HUNGRY GERALD

Why do Jews love Chinese food? When HG lived in New York, HG noted a Sunday exodus of the city’s Jewish population to Chinatown. HG/BSK lived on the Upper West Side which had a very good, spacious restaurant, The Great Shanghai, plus the city’s first restaurant serving fiery Szechuan cuisine. HG/BSK only went to Chinatown to enjoy Sunday dim sum brunch. HG/BSK munched while reading the Sunday Times. SJ and little daughter Lesley were dedicated Chinese foodies from their earliest days. Dim sum was their favorite (This passion is still alive with them and their lovely children, all discerning consumers of soup dumplings). SJ has a theory about the history of Jewish love of Chinese food. SJ theorizes it all began when immigrant Jews from the Lower East Side would stroll to Chinatown to get a break from traditional Eastern European cooking. Their accents and struggles with English would not be embarrassing in restaurants whose staff had similar problems. Also, they could eat pork and shrimp, forbidden unkosher (“traif”) foods they would not cook at home. And, Chinese restaurants were very cheap. In these modern days of New York dining, a curious phenomenon exists. Affluent diners are willing to pay astronomical prices for esoteric Japanese food. But, they rebel against high prices at Chinese restaurants. This may be ending. La Chine restaurant in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel is offering exquisite Chinese cuisine (plus some Japanese style Sashimi) prepared by famous chefs. The ingredients are superior and the prices are very expensive. Pete Wells, The New York Times restaurant reviewer, has given it a rave. HG/BSK will dine there when next in New York. Yes, it means a dent in credit cards. But, self indulgence is only a minor sin.

HG has been a fan of professional football for many, many decades. As a youngster, HG would be glued to the radio listening to the play-by-play feats of New York GiantsTuffy Leemans, Ward Cuff, Mel Hein, Al Blozis, Hank Soar and other heroes. When HG was a journalist in the 50’s, HG often attended Giants games and wrote “color” reports about them for Hearst Pre Date Services, a Hearst syndicate utilized by weekly newspapers. Best football players HG ever saw: Running backs Jim Brown and Marion Motley of the Cleveland Browns; Defensive back and punt returner Emlen Tunnell; and Arnie Weinmeister, defensive tackle,both of the New York Giants.. HG may be accused of old fogeyism, but HG preferred the old style pro football. Yes, today’s players are bigger, faster, more skilled. But, the level of violence is unacceptable. And, many players face Early Alzheirmer’s and other ailments after retirement. HG thought about this while watching a vicious, disgraceful game: the wild card playoff between the Steelers and Bengals. Helmet-to-helmet spearing. Punching. Cheap shots. The NFL has to review this and make appropriate reforms. There was one, happy memorable moment–the extraordinary, acrobatic touchdown catch by Pittsburgh’s Martevis Bryant. That’s one of the reasons to watch pro football–not to get a vicarious thrill out of brutality.

There’s a famous New Yorker Magazine cartoon of the 1930’s. Mother and young daughter seated at dining table. Mother: “It’s broccoli, dear.” Daughter: “I says it’s spinach. And, I say the hell with it.” The senior President Bush also expressed disdain for broccoli. Why? If treated respectfully, it is a queenly vegetable (nutritious, too). Broccoli (also Brussels sprouts) can be a horror when cooked into mush in the old fashioned English style. Little SJ, a fledgling gourmand, once complained that his friend’s Mom served “mushy broccoli.” Among BSK’s manifold talents is the ability to do justice to broccoli. BSK makes the ultimate penne with broccoli sauce. Rivals the penne with broccoli once served at the long closed (sigh!) Delsomma Restaurant in New York’s theater district. BSK always manages to find very fresh organic heads of broccoli. Stir fries the florets with sesame oil, garlic and ginger as part of a Chinese meal; with garlic and olive oil for Italian eating; steamed to accompany fish. Roasts broccoli in the oven French bistro style. All splendid. Purees broccoli with a variety of greens and herbs to make a fabulous “green” soup. Good hot or cold. HG often tops a bowl with some Greek yogurt dusted with a bit of cayenne. The dash of fiery spice makes it sing.

