HUNGRY GERALD

As HG savored the last of the delicious gefilte fish (brought by visiting Peter Hellman from Zabar’s,the famous New York gourmet emporium), HG contemplated the wonders of chopped and poached fish. Memory was sharpened by a few snifters of icy Aakavit (the wonderful 84 proof Danish response to vodka) and chasers of dark ale. Zabar’s product matched in flavor and succulence the gefilte fish produced by HG’s late Mom in her Bronx kitchen. Mom chopped fresh water fish: whitefish, pike, carp and “buffel” (curious HG learned that “buffel” was Ictiobus, often called Buffalo fish). Mom mixed the fish with matzo meal, eggs and grated onion. Formed the mix into ovals and poached them in a broth flavored by fish heads, bones and skin. The fish heads, etc. were removed before poaching and the broth was strained and served with cooked carrots and onions. Her gefilte fish were served warm or cold. They were always decorated with slices of carrot. Very strong, freshly grated horseradish was obligatory. Chunks of Challah were dunked in the warm fish broth. If cold, the broth turned gelatinous (still delicious with Challah). “Gefilte” means stuffed. Eastern European Jews stuffed the chopped fish into the skin of a fish. Made one fish go a long way. “Galitzianers” (Jews from Galicia, the borderland between Poland and the Ukraine) added sugar to the chopped fish mix. Mom considered this a culinary obscenity. Excellent gefilte fish was served in New York’s many “dairy” restaurants (Alas, only a few still exist.) If your gefilte fish experience has been confined to the bottled supermarket product, you don’t know what pleasure you have been missing. Order the real stuff from Zabar’s online. Similar to gefilte, Chinese fish balls are an omnipresent street food in Hong Kong and in Chinese restaurants throughout New York. HG ate them often at Congee Noodle House when HG/BSK had a loft (and later a townhouse) in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood of Vancouver. The fish balls are usually made of mackerel, corn starch, salt and pepper. After being chopped in a food processor, the mix has to be slammed on a plastic cutting board about 50 times before poaching (Good way to relieve stress). The slamming creates a unique springy texture. No surprise, the ultimate chopped fish treat can be found in France: Quenelles in Sauce Nantua, chopped pike ovals in a sauce of fresh crayfish and cream. These are a specialty of Lyon. The chopped fish is mixed with flour, eggs and loads of butter (of course). Best place in Paris for this lush dish Moissonnier, a Lyonnaise restaurant in the Fifth Arondissement. The portions in this bistro are enormous. Come hungry.

Dave Frishberg, the witty singer/song writer/musician, now an LA resident and formerly a New Yorker, is often asked that question. So he wrote a song: “Do You Miss New York?”. And, the answer, of course is: Yes!! HG/BSK have lived in the Western United States (Colorado and New Mexico) and Canada (Vancouver and Prince Edward Island) for the last 31 years. BSK does not miss New York (or New Jersey). HG has complex feelings. There’s nostalgia, of course. HG is nostalgic about the Upper West Side in the sixties. Movie houses. Street scenes (old Holocaust survivors; junkies; professors; musicians; writers; sex workers; crazies; burglars). Apartments (huge and cheap). Food (Zabar’s, Barney Greengrass, Citarella’s, Nevada Meat Market, Broadway Nut Shop, etc.). Dining (Fleur de Lis; Paramount Famous Dairy; Gitlitz Delicatessen; Tip Toe Inn; many good, cheap Chinese and Cuban joints.) HG got a jolt recently while watching Mad Men. Roger and Joan get away from Madison Avenue and dine at Tip Toe Inn (set designers did a great job). They are mugged after their meal. Yes, that was a possibility on the old West Side before the real estate monsters and condo-maniacs chewed up the neighborhood. Zabar’s, Barney G. and Citarella’s remain. All else is gone. Today’s New York? It’s a place where foreign bad guys hide