HUNGRY GERALD

Le Dome, the vintage restaurant in the Montparnasse neighborhood of Paris, serves the best sole dish in the world. It is a Dover Sole, gently sautéed in butter. Deftly filleted by a professional waitperson, doused with a butter/lemon sauce. Accompanied by a mashed potato pancake. The cost? Astronomical. Here on Prince Edward Island, the lovely ladies of By the Bay Fish Mart, supply HG/BSK with fresh Atlantic sole. No, the fish is not Dover Sole. But, thick and firm fillets with a nice taste of the sea. (The Pacific sole fillets HG/BSK buy at Whole Foods when residing in New Mexico, are too thin and have a tendency to disintegrate when steamed or sautéed). Last night, BSK pan steamed a pound of BTB sole, using a technique learned from chef/daughter-in-law Exquisite Maiko (Visit her at the Oni Sauce stand at Brooklyn’s Smorgasburg for superb Japanese fried chicken, beef tataki and other good things). BSK steamed the sole on a bed of bok choy, spinach, ginger, garlic, soy sauce and oyster sauce. Served it with bowls of rice. Wonderful. Next week, HG will give the sole the meuniere treatment. HG will dust the sole with flour. Quick saute the fish in canola oil and butter. Serve it with a sauce of melted butter, capers, lemon juice. Plate it with a boiled PEI potato. A faint echo of Le Dome at a modest price.

HG is referring to the interior of animals (aka offal). Brains, kidneys, livers, sweetbreads, tongue, hearts, intestines, tripe (stomach lining). These wonderful tastes seem to have disappeared from mainstream restaurant menus (as a corollary the interest in “head-to-tail” eating has been growing within the ranks of sophisticated and adventurous eaters). Is it the work of the health police on the alert for elevated cholesterol levels? Or have Americans become so spoiled that offal is seen as a remnant of poverty cuisine? The Europeans (especially the French) continue to devour these good things. When in Paris, HG eats lots of rognons (kidneys) in mustard sauce or grilled until the interiors are pink. A very good Left Bank bistro, La Ribouldinge, makes a specialty of offal. Pharamond serves classic tripes a la mode de Caen (Very good. However, HG prefers the Mexican tripe stew known as Menudo. As noted in many posts, HG is a fan of two versions of Menudo served at restaurants in HG’s New Mexican neighborhood: Green Chile Menudo at El Parasol and Red Chile Menudo at Sopaipilla Factory). HG’s daughter Victoria and husband chef Marc Meyer tried to introduce Menudo to New York diners at their sparkling Mexican restaurant, Rosie’s, in the East Village. Few takers, Removed from menu, alas. Sweetbreads (thymus glands) are on menus everywhere and are one of HG’s favorite treats. Best version ever was at the Oak Room of New York’s venerable Algonquin Hotel. Sauteed sweet breads with a slice of Virginian ham and an exuberant amount of Sauce Bearnaise. Pan broiled medium rare calf’s liver (enlivened with a dash of sherry vinegar) is served in scores of Paris bistros. Delicious. When HG lived in Colorado (first on a mountain horse ranch and then in Denver), HG often had splendid liver with onions and bacon at 240 Union Restaurant in nearby Lakewood. Very Parisian. 240 Union is a great, creative restaurant (A must if you ever travel to Denver or on your way to ski country). HG checked 240’s current menu. No liver. Must have met the same fate as Rosie’s Menudo. In bygone days, liver was a staple item on New York menus. Well done liver, onions and bacon (liver too well done for HG’s taste) on diner menus. Thick slabs of calf’s liver at steak houses. Chopped liver, of course, at Jewish eateries. Broiled chicken livers over saffron rice at Greek restaurants. The Schrafft’s chain, a bastion of WASP cookery, served an appetizing dish of gently sautéed chicken livers over softly scrambled eggs. Sammy’s Romanian, the flourishing homage to garlic and chicken fat Jewish cuisine, once served broiled chicken livers with unborn eggs. The livers are still on the menu but the eggs have disappeared. Only time HG ever had gizzards in New York was when SJ took HG to a little Japanese place on the West Side. Good, But, not as good as the duck gizzards in Paris. Rarely see brains in black butter in New York. Loved it at Le Veau D’or in New York (no longer on the menu but you can get a good version at Chez Napoleon in the theater district). HG ordered the dish at a nice restaurant in Paris 16e. Thoughtful owner was surprised an American ordered brains. Wanted to make sure HG knew what to expect. HG tapped HG’s skull. Owner laughed. Big, savory platter arrived. Tongue is still available at the less than a dozen (used to be a hundred) Jewish delicatessens in New York. Best tongue dish ever was served at long closed Al Cooper’s near New York’s garment center. Thick poached slice with creamed spinach and hot mustard. Sublime. Hearts have disappeared everywhere. Not for the delicate eater. In HG’s impecunious youth, HG ate big bowls of calf hearts stewed with onions, garlic and red wine. Hearty dish (to say the least). A staple at the funky far West Side French bistros that catered to the French seamen off the Ile de France and other liners. A.J. Liebling recounted in his book “Between Meals” that he would eat this dish when he was young and cash poor in Paris. Tete de Veau (calf’s head) is a feature of many French eateries.The dish is shunned by Americans. HG loves it. It consists of poached brains, tongue, mouth lining, etc.and other delectables from the calf’s head. Served with a Sauce Gribiche enlivened with chopped cornichons and capers. (Sauce Gribiche is a version of mayonnaise where mustard, cooked egg yolks and vinegar are emulsified until creamy). HG draws the line when it comes to intestines. Tried chitterlings in Harlem. Vile. The fecal stench of French Andouillette is off putting. (SJ once made the error of ordering them at Le Stella, a favorite Paris brasserie. Was unpleasantly shocked The funny food blogger Grubworm,calls the sausage:’the dish of death”). Innards do not appear on HG/BSK’s dinner table. Though a very adventurous cook and eater, BSK does not like innards. You can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can’t., etc. etc.

