HUNGRY GERALD

When HG was a working journalist headquartered on New York’s East 45th Street, post deadline thirst often directed HG and companions to the nearby Old Seidelberg Bar (alas, long gone) on Third Avenue. Lots of dark oak. Dimly lit, but not gloomy. Very professional bartenders who kept heavy tankards chilled and knew how to tap beer in the right proportion of body and foam.

Ahh, the beer. Many excellent German brews on tap plus the best from New York’s local breweries. Liederkranz cheese, raw onions, pumpernickel bread, pickled pig’s knuckles comprised the hearty accompaniment. The Seidelberg was contemplative bar, HG and his contentious companions learned to moderate their tones. Curiously, it was a favorite watering hole for the great Phil Cavaretta and his Chicago Cubs. The ball players did not encourage conversation, preferring to think about sliders, knuckle balls and breaking curves while gazing into the depths of Old Seidelberg’s tankards.

With the delicious irony that only Middle Europeans are capable of, waiters at the long departed Eclair Bakery/Restaurant on New York’s West 72nd Street, referred to each other as “Herr Doktor.” Eclair’s heyday was the late 30’s through to the 60s. Its customers were the Europeans, primarily Jewish, who had fled Hitler and wound up, for the most part, in the Washington Heights and Upper West Side neighborhoods of New York. Yes, many of the waiters had been Doctors in Europe, or lawyers, or architects, etc.. In New York they were waiters. They did not bewail their fate. They were alive.

Eclair catered to displaced novelists, musicians, singers, actors, artists and a host of intellectuals of every cerebral and artistic variety. And, the little, bald guy in the corner was Isaac Bashevis Singer (long before he became famous), eating his inevitable (he was a vegetarian) tuna fish sandwich. The women in the Eclair were bosomy, voluble, perfumed and flirtatious. It was a sexy place, echoing Viennese, Budapest and Bucharest coffee houses. The pastries were outstanding. Coffee came adorned with three inches of schlag (whipped cream). It was more than a bakery. Eclair was also a restaurant with outstanding wiener schnitzel, chicken paprikash and other artery clogging specialties of Mittel Europa. A multitude of languages was spoken at Eclair—German, Russian, Polish, Hungarian, Czech, Yiddish, Rumanian. To HG’s young ears it was all music. Eclair was owned by A.M. Selinger, Italian-born, Czech-reared. When he died in 1998 his New York Times obituary summed him up perfectly: “However long they lingered, the Eclair customers found a ready welcome from the proprietor, a small, natty man of legendary conviviality. a wide circle of friends and a vast array of pluperfect pastries.”

Whenever HG thinks of him, HG smiles

Liederkranz is HG’s favorite cheese. It is a cousin of German Limburger (but, not as outrageously stinky). Powerful. pungent stuff. Best when the yellow crust turns a bit golden and the ivory interior darkens and gets slightly runny. To be metaphoric: If a ripe Camembert is a clarinet, a ripe Liederkranz is a tuba.

This robust stuff was a staple in cheese sections of New York groceries (and certainly in the midwest). In 1985 it disappeared. No explanation. Just gone.

The good news is that it’s back and you can get it online from DCI Cheese Company, who acquired the original cultures to make this fine cheese. O, happy day!

Some history: Liederkranz was created in the 1860’s by Emile Frey of Monroe, N.Y. New York’s German immigrants loved the cheese, especially the hearty members of the Liederkranz Club, guys who met to sing. Thus, the name.

When late autumn and winter descends, a fire will be crackling in HG’s living room fireplace. Pro football will be on the TV. Liderkranz, raw onions, sour garlic dills, German liver sausage, pumpernickel bread and cold Belgian ale will be in front of HG. Can hardly wait for the weather to change.

HG and BSK enjoyed the perfect Santa Fe evening. Following a day of intense, blue sky and golden sunshine, HG and BSK went to the William Siegal Gallery for the showing of the paintings of Jane Cook. Indebted to the legacy of the action wing of the abstract expressionist movement, the physicality of Cook’s paintings yield to an immediate visual pleasure; yet, beneath the grand gestures, there is a deep, contemplative element that seems grounded by and inspired by nature.

Art encourages appetite so HG and BSK joined Colorado friends for dinner at Eric Stapelman’s Shibumi Ramenya, a lovely, small restaurant that features both lusty Ramen and an Izakaya menu of small plates. Started with Izakaya: squid salad with a very light lemony dressing; cod and potato croquettes and house smoked salmon croquettes. These croquettes were fish cakes that died and went to heaven. Crisp, greaseless exterior. Fluffy, flavorful interior. Grated daikon set them off nicely. Then some Ohitashi spinach, an inventive preparation that balanced sweet and sour flavors accented with bits of raw tuna and dry bonito flakes. Tsukune ( ground chicken meatballs) grilled on wooden skewers. BSK had the special pork Ramen “Fujimaki Gekijyo”, a big bowl of the most robust flavors with hints of seemingly more than a dozen herbs and spices. Unforgettable. HG and his Colorado companions opted for Eric’s more conventional pork Ramen — a flavorful broth, juicy pork and perfect noodles all melding together for a perfect bite or slurp as it may well be; the delicate lick of pork fat in the broth lingering on our lips and mouth. Icy Kirin accompanied the feast. Only disappointment was our inability to try everything on the Izakaya menu including such delectables as bacon wrapped mochi, meatballs with leeks and corn; Steak Kusiyaki, chicken yakitori and more–much more.

HG and BSK will be back.

Many times.