HUNGRY GERALD

HG read Sam Sifton’s farewell valedictory in the dining section of the New York Times. Sifton has been upped to National Editor. In the article he recalled the memorable food he’s had as the paper’s food critic. Sifton mentioned lots of fancy food and exotic ingredients. Then he summed up by saying his best meal was at Frankies 457 on Court Street in Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens neighborhood (SJ’s turf). Sifton, his wife and children, and his brother ate simple salads, pasta, braciola, meatballs plus good wine and bread. Down home, soulful Brooklyn Italian family cooking. And, there’s HG’s secret formula for good dining, a formula Sifton seems to share.. Eat simple, hearty food with people you love. Don’t stint on the wine — and it doesn’t have to be pricey to be good.

It has always been HG”s belief (shared by SJ) that the breakfast burrito at Pete’s Diner on Denver’s gritty Colfax Avenue was state of the art. A big time, flavorful belly buster.

Well, move over, Pete. HG and BSK lunched on breakfast burritos at the rollicking Tune-Up Cafe on Hickox Street in Santa Fe and this is the new champ. The Tune UP serves a Breakfast Burrito that dreams are made of: Organic, thick cut bacon. Perfectly scrambled eggs. Crisp and not greasy fried potatoes. All wrapped in a tortilla and smothered in possibly the best green chili sauce in all of New Mexico. Yes, HG knows this is an inflammatory statement that may provoke disdain and anger among serious green chili heads. But, Tune-Up’s green chili is extraordinary. Dark. Smokey. Just enough heat to tickle but not bludgeon the tongue. Multi-level flavors.

There’s lots more on the menu. Salvadoran pupusas. Mediterranean pasta. Burgers of local, non-biotic-injected beef (served on a brioche bun with garlic mayonnaise). Flatiron steak. And, a long list of Mexican specialties ranging from fish tacos to enchiladas, chicken mole and tamales. You can accompany it all with fairly priced wine. Open all day (seven days a week) from breakfast to brunch, lunch and dinner. Very casual atmosphere, Friendly service. Affordable prices. But, the cooking is serious. Real talent elevates comfort food to new levels.

HG has come late to the party. Tune-Up has been discovered. Guy Fien of Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” visited and did a program (you can see the segment here).

A wise observer of the Italian culinary scene said that Italians can be outrageous radicals in their political life and crazy innovators when it comes to fashion, furniture design and housewares. But, when they sit down at the table they want the kind of traditional, comforting food they associate with home and Mama. In that respect, Jewish-American HG is truly Italian.

Or is he? Seems that high end Italian restaurants would beg to differ and Frank Bruni, a food writer respected by HG, did a piece in last Sunday’s Times Travel Section about these new, frighteningly creative (and expensive) restaurants in Italy. One restaurant offers its patrons a surgical scalpel to open a little plastic ball containing a raw egg yolk and caviar. HG gathers that if the diner doesn’t have the hands of a surgeon the tasty, one swallow morsel will land on the diner’s lap (along with some blood, one presumes). Madness.

HG and BSK will be in Bologna in November. And what HG wants are those tasty and traditional treats: Bollito misto. Tortellini in brodo; culatello, mortadella and steaming bowls of tagliatelle with Bolognese ragu.

HG can hardly wait to pour some red wine and bask in the joy of Bologna’s trattorias and osterias.

The radical founder of Futurism, Marinetti eating pasta at Milan's Biffi restaurant, 1930.

SJ here and a disappointed one at that. After my great joy in returning to Nom Wah (see the earlier Now Wah posting) I decided to try out another reincarnated old favorite — 456 Shanghai Cuisine which has been getting superb write-ups (including a great New York Times review). I headed off to eat there with visions of extraordinary soup dumpling gallivanting through my cerebral cortex. No such luck! Soup Dumplings were somewhat bland and lacking in that funky tang of crab roe; they were undersized and honestly not soupy enough as if the chef were a miserly curmudgeon trying to save a few bucks on broth and dough. Finally, they weren’t properly heated temperature wise. Which is a bit criminal in my mind. Soup Dumplings need to be blazing! Salt and Pepper shell on shrimp were fine, yet lacking in that spicy umph that would have made me take notice and — not to sound too much like Groucho Marx — the portion size was a bit small for the price tag. Spicy Double Sauteed Pork was neither spicy nor did it have any of the velvety tenderness that one would associate with something that has been “double” sauteed — what the hell is double sauteed anyway? Maybe that one is my fault for ordering something so sloppily named. The final insult came with the Shanghai Won Ton Soup. This should have been an easy one. Alas, nothing about the Won Ton was Shanghainese and the broth tasted of bouillon cubes with a healthy dash of MSG. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe all this is due to the hype? 456 Shanghai just reopened and it has been swamped with people drawn by great reviews and nostalgia. Maybe the kitchen just couldn’t keep up with the demand? Could be! Could also be that hype is hype and next time I want some fine Chinese chow, you’ll find me in the totally amazing Food Court at the New World Mall in Flushing!

