HUNGRY GERALD

Dinner at Guppy’s On The Beach Seafood Grill (in the Indian Rocks neighborhood of St. Pete Beach) was an up and down (mostly down) experience. Guppy’s is a large, popular restaurant with outdoor and indoor seating. HG chose indoor (an error). Seated in a bleak air conditioning chilled room. Historic photos on the wall of historic Indian Rocks bathing beauties (in one piece suits) was a nice touch. Ordered a pitcher of sangria. Eeks, horrors!! The restaurant tampered with the classic recipe and added loads of cinnamon (also some cloves). Smelled like a men’s room deodorant with overtones of potpourri in a New England tourist gift shop. Undrinkable. Replaced the witches brew with cold Stella Artois beer. After a lengthy wait HG and SJ were served bowls of hot and spicy fish chowder. Caribbean tastes. Heartening. Twenty minute wait. A bowl of plump, tasty Prince Edward Island mussels in a broth enhanced by tomatoes, greens and garlic finally arrived. Light at the end of a tunnel. Mood became optimistic. A 25 minute wait quenched the happy mood. HG rose to complain. Waitperson said she’d inform management. Rest of the meal arrived in a rush. Strange food. The dishes were over elaborate with too many ingredients on each plate. Festoons of shaved carrots. Slivers of olives. Sauces that did not enhance. Truffled mashed potatoes that tasted chemical. Fried green tomatoes and fried oysters destroyed by heavy breading. Broiled octopus (tender and good quality) that were savory after all the redundant sauce was scraped away. “Lobstercargot” failed. This was a dish served in a traditional escargot plate, little chunks of lobster in a traditional garlic and butter sauce. Something went wrong. Cheese (possibly cream) was added to the sauce. Glop. At end of the meal, very personable manager appeared and removed sangria and chowders from the bill. Apologized for the delays. Consolation for the bad meal was the very modest expense.

HG/BSK plus SJ, Handsome Haru and delicious little Teru, are busy having sun and sea fun at the RAM SEA CONDO complex in the North Redington Beach neighborhood of St. Petersburg, Fla. The group has a nice and big beachfront space (three bedrooms and two bathrooms plus laundry room) with a spacious terrace overlooking the sea. Only thing missing is Exquisite Maiko. HG/BSK’s talented daughter-in-law is running ONI SAUCE at the Brooklyn Smorgasburg and delighting the crowds with her fabulous Japanese fried chicken, Gobo Chips and Beef Skewers all drenched in her incredible Chili (Rayu) and Onion sauces (also for sale). So, Florida fun this year without EM. Lots of sun and swimming today. Ocean water is warm and friendly. Ended sun fun with a hot tub soak and bracing shower. Raging dinner appetites. Off to Keegan’s Seafood Grille for a feast. Scallop ceviche. Conch fritters. Steamed, warm Gulf shrimp with melted butter. Gumbo. Broiled grouper with cole slaw and French fries. Fried calamari. Oysters–raw and steamed. (This was only disappointment. Not as tasty as last year’s bivalves. Must be getting them from another source). Back to the apartment for salt caramel gelato, almond honey crunch and bourbon whiskey. Joy. Joy. Joy.

As you all know, there are plenty of Jewish jokes; however, there are only a few Jewish jokes about food. Maybe food is so important to Jews (including HG) that it can’t be a laughing matter. Plenty of Jewish waiter jokes: “Customer: There’s a fly in my soup. Waiter: So, how much can it drink?” “Customer: Is the brisket good? Waiter: Too good for you.” “Customer: Taste the soup. Waiter: What’s wrong? It’s no good? Customer: Taste the soup. Waiter: Everybody loves this soup. Customer: Taste the soup. Waiter: Okay, give me your spoon. Customer: AH HAH!!!” There’s the Catskills hotel classic. A woman complains:”The food here is terrible. And, such small portions.”(Woody Allen used the joke as a parable for human life). Jews are irreverent about authority figures, even religious authorities (Okay, this isn’t true about the Chassids). There are lots of Rabbi jokes but few about food. Only two that HG knows: Aged Rabbi decides he should taste pork before he dies. Goes to a distant restaurant where he isn’t known. Looks at menu. Orders suckling pig. It is presented to him on a platter with an apple in the piglet’s mouth. At that moment the president of his synagogue enters. “This is terrible. What are you doing, Rabbi? The Rabbi responds: “I ordered a baked apple and look what they brought me!!!” The other concerns a confessional chat between a Rabbi and Priest on a plane. The punchline: “Beats the hell out of bacon, doesn’t it, Father?” You can fill in the rest.

