HUNGRY GERALD

There are some dishes that are only good at home. Potato latkes in a restaurant are terrible. Too greasy. Not crisp. And, if crisp, the interior is mushy — more like a knish than a proper latke. Balance is never achieved. HG has often sighed for the wonders achieved by HG’s Mom. Fortunately, SJ has inherited his late grandmother’s latke skills. His are flavorful delights and HG looks forward to ingesting a dozen or so during the upcoming holiday feast. Restaurant risotto doesn’t work. If it’s reheated it gets gummy. Cooking to order isn’t cost effective. The result is an inferior product, totally unlike the creamy, lush nuttiness that HG creates by constant stirring and laser-like attention. HG has had good omelettes (in Paris) but has only had a great omelette when BSK has wielded her magic skillet.

The opposite of better-at-home food is the lovely Mexican treat: the Chimichanga — or deep fried, crisp burrito. The Chimichanga is impossible to make at home as its preparation requires the wizardry of a professional kitchen and a light touch on the deep fryer. In unskilled hands, it becomes a greasy, tasteless mess. But, when a Chimichanga is good…oh yes! Well, HG is happy to report that he has found the perfect Chimichanga. El Parasol (the wonderful casual restaurant in Pojoaque, NM, often lauded by HG) provided the treat. A perfect filling of ground beef, green chiles and cheese and a crisp exterior that shattered into phyllo-like shards when pierced by a fork. The Chimichanga was served with a scoop of guacamole resting on a mound of shredded lettuce plus a few spoonfuls of sour cream. The dish was augmented by ramekins of green and red salsa. Yes, it is an infantile word but it expresses the taste: YUM!!

Nambe is a town just a few miles north of HG and BSK’s home in New Mexico. You might recognize the name from the unique metal alloy designs marketed under the Nambé label. Two interesting women, our good friends Vicki B. and Sarah N., are temporarily domiciled in a historic adobe dwelling tucked away in a corner of the Nambe Pueblo. The house is not faux Southwest. It’s the real thing. A shepherd’s fireplace (shepherd sleeps on a shelf above the fireplace). Old dark beams. Thickly plastered walls. Low ceilings. A delightful place to be on a chilly evening. The women, though not puritanical, are health conscious. Dinner was cauliflower soup, creatively spiced and soothing. Then a lovely chunk of crisped chicken with sliced sweet potatoes in a sauce that had hints of New Mexico chiles. Dessert was a melange of Greek yogurt and stewed and fresh seasonal fruit. A goat blue cheese from a Santa Fe Farmers Market artisan helped the group finish off the red wine. The meal was preceded by New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and smoked trout consumed in front of a copper hooded raised fireplace. The meal was as healthy as it was delicious. Adding to the delights of the evening were Vicki and Sarah’s accounts of their mental and spiritual adventures. Warm and stimulating pleasures on a cold night.

HG had early (seven AM) left eye cataract surgery this morning. Quite painless. However, the anesthesia, IV, drops (and the early hour) left HG tired and blurry eyed. BSK drove the unhappy fellow home and comforted him with a lush platter of softly scrambled eggs and cheese grits. Plus, a pot of tea brewed in the English manner. Ah, life has few better rewards than being coddled (and cuddled) by a lovely woman. Lucky, lucky HG.

At one time, HG subscribed to Calvin Trillin‘s jaundiced views concerning the Thanksgiving Day turkey. Trillin mused that American cuisine would have improved if Italians had landed at Plymouth rather than English Puritans. An Italian landing would have meant Spaghetti Carbonara on Thamskgiving Day rather than turkey, a bird Trillin does not admire. HG is very fond of both Carbonara and the prose of Trilllin, but HG has become ever fonder of The Big Bird and all the trimmings. This Thanksgiving, HG and BSK were blessed with having BSK’s family (folks with big appetites) at the table. The family group was composed of BSK’s sister, Noel;her husband, Yossi, and their two sons, Eric and Matthew. Also present was Eric’s beautiful girl friend, Lisa. The two young men are big guys — well over six feet and well over 200 pounds. Much muscle. Lisa (a Norwegian horse vaulting champion) is a powerful lass who bench presses over 200 pounds. Combined with Yossi, a rangy Israeli who is a renowned Clean Plate Ranger, this quartet can do a lot of damage to a large turkey. With some help from HG, BSK and Noel, the group totally demolished a 16-pound turkey, mounds of mashed potatoes, brussell sprouts roasted with pancetta, stir fried haricot verts, corn bread-sausage-pecan stuffing, two varieties of cranberry sauce. Plus the obligatory gallon of savory gravy (enhanced by BSK’s lovely roux and some judicious spicing). No second day turkey sandwiches. Only a skeleton went into the turkey broth pot. Dessert was BSK’s nut and cinnamon apple crisp (with vanilla ice cream) plus Noel’s honey cake. Adding to the jolly times were six bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau (very good this year) plus Samuel Adams ale, pre-dinner iced vodka and post dinner Israeli dessert wine (resembled a good French sweet Sauterne). Much to be thankful for.

