HUNGRY GERALD

The good news is that HG/BSK have discovered another use of a favorite vegetable, fennel. Last night, BSK cooked (on the stove top) thin slices of fennel with garlic, lemon and olive oil. Sizzled for about 12 minutes until softened and browned. Meanwhile, HG cooked black seppie ink pasta. Pasta water was added to the fennel to make a sauce. Now comes the bad part. Supermarket squid was cut into rings, dried. Cooked briefly over high heat with garlic, oil, pepper and salt. The result: Rubber bands. The squid (inedible) was intended to be mixed with the sauce. Unfortunately, HG froze the squid after purchase. This meant the squid had been frozen and thawed twice. Unfortunate. However, the fennel was a great stand alone pasta sauce. BSK intends to make it agin with the addition of onions, anchovies, capers and cherry tomatoes. Can be topped with steamed fish filets if BSK chooses. Will wait upon return to New Mexico to use squid. Whole Foods squid is excellent, nice mix of tubes and tentacles. Incidentally, the black seppie ink pasta looks ominous but is delicious.

Admit it. The photo proves it. HG is a handsome old (very old) guy. Will be (not for some time, HG hopes) an attractive corpse. Photo is of a nicely groomed HG after a haircut by talented Charlottetown, PEI, stylist Samantha Singleton and a beard trim by the incomparable BSK. Except for a brief period in the 60’s and early 70’s when HG was a fashion victim with long hair and bell bottom trousers, HG has always favored short hair styles. In post-World War Two America, HG (like many young men with literary or artistic pretensions) sported an “Oppy”, a short cut emulating the renowned Los Alamos atomic bomb director, J. Robert Oppenheimer (probably the only time an intellectual and scientist inspired fashion). When HG gave up long hair, HG visited a fashionable hair cutter, Antonio. HG was given a “Caesar” cut: Short hair cut straight down to the forehead and the sides shaped by deft use of the scissors. This remains (to the amusement of HG’s children) favorite style (despite growing baldness). Antonio was responsible for one of two hair disasters experienced by HG. Antonio noted that HG’s white hair had a tendency to yellow. He suggested a “steel” rinse. HG agreed. When HG arrived home after the treatment, BSK looked and shouted: “What happened to you? You’ve got blue hair like an old lady!!” Other disaster during a Rockaway summer when HG was 14 years old. Asked the local barber for a “crew cut.” An error. Barber shaved HG’s head making HG an unattractive skinhead. However, HG’s then blonde hair grew back quickly. When very young, HG would get the full Bronx barber shop treatment. Hair cut with a straight part on the left side of the head. Generous application of hair tonic (“Vitalis”?) which dried and stiffened the style for many days. Hot towel to refresh the face. Dusting of talcum powder on back of neck. A lot of service for 25 cents.

Avgolemono soup (or sauce when thickened) is a Greek delight. A mix of egg, lemon juice and chicken broth, the soup is thickened with rice and topped with chopped parsley or mint (a sprinkle of Spanish Pimenton is optional). When used as a sauce it is versatile. Greeks use it as a topping for roast chicken, dolmades and grilled lamb. (BSK uses it on butterflied and barbecued leg of lamb, a sublime dish). Last night, BSK poached a filet of fresh halibut in the soup. The result was sea ecstasy, the perfect blend of the Aegean and Atlantic waters. Though simple, Avgolemono demands precise timing. BSK followed the late Michael Field’s recipe from “All Manner of Food.” (Field was the best writer of foolproof recipes). BSK was trying to replicate the soup BSK first tasted years ago at the late Leon Lianidis restaurant, The Coach House, on Waverley Place in Greenwich Village. BSK scored a bullseye. Avgolemono soup was a favorite of young HG at inexpensive New York Greek restaurants like Pantheon on 8th Avenue. The Pantheon sometimes added a scoop of orzo to the soup to create a hearty and filling mix. HG did the same last night (purist BSK observed with scorn). In any case, Avgolemono (soup or sauce) is sprightly with light elements of Hollandaise. HG suggests you make it part of your culinary arsenal.

Yes, HG has written much about mussels. However, there’s more to say. HG has the good fortune to summer in the world capital of mussels: Prince Edward Island. The best are harvested in St. Peter’s Bay (about three miles from HG/BSK’s oceanfront home. Can’t get much fresher than that). HG has learned that, like wine, mussel quality can vary by vintage. The 2016 mussels were tiny and tasteless. They got better in 2017. Splendid in 2018. (Witness the BSK photo of the lush pot of mussels BSK cooked last night). BSK always starts with a sofrito of olive oil, onions, garlic and parsley. Adds white wine and clam juice. Then there are variations: Saffron. Fennel. Celery. Cherry tomatoes. Sometimes pops in a few clams for a bivalve mating. Always gives the mussels a dusting of hot pepper flakes. There are many ethnic variations to these mussels. Thai and Indian curry. Coconut milk. Chinese fermented black beans. BSK ignores these variations and sticks to her classic methods (much to HG’s pleasure). Yes, there are some good mussel dishes beside BSK’s steamed wonders. HG recalls tasty stuffed mussels at Au Pied de Cochon in Paris and an amuse gueule (amuse bouche) of shucked mussel in mustard sauce at the venerable Veau d’ Or bistro in New York. Raw Spanish mussels are often served as part of a plateau de fruits de mer in Paris. This is a bad idea. Nasty. Mussels have many virtues. Among them is price. On PEI, they sell for $1.40 a pound (US). Economical feasting.

