HUNGRY GERALD

The Big Guy in the Sky may summon the Moloch Hamoves, the black, winged Angel of Death, at any time with little warning (HG is 85, after all). But, until that dramatic moment HG will have a delightful time in New Mexico, appropriately named The Land of Enchantment. Today, for example. Our pal, Karen K., the distinguished film maker, dessert creator extraordinary, etc, suggested brunch at Sugar Nymphs Bistro, a tiny eatery in the little town of Penasco, located on the high road to Taos between Santa Fe and Taos. There is no more beautiful drive in America than motoring through the historic towns of Chimayo, Truces and Cordova with vistas of mesas and mountains unfolding before your eyes. We were particularly fortunate on this drive because the skies were blue and cloudless, the light was pure and the air was crisp and fragrant. The food at Sugar Nymphs was delicious and touched with a particular kind of New Mexican goodness. Our group had egg scrambles with three kinds of cheese, onions, peppers plus sides of home fries and chiles. Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia had a giant, green chile cheeseburger on a home baked bun which she said was the best burger ever. There were many warm biscuits with cherry jam to accompany the good coffee. A memorable brunch. On the way back to our homes in the Pojoaque Valley, our group stopped at a few cemeteries in the region. There is nothing quite like these New Mexico Latino cemeteries. There is a love and reverence for the dead. Graves are carefully tended and adorned with bunches of artificial flowers. Portraits of the dead adorn many of the graves. Sadly, there are too many graves of young men (auto accident? drug overdose? violence?) with tombstones placed by their grieving mothers. There is no adequate way to describe these cemeteries with their atmosphere of fervent religious faith, belief in the hereafter and acceptance of untimely death. They are just the essence of blood-and-history drenched New Mexico. And, HG/BSK/GG Sofia had the perfect guide, New Mexico native Karen K.

HG has long believed that the only proper role of beets was to provide the basis for ice cold, pink (with the addition of sour cream) borscht, a summer staple of HG’s youth. Nobody ever made it better than HG’s Mom, the late Ida Kopkind Freeman. HG did not like any other preparation of beets. Roast (or braised) beets seemed incompatible with wine. HG did not share the enthusiasm for salads of beets with goat (or blue) cheese and walnuts. Thus, HG did not look forward with anticipation to the beets BSK prepared last night to accompany a meal of pan fried Icelandic cod, steamed haricots vert and tiny potatoes. Surprise. BSK’s beets were a mind changer: Sweet, Spicy, Smoky. How did creative BSK do it? Golden and red beets were cut into small cubes. They were then sautéed with chopped sweet onion in Sicilian olive oil. Lots of smoked black pepper plus some sea salt. Pan was covered and the mix was cooked until the beets softened. The final touch. BSK took off the cover and poured in some syrupy, old balsamic vinegar (the real stuff, not the insipid liquid found on most supermarket shelves). Pan was covered again and cooking went on for a few more minutes so the vinegar could infuse the beets and onions. The result: A revelation.

Oh, what a splendid holiday is Thanksgiving. Eat (to excess). Drink (to excess). Laugh, Enjoy. Insightful SJ has noted, there are no religious overtones to mar the holiday jollity. Joining HG/BSK for days of feasting were BSK’s sister, Noel M. and husband Yossi plus son Matthew. (Noel and Yossi acquired a lovely Prince Edward Island property this summer so joint good times are planned for the future). The Thanksgiving Day feasting followed tradition: Squash soup (from the recipe of HG’s beloved sister, the late Beulah Naomi Katz). Roast turkey. Smashed (not mashed) potatoes. Brussel sprouts enlivened by shallots and bacon. Not too sweet cranberry sauce. Abundant giblet gravy. A surprise hit was the stuffing. BSK used lots of sage, sausage and mushrooms to make a stuffing that demanded seconds and thirds. Cornbread (made from a mix) turned out dry and inedible. It was tossed. Two desserts: BSK’s great pear crisp and store bought (not so great) pecan pie. Lots of vanilla ice cream accompanied. HG/BSK and Yossi drank much of this year’s good Beaujolais Nouveau. Bass Ale for Matthew and water for abstemious Noel. Post-dessert there was Bushmill’s Irish Honey whiskey, Calvdaos brandy, Amaretto. Two varieties of peanut brittle. Italian Amaretti cookies. Chocolate truffles. A super sweet finale. The menu was repeated the next night. There was just enough turkey left to make an Asian shredded turkey salad for dinner after Noel, Yossi and Matthew departed for Denver and Las Vegas. The turkey carcass has been bubbling in a pot on the kitchen range with onions, parsley and other greens. A very good turkey broth is anticipated. Turkey is a gift that keeps on giving.