Finally. A real dinner of celebration. Oh, it’s good to win and the Obama victory had an extra measure of sweetness as Mr. Cellophane (aka Mitt), the wasted $400 Million Man (Karl Rove) and The Hair Brained (Donald Trump) tasted the bitter dregs of defeat. Talking about tasting, deliciousness abounded as HG and BSK hosted a happy group of distinguished Democrats at a laughter infused dinner party. Present were Mayor Bob Murphy of Lakewood, CO. (a landslide election winner earlier in the year) plus his brother, Don. Bob’s wife, the lovely, Ina Gustafson was present (wearing some of the striking jewelry she designs). Joining us from Crested Butte, CO.. were Mike Rock, the distinguished urbanist and former city manager. Mike was accompanied by Trish Layton, economic development expert, equestrienne and former championship diver. A handsome and talented group bearing numerous bottle of excellent Pinot Noir. Dinner started with prosciutto and ripe figs; mozzarella and tomatoes; prosciutto wrapped around breadsticks. Sparkling Pinot Grigio. Then there were some brimming bowls of fettucine with Bolognese ragu (BSK follows Marcella Hazan’s recipe and it is robust and full of flavor). The Pinot Noir set it off nicely. This was followed by camambert and gorgonzola, artisan sourdough bread and a tossed salad of baby lettuces. Dessert: BSK’s apple crisp and vanilla ice cream. The crisp was made with apples selected by BSK from the HG/BSK orchard. Chiiled limoncello ended the meal. But, not the happy, laughing sounds.

HG and BSK live in an environment heavily influenced by Latinos. Their neighbors in the Pojoaque Valley (15 minutes north of Santa Fe) are — for the most part — Latino farmers, many of whom have been farming here for countless generations. Their banker is Latino. So is their insurance agent. And, their gardener, plumber, carpenter, electrician, etc., etc. The super market where HG shops for daily necessities is staffed entirely by Latinos. At least three times a week, HG lunches at El Parasol, the splendid restaurant presided over by the delightful Jose and Alicia Atencio. HG does not believe in sweeping generalizations, but it is obvious to anyone with eyes that Latinos are among the nation’s hardest working people. And, their work ethic has been profoundly beneficial to the United States. Without them, the United States could not function. The Republican Party has behaved disgracefully to Latinos, characterizing them as lazy, affirmative action moochers; and a prominent conservative intellectual had the audacity to compare Latino activists to radical, Middle Eastern Islamists.The election confirmed the dismal GOP record as regards the Latino vote. This was summed up best by a recent comment to The Economist Magazine: “Latinos should be Republicans. Most are socially conservative and decry abortion and gay marriage. They come to the United States to work and better their lives and the lives of their families. But, Republicans will not get their vote until Republicans stop being condescending at best and racist at worst. I am a Latino and I hate the current Republican Party.” The election results indicate that millions of Latinos share this opinion.

The election is a nail biter. Sandy has assaulted New York (wiped out the Rockaway boardwalk among other landmarks). Silver lining is that HG and BSK’s Brooklyn, Manhattan and Rhode Island family is safe (though facing some economic damage). Here in New Mexico the days are sunny, bright and clear with temperatures in the 60’s. Cools off at night so a blaze in the fireplace is welcome. Fortunate HG lunched with beautiful Sarah N., the multi-talented and adventurous woman who directs the Santa Fe Farmers’ Market. Lunch was at Shohko Cafe in Santa Fe. Excellent array of sushi. Highlights were delectable unagi (eel) and remarkable salmon eggs. This was followed by a platter of shrimp and vegetable sushi. Good food in a pretty room. Sarah gave HG a gift — a big bag of red New Mexico chile peppers. It is common in these Southwestern parts to see wreaths of dried red chiles tied together in clusters called ristras. Very colorful. When reconstituted they are the basis for fabulous sauces and moles. HG’s gift came from Matt Romero — known in the Farmers’ Market as “the chile guy.” Matt is very visible during the fall as he roasts green chiles, filling the market with their fragrance. His Romero Farms in Alcalde and Dixon grow many varieties of peppers as well as eggplants, tomatoes, potatoes, etc. All are extraordinary’ Check Matt Romero out on Youtube and get his recipe for a great eggplant sandwich on realsimple.com . Discussing his red chile peppers, Romero says: “We come to New Mexico for green chile. We stay because of red.” Sarah sent over Romero’s red chile sauce recipe. Generous HG shares it with you: Here’s what Matt has to say:

MATT ROMERO’S RED CHILE SAUCE (for Frito Pies, Eggs, Etc.)

