HUNGRY GERALD

HG/BSK’s summer retreat during the 1960’s and early 1970’s was Fire Island, the long, slim, always hurricane threatened barrier beach between the Atlantic Ocean and Long Island’s Great South Bay. Fire Island was dotted with about a score of beach communities, each with a very distinctive personality ranging from overtly gay Cherry Grove and Fire Island Pines (pioneers in out of the closet behavior) and prim and proper Point O’Woods. There were family oriented communities and those specializing in boy-meets-girl activities. HG/BSK had a house perched on a sand dune in Ocean Ridge, a community directly across the Bay from Patchogue, L.I.. Big, expansive windows and spacious front and rear decks. Spectacular ocean views and blazing sunset panoramas. Ocean Ridge was mixed: Some families. Lots of ad men and women. Journalists. Musicians. And, boys and girls playing the mating game. Booze and marijuana were very popular. Surprisingly, there were many outstanding cooks in Ocean Ridge (and Davis Park, a neighboring area). What made the culinary heights surprising was that there was only a bare bones convenience store in Ocean Ridge. Everything else had to come by ferry from Patchogue. There, Shand’s Market provided the basic foodstuffs. This was augmented by Karl Ehmer’s (sublime sausages and other German pork products); a fish store with Peconic Bay scallops and oysters and an Italian delicatessen (Mozzarella and many other good things). No autos on Fire Island (that’s why it was a paradise for the HG/BSK kids). Youngsters made spending money by meeting ferries at the dock and delivering food in their ubiquitous little red wagons. Here are some feasts HG remembers: Spectacular smorgasbord organized by New York Times journalist Glenn Fowler (and his Swedish girl friend). Catalonian fish barbecue by Catalonian sculptor Joan Junyer (friend and contemporary of Picasso). Joan and his wife, Dolores, grilled whole, gutted fish over blazing charcoal. Splashed the fish with crushed garlic, olive oil and paprika. Indonesian Rijstaffel cooked by two (names forgotten) Madison Avenue copywriters (and their wives). At least twenty dishes, all wondrously savory. Hobby Miller’s annual fish fry. Hobby was the developer of Ocean Ridge and operated as a real estate agent/builder and beloved unofficial Mayor. Manning some huge cast iron pans filled with hot oil, Hobby sizzled flour dusted fish fillets. The fish had just been pulled from the Bay and Ocean. A chic woman who had spent some years in Paris would issue an impromptu invitation to a mussel orgy. Big pots of mussels steamed in white wine, garlic, onions, parsley accompanied by crusty baguettes for dipping and icy, white jug wine. Yes, there were some misses. An eccentric woman gave a shrimp curry party. The curry was incendiary. Nothing to drink. Some bowls of yogurt. The yogurt will soothe the heat, assured the madwoman. It did not. Yes, lots of wonderful summer eating but the ultimate was HG/BSK’s platters of Clams Casino and linguine in white clam sauce, both made with hundreds of cherrystone clams plucked from the muddy bottom of Great South Bay by the HG/BSK family and their friends.

HG has always had divided emotions about Mother’s Day. It is an obvious attempt by retailers to hype a very human emotion–love of one’s mother. On the other hand, it feels good to honor Mom. After all (with some help from Dad) she made you. For better or worse. When HG was a little fellow, Sunday afternoons were fouled by a radio program: “The Horn & Hardart Children’s Hour.” H & H, of course, was a chain of “Automats” where you put nickels in a slot and pulled out inexpensive, remarkably good food (Macaroni and cheese casseroles, Boston baked beans topped with crisp bacon; chicken pot pies and beef pot pies were mouth watering treats). Inexpensive, tasty food–much appreciated during the Great Depression. Anyway. On Sundays, talented little kids sang, played musical instruments and did dramatic recitations on the H & H radio program. HG’s Mom, who lacked some psychological sensitivity, would turn to little HG after some virtuoso performance, and say: “See what he can do. He’s your age. What can you do?” Tough skinned little HG managed to survive with some modest psychic scars. The theme song of the program was a saccharine melody: “Less work for Mother. She’ll understand.” The blunt message: Take Mom to the Automat or buy dinner at an H & H retail store. Save the sweet lady some work. The melody danced in HG’s head as this Mother’s Day rolled around. No work for BSK this Sunday. HG managed to save some excellent cooked linguine from a dinner earlier in the week. Mixed with beaten eggs, formed into patties and fried to a crisp in hot canola oil and butter this riff on fritattas was a treat. A dusting of salt and pepper plus Parmesan. Lots of cafe latte. The Sunday Times. The perfect breakfast for BSK. There were also some cards and delightful, modest gifts from HG, thoughtful Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia R. and Toby,The Wonder Dog. Happy BSK. For dinner, HG and Sofia laid out an antipasto of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes adorned with basil leaves; superior Porchetta and Prosciutto di Parma; a salad of fennel and radishes (BSK could not be restrained from making this taste treat). Three Spanish cheeses. Meal ended with mushroom ravioli with a sauce of melted butter, sage leaves and Parmesan. Limoncello and Grappa. Almost no work for Mother and a happy day for deserving BSK.

