HUNGRY GERALD

Except for an occasional bit of fried fish at Rick’s Fish and Chips or a scallop sandwich at Lin’s takeout (both in St. Peters, Prince Edward Island), HG/BSK confine their dining to sumptuous home meals of fresh fish, bivalves and local vegetables. So, last night was a special, unfamiliar treat. HG/BSK drove into Charlottetown for dinner at Himalayan Curry, a restaurant serving “authentic Indian food.” HG/BSK’s expectations were not high. There’s wonderful food on PEI (see the article on PEI culinary adventures in the Sunday, August 2 Travel section of the New York Times). However, good ethnic dining of the Asian variety is very rare. HG/BSK’s optimism was raised when they entered Himalayan Curry and found the small restaurant filled with happy diners, including an Indian family (ten people of all ages). Things continued to look up as BSK sipped nicely chilled pinot grigio and HG drank Corona Mexican beer from a frosty glass. Crisp, greaseless papadums were devoured. The sweet young waitperson brought a platter of Momo, Tibetan dumplings that were dipped in a flavorful sauce. Excellent. They then had butter chicken (hotly spiced for HG), chicken tikka, saag paneer (spinach and cheese), excellent potato stuffed naan, fluffy rice, raita, chutney, mixed pickles. Tasty stuff. Very appropriate for a warm summer night. No, this wasn’t the kind of great Indian food one finds in London. Michelin is not going to adorn HC with stars. But the service is sweet, the room is comfortable, the food is made with fresh ingredients. Quite pleasant and a nice change for HG/BSK.

Yes, HG is obsessive about food. At the end of one meal, HG plans immediately the next culinary experience. Not a harmful obsession (except, possibly, for the waistline). Far less harmful than monetary greed, lechery or a lust for opiates. HG’s family shares HG’s interest (if not obsession) with dining. And, HG benefits from the fact that they are all excellent cooks. HG’s role is to play the dual roles of Enthusiastic Feeder and Indulgent Critic. While HG loves SJ’s barbecue (and chicken gumbo), Lesley R.’s pasta dishes and seafood stews, BSK’s pork chops, smashed potatoes, poached eggs and other classics, it is Exquisite Maiko who brings cuisine to a lush and lofty level. Every EM dish is not only sublimely delicious but is composed as a visual treat, a work of art that provides pleasure to both the eye and the palate. Over the past few nights there were some typical EM performances which resulted in two of the best meals HG ever ate: For the first, there was a minimum amount of calories (happily) because HG’s appetite (and consumption) was even more robust than usual. These were the elements of the meal. EM’s signature of lightly sautéed sole filets flanked by steamed bok choy and adorned with garlic chips and bonito flakes. Eggplant was grilled and then marinated in sake, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, sesame oil and broth. Tiger shrimp sautéed with ginger, garlic, sesame oil and a tiny bit of butter. Dusted with smoked Spanish paprika (for a bit of heat). Bowls of fluffy rice. It is useless to detail EM’s recipes. They are dependent upon a combination of professional knife skills, intuitive timing and Japanese aesthetics. HG (and family) are the happy and admiring beneficiaries.

For the second amazing meal, HG was reminded of a blazingly hot late July day in New York some 50 years ago. HG and a very pregnant BSK (baby due next month) were shopping for baby furniture and other necessary equipment at Macy’s. Herald Square was an inferno. The tired and famished duo sought refuge at nearby Keen’s Chop House, a favorite restaurant. A strange choice, since the venerable restaurant specialized in hearty wintry fare like mutton chops, roast beef, steaks, Yorkshire Pudding, etc.. However, the restaurant air conditioning was functioning nicely. The dark oak paneling and antique lights created an Old-London-In-Autumn atmosphere. Cool and comfortable HG/BSK devoured great slabs of tender, rare roast beef with Yorkshire Pudding and leaf spinach. Fiery horse radish and English mustard on the table. Cold English ale. A very satisfying meal on an improbable day. HG recalled this meal at dinner on Prince Edward Island as the day was unusually hot, humid and sticky. EM found oxtails at a local supermarket so the inventive chef brewed hearty oxtail soup, big chunks of oxtail floating in rich broth enhanced with chopped scallions, herbs and Ponzu. Lightly marinated crisp Napa cabbage was added to the dish and a sprinkling of Japanese hot pepper mix. The meat was tender with a nice slightly gelatinous texture. The broth was invigorating. The discomfort of the day was banished. Somehow, a delicious comfort level was achieved. Finally, a cooling breeze swept over the dinner table and the happy group finished the meal with a platter of EM’s Mo Po Tofu. Delicious. Thanks, inventive EM, for defying the conventions of hot weather cooking.