their money and a family has to earn a million bucks a year to enjoy an upper-middle class life (Condo or coop; housekeeper/nanny; summer home; private school for the kids.) HG/BSK had all of those things on $40,000 (or less) a year. Didn’t have a coop but paid $292 a month for a huge apartment (big living room with view of the Hudson River and The Palisades; separate formal dining room; modest windowed kitchen; four bedrooms; three bathrooms.) Read it and weep. There are things about the New York of 2016 that HG loves. The museums are still great (the new Whitney on the West Side and the Met Breuer on Madison are grand additions). Strolling on the High Line. HG daughter Victoria and husband /chef Marc Meyer’s four superior downtown restaurants: Rosie’s (Mexican); Vic’s (Italian); Cookshop and Hundred Acres (farm to table ingredients, American with Mediterranean flavors). Good value, wonderful food, deft service, joyous atmosphere. Dining with SJ in Flushing (Chinese and Korean) and the Forest Hills neighborhood of Queens (robust Uzbekistan cuisine). HG’s annual lunch with Victoria at Balthazar, better than any Paris brasserie. Shopping with BSK at Uniqlo. Gallery and museum hopping with BSK. Wandering (and eating) in Brooklyn, much hipper than Manhattan. HG/BSK mourn that they can’t eat at Oni Sauce, the fabulous Japanese home cooking and Asian sauce stand daughter-in-law Exquisite Maiko Sakamoto (and partner) are running at Smorgasburg, Brooklyn’s famous al fresco food court. So, does HG miss New York? Not often, but sometimes.

When HG was 23, HG began living, on and off, with Jeanette L., a wordily woman some 20 years his senior. It was a very instructive and rewarding relationship. Jeanette lived in Paris for a number of years and was friends with esteemed sculptors Ossip Zadkine and Chana Orloff. Jeanette gifted HG (almost 63 years ago) with an exquisite drawing by Zadkine’s wife, Valentin Prax. It hangs in HG’s New Mexico office and HG stares at it for a moment as HG types this post. Jeanette was close friends with many great German journalists, artists and musicians who emigrated to the United States after the rise of Hitler. Jeanette, a libertine, had intimate relations with many of them. One afternoon, on New York’s West 72nd Street, Jeanette and HG were lunching at Eclair, a delightful restaurant and pastry shop favored by European refugees. Jeanette introduced HG to a distinguished German journalist/historian, Konrad Heiden (1901-1966). Heiden encountered Hitler very early in the Nazi’s career. In 1923, when Heiden was one of Germany’s most prominent journalists, he described Hitler as “a demagogue at the head of an army of the uprooted and disinherited.” Heiden was frighteningly prescient. In 1937, he predicted The Holocaust. Hitler and the Nazis, he said had a “cooly calculated plan for the mass murder of Jews”. The “mass murder,” he wrote,”would be on a scale the world has not seen. We can only venture guesses on what the technical means these executions are to take.” In the late 20’s, Heiden went to a Berlin dinner party given by a society hostess. Hitler, a guest, was silent at the party, confining himself to eating many pastries and cookies. Then, the hostess made a light remark about Jews. Hitler arose and delivered a 30-minute tirade, his voice rising to a scream. He then left. Heiden remarked: “His voice was the most penetrating and powerful I have ever heard.” Heiden wore a number of books about Hitler and the Nazis. “Der Fuhrer”, published in 1944, was a best seller in the United States. Heiden said Hitler was a “great propagandist.” Heiden wrote: ‘The great propagandist hears the murmur of the masses. His actions are contradictory and misleading. However, the lies of the great propagandist reveal deeper truths about the world’s cynicism and dishonesty. By his lies the great propagandist involuntarily shows himself to be a self revealing prophet of the Devil.” Heiden’s words seem very relevant in terms of today’s political scene.

