HUNGRY GERALD

HG derived vicarious pleasure watching distinguished son-in-law Profesore Massimo R. devour a giant marrow bone at Prince Edward Island’s Terre Rouge bistro (yes, the generous Ufficiale gave HG a taste). Roasted marrow bones have long been served at old time Paris bistros. HG has relished them with a crusty baguette and a carafe of rough red wine in Left Bank rooms perfumed with Gauloise smoke. For years, the health police managed to have them banished from most American restaurants but, thankfully, marrow bones are making a comeback: In the mid 90s Fergus Henderson, the British chef and cookbook author served a dish at his St. John restaurant in London of roasted marrow bones with parsley and capers that was an immediate trend-setter and was soon replicated at New York restaurants like Prune and Blue Ribbon Bakery; now there is hardly a meat-centric New York menu without marrow bones. In older times, bone marrow found a elegant approach as a specialty of the old Oak Room in New York’s Plaza Hotel: A big scoop of bone marrow adorned braised celery which accompanied tournedos and potatoes soufflé. It was one of HG/BSK’s favorite meals. HG once had a very lusty steak, a pave, topped with almost a half inch of bone marrow at some long defunct bistro near the Place de Clichy. Memorable. Bone marrow is frowned upon by cardiologists because it is pure fat and cholesterol, a big time artery clogger. Wickedly delicious, however.

Lots and lots of tasty food at Gifted Daughter Lesley R.’s birthday dinner at Terre Rouge in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. One of the star features was a gigantic, roasted marrow bone (see the photo of the scooped out bone) ordered by Profesore/Ufficiale Massimo R. The treat was the size of a dinosaur femur and was served with parsley caper salad, duck fat toast, shallot marmalade and a fried egg. Much more food. Roast pork, Smoked potatoes. Buttery mashies. Arctic char. Chicken liver pate. Cod fritters. Mushrooms on toast. Beet salad. Three flavors of ice cream to finish. Muscadet and pinot noir were the beverages of choice. Yes, there was lots to eat and drink following HG’s dining strategy: When in doubt, over order. That’s why doggie bags were invented.

Terre Rouge Marche/Bistro on Queen Street in downtown Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, is an unusual establishment. It does many things and does them all superbly. Owned by John Pritchard with Mike Clarke as chef, Terre Rouge (it means “red earth”, a reference to uniquely colored PEI soil) occupies a roomy space in a pre-1860’s commercial building. The restaurant is strictly locavore, with a farm-to-table, nose-to-tail philosophy. The raw material provided by PEI’s farmers and fishers is incomparable. And, chef Clarke cooks with imagination and precision. (Pritchard says: “He’s killin’ it.)HG/BSK had a simple, late lunch there on a rainy day this week: For HG, a “Shellfish Sammy.” This was a toasted soft roll lined with fresh cut herbs and filled with chunks of local lobster, Gulf of St. Lawrence shrimp and fried Colville Bay oysters. This very sizable treat was nestled next to an extraordinary salad of baby greens, pickled radishes, curls of carrot and golden beets. Perfect. BSK had “Cod Fritters” with pickled onion remoulade and green salad. BSK declared these the best fish cakes ever, superior to BSK’s previous favorites consumed at Nantucket Island’s Downy Flake Cafe. The moral: Only eat fish cakes on an island. HG/BSK drank a nice chilled Pinot Grigio with these treats. There’s lots of robust food on the Terre Rouge menu. Some examples: Roasted marrow bone with truffled parsley-caper salad, duck fat toast, sunny side farm egg. Beef Carpaccio with olive oil, parmesan and organic greens. Pan roasted pork loin with rosemary gnocchi, green beans, beetroot puree, natural jus and root vegetable chips. Fish of the day with smoked potatoes, pine nuts and sauce vierge. Terre Rouge serves some unforgettable sandwiches like the inventive take on the BLT that features pancetta, lettuce, tomato jam and aioli on duck fat toast. Salads (for lighter appetites) and vegetarian platters. A definitive seafood chowder made with local seafood, smoked corn, pancetta and served with fresh biscuits and sea salt butter. There’s lots of seafood (lobsters, clams, oysters, shrimp, crab, scallops, fish) from local waters including an ebullient Plateau de Fruits de Mer. The restaurant does justice to its motto: “Famers plus Fishers plus Fat= Good Food”. But, there’s more to Terre Rouge than the Bistro. There the Marche. The Marche sells superb house-made sausages and offers an array of cheese from local farms (as well as some from New Brunswick and Quebec). Very good breads and some opulent desserts. If you’ve got some kids with you, pop into Terre Rouge for some house-made Italian gelato. You can have a cappuccino or an espresso. Terre Rouge stays open late and serves all day. It has something for everyone. World class food and sweet and savory treats served with the usual Prince Edward Island modesty and courtesy.

