scene can create. Yeah. HG wants oxtails and shrimps and grits and fried chicken. More than that, HG wants to people watch and be happy. As HG’s devoted followers know, HG fell in love with Harlem more than 60 years ago (the old Red Rooster is where HG had a beer before getting on the subway). Harlem’s comeback is thrilling. HG is sure music, dance, galleries, alternative theater will all be happening. It needed a visionary like Samuelsson to get it started. Now, let’s have a revival of the great Bronx promenade, the Grand Concourse. Best art deco apartment houses in New York. Any Latino adventurers out there who want to do a soulful Puerto Rican brasserie?

Back home in New Mexico. Enveloped by beautiful light, colors, views, serenity. Some winter chill lingers so HG nourished body and soul with a steaming bowl of green chili menudo at El Parasol in Pojoaque. Pure Northern New Mexican soul food. Menudo is tripe, of course, enriched with roasted chiles and the bite of oregano and cruchy onions. It is not an innard favored by the great American gringo population. In fact, HG doesn’t know any innard that gets a seal of approval from real Amurrican 100% he guys. Their loss. HG and his European (and Latino) comrades will continue to savor the yummy esoterica lurking inside cows, pigs, lambs, etc.

Discerning SJ (Son Jeremy) reports that the venue (variety and price) for smoked fish (and, herring, of course) is the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, also known as Little Odessa. This Russian settlement on Brooklyn’s scenic shore is known for big noisy, restaurants and big, noisy Russians–all fueled by vodka. Great place for a bracing walk by the sea followed by some bracing beverages. There are numerous Russian specialty food shops (like M & I International Foods) where SJ says there are no bargains in caviar, alas, but everything else fishy is well priced and desirable.

HG’s view is that oily fish make the best smoked morsels — black cod (sable), bluefish, mackerel, eel. His feelings about trout are ambiguous. HG has tepid feelings about sturgeon (too dry..sable is much superior). Tuna and swordfish don’t cut it for HG; they are best as crudo (raw) with a dash of very good Sicilian olive oil.

Most memorable smoked fish dish: Firm and flavorful filets of smoked eel served with a mound of whipped cream that incorporated a substantial amount of fresh, finely grated horse radish. This was composed by the late Henri Soule, the imperious master of the world’s best restaurant–New York’s Le Pavillion.

Hey, did you know that Sigmund Freud’s first scientific research involved the sex of eels? Turn to HG for arcane information of all kinds.

HG loves smoked salmon. New York Novy. Smoky Scottish. Lush Norwegian. Irish (best of all). Paris and London are made for salmon nuts like HG. Quick trip to the supermarket (Carrefour in Paris and M & S in London) and one has a very nice array of (modestly priced) smoked salmon to choose from. And, best of all, there are very good prepared blini, creme fraiche and dilled mustard at hand for feasting. HG’s technique: Warm blini. Melt butter. Pour butter on blini. Layer of smoked salmon (Ireland’s best) on top. A bit of creme fraiche. A wee bit of mustard. Ice cold Russian vodka. A sigh of pleasure. HG has never favored the lox and bagel combo. The cream cheese and bulky bagel dulls the salmon ecstasy. A bialy has its points but blini top them all. After all, even though they came to a bad end, the Czars knew something about smoked fish (and caviar) supping.

Says HG: If you want great at-home dining lease an apartment in a less than posh neighborhood. Expensive clothing stores (Prada, Gucci, etc., etc. ) have pushed out the mom-and-pop bakers, butchers, cheese, etc. shops. In Paris’ 9th and 18th the little guys reign supreme and a baguette, fromage, a roast chicken with roast potatoes are always footsteps away.

London’s takeaway soup and sandwich shops are super good, super cheap. HG likes EAT in particular. Very good pho and hoisin duck soups. When counterman adds some extra chili, London damp disappears from the bones. Tea with scones, clotted cream and marmalade is a London blessing. In American terms, good French wine is very cheap. Britain’s Oddbins wine chain is what US needs.

Parisians have become obsessed with the American hamburger but, alas, they never seem to get it right. Besides scarf tying, Parisians (male and female) are expert in walking very fast while eating a baguette sandwich and talking on cell phone between bites. An American would choke.

Yes, HG is shrinking (vertically) but the French and English are surely getting taller. Very fat people are exported to the USA. One can still eat well in a modest Parisian bistro for a small price. A comparable London meal will cause the credit card to sizzle.

Canned baked beans (and tinned mushrooms!) are part of a proper English breakfast. Everyone must have a minor perversion.

Tourist or native, one is always met with courtesy in London and Paris.

An HG opinion: Paris movie audiences are hip, quiet and polite. Makes movie going a delight.

Last day in London. HG back to normal (almost). Sunny day. Lovely walk over the Millennium Bridge to Tate Modern. HG loves this place. The building, the volumes of space. It all comes together as one giant sculpture. There were some enticing special exhibitions but HG and BSK concentrated on the permanent collection. No, it’s not the encyclopedic look at modern art you get at MOMA and it doesn’t have the depth of the French Biggies (Picasso, Braque, Kupka, Leger, etc.) you get at Centre Pompidou. What you do get is space (nothing too crowded); wit (artists’ comments on the works are illuminating and sometimes acid); curatorial discipline (each piece is vital and necessary to the drama of modern art). It is a museum where you are stimulated but not eye exhausted. It is all very friendly and comfortable. Loads of elevators, rest rooms. A pleasant recognition of mature museum goers. The cafe is a joy. A long, long stretch of tables facing the Thames, St. Paul’s, the financial center, the startling “Gherkin” building, etc. Perfect venue for tea.

