HUNGRY GERALD

HG has always enjoyed street food starting with the sweet potatoes, chickpeas, ices and chunks of coconut that were sold along the Bronx streets in HG’s youth. During early manhood HG fancied the grilled Italian sausages with onions and peppers sold from the back of trucks in Greenwich Village. The classic New York City Sabrett hot dog, topped with onions and mustard and sold from a “hot water” cart, was always a treat. In Chinatown, anything sold on the street (no matter how unhygienic it looked) was always good. HG had excellent wurst and rye bread on the streets of Prague and even better wurst at the foot of ski slopes in the Italian mountain town of Selva Val Gardena. HG bought a very savory spleen (yes, spleen) sandwich from a Palermo vendor. HG was not a tripe fan (HG is now a Menudo — Mexican tripe stew — addict) when HG unhappily nibbled a tripe sandwich from the famous truck in the Florence wicker market. In Brazil, HG was too timid to taste the pungent stews being sold by women tending steaming caldrons outside of public markets in Rio de Janeiro and Bahia. The largest array of street food HG ever saw was in the colorful, surreal, slightly insane Djeema el Fnaa, the famous public square in the Moroccan city of Marrakesh. Established sometime around 1147, the square is a virtual maelstrom of noise, aromas and people (native Moroccans and tourists)/ There are magicians, snake charmers, water sellers, acrobats, story tellers, young men with chained Barbary apes, dancing boys and dentists (with large displays of pulled teeth as proof of their skill and prowess). When darkness falls, scores of food stalls appear and the air is filled with smoke. Hundreds sit on benches eating, grilled lamb (and its innards), chicken and every variety of seafood. Somehow HG found the square exciting but sinister (beneath the square is a police center for the vigorous interrogation of suspicious individuals). HG never patronized any of the stalls. Today, street food is having a renaissance moment in the United States. Serious and creative chefs are opening food carts and trucks alongside the ethnic specialty trucks (which had long dominated the market) in cities throughout America. Both groups of chefs are equally drawn to the food cart’s low overhead and the ripe possibility of building an audience for your cooking before dumping a fortune into a brick and mortar restaurant. And not only are the food trucks opening, urban planners and city governments are recognizing their civic importance. Cities such as Portland are actively supporting food trucks and creating a supportive business environment to help them thrive. The trend has reached New Mexico where excellent street food can be relished all over Santa Fe. This is an attractive trend bringing interesting, affordable food to folks who haven’t the time or patience for the traditional, leisurely, sit down restaurant meal. Finally, a culinary trend HG can stand by.

Some years ago, HG was lunching at a restaurant in Chicago’s Greektown. Grilled octopus. A tasty slab of sauteed pickerel with garlicky greens, okra and orzo (the Greek version of Jewish farvel, a small pasta shape also called “egg barley.”). Retsina wine (admittedly, an acquired taste). For dessert, my companions (all of Greek origin) ordered yogurt for dessert. Didn’t sound promising. Sounded like a bad health food restaurant option. It proved to be a revelation. Thick, really thick yogurt, topped with walnuts and fragrant honey. Delicious. Remains one of HG’s favorite desserts. Greek yogurt was hard to find then. HG managed to source some at a Greek delicatessen in Vancouver where it was scooped out of a big tub. Now it has become omnipresent. Even Dannon has a version. But, as far as HG is concerned, only the Fage brand has authentic Greek texture and taste.

In Trader Joe’s spice department you can find a nice melange of spices labeled “Tsatziki Mix.” Add it to plain Fage yogurt. Make some Keftas (Middle Eastern lamb burgers utilizing garlic, cumin, mint and grated onion). Tuck a Kefta into a warmed pita with a dollop of Tsatziki-spiced yogurt and a few slices of raw onion and tomato plus a squirt of Sriracha for heat. The burger from heaven.