Mark Bittman, the seemingly omnipresent food writer, did a recent op-ed piece in The New York Times bewailing the state of restaurants in France and their reliance on food “cooked at a faraway factory.” He is quite harsh in his opinions concerning Paris restaurants (he has to research and eat at three in order to find one good one). Bittman exaggerates (slightly). Sure, there are bad restaurants in France (as in every country) where owners pay more attention to profit than dining pleasure. And, sure, Paris is no longer the dining capital of the world. New York has taken over that spot. In addition to world class dining experiences like Per Se, Bernardin, etc., mighty Noo Yawk has an almost limitless array of interesting ethnic restaurants ranging from the entire spectrum of Korean and Chinese restaurants in Flushing to Ghana taxi driver food on the Grand Concourse in The Bronx to Uzbekistan eateries in Rego Park. And, if you want to recapture the golden age of French cuisine replete with lush flowers, deft service and classic dishes, one can turn back the clock and empty one’s wallet at La Grenouille on Manhattan’s posh upper East side. And, then there’s Brooklyn with its astounding metamorphosis into the world’s center of hipness with a multitude of food experiences to match its style. But, Paris, though no longer the ultimate gourmand destination, still has much to offer. Super baguettes and Poilane bread. Very good oysters (and guys who know how to shuck them). The best cheese and butter (Bordier). Wine shops stocked with splendid affordable vintages. Cafes, for the most part, offer mediocre food but world class viewing of stylish women (of all ages, thankfully). Bittman has a point. It’s not easy to find restaurants where fresh food is prepared on the premises. HG’s advice: Consult Alec Lobrano’s Hungry for Paris guide and John Talbott’s website. In Paris, HG spends much time at museums and cinemas. When it comes to food, HG is downscale. Favorite hangout is the back room of La Cave des Abbesses, a Montmartre neighborhood wine shop. In this very bare bones place, HG likes to linger over a platter of cheese with a carafe of red wine. In season, there are oysters for one Euro a piece. HG manages to get down a dozen with ease. La Cave is a nice place to visit after listening to the street musicians (usually quite talented) on the Place des Abbesses. HG also likes the gritty Arab/African neighborhood of Montmartre for couscous and other Maghreb specialties. Jour et Nuit is a good place for a hearty meal with the locals. Big flavors. Tiny prices.

The coffee shop is a New York institution, a basic eating place for generations of busy New Yorkers. A place to meet. A place to wait for a movie to start. A place to finish a date over some chocolate cake. No, HG is not talking about the espresso cafes in Greenwich Village frequented by voluble intellectuals, pseudo and genuine. HG is talking about that blend of diner, restaurant, fast food dispenser and “greasy spoon” (an unfair description) unique to New York. HG doesn’t know whether they should be written about in the present or past tense since so many have been the victims of the real estate plague where neighborhood landmarks have been replaced by banks or retail chains. In any case, the coffee shops vivid in HG’s memory were owned by Jews or Greeks. If owned by Jews you could linger over coffee with a bialy, cream cheese, the Times and the News (plus a pack of Marlboros, of course). Greek places had excellent soups, superior hamburgers sizzled on the griddle and some Greek specialties (HG remembers with fondness platters of fried chicken livers and onions served over pilaf). Coffee shops served breakfast all day. BLT’s and tunafish sandwiches were staples. Coffee shops did not strive to scale culinary heights. Their emphasis was on speed and efficiency. Those cooks working behind the long counter could get a lunchtime crowd in and out in a hurry. Home made food, no pretensions, no minimum charge — a boon to New Yorkers through the decades.