Nom Wah Teahouse — the birthplace of my dumpling obsession and the oldest Dim Sum restaurant in New York City (serving since 1920!). Back in the 70s HG and I would often spend an early afternoon there hailing the Dim Sum carts and loading up our table with varieties of dumplings, folded rice crepes and buns while studiously avoiding those scary dishes of chicken feet. We would eat and drink tea until our stacked plates began to sway like skyscrapers in the wind. Back then your check was determined by the amount (and type) of plates left on the table, and crafty HG would often “joke” with the surly waiters by “hiding” the majority of plates on his lap. A practice guaranteed to cause great embarrassment to your children. It was the spot where I first used my barely learned chopstick skills to SLOWLY convey a slippery Har Gow (shrimp dumpling) to my waiting lips. Suffice it to say that Nom Wah is responsible for making the rattle of a loaded Dim Sum cart the most hunger inducing sound that I know of.

So it was with great joy (and some real trepidation) that I read in HG’s earlier posting (“Nom Wah. A Great Tradition”) that Nom Wah had re-opened with new ownership and a revamped menu. I could not wait to try it so I gathered up Exquisite Maiko, Mr. Haru and my sister, Victoria (the Restaurateur!) — a hard-hitting posse of Dim Sum lovers if there ever was one — and headed off to the Bloody Angle of Doyers Street.

It was with real relief that we walked in and found Nom Wah to be essentially unchanged. Relief because it is just a wonderful space — a 1930s luncheon spot with red checked table clothes, coat hangers at every table and the warm patina of age. The new owner is the nephew of the previous owner and his love for the restaurant allowed him to somehow do the impossible — renovate and clean the space without changing a thing. The result is that Nom Wah verily hums with joy — It is old fashioned without seeming nostalgic or forced; it is packed with tourists, but absolutely genuine. It is in the details: the mismatched plates and tea cups that have been in service for decades, the tray of condiments (duck sauce, worcestershire sauce, Chinese mustard) that no new dim sum palace would allow on a table, the dappled surface of the mirrors, the tiny bathroom sink with hot & cold faucets. What has changed is only positive. Gone are the surly wait staff and gone are the rickety dim sum carts. In their place are made-to-order dim sum and a group of people (owner included) who just seemed happy to see you, happy that you decided to come into a restaurant that they themselves seem to love.

So…the food? Well, it is totally fine. The Egg Roll is clean and not greasy. The Steamed Pork bun was fluffy and generously stuffed with sweet & savory meat; the Har Gow were silken skinned and the shrimp snapped with freshness. The rice rolls were okay; and I happily gnawed on some steamed spare ribs. There were some menu nods to modernity with notations for “gluten-free” items, some clearly marked vegetarian and kosher options and a quite wonderful “new style” dumpling stuffed with snow pea leaves and shrimp. Without a doubt, I’ve had better dim sum in Sunset Park and out in Flushing and even at Dim Sum Go Go a few blocks away. But, for the two un-rushed hours me and my wonderful family sat in Nom Wah, talking, eating and laughing at Victoria’s stories about throwing dumplings at her first Nom Wah visit, there was simply no other place — no other restaurant! — that I would have rather been. It is an absolute testament to the great job that Nom Wah’s new owners are doing that this old standard has been reborn as a restaurant that I can’t wait to get back to.

HG doesn’t fancy big time restaurant dining on Prince Edward Island (though there are a few places that deserve the much abused descriptive “gourmet”). HG prefers raffish, casual places like Rick’s Fish N’ Chips and Seafood Restaurant a hundred yards from the shores of beautiful St. Peter’s Bay. And that’s where the HG famille gathered for an Exquisite Maiko birthday dinner. Daughter LR is off to Italy with family; SJ is tending to biz in New York. HG daughter Victoria F. is running her trio of Manhattan eateries. Thankfully, Irene didn’t bite any of them. So, the birthday party was only a foursome, HG, BSK, EM and adorable grandson Haru.

The group toasted the birthday girl with the surprisingly good house white wine. Haru clicked his milk glass happily and shouted “Kampai!! (a hearty Japanese “cheers”). Then some joyous feasting: well chilled, delicious Colville Bay oysters; Cajun mussels (rolled in a cayenne and garlic spiced batter and deep fried); juicy fried haddock, local french fries and onion rings plus plenty of home style cole slaw. Haru opted for a non seafood menu: hot dogs (with lots of ketchup) and french fries (with lots of ketchup). Dessert was vanilla almond-caramel ice cream at home with a blazing sunset over the ocean.

Much fun indeed.

The name — Mussel Interpretive Center — is not one to set the taste buds tingling. So, ignore the name for the moment.

Here’s the set up. The Center is one of the stores in the pleasantly grey shingled group of buildings facing St. Peter’s Bay in the town of St. Peter in Prince Edward Island.