Drink a lot of Margaritas and enjoy!!!

Very hungry midday so off to he HG standby in Pojoaque, El Parasol (there are six El Parasols–in Santa Fe, Espanola, Los Alamos–but the Pojoaque branch is the HG favorite). The Pojoaque branch is under the supervision of veteran restaurateur Jose Atencio (his family has run the renowned El Paragua in Espanola for generations). His wife, the lovely Alicia Atencio, is also frequently in attendance. Their personal touch insures that the welcome is warm, the service swift, the premises sparkling clean and the food consistently good with true down home Northern New Mexico flavor. Alicia was on duty today and HG inquired if it was too late for a breakfast burrito. Big smile from Alicia. “Of course not.” Soon a generously (to put it mildly!) sized breakfast burrito appeared. Perfectly scrambled eggs nestled inside a tortilla with loads of crispy bacon, green chiles, and roast potatoes. Smothered with mucho, mucho green chile — hot and spicy but not ridiculous. A green chile burrito for gourmands, not masochists.

When HG finished the last scrap of the burrito it was time for contemplation. How did this breakfast burrito rank with other winners in that category? HG had never tasted a breakfast burrito until HG and BSK’s move to Colorado some 27 years ago. Tenderfoot HG had his first BB at Pete’s Diner in Denver and was overwhelmed. Breakfast for the gods. New Mexico friends sneered. Wait until you taste a BB smothered in New Mexico green. Then you will know how a BB should taste. They were right. My first taste of a BB at Tune Up Cafe in Santa Fe knocked the Pete’s version out of the box. Enter the El Parasol BB. HG will end the suspense. This is the Numero Uno BB. Freshness, balance of ingredients, levels of flavor, perfection of the green chiles. Thank you, Jose. Thank you, Alicia. You rule.

There is an impression that New Mexico is a parched, desert area — an American Sahara with chile peppers and sagebrush. Yes, there are lots of dry areas and beautiful mesas devoid of vegetation; mesas that have been carved into fanciful shapes by wind, snow and, yes, rain. New Mexico does get lots of sunshine. HG and BSK are surprised when they wake to anything but golden light. Infrequent rains and snowstorms are usually brief and intense followed by sun that dries the rain and vaporizes the snow. But, for all that, New Mexico is one of the oldest, continually cultivated agricultural regions in the US — There are lush valleys irrigated through ancient techniques that help to produce not just wonderful produce, but a thriving wine industry (Gruet makes spectacular sparkling wines) as well. The small farms that surround HG and BSK’s property are family operations (some of them have been in the same family for hundreds of years) that grow an astonishing variety of flavorful vegetables and fruit. HG has devoted previous posts to the excellence of the organic lettuces, peppers, potatoes, turnips, eggplants, etc. found at the Santa Fe Farmers’ Market. There’s also great lamb (comparable to Colorado lamb, which HG judges to be the world’s best) and free range chicken. One of the many nice features of HG and BSk’s property is their orchard — a dozen mature apple and pear trees. Fortunate HG and BSK have a bushel of apples ripening near their front door and often end dinner these days with a succulent pear plucked from their very own tree (accompanied, of course, by Parmigiano and red wine). Abondanza, indeed.

The New York Yankee sage, Yogi Berra (once HG’s neighbor in Montclair, NJ.), observed about a restaurant: “Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.” That’s the way HG felt about Santa Fe’s Jambo Cafe, located in a Cerillos Road strip mall. A small place, there was often considerable wait to taste the creative and unusual Caribbean/African cuisine. Well, HG was near there today and had a lust for vibrant coconut-peanut-chicken stew. HG discovered that Jambo has tripled in size. Same bright and colorful decor. Same smiling, warm and efficient service. The food? Better than ever. HG’s huge bowl of the aforementioned stew was brilliantly robust with many complex layers of hot, sweet and savory flavors. (If not hot enough for daring tastes, there’s a bottle of crushed Jamaican Scotch Bonnet peppers on each table. Let the unwary beware. Asked for a mini taste of the goat stew (yes, goat, and please don’t knock it until you try it) and the dish evoked Paris bistros and Rastafarian gourmet cooking. Don’t just concentrate on New Mexican green chile extravaganzas when you are in Santa Fe. Take a detour to Jambo.