HUNGRY GERALD

As HG noted in a recent post, Bob’s Clam Hut in Kittery, Maine has been a traditional dining stop for fried clams and other casual New England treats when HG/BSK would motor through the state on the way to Prince Edward Island. Bob’s is famous and possibly the busiest (and most efficient) clam shack in New England. Well, this recent roadside meal was disappointing. HG ordered the seafood basket (fried clams, scallops, haddock, cole slaw, tartar sauce and fried onion rings). At a price of $34.95, HG/BSK expected an abundant amount of food. Wrong. Skimpy for the price. Anticipated clam bellies but got leathery strips. The haddock was ordinary. Scallops were very good. The scant portion of onion rings was just okay. The modest Blount Clam Hut in Riverside, R.I., is much better. HG/BSK will give Bob’s another chance when they drive back to the United States in the fall. Will order scallop rolls. HG thought HG/BSK would stop in Bangor and try the Zen Asian Cafe. Timing was wrong. Continued to drive and stopped in Pocologan, New Brunswick for the night. Destination was Clipper Shipp Beach Motel. The motel is in a time warp. Very 1950’s. Spotlessly clean. Comfortable big beds. A shower with plenty of hot water and good pressure. Clipper Shipp’s motto is: “A Room With A View.” The motel fronts on the Bay of Fundy and the sea view is lyrical. Very hungry HG/BSK went to nearby BayBreeze Motel and Cafe (also sporting a great view of the Bay of Fundy). Thought it might be too late for food. Were delighted to find the cafe owners seated in the empty, plainspoken dining room. The husband and wife team looked as if we had interrupted an argument but, happily, they agreed to feed HG/BSK. Two platters of mixed fried seafood–clams, cod, scallops with French fries and cole slaw. Much better than Bob’s at half the price. Delicious clam bellies. BSK had a glass of white wine and HG had a few shots of vodka washed down with a Moosehead Ale. Happy, surprising meal. Breakfasted there next morning. Dishwater coffee and terrible griddle cakes with synthetic tasting Aunt Jemima Syrup. Win some. Lose some.

In HG’s opinion, the recent Supreme Court decision about marriage isn’t about marriage. It is about equal rights under the law. This was long due recognition that LGBT citizens (Lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgendered) have equal rights (and obligations) under the law. The last paragraph of Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion summed it up eloquently: “No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right.”

The dissenting opinions were, as to be expected, mean spirited. Justice Scalia disgraced himself by referring to the decision as a “putsch”, a term that is familiarly used to describe Adolf Hitler’s first attempt to seize power in Germany. HG is a Marxist and views most events through the lens of economics. HG grew up in New York City. The LGBT community was imperative in helping to make the city viable as an economic entity through its leadership role in theater, music, dance, art, design, fashion, publishing, communications and dining. This leadership made New York a tourist destination and a place where the wealthy and the fashionable wanted to live (and invest). And, of course, the city’s creative luster lured the talented young from all over the world. New York’s LGBT population made a disproportionate contribution to this New York and their creative labor generated taxes and paid for urban services. In addition, gays were the most intrepid pioneers of urban renewal. Gays brought their daring and design sense to battered neighborhoods, making them desirable. (developers soon piggybacked and the neighborhoods became pricey). Meanwhile, LBGT citizens were obligated to pay their taxes like everyone else but did not enjoy the same rights. In order to survive, most LBGT persons had to lead hidden, furtive lives. HG always wondered why New York’s LBGT population didn’t revolt or refuse to pay their taxes. While helping to make New York rich and colorful, LBGT persons were targets of vicious police actions and condemnation by organized religion. Sad to say, progressive citizens fought against anti-semitism and racial hatred, but rarely voiced any opposition to the mistreatment of the LBGT population (Feminism, as a mass movement, was far in the future). It took many decades of effort but justice (hopefully) has been achieved. Yes, the Scalias and Clarence Thomas’ will continue to spew their hatred but it seems unlikely that the clock can be turned back. Equality, not marriage, is the point. Marriage seems to be a rather frayed institution these days. But, as a mordant observer explained his strong support of same sex marriage: “They’ve got a right to be as miserable as everyone else.”