During HG’s many years in New York, the greedy fellow managed to eat many scores of hot dogs. The tube steak was an essential food during HG’s financially challenged young years. But, even as HG prospered, the HG appetite for hot dogs remained intense. Favorite venue for the treat was Papaya King on E.86th Street and Third Avenue. Two dogs with mustard and sauerkraut and a Pina Colada drink. Perfect. The Nedick’s chain used to be omnivorous in New York (Its Herald Square location fronting on Macy’s was possibly the busiest hot doggery in the world). The dogs were served on a toasted bun spread with a special mustard relish and accompanied by a very good orange drink. Very inexpensive. The chain disappeared in the 1950’s. The Riese organization tried to revive the brand in 2003. The effort failed. Nathan’s Famous (The original is still located on the Coney Island boardwalk and there are now locations throughout the country) served an exemplary dog. HG, however, rarely ate them but favored Nathan’s clams on the half shell, fried soft shell crab sandwiches and other good things from the sea. Nathan’s sloppy, messy, yummy chow mein sandwich on a hamburger bun, was another HG fave. New York once had many traditional Jewish delicatessens serving good Hebrew National or Isaac Gellis dogs plus “Specials” (Plump, garlicky knockwursts). HG always thought the stands offering Sabrett’s “dirty water” hot dogs were vile. According to SJ, if you want a great dog in downtown New York, go to Katz’s, the pastrami emporium. Though the pastrami may have gone downhill, the hot dog is big time. As for sausage, HG’s favorite was the New York italian pork sausage containing plenty of fennel seeds. Best served from the back of a truck in Greenwich Village. The sausage was laid on a wedge of Italian bread and topped with plentiful fried onions and peppers. All of the many inexpensive “red sauce” Italian restaurants of HG’s youth served savory, abundant platters of sausage and peppers. Accompanied by a side dish of buttered and parmesan dusted ziti and washed down with cheap Chianti from a wicker wrapped bottle, this was hearty affordable eating. New York once had scores of German restaurants dispensing grilled bratwurst with sauerkraut and fried potatoes. The dish was flanked by a big glass of good beer. The best brats were found at Luchow’s on 14th Street and Blue Ribbon in the theater district. Both long closed, alas. When in Paris, HG enjoys boudin noir and boudin blanc. The boudin noir, a blood sausage, is usually accompanied by sautéed apple slices,. A winning combination. HG does not favor the excrement smelling French chitterling sausage. HG considers it a French aberration akin to that nation’s worship of Jerry Lewis and Mickey Rourke.

HG/BSK celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. BSK is about one-fourth Irish. HG is 100% Belorussian-Jewish. HG grew up in a Jewish-Irish-Italian Bronx neighborhood. HG drank in Irish bars, had many Irish-American pals and found Irish-American girls, in their Catholic school uniforms of pleated navy skirts and white blouses, exotic and enticing. At age 13, HG’s first romance was with Irish Peggy R., a delicious, lightly freckled Rockaway maiden. (HG has a thing about freckles. BSK’s freckles are very chic and soignée). When HG was a New York journalist, HG and reporter buddies made the rounds of Third Avenue Irish bars on St. Patrick’s Day. They were accompanied by N.O., a tough Jew. He was a newspaper motorcycle messenger and former driver for gangsters in the Williamsburg and Brownsville sections of Brooklyn. Strangely, N.O. had a pure Irish tenor voice and a vast stock of Irish songs, both sentimental and revolutionary. (Up the rebels!!). After a rendition of County Down and Kevin Barry all Irish cheeks were tear streaked and drinks were on the house for our group. When quite drunk, HG and buddies (Italian and Wasp) headed for Moe Dubiner’s bar on Stanton Street in the Lower East Side for gefilte fish, chopped herring and chopped liver. Pumpernickel bread. Jewish rye bread. Chicken fat More booze. And, then off to the Russian Baths for blazing steam and the shock of the ice plunge. HG would then sleep like a babe and was ready for a day’s work the next morning. Much less booze for HG on St. Patrick’s Day 2016. Sipped Guinness Stout and IPA ale with dinner (Drink is called Black and Tan after the hated British soldiers who, with brutal and murderous tactics, tried to quell the Irish revolution). Later, watched a favorite movie, John Ford’s “The Informer.” Set in Dublin during the revolution, it has a foggy and poetic black and white atmosphere, a great performance by Victor McLaglen and juicy bits from a host of Irish character actors. All of the revolutionaries wear dashing trench coats and fedoras. (HG wears a trench coat and fedora occasionally but does not look like an Irish revolutionary. Alas.) While watching the film, HG sipped a discreet amount of Bushmill’s Irish whiskey. HG Does not miss the New York Paddy’s Day parade (except for the bagpipes). Too many drunken louts.

