HUNGRY GERALD

Growing up during the Great Depression of the 1930’s, young HG would walk from the family apartment at 1210 Woodycrest Avenue, The Bronx, to elementary school, P.S. 11 on Ogden Avenue. HG would always pause and look into the courtyard of Noonan Plaza, the art deco apartment complex masterpiece which occupied most of the square bounded by W. 168th Street, Ogden Avenue and Nelson Avenue. The courtyard was magic. It contained a pool inhabited by swans and fish. There was a waterfall and the pool was crossed by rustic Japanese bridges. Noonan Plaza consisted of eight and six-story white brick buildings containing 281 apartments ranging from studios to three-bedroom units. Designed by Horace Ginsbern and Marvin Fine, architects, with much Mayan/Art Deco ornamentation on the buildings’ facades. It was built and owned by Bernard Noonan, an Irish-born real estate developer who built many apartment houses in the Highbridge section of The Bronx. Noonan Plaza opened in 1928 and was immediately occupied by upwardly mobile Jewish families fleeing the Lower East Side. Besides the design and the “moderne” bathrooms and kitchens, Noonan Plaza buildings were sited so each apartment received a maximum amount of sunshine and fresh air. Fortunately, HG’s beloved late sister, Beulah Naomi, had friends who lived in Noonan Plaza, so HG had many opportunities to visit apartments and stroll in the courtyard. It was HG’s dream to live in Noonan Plaza someday. It reminded little HG of Hollywood movies. As The Bronx decayed in later years and the middle class fled to the suburbs, Noonan Plaza did resemble a Hollywood movie.. A horror movie. It was occupied by drug addicts and drug peddlers, squatters, vagrants, etc. Much was destroyed as addicts ripped apart and sold anything that could be sold for drugs. As vandalism increased, at one point only five apartments were occupied. The last owner abandoned the complex and The New York Savings Bank, the mortgage holder, took over. Architect Frederick Ginsbern, the late Horace’s son, was dismayed at seeing his father’s masterwork destroyed. He was gratified when the bank contacted him and asked whether he had the architectural plans for the complex and would he design a restoration. It was difficult to find a builder who would do the job. Finally, Glick Construction signed on. It took two years to bring back Noonan Plaza to glory. A garden has replaced the pool. There are security gates and a manned security station. When it reopened in 1982, there were 2,000 applications for the affordable and rent-subsidized apartments. It cost $9,000,000 to reconstruct Noonan Plaza. Today, almost 20 years later, it would probably cost upwards of $100,000,000 to build a complex of this size. Noonan Plaza was designated as a New York Landmark in 2010.

Fish, chicken, ground turkey, eggs, yogurt, rice, beans, lentils, cheese, vegetables of all kinds, avocados, pasta. These are the basics of HG/BSK’s diet. Very little red meat (boneless leg of lamb, lamb chops, pork chops occasionally). Steak is a rarity. About two times a year. Never have filet mignon. Mushy. Tasteless. BSK finds rib steak too marbled with fat. So, the HG/BSK choice is New York Strip. Whole Foods had a steak sale and BSK bought a big, juicy New York Strip. BSK’s skills are limitless. Among them is the ability to cook The Perfect Steak. Here’s how Wonder Woman does it. Dusts the bottom of cast iron pan with sea salt. Turns the heat on high in order to sear the steak on both sides. Lowers the heat a bit. Using tongs, cooks the steak by turning it over every thirty seconds. By some mental alchemy, BSK knows when it has reached the perfect point of rare (but not raw or cold in the middle) juicy perfection. Lets it rest on a heated platter for a few minutes. Tops it with a bit of butter. The result: The Perfect Steak. Serves it with two salads: A leafy salad of lettuces and a chopped salad of Kumatoes, sweet onion and endive. Roquefort dressing for both salads. Brings back memories of Christ Cella, the long-closed New York steak house. It was the best steak house in the world.

When HG’s children, Lesley R. and SJ were very young, BSK made many dishes with well-soaked salt cod. Brandade, garlic laden and creamy, was an HG favorite. The puree was also good for breakfast when fried as pancakes and topped with a sunny side up egg. Little Lesley R. and SJ hated salt cod. Hated the dishes made from it. On one occasion, while vacationing in Nantucket, the stealthy kids liberated a wooden box of salt cod from the pantry and buried it in the garden. BSK made a fish stew last night using salt cod, fish stock, white wine, onions, garlic, tomatoes, potatoes and many herbs. The rich broth and the vegetables were delicious. But, HG discovered that HG no longer liked salt cod. HG determined that any dish that used salt cod would be better with fresh cod. However, if you’re sailing around the world in a wind-powered boat, follow the lead of sailors of yore. Take dried salt cod (bacalau) along. Good source of protein.