Pete Wells, the New York Times restaurant critic, recently rewarded Blanca, an edgy restaurant in Brooklyn’s gritty Bushwick neighborhood, three stars. At Blanca, customers sit at a counter and are served slivers of “inventive” food for $195 a person. No wine on its list sells for less than $80. According to HG’s figuring, this means a check for about $800 (or more) for dinner for two (food, wine, tax, tip). According to comments by Wells’s readers, you’ll still be hungry after dinner and in the mood for pizza or a burger. The direct opposite of Blanca is Los Andes in Providence, a restaurant much loved by HG and family. HG/BSK, Gifted Daughter Lesley R. and Brilliant Granddaughter Arianna R. dined there while visiting Rhode Island. As always, it was jammed with happy people of every ethnicity and color. Music from a Peruvian band. Los Andes is truly joyous. Once you enter, any vestige of gloom or depression disappears. HG sipped a favorite cocktail: Pisco Sour. Perfect, not too sweet sangria was poured. HG/BSK and their two companions shared some super generous portions of fresh and flavorful Latin-American and Peruvian food. A ceviche platter of tilapia, onions and herbs. A ceviche cocktail (served in an oversized Martini glass) of shrimp, squid, tilapia, mussels, etc. (HG would be happy to spend an evening sipping Pisco Sours and devouring these lush ceviche “cocktails”). Unusual Peruvian whipped potatoes with shredded chicken. A two-inch thick grilled swordfish steak. Rib eye steak (rare) from the Argentine barbecue “parilla.” Flan and an unusual meringue for dessert. Check the Los Andes website for full descriptions of these dishes and scores more. Prices are very reasonable, $30 to $40 per person (with wine). You will leave Los Andes very happy and very full. Service is efficient and pleasant. Los Andes is a professional operation, delivering excellent food with consistency. Deservedly popular, reservations are a must. Worth a special trip to Providence.

James Salter, the excellent writer who was a great favorite of other writers and knowing appreciators of exquisitely crafted sentences, is dead at age 90. HG never met Salter but HG feels he has lost a friend. Salter wrote novels, short stories, novellas, screenplays, criticism and much else. All wonderful. HG’s bedtime companion is a book he wrote with his wife, Kay: Life Is Meals: A Food Lover’s Book of Days. (HG did an appreciation of the book. Check the archive). It stands with A.J. Liebling’s “Between Meals” as an HG favorite work about dining — erudite and appetizing. Salter had a wit as dry as a flinty glass of Chablis. He once observed that most men have self delusions: That they look younger than they are. That they are good drivers. That they are good in bed. Thanks and farewell, James. HG thinks of you as a civilized companion whose works continue to delight and illuminate.

It is not simple (or cheap) to ship a dog by air from Santa Fe to Boston. Toby, The Wonder Dog, is too big to qualify for passenger travel. Has to go via cargo in a specified (expensive)) crate. Lengthy intricate paperwork required. Compliance with complicated TSA regulations. HG/BSK arrived at Santa Fe Airport at 5:45 AM for 8 AM flight to Denver (plane change for Boston). The Santa Fe Airport is a small 1930’s architectural gem (looks like it was built by CCC/WPA craftspersons). Personnel are chosen for a high degree of incompetence. Though BSK made meticulous arrangements for Toby (and BSK is always relentlessly thorough) United Airlines was in a state of regulatory confusion. Toby finally was placed in a crate some 15 minutes before flight time (almost two hours of computer nuttiness). Toby (and HG/BSK) made it to Boston safe and sound. Surprisingly, The Wonder Dog, seemed unruffled by his first experience flying the friendly miles. Met by Gifted Daughter Lesley R. who managed to negotiate the insane traffic between Boston and Providence. Roads are still a nightmare after the expenditure of billions on The Big Dig, the decade long construction project that was designed to unclog Boston’s arteries. Much joy at the end of a long day. Toby frolicked happily at Lesley’s Riverside R.I., home with Pip, the charming and welcoming family dog. With the sun setting over the waterfront landscape, Lesley provided a lush meal of Rhody sea specialties: smoked bluefish pate, snail salad, steamed little neck clams in a olive oil-wine-garlic-parsley sauce; fish cakes made of fresh cod (remoulade sauce); radish and fennel salad. Vodka before dinner and white wine with the food. Red wine with Robbiola cheese and a unique Italian honey and wine marinated whole walnut. Extraordinary. Meal was a pot of gold after a long day of travel.