Ahhh…Nostalgia. So wonderful and yet so full of shit. SJ here and I must make a rebuttal against HG’s colorful yet ill informed attack against the New York of now versus the New York of HG’s past. As someone that has lived in New York for the most part of my 47 years (and is living here still), I must say that HG speaks some truths: New York has become painfully expensive for middle class and working class people and really anyone who is not making a high six figure income. And yes, many wonderful New York institutions have closed down as rents increase. And finally, it is true that the essentially secular Jewish character of New York is fading while the religious Chassidic population is rising. These are painful truths for a changing city. But, there are many things that have not changed one iota. HG claims that New York has pushed out Mom and Pop stores in favor of chains. Lies! While big chains have arrived in an unprecedented fashion, New York still remains (for the moment) a place of corner bodegas, grumpy news stands, eccentric hardware stores and family run bakeries, delis and food shops. I live in Carrol Gardens, Brooklyn and I have a shop in Chinatown in Manhattan and in this tiny universe generic chains have barely made a dent (with the exception of Starbucks and the actually welcome addition of Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods). Now onto food….HG makes a claim that New York restaurants have all become ridiculously overpriced and only serve fussy, so-called “creative” small plates that highlight kale. Well, those nostalgic goggles HG is wearing have become so fogged with BS, that he has no clue what he is talking about. (HG! Time to stop reading New York Times restaurant reviews and actually visit and eat!) While there are many trendy, overly precious restaurants (as there were back in HG’s day — remember “continental cuisine” or that rash of horrible hippy bean-sprout “health food” restaurants that propagated in the 70s?), there are also scores and scores of simply great places to eat that are making food that is honest and delicious and actually responsible with their ingredient sourcing and their investment in nose-to-tail eating. On a mainstream level, we now have restaurants that celebrate regional cuisines from Puglianese Italian to top notch Texas style Barbecue to authentic Barcelona style Tapas — a long way from the very good but very one note Italian and Spanish restaurants of yester-year; furthermore, even outside of ethnic enclaves, New York has exploded with amazing Japanese, Korean and other Asian foods. And, if you want to speak of cheap food, well jump on a train to Flushing, to Sunset Park, to Ozone Park or walk into Manhattan’s Chinatown and you will be flush with $4 chorizo tortas, smokey Xian style Chicken skewers for $1, Thai Sausage for $3 and a plethora of inexpensive vittles to make you smile. And yes, the great dairy restaurants of the past have shut down, but guess what? Now there are Uzbeck kosher restaurants popping up all over with delicious grilled meats and wholesome stews; and if you want to be a healthy Jew who eats like IB Singer, well there has never been a better time for vegetarians in this city both with mainstream restaurants and many serious Israeli spots serving hummus, falafal and all sorts of healthy middle eastern treats. Lastly, when it comes to traditional New York food and specifically Jewish food, there is a renaissance happening: Katz’s may have gone downhill (but their hot dog is still something killer!), but Mile End is making some incredible smoked meats; Russ and Daughters and Kossar’s are fully revitalized and thriving, serving up perhaps the best food of their long careers; Barney Greengrass is packed every day of the week and a new generation of bagel makers, smoked fish lovers and matzoh ball soup mavens are opening wonderful restaurants. And with food blogs popping up everywhere old, great NYC restaurants and shops have been given a new life as can be witnessed in the hours long lines for Casa Della Mozzerella on Arthur Avenue or the incredible community support that kept B&H open after a gas explosion totaled their block last year. So HG, SJ is advising that you take a cloth to your nostalgia goggles and take a second look at a New York that, while changing as it always has, remains an idiosyncratic and uniquely great place to live, eat and wander about.

