HUNGRY GERALD

HG and BSK were stranded in Denver for a day by a big time snow storm before motoring to New Mexico. There’s always a silver lining. Bob Sweeney, HG and BSK’s gracious host took them to Pete’s Cafe & Steak (514 E. Colfax) for breakfast. Sweeney is a Colorado force for good. The Kenneth Kendal King Foundation, which he heads, supports numerous cultural and charitable organizations (including an innovative new muscular dystrophy center). And, the big guy knows his breakfast vittles. Pete’s Cafe has no connection with the excellent Pete’s Diner except for the fact that they are both located on gritty Colfax Avenue. HG has reported on both down-to-earth eateries. Pete’s Cafe is a very plain, totally unassuming place. The kind of joint you remember from your youth called “Eats” or “Mom’s.” The food is outstanding, Very generous (mammoth) portions served with a smile. HG and BSK had Denver omelettes. These were the real deal. Three egg omelettes folded over fried onions, peppers and chunks of ham. Nestled on top of lush potato and onion home fries. And, now for the best part. All smothered in an incomparable, spicy, hot (but not numbing) green chili sauce. Sorry, New Mexico. This is the green chili sauce for the gods. The gold standard. The perfect breakfast for a frigid, snow day in the Mile High City.

HG’s usual beverage with Chinese food is beer (sometimes mixed with Guiness Stout for a Black-and Tan). Never found an agreeable wine that enhanced Chinatown cuisine. Until…

At the feast HG recently enjoyed at Congee on the Bowery, Restaurateur Daughter Vicki F. brought two wines that added a new, positive dimension to the meal. Wine One: Sauvignon Blanc. Box O’ Birds, Marlborough, New Zealand 2011. Wine Two: Riesling, Thirsty Owl, Finger Lakes, N.Y. 2009. Super yummy. Would go nicely with Indian food, HG believes.

Yes, New York is world capital of culture, finance, style, skyscrapers and virtually everything else. But, to greedy HG, New York means Chinatown, dim sum, congee and other treats. So, after a night’s sleep following some 11 hours of air travel from Bologna it was off to Chinatown for a dim sum lunch with Gorgeous Restaurateur Daughter (Five Points, Cookshop, Hundred Acres) Vicki F. Destination for HG and BSK was Nom Wah (SJ recently posted a memorable piece of prose about this vintage eatery).

Talk about a trip down Memory Lane. As SJ has remarked, the old place got cleaned up but retained every bit of its funky appearance. HG was startled. It seemed nothing had changed since he first ate there some 56 (!!) years ago. Vicki ordered brilliantly and though the decor had not changed, the food was better. Har Gow and Shu Mai were among the best HG had ever consumed.

That night the trio was joined by SJ. Exquisite Maiko, Adorable Haru and Vicki’s husband and partner, Marc M. The site was Congee on 98 Bowery. Yes, there was congee. But, also fried squid, a couple of large, steamed flounders, clams in blacks bean sauce, sauteed greens, etc. Lots of food. Lots of joy.

Last dinner in Bologna before return to U.S.A. And, what a delightful feast it was! The site: close to Piazza Maggiore, at the historic Trattoria Da Nello al Montegrappa (serving hungry patrons since 1948). HG delighted in Tagliolini with white truffles (abundant shavings); grilled, fresh porcini mushrooms (juicy and bursting with flavor) accompanied by a silky potato puree; a cheese course of gorgonzola and walnuts. The wine was a very smooth and mellow Sangiovese. Concluded with a nice grappa. Adding to the joy of the occasion was the presence of Brilliant Daughter Lesley R. and the glamour duo of granddaughters, Arianna and Sofia. All looking beautiful (as did BSK,of course).This was Italian family dining at its best.

Da Francesco is a Sicilian seafood restaurant serving some of the most creative food in Bologna. HG enjoyed variations on marinated fresh anchovies (best HG ever tasted), mackerel, triglia (a kind of red mullet). There was Sicilian flash fried calamari and a garlicky codfish brandade. Dessert was a play on the traditional pears poached in red wine — a home-made gelato with pear puree and chunks of wine-poached pear. Very interesting cuisine and a sharp contrast to the usual Bolognese menus.

SJ here. Nothing quite signifies why I love New York so much as my recent discovery of the best tamale I have ever eaten. Story goes like this: My fine son (Jewpanese to the core) demanded a bialy before heading off to his karate class. As we were on the road, we stopped at bagel shop on Smith & 9th street in Brooklyn’s Gowanus/Cobble Hill neighborhood called Line bagels (apparently the name is full of controversy as it used to be called F LINE bagels after the subway line that stops right in front of it. But, the MTA sued them for unauthorized use of the name and forced them to change.) Along the wall, with advertised specials for bagels, wraps and the typical stuff, was a board announcing tamales and enchiladas. When I placed my order, I realized that the bagel store had been taken over by a Mexican family and the woman taking my order definitely looked like a grandmother who could cook. I asked her if the tamales were good and she replied that she made them fresh every morning from her family recipe. I have never trusted someone as much as I did her, so I put in my order for a chicken tamale while her son informed me that their tamales were so beloved that one guy in Long Island orders 150 of them every week to give to his extended family and co-workers.

Along with a perfectly fine bialy for my son, the tamale I got was gigantic — a plump, juicy log of corn meal stuffed with intensely flavored braised chicken. I have eaten Tamales in the south, in the south-west, in Mexico, from a cooler in front of a Salvation Army in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood, but these F Line Bagel tamales made others seem like a joke. They were perfect: moist, but not falling apart, fragrant of mesa and long simmered chiles, deep in flavor with just a touch of spicy heat to keep things interesting. And this gigantic tamale (really, big enough for a full meal) was $1.50. So, my thanks to New York, my favorite city, for being the only place in the world that one could find the best tamales in a bagel shop that is being sued by the Transit Authority for copyright infringement.