Was it Lucius Beebe (or Oscar Wilde) who said (and HG paraphrases): “My tastes are simple. I like only the very best.” ? HG agrees (in part). HG deplores over elaborate, over sauced, fussed over food. Through the years HG dined at many temples of high cuisine (Le Pavillon, Lutece, La Cote Basque, Le Bernardin in New York; Connaught Restaurant and Savoy Grill in London; the once glorious Laperouse in Paris). Even in these vaunted places, HG ordered simple dishes (mixed grill at the Connaught; grilled sole at the Savoy and roast duck with turnips at Pavillon). HG may be accused of favoritism and family pride, but HG’s ideal of dining is Cookshop, the restaurant run by HG’s daughter, Victoria Freeman,and her husband, chef Marc Meyer. It is located on Tenth Avenue in New York’s Chelsea neighborhood and is always filled with a lively, good looking crowd. The restaurant has been in the forefront of the farm-to-table, locavore movement. Meyer treats his superior ingredients with restraint and imagination. A tip from HG. Settle down with a glass of chilled rose (from Slovenia, surprisingly). Have some radishes with herbed butter and sea salt. Follow with roasted asparagus (sauce gribiche). Then, share a Hudson Valley Chicken Breast Salad. This is not the usual mayonnaise-drenched mess. The menu describes it this way: “Chicken, arugula, cucumbers, sliced carrots, radish, spiced walnut, golden raisin, sherry vinaigrette.” Crunchy with summery flavors and hints of salt and sweetness. HG shrugs off charges of nepotism. Can one imagine a better summer lunch? (An afterthought: Alexander Lobrano, the Paris-based food writer for the New York Times and many other publications and the author of the best guide to Paris dining, Hungry For Paris, dined at Cookshop while visiting New York. He expressed a wish that Paris should have more restaurants like Cookshop).

When HG is feeling particularly festive, the ever hungry oldster manages to forgo the lunchtime treats of Menudo, Chicken Enchiladas, Carnitas, Arroz con Pollo, Posole, Green and Red Chiles that are always available at El Parasol and Sopaipilla Factory in the HG/BSK New Mexico neighborhood of Pojoaque. Instead, HG and BSK dude up a bit and lunch at The Compound on Canyon Road in Santa Fe. Beautiful, restrained decor (by Alexander Girard) in a landmark Southwestern building. A few pieces of good art on the white, plastered adobe walls. Usually, HG/BSK chooses among three specialties: Stacked Salad (very savory variation on the California Cobb salad); crispy Chicken Schnitzel with a caper, lemon and parsley sauce with sautéed spinach; Wild Mushroom Saute with Organic Stone Ground Polenta with a side of Arugula with Shaved Parmesan. Splendid victuals. Today, BSK opted for the mushroom/polenta dish while HG delved into the unexplored side of the menu. HG had a very sumptuous Spiced Panko Crab Cake served with frisee, Old Bay aioli and a small bouquet of sweet herbs and fennel seeds (gave a nice, unexpected bit of crunch). The crab cake was loaded with high quality lump crab meat with just enough Panko to hold it together. Best crab cake dish HG has ever had. Dessert was equally unusual: Black Pepper Sorbet. Cool. Creamy. A love bite of spice. Summing up: The Compound lunch is superb and moderately priced. The wine by the glass list is thoughtful. The light. The seating. The clientele composed of elegant ladies who lunch. Deft service. Quiet voices (unusual in the Land of the Free and Brave). The Compound is a don’t miss experience.