Dramatic sunset and an afterglow of wonderful colors illuminating the sea and skies. Sipping J.B. Wiser Canadian Whiskey and contemplating age and life after another delightful dinner. First, there were some Malpeque oysters with buttered whole wheat toast (local farmers’ market product). BSK sipped some white wine and HG had his usual extra large Bloody Mary enhanced by Blue Lobster, prize winning Nova Scotia vodka. Main dish was an HG/BSK version of a Vietnamese chicken noodle salad. HG sliced white meat chicken left over from last night’s roast spatchcocked bird. BSK chopped radishes, onions, scallions, cucumbers and a multitude of herbs. Tore lettuce leaves into edible shapes. HG cooked wide Vietnamese noodles to the proper firm consistency. All of this was tossed in a BSK dressing of sesame oil, soy sauce, fish sauce and lemon juice. Nice eating. Yes, life is good at HG/BSK’s Prince Edward Island oceanfront paradise. So, what were HG’s apres dinner whiskey thoughts? The late Philip Roth said old age isn’t a battle. It’s a massacre. In the midst of advanced old fogeyism, HG doesn’t share the grim Roth view. But, there are senior annoyances. Arthritis is one. Mainly it hits HG’s right hand. When eating, this makes it impossible to maneuver a fork. Reading a large heavy book is tough when arthritis arrives. Walking is slow going for HG. Better at sea level PEI than lofty Santa Fe. Hearing has deteriorated. Only watches movies that have subtitles. And, gentle voiced BSK has (sometimes to her chagrin) to repeat every verbal communication. Cancer surgery 26 years ago cut some nerves making it hard for HG to lift HG’s arms above HG’s head. HG needs help to reach items on high shelves. Breakfast is no longer a treat since HG has to swallow some 18 vitamins and medications. And, in common with almost all seniors, there is a need for very frequent urinations. Tedious and inconvenient. COPD makes three daily ten-minute inhalation treatments necessary. A blessing is that HG’s mind remains functional. HG’s love for BSK is a constant. Conclusion: Hungry Gerald is Lucky Gerald.

HG is not a novice at judging fish and chips. Has consumed many portions along the shores of Connecticut, Massachusetts and Maine. Ate vaunted fish and chips in various London “chippys.” Curiously, the dish now appears on Paris menus and is a too refined version of the real thing. HG states without hesitation or equivocation, if you want the best fish and chips in the world you have to visit Rick’s Fish and Chips on St. Peter’s Bay, Prince Edward Island. The fish — haddock and cod — is fresh, caught off the shores of PEI, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. And, the chips are formed from PEI’s mineral rich, savory potatoes (That’s why PEI is often called “spud isle”). So, the basic ingredients are perfect. The resulting crisp fish (non greasy) and state of the art chips are testament to the temperature of the oil and the composition of the batter. Obviously, the cooks are vigilant and skilled. Rick, the hands on owner, is a lavishly mustached gentleman. No absentee chef, Rick is often there making sure high standards prevail. He’s a warm and welcoming host. HG presumes Rick has a French-Canadian heritage because HG recalls poutine appearing on the menu from time to time. And, Rick serves very tasty Cajun Mussels (Also on the menu are shucked Malpeque oysters; fish chowder; steamed mussels; fried scallops and mussels, grilled salmon, etc.). HG has been dining at Rick’s for some ten years. HG marvels at Rick’s consistency. Always the best.

Dinner last night at the Prince Edward Island cottage of friend and neighbor, Leslie F. A talented and beautiful woman, (like Cleopatra, age cannot wither nor tarnish), Leslie is a Canadian who lives in Toronto but has summered on PEI for many decades. Leslie’s cottage was bathed in late afternoon sunshine (also illuminated by her unique ambience). The evening began with glasses of chilled New Zealand Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc. This is HG/BSK’s favorite aperitif. It has a lively citrus tingle (also good with oysters). HG/BSK discovered it some years ago in Vancouver when the duo was eating –you guessed it–oysters. Drank some pleasantly dry chardonnay (like a French Macon-Villages) with main dishes of gently poached halibut in an aioli sauce accompanied by boiled little potatoes and baby carrots from a local farmers’ market. There was also some crispy grilled chicken (ignored by HG as HG concentrated on the lush fish and perfectly cooked vegetables.) A bottle of Chilean red was drunk with the cheese course (and Breton crackers). Dessert was PEI perfection: A big bowl of first of the season strawberries and mini chunks of chocolate brownies. HG drank an exuberant amount of wine but, aided by BSK, made it home safely and slept the sound sleep of a happy (and well fed) consumer of copious alcohol.

