HUNGRY GERALD

This was a day of full time New York fressing for HG. Late awakening after SJ’s rousing Uzbek grand bouffe birthday party. HG/BSK had a Vietnamese brunch at Nam Son on Grand Street. Cha Gio, pork and vegetable spring rolls wrapped in lettuce and mint. Dipped in tangy fish sauce. Some crunchy salads topped with sliced shrimp and shredded chicken. HG/BSK separated. BSK went off to Brooklyn to frolic with grandson Haru and HG stayed at table with a big bowl of exceptional pho topped with tender, raw top sirloin. A pleasant long walk to Soho pausing at shops and galleries. An unexpected encounter. HG was wearing his ankle length Issey Miyake fur collared down coat, an imposing garment. A young, lively bearded chap approached. “That coat! That coat! I must take your picture.” It was Mordechai, the men’s style authority whose blog, Mister Mort, often features colorfully dressed old guys. He and SJ are friends. It was a pleasant coincidence. HG arrived at jam packed Balthazar, the big brasserie that far outperforms the brasseries of Paris. HG was seated with Restaurateur Daughter Victoria and her half brother, Harry Segal, a talented man who much resembles his brilliant, late father, Fred Segal, HG’s one time close friend. Victoria ordered a huge plateau de fruits de mer, a Balthazar specialty. HG couldn’t do it full justice but he did mange to knock off some oysters, crab, clams and shrimp. Plus glasses of the good house Muscadet. After a quick hotel shower, HG was picked up by the SJ family and all were off to Congee Village on Bowery for a dinner of congee with gingko nuts, fried squid; crisp skinned soy chicken; steamed tofu with shrimp, sliced fish, vegetables; pea shoots; crisp Hong Kong noodles. Chinatown cuisine at its best.

The chilly day began with dim sum at aptly named Dim Sum Go Go in Chinatown. In attendance: HG/BSK, SJ, Exquisite Maiko, grand grandkids Haru ands Teru; Restaurateur Daughter Victoria. The big round table was adorned with what seemed to be scores of bamboo steamer baskets filled with delectable morsels. BSK is allergic to crustaceans and Victoria is a vegetarian. Fortunately, Dim Sum Go Go is one of the rare Dim Sum spots that have a wide variety of vegetarian options as well as the standard seafood and pork dishes. There is no better way to begin a New York day than with fresh, hot dim sum. Apres brunch HG/BSK walked to bustling Broadway in Soho for some last minute Christmas shopping at Uniqlo, Lululemon and other wondrous shops. Values galore. Back to the hotel for restoring green tea and the pleasure of the New York Giants and remarkable Beckham performing well on the TV screen. In the evening, SJ’s long time pal, the beautiful and talented Zena B., picked up HG/BSK and they motored off to the depths of Queens, the American Capital of Multi-Ethnicity. Their destination was Cafe Arzu, a kosher Jewish Uzbek restaurant. This was the site of SJ’s eccentric birthday party with a few guests including SJ’s oldest friends (almost brothers) Adam S. and Jon S. (surprise visitor from LA). Decor of Arzu is Soviet Grim. However, the birthday table laden with vodka, beer and red wine enlivened the atmosphere. Customers at Arzu seemed to range from Russian gangsters to pious, bearded Chassidim. All having loud fun. The cuisine of Uzbekistan is, to understate, robust. The SJ birthday group dug into platters of sliced tomatoes, thinly sliced raw onions (lots of chopped dill), very good pickles. There were toasts to the birthday boy. Brief speeches. Much hilarity, Modest inebriation. Platters of food arrived. Juicy meat and pumpkin dumplings. Lagman, a sort of Uzbek ramen containing beef cubes plus addictive, chewy noodles. Arzu specializes in kebabs and these are spectacularly flavorful. The group consumed skewers of lamb, beef, chicken, chicken wings and lamb ribs. The wings and ribs were HG’s favorites and the hungry oldster overindulged. Beloved son SJ is one of life’s originals. No one but SJ would ever arrange an Uzbek birthday party.

