HUNGRY GERALD

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.

Clam. HG does love that briny bivalve. The love affair began decades ago at the Harbor Rest fast food and sea food joint on Jamaica Bay in New York’s Rockaway Park — at the time, the proletarian Hamptons. HG, 13-years-old, was employed as an oyster and clam shucker (also a peeler and de-veiner of shrimp). HG ate a lot of clams. His mantra: One for the boss and one for me. HG’s oyster passion developed later. Boyish passions subside but not HG’s clam lust. HG ate scores at Lundy’s located at Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay. He downed them at Nathan’s in Coney Island; at Manhattan’s Grand Central Oyster Bar. HG refers to raw clams (cherrystones and little necks ) on the half shell. HG has always fancied clams (and oysters) unadorned. Maybe a modest squeeze of lemon. No beverage but beer. Lundy’s served its raw clams with hot, buttered, straight-from-the oven biscuits — HG never complained.

When HG lived in Colorado HG began his daily lunch at the Palm Restaurant with six little necks (some 1,500 miles from the Atlantic but surprisingly sweet and fresh…go figure). HG has never neglected cooked clams, preferably as part of Italian cuisine….clams posillipo (clam broth enriched with tomatoes); Linguini with white clam sauce; clams casino (light on the bread crumbs, heavy on the garlic, bacon strip optional). HG is not a big clam chowder fan. HG finds New England style overpowers clams and Manhattan style is simply inedible. The best is light clam chowder served at the Legal Seafood chain in New England (an excellent purveyor of clams and oysters).

A great clam dish was sauteed clam bellies at the late, great Gage & Tollner’s in Brooklyn. HG is a fan of the fried soft shell clams available a scores of New England shacks. When resident at the family beach home on Prince Edward Island, HG downs scores of steamers, cleansed in broth and dipped in Tabasco-enhanced melted butter.

As stated in a previous post, the true clam heaven was Fire Island, the magical barrier beach that stretches for miles off Long Island between Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. After a day of Fire Island beach and sea fun, the HG family and friends would arm themselves with buckets and wade into the Bay. It was a clam bonanza. Following would be raw clams, clams casino and BSK’s extraordinary white clam sauce adorning bowls of linguini fini. The HG and BSK dune house overlooked the Bay and Ocean. Sunsets. Infinite whitecaps. Many martinis. Much beer and cheap, cold white wine. A jolly, sunburned time. Happy memories.

HG first encountered the Rhode Island treat, Del’s Frozen Lemonade on the bike path between Warren and Bristol. Steamy July day. Very sweaty HG pedaling away. Dry throat. Sweaty brow. And, like a heavenly vision there was a Del’s lemonade stand at a street crossing. The frozen lemonade was extraordinary. Thirst was conquered by this icy treat which hit the perfect notes between sweet and tart.

Good news. You can order the fixings for Del’s Frozen Lemonade online. Do it and you will be well prepared for the scorching days of summer. And, if you are fortunate enough to live in Brooklyn (rapidly becoming one of the world’s food capitals) you can sample Del’s at Aunt Butchie’s Desserts.

The Delucia family of Rhode Island founded Del’s. The frozen beverage originated in Naples. (Italy, of course, not Florida).

HG and BSK off to Rhode Island in early June for a big time family celebration. The occasion: Graduation Day for granddaughters—Arianna from Moses Brown (High School) and Sofia from The Gordon School (Middle School). Beautiful, brilliant, funny, delightful young women. HG and BSK’s cup of love and pride runneth over…

So, let’s eat. SJ will be smoking ribs, pork shoulders and brisket. Exquisite Maiko, the daughter-in-law from heaven, will be doing Japanese cuisine (with an assist from grandson Haru). Italian and seafood treats will be handled by daughter Lesley R. and grill master Profesore/Dottore Massimo R. There will be side visits to Hemenway’s for raw oysters and clams on the half shell and possibly a foray to Flo’s Clam Shack for a super fry.

Local treats not to be missed: snail salad, New York System Hot Wieners and the alleged Chow Mein sandwiches at Lee’s Chinese Restaurant.

If time allows HG might knock off a grilled pizza at the bar of Al Forno. Yummy times, indeed.

For your illumination and enhancement HG provides you with a list of books by Peter Hellman:

(1) Chief!: These are case histories from the files of Al Seedman, former New York Chief of Detectives. Forget TV nonsense. This is the way detectives really work. 

(2) Avenue of the Righteous (Later re-issued and expanded as When Courage Was Stronger Than Fear ): This is a book to read when your opinion of the human race is at a low point. These are the astonishing stories of Christians who, at great risk to their lives, saved Jews during World War Two.

(3) The Auschwitz Album: Lest we forget, this is a rending book — 187 photos of Auschwitz with text by Hellman.

(4) American Wine Handbook: A book that tells you what you need to know if you want to drink great American wines.

(5) Heroes. Tales From the Israeli Wars: Exciting accounts of combat and heroism.