Parisians (and most French) don’t think of eggs as breakfast food. Breakfast in France usually consists of a bowl of cafe au lait plus buttered baguette or croissant; however, you will often encounter poached eggs as a bistro appetizer (Ouef Meurette–eggs poached in a red wine sauce) or nestled on a slice of buttery toast and topped with shavings of black truffle. The wonderful Lyonnais salad is an HG/BSK bistro luncheon favorite (Frisee and bits of crisp bacon or lardon topped with softly poached eggs and a warm vinaigrette). HG had had many good luncheon omelets in Paris cafes (very good but not as voluptuously splendid as BSK’s preparations). An unexpected snowfall in New Mexico last night (it will all melt within a few hours providing needed moisture). However, snow calls for a hearty breakfast and BSK answered the call with plates of grits adorned with BSK’s perfectly poached eggs (When a fork pierces the soft yolks, the plate resembles a joyous sunrise). Here’s how BSK poaches eggs: Bring a pan of water to a boil – add a splash of vinegar – break egg into a shallow bowl carefully and slip it into the boiling water – turn down heat to a slow bubble and watch for the white to set (watch carefully because the yolk needs to stay runny) – retrieve from pan with a shallow pierced spoon. Follow these directions carefully and you will enter into egg heaven. Try these eggs atop corned beef or roast beef hash for a super hearty breakfast or brunch.

All of HG/BSK’s French dining has been done in Paris during numerous visits beginning in 1967. Still love eating there though prices keep moving upwards, good brasseries have virtually disappeared and homey bistros are becoming a rarity. After spending a week dining in Reims and its immediate vicinity, HG has come to a number of conclusions, some surprising. The oysters at Boulingrin (two visits) and Le Bocal (one visit) are better than any oysters HG has ever slurped (BSK agrees). Proximity to Normandy and other oyster regions? Le Bocal is better (and much cheaper) than any seafood restaurant in Paris. Anna-S is as good as most of the new cutting edge bistros in Paris (most helmed by young Japanese chefs). Some Reims dishes are outshone by their Paris counterparts. Rare roast duck breast at Le Madelon is far inferior to the version served by Chez Georges in Paris. Boulingrin’s skate with capers doesn’t compare to the version served by Rech in Paris. Oddly, cheese in Reims is not great. In one restaurant HG had to send back a round of St. Marcellin. Ice cold and as hard as a hockey puck. A camembert bought at a cheese shop disappointed. The bread and rolls served in Reims restaurants are very good, better than Paris. HG has never had a great choucroute in Paris. The choucroute (a huge, lavish affair HG spied at a neighboring table at Boulingrin) looked like a class act. Will have it if good fortune brings HG back to Reims. If you did not have enough reasons already to want to visit Reims, then here is another: champagne. Reims is in the heart of champagne country and cafes and restaurants offer a staggering array of bubbly ambrosia, many from small local vineyards which one will never see in the US. Lots of splendid bottles priced at 30 Euros. HG/BSK drank some very good champagne for 7 Euros a glass (a very generous pour) in a charming cafe. A pleasant cocktail hour.