HG spent a night with remarkable women. Very rewarding. It was all choreographed by our dear friend and neighbor, Karen K., a brilliant and generous woman–film producer, gardener, chicken farmer, creator of splendid desserts..and more. Karen K. obtained six tickets for an event at The Lensic, Santa Fe’s venue for dramatic, musical and cultural events. The event, part of the Lannan Foundation’s “Pursuit of Cultural Freedom” series, featured a lecture by Naomi Klein, author of the bestselling book: This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate. This was followed by a conversation between Ms. Klein and Katharine Viner, editor-in-chief of The Guardian, the worldwide newspaper. But, before spending time with these two intellectually stimulating women, HG dined with a completely different set of talented women: BSK (of course), Karen K. and three of Karen K.’s friends–two photographers and a scholar/antiquarian specialist in Native American art. HG and the women dined at a new Santa Fe restaurant, Paper Dosa, which features South Indian food. This means Dosas and other lentil based, thick and thin pancakes that are dipped in Sambar (a flavorful soup), or topped (or rolled around) lamb, vegetables, etc. and enlivened with chutneys. The restaurant is a handsome space with some excellent art on the walls. Unfortunately, all the surfaces are hard (as is usual in many new, trendy eateries) making the noise level disconcerting. The food is quite good. A few glitches, however. Mango Lassi, a yogurt drink, is an HG/BSK favorite. It is always served well chilled (or with ice cubes). PD’s Lassi was unpleasantly warm. The Dosas were nicely prepared but the chutneys were commonplace. The fried chicken appetizer was splendid but the calamari and cashew starter was insipid. A big hit was the Dahi Vada, a fritter covered with a lush and colorful yogurt sauce. The restaurant is very new and a big hit. HG assumes the glitches will be eliminated. The intellectual portion of the evening had no glitches. Klein and Viner are articulate and compelling. Klein projects optimism even though the climate scenario she projects is dismal and chances of altering the suicidical impulses of the benighted human race seem (in HG’s opinion) hopeless. The Lensic is a beautiful theater, a perfectly restored example of the Spanish Baroque architecture and design that was popular in the 1920’s and early 1930’s. The theater was packed. The previous event, an evening with Noam Chomsky, also drew a full house. Obviously, the Old Left and the New Left are alive and well in Santa Fe.

SJ here. Last night I prepared a risotto with asparagus and fresh chives alongside a mix of greens (Chard, Spinach, Arugala) sauteed in olive oil and garlic and topped with a fried egg. While delicious, the meal plunged me into reverie concerning one of my most important food memories: Nearly 20 years ago I had a friend who lived on an apple orchard in Michigan that was surrounded by farms. While walking through the orchard we found, to our surprise, countless asparagus growing wild — seeded no doubt from blowing winds from nearby farms. We filled a paper shopping bag with these asparagus and steamed them in a big pot. Served with some drawn butter and a squeeze of lemon, they were a revelation. From top to the bottom they were impeccably tender with none of the tough, fibrous ends which I had been accustomed to. The taste was as if I had re-discovered the asparagus — vegetal, sexy, with a layered, almost mineral quality. It was the taste of Spring embodied, heightened by the almost certain reality that those flavors were disappearing from the second the asparagus was snapped from the ground. It moved me, this discovery of what a fresh vegetable could taste like; alternately, the discovery made me almost sad, because I knew that I would surely not be able to have this experience in my daily life. For the next two days I pretty much ate only asparagus — watching in horror as many of the unpicked plants flowered and became inedible. On my last day I filled a bag and brought them back to the city and when I prepared them for dinner that night, I noticed that those hours in transit had sapped that vigor, that technicolor palate of flavors and reduced the heavenly asparagus back to the earthly plane. If everything alive is connected with an energy that draws us all together, and which departs into the common ether upon death, then I believe I tasted the soul of an asparagus and nothing has ever been the same.