During HG’s young years, HG’s late, beloved father, Hershele Zvi Freimann (anglicized at Ellis Island to “Harry Freeman”), would arrive home after work in a breathless state. It was a long, uphill trudge from the Bronx’s 170th Street subway station (later the Kingsbridge station). Hershele hung up fedora and coat. Opened the refrigerator to get a piece of schmaltz (or home pickled) herring. Tore off a hunk of pumpernickel bread (Pechter’s or Stuhmer’s). Poured a substantial glass of Park & Tilford rye whiskey (tiny glass for little HG). Hershele and HG clinked glasses and said: “L’chaim !! (To Life). Hershele knocked off the big glass in one mighty gulp and followed it with the herring/pumpernickel chaser (HG opted for a small piece of bread). Yes, immigrant Jews like Hershele enjoyed alcohol. The pre-dinner drink was known as a “brumfen.” At the end of dinner, a dessert of fruit compote was served with a glass of home brewed “vishniak” (cherry brandy). Thus, HG grew up believing alcohol was part of dining. Hershele (and HG in later life) always accompanied spirits with food. HG sips bitters and soda before a meal with one or two shrimp, ceviche from the Pojoaque (New Mexico) Super Market, or a simple, salted cracker. Wine accompanies dinner and HG sips an after dinner TV-watching-snifter of brandy (or Scotch) with a sweet: peanut brittle or Belgian Butter Cookies. Tonight, HG’s meal will be an homage to much missed Hershele. There will be a bottle of icy Aakavit on the table plus dark ale brewed by New Mexico monks. Two kinds of herring: Pickled and Matjes. Gefilte fish and Jewish Rye Bread (both from New York’s Zabar’s via visiting Peter Hellman). Sliced sweet onions (from Texas). Boiled potatoes. Sour cream. For dessert: a thin slice of New York cheese cake with a snifter of brandy. HG will raise his glass of Aakavit and say “L’chaim !!. With a second glass, HG will raise it and say: “To your blessed memory, beloved Hershele.”

Dave Frishberg, the witty singer/song writer/musician, now an LA resident and formerly a New Yorker, is often asked that question. So he wrote a song: “Do You Miss New York?”. And, the answer, of course is: Yes!! HG/BSK have lived in the Western United States (Colorado and New Mexico) and Canada (Vancouver and Prince Edward Island) for the last 31 years. BSK does not miss New York (or New Jersey). HG has complex feelings. There’s nostalgia, of course. HG is nostalgic about the Upper West Side in the sixties. Movie houses. Street scenes (old Holocaust survivors; junkies; professors; musicians; writers; sex workers; crazies; burglars). Apartments (huge and cheap). Food (Zabar’s, Barney Greengrass, Citarella’s, Nevada Meat Market, Broadway Nut Shop, etc.). Dining (Fleur de Lis; Paramount Famous Dairy; Gitlitz Delicatessen; Tip Toe Inn; many good, cheap Chinese and Cuban joints.) HG got a jolt recently while watching Mad Men. Roger and Joan get away from Madison Avenue and dine at Tip Toe Inn (set designers did a great job). They are mugged after their meal. Yes, that was a possibility on the old West Side before the real estate monsters and condo-maniacs chewed up the neighborhood. Zabar’s, Barney G. and Citarella’s remain. All else is gone. Today’s New York? It’s a place where foreign bad guys hide their money and a family has to earn a million bucks a year to enjoy an upper-middle class life (Condo or coop; housekeeper/nanny; summer home; private school for the kids.) HG/BSK had all of those things on $40,000 (or less) a year. Didn’t have a coop but paid $292 a month for a huge apartment (big living room with view of the Hudson River and The Palisades; separate formal dining room; modest windowed kitchen; four bedrooms; three bathrooms.) Read it and weep. There are things about the New York of 2016 that HG loves. The museums are still great (the new Whitney on the West Side and the Met Breuer on Madison are grand additions). Strolling on the High Line. HG daughter Victoria and husband /chef Marc Meyer’s four superior downtown restaurants: Rosie’s (Mexican); Vic’s (Italian); Cookshop and Hundred Acres (farm to table ingredients, American with Mediterranean flavors). Good value, wonderful food, deft service, joyous atmosphere. Dining with SJ in Flushing (Chinese and Korean) and the Forest Hills neighborhood of Queens (robust Uzbekistan cuisine). HG’s annual lunch with Victoria at Balthazar, better than any Paris brasserie. Shopping with BSK at Uniqlo. Gallery and museum hopping with BSK. Wandering (and eating) in Brooklyn, much hipper than Manhattan. HG/BSK mourn that they can’t eat at Oni Sauce, the fabulous Japanese home cooking and Asian sauce stand daughter-in-law Exquisite Maiko Sakamoto (and partner) are running at Smorgasburg, Brooklyn’s famous al fresco food court. So, does HG miss New York? Not often, but sometimes.

