HUNGRY GERALD

Yes, HG’s thoughts about food, dining, Paris, New York, Santa Fe, etc. may sometimes provoke a smile and, hopefully, even a modest grin. But, if you hanker for more robust fare, something that will provoke the eruption known as a belly laugh, get hold of the June 2, 2014 issue of The New Yorker. Turn to the “Shouts & Murmurs” on Page 35 and read Yummy by Paul Rudnick. This short piece on the goy-ification of Manischewitz, the gefilte fish and matzo company, is laugh out loud funny.

Hey, HG isn’t complaining.. HG has a wonderful life (with beloved BSK) in New Mexico and Prince Edward Island. Kids and their spouses (spice?) and the grandkids are an ongoing delight. But, HG’s thoughts occasionally turn to money as HG (with chagrin) notes various news items pertaining to the world oligarchy and the growing income disparity in the United States. Different attitudes toward money could be summed up in an incident that took place some 35 years ago. HG and zillionaire Alan G. were strolling in the Wall Street area of New York. HG had been spinning magical PR webs for the very rich guy who was engaged in a battle with the American Stock Exchange. The two guys watched an adroit African-American young man (and his shill) manipulating a lunchtime crowd with a three-card-monte game. Said HG: “What a shame. These are two bright, sharp young men. It’s a pity that legitimate business options haven’t been opened for these guys.” Said Alan G.: “Those weren’t my thoughts at all. I was trying to figure their hourly take from the hustle given the fact they would have to pay off some legitimate winners to keep the crowd interested. And, I was making a conjecture about an annual profit figuring in fines for illegitimate gambling plus payoffs to amenable cops. So, there’s a big difference in the way our minds work. You’re a talented guy, HG, and you’ll do okay. But, you’ll never get very rich.” And, that sums it up.

Okay. For those unacquainted with yiddish, the rebbitsen is the rabbi’s wife. Convinced that women were smarter than men, HG’s Mom often said: “Listen to the rebbitsen.” The presumption was that rabbis were lost in a haze of spiritual, legalistic and other “of the Book” concerns. Rebbitsens, on the other hand, were sound on earthly matters. A recent New York Times obituary of Omaha Rabbi Myer Kripke (died age 100) brought this to mind. Midwest synagogues did not lavish money on their spiritual leaders but Kripke, through inheritance and frugality, managed to accumulate about $65,000 in the early 1960s. Rabbi Kripke and his wife Dorothy, an author of religious books for children, became friends with another Omaha couple, Mr. and Mrs. Warren Buffet. Buffet was achieving a local reputation as an astute money manager. Dorothy Kripke suggested that they turn over their money to Buffet to manage. Kripke demurred. Buffet was only accepting investors who put up $150,000-$250,000. Dorothy (a traditional noodge) kept insisting that Kripke approach Buffet. It took three years but Kripke finally gave in. Buffet, who liked Kripke, made an exception and accepted the money. By the early 90’s that modest sum grew to $25,000,000. Didn’t change the Kripkes. They continued to live modestly and used their wealth for a variety of philanthropic causes. They were guests at the Buffets’ annual Thanksgiving dinners. Knowing their kosher dietary strictures, Mrs Buffet hired an eminent caterer to prepare tuna salads for the the Kripkes.

When BSK’s late, worldly, maternal grandmother received the grim news that BSK was going to marry HG, a Jew, she commented: “Well, there are three good things about Jews. They never hit their wives. They’re good with money. And, they don’t drink.” After many years of marriage (51 in upcoming July), HG often reminds BSK: “Hey, two out of three isn’t a bad batting average.” That’s because HG does drink. A lot. That means one (sometimes two) cocktails before dinner (tequila, vodka, rum are the basics with additions of lemon juice and either Aperol, Angostura Bitters or Campari). White wine with a few caper berries or Kalamata olives as an appetizer. Abundant red wine with dinner (or beer if the dishes are Mexican or Indian). After dinner TV watching companion is a brandy snifter of Bushmill’s Irish Honey Whiskey. Of course, this liquid regimen is frowned upon by the health police. But, in HG’s defense, this is preceded by New Mexico sunshine and pure air plus 15 minutes on HG’s stretching machine and one hour of swimming in the lap pool. There is also the loving and caring presence of BSK. And, that is a priceless deposit in HG’s bank of good health.

No, HG is not shedding tears for the billionaire, but it appears to HG that Donald Sterling is a victim (as well as a villain). In a private conversation with his girlfriend, Sterling said he didn’t want her to associate with African-Americans, be photographed with them or bring them to basketball games. Not nice. But, hell, as the saying goes: “It’s a free country.” If everyone is penalized for politically incorrect, sexist, salacious, etc. things they have said in private conversation we would be in a terrible fix. Obviously, given the racial composition of the NBA and the importance of basketball in African-American culture, NBA Commissioner Adam Silver had to act swiftly and punish Sterling to the fullest extent possible. HG’s moral exemplar, HG’s late father, Hershele Zvi Freimann, hated these humans: Nazis, communists, informers, strikebreakers and scabs….and landlords. His comment on Sterling, who made his money as a landlord, would be: “Nu? What can you expect from a landlord?”