Orzo is the tiny, tear shaped pasta much used in Greek (and also) Italian cuisine. It is a great favorite of HG. This makes HG the target of sharp criticism by Massimo R., HG’s son-in-law and the distinguished Professor of Italian Studies at Brown University. Ever tactful, Professor R. does not launch a frontal attack on the pasta product but only comments: “It’s okay in soup.” Right. A bowl of steaming chicken broth with a nice dollop of Orzo, enriched by a beaten egg, flavored with spoonfuls of Parmesan, dusted with a few grinds of black pepper—-that’s a soup which will make sneezing and coughing bearable. (HG’s daughter-in-law Exquisite Maiko also spurns orzo commenting that it is a pasta pretending to be rice) But, HG fancies Orzo in many other dishes. Last night, BSK sautéed chopped Vidalia onions with oyster mushrooms from the Santa Fe Farmers Market and added it to Orzo. This accompanied chicken breasts done in the Milanese style. (The chicken breasts were pounded thin. Dunked in beaten egg. Rolled in Panko crumbs. Sauteed in canola oil. Moistened with a squeeze of lemon juice. Crisp and greaseless wonders). Mache salad completed the dinner. HG likes Orzo doused in melted butter and Parmesan. Orzo topped with salty Feta cheese and fruity olive oil is a treat. And, as a breakfast treat, HG devours a bowl of Orzo with sour cream, black pepper and sea salt. HG does not like to joust with Massimo R. on matters culinary or intellectual. But, on the issue of Orzo, HG stands firm. Orzo enhances much more than soup.

Ever inventive BSK combined recipes from two favorite sources…the late, great Michael Field and the very much alive Vikram Vij, proprietor and genial host of Vancouver’s Vij’s, the extraordinarily popular and consistent Indian fusion restaurant. The result of BSK’s kitchen wizardry was two dinners bursting with flavor. The dish combined Field’s recipe for marinated, butterflied leg of lamb with Vij’s curry sauce. BSK marinated the boneless, butterflied leg in olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, oregano and onions. (When grilled, a butterflied leg produces well done, medium and rare lamb. Something for every taste). Vij’s curry sauce (served with the restaurant’s most popular menu item, “lamb popsicles”) is lush and creamy–utilizing sweet and sour cream, fenugreek, garlic, turmeric, cayenne pepper, paprika, lemon juice and oil. Unctuous and addictive. For dinner number one (guest was friend/neighbor Karen K, the brilliant film maker, story teller and Dessert Queen) BSK served the well done and medium slices of lamb beneath generous lashings of curry sauce. This was accompanied by Vij”s Turmeric Potatoes. Potatoes were sliced thinly (BSK uses a Japanese mandoline). They were cooked in a cast iron pan with oil, water, chopped onions, cayenne and turmeric. Baby spinach was swirled into the potatoes some 90 seconds before turning off the heat. (The spinach came from Karen K.’s garden. It gave the dish extra tang while adding a splash of green to the all yellow meal). The meal was repeated the next night using slices of the very rare lamb (much to HG’s delight). The potato side was repeated. Two nights of joyous dining well lubricated by red wine followed by French brandy enriched with a few drops of Peychaud’s bitters.

BSK made chicken curry last night and it was a knockout. The basic recipe was based on the curry Vikram Vij, the master of Indian/Fusion cuisine, makes for his family. BSK tweaked his cookbook recipe (more ginger, no garam masala, no cloves, lots of marjoram ). BSK cooks the chicken thighs with their bones. Adds more flavor. When HG began going to restaurants in the 1950’s there were very few Indian restaurants in New York. “Curry Hill” did not exist. The East Village curry joints did not exist. If there was delicious Indian food in Jackson Heights, Queens, HG did not know about it. HG first tasted chicken curry at Longchamps (long closed New York chain of excellent upscale restaurants). This was a suave dish with a slight amount of heat. HG devoured it with delight. When HG/BSK began their marriage, BSK used the Michael Field recipe for chicken curry. The late Michael Field was the author of unerring recipes. Follow the recipe and you couldn’t go wrong. The Field curry was rich (sweet cream was an ingredient) and called for a variety of condiments–chutney, peanuts, coconut flakes, bacon, sliced scallions, etc. Worst curry HG ever tasted was at La Coupole, the famous brasserie on Montparnasse in Paris. La Coupole has a magnificent art deco interior but, unfortunately, serves assembly line food. The touted lamb curry was a gristly, tasteless disaster. London is the go to city for Indian food. Loads of cheap Indian cafes and a variety of plush and posh restaurants. The cheap joints are very good and the expensive eateries are a revelation (Chutney Mary is an HG/BSK favorite).