(6) Shaping the Skyline : The story of real estate visionary Julien J. Studley.

Now search for them on Amazon.com and thank me later.

A life enhancing, talented and fun loving quartet has been visiting HG and BSK. Here’s the cast: Donald K. and Bruce M., HG’s and BSK’s former business colleagues. Donald K’s wife, Susan, a former investment banker and Bruce M.’s companion, Theresa T., former senior executive at Ralph Lauren and Martha Stewart. These are folks who know and enjoy food and wine. So, what was on the table? Friday night there was a platter of Middle Eastern appetizers and then a Mariscada (Spanish seafood stew) of mussels, shrimp, scallops, much garlic and parsley cooked in fish stock, white wine and the juice from canned asparagus — a surprising secret ingredient gleaned from New York’s El Charro. Washed it down with glasses of Rose, Pinot Grigio and Barbera.

Light salad lunch on Saturday at Santa Fe’s Santacafe. Dinner was a feast at the much posted about “O” — Eating House. Appetizers of fried zucchini and home-made mozzarella with the first stewed cherries of the season; chorizo and roasted garlic; chunks of unusually spiced corn on the cob. Mini portions of strozzapreti (a name which translates to priest stranglers) in a beef cheeks sauce. Main dishes of duck confit and grilled quail accompanied by a sweet corn risotto. Dessert: bread pudding and creme brulee. Much Champagne, San Giovese, Malbec and Chianti flowed (possibly too much flowed in HG’s direction).

Brunch the next day on the sunny terrace featured BSK’s egg and cheese casserole. Farewell dinner tonight at Gabriel’s. Margaritas. Guacamole (best in New Mexico). Fajitas. Charro beans. Sopapillas. Sangria. Flan. Ole!!! And then, sadly, adios.Photo Courtesy of Steven Nereo

Friends…When a Soup Dumpling calls, you might as well just give in, because really there is no escape. A Soup dumpling or a Xiao Long Bao to be proper, is a pork and crab meatball wrapped in a pleated wrapper of flour dough which is then steamed. The meatball is infused with a solidified ge’lee of broth, so that when it steams, this ge’lee reverts back to soup. When properly made (which is tough as a lot can go wrong! A soup dumpling requires MAXIMUM timing, freshness and technique) the end product hits the pinnacle of taste sensations; silken wrappers, rich soup, delectable meatball. When I first encountered this treat back in the late 90s at the famous Joe’s Shanghai, I went crazy. I found myself there at least twice a week with steamer after steamer arriving to fulfill my seemingly unquenchable Xiao Long Bao lust. I became an expert at deftly transporting the delicate dumpling from steamer to spoon without rupturing the delicate skin and losing the soup; I developed a methodology of cooling, adding ginger, red chile, malt vinegar and finally slurping that maximized my enjoyment — a methodology I adhere to and try to extort others to follow. Witness the family of Texans that told me to “mind your own business! We know how to eat!” when I tried to explain the ground rules of soup dumpling etiquette as they were attacking their treasures with forks and losing all the unctuous broth. In short I had a problem, and that problem took me a few years to finally reign it in. Which I did…Barely.

There is a new restaurant that has opened up on Bowery, right by the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge. I pass it every day. Right above the door is a grand billboard, a high resolution image of a perfect Soup Dumpling — white wrapper crested with the orange roe of a Hairy Crab. You can sense the soup bubbling inside, the heat and deliciousness coming together…

It took only two days. I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed my wife, Exquisite Maiko and headed for lunch at our favorite Soup Dumpling spot, Shanghai Cafe. I would have tried, and will try the new spot — but when the call of the dumpling was this severe, I could not risk disappointment.

When the first steamer basket arrived Exquisite Maiko and I sighed. Eight perfect dumplings encased in steam. I lifted the first up, gently placed it on my spoon and nipped off the top of the dumpling. Using a spoon (which you have to ask for!) I dripped some vinegar and shredded ginger into the center of my dumpling. Preparing myself for the scalding, delectable heat, I then slurped up the broth. With something that can only be described as sensual, that rich broth flooded my senses…I took a breath and then devoured the dumpling skin and the interior meatball. Silken. Rich. Layers of pork flavors mingling with the heady inclusion of crab and that final tang of vinegar. A perfect bite. A bite for the ages.

The soup dumpling had called. We had answered. Let the obsession roll once again!

Feta cheese made from sheep’s milk is good stuff. Great, pungent semi-salty taste. Low cal. Zero or modest cholesterol. HG likes it many ways. A chunk splashed with Sicilian or Calabrian olive oil and sprinkled with za’atar. Accompanied by warm pita, sliced tomatoes and warmed pita. In an omelet. Sprinkled over a green salad. Over pasta with sauteed zucchini and onions. Nice companion to middle eastern eggplant dishes like Baba Ganoush HG counsel: Stick with the sheep feta. Much better than the cow or goat product.