HUNGRY GERALD

SJ here. Nothing quite signifies why I love New York so much as my recent discovery of the best tamale I have ever eaten. Story goes like this: My fine son (Jewpanese to the core) demanded a bialy before heading off to his karate class. As we were on the road, we stopped at bagel shop on Smith & 9th street in Brooklyn’s Gowanus/Cobble Hill neighborhood called Line bagels (apparently the name is full of controversy as it used to be called F LINE bagels after the subway line that stops right in front of it. But, the MTA sued them for unauthorized use of the name and forced them to change.) Along the wall, with advertised specials for bagels, wraps and the typical stuff, was a board announcing tamales and enchiladas. When I placed my order, I realized that the bagel store had been taken over by a Mexican family and the woman taking my order definitely looked like a grandmother who could cook. I asked her if the tamales were good and she replied that she made them fresh every morning from her family recipe. I have never trusted someone as much as I did her, so I put in my order for a chicken tamale while her son informed me that their tamales were so beloved that one guy in Long Island orders 150 of them every week to give to his extended family and co-workers.

Along with a perfectly fine bialy for my son, the tamale I got was gigantic — a plump, juicy log of corn meal stuffed with intensely flavored braised chicken. I have eaten Tamales in the south, in the south-west, in Mexico, from a cooler in front of a Salvation Army in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood, but these F Line Bagel tamales made others seem like a joke. They were perfect: moist, but not falling apart, fragrant of mesa and long simmered chiles, deep in flavor with just a touch of spicy heat to keep things interesting. And this gigantic tamale (really, big enough for a full meal) was $1.50. So, my thanks to New York, my favorite city, for being the only place in the world that one could find the best tamales in a bagel shop that is being sued by the Transit Authority for copyright infringement.

Lunch today was at Trattoria Serghei, a warm little restaurant with some outstanding art on its walls. Located in Via Piella, a short walk from Bologna’s Piazza Maggiore, Serghei’s food is a roll call of traditional Bolognese dishes. The HG party feasted on tagliatelle al ragu (one of the best in the city); stinco di maiale (roast shin of pork); roast rabbit; stuffed zucchini with meatballs in a light tomato sauce; lush baccala in an assertive sauce accompanied by polenta; bollito misto with salsa verde. There were some other traditional pastas and braised, garlicky chicory with hot pepper. Dessert was a mascarpone confection drizzled with chocolate syrup.

This is the kind of food HG misses when back in the USA.

A sunny Saturday meant a drive up the winding roads of the Bologna hills with the lofty Appennines etched in the distance. Bologna is unusual in that a five to ten minute drive takes you from the bustle of the city to the beautiful countryside, with its lovely views of deep valleys, gentle meadows and steep cliffs. Luncheon destination was the plain-spoken Trattoria Vizzano. The day was so beautiful that it was hard to remember that these hills were, literally, soaked in blood, the scene of fierce fighting between German forces and British and American troops during World War Two. Somber thoughts had no place in the trattoria, where HG and famille dove into crescentine, specialty of the house.

These are little puffy fried biscuits (similar to New Mexican sopapillas or American popovers) that diners split open and fill with squaquerone, a delightful fresh cheese, accompanied by salami, prosciutto and very good Italian head cheese. Home-made pickled vegetables are always served on the side. An unexpected treat. HG also manged to get down a robust bowl of home made, wonderfully chewy tagliatelle. Dessert was a traditional “torta di riso”, or rice pudding-like cake.

HG was sobered and moved by an after-lunch visit to the austere memorial on the cliff side at Sabbiuno, where some 100 brave anti-Fascist (mainly communist) partisan fighters were slaughtered by the Nazis. Lined up on the edge of a cliff, they were machine-gunned and their bodies tossed down into a ravine. Less than half were later identified. The names of the known fallen are engraved on individual rocks, a simple, eternal memorial. One rock marks the 47 unknown victims.

A Jewish custom seems to have been followed — visitors place pebbles on top of the graves to mark a visit. HG added a few. A curving concrete wall marks the site where the firing squad was lined up. Vintage machine guns are set into slots into this wall, aimed for eternity at the spot where the partisans took their last breath. It all made one muse about the very bloody and tortured history of Italy, a land so associated with the beauties of art, architecture and the sheer joy of living.