One part of the Center is a rather bleak dining room surrounded by the none too exciting implements of mussel farming (one can also watch a video devoted to the bivalve). The rest of the space is the domain of the MacDonald family — father Andrew and sunny faced young daughters, Katie and Sarah. Here you can buy hard shell clams (quahogs), oysters and, of course, bags of freshly harvested mussels. Best of all, one can feast on HG’s daily luncheon treat, the MacDonald mussel chowder. This is simply the best chowder imaginable. A creamy (but not heavy) broth filled with plump, flavorful mussels. Diners can also have big platters of perfectly steamed mussels or quahogs with melted butter (pus a bit of tabasco) and a crisp biscuit with butter.

There’s another treat Chez MacDonald– South Lake oysters on the half shell. Big, briny, lush. At $1.35 an oyster they are an affordable sea dream realized. Andrew MacDonald shucks them perfectly with the deft touch of a brain surgeon. Not a drop of brine is wasted. Not a chip of shell mars the exquisite oyster.

Beyond the wonderful eats to be had at the M.I.C., the MacDonald family are a joyous presence. Andrew, Katie and Sarah take real pride in their establishment and they extend a genuine feeling of welcome to all customers.

HG never fancied that New York street treat, the “dirty water” hot dog. HG found the fat, soft, salty pretzels that were sold on many Manhattan streets to be a glob of soggy vileness. Even worse was the sad excuse for a Knish that was hawked alongside the dogs and pretzels.

HG did fancy hot chestnuts (especially on a cold Fifth Avenue winter day). But then again, HG just loves chestnuts in many different forms.

For a real New York only inexpensive treat, HG turned to the indoor pleasures of Chinese-Cuban restaurants. After Battista had fallen many Havana based Chinese restaurant owners made their way to NYC because of the large Chinese population. These newly arrived entrepreneurs found a great niche by blending Chinese favorites with the Cuban dishes of their abandoned city. These restaurants flourished (hope they still do) in Washington Heights and on Broadway north of 145th Street. There were a number on the upper West Side as well. Have these been pushed out by chains and upscale retailers?? (Nope, says SJ. La Caridad on 78th and Broadway still dishes out some fine Cuban-Chinese) The dishes HG liked were Moors and Christians (white rice and black beans) and Cubanos (roast pork, ham, pickle and cheese sandwiches pressed into savory yumminess on a grill). Good company for these dishes was an avocado-sweet onion-orange salad followed by a bracing Cuban coffee.

HG knows that the Vietnamese sandwich has burst into the forefront of cheap NYC food favorites, but for HG the classic Cubano remains tops.

Do not miss the two Pete’s Kitchens on gritty Colfax Avenue. The original Pete’s Kitchen on Colfax and Race stays open 24 hours a day and draws — to say the least — a varied crowd. Hookers (and their business agents); cops, criminals, rock musicians, lawyers, bankers. Everyone. Specialties are a breakfast burrito (preposterously large) and a very good feta cheese omelet (a bow to the founder’s Greek origins). Pete’s Breakfast Burrito contains eggs, onions, fried potatoes; bacon, ham or sausage. It is generously smothered in tangy green chile with big chunks of pork shoulder. This is a meal for the day. Eat one on Monday. Dine again on Tuesday. (SJ would like to add that these breakfast burritos exert a powerful grip on one’s memory. This had led to SJ experimenting for many fruitless hours to reproduce Pete’s exact ratio of crunchy home fries to eggs and so forth. This left SJ with only one option which has been to beg unwary Denverites heading to NYC to please bring him a Pete’s Kitchen Breakfast Burrito. Offer still stands!)

The other Pete’s is on the same side of the street (south) but further west. It’s a small place that features giant omelets (with some creative ingredients) and the best pancakes you will ever taste. (You can also try the Satire Lounge, owned by Pete’s and adjacent to the Race Street location. Pleasant Mexican food).

If fine dining is your taste, Denver has great spots like Fruition and the Japanese fusion great, Bones, but for classic and authentic diner food with a Western twist, the Pete’s can’t be beat.

In typical Prince Edward Island style (meaning NO pretense and barely a smidgen of irony), St. Peter’s Bay has a fine spot for lunch with the deeply appetizing name of the Mussel Interpretive Center. The center was originally operated by the Province government to showcase PEI’s Mussel economy but — surprise, surprise! — it lost a bunch of money. It is now run by a retired Mussel Man who, amongst the fascinating exhibits on the life cycle of mussels and the miraculous leaps in Mussel farming technology, operates a food stand.

HG dined there and was thrilled. Big platter of juicy, steamed hard shell clams (quahogs). Big platter of steamed, plump mussels. Melted butter. Lemon juice. Tabasco. Flaky biscuits. All for a total of ten bucks. Beat the heat and come to P.E.I. Enchanting, gentle and affordable.