SJ and family–wife Exquisite Maiko, son Haru (age 7) and daughter Teru (age 2)–are here in New Mexico for Passover/Easter vacation. Among the joys for HG is hanging out with Haru, a quirky, original, fascinating fellow. Unlike his father, a guy who likes to cook and eat (a barbecue specialist), and his mother, a super skilled chef (more about her in a following post), Haru is not (understatement) passionate about food. Ribs, pizza, pasta, ice cream bars are his staples and when not available nourishes himself with milk and cookies. Despite his limited menu (and limited protein intake), Haru has plenty of physical and intellectual energy. While in New Mexico, Haru paddles about the lap pool for hours, hikes in the Barrancas (scenic cliffs) with his father, feeds the fish in HG/BSK’s somewhat murky pond, helps HG make the nightly blaze in the fireplace (Haru has dubbed himself “Prince of Fire”). When truly interested in a subject, Haru’s memory and concentration are startling. His latest interest is the American Presidency. Last night he recited, in chronological order, all of the American Presidents. Even the obscure (Pierce, Fillmore, Tyler, Arthur, etc.) were remembered with laser-like precision. For the next hour, Haru entertained everyone with little known facts about the Presidents. Fascinating. When HG has a little guy like Haru around, HG reaps rich grandpop rewards.

So, HG was sunbathing below blue New Mexican skies before entering the HG/BSK pool house for a lengthy swim in the lap pool. As the sun warmed HG’s bones, HG thought of the enslaved Jews laboring for the Pharoahs in Egypt. This steered the HG mind (no surprise) in the direction of food, namely the menu for the Seder this week. A Seder is the traditional reading from the Hagadah (the story of the Jews’ escape from Egypt). The Hagadah reading is accompanied by lots of food and wine as is traditional in Jewish holidays because, well, the overall feeling regarding the horrors of the Jewish past is: “They tried to kill us. They failed. So let’s eat a lot.” Words to live and eat by. It is traditional to start the Seder meal with gefilte fish (a form of Eastern European Jewish quenelles). HG is happy to report the discovery of really good jarred gefilte fish. This is Mrs. Adler’s Pike ‘n Whitefish. Nice, slightly coarse structure. Home made taste. Nice fish broth that jells beautifully. Label says there is “artificial flavor” but knowledgeable HG couldn’t discern it. Gefilte fish is bland unless accompanied by powerful horseradish. HG found killer horseradish on the shelves of Sprouts Supermarket in Santa Fe. The label says: Fresh Ground Horseradish. Good-n-Hot. There is no brand name but there is a website: silverspringfoods.com. Main dish should be roast chicken or brisket. Two kugels (puddings): Potato and noodle. A vegetable? HG would like some grated carrots cooked with cinnamon, ginger and honey (This is tzimmes, a dish HG’s Mom cooked with an abundance of chicken feet. Let’s skip the feet this time). To finish: Honey cake, macaroons and Slivovitz (plum brandy). SJ and family will be present for the Seder. Handsome Haru will ask the traditional Four Questions (They concern why the Seder night is different from any other night). Some traditions will be observed. The Afikomen (a gift of money) will be searched for by Handsome Haru and Adorable Teru. Fear not. They will be found because of helpful hints from BSK. A glass of wine will be on the table for the Prophet Elijah. Who knows? This may be the year the thirsty Prophet appears.

From HG (an old guy), here are some wise words that may help meet the adversities of old age: One. HEALTH. Joan Erikson, noted psychologist and wife of famed psychologist and author Eric Erikson, wrote (when she was in her 80’s): “When you get older, even the simple activities of daily living may present difficulty. One must adapt. With whatever tact and wisdom we can muster, disabilities must be accepted with lightness and humor.” Two. BE SENSIBLE. Damon Runyon paraphrased Ecclesiastes thusly: “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s how the smart money bets.” Three. GRASP PLEASURE. Heed the Italian advice: “Life is short and brutish. The end is painful. So, in the meantime, let’s have a good meal.”

HG has always loved roasted, salted pistachios. When HG was a little fellow growing up in The Bronx, HG and beloved older sister, the late Beulah Naomi Katz, would stroll the Grand Concourse. Always stopped at J.S Krum Ice Cream Parlor. Picked up a generous bag of pistachios for munching during our perambulation. In those days, pistachio shells were always, for no apparent reason, dyed red (the pigment stained our fingers). Sometimes a bag of pistachios accompanied HG and Beulah during a movie matinee at Loew’s Paradise on the Concourse, one of the great movie palaces. SJ is aware of his father’s love of pistachios. One of SJ’s Christmas gifts for HG was a big bag of Turkish pistachios from Sahadi’s, the middle eastern food emporium on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. The best pistachios ever — lighter, crunchier and more concentrated in flavor than typical brands (you can buy them online from Sahadi’s). HG likes to eat them with the last of dinner red wine accompanied by Medjool dates and Mascarpone (or Roquefort) cheese. Also nice with Port. If you are in Brooklyn, be sure to visit Sahadi’s. Be astonished at the vast array of olives, spices and good things from the middle east.

There are some supermarket staples that are splendid, unchanging and need no improvements. They define what they are, beat back all challengers and laugh at innovation. They are so basic that we have the tendency to know just the substance and not the manufacturer. Some examples: Ketchup (Heinz); Mayonnaise (Hellmans); Tabasco (McIlhenny); English Muffins (Thomas); Worcestershire Sauce (Lea & Perrins). Sadly, much of what clutters supermarket aisles consists of “snacks”, sugary junk, sodas and “energy drinks” and should be flagged like cigarettes, with skull and cross bones warning: “Harmful To Your Health.” That said, there are a few items of negligible nutritional value that HG cannot resist: Keebler’s Club Crackers, Pepperidge Farm Thin Sliced White Bread, Uncle Ben’s Long Grain Rice. And, from the frozen foods case: Haagen Dasz (their salted caramel gelato and dulce de leche ice cream are really special). Bubbie’s very superior pickles were only found at Whole Foods but are now sneaking into some lower priced grocery stores. Sriracha from Huy Fong Foods is now omnipresent. Much applause from HG. No food remains bland while that hot chili sauce is at hand.