When you are on Prince Edward Island you are rarely far from excellent fried fish, French fried potatoes or crisp, deep fried onion rings. Rick’s Fish & Chips in St, Peters is (HG kids) the three star Michelin choice for these goodies. But, fear not, one can find worthy competitors all over the Island. There’s Wicked Fries, a food truck that appeared this year in Morrell, which has “awesome” fries (according to grandson Handsome Haru) and a fairly remarkable burger sourced from local PEI beef (according to SJ). There’s another truck in Montague Harbor where HG/BSK have had exemplary fried fish sandwiches with French fries and house made tartar sauce. There’s another French fry food truck in Charlottetown that lurks near a complex of big box retailers. Always busy so they must be doing something right. HG/BSK live nine months of the year in New Mexico where tacos and burritos are rarely out of reach. You can grab them from food trucks, garner them from drive ins or eat them in restaurants. They are good, better or sublime. If they are inferior the purveyor is rapidly out of business. In Paris, there seems to be a crepe stand outside of every Metro station. These are not favored by HG who prefers the superb galettes or crepes at creperies like Breizh Cafe in the Marais neighborhood. In Vancouver, B.C., where HG/BSK lived (part time) for ten years, there were score of sushi joints. Every bench in the numerous parks or on busy avenues seemed to be occupied by beautiful young women eating sushi and chatting gaily with their friends. Philadelphia, which has always seemed to HG to be a highly eccentric city, is dominated by the soft pretzel. This doughy, heavily salted baked good (or bad) is heavily dosed in mustard and enjoyed by the multitudes. Go figure.

There are two things Americans never order in Paris bistros: Andouillette (chitterling sausage) and tete de veau (boiled calf or veal head). Andouiellette is a horror, HG agrees. It is a sausage that smells like a bad toilet. Wikipedia explains: “The aroma is due to the pig’s colon utilized in the sausage which incorporates some of the same compounds that contribute to the odours of excremement.” Bluntly: It smells like shit. (French gourmands have told HG that the sausage is a robust, earthy treat. Nevertheless…). On the other hand, tete de veau, which offers copious amounts of cheeck, tongue, brains and other bits, is a treat. It is usually served with Sauce Gribiche (an HG favorite). This is a vibrant sauce composed of hard boiled eggs, mustard, olive oil, vinegar, capers, cornichons and herbs. HG always requests the amount of Gribiche be doubled. David Lebovitz (food blogger —David Lebovitz: Living the Sweet Life in Paris — and Author of the book: The Sweet Life In Paris) did a nice post on Gribiche entitled “Sauce Gribiche, Au Pif”. The phrase means “by the nose”. In the post a French friend tells David to make Gribiche “au pif”. That is, trust your instincts and individual taste in making the sauce. That’s what HG did last night when HG prepared a copious amount of Gribiche. It was served over lightly poached cod. Brought the fish to heavenly heights. On the plate were little PEI potatoes drenched in olive oil, Maldon sea salt and chopped herbs. BSK gilded the lily by doing BSK’s signature Asian sauté of bok choy and snow pea pods with garlic, ginger, sesame oil and Vietnamese fish sauce. A sumptuous meal.

During HG’s younger years in New York, there were many Hungarian (and Czech) restaurants on Lexington, Third and Second Avenues in the East 80’s and 90’s. The Czech restaurants specialized in tasty duck dishes. HG characterized the Hungarian eateries as “goulash by candlelight joints.” One of their common features was violin music provided by a “Gypsy” musician. The “Gypsy” would swoop down on individual tables and with many swooping gestures and soulful glances provide the diner with renditions of schmaltzy middle European cafe favorites. The object was to enhance the romantic mood of the diners. Somehow it worked (or maybe it was the copious amount of Egri Bikaver “Bull’s Blood” Hungarian red wine HG consumed). The “Gypsy” would continue to saw away until he was tipped. HG far preferred the “oompah, oompah” music provided by the band at Luchow’s, the glorious German restaurant on 14th Street. There were few jollier places in New York than Luchow’s during Christmas season when the venerable walls were adorned with holly and sparkling lights and the band focused on happy carols. Another pleasant winter music dining venue was the Edwardian Room of the Plaza Hotel. A cocktail pianist tinkled away in the background as diners ate in the handsome room gazing out at snow falling on Central Park. HG recalls a little steak house (name, alas, forgotten) where the owner, accompanied by a portable keyboard, sang show tunes to individual tables. His whiskey roughened voice was perfect for “Fugue for Tinhorns” from “Guys and Dolls.” And, then there’s Sammy’s Romanian on the Lower East Side. For many decades Sammy’s has featured music from singers, violinists and pianists singing old Yiddish music hall chestnuts and some popular melodies interspersed with low end, politically incorrect humor. The latest incarnation is Dani Luv, an Israeli born pianist with a killer Louis Armstrong impression. His audience, liberally stoked with vodka, garlic and chicken fat, is raucously appreciative.