Dukkah is an Egyptian nut and spice blend. Composed of almonds, sesame seeds, fennel seeds, coriander, anise seeds, coarse ground salt. These ingredients are mixed into a pleasant consistency. The result is addictively delicious. It can be found in Middle Eastern groceries. (It is also carried at Trader Joe’s). HG tears off small chunks of Ciabatta bread. Dips them in Sicilian olive oil and then in Dukkah. Great with red or white wine. A favorite HG meal is Dukkah, feta cheese, Kalamata olives, sliced sweet onions and Kumatoes (ripe heirloom tomatoes when they’re in season); anchovies and capers; Greek yogurt. HG adds grated garlic and a splash of olive oil to the yogurt. Dusts it with Zaatar, another sprightly herbal mix from the Middle East. Zaatar is made of ground thyme, sesame seeds, sumac and salt. Not as assertive as Dukkah but equally delicious. Good Lebanese restaurants in London and Paris often pour olive oil on pita bread and then cover it with Zaatar. Though much splendid bread is baked in New Mexico, the pita available is a supermarket product, tasteless and insipid. HG sticks with Ciabatta from Whole Foods.

Aglio e olio, Garlic and oil. Two noble ingredients. Spaghetti aglio e olio is the favored late night dish of Romans following alcoholic carousing in bars and clubs. It is the ultimate bachelor meal — made to eat out the of the pan, over a sink, steaming in a plate while hunched over a book when wife and children are out of the house. HG loves it for lunch, dinner or anytime but breakfast. Like all simple dishes, the best ingredients are key. The garlic should be fresh. The olive oil should be superior (Extra Virgin Sicilian olive oil is HG/BSK’s choice). There should be plenty of chopped (not too fine) Italian flat leaf parsley—some cooked with the oil and garlic and some scattered over the completed dish for aroma and visual decoration. Red chile pepper flakes are essential. HG/BSK like to melt anchovy filets in the sauce for a slightly salty bite. BSK made the dish last night in true Roman style (following suggestions from Mark Bittman, The New York Times food writer). The pasta was linguine instead of spaghetti. BSK sliced a goodly quantity of garlic very thinly. Simmered the garlic, parsley, pepper flakes and anchovy filets in olive oil. (BSK made sure the garlic was cooked through but not browned or burned). BSK removed the pasta from the salted, boiling water before it was quite done and added it to the pan where the sauce was simmering. And, now came the Roman touch. BSK added some starchy pasta water to the pan and began mixing with swooping motions until the pasta was properly al dente and the sauce was the appropriate texture. Served it from the pan after a shower of chopped parsley. Followed it with green salad and cheese. The wine choice was Chianti. Once more, BSK created a perfect meal.

Beloved for both their flavor and their nutritional value, peanuts (and peanut butter) are much used in the HG/BSK household. Starting at breakfast, BSK munches a few with Greek yogurt and fresh fruit. For lunch, BSK often spreads peanut butter on slices of apple. A weight watcher, BSK never eats the kiddy treat of peanut butter and jelly (BSK has also abandoned the unusual peanut butter and sweet pickle sandwiches of BSK’s Canadian and Mid-Western youth). HG, on the other hand, sometimes spreads peanut butter and good jam on a crisp cracker as an accompaniment to meal ending red wine. (yes, Francophiles may sneer but it tastes good). HG also uses peanut butter mixed with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, black tea, peanut oil, sesame oil, preserved Szechuan vegetables, hot Chinese chile sauce to create HG’s version of fiery Chinese Dan Dan noodles. HG/BSK find peanuts (whole or crushed) provide a delightful crunch when added to a variety of Chinese chicken, pork and vegetable dishes. Planter’s Cocktail Peanuts (the ones in the can and only these will do) are used by BSK for BSK’s classic Tin Roof: Haagen Dasz Vanilla Ice Cream smothered in Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup and topped with the salty nuts. HG’s all time favorite ice cream dessert is Talenti Sea Salt Caramel Gelato crowned with Feridie’s Salted Virginia Peanuts — the Potentate of Peanuts.