HG’s beloved, late sister, Beulah Naomi Katz, loved to negotiate. The Yiddish word for negotiate is handel and Beulah was a world class handeler. She probably inherited this talent from HG’s Mom, Ida Kopkind Freeman. Beulah once took Mom to Best & Co., the venerable Fifth Avenue department store, to buy gloves. Mom asked the saleslady the price of a pair: “Nine dollars, Madam.” Said Mom: “I’ll give you five.” Beulah had to point out that while this tactic might work in The Bronx, it was ineffectual on Fifth Avenue. A jewelry vendor in a Morocco market said of Beulah, admiringly,: “She bargains like a Berber woman.” HG/BSK’s children enjoyed accompanying Beulah to American flea markets, church sales, stoop sales and yard sales. Whatever the price (a quarter), Beulah was sure to get it for less (“A quarter? This is my niece, an award winning journalist — she’ll pay a nickel”). However rarely, Beulah’s handeling skills didn’t always succeed. She was very fond of sweet Vidalia onions from Georgia. When in Atlanta for a family event, Beulah met the leading produce broker of Vidalia onions. Beulah wanted a monthly shipment and she wanted them at a wholesale price. No, said the broker, you will pay retail. A hot and heavy negotiation took place. The broker wouldn’t budge. An almost irresistible force had met an immovable object. Beulah got her Vidalias. She paid retail. HG enjoyed negotiating for rugs in the souk at Marrakech. This retail maze is one of the features of the colorful Moroccan city. The rug merchant would unroll many rugs. HG would favor one rug. The merchant would state the price. Astronomical. HG would look sad, and between sips of mint tea offered by the hospitable rug seller, would make a gracious speech: “Dear Sir, you have beautiful, rare rugs. I am honored to have seen them in your distinguished shop. Alas, though American, I have very limited means. The pressures of educating my children, etc. I have champagne tastes but a beer budget. I don’t want to insult you by offering the low sum I can afford.” The merchant was sympathetic. “You are very courteous. I will not be insulted. Name your price.” HG said the number. The merchant laughed. Was HG joking? After these preliminaries, the bargaining began. Back and forth flew the numbers. Finally, HG named his final price. An emphatic “No”. HG/BSK said goodbye and left the shop. After a few steps, HG felt a tug at his shoulder. It was the merchant. The final price was accepted. It was about 80% lower than the original sum asked by the seller. It was a very successful encounter. HG thought he had snared a bargain. The vendor, HG is sure, happily enjoyed a substantial profit. A satisfactory haggle.