Venezia. Venice. La Serenissima. Whatever you call it, the city of canals, bridges, vaporetti, hordes of tourists and the natives who have made a tradition of fleecing them for more than 500 years remains a wonder. HG and BSK have been going to Venice for close to 30 years and the city has never lost its fascination. This time HG and BSK visited to see the Biennale, the great Venice explosion of art that takes place — every two years — in the national pavilions of the Giardini (the only park in the city) and the vast Arsenale, the startlingly huge building complex where the ships and rope were manufactured that helped it rule the seas for centuries. If you love art (and life) the Biennale should not be missed. Every type of artistic enterprise — visual, aural, environmental — is on display throughout all the neighborhoods in the city. Once more, HG and BSK were left speechless by the depth of the artistic imagination and how artists increasingly utilize technology to expand their vision and the boundaries of art. HG and BSK saw great creations by Anselm Kiefer and Emilo Vedova on the Zattere Promenade and a very impressive retrospective of Julian Schnabel at the Museo Correr (HG left with new respect for this flamboyant and hugely talented artist).

Of course, Venice also offers a variety of culinary treasures. There was sublime spaghetti with nero di seppia (squid ink) at Il Nuovo Galeon; giant platters of fritto misto at Trattoria Al Diporto in Sant’ Elena; scallops, octopus and grilled fish platters at Ristorante Giorgione. At this last eating place, the proprietor, Lucio Bisutto (sometimes accompanied by his wife) delights the customers with a song recital. A very happy dining experience (and modest prices). All three restaurants are in the Castello neighborhood which is decidedly off the typical tourist path. With artistic vision expanded and tastes titillated by sea pleasures, HG and BSK return to Bologna for more art, history and pleasures of the table.

HG loves a good Paris bistro. HG is equally fond of small, Bolognese trattorias. Might even like Bolognese dining more because of that very special life-enhancing quality so many Italians seem to have. Case in point is La Montanara, a small, nicely lighted trattoria decorated with an amusing array of food linked items, including old egg baskets and toy kitchens that delighted kids a generation ago. There were many smiles and lots of laughter in the room (but, voices were kept happily low). All in all, an unpretentious, amiable atmosphere. Pleasure to be there.

The food? Two very good antipasti: a spinach and sausage mousse-like creation molded into a loaf and served in pie-like wedges. A rich radicchio tart flavored with truffle. Primi piatti included an outstanding risotto of radicchio and melted smoked scamorza cheese. Gramigna (homemade short, curly pasta) served in the signature Bolognese tomato and sausage sauce. As is the case in many Italian restaurants, the secondi piatti paled in contrast to the flavor fireworks of the preceding courses. Meal ended with a lovely semifreddo of zabaione, grand marnier and caramelized orange slices. Yum. In fact, double yum. Summary: a very good time.

Eataly (the slow-food inspired emporium which began in Turin, spread throughout Italy, and has offspring in Japan and New York) is located at the very center of Bologna’s central historic district. It is the kind of food complex that every city should have. Bologna’s Eataly is a dining and information multiplex. Bookshelves and tables are laden with the timeliest works on cuisine, travel, art, design, and there is space for public readings and demonstrations. Shelves contain every shape of pasta, olive oils, vinegar, beans, grains and canned goods. An encyclopedic array of the flavors and staples needed to create superior Italian food. There’s a big, communal table on the first floor for casual dining. A trattoria on the next floor with tables for two or four. An osteria on the top floor.

HG, BSK and various members of the Riva family have frequented the trattoria. Here are some of the dishes sampled: a light, flavorful sardine tart. Linguine with a unique sauce of fresh mackerel. Steak tartare (hand chopped to a perfect consistency) served on a bed of cauliflower (someone in the kitchen has some real knife skills because the vegetable had the appearance and shape of couscous) and topped with a handful of baby arugula. A confection which consisted of shaved truffles, egg whites and potato puree (pungent and light as a feather). A new deconstruction of the hamburger — this consisted of a burger (crusty on the outside with a pink and juicy interior) seated on a thick slice of roast eggplant in a pool of light tomato sauce and topped with crumbles of goat cheese. Among the dolci were exquisite chocolate creations as well as a scoop of very fresh, sweet ricotta glazed with aged balsamic vinegar.