Dinner at Chutney Mary in Chelsea. Beautiful, tri-level Indian restaurant with great style. The food is reminiscent of Vij’s in Vancouver, HG’s favorite Indian. Same creative fusion cusine, same light touch. HG and BSK started with monkfish filets steamed in banana leaves and crisp fried stuffed artichokes. There were touches of cilantro, basil, mint and cumin. All perfect. Then a platter of super tender, medium rare lamp chops in a fenugreek, cream and tomato sauce similar to Vij’s famed lamb lollypops (and just as good). Then a rich and fragrant butter chicken curry. Rice. Chutney. Raita. Bread from the tandoori. Very good English ale to drink and rasmali (the Indian cheese, cream and almond dish) for dessert.

Lovely farewell to London.

HG and BSK haven’t been in London for ten years. The changes are immense. The city is shining, crackling with energy, spruced up, diverse. A true world city. Makes Paris look a bit diminished and dingy.

Off to the Victoria and Albert. Wandered the sculpture galleries. Wonderful Rodins and Canovas. Outstanding collection of postwar Britons (Eric Gill, etc.) not seen much in USA. Design section with all of the usual suspects (Mies, Corbu, Aalto, Breuer, Ruhlmann, Hoffman,etc.). Beautiful screen of lacquer cubes by Eileen Gray and one of chrome and mirror by Syrie Maugham. Timeless glamour approached in two different ways by two very different female sensibilities. Came away with renewed appreciation of inventive genius of Israeli/Brit Ron Arad. (HG must confess, however, that nothing tops the bravura rhinoceros bar by Lalanne at the Paris Arts Decoratifs).

Tea. Scones. Clotted cream. Marmalade. Strawberry jam. HG and BSK nibbled it all in the V & A’s civilized complex of cafes. A glimpse at the state of English dining 2011: The cafe has a tea bar, of course, but another counter of French treats like pates, terrines, celeriac and lentil salads, etc. A counter offers some very good looking hot meat pies and steak and kidney pies, British staples. There’s deli, fresh salads, soups, etc. All fresh. All savory. This is London mass feeding today.

Dinner at J. Sheekey, the venerable theater district seafood restaurant off Leicester Square. J. Sheekey is a collection of small, nicely lit old rooms lined with red leather banquettes and theatrical photos. Noisy buzz in the air. Deft, professional (but warm) service. Chiiled Muscadet. HG and BSK shared eight oysters from various spots along the British coast. Better than the best of Paris (but missed those French bulots). Then a dish of two razor clams. The long shells were filled with tender strips of the clam, very thin crisps chips of Spanish chorizo, fava beans, chopped herbs, fragrant olive oil. No garlic. Nothing to interfere with the purity of the dish. This was followed by perfectly done John Dory, moist, firm and flaky. The fillets nested on a bit of whipped celeriac and were topped by sea kale and a few long strips of poached celeriac. This was seafood cuisine that followed the Mies dictums: Less Is More. God Is In The Details. Need HG say more? HG got robust with a Welsh Rarebit (splash of Worcestershire) and a glass of Spanish Tempranillo. Sweet Italian Muscat for BSK. Finale: Salted caramel ice cream.

Home to sleep the sleep of the good, the pure and the blessed.

HG’s favorite philosopher, the Hyman Roth character in “Godfather Two,” says to Michael Corleone: “Good health. The most important thing!!”. The old villain had a point.

Paris cold and damp, crowded Metro cars gave undeserving HG pneumonia and landed the food maven in the acute emergency ward of London’s University College Hospital on Euston Square. Entered hospital late Monday afternoon (had to cancel trad Sunday roast beef gluttony at Dean Street Town House) and was discharged midday yesterday (Wednesday). All in all, a diverting stay. Was cared for by a platoon of sympathetic women led by a respiratory disease specialist. Lovely accents. Irish. Jamaican. Russian. Indian. Nigerian, etc. Food was not shockingly bad though still don’t understand the English love of cold, breakfast toast. (Horror food is that served on the Eurostar Paris to London train.)

Side effect of HG illness: A big scare for HG and BSK kids. All had read the touching Joyce Carol Oates piece in the the New Yorker about the unexpected death of her husband (much younger than HG) from pneumonia. Pneumonia can be scary stuff.

However, all seems to have ended well. Victoria and Albert museum today and dinner at J. Sheeky, HG’s favorite seafooder. HG and BSK had lovely light lunch yesterday (after hospital leavetaking) at the Mess Cafe in the Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea. Duck legs and greens salad for BSK and Bufala mozzarella and caponata salad for HG. Early to bed after light supper of smoked salmon, smoked mackerel (best ever) and buttered Poilane bread. Good to be back among the living.

HG has been a bit under the weather here in London, but not to worry! Soon to return with full reports!