Karen K., HG/BSK’s pal and neighbor, is a multi-talented woman. A veteran movie producer/director, she is a talented gardener, guardian of chickens who provide super eggs; a trim, energetic hiker, skier and much else. HG has dubbed Karen K. “The Dessert Queen” because she creates the best desserts on earth: goat milk ice cream (HG, at first dubious, was overwhelmed by its goodness), flan that combines Mexican and French flavors with ecstatic results and many varieties of healthy, flavorful baked goodies. Karen K. lives a few hundred yards from HG/BSK/s New Mexico home in Las Barrancas, a cluster of lovely, old adobe dwellings (condominium ownership) created by Cady Wells (1904-1954). Wells, who died much too young, was one of the greatest New Mexico painters (as good as Georgia O’Keefe in HG’s opinion). One of the pleasures of Las Barrancas is “The Kitchen House”. This is a separate building containing a kitchen and a dining room. It evokes a beautiful, romantic past. Many southwestern touches (including a warming kiva fireplace in the dining room). This was the setting for a delightful dinner party hosted by Karen K. a few nights ago. Present were two of Karen’s friends from the film industry–Lisa, retired from a long career as an eminent set decorator and Laurie, also retired, acknowledged as a premier movie still photographer. Lucky HG. The only male at a dinner table with four lively, entertaining and attractive women. HG provided the appetizer, baba ganoush, the middle eastern eggplant dip. Karen served a cajun meat loaf (lots of New Orleans flavors and just enough heat from jalapeño peppers) accompanied by a moist cornbread. Spaghetti squash, roast carrots, tiny potatoes and something braised (was it celery?) rounded the meal out. Sumptuous food, perfect for a very chilly evening. Much red wine was drunk (HG led the way) as the flames flickered in the kiva. A very good salad of baby greens. Then dessert. The Dessert Queen continued her reign. Moist, lush gingerbread topped with traditional hard sauce. A graceful bow to the past. Generous Karen poured HG some wonderful calvados, HG’s favorite brandy. And, there was another happy surprise for HG. Knowing HG’s predilections, Laurie gave HG a bottle of Russian vodka as a birthday present. HG immediately sampled it. Nazdrovya !! A great party.

BSK is a seasonal and inventive cook. For example, a few weeks back: Green tomatoes. BSK found some nice green tomatoes at the Pojoaque Farmers Market close to HG/BSK’s New Mexico home. Traditionally, green tomatoes are sliced, dipped in egg and spicy corn meal and fried (preferably in bacon fat). A staple of down home Southern tables. That’s not what BSK did.. BSK cooked a batch of the green guys with chicken broth, onions, coriander, cumin, cardamon, pepper and salt. When done, the mix went into the blender and was pureed. The smooth stuff was gently reheated. Voila!! Green tomato soup. Tangy. Spicy. Perfect way to start a meal.

Hey, what’s this? Woke up this morning to see white stuff covering the trees and meadow. Snow. Rare in New Mexico in mid-November. But, once snow arrives, HG enjoys it. For HG this doesn’t mean skiing, snowshoeing, snowboarding or any other frigid and energetic activity. Snow means a fire in the fireplace and a long breakfast of softly scrambled eggs with red salmon caviar, sour cream, toasted ciabatta, numerous cups of coffee. This is the sort of morning where HG catches up with magazines, newspapers, art books. This is the first snowfall for Toby, our newly acquired (but already beloved) dog, a Dandie Dinmont/ Jack Russell cross breed. Toby much enjoys the snow, leaping at snowflakes, sniffing and tasting. By noon the snowfall ends and the sun begins to shine as the snow melts. In the high desert atmosphere of New Mexico, HG expects the snow to have totally vaporized by the next morning. Much different than New York where snow immediately turns into nasty slush or HG/BSK’s mountain ranch in Colorado. There, snow fell in October and drifts lasted until July. No, HG was never tempted to move to sunny Florida, a state where the sun turns older folks into semi-roasted vegetables before hurricanes sweep them into the sea.

85. Hey, that’s a lot of years. But, HG, the birthday boy, is not only Hungry Gerald but Greedy Gerald. HG wants more. More life. More years. More food. More wine. That’s because HG has the best wife, the best children, the best grandchildren and the best dog (Toby, a new member of the family). And, of course, HG/BSK divide their time between two delightful and very different paradises: New Mexico (the Land of Enchantment) and Prince Edward Island (The Gentle Island). In New Mexico, HG/BSK have the benefit of interesting, generous, amusing friends. Among them are Polly B. (the renowned photographer); David F. (novelist and historian); Karen K.(film producer). This trio gathered with HG/BSK and Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia for a birthday feast of red salmon caviar (from Zabar’s) and home made blini (via the Roger Sherman recipe from Canal House Cooking, Vol. 3). Also Gaspe Nova Scotia smoked salmon and sable (from Russ & Daughters, a very generous gift from Restaurateur Daughter Victoria). On the table was creme fraiche and thick sour cream; scallion cream cheese; whitefish salad; pickles; capers; caper berries; sliced sweet onion and tomatoes; black olives. Jewish rye and pumpernickel bread (from Zabar’s). Genuine New York bagels (Russ & Daughters). The group toasted HG with Kristal champagne (a startling pre-birthday gift from Antony and Claudia C.) and then went on to a variety of cold, dry white wines. Dessert. Ah, dessert!! This was provided by Karen K., acknowledged as The Dessert Queen. HG has written about Karen K.’s wonders before but this time the talented lady outdid herself. Dessert was flan. A wondrous flan that hovered somewhere between traditional flan and an ethereal creme brûlée. A dream custard with toasted flakes of almond to provide a contrasting crunch. Providing some overkill, HG sliced pistachio halvah accompanied by Bushmill’s Irish Honey Whiskey. Polly B. and David F. gave HG a magnificent straw sombrero as a birthday gift. This will be indispensable on PEI’s beaches even though the hat makes HG look like an exotic variety of Jewish mushroom. Thanks to all (including little granddaughter Teru) who sent birthday greetings and wishes. A joyous birthday, indeed.