It seems that the very odd treat — the chow mein sandwich — is alive and well. As HG has previously posted, the Chow Mein sandwich is a guilty pleasure, a low-end treat relished by HG and only available at Nathan’s Famous hot dog emporium on Coney Island and its branch (long closed) in the mid-Manhattan movie and theater district. A very messy sandwich. Care and numerous napkins ae required. A year ago, this sandwich appeared at Lee’s Chinese in Rhode Island. And now, HG has just read, with pleasure, that the chow mein sandwich has been thriving at Mee Sum Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge in Fall River, Mass. Jane and Michael Stern, those intrepid discoverers of funky food on America’s highways (and creators of the seminal Road Food Good Food books and website), reported on the cuisine of Fall River in this month’s (March 2013) issue of Saveur Magazine. They describe the excellence of the noodles on the Mee Sum sandwich: “Thin and elegant, fried until wicked crisp, the noodles are an ideal foil for brown gravy laced with celery and onion. The sandwich is a fascinating textural swirl: soft and crunchy, wet and brittle.” The Sterns, noting the treat is “mischievously delicious,” observe the chow mein sandwich is little known except as an “oddity” at Nathan’s. It all sounds good but the mention of “brown gravy” is enticing. Nathan’s sandwich binds the celery and onions with a traditional, light beige, corn starch thickened, gravy. Does this difference of gravy darkness represent a genuine, regional split?

HG knew that good times with a Middle Eastern bent were beckoning when HG saw BSK fill a container with preserved lemons from the Whole Foods olive counter. This was confirmed when BSK began to browse through the two best books on Moroccan and Middle Eastern food: Couscous and Other Good Food From Morocco by Paula Wolfert and Arabesque — A Taste of Morocco, Turkey & Lebanon by Claudia Roden. And, so it came to pass that Middle Eastern flavors provided great joy when two friends joined HG and BSK for dinner. The meal started with Baba Ganoush (the famous pureed eggplant dip) and Moroccan carrot salad. Then came the main: A tagine of chicken with preserved lemons and olives. Sides were Israeli couscous cooked with onions, garlic, stock and spices plus a melange of vegetables (turnips, chickpeas, onions, etc.) swimming in a savory broth. Harissa (fiery pepper paste). Warmed pita. Pinot Noir. And finally Zinfandel with dark chocolate almond bark for dessert. A much more triumphant meal than any HG and BSK encountered during their visits to the Moroccan cities of Tangier, Casablanca, Rabat, Fez, Tetuoan, Meknes and Marrakesh. To be fair to those wonderful cities, insiders confided to HG that the great meals of Morocco are to be found in private homes as restaurant dining is not really part of the culture.

Sometimes the unexpected or improvised meals turn out the best. Went to an afternoon showing of Life of Pi (Recommended by Gifted Daughter Lesley whose film counsel HG and BSK always follow). Enjoyed the movie. However the leading man closely resembled Vikram Vij of Vij’s, HG’s favorite Vancouver restaurant (extraordinary Indian fusion food). His countenance made both HG and BSK ravenously hungry. The peckish duo popped into Jambo African-Caribbean Restaurant (30 minute wait). Off to Mu Du Noodles (One hour wait for Asiatic cuisine). Motored home. Dusted off a jar of Mezzetta Porcini Pasta Sauce in the pantry (tasted in a supermarket sampling and found it quite good). Also In pantry was box of DiCecco Pappardelle. BSK enriched the jarred sauce with anchovies, garlic, capers, dry porcini mushrooms (softened in hot water) and olive oil. Served the steaming pasta with shavings of good, authentic parmigiano reggiano. A bottle of “1967” Tuscan red. Green salad with Italian truffle cheese. Marvelous meal. It’s good to have a well stocked pantry and frig.

One of the protagonists of Life of Pi was a tiger named “Richard Parker.” Excellent performance, deserving of an Academy Award. HG’s fantasy: Tiger wins award. Pads up to podium. Eats Al Pacino. Leaves his toupée.