Lunch today was at Trattoria Serghei, a warm little restaurant with some outstanding art on its walls. Located in Via Piella, a short walk from Bologna’s Piazza Maggiore, Serghei’s food is a roll call of traditional Bolognese dishes. The HG party feasted on tagliatelle al ragu (one of the best in the city); stinco di maiale (roast shin of pork); roast rabbit; stuffed zucchini with meatballs in a light tomato sauce; lush baccala in an assertive sauce accompanied by polenta; bollito misto with salsa verde. There were some other traditional pastas and braised, garlicky chicory with hot pepper. Dessert was a mascarpone confection drizzled with chocolate syrup.

This is the kind of food HG misses when back in the USA.

A quick trip to Ferrara, a treasure of central Italy. Rich in architecture and history, it was once the seat of a thriving Jewish community. Many Americans remember the city from the bittersweet film, “The Garden of The Finzi Continis.”

HG was eager to spend time in the Boldini Museum, housed in a meticulously preserved 18th century palace. Giovanni Boldini was a painter whose career spanned the turn of the century into the 1920s. He was much admired, with friends ranging from Marcel Proust to Diaghilev, the great ballet impressario. His portraits of beautiful women are incomparable in their grace and stylish elegance. Boldini has been compared to Sargent, but a close examination of his work reveals a more daring artist. His brush strokes vibrate with energy and, in many ways, he is a precursor of the Italian Futurists and the French Cubists.

Of course, beauty always stimulates the appetite, so HG, BSK , Brilliant Daughter Lesley R. and her husband, Professore Massimo lunched at a bustling Ferrara eatery, Antica Trattoria Volano. Robust food. There was a risotto heady with the scent and flavor of white truffles, creamy polenta with braised eel,

more creamy polenta with mushrooms, pappardelle with a very tasty donkey sauce (that’s right, donkey makes a very superior sauce). HG managed to get down a big platter of bollito misto (the great Italian dish featuring a variety of boiled meats and sausages, the great-great-great grandfather of the New England boiled dinner). HG’s bollito misto was accompanied by some generous condiments — mostarda di fruta, salsa verde and sharp horse radish. Desserts included creme caramel and light-as-a-feather almond meringue cookies.

There was no lingering in Ferrara. The beautiful city is in the Po River delta and the entire area features impenetrable fog that can make highway driving a near lethal adventure. The HG group got out just in time.

A sunny Saturday meant a drive up the winding roads of the Bologna hills with the lofty Appennines etched in the distance. Bologna is unusual in that a five to ten minute drive takes you from the bustle of the city to the beautiful countryside, with its lovely views of deep valleys, gentle meadows and steep cliffs. Luncheon destination was the plain-spoken Trattoria Vizzano. The day was so beautiful that it was hard to remember that these hills were, literally, soaked in blood, the scene of fierce fighting between German forces and British and American troops during World War Two. Somber thoughts had no place in the trattoria, where HG and famille dove into crescentine, specialty of the house.

These are little puffy fried biscuits (similar to New Mexican sopapillas or American popovers) that diners split open and fill with squaquerone, a delightful fresh cheese, accompanied by salami, prosciutto and very good Italian head cheese. Home-made pickled vegetables are always served on the side. An unexpected treat. HG also manged to get down a robust bowl of home made, wonderfully chewy tagliatelle. Dessert was a traditional “torta di riso”, or rice pudding-like cake.

HG was sobered and moved by an after-lunch visit to the austere memorial on the cliff side at Sabbiuno, where some 100 brave anti-Fascist (mainly communist) partisan fighters were slaughtered by the Nazis. Lined up on the edge of a cliff, they were machine-gunned and their bodies tossed down into a ravine. Less than half were later identified. The names of the known fallen are engraved on individual rocks, a simple, eternal memorial. One rock marks the 47 unknown victims.

A Jewish custom seems to have been followed — visitors place pebbles on top of the graves to mark a visit. HG added a few. A curving concrete wall marks the site where the firing squad was lined up. Vintage machine guns are set into slots into this wall, aimed for eternity at the spot where the partisans took their last breath. It all made one muse about the very bloody and tortured history of Italy, a land so associated with the beauties of art, architecture and the sheer joy of living.

Like any complex man of the world, HG has a few contradictions. While I have posted previously about my preference for a traditional Thanksgiving meal, the reality is that HG has never been a fan of Thanksgiving dinner in general. HG’s unsentimental view: dry turkey and heaps of sloppy food only saved by a liberal dousing of gravy. The exception was the non-traditional Thanksgiving feast prepared by Brilliant Daughter Lesley R. a few days ago in Bologna. Turkey Involtini (slices of turkey breast pounded very thin and covered with a layer of prosciutto and fontina cheese). These lovely morsels were rolled up, secured with toothpicks, browned and then finished in the oven. They were gilded with a robust mushroom gravy. Accompaniments were brussel sprouts (sauteed with shallots and pancetta). Tender haricots vert. Lush mashed potatoes (whipped with butter and Greek yogurt). A perfectly balanced meal. Full of flavor but not an abdominal depth charge. The wine was an excellent Brunello di Montalcino. Cheese and salad followed. Gifted Granddaughter Arianna produced a made-from-scratch pumpkin pie. Pureed roasted pumpkin (not the vile canned stuff). Excellent crust. Toppings were whipped cream and marvelous gelato. Vin Santo followed for the family, while HG sipped a beautiful grappa. A Thanksgiving feast to be thankful for.