Paris brasseries have entered a sad period. Once delightful places like La Coupole, Vaudeville, Bofinger, Balzar, Flo have been purchased by giant restaurant chain-conglomerates and now roll out industrialized food. Glittering decor and fresh oysters can still be relied upon. But, that’s it. The old time hip, lively and happy atmosphere has disappeared. Only Le Stella in the 16th keeps the old traditions. Its carte is a virtual parade of traditional dishes: Tete de veau; steak tartare; sole meuniere; choucroute; Iceland herring; steak frites; ile flottante, etc. The affluent residents of the 16th have impeccable manners but restraint is cast off when they confront Stella’s vast plateau de fruits de mer. In Reims, the Brasserie du Boulingrin maintains the old brasserie spirit. Art deco interior. Smoked glass and mirrors. Red leatherette banquettes. Young, smiling waitpersons. Dinner conversations are animated but the noise level is kept at a civilized pitch (This seems characteristic of French restaurants in contrast to their noisy American counterparts). On a second visit, HG sipped a cold, dry Muscadet, while devouring a dozen big, briny oysters. This was followed by very generous servings of sole meuniere. Two large fish were deboned deftly by the young woman serving HG/BSk. The filets were gilded by spoonfuls of buttery lemon cooking juices. Served with bowls of buttered boiled potatoes dusted with parsley. Dessert was, in keeping with Boulingrin’s generosity, dinner plate-sized creme brûlées. HG sipped an after dinner glass of cold Mirabelle and reflected upon the good fortune of having a splendid wife, a loving family and an appetite geared to the delights of old fashioned brasserie dining. HG interrupted this happy contemplation with a bout of severe envy as he watched a choucroute garnie presented to a young man at an adjoining table. The platter of kraut, sausages and pork was kept warm under a glass dome. This single portion seemed large enough to feed a platoon of Prussian Hussars. HG vowed to sample it if HG ever makes it back to Reims and Boulingrin.

The following post was written before the Paris terrorist attacks. As HG has noted in HG’s comments about Paris and the recent horrors (“PARIS”), HG/BSK will never abandon France and Paris. To do so would hand victory to terrorists.

The great writer, AJ. Liebling (his war journalism, restaurant and Paris recollections, press criticism, accounts of boxing matches, portraits of raffish characters are incomparable examples of wit, insight and erudition), once compared the attitude of a gourmand to his (or her) next meal to that of a lover contemplating an assignation. First, there is anticipation. Then, there is consummation. And, then there is sweet memory. HG is now in the anticipation stage as HG contemplates dining in the lovely French city of Reims where HG/BSK will be spending Thanksgiving week. HG/BSK; daughter Lesley R.; son-in-law Massimo R. and granddaughter Arianna R. have booked a three bedroom apartment there (plus a spacious auto). Granddaughter Sofia R. is in her first year of international studies at the university in Reims so this will be a jolly family reunion and an occasion for festive feasting. The proliferation of restaurant websites has made meal anticipation easeful and rewarding. HG has been studying the menus of the restaurants Massimo has selected for the visit (he has been in Reims before so he is well informed). Happily, prices are lower than Paris and the array of champagnes is extraordinary (Reims is in the heart of champagne country). Restaurants offer a splendid array of oysters (HG will accompany them with flutes of bubbly). Happily, the restaurants Massimo has selected offer a plethora of the old fashioned French dishes that HG adores: Charolais steak tartare; sole meuniere; tete de veau; ham and parsley terrine; escargots; rare rib steak with pommes frites; profiteroles; baba au rhum; creme brûlée, etc. On the websites, HG has encountered dishes he never had in French bistros and brasseries. A casserole of monkfish with mushrooms, for example. So, there will be a bit of adventurous dining. And, happily, HG will be back in French restaurants with their professional service, flattering lighting and unique ambience. Be assured, gracious readers, HG will be posting full accounts.

Sad, shocking news from Paris. Hopefully, HG/BSK will be in France next week and intend to spend at least one day in Paris. To abandon France and Paris is handing victory to terror. HG/BSK will follow the example of SJ and Victoria Freeman. Those New Yorkers did not abandon New York after 9/11. For almost 50 years, HG has thought of Paris as another home. HG has delighted in everything the City of Light symbolizes. Magnificent architecture. Rewarding strolling. Art. Joy of life (including sex, conversation, people watching and cafe sitting). Food and dining in every manifestation. Lively bistros and brasseries. Incomparable cheese. Modestly priced wine. Baguettes and croissants. Oysters. Steak tartare. Etc., Etc., Etc. and more Etceteras. Everything made more delicious by the unique ambiance of Paris. Neighborhoods with identity like Marais, Montmartre, St. Germain. The elegance of Parisiennes. The stylishness of male Parisians.Both sexes flaunting creatively tied scarves. Politeness (the obligatory “Bon jour.”) As HG/BSK watched the television images of the massacres and listened to the commentaries, horror was mixed with joyous memories of incomparable Paris. The terrorists are making war on civilization and nothing is more symbolic of civilization than Paris. The brutal madmen will be defeated and Paris (and civilization) will survive.