About once a month (okay, twice a month) HG likes a big, rare rib steak for dinner. Tuscasn style (like you get it in a good Florence trattoria). Blood rare. Good olive oil poured on at serving. Accompanied by Capellini beans that have had a nice hit of sauteed garlic. (Must discourage Dracula). This gets a frown from BSK. She doesn’t object to the cholesterol or calories. She objects to the inevitable smoky kitchen. That’s because HG sears the steak on a bed of kosher salt in a white-hot big, black cast iron pan. Only way to cook a steak, insists adamant HG. Now, there seems to be a cooking compromise that will please BSK. Melissa Clark, in the NY Times. suggests doing steak this way: Heat a cast iron pan until very hot. Turn on the broiler in the oven. Put the steak on pan and, with care and using pot holders, put the pan and steak under the broiler. Melissa suggests broiling a thick steak for about seven minutes. Bloody minded HG would cook it for less. Must try this method. Will sacrifice for household peace. Will report on how experiment turns out.

As HG luxuriates in front of a crackling fire at his New Mexico home watching news reports of three foot snow drifts battering the East Coast, HG notices a funny sensation. A nostalgic hunger for the soups HG’s Mom fed the family. They warmed HG and family in the winter and cooled them in the summer. Winter-time soups were either kapustah or potato soup. Kapustah, as HG recollects it, was a cabbage, onion, tomato, garlic melange in a beef broth enlivened with chunks of boiled beef. This was topped with a big ladle full of sour cream plus some fiery, freshly grated horseradish. With a few slices of Stuhmer’s (or Pechter’s) pumpernickel (with the savory spread of chicken fat and coarse salt) this was a solid, filling, cold weather dinner. The potato soup was simple. Just boiled potatoes and onions in a rich beef stock. A lunch dish. Warm weather soups were beet borscht and schav, both served cold. Mom’s borscht was incomparable. She used something she called “sour salt” to balance the sugary earthiness of the beets, giving the soup a distinctive sweet-tart taste. It received the usual topping of sour cream plus a healthy shower of chopped scallions and radishes. It was accompanied by a hot, buttered boiled potato. Schav was a sorrel soup, mouth puckeringly sour. Unlike the English Sorrel soup, the sorrel in Schav is not pureed but left in its leafy state. This soup was served icy cold (sometimes ice cubes were added to the bowl). Sour cream, naturally, and the obligatory boiled potato. During those non-air conditioned years of yesteryear, schav was a lifesaver on a blazing New York summer day.

HG has often penned sentimental, tearful reminiscences about the days when black, lush Iranian and Russian Beluga, Sevruga and Grosrybest caviar was affordable and could be consumed in large quantities. Caviarteria and Zabar’s provided this good stuff and it became a staple at HG family celebrations. Gone are those days. Now,only Russian oligarchs and hedge fund billionaires can afford it. ( Plutocrats also lack a conscience. This enables them to eat this over-fished and unsustainable foodstuff). However, there is a silver (or red) lining. Red salmon caviar is still available, in plentiful supply and priced appropriately. Russ & Daughters sells Alaskan Wild Salmon Caviar for $40 for an 8.8 oz.crock. Zabar’s red salmon caviar is a bit cheaper but the Russ & D. product is just a mite better. There are three good ways to eat the product. HG’s top choice is with blini and creme fraiche. (Excellent blini can be made from Roger Sherman’s recipe in the Canal House cookbook). Number two is with very, very softly scrambled eggs and creme fraiche (or sour cream) and some fried onions. Number three is stuffed into a baked potato with plenty of butter and sour cream. HG and BSK’s grandson, Handsome Haru, likes to top a bowl of Japanese rice with the caviar.