Comfy Amtrak travel to New York and HG/BSK arrived at their Lower East Side hotel room for a rousing reunion with SJ, Exquisite Maiko plus the grand grandkids, Haru and Teru. A walk on East Broadway, a bowl of steaming pork and watercress soup at a Chinese eatery, brief nap, a hot shower and off to Vic’s, Restaurateur Daughter Victoria’s new venture in the same space that housed her Five Points restaurant on Great Jones Street in Noho for more than ten years. Vic’s has had much buzz because of ecstatic reviews (mentioned by HG in a previous post). When HG/BSK arrived at Vic’s they were dazzled by the new decor. Simple, Warm. Welcoming. Exposed brick. Flattering light. A ceiling that muffles much noise but allows enough to create a lively atmosphere. Tables and chairs that evoked an elegant farmhouse. And, there was Victoria, looking svelte and fashionable. She joined HG/BSK at a corner table and a perfect meal made stately progress. Chef Hillary Sterling combines imagination, precision, technique with an appreciation for down to earth tastes that evoke Italian countryside trattorias and eateries nestled on Mediterranean beaches. Her first creation HG/BSK enjoyed was a platter of crisp fried sweet onions dusted with parmesan and dried tomatoes. Pure, simple deliciousness that hit all the right notes of salty, sweet and crunchy. This was followed by little neck clams, pistachios, cannelloni beans and lovage in an intense clam broth. The sea theme continued with smoky, juicy grilled sardines adorned with thin shaved curls of baby carrot. The refreshing white wine was put aside and a fruity red was poured as three different pasta tastings were introduced. First, there was the Roman classic, cacio e pepe prepared with pecorino and parmesan. Then there were “little purses” of delicate pasta filled with ricotta, lemon and hazelnuts. The pasta finale: Tortellini filled with potato and guanciale (pork jowl) in a powerful pork brodo that sang of bacony goodness with remarkably none of the grease. There was just enough appetite left for a shared taste of some lush chocolate and snifters of house concocted limoncello (best HG/BSK ever tasted). Vic’s is a happy restaurant.The diners were visibly and audibly having a good time. And, why not? Splendid food, fair prices, pleasant surroundings, attentive service. HG advice: Reserve in advance. Vic’s is hot.

First off — a Merry Christmas from HG to all of you. This Christmas tale will be told a bit in reverse given the timing, but what the hell!

Airport food has changed. For the better. While traveling east for family fun in New York and Rhode Island, HG/BSK and Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia dined well at airport eateries in Albuquerque and Kansas City (Flying east from New Mexico means a stop in KC). Black Mesa at the Albuquerque Sunport served a lush southwestern quiche filled with local green chiles and good ham. In KC, the travelers had a splendid meal at the aptly named Pork and Pickle. Pulled pork sliders in a tangy (not too sweet) barbecue sauce on three soft buns with cole slaw and crisp pickles. Ice cold Stella Artois beer served in beautiful chilled glasses. Crisp, fresh French fries. What’s not to like? When the weary trio arrived at the waterfront Rhode Island home of HG/BSK’s daughter, the gifted Lesley R. and her husband Massimo R., the brilliant professor, a New England dinner (with some Italian touches) awaited. Rhode Island chowder with plenty of local clams and firm fleshed cod. The meal ended with some very fragrant, ripe Robiola cheese with a ciabatta loaf and spicy pear preserves. Good red wine. Happiness.

HG is so proud and delighted. Restaurateur Daughter Victoria Freeman (Cookshop, Hundred Acres, soon to open Rosies’s) has a big hit on her hands. The first review of her new restaurant, Vic’s, just appeared…New York Magazine gave Vic’s four stars calling the food “Big, Bold and Batali-esque.” Read about chef Hillary Sterling’s flavorful dishes and you’ll get ravenously hungry. Make your reservation now before the wait becomes interminable. Vic’s (31 Great Jones Street near Lafayette) replaces Five Points, the pioneering restaurant Vicki and husband/chef Marc Meyer opened 15 years ago. Five Points was one of the first farm-to-table restaurants in New York and its Sunday brunch quickly became a New York legend. Vicki and Marc thought it was time for a change. A redo of the decor, new name, new chef, new menu. Obviously, a very good idea. The name “Vic’s” is a bow to the past. “Vix” was Vicki’s first restaurant. She hired Marc Meyer as the chef. The rest is New York culinary history. HG/BSK will be in New York for pre-Christmas visit. Will dine at Vic’s. Looking forward.