At age seven, a contemporary told HG how babies were made. HG punched the boy for accusing HG’s Mother and Father of doing a nasty thing. Yes, with time came acceptance of physical truths: By 12 years old, young HG began noticing a rather stimulating difference between young women and growing boys. When HG was 12, there was no exposure to porn. What existed was very “underground” and not something a 12-year-old boy could stumble upon. Yes, there was a widely circulated booklet featuring comic strip Popeye doing the naughty-naughty with Olive Oyl. Young HG was not aroused. Much more exciting to HG were the numerous bra and girdle ads in the New York Times Sunday Magazine and the “intimate apparel” displays in storefronts along the Bronx’s Grand Concourse. Ah, innocent days.

That’s the title of a very moving photo book published by the Bronx Photo League. The book was a gift to HG from Gifted Daughter Lesley R. The elevated subway train (Number 4 Line) still runs above gritty Jerome Avenue in The Bronx. The photos depict some of the 3,700 hard-working people who work in the South Bronx section of Jerome Ave. They are immigrants from Mexico, Africa, South America, and the Caribbean. This stretch of Jerome Avenue contains every conceivable type of auto repair shop (engines, body-work, brakes, etc.). People from all over New York City go there for repairs (cheaper and better than mechanics in the suburbs and gentrified city neighborhoods). In addition to the repair shops, Jerome Avenue teems with small businesses — bakeries, hair stylists, clothing and food shops plus a storefront church are there. It’s a busy and active area that supports thousands of families both in the neighborhood and abroad. It’s being threatened with rezoning. All part of the process that is pushing low-income people out of the city HG once loved.

A very useful bread is Pepperidge Farm Thin Sliced White Bread. HG does not like standard sliced bread or thick slices of whole loaves. Whatever the use, most sliced bread is simply too much for HG: Too much bread for a sandwich and too much for cheese (HG prefers an English water biscuit with a runny brie or camembert); however, the thin, inoffensive Pepperidge product creates the perfect ratio of carbs-to-veggies-to-proteins for the type of BLT that HG desires. Lightly toasted Pepperidge Thins, smeared with organic peanut butter and good jam, make for a worthy companion to breakfast coffee. At lunchtime, HG uses it for a sardine sandwich: Portuguese sardines (sourced from the great Portugalia store in Fall River, Mass.). Thinly sliced onion. Lemon juice, Mayonnaise, All the lusty flavors come through. Here’s some nostalgia. In the 50’s and 60’s, a number of New York stores (Caviarteria, etc.) sold great caviar at modest prices. HG and pals would gently warm Pepperidge Farm thins, butter them and heap the slices with abundant Beluga caviar. The beverage was Polish vodka, Wyborowa. HG eyes go misty at the memory.

Growing up, HG ate lots of anchovies. HG’s late Mom, in her blend of Yiddish-English, pronounced them “anchowees.” Mom (and HG’s late father) were very fond of them. They thought of anchovies as another form of salty schmaltz herring. HG ate them on slices of buttered rye or pumpernickel bread. When in season, they topped juicy slices of tomato. A squeeze of lemon was obligatory. When very young, HG accompanied the snack with cold tomato juice. At the age of ten and thereafter, HG drank beer. HG’s Mom and Pop didn’t consider beer to be a dangerous alcoholic drink. When HG began dining at Italian restaurants, HG usually began the meal with anchovies and roasted peppers. (Best version was at a long-closed eatery on E. Houston Street). These days HG eats anchovies with BSK’s roasted and peeled peppers or jarred Spanish peppers. A favorite use is cooking anchovies with olive oil, sliced garlic, parsley and fiery red pepper flakes. Poured over spaghetti, the sauce creates HG’s favorite pasta treat. (Romans like it late at night after a bout of carousing and drinking). The best anchovies come from Italy, Spain and Portugal. The very good ones are usually jarred. Anchovies, of course, are necessary for a well made Caesar salad (One constructed with raw egg yolk, good olive oil, some lemon juice, capers and a shower of ground pepper. No croutons.) BSK uses anchovies to enhance broccoli sauce served with penne. When making vinegar chicken (a bow to Joisey “Stretch’s Chicken”), daughter Lesley R. used an entire tin of anchovies as part of the sauce. None of these uses of anchovies adds excessive saltiness and there isn’t a bit of fishy flavor or aroma. A benefit is the fact that anchovies are one of the world’s most nutritious (and low cal) foods. (Oddly, there are folks who hate them).