“March Madness” is almost finished and HG has been enjoying the basketball battles of the lengthy athletes. When the ball goes in the basket, HG murmurs: “Good like Nedick’s !!”. The late Marty Glickman, the radio voice of New York sports for many years, used that phrase when Nedick’s, a New York hot dog chain, sponsored Knicks games.(Glickman also intoned “Swish!!” when a ball went into the net without hitting the backboard or rim). The phrases became part of New York street language. After making a good shot on the asphalt courts that dotted The Bronx, the player would shout: “Swish!!” or “Good like Nedick’s !!”. (HG had previously mentioned the excellence of the super-cheap Nedick’s lunch of the 1950’s: Two hot dogs on toasted buns. Special, tangy mustard relish. Good orange drink. Cost was less than a dollar). Glickman’s voice was ubiquitous on New York radio. Staccato delivery. Accurate coverage of games. In addition to the Knicks, he was the voice of the New York Giants football team; the Jets; college basketball from Madison Square Garden. Glickman was born in The Bronx of Jewish immigrant parents and raised in Brooklyn where he was known as the “Flatbush Flash.” He was a star football player (Scored two touchdowns in a famous upset of Cornell) and a track team sprinter at Syracuse University. Selected for the U.S. 400-yard relay team in the 1936 Berlin Olympics (along with another Jewish dash man, Sam Stoller). One day before the relay event in Nazi Germany, the Jewish athletes were replaced by Jesse Owens and Ralph Metcalfe, both African-American. The American team won the event in record time and helped Jesse Owens attain immortality by being the first athlete to gain four Olympic medals. Glickman claimed that he and Stoller were replaced because of the anti-Semitism of US Olympic Chairman Avery Brundage who wanted to appease Hitler by not having two Jews standing on the winner’s platform. Glickman was always bitter about the incident even after the US Olympic Committee apologized in 1998 and gave him a gold plaque (Sam Stoller had died earlier). Some other notes: Contrary to the legend, Hitler did shake hands with Owens and Owens carried a photo of the handshake in his wallet the rest of his life. Owens was angered that President Franklin D. Roosevelt never invited him to the White House or sent him a congratulatory message. (Hitler said Black athletes should be barred from future Olympic games because their physiques were “superior” to those of Whites). Two years after the Berlin Olympics, in 1938, Hitler awarded Brundage’s construction company the contract to build the German Embassy in Washington, D.C.

HG has been looking at the March 21 cover of The New Yorker for some days. Each look brings a smile. The cover, “Spring Forward,” features a gentleman with a green mustache; pink, white and green blossoms; a small black and white dog. The artist is Maira Kalman, an HG favorite. A joy looking at the cover and walking in HG/BSK’s gardens alive with daffodils, hyacinths and golden forsythia. Spring is alive and well in New Mexico. Maira Kalman is a delightful, multi talented artist, illustrator and designer. Born in Tel Aviv in 1949. Came to USA when she was four. Lives in Brooklyn (of course). She was married, until his untimely death (at age 50) to Tibor Kalman, founder of the very successful cutting edge design company, M & Company. Maira Kalman shares HG’s love for dogs and Pete, a cute little guy, was her companion for many years. Maira is prolific. More than a score of books, a number of New Yorker covers and illustrations for other magazines. Wrote a blog for The New York Times, “Principles of Uncertainty” which was later published as a book. She’s done a number of very funny books of illustrations featuring, Max, The Poet Dog. These including “Max in Hollywood, Baby” and “Ooh, La, La , Max Is In Love” (in Paris). HG/BSK’s gifted daughter, Lesley R., introduced HG/BSK to Maira with a Christmas gift of Beloved Dog, a charming book inspired by Pete and dedicated to Maira’s children. Buy it if you enjoy dogs, quirky and witty art, life. Published by Penguin Bookis