That’s the appropriate name for barbecue maestro Jonathan Frederiksen’s Santa Fe catering company. He describes his product simply: “A Texan’s BBQ.” Permit HG to add a few adjectives: Mouth watering, authentic, enticing, smoky, dreamy, heavenly. Crisp brown crusts meet falling-off-the-bone tender and juicy meat. Those are the ribs. And, the chicken is equally celestial. HG/BSK and Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia R. had super generous portions of these wonders at a lively BBQ party at the beautiful Jacona home of pals Polly B. and David F. Some happy 50 friends and neighbors ate and drank to the background of guitarist Marc Yaxley and vocalist-percussioinst Julie Hawkins (HG has written about these talented musicians in an earlier post: “Joy and Sadness”. The tables were set on Polly/David’s scenic terrace with dramatic views of the Jemez Mountains. Drinks were served beneath the shady portale and there was an array of flavorful accompaniments to the BBQ: Cole slaw and potato salad, of course, but also a New Mexican casserole of egg and cheese custard enlivened with roasted chiles. Two barbecue sauces added zing to the smoked meats: Texas traditional and Carolina mustard and vinegar. Frederiksen’s barbecue apparatus (handcrafted in Texas) is huge and produces exemplary heat and smoke. (It would make SJ, the Brooklyn backyard BBQ virtuoso, very acquisitive). Jonathan labored over it for some five hours to produce his meaty delectables. The afternoon sun disappeared. Giant full moon appeared. Weather cooled. The last guests (including HG/BSK) gathered around the warming blaze in the fire pit. HG, a nightcap of tequila and lime slices in hand, contemplated life and good fortune. Friends like Polly/David–generous, talented, life enhancing people. A wife like BSK–endless virtues. Funny, smart children and grandkids. Hey, these golden years are really golden.

Okay, HG is going to make you very hungry. Make sure you have some sustaining snacks available. Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia R. graduated from prep school in Santa Fe (The Desert Academy) and had a birthday. The R. family (Gifted Daughter Lesley, Brilliant Granddaughter Arianna and Distinguished Profesore Massimo) came to New Mexico for the festivities and much feasting ensued, culminating on the last two days of the visit. Graduation Day afternoon was sunny and bright. Ceremonies and speeches were brief (thankfully). Sofia, in a stunning white dress, was the most beautiful of the graduates. (This is a totally objective opinion, not swayed by the tiniest bit of grandfatherly adoration). Appetites nicely sharpened by their collective pride in the graduate, HG/BSK and the Family R. were off to the Compound Restaurant to celebrate. (BSK was the height of fashion in rarely worn high heels–she didn’t trip–snug skirt, Parisian white blouse, Lisa Jenks silver and pearls necklace). Flattering light bathed the white plaster walls of The Compound. It was off to the culinary races: A chilled bottle of sparkling Gruet Blanc de Blanc and a bottle of Dolcetto d’Alba. The appetizers: King Crab salad with avocado, black truffles, baby lettuce; Lobster, shrimp and cubed mango salad on a half head of Bibb lettuce; Tuna tartare with preserved lemon and black caviar; Spring pea soup with mushroom arancini; Osso Buco capelletti with veal shank ragu, peas and fava beans; White asparagus on brioche bruschetta with a poached egg, crisp prosciutto, Hollandaise. (Getting hungry, Readers? Save some room for the main dishes). Main dishes: Rack and shank of lamb with baby artichokes and a sauce of garlic and Meyer lemons; Crisp fried chicken schnitzel with a caper, wine and lemon sauce accompanied by sautéed leaf spinach; Pan roasted chicken breast, chicken sausage, potato puree, baby onions and fava beans.; Wild mushrooms and polenta with a truffle relish and shaved parmesan. The desserts: Confections of melted chocolate cake, hazelnut tart, ice creams, meringues, dark chocolate twigs. Sweet finale. Up in the morning for energetic swims and walks with Toby, The Wonder Dog. Then, Lesley R. (assisted by BSK) did some serious cooking while Profesore Massimo manned the barbecue. Food for a six to nine PM outdoor party for the graduate. A crowd of 30 (friends, neighbors, Sofia’s prep schoolmates). The menu: Pulled pork sliders (a Lesley R. signature dish) with southern barbecue sauce; Olive oil and herb brushed barbecued chicken thighs on a bed of greens; Potato salad (high in flavor and low in mayonnaise). Ditto the cole slaw. Room temperature fusili pasta in freshly made basil pesto. Cheese straws. Potato chips. Artisan bread. Red wine. White wine. Four varieties of beer and ale. Lemonade for the younger folks. Vodka for the incorrigibles. The Dessert Queen, the inimitable Karen K., provided the ultimate carrot cake (enriched by grated fresh ginger and other secret ingredients). There was a chocolate birthday cake with Sofia’s and BSK’s names on it (BSK has an upcoming birthday in a few days). There was a wee bit of grappa for limited amount of imbibers. Just a wonderful party in a wonderful setting, the terrace and portale of HG/BSK’s home facing the colorful Barrancas (cliffs and mesas) and Gary and Natasha Gundersen’s meticulously tended organic farm. Lesley R. and BSK arranged tables and seating comfortably. Lots of flowers, candles and ambiance. These are women who know to make things festive. Their family is grateful.