The door is marked “MEN” (sometimes “GENTLEMEN”). It is the sign of the men’s bathroom, an essential facility in any restaurant (or any other public area, for that matter). Since HG has become an old guy, the presence of a bathroom has become a matter of necessity. Men’s bathrooms vary in quality from sumptuous to vile. In HG’s younger days, better restaurants had bathrooms staffed by courteous attendants who handed visitors towels and soap. There was a bowl for tips. The Algonquin Hotel had a very distinguished attendant and the luxurious bathroom that served the Oak Room of the Plaza Hotel had an attendant with the manners and bearing of a European aristocrat. (HG once shared a visit to the Oak Room bathroom with movie star Cary Grant, a paragon of style and elegance). French bathrooms vary in quality from stylish to serviceable to disgusting (“Turkish” toilets that are holes in the floor). The quality of food served in a restaurant cannot always be judged by the quality of its bathroom. Most New York Chinatown bathrooms are deplorable while the food is splendid. Bathroom attendants maintained anonymity. The exception was the bathroom attendant at New York’s long demolished Polo Grounds, the stadium in north Harlem that once housed the New York football and baseball Giants. The old African-American gent in charge of the men’s room would chant: “No matter how you shake and dance, the last drop always falls in your pants.” He added: “After you’ve had your little pee, don’t forget to remember me. Old Sam”. He was always tipped.

HG is a passionate devourer of noodles in all their varied forms: Italian pasta, Japanese ramen; Chinese egg and rice noodles (plus rice sticks and cellophane noodles). Also, plain old all-American egg noodles. HG’s Mom would often delight the growing youngster with excellent noodle dishes. “Lukshen kugel” (A baked dish of noodles, onions, garlic and chicken fat. Galician Jews made this dish with sugar and cinnamon. Feh!!). Egg noodles with butter and old fashioned “pot’ cheese. (Still a favorite HG breakfast). Hearty chicken soup with home made noodles. When HG discovered the cheap Chinese restaurants of HG’s youth, Lo Mein became a favorite. HG’s Chinese noodle repertoire expanded to Chow Fun, fiery Chengdu noodles that numbed HG’s lips, fried noodles Singapore- style etc. Japanese ramen is hard to find near HG’s Santa Fe County home. (A good ramen bar opened, made HG happy, closed. Owner moved the eatery to Seattle). HG makes do with Korean (very spicy) instant ramen mixed with Kimchi. Of course, nothing is better than Italian pasta in its almost infinite forms. Number one is BSK’s perfectly prepared spaghetti with virgin olive oil, garlic, parsley and red pepper flakes (Sometimes BSK adds anchovies which dissolve in the sauce). A runner up is linguine with clams followed by spaghetti carbonara. And, that’s followed by trenette with pesto. HG could go on and on. When feeling sickly, HG is heartened by a bowl of chicken broth mixed with beaten egg, parmesan cheese and pasta in a very tiny form–Orzo. No, HG has not forgotten papardelle with ragu, that lush sauce of long simmered meat, tomatoes, carrots, onions, etc.. That’s what Lesley R. prepared for dinner last night accompanied by a huge green salad. Finished withe cheese and fruit. HG indulged in a dessert of Pandoro with whipped cream as did Massimo R. There was a gift bottle of cognac on the table and the Profesore doused his Pandoro with a goodly pour of that magic liquid, creating an Italian version of Baba au Rhum.

In writing about family and Christmas, HG didn’t mention HG’s magnificent daughter Victoria. She (and super chef husband/partner Marc Meyer) didn’t make it to Rhode Island this year. Not surprising when you are running four hot and busy New York restaurants (Rosie’s, Vic’s, Cookshop, Hundred Acres). How Victoria manages to juggle being a top restaurant executive, wife, stepmother is beyond HG. She never seems ruffled. Her face is always aglow with welcome. In a city replete with tension and attitude, a Victoria-Marc restaurant is always a happy haven. (And, of course, the food is marvelous). On HG/BSK’s recent visit to New York, Victoria lavished generosity upon the duo. The Yiddish word for free loader is “shnorrer.” HG/BSK are world class “shnorrers” when Victoria is around. Gentle Readers, makes this new year resolution: Dine at Rosie’s (Mexican); Vic’s (Italian); Cookshop (Mediterranean); Hundred Acres (American regional). Say HG sent you.