So sad. The Cafe Edison, affectionately known as “The Polish Tearoom,” is closing its doors. The landlord (the Hotel Edison on 47th Street and Broadway in New York) is replacing it with a fancy restaurant headed by a “big name chef.” Another haimish New York restaurant bites the dust. Haimish is a Yiddish word meaning many things: Down home. With family and friends. Warm, cozy, plain and unadorned. Like eating an overstuffed sandwich at the kitchen table with Mom, Pop, your wife and the kids. Cafe Edison was decidedly Jewish with matzo ball soup, kasha varnishkes, pastrami and all the other Jewish/ Eastern European staples. Theater folks of every ethnicity gathered there daily to eat, shmooze, make deals, exchange show biz chatter. There were other theater district restaurants, not Jewish, that were haimish. Delsomma (Italian) and Fornos (Spanish). Both gone. In fact, the Jewish-Irish-Italian Manhattan where HG spent many years has vanished. The Irish bars with their corned beef and cabbage, pig’s knuckles and hard boiled eggs belong to yesterday. Italian red sauce joints are no more. The Torissi guys (Italian Specialties, Parm, Carbone, Dirty French) have upscaled Italian food ($52 veal chops, for example). Thankfully, Manhattan’s African-American and Latino population is keeping the haimish tradition alive. You can still get splendid fried chicken and catfish in Harlem. Mofongo remains on the menu in Puerto Rican eateries. Cubans in Washington Heights are still dishing up Cubanos, moros and cristianos and other good things. But, if haimish is your thing get on the subway (and ferry) and head to the boroughs. Forget Manhattan. HG, to paraphrase the song, will take The Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island, too.

In 1954 HG partnered with a Broadway press agent and opened HG’s first public relations office in an odd little four story building, 236 W. 56th Street, on New York’s west side between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. The other tenants, like HG, were impecunious and vaguely connected with show business. The ground floor and part of the second was occupied by Patsy’s Italian Restaurant, celebrated for being one of Frank Sinatra’s favorite dining spots. It was a delightful old school restaurant featuring robust Neapolitan dishes. Though only ten years old at the time (it was founded in 1944 by Pasquale “Patsy” Scognamillo), it felt as if it had been there for decades. Prices were modest, affordable for even hand-to-mouth HG. The hosts were welcoming, generous people. They must have known that HG was struggling in his PR career because they always gave HG exuberant portions and coffee plus wine on the house. HG’s partnership dissolved. HG’s fortunes improved. HG moved to more appropriate offices on Madison Avenue. Nevertheless, HG continued to patronize Patsy’s, relishing its mozzarella in carozzo, clams arrreganata, chicken contadina and giant veal chops. Gradually, HG shifted his patronage to two other fine Italian restaurants — Delsomma on W. 47th Street and Paul & Jimmy’s on Irving Place (both long closed). While restaurants came and went, Patsy’s rolled along. It’s now in its 70th year and still owned by the Scognamillo family (It has only had three chefs in its history—all Scognamillos). Recently, HG checked the Patsy’s website. Food prices, of course, are much loftier than in the past. But, what gained HG’s attention was the wine list. Very few bottles priced less than $50 and many priced between $175 and $1,500. Yes, HG knows that New York has been taken over by the oligarchs, but still…. HG mused that New York is like an old girl friend. Cherish the memory but don’t arrange a reunion.