One of the nice things about living in Santa Fe is the art. Of course, there are scores of galleries (some kitsch but mostly first rate) and a surprising number of museums for a city its size. But, there’s quality art almost everywhere–in banks, restaurants, public buildings, shops, offices, etc. HG’s doctor, for example, has a splendid Dali hanging in her consulting room. One of HG’s favorite spaces is the very good Compound Restaurant on Canyon Road. In an old adobe building, the restaurant was designed by the late Alexander Girard and the sun washed interiors are decorated with a few striking pieces of primitive art. (Girard contributed 106,000 pieces to Santa Fe’s Museum Of International Folk Art). New York has some splendid restaurant art, much enjoyed by HG during HG’s long residence in HG’s once beloved city (now a theme park for the international oligarchy). The now threatened Four Seasons Restaurant in Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram Building has a Lippold sculpture, Bertoia curtains, and a revolving display of paintings by modern masters (The Picasso ballet curtain, alas, has been removed). There is no better place for cocktails than The King Cole Bar in the St. Regis Hotel. (HG/BSK have a special fondness for the hotel since, just abut 52 years ago, the duo had an afternoon reception in the elegant Library room following a morning wedding). King Cole, that merry old soul, is celebrated at the bar with a majestic Maxfield Parrish mural. Gaze at it in wonder as you sip a martini during your next New York visit. But, bring an active credit card. Drinks and snacks are very expensive (but worth it). Another wondrous interior is the Cafe des Artistes (now called Leopard at des Artistes).on W.67th Street. The walls are adorned with frolicking, bare-breasted forest nymphs painted by Howard Chandler Christy. Enchanting. (Some 5l years ago, HG/BSK lived next door to the des Artistes at 27 W. 67th and sometimes popped into the cafe for a drink). The long closed Jams Restaurant introduced Alice Waters-influenced California cuisine to New York. The owners, Melvin Masters and Jonathan Waxman, hung striking modern art on the walls. There are two restaurants with caricatures on the walls–Sardi’s and Palm. Sardi’s features theatrical figures and Palm has Depression era stuff by cartoonists from nearby newspapers (The artists got a free meal). Palm has restaurants throughout the country and has caricatures of local personalities (and good customers) on its walls. When HG resided in Denver, HG often lunched at the Denver Palm outpost at a booth beneath a flattering caricature of HG. Fame.

July 2, 1963. Fifty two years ago in New York. HG/BSK wed in the Foley Square chambers of Judge George Postel. Wedding brunch at Longchamps on lower Broadway. Sweltering heat wave, but BSK glowed with chic loveliness at HG/BSK’s afternoon reception in the St. Regis Hotel’s elegant Library Room (Bucky Pizzarelli supplied sublime guitar melodies). Dinner that night (with BSK’s family) at Fleur de Lys, little French restaurant near HG/BSK’s 27 W. 67th Street apartment. HG indulged in a platter of heavily garlicked escargots. This caused BSK discomfort as HG secreted pungent waves of garlic in the non-air conditioned apartment. BSK pondered (and not for the last time) whether the marriage was an error. HG/BSK and the marriage survived the evening. Today, on blissful Prince Edward Island, the duo raised breakfast coffee cups and agreed that their long journey together has been very rewarding. Tonight’s anniversary dinner will be a platter of shucked oysters (with BSK’s invigorating shallot vinaigrette), linguine con vongole (loads of little neck clams). Lessons have been learned. Garlic will be handled judiciously. Pecan butter tarts with ice cream for dessert. HG’s wish: Many more years with the love of HG’s life, the lovely, generous, talented, compassionate, sensitive BSK, the best wife, lover, mother, grandmother and companion. And, happily, BSK can cook.

HG first tasted an appetizer of Chinese sesame noodles at Shun Lee, a good Chinese restaurant near New York’s Lincoln Center. A pleasantly suave dish, it made a nice accompaniment to pork dumplings and spring rolls. HG would make the noodles more lively by judicious applications of hot chili oil. These were timid noodles compared to the Tan Tan noodles served at Chongquing Szechuan Restaurant on Vancouver, B.C.’s gritty Commercial Drive. When HG/BSK were part time residents of Vancouver, HG always had the noodles as part of an exemplary dim sum brunch. The noodles were bowls of fire, the ingredients swimming in a sea of chile enriched sesame oil, properly named “fire oil.” HG’s palate was cooled by numerous cups of tea. HG encountered similar fiery noodles at Talin, an international foods supermarket in Santa Fe. The market has a ramen bar. A Monday pop up offers dumplings, soup, pork belly wraps and Dan Dan noodles. (On Fridays and Saturdays Vietnamese spring rolls are served at the ramen bar.) HG, a dedicated consumer of Asiatic (as well as Italian) noodles, often varies his consumption of Saigon Cafe’s pho with Talin’s Dan Dan variety. The other week, HG got a surprise. Expecting a mouthful of flames, HG ordered Talin’s Dan Dan noodles. Though described as Dan Dan noodles, the dish was really noodles in a variant of Mo Po Tofu sauce. The sauce contained ground pork, tiny cubes of tofu and shavings of scallion. Topped with slices of cucumber. No complaints from HG.Managed to knock off a generous bowl. Of the many variants of Dan Dan noodles, HG prefers the version HG/BSK learned years ago at the Upper West Side cooking classes conducted by Karen Lee. There’s a full account of the dish on a previous HG post: KAREN LEE COOKING CLASSES.