Flank steak used to be cheap. (Alas, no more). Chinese chefs used it in many stir fries and Italians pounded it tender before rolling it around savory stuffing to make Rollatini. (Sometimes Italian cooks used thin slices of eggplant rather than meat). HG/BSK learned the secret for making excellent flank steak from the very eccentric Andre R.. He was a frequent visitor when HG/BSK had a Fire Island beach home. Andre got older. His girl friends got younger. Andre and his young lady, upon arrival, would strip off their clothes and run naked into the sea. HG/BSK’s little children and their friends were always bemused and delighted by this display of free spirit, l960’s behavior. Andre would marinate a flank steak for a day in a mixture of soy sauce, honey and sliced garlic. Barbecued quite rare. Sliced thinly across the grain. The meat was tender with a blackened semi-sweet Asian crust. Made a great meal accompanied by summer sweet corn on the cob. BSK cooked a flank steak a la Andre a few days ago. (BSK pan broiled the meat in a very hot cast iron pan). Good eating with BSK’s salad (peeled roasted peppers, chopped sweet onions, Kumatoes, arugula) with Maytag blue cheese dressing. Dinner the next night was the left over flank steak, sliced thinly, served over a Vietnamese-influenced salad of rice noodles, spring onions, Persian cucumbers, frisee, carrots and cherry tomatoes. It was dressed with a combination of sesame oil, soy sauce, grated ginger and garlic, Red Boat fish sauce. Sensational. HG had left over salad for lunch the next day. Economical BSK hd provided a tasty group of meals from one modestly priced Trader Joe’s flank steak.

Henry Gallin, HG’s friend and business colleague for more than 40 years, died recently at his Arizona home. His death was a blessing. A stroke had left him desperately impaired, unable to walk or speak. A generous human being and a caring friend, Henry had a brilliant career as a New York real estate executive specializing in commercial leasing. An expert negotiator, he more than held his own in wrangles with the city’s tough realty billionaires. Seeking a new life with an emphasis on the outdoor environment, Henry moved to Crested Butte, Colorado, where he was a very successful and imaginative real estate developer and community activist. Then on to Denver where he triumphed as an office building investor (Fortunate HG/BSK were minor players in his activities). Finally, in Arizona, he was active as a real estate consultant to one of the country’s largest financial institutions. HG and Henry (Gallin was head of the financial district office of Edward S.Gordon Co.and HG was the public relations consultant to the Gordon business) dined often at the tragically ill-fated Windows on the World Restaurant located at the top of the World Trade Center tower. HG/BSK frequently ate and drank with Henry and his beautiful Texan wife, Judy, at restaurants and mutual homes in Colorado, Vancouver, New Mexico and Arizona. Wherever he dined, Henry demanded firm assurances from the staff that no cilantro would sully any dish he ordered. The very thought of the herb could make him ill. Daring in business, Henry was a conservative at the table. He found HG’s taste for innards and esoteric sea creatures unnerving.. “You order things that look like they could walk off the plate,” he would wonder. Rest in peace, dear Henry, there is no cilantro and no slithery creatures in your future.