Choucroute simply means sauerkraut. Choucroute Garnie (on French brasserie and bistro menus) is sauerkraut cooked with a variety of pork products. Chez Jenny in Paris has always been touted as a great place for Choucroute. HG disagrees. The Paris best is Brasserie de I’Isle St. Louis. Despite a touristy location near Notre Dame, the brasserie turns out serious, old fashioned French food. Dedicated foodies say that to taste real choucroute one must travel to Alsace. HG is not that dedicated and likes BSK’s home cooked choucroute. BSK rinses a jar of Bubbie’s sauerkraut and cooks it with onions, juniper berries and white wine (SJ notes that a nice Riesling is the preferable choice). Adds Kassler Rippchen (German smoked pork chops from Schaller & Weber online) and knockwurst. Serves it with boiled potatoes, French cornichons and Keen’s English Mustard. Noted food writer Jeffrey Steingarten attempted to codify the ingredients of Choucroute in his wonderful book The Man Who Ate Everything, but one of the joys of making the dish at home is going to a good German/Polish/Alsace butcher (SJ reccomends Jubilat Provisions for Brooklyn folk) and picking out numerous yummy things. Cold beer or ale with a shot or two of chilled vodka are the obligatory beverages.

HG/BSK are great fans of composed salads. Essentially, composed salads are constructed of greens plus a number of cooked and raw ingredients. Years ago HG tasted a composed salad featured at Jonathan Waxman’s trailblazing restaurant in New York: Jams. This was a salad of garden lettuces dressed with walnut oil and containing warm sautéed mushrooms and walnuts. A lovely, innovative California treat. This past summer, BSK and Lesley R. built a salad of local greens, radicchio, abundant sautéed South Lake scallops, mushrooms, farmers market green peas. A splendid array of seasonal Prince Edward Island ingredients. A worthy contender to HG’s favorite salad, one HG has enjoyed at a number of traditional Paris bistros: Frisee, lardons and a poached egg. Not exactly a salad endorsed by the cardiology police but mighty good. A glass of Brouilly. A baguette. Vive la France!!.

1966. Spring. HG/BSK were accompanied by precocious, articulate, two-year-old daughter, Lesley. The exchange rate was very favorable. The family stayed at the charming Left Bank hotel, Pont Royal, on the Rue du Bac. HG/BSK were beguiled by the tiny elevator with its brass ornamentation (could baely fit a suitcase onto it). Had a pleasant, cozy suite with a separate little bed for Lesley (who would have sneered at a childish crib). The hotel atmosphere was shabby bohemian (HG/BSK’s dream of Paris). HG/BSK didn’t know that the downstairs bar was a literary hangout where Sartre, Simone De Beauvoir, Truman Capote, Arthur Koestler and others held forth over carafes of cheap wine. HG/BSK and Lesley walked along the Seine, visited museums, shopped in boutiques. BSK scored a short leather jacket and print dress and soon fit in very nicely with the very pretty Parisiennes. Lesley was much admired at the cafes for her enchanting, curly topped cuteness. Devoured Croque Monsieurs with a hearty appetite. HG/BSK left Lesley with an American student babysitter when they had their first great Paris meal. It was at a long gone bistro on the Boulevard St. Germain. HG/BSK shared an appetizer of smoked salmon and a half bottle of chilled Chablis. Delectable. And, then came a dish of a lifetime, never to be duplicated. The waiter brought fat, white spring asparagus wrapped in a linen cloth. There was a bowl of Sauce Mousseline (Hollandaise mixed with whipped cream). Lush food. Main was a bistro classic: Gigot (leg of springtime lamb) cooked rare and accompanied by flageolets. Drank Moulin a Vent (delicious Beaujolais slightly chilled). Perfection. Dessert was wild strawberries served with a pitcher of sweet cream. A spring dream. The meal was a harbinger of the great feasting HG/BSK enjoyed at cozy Paris bistros and lively brasseries for the next 49 years. HG’s appetite for Paris has never diminished.