Big culinary news is Nashville Hot Chicken. Both SAVEUR and BON APPETIT did articles on it this month. A specialty of some down-home restaurants in the city, the blazingly spicy dish has branched out from Nashville and is now available in a number of places across the USA with franchise plans in the offing. HG doesn’t approve and doesn’t understand the fuss. Basically, this is a deep fried chicken dish with a few salient differences. The chicken is brined in buttermilk laced with Tabasco, rolled in flour and deep fried. Then comes the crazy part. Brown sugar, chile powder, garlic powder and–six to ten tablespoons of cayenne. (That’s a helluva lot of cayenne) are whisked into a cup of cooking oil and brushed over the pieces of fried yardbird. HG figures if you want to set fire to your mouth why go through all these steps. Just a mix a bottle of Tabasco with spoonfuls of cayenne and have at it. HG is a big fan of spicy food but draws the line at masochism. The French, of course, are severe classicists. Hate spicy food. That’s why Mexican, Indian, Thai, etc. food in Paris is so insipid. If a Parisian gets a whiff of cayenne, he signals his disapproval by making fanning motions at his mouth. HG will pass on these foul Nashville fowl and save the HG appetite for SJ’s newest passion: Alabama Chicken. Recipe, please, SJ.

Eight dollars for an egg cream. You read it right. That’s what that old timey New York candy store beverage costs at Russ & Daughters Cafe, recently opened on Orchard Street in New York’s Lower East Side. Scrambled eggs and caviar: $180. A helping of Transmontanus caviar: $175. Don’t know what a plate of kasha varnishkes costs or the price of bagel-Nova salmon-cream cheese. Presume they are lofty numbers. Since the smoked fish and caviar comes from the venerable Russ & Daughters “appetizing” store around the corner on Houston Street, HG presumes it’s all mighty tasty. But, those prices!! These are noshes meant for Russian oligarchs. The Russ & Daughters store has been a longtime favorite of HG/BSK and family. The store has been around for 100 years and has a devoted, fiercely loyal customer base. SJ is often first on line waiting for the store to open during Christmas season. SJ spends about $200 and gets enough culinary marvels for HG/BSK, the Riva family and SJ’s family to enjoy their gala Jewish/Russian/New York version of the traditional Italian Christmas Eve “Feast of the Seven Fishes.” When HG/BSK lived on Sheridan Square in Greenwich Village, HG was at R & D every Sunday morning. HG often encountered Calvin Trillin, the New Yorker and The Nation writer. Among many attainments, Trillin was the poet laureate of Russ & Daughters. HG’s pal, Peter Hellman, the distinguished journalist and wine authority, performed a similar function for Zabar’s, the megalopolis of smoked fish and much else, located on the Upper West Side. HG will continue to order R & D treats online. Unless there are some price adjustments, HG will stick to take-out and forgo the Cafe.

Saravana Bhavan is a remarkably successful chain of Indian vegetarian restaurants (33 in India and 47 in other countries) and is probably the only restaurant chain founded, owned and run by a convicted murderer. This unusual man is 66-year-old P. Rajagopal. He was convicted of murder, served one year in prison and then, inexplicably, was released. (The murder was a traditional case of older guy obsessed with a younger woman). When HG/BSK lived in Vancouver, HG became very fond of Indian vegetarian food. So, when Saravana Bhavan opened a branch in that city HG was an eager customer. Sad. The food was second rate. Vancouverites are very knowing about food so it was not surprising when the restaurant soon closed. A chastened HG returned to Chutney Villa in the city’s Mt. Pleasant neighborhood for his twice-a-week dose of dosa (thin, fried rice crepes); vada (lentil donuts) and idli (steamed riced cakes). These good things were dipped into sambar (spicy lentil soup) and a vegetable curry. This was accompanied by a variety of house made chutneys and cups of steaming chai. A very comforting lunch/brunch in scenic but rainy Vancouver. Chutney Villa is run by an attractive and welcoming woman. HG always received a warm hug upon his arrival. This is a lady who has never been convicted of anything but kindness.