Pete Wells, the New York Times restaurant critic, recently rewarded Blanca, an edgy restaurant in Brooklyn’s gritty Bushwick neighborhood, three stars. At Blanca, customers sit at a counter and are served slivers of “inventive” food for $195 a person. No wine on its list sells for less than $80. According to HG’s figuring, this means a check for about $800 (or more) for dinner for two (food, wine, tax, tip). According to comments by Wells’s readers, you’ll still be hungry after dinner and in the mood for pizza or a burger. The direct opposite of Blanca is Los Andes in Providence, a restaurant much loved by HG and family. HG/BSK, Gifted Daughter Lesley R. and Brilliant Granddaughter Arianna R. dined there while visiting Rhode Island. As always, it was jammed with happy people of every ethnicity and color. Music from a Peruvian band. Los Andes is truly joyous. Once you enter, any vestige of gloom or depression disappears. HG sipped a favorite cocktail: Pisco Sour. Perfect, not too sweet sangria was poured. HG/BSK and their two companions shared some super generous portions of fresh and flavorful Latin-American and Peruvian food. A ceviche platter of tilapia, onions and herbs. A ceviche cocktail (served in an oversized Martini glass) of shrimp, squid, tilapia, mussels, etc. (HG would be happy to spend an evening sipping Pisco Sours and devouring these lush ceviche “cocktails”). Unusual Peruvian whipped potatoes with shredded chicken. A two-inch thick grilled swordfish steak. Rib eye steak (rare) from the Argentine barbecue “parilla.” Flan and an unusual meringue for dessert. Check the Los Andes website for full descriptions of these dishes and scores more. Prices are very reasonable, $30 to $40 per person (with wine). You will leave Los Andes very happy and very full. Service is efficient and pleasant. Los Andes is a professional operation, delivering excellent food with consistency. Deservedly popular, reservations are a must. Worth a special trip to Providence.

The Providence, R.I., area has become one of the great culinary destinations in the United States. In previous posts, HG has lauded the joyous Los Andes restaurant and the down to earth Blount Clam Shack. (Splendid cooking is always provided by Gifted Daughter Lesley R. at her home. But, of course, this is only available for fortunate family and friends). Before leaving for Prince Edward Island, HG/BSK, Lesley and Brilliant Granddaughter Arianna R., dined at Metacom Kitchen in Warren, a town that’s a short drive from Providence. Metacom offers a cuisine that utilizes the flavors and spices of many cultures—Italian, French, Japanese, Chinese, Indonesian, etc. Every ingredient in a Metaom dish is fresh, seasonal and treated with respect; a respect tempered by a creativity that makes it memorable. Here are some of the things the happy quartet tasted: Freshly shucked oysters on the half shell nestled on an excellent Japanese seaweed salad. Usually, HG prefers oysters to be served au naturel. No sauce. For HG, the natural brine is enough. But, at Metacam the oysters were served with a light lemongrass sauce that enhanced but did not overpower the oysters. This was followed by plump mussels, steamed in an inventive broth of green curry, zucchini, dry vermouth. Poached cherry tomatoes added a dash of color. The extraordinary broth was soaked up by squares of house baked focaccia and an herbal compound butter. Then some dishes were variations on Italian themes. Feather light polenta gnocchi in a sauce of shredded, braised veal breast; young turnips, pea greens and pecorino romano cheese. Porchetta with a tonatto sauce. Earthy tagliatelle with shredded duck confit and porcini mushrooms. There was a shift to a French Provencal specialty: Crisp fried rectangles of chickpeas with aioli. There were two conventional but perfectly prepared dishes: MK Burger, with sharp cheddar, lettuce, tomato, aioli and chickpea fries. Roasted black sea bass with couscous. Desserts were lush. Green apple cobbler with creme anglais, Marcona almonds and vanilla ice cream; creme brûlée; cheesecake with a spiced pistachio crust. Two very good Italian wines were served (both specials that evening)–a Pinot Grigio and a Sangiovese. Service was by a charming young woman. Prices were modest. Decor was soothing and contemporary. Metacom is everything a modern American restaurant should be.