HUNGRY GERALD

Uncharacteristically, HG wandered into a healthy, Vegan restaurant yesterday. Off on a tedious errand and it was the only place around. Had a nice meal of green sludge, orange sludge and orange/green sludge. Never mind that this bland pap was supposed to be Saag Paneer, Spiced Root Vegetables and a Tofu-Pumpkin thing — it was terrible. Never again. Life is too short and there are too many good things out there.

The imponderable: Why is this type of healthy, ecologically responsible, spiritual food so tasteless? Why does it show so little respect to the preparation of vegetables? How is it that foods such as Vietnamese or Southern Indian can be so healthy, yet so vibrant, so DELICIOUS?

Saving grace of the restaurant (which HG will leave nameless) is the clientele. Mainly graceful, lovely women of all ages happily scoffing down the sludge.

If fate is kind to HG and BSK they will be in Bologna later in 2011 or in early 2012. Bologna is a delightful city, not much visited by Americans who stick to the Rome-Florence-Venice peregrination. They miss out on the best cuisine in Italy. Some may object to this statement since Bologna is an inland city and fish is not on many menus. However, for the truly robust eater (and one who is not too fearful of cholesterol) Bologna is a dream. Of course, the city has many others features besides food: Interesting museums, architecturally outstanding arcades, a noble square anchored by a cathedral and a soaring bell tower; one of the oldest and most revered universities in Europe and a moving memorial to the many who died fighting fascism. Splendid…

Okay, back to the food. HG has joyous memories of a dinner he had at the classic Ristorante Diana. The decor was classic — hand polished wood and glittering mirrors of 1920’s-30’s vintage. Courtly waiters. Traditional Bolognese dishes. HG’s meal started with tagliatelle with butter and the best parmesan. The waiter topped the dish with generous shavings of pungently fragrant white truffles. Then a large man wheeled over a silver cart, removed some lids and allowed HG to gaze upon the ultimate Bolito Misto, the classic Italian dish of boiled meats: Juicy beef; Cotechino (a fat sausage that had simmered at a low heat for four hours); Zampone, which is a pig’s trotter stuffed with sausage meat — a delicious, porky treat that has a delicate rim of fat which creates a velvety contrast with the rough hewn sausage. Tongue; a chicken thigh. HG had it all with very generous lashings of salsa verde and mostarda di frutta. The wine was Sangiovese. Dessert was a semifreddo, the Italian version of frozen custard. Unforgettable.

In a previous post, HG has commented, forcefully, about his dislike for waitpersons making personal introductions. One more thing that HG finds objectionable is waitpersons asking: “Still working on that?”.

The correct response should be: “Yes. With a pick and shovel — now let me finish my meal in peace!”

Add one more annoyance: Why do waitpersons pause until your mouth is fulll before asking: “Everything okay?”. HG vigorously nodded yesterday and almost choked on a hot piece of tempura shrimp.

HG and BSK lunched today at Shibumi Ramenya in downtown Santa Fe (Johnson and Chapelle, to be precise). Perfection in every detail — decor (Japanese rustic); service (suave); food (sophisticated but earthy). There’s spicy pork gyoza, some creative Japanese vegetable tapas (burdock root, black seaweed, sesame spinach and bunapi mushroom). And, there’s the little bistro’s raison d’etre: Ramen with four distinct broth styles: Tonkotsu ramen with roasted korobuta pork; Torigara with roasted chicken; Kaisen with shrimp and Yasai with vegetables. HG and BSK had the Tonkotsu Ramen and it had flavors in depth — a powerful and multi-layered broth, perfect noodles (excelling in both spring and smooth mouth feel) and roasted pork slices that seemed a marriage between belly and loin. The cutlery, spoons with long wooden handles and a capacious bowl married aesthetics with function. Prices are moderate. The cash policy (no credit cards) helps keep it that way. The proprietor is Eric Stapelman. He also owns Trattoria Nostrani, an adjacent Italian restaurant. Nostrani’s menu is superb and HG/BSK will be dining there soon and posting a report.

Stapelman has the reputation of not tolerating disrespect for his food, personnel, or restaurant. And, he won’t have perfumed folk. Good. HG’s kind of guy. All of my favorite restaurant men (Henri Soule at Pavillon in New York or Sidney Kaye at Russian Tea Room, also in New York, behaved that way). Viva Stapelman, Don’t change.

SJ reminded me that Shibumi by Trevanian (a one name author) is the title of one of our favorite good/bad novels (“Godfather” tops that category). The protagonist of “Shibumi” is a assassin/stud named Nicolai Hel (he can kill in a hundred ways including a method using the edge of a playing card). So powerful is his sexual magnetism that he and his beautiful girl friend achieve simultaneous orgasm simply by looking at each other in an intense manner. Commented SJ: “Wow. What would happen if they actually did it?”

Enjoy more conventional (but intense) pleasures at Stapelman’s “Shibumi.”

Farewell dinner for Glorious Granddaughters at Gabriel’s in Tesuque, NM (a few miles north of the Santa Fe Opera). Guacamole Especial is big time at Gabriel’s. A cart is wheeled table side and a skilled specialist with a P.H.D. hand mixes avocados, tomatoes, onions, fresh oregano and cilantro, lime juice…and some secret ingredients. The sublime guacamole is served with appropriate ceremony in a Molcajete bowl made of volcanic rock. All agreed this was the best guacamole ever. It was followed by carnitas (shredded marinated roast pork) topped with lightly stewed tomatoes and squash; beef chimichangas (deep fried burritos); charro beans; corn tortillas; more guacamole and pitchers of sangria. Sopapillas (Mexican popovers) with honey and flan for dessert. Much tasty fun. Gabriel’s has a beautiful terrace (opens in May) and HG intends to spend some hours there sipping margaritas and dipping into Guacamole Especial. La dolce vida in The Land of Enchantment.

Beautiful and brilliant granddaughters (this is not Grandpa excess and overstatement) Ms. A and Ms. S. are visiting. After a hike among ancient Native American cliff dwellings the young ladies were hungry so HG and BSK took them off to “O” The Eating House in Pojoaque (New Mexico of course!).

Creative salads and thin crust pizza. Salad one: Hand crafted, creamy buratta on top of paper thin slices of pear dressed with lemon oil; topped with roasted hazelnuts. Salad two: A deconstructed Caesar featuring a poached egg and deep fried, breaded anchovies. Salad three: A toasted round of artisan goat cheese atop frisee dressed with an assertive vinaigrette. The pizzas: A conventional mozzarella and tomato made brilliant by the addition of handmade fennel sausage; sublime combination of guanciale (cured pig jowl), roasted eggplant and fried onions and peppers. Civilized dining in The Land of Enchantment.

Last night had a pleasant meal at a local (Santa Fe, NM) restaurant. Waiter introduced himself: “I’m Rodney. I’ll be your server for tonight.”

When did this nonsense begin? Why the intro? I don’t need a new friend. I need my water glass refilled. End of meal. My new best friend Rodney looks at my plate: “Still working on that?”

Yes. With a pick, shovel and jackhammer. What happened to: “May I remove your plate, Sir?”… All part of the desperate dumbing down that’s given us Sarah Palin, the Tea Party, Hot Pockets and Lite, Lite, Lite everything.