Permit HG a nostalgic Beluga detour. In the early 60’s, HG lifted weights and played racquetball at a W. 45th Street gym. A companion was a large man who had a delectable job. He was a sales manager of the Romanoff Caviar Company, a leading importer of Russian caviar. Every Saturday morning, HG would bring to the gym a bottle of icy vodka, sweet butter and a loaf of Russian pumpernickel. HG’s comrade brought a one pound (yes, one pound) jar of Beluga. After their exercises were complete, the healthy duo consumed this wonderful snack. Sadly, HG’s comrade died prematurely and the Beluga orgy ended. But, Russ & D.’s product remains to bring solace to HG’s golden years.

And, what are T-Ravs, you may ask? Well. they are Toasted Ravioli. Though described as “toasted,” these ravioli are, in fact, fried. They are a St. Louis treat, available in many of that city’s Italian restaurants and many other eateries. Yogi Berra, reared in St. Louis’ Hill neighborhood, said he missed the ravioli treat when his career brought him to New York, a big town with lots of ravioli but no T-Ravs. All of this was recalled by HG as HG read the obituary of the most illustrious of St. Louis citizens, baseball great Stan “The Man” Musial. HG once dined at his restaurant, Stan and Biggie’s, and had HG’s first and only experience with T-Ravs. They were okay but the real hit of the meal was an exemplary broiled calf’s liver with bacon and fried potatoes. Charred on the outside. Pink on the inside. Perfect. HG’s Mom made an Eastern European/Jewish version of ravioli — kreplach. Kreplach had thicker skins than ravioli and were filled with chopped beef and onions. Mom boiled them in her golden chicken soup with additions of noodles, kasha, boiled onions and carrots and mondels, airy little croutons. (In the absence of kreplach, the soup got matzo balls). As a special treat for little HG, Mom would retrieve some kreplach from the soup and fry them in chicken fat for lunch. The dish got a big hit of sour cream and lots of coarse salt and ground pepper. With apologies to the the memory of “The Man,” these beat the hell out of T-Ravs.

HG is a lucky man. While HG gets great gustatory pleasures eating at restaurants throughout the world, it is the meals that HG eats with his family that transport him. Yes, HG is blessed with a family of great chefs; and chefs whose influences and talents are truly global in scope. Take the two meals HG ate over the past week: Dinner in Brooklyn Chez SJ and Exquisite Maiko. Their pals Jay and Maya were present. Jay is an outstanding wit and guarantor of laughter. So, fun was guaranteed. A bottle of Tito’s Hand Made Vodka was on the table. The meal started with French smoked herring and smoked salmon. Rich, unusual tastes. Then, wielding chopsticks with her usual grace, Exquisite Maiko transformed into a master of Japanese style BBQ, grilling marinated short ribs and thin slices of pork belly to perfection on a table top barbecue. The crisp, sizzling pieces of meat were placed in cold lettuce leaves accompanied by EM’s extraordinary sesame oil and scallion dressing, onion sauce and discreet dabs of wasabi. With sips of cold vodka, the meal turned into a paen to the real flavors of beef and pork where richness was counter-balanced with the lighter, healthier touch of EM’s Japanese presentation.

Onto Rhode Island where comfort may be the last word one associates with the ever turbulent, bloody and embattled Middle East. But, the word is appropriate when applied to Brilliant Daughter Lesley R.’s riffs on dishes from that region. Lesley R. made her own version of little kefta (middle eastern stuffed grain and lamb meatballs). The ingredients: Ground lamb. cumin, smoked Spanish paprika, chopped almonds, chopped onions, garlic and raisins. Beaten egg as a binder. The mixture was formed into balls (about the size of a golf ball) and baked on a cookie sheet. When done, these were popped into steaming lentil soup. The ingredients: Red lentils, chopped onions and garlic, cumin, finely chopped carrots, chicken stock. Salt and pepper, of course. The savory bowls of soup and meatballs were topped with scoops of Greek yogurt and sprinkled with cayenne. To complete this filling and heartening one dish meal there was cheese, green salad and very superior bread from the Seven Stars Bakery in Providence. Needless to say, there was ample wine.

Yes, verily, verily — there’s no place like home.