Ah, nostalgia. Sentimental memories of yesteryear are bittersweet. HG is nostalgic about the New York HG left many decades ago. Cheap rents on the Upper West Side. Even cheaper rents in Greenwich Village and Chelsea. Mom and Pop stores everywhere. Friendly greetings. Shopkeepers who would always cash a check in the days before ATM’s. All wiped out by the chains and high priced, high rise condos. “Co-op conversions” destroyed the distinguished old apartment houses where artists and intellectuals paid affordable rents. Dining out is a questionable experience (except, of course, at Daughter Victoria’s four restaurants–Rosie’s, Cookshop, Vic’s, Hundred Acres— where her husband, Marc Meyer, is the supervising chef). Everything in most restaurants is fancy, “creative” and centered around kale, small plates and expensive wine. Cheap meals? Fuhgeddabout it!! The Automat with its good coffee and splendid casseroles is gone. So is serviceable Bickford’s. There are still a number of Jewish pastrami heavens. All lousy. Even Katz’s and Carnegie. Sadly, the Jewish “dairy” restaurants are almost all gone, There are a few left. B & H at 127 Second Avenue maintains the old traditions. For those unfamiliar with the term, a Jewish “dairy” restaurant serves fish, vegetables, dairy products. No meat or meat products. The two great New York dairy restaurants were Ratner’s (on Delancey) and Rappaport’s (on Second Avenue). What did they serve? Herring in an infinite variety,. Gefilte fish. Borscht. Schav. Pirogen. Blintzes. Noodles with butter and pot cheese. Scores of smoked fish, tuna and sardine salads. HG is only, scratching the surface. Uptown on the Upper West Side there was the Paramount Famous on W. 72nd Street and the fancy Steinberg’s on Broadway in the 80’s. There were many other good dairy eateries in The Bronx and Brooklyn. All had great bread baskets filled with bagels, bialys, rye bread, challah and pletzels (onion rolls). Gallons of sour cream adorned the tables. Enough. HG is getting tearful.

(SJ here. Please look for a rebuttal to this very good, but highly suspect post tomorrow.)

That was the motto of the early women’s prohibition movement. BSK doesn’t go that far. However, BSK has often taken a very dim view of HG’s intake of strong white spirits. Namely tequila and vodka. Can’t blame her. BSK’s war hero father had problems with alcohol which led to a stormy family life. The only time HG ever saw BSK drink strong spirits was on their first date in March 1963. The duo met at the bar of Lombardi’s, a Greenwich Village restaurant. BSK ordered a Dewars scotch on the rocks. (Later, BSK confessed feigning sophistication on a first date with an older, worldly New Yorker). HG had two extra dry Martinis (BSK did not heed the warning). BSK loved dining at Fornos, a wonderful Spanish restaurant (long closed); however, BSK did not like HG’s habit of drinking Fornos’ Margaritas (best ever) throughout the meal and finishing with two Banana Daquiris (best ever) for dessert. Matters came to a climax on Fire Island: HG/BSK were guests at a smorgasbord prepared by the late New York Times journalist Glenn Fowler and his Swedish wife. Famished and thirsty after a day of sun, swimming, body surfing and football tossing. The array of herring, meatballs, red salmon caviar, ham, sausages and cheeses was enticing. HG ate a lot (as did BSK). Jolly time. Unfortunately, HG drank a great deal. There were bottles of near-frozen Aakavit in a block of ice and ale nestled in a bucket of crushed ice. HG took a bite of food. Then a snifter of icy Aakavit. A chaser of ale. This was repeated and repeated and repeated. Later, HG/BSK walked home on the narrow boardwalk (no cars on Fire Island). All of a sudden BSK noticed she was walking alone. BSK looked off the side of the boardwalk — There, laying in the sand, was a prone, very happy, very drunk HG. The next morning there were some stern warnings from BSK. If such a drunken scene was repeated marriage would be ended. HG never again became falling down drunk. (BSK was magnanimous about HG being tipsy, high, slightly sozzled, etc.). Lately, strong spirits have had a bad effect on mature HG. The combination of vodka or tequila with HG’s old guy medications has proven dangerous. HG has stumbled and passed out briefly (for about 30 seconds). BSK has expressed concern. HG now adheres to a regimen of bitters and soda (Aperol, Campari, Punt a Mes, Cynar, Angostura) before dinner. A glass of wine (a large one) with dinner. A very small shot glass of bourbon sipped while watching a movie DVD. No, this is not a liquid diet approved by Carry Nation, the temperance women and the health police. However, it keeps HG upright and soberly joyous. Moreover, BSK approves (barely). That’s the only approval HG seeks.