In Britain, crackers are called biscuits. Potato chips are crisps and French fries are chips. Crackers. Biscuits. Whatever. HG likes them. Ritz crackers are a favorite. They accompany HG’s softly scrambled eggs in the morning. They are the base for peanut butter and jelly. HG’s Mom always served them with bowls of Campbell’s Tomato Soup as a wintry after school snack. The Lord & Taylor department store on Fifth Avenue had a luncheon spot where a large African-American man served bowls of steaming soup with Ritz crackers. HG and gentlewomen were fans. Keebler Town House crackers are HG’s favorite for cheese. They have buttery overtones and they are less filling than bread. Jacob’s Water Biscuits are a splendid import, good with everything. Knowing HG’s tastes, the staff at the El Parasol restaurant near HG’s New Mexico home, always provide HG with extra salted soda crackers when HG orders a favorite bowl of green chile menudo. HG crumbles the crackers into the savory, super spicy tripe stew. They provide a curious, luxurious balance.

Yes, bread is much lauded as an essential food. It has a lengthy history and is mentioned frequently in The Bible. But, HG is not a big fan. HG, a Francophile, knows a French breakfast is most often a chunk of buttered fresh baguette accompanied by cafe au lait. HG passes. Prefers yogurt. However, HG does like buttered baguette with Roquefort or Gorgonzola as a dinner course preceding dessert. Jewish rye, of course is essential, for successful pastrami or corned beef sandwiches. (Remember Annie Hall ordering a pastrami sandwich on white bread with mayo?) HG likes dark pumpernickel bread with smoked fish. HG despises bagels but will eat an occasional bialy. (They have gone downhill sharply. Even the ones from famed Kossar’s). HG only eats croissants and brioche in Paris but their quality continues to decline.(Best croissants came from the long closed Sutter’s bakeries in New York). HG has always been surprised when American restaurant diners stuff themselves with rolls and butter before the meal is served. In civilized countries, bread is only eaten with the meal. HG’s distinguished son-in-law, Profesore/ Uficiale/Dottore Massimo R., would consider it unthinkable to have a meal without bread. Often mops up remaining sauce with a small bit of bread. (the bread for for this purpose is called “a little shoe” in Italian). BSK is a fan of good artisan bread. Likes to toast a slice with bread and cheese for breakfast. This is the major use for bread in the HG/BSK household. Since artisan bread without chemicals gets stale quickly, much is thrown away. As time goes on, HG eats less bread, cheese and meat but more yogurt, fruit, vegetables, seafood and chicken. This is not a health focused diet (witness HG’s devouring of cholesterol rich oysters and tripe plus drinking much alcohol), just preference.

Canada Day weekend came and went on Prince Edward Island and the isle was bedecked gaily with colorful maple leaf flags. The celebration emphasizes pride without bombast (typical modest Canadian attitude). Many special events featured PEI food and music. HG/BSK were beguiled by a CBC radio broadcast. Listeners were asked about their most interesting encounters during the year with Canadian birds, animals and fish. A recent Jamaican emigrant talked about seeing a snapping turtle crossing a highway. He didn’t know the turtle was dangerous until it snapped its mighty jaws. The Jamaican/Canadian was concerned the turtle would wander on the highway and be crushed. Avoiding danger and after considerable effort, he pushed the turtle to a safe spot. He commented: “In Jamaica we have gentle turtles. We eat them.” On Vancouver Island, a woman and her family went to a beach to scatter (as was his wish) the ashes of her recently deceased father. They were met by a colorful male humming bird who sat on her shoulder and chirped softly as she scattered the ashes. The beauty of the bird brought her to tears. From her garden deck, another woman watched a flock of Canadian geese flying gracefully and trailed by a majestic bald eagle. Suddenly, the eagle snatched a laggard goose out of the sky and carried it to parts unknown. The woman was astonished by the eagle’s strength since the goose and the eagle were (approximately) the same size. In Newfoundland, hikers spotted a caribou on a hilltop. The caribou did a grateful, ballet-like pirouette as he/she sniffed the air to locate the human intruders. In suburban Toronto, a woman was disturbed by the raccoons who dropped nightly their toxic poop on her terrace. A neighbor gave her a tip. Leave a large bowl of water on the terrace. Raccoons will not poop where they eat or drink. It worked. No poop. The method was tested. Removed the water bowl overnight. The result: A poop-o-rama. Back to the water bowl and a spotless terrace. In northern Ontario, a young fisher spotted a pike. The pike leapt out of the water and bit the boy on the knee. Drew blood. The boy managed to net the fish and the pike was served for dinner. A righteous revenge. HG/BSK’s animal encounters have been few. A handsome red fox with an abundant tail wandered down HG/BSK’s road a few weeks ago. And, since clover has become abundant on HG/BSK’s lawns, Snowshoe Hares, with their distinctive markings (brown with snow white feet) have been making an appearance. Toby, The Wonder Dog, gives chase but the hares manage to avoid him.