Sheer comfort on a chilly (or not so chilly) day is a big steaming caldron of pho and an accompanying tangle of mint, bean sprouts, basil and other fresh greens. HG consumed this Vietnamese dish many times in rainy Vancouver, B.C.; snowy Denver (that city’s Federal Boulevard is lined with good Vietnamese restaurants) and in New York’s Chinatown as winds whipped off the East River. Yesterday, New Mexico’s Indian summer took a turn to the frigid so BSK served some ample bowls of pho for dinner. No, BSK didn’t spend the day cooking bones and spices into a broth. Instead, BSK opted for packaged pho (the Pacific brand). Previously, HG/BSK found Pacific’s broths (chicken, beef and vegetable) to be rather insipid. Surprisingly, the Pacific pho was quite good and redolent of authentic Asian spices. No, it wasn’t the pho you get in Vietnamese restaurants and even the lowliest citizens of Ho Chi Minh city would probably sneer, but it tasted good to HG. Of course, BSK enhanced it with slices of steak, plenty of De Cecco Angel Hair pasta, ginger and a touch of cinnamon. Mint, basil, bean sprouts and sliced scallion were added. Indispensable sriracha for heat. Nice dining as HG/BSK and GGS (Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia) glanced at the colorful and fragrant piñon ablaze in the fireplace.

A sunny autumn morning in New Mexico and a happy HG is sipping morning coffee while perusing the dismal news. Ebola, Elections, Jihadis, etc., leave HG unfazed. That’s because HG’s coffee is served in a circa-1930’s cobalt blue milk pitcher adorned with the face of that delicious, singing dancing child movie star—inimitable, curly haired Shirley Temple. Little HG loved Shirley Temple (the late star was just a year older than HG). HG’s Mom received a Shirley Temple pitcher as a giveaway with a box of Wheaties (“The Breakfast of Champions.”). HG always had his milk or hot Droste’s cocoa in that lovely pitcher. HG was not alone. Millions of little Americans drank their beverages from Shirley Temple pitchers. Shirley made 43 movies and Hazel Atlas Glass Co. and U.S. Glass kept those pitchers rolling out of their factories. Knowing of HG’s fondness for Shirley, Gifted Daughter Lesley R. and husband Massimo, sent HG a Shirley Temple pitcher as an early birthday gift. Adding to the delight of the gift is the fact that little Lesley R., also adorned with a crown of curly hair, closely resembled Shirley. Paragons of cuteness.

HG/BSK tasted Padron peppers for the first time in Madrid a few years ago. After hours on the majestic city’s museum row (the Prado and other wondrous venues) HG/BSK settled down for a late lunch at a busy, plain spoken Galician bistro. Grilled Chorizo. Shrimps in garlic sauce. Very tender Polpo Gallegos (octopus cooked in the Galician style). A big pitcher of Sangria. Good bread. And, a platter of Spanish Padron peppers fried in oil and garlic until they blistered. They were a taste revelation and HG wolfed down a dozen before a hot specimen set HG’s lips aflame. And, so HG discovered the Spanish saying (which applies to any number of experiences and persons), “Some Padrons are hot. Some are not.” You can’t tell by appearance. You only learn the truth by tasting. Last year, BSK ordered these peppers at Bones, the very good Asian fusion bistro in Denver. BSK had enjoyed the dish there many times. On this occasion, however, BSK swallowed a pepper so hot that BSK almost lost consciousness and was left with a severe and ringing headache. A stroke was feared. Since then HG/BSK have become pepper cautious. Most of the time BSK buys Shishito peppers at the Santa Fe or Pojoaque Farmers Markets. These peppers are an East Asian variety transplanted to the United States. They are very similar to Padrons, slightly smaller, never hot (and in HG’s opinion, slightly less tasty). Last night, BSK took a chance and fried a big batch of Pojoaque Padrons to accompany Adobo dusted fried pork chops. Heaven. Nary a hot coal, just peppery garlic enhanced flavor.