HG is very fond of French restaurants but hates over rich, over composed, exuberantly expensive haute cuisine. HG despises tasting menus that turn meals into marathons and leave HG feeling stuffed and queasy. In France, HG likes simple bourgeois cooking (Found, alas, in a diminishing number of bistros) and brasserie staples like oysters and grillades. (HG/BSK loved the seafood at Le Bocal and Boulingrin during a recent visit to Rheims. In Paris, Le Stella remains a favorite for plateau de fruits de mer and racks of lamb). HG recalls with nostalgia New York of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s when there were numerous very cheap and very satisfying French bistros. HG was inaugurated into French dining during the World War Two years when HG’s late, beloved sister Beulah Naomi would lunch with adolescent HG at Larre’s in the West 50’s. Very cheap. Fifty cents bought a four course meal (Plus salad). Tables were filled with French teachers and Francophone refugees. HG later learned that a distinguished trio of artists–Marcel Duchamp, Robert Motherwell and Andre Breton–dined there daily. HG and his sister would also eat at the modestly priced Charles a la Pommes Souffle. As the name indicates, the restaurant specialized in delicious crisp and airy potato puffs. They are no longer on New York menus and in very few Paris restaurants. They demand total attention while cooking and are labor intensive. The West 40’s in the Theater District had numerous French bistros. Only one, Chez Napoleon, remains. Happily, it offers true grand mere cuisine including one of HG’s favorite dishes, Cervelles Meuniere–calf brains sautéed in brown butter with capers. During HG’s college days (CCNY–1946-1950) and journalist days (1950-1955) HG confined French dining to the very cheap, very robust bistros on 10th and 11th Avenues in the West 50’s. The ocean liners were still docking on the West Side Piers and these restaurants catered to French, English and Dutch crews. A big meal cost about three dollars and featured lots of innards like liver, kidneys, hearts, gizzards and tete de veau. It was in these rough and ready joints that HG cultivated a taste for dishes not favored by mainstream America. As HG’s finances improved in the mid-’50s and the ’60s, HG favored the delightful (Long closed) Fleur de Lis on West 69th Street (It was here on a hot summer night in 1963 that HG and BSK dined on their wedding night. The temperature was soaring and HG finished dinner smelling like a large garlic clove. Made BSK question her marital choice). During their residency on the Upper West Side, HG/BSK ate frequently (when not consuming Chinese food) at Fleur de LIs. HG’s favorite meal–a dozen escargots, frog legs meuniefre, camembert, creme caramel, red wine–cost about ten dollars. Once a month, HG lunched at what HG considered (and still does) the best French restaurant in the world, Le Pavillon. Curiously, for many years the two best French restaurants were not in France–Le Pavillon in New York and the Connaught Restaurant in London. Henri Soule ran Le Pavillon with Napoleonic imperiousness and rigorous attention to detail. HG’s dining companion was often the late Theodore Kheel, the distinguished lawyer and labor arbitrator. Soule opened the restaurant in 1941. He died in 1966. The restaurant closed in 1971 but it was only a shadow of itself after his death. One of HG’s regrets is that due to pregnancy and other circumstances, BSK never dined at Le Pavillon with HG. Dining at Soule’s with the love of HG’s life would have been a sublime experience.

