HUNGRY GERALD

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!

Posted too rapidly. No plain chicken broth for ailing HG. Resourceful BSK garnered some marmite (very strong consomme).  Beat two eggs into the boiling marmite.  Added some mini elbow macaroni.  Comfort food that was truly comforting.  HG is fortunate to have BSK.

A nasty bug has attacked HG and BSK.  Sneezes, coughs, discomfort, etc. On the menu today is chicken broth, mint tea, Sudafed and cough syrup. Not gourmand dining.  Oh, woe. Taxi to Gare du Nord tomorrow morning for Eurostar to London.  Hope we feel better.

HG and BSK are spending their last days in Paris in a blizzard of Kleenex and a cacaphony of coughs. This didn’t prevent HG from visiting Welper the venerable, independently owned brasserie on busy Place de Clichy. There was a rumor that Wepler had gone downhill.  Couldn’t prove it by HG’s lunch of oysters and bulots.  Splendid.  Very dignified waiter,  HG pointed out that some of the bulot shells were empty.  Obviously, the sea snails had left their shells and were out looking for romance.  The ambassadorial waiter took care of the situation by bringing HG a virtual deluge of bulots and a big pot of fresh mayonnaise.  Typical of Paris–a classy and generous gesture.  BSK felt well enough to see True Grit.  Fun.  But the film didn’t have the usual Coen Brothers edge of irony.  Walking back to the loft HG was struck by the cold bug.  HG and BSK hope they shake off the nastiness before chunneling to London Saturday.