Black bean soup is nourishing, filling and has a smoky, lusty flavor. HG’s first bowl was at the long-closed Coach House Restaurant in New York’s Greenwich Village. Restaurateur Leon Lianides served it with squares of moist corn bread. HG was smitten. (Also had black bean soup at the Joe Allen restaurant in the theater district. Pleasant. Not as celestiâl as the Coach House masterpiece). BSK’s efforts at cooking beans in the high altitudes of Colorado and New Mexico were unsuccessful. Since Lesley and Massimo R., HG/BSK’s daughter and her husband (plus Pip, their beautiful and intelligent dog), were due to arrive last night after a long drive from Rhode Island (much rain and drizzle), BSK decided to welcome them with steaming bowls of black bean soup. Thought cooking beans at Prince Edward Island sea level would succeed. BSK was right. BSK’s soup turned out as good (or better) than the Coach House version. Much praise from warmed L. and M. Splendid fresh baguette from Charlottetown Farmers Market. Cheese platter. Green salad. Red wine (last glasses accompanied by dark chocolate). Memorable reunion dinner. Here’s how BSK made the wonder soup. Soaked black beans overnight. Fried pork belly (no ham hock or ham bone available). When done, removed pork but left half the fat in pot. Cooked garlic, onion, carrot and red pepper in the fat until softened. Beans went into the pot with cups of water and chicken stock. Added half cup of dry sherry and bay leaves. Cooked until half of the liquid reduced and then cooked for some hours. After beans achieved the right degree of softness, removed bay leaves and used an immersion blender to puree (but still leaving some texture). Joy.

Sunday was Farm in the City Day in Charlottetown, the capital city of Prince Edward Island. Queen Street, the main stem, was lined with stands offering farm vegetables and meats. There were cooked snacks, crafts and face painting (for the kids). Plus live music from local bands. Hundreds and hundreds of folks showed up. Street was jammed. Reminded HG of similar events in New York City. Possibly, HG is a bit of a curmudgeon. Does not enjoy these street events. Too much noise and crowding. Vertical eating is messy. HG was not pleased with “The Night Market” in Vancouver, B.C., even though the nocturnal festivity has a positive reputation. There are two exceptions to HG’s dislikes. One is the grilled Italian sausage on a roll with peppers and onions served at the annual Feast of San Gennaro in New York. (Calvin Trillin shares HG’s delight). The second is Tokyo’s Ameya-Yokocho shopping street (in Ueno). When HG was in Tokyo, SJ took HG on a tour. Fried octopus. Tonkatsu. Shu Mai. And, more. Much more. Only seated meal was superb ramen. There was also a visit to a sake bar. (HG left it moderately tipsy). Of course, eating with SJ is one of life’s treats. Excellent son is allergic to nothing. Is knowing and adventurous. Has good appetite and likes robust food. HG’s favorite dining companion.

HG is very fond of appetizers. Often, the main dish in restaurants is a letdown after a flavorful group of appetizers. HG likes to forgo entrees and make a meal of appetizers. American restaurants find this unsettling. BSK objects because when HG orders an appetizer meal, the rest of the table has to endure a long, annoying wait before they get their main dish. Why? HG doesn’t know. Doesn’t happen when dining in Paris. In the USA, an appetizer is called, yes, “appetizer”. In Britain, it’s a “starter” and in France (confusingly) “entree”. In German, it’s “vorspeise.” Same word in Yiddish. HG’s late, beloved father pronounced it “furshpice.” It was mandatory at HG’s childhood table in The Bronx. Father’s appetizer was a piece of schmaltz herring, slice of onion, pumpernickel bread. And, a hearty shot of Park & Tilford rye whiskey. (Substitute vodka on the rocks for the whiskey, and this remains one of HG’s favorites. Essential that the herring has to come for Russ & Daughters in New York). At the family dinner table this was usually followed by chopped liver or gefilte fish. Next course was chicken soup with noodles or kasha. Main dish and dessert were downhill for the most part. In the HG/BSK Prince Edward Island refrigerator are two great, classic appetizers: Oysters (South Lake and Red Head Select). Gravlax (Raw Atlantic salmon cured under weights with sprigs of dill and served with a mustard/dill/sugar sauce). Happily, BSK’s main dishes are as delicious as the appetizers. In HG’s gustatory memory bank are the Amsterdam raw herrings (when in season), dipped in raw onion and followed by Genever gin and a beer chaser. Excellent SJ would bring joy to family holiday feasts in Riverside, R.I, when he bought them for HG and grandson Haru at Russ & Daughters.

Dutch raw herring with onions on a dish