HG had to pass up a Cookshop lunch (alas) today with witty friend Stevie P. Annoying cough interfered with sleep so aged HG is resting. This means HG has had a chance to ruminate about spending the last seven days in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Here’s a cluster of random thoughts: Brooklyn’s brownstone lined streets have unique Christmas charm. The long time Italian residents decorate their homes with exuberant displays of multi-colored lights and decorations both inside and out (most street level homes have their trees in the windows allowing open viewing). Recent arrivals decorate their trees with only the most discreet and tasteful little, white lights with no baubles and no decorations. In any case, it all spells home in a way high rise buildings can’t express. Subways seem very clean and efficient (Much better than the Paris Metro or the London Underground where changing trains can often mean a half mile trek). HG is accompanied by HG’s wooden cane. Observing this, HG was always offered a subway seat by the courteous riders. (New York City’s reputation for rudeness is a fiction). Manhattan and Brooklyn are populated by the young. HG was often the only aged person in every shop, subway car, restaurant, food market visited. Have all the oldsters fled to Florida? Visitor tips from HG: Don’t miss strolling the High Line, a supreme urban amenity. And, wind up at the new Whitney Museum. Unforgettable in every aspect–architecture, art, light, intelligent museology. And, what visit to New York/ Brooklyn would be complete without food? HG has covered HG’s happy experiences in recent posts. When it comes to food, New York/Brooklyn rules the world. Ethnic and racial diversity puts the world’s cuisine within easy reach. And, wonderful experiences are affordable. HG is lucky. SJ is an informed guide. He is a culinary adventurer and has led HG/BSK to such places as a rousing, kosher Uzbekistan cafe in Queens. The thought of Uzbekistan barbecue and pickles washed down with vodka and beer makes HG plan another visit to the Big Apple (before HG becomes too feeble).

Chinese call it ma la, the combination of fiery heat and numbing, tingling sensations in the mouth after eating fiery Szechuan food with its reliance on Szechuan peppercorns, chile oil, and red peppers. HG had a major league case of “ma la” as HG/BSK; Victoria F. and Marc M.; composer Adam S.; Adam’s friend, Alexis; SJ/EM and family celebrated SJ’s birthday with dinner at Le Vie En Szechuan restaurant on E.33rd Street, Manhattan. Meal started with very tasty, mildly spiced cubes of cucumber plus bowls of appetizing roast peanuts. Delicious, delicate dumplings and wontons in moderate chile oil. Heat took over with subsequent dishes: Dan Dan noodles; Mopu Tofu; fish filets with red peppers in chile oil. There were some milder dishes: Soy sauce noodles; sautéed pea shoots; fried chicken; stir fried string beans; eggplant in garlic sauce. The table finished with a fiery serving of chives and pork. White rice and cold beer didn’t quench HG’s mouth flames. Time, the great healer, soon made HG comfortable. The meal was festive. The tastes were sensational. However, HG did contemplate the element of masochism provided by “ma la”.