And, there’s another treat. Prices are very reasonable.

Ah, Sundays in Bologna. A day made for laughter-filled family dining. And, here is family HG/BSK/Riva happily seated on the sunny terrace of Trattoria Monte Donato perched on a verdant hillside overlooking the greenery and towers of Bologna’s medieval center. Abundant bottles of the house Sangiovese arrived. Then an appetite-provoking salad of radicchio and sauteed pancetta. The rendered pancetta fat was reduced in the pan with a very good balsamic vinegar which was employed as the dressing. Add a poached egg and you’d have an approximation of the frisee salad served at Chez Georges in Paris. An antipasto (another appetite provoker) of grilled polenta slices topped with lardo and pecorino cheese. There were primi of tagliatelle al ragu (the Bolognese signature dish — HG found the noodles silken and the sauce robust without an excess of fat or oil); faro soup; feather light herbaceous gnocchi; pastal al torchio with guanciale and tomatoes. Main dish was a huge platter (decorated with branches of rosemary) of crisp-roasted chicken, potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes and garlic. HG had a dessert of crema catalan (the Italian version of creme brulee). There were other desserts — a plum crostata; a semifreddo al mascarpone — but HG could not focus. Too much wine, perhaps. The meal was followed by a stroll on the steep, sun-dappled slopes overlooking Bologna. Good to have an appetite. Good to be alive. Good to be in Italy. Good to have a loving family.

Yes, Bologna is a city of meat. Show a Bolognese cook a vegetable or a pasta form and his/her tendency is to stuff it or shower it with beautifully cooked, deftly spiced meat or sausage. In recent years, however, the city has sprouted a number of excellent sea food restaurants. Sale Grosso in the Bologna University neighborhood was HG and BSK’s luncheon destination. A very clean-lined, slightly austere room. Sound panels, doubling as minimal art work, affixed to the walls keep the sound level low. The few works of art are decorative and witty. Service provided by an elegant young waitperson was very civilized. Food flavors were Sicilian and Calabrian. Delicate puree of fava beans enriched with chopped, sauteed chicory. Folds of al dente pasta dressed with the typical Sicilian mixture of sardines, pignolias and fennel. All perfectly balanced, fragrances, textures and flavors playing off each other beautifully. Then came superb roast calamari and broccoli. The calamari was tender, crisp edged and spiced to allow the sea flavor to present itself without competition. Big platters of flash fried anchovies dotted with crunchy sea salt were crisp and delicious and absolutely grease free. Dessert was a confection of melting chocolate dotted with ripe cherries. A meal of sublime simplicity and memorable flavors.

Two cliches that should be buried: You can eat well in London if you only eat breakfast and you can eat well in Santa Fe if you only eat burritos. Okay, English breakfasts are great if you hold off on the tinned mushrooms and beans and burritos smothered in green chili are a blessing. But, London is now one of the world’s great food cities, on a par with New York (better than New York for Indian food, not as good as New York for Chinese dining). And, Santa Fe, though resolutely New Mexican, offers the eater a wide variety of exceptional international food treats.

Jambo Cafe, located in a strip mall on busy Cerrillos Road, is an HG favorite. Chef-owner Ahmed Obo offers a distinctive Afro-Caribbean cuisine. On a chilly afternoon this week, HG warmed body and soul with Jambo’s “Island Spice Coconut Peanut Stew.” Flanked by a plate of fluffy jasmine rice, this was big bowl of layered flavors. There was plenty of heat (Jalapeno or Scotch Bonnet peppers?) gentled by coconut milk and chicken stock. The peanuts gave the stew a Szechuan Tan-Tan noodle zing. The chunks of chicken in the stew had a juicy, free range taste. There were some halved cherry tomatoes in the stew and it was topped with grilled scallions. A super generous portion designed for all day nourishment. There are other great stews at Jambo — goat stew reminiscent of Jamaica, East African lentil stew, Moroccan lamb stew. There’s jerk chicken, plantains, lamb burgers, hummus — cooking that hops and skips from the Maghreb to Eastern and Southern Africa and over the seas to Caribbean islands. Everything is assertively spiced and served by charming wait persons in a very busy, casual room.