HG/BSK rarely eat in Italian restaurants. BSK is an expert Italian cook as is daughter Lesley R. (who has the advantage of spending many years in Italy). SJ, not only makes top shelf latkes, barbecue, Cajun stews, the talented guy makes a sumptuous bowl of linguine con vongole. Growing up in The Bronx, HG confined Italian dining to one restaurant, Dominick’s. Located in the Arthur Avenue/Belmont neighborhood, the prices were low, tastes were hearty old school, decor was no frills to the extreme, waiters were brusque. It’s still in operation. Still has huge portions. No credit cards. Communal seating. Pizza was not a universal American food in HG’s youth. First tried some, age 5, on busy Bathgate Avenue. Thought it was cherry pie. Mom finally bought little HG a slice (cost 2 cents). Big disappointment. HG has never been a big pizza fans though, when young, HG did fancy the very oily, very cheesy pies at Joe’s on Jerome Avenue (Kingsbridge neighborhood) and Half Moon (Arthur Avenue). The years rolled by. HG/BSK made many trips to Italy. Favorite dishes: Seppie stew with linguine in Venice (plus all the fish and shellfish); Bollito Misto in Bologna as well as (natch) Tagliatelle con Ragu Bolognese; very rare Steak Fiorentina with Tuscan beans in Florence; pasta smothered in delicious, expensive white truffle shavings in Rome. Mouthwatering memories. In New York, HG/BSK’s favorite Italian restaurant was Delsomma on W. 47th Street. HG/BSK were introduced to it by the late (and very much missed) composer Michael Small and his wife, Lynn. This was the restaurant where HG/BSK had their very first meal with Massimo R., then the nervous boyfriend of daughter Lesley. (Massimo and Lesley celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary this month). Read all about Delsomma (closed for more than 20 years, alas) on hungrygerald: Gone But Not Forgotten Restaurants: Delsomma. Paul and Jimmy’s on Irving Place was another favorite (Pesce –fish– Livornese was a specially). That’s gone but two other favorites are still operating –Patsy’s on W. 56th Street and Patsy’s Pizzeria and Restaurant on 1st Avenue and 118th Street. The 56th Street Patsy’s was a favorite of Frank Sinatra and mobster Frank Costello. In 1956, HG had HG’s first public relations office on the floor just above the restaurant. Knowing that HG was struggling financially, Patsy’s kind and generous owners would feed HG delicious food at discounted prices.(“Hey. Kid, you’re a neighbor, right?”). The other Patsy’s was a favorite during HG’s days as a journalist. Favorite dishes were clams oreganato and spaghetti olio et aglio. In those days (1951-1955), Patsy’s was a busy place much favored by cops and mob guys. Specialized (as it still does) in pizza. HG/BSK visited it one night in the 1970’s when BSK was in the mood for pizza. Drugs had taken over the neighborhood. HG/BSK were the only customers except for junkies who kept darting in the bathrooms to shoot up. The pizza, however, was devastatingly good. Prepared by two old people who cooked with knowledge and love. Business picked up at Patsy’s (In business for more than 75 years) after Woody Allen, surprisingly, showed up with a group of showbiz pals in the early 80s, ordered pizza and raved. Word got around. The restaurant now thrives under a second generation of owners. Still a cash only policy. HG is sure it’s good but when next in New York, will continue to get an Italian food fix at Vic’s, daughter Victoria’s new venture on Great Jones Street. Superlative, innovative Italian cooking.