Every year at Christmas season HG meets restaurateur daughter Victoria for lunch. (The tradition started five years ago.) Vicki manages to obtain a comfortable corner table for two at Balthazar. This is no mean feat since the French style brasserie is preposterously busy during the holiday period, even packed at the usual “dead’ hours like 4PM. HG usually sees Vicki at one of the four restaurants she runs with husband/chef/partner Marc Meyer (Cookshop, Hundred Acres, Vic’s, Rosie’s). This means HG and Vicki don’t have the opportunity to review life, voice opinions, etc.. HG has to share Vicki with customers, chefs, waitpersons, etc. Thus, the Balthazar lunch. As usual, the duo dove into a mammoth plateau de fruits de mer–oysters, clams, mussels, shrimp, lobster, ceviche. Superb, fresh-from-the-sea quality. Downed two carafes of the house Muscadet. Finished with creme brûlée and a (comped) wedge of cheesecake. Lunch began at 1:30. Finished at 4:30. Three hours of delightful father-and-daugher companionship. Lucky HG. One would think that after this briny marathon, HG would be through with food for the day. One would be wrong. At 8PM, HG/BSK, EM, Handsome Haru and super cute Teru were knocking off big bowls of ramen at Naruto Ramen on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood. The special “Naruto Ramen” is a soy broth based noodle soup with a hard boiled egg, roast pork, scallions, dried seaweed, fish cake and bean spouts. A hearty dish, indeed. There was also a platter of very good gyoza and some fried rice (for Teru). Surprise of the night: Japanese pomme frites. The spice dusted French fries were the best HG has ever tasted (BSK agreed). They were served with a fiery dip. HG wondered: “Where have these Asian spuds been hiding all these years?” HG drank some icy sake: “Ozeki One Cup.” BSK drank Sapporo draft beer. Great casual dining.

After the serenity and quiet of HG/BSK’s homes in New Mexico and Prince Edward Island, Canada, the duo find New York and Brooklyn intense and tempestuous. There are sweeping changes on every avenue. New shops. Flashy condos. Neglected neighborhoods have now become fashionable. The population diversity is extraordinary. The streets are cleaner than HG remembers but the noise has become intolerable. Very heavy, rude hands on the auto horn. Super honking. Despite the noise, crowds, traffic, etc., HG/BSK are having a wonderful time. It is good to see old friends. And, of course, there is the food. Still the best in the world. HG/BSK had a pleasant brunch with Peter H. and Susan C., old pals of many decades and quintessential New Yorkers. The venue was Dim Sum Go Go on Chatham Square in Chinatown. Good dim sum (not as good as Asian Jewels in Flushing, the dim sum champ). Long stroll though Chinatown, Little Italy and Soho before arriving at HG/BSK’s favorite clothing supplier, Uniqlo, the Japan-based creator of affordable, comfortable apparel. Dinner was at Numero 28 Pizzeria on Bergen Street in Brooklyn. This is a warm and welcoming restaurant. A jazz trio (saxophone, bass, keyboard) filled the room with great sounds. HG/BSK, SJ/EM and their family supped happily. Crisp, tender fried calamari; beautifully prepared tuna tartare; a big arugula salad with shavings of parmesan. Rare to find such great starters in a pizzeria. The pizzas were very good, Crisp, with nice charred edges. Fresh toppings. After drinking much red wine, HG finished the evening with a very inventive after dinner cocktail prepared by the Japanese barman. A wow. Next day was sunny and unseasonably warm, perfect for strolling on the new guttering ornament of Manhattan: the High Line. Riveting Hudson River views. Lovely plantings. High design seating. The High Line ends at the new Whitney Museum. The museum dazzles. It is perfect in every detail. Lighting. Art arrangement. Gallery flow. Indoor and outdoor access. Comfortable seating where one can rest while concentrating on the art. Ah, the art. HG/BSK saw two shows. A Frank Stella retrospective which bowled HG over. Stella’s ambition, power and ability to expand the boundaries of painting and sculpture are given dramatic emphasis in this mind boggling show. There is also a remarkable retrospective of the African-American painter, Archibald Motley. HG/BSK had never seen the works of this remarkable artist. HG/BSK were particularly impressed with his work of the 1930’s. The energy and color of African-American culture (sometimes treated satirically by Motley) pour out of these canvases. The Whitney has an elegant restaurant, The Untitled. HG/BSK rested their eyes and had some creative small plates: Smoked char salad for BSK and steak tartare for HG. Each was a diminutive wonder of culinary creativity. In the evening, HG/BSK met old friends and former business colleagues, Donald and Susan K. They dined at Blue Ribbon Brasserie in Park Slope. Wondrous oysters from British Columbia. A splendid, generous platter of escargots (with plenty of good bread to soak up the buttery, garlicky lustiness of the sauce.) Pork chops with kale and mashed potatoes. HG finished with the largest hot fudge sundae ever confected. Fortunately, SJ joined the party at dessert time and was able to consume part of the mountainous high calorie treat.