Other Santa Fe destinations for the discerning internationalist: Eric Stapelman’s Shibumi Ramen Ya for outstanding ramen and small plate izakaya treats; plus his adjacent restaurant, Trattoria Nostrani for sophisticated and creative Italian cuisine. Another good Italian bet is Steve Lemon’s “O” Eating House, located a short drive north of town (HG has written about it often). There’s Shohko Cafe for wonderful sushi and tempura, La Boca for Spanish tapas, New York Deli for bagels and bialys and Geronimo, for classic cuisine in the elegant European style. Raaga is the spot for Indian food (whole curry leaves enliven a number of dishes). Nile Cafe has good middle eastern fare and Pupuseria y Restaurante Salvadoreno fills its customers up with hearty pupusas (like tamales but more robust).

Lots of good international dining. But, don’t skip burritos and green chili.

and green chili.

SJ here. Christians have their Church bells. Muslims have the sound of the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. In my gustatory devotion, I have the sound of a dim sum cart rattling about while shouts of “Har Gow!” pierce the din of a crowded hall.

My place of worship is now the East Harbor Seafood Palace (714 65th Street in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn). Consistently packed with mostly Chinese clientele, East Harbor is modeled after the huge, dim sum palaces of Hong Kong. It is loud with crowd noise, shouting dim sum cart attendees and the badly amplified voice of the maitre d’ calling waiting diners to their tables. Expect a good 30 to 40 minute wait. Trust me, it is worth it.

I’ve tasted great made-to-order Dim Sum in Manhattan’s Chinatown and in Vancouver and always reveled in the fresh flavors and textures of that methodology. But the carts at East Harbor– owing perhaps to fast turn-around –dish out food that is every bit as fresh as those made-to-order spots and packed with even more flavor. The basics are covered to perfection — Shui Mai, snappishly fresh Har Gow, silky rice noodles, pillowy pork buns, crunchy spring rolls; but the carts keep arriving with things we’ve never seen before: finger length peppers stuffed with pork and crab, garlicky Chinese greens, tiny cockles stir-fried table side in black bean sauce, dumpling varietals with cashews and nuts, and definitely a few things I can’t even name. You see, when the carts keep coming, and you had your 45-minute-starving-to-death wait, you enter into a dim sum frenzy and begin grabbing just about anything for fear that it may all just disappear. At most dim sum spots, this fear is justified — dishes do disappear and the glum Dim Sum car attendants will look at you like a madman if you dare ask if that steamed pork rib dish is going to return. However at East Harbor dishes DO reappear and if you ask for something — crazily enough! — the staff is actually helpful! Yes, East Harbor Seafood has polite staff. They are nice! Nice to us! Nice to my son! They brought water when asked and more chili sauce and even said “no problem” and rushed off to get me some Hoi Sin sauce for my pork buns. This is an amazing thing for a Dim Sum palace — unparalleled actually!

So, the Dim Sum at East Harbor was completely top notch. I would hasten say it is the best in New York, except I know that there are some spots in Flushing that I have not yet tasted. But great dim sum AND a pleasant staff? Don’t know if that will happen in Flushing.

While noshing on our dim sum we noticed that the table next to us was filled with some mighty serious eaters. There were about 15 of them, a family — grandparents down to grand kids — and simply enormous. Each of them hitting upwards of 300+ pounds. All Italians from the neighboring community of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. And they were being brought enormous and extensive casseroles of seafood — lobsters, crabs, prawns, crayfish maybe — and eating it with unmatched gusto. Shells cracking, fingers pulling at shreds of crab meat, juices dripping onto chins — pure joy!

And I didn’t taste it. So, a trip to East Harbor for a non Dim Sum meal is in order and all HG readers should prepare to read all about it!