Some years ago HG had public relations offices on New York’s W. 57th Street (between Sixth and Seventh Avenues), a territory that remains embedded in HG’s food focused mind as “sandwich heaven.” A quick walk west brought HG to Carnegie Delicatessen for a pastrami sandwich on authentic rye with Russian dressing, sour pickles, French fries and a Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray beverage. It was a generous plate but nothing like the overstuffed, overpriced parody of a sandwich that Carnegie serves to gullible tourists today. A shorter walk west brought HG to a coffee shop (name not recalled) for a rare roast beef sandwich with raw sliced onion on good pumpernickel bread. Potato salad and an iced coffee completed the fast feast. Sometimes HG ventured east to a deli on Sixth Avenue for smoked Nova Scotia salmon with cream cheese on an onion roll. Hot coffee. When ambitious, HG could venture just a bit further to 58th Street east of Fifth Avenue for the ultimate in sandwich perfection: This was the Reuben sandwich prepared at Reuben’s Restaurant, one of HG’s all time favorite eateries. The sandwich was incomparable. Every element–corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, Russian dressing, rye bread–was perfect and the grilling was impeccable. Closer than Reuben’s was Rumpelmayer’s and the Monte Cristo sandwich (described in a recent post). Of course, HG could have ignored sandwiches and simply walked across the street to the Russian Tea Room for borscht and pirozshki; blini with salmon caviar and sour cream or a simple plate of eggplant orientale. Unfortunately, these dishes cried out for an accompaniment of chilled vodka which HG would not been able to resist. So, disciplined HG saved the Russian Tea Room for dinners and weekend lunches. Every two weeks or so, HG’s pal Charles E., an important advertising copywriter, would lunch with HG. (An odd fact: Charles was Jack Kerouac’s teammate on a Columbia football team.) Charles and HG would indulge in a guilty treat: Combo platters (Shrimp chop suey, egg roll, pork fried rice) served with lots of duck sauce and chinese mustard at a dingy Chinese restaurant on Sixth just north of 58th. Preceded by egg drop soup, finished with an almond cookie. Like an illicit couple, HG and Charles would leave with furtive glances, hoping that no one would note how they had breached culinary values.

Years ago,squab, a dish HG much enjoyed, was found on the menus of many good New York restaurants. Rarely found anymore (except in New York’s various Chinatowns in Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens). A squab is a very young pigeon, four weeks old or less. It is a lush little bird with meat that tastes like the very best dark meat of a chicken or turkey. HG recalls eating squab prepared in many delectable ways, usually roasted: stuffed with wild rice; roasted with fresh figs; wrapped in bacon and accompanied with juicy roast grapes. As noted, squab can be found in butcher shops in Chinese neighborhoods and on Chinese restaurant menus. The squab is usually butterflied and fried. The glazed skin turns very brown and its crackling texture goes nicely with the rich flesh. Forget Chinese tea. The best accompaniment is a good red Bordeaux or Cabernet Sauvignon. The best Chinese prepared squab in North America can be found at the excellent Sun Sui Wah restaurant in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood of Vancouver, B.C.. HG’s dining companions at the restaurant were often disconcerted when HG bit off the little bird’s head and crunched the tasty little morsel. HG has no sentimentality when it comes to dining.

Kale seems to be the trendy, green, leafy vegetable of the moment but HG still prefers spinach. HG did not always love spinach. As a little fellow, HG expressed negative opinions regarding spinach. A believer in the nutritional value of the leafy, green wonder food, HG’s cunning Mom would enclose spinach in a mound of buttery, creamy mashed potatoes. She called the dish “buried treasure.” The romantic name — evoking pirates, the Spanish Main and wealth beyond imagination — convinced HG the vegetable was good stuff. These days HG associates spinach with many splendid restaurant dishes. Creamed spinach of sublime quality would accompany a thick cut of savory boiled tongue (plus a boiled potato and fiery English mustard) at Al Cooper’s Restaurant (long closed) in New York’s Garment Center. Creamed spinach was very good at Ben Benson’s Steak House (also closed) in midtown New York. Palm Restaurant (branches all over the country) serves whole leaf spinach sauteed in high-quality Italian olive oil and plenty of garlic with its steaks and hash browns. The Compound, in Santa Fe, flanks its Chicken Schnitzel in parsley caper sauce with some leaves of sautéed spinach. When HG lived in Colorado he lunched daily at 240 Union, the very good restaurant in Lakewood. The chef at the time, Matthew Franklin, would nest broiled or sautéed fish on a mound of spinach. There was always a plentiful amount of mashed potatoes. What made the dish sing was the abundance of melted butter. Cooking at home, HG likes to place a grilled paillard of chicken breast on some spinach cooked with oil, garlic and a tiny bit of nutmeg. A spinach risotto is a comforting dish as is a rice pilaf mixed with spinach. A very simple dish is some good tortelloni or ravioli plus spinach in steaming chicken broth. Popeye was right. Spinach makes muscle. Take that, Bluto!! Wham ! Bam ! Kazam !