Lent is ending. Easter Sunday just a day away. The Holy week is very special in northern New Mexico where HG/BSK live. The Pentitntes (Members of the religious brotherhood, Los Hermanos Penitentes) have started to appear trudging along Highway 285/84. They walk for many miles to El Santuario de Chimayo, the church in the little town of Chimayo. The taxing walk serves to link them with “the passion and pain of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” They believe El Santuario has curative powers (Some eat a bit of the earth upon which El Santuario stands). Los Hermanos was founded in Spain and Italy some 800 years ago. It has been active in New Mexico for 400 years. Many New Mexican restaurants like Pojoauque’s El Parasol and Sopaipilla Factory offer Lenten specialties. HG’s favorite is El Parasol’s crisp fried cod on a bun lined with shredded lettuce and mayonnaise. Though an atheist, HG celebrates the Passover Seder meal (Aprill 22 this year). HG/BSK’s Seder is a rather irreverent affair featuring plenty of drinking, laughter and song. After all, Passover is like most Jewish holidays: “They tried to kill us. They failed. So, let’s eat and drink a lot.” Traditionally, HG/BSK start the meal with jarred Manischewitz gefilte fish. HG is not fond of this product (It is a mere shadow of the savory, handcrafted gefilte fish–think of it as a Jewish Quenelle– made by HG’s late Mom.) HG is lobbying for Baba Ganoush, a wonderful Middle Eastern eggplant dish made from scratch by HG. (It’s nice scooped up by matzos). The Seder main dish will be brisket or lamb kefte (Garlicky cigar-shaped meatballs). Dessert: Passover cookies plus strong drink–Slivovitz, Vishniak, Grappa, Limoncello, Cognac. Hey, Pharoah. Gotcha!! If there was a Jewish order of Penitentes, HG would join. Might help atone for a sin of HG’s youth: When HG was ten, HG and his pals paid a visit to a large appetizing store in the Bronx. Besides traditional smoked fish, the store offered nuts, dried fruit, hard candies–all in big, open burlap bags. Maxwell House Coffee Company distributed free Hagadahs (the little book used for the story and songs of the Seder) to stores in Jewish neighborhoods (a PR gesture). Having the sunniest and most honest face, HG approached the owner (who worked behind the smoked fish counter) and asked for some free Maxwell House Hagadahs: “We all want to study them before the Seder.” The owner praised the pious lad and while he searched for the religious tomes, HG’s buddies filled their pockets with many goodies. HG believes HG’s diversionary chat with the store owner was the seed which later sprouted into HG’s successful career as a public relations counsel for New York’s mightiest landlords and real estate developers. All goniffs. Like HG’s childhood pals.

HG grew up during The Great Depression. Never had a dog pet. Dogs were scarce in those days. Folks had enough trouble putting food on the table without being concerned about nourishing an animal. BSK always had a dog (Her favorites were Bambi One and Bambi Two). So, soon after they married (almost 53 years ago) a dog came into HG’s life. His name was Peaches, an Apricot Standard poodle. HG loved Peaches, even though he was a difficult dog (BSK claims this was due to HG’s objections to having Peaches neutered). Many mishaps with Peaches. He once trotted out of HG/BSK’s Fire Island dune house to urinate on a carefully prepared clambake hosted by neighbors. Peaches was perpetually hungry (like most dogs). Ate everything in sight. Peaches once grabbed a big steak off a barbecue. HG (faster in those days) chased the naughty dog, Pried the steak out of his jaws. Cut away the piece Peaches had nibbled. Served the rest to appreciative dinner guests. When children arrived, each had a dog. Lesley R. had Sassafras, a Golden Labrador. SJ had Jesse, a floppy eared Springer Spaniel. They came under HG/BSK’s care after the kids left the house. Sassy was a very smart and loving dog. Jesse was needy, and nervous. Soon after HG/BSK moved to their Colorado horse ranch, Sassy was shot in the head by a neighbor. Because of Sassy’s coloring, the aged neighbor mistook Sassy for a coyote. A veterinary student lived nearby and her emergency care saved Sassy. months. Health deteriorated but the brave dog survived for a number of years. Finally, the end came. HG was responsible for Sassy’s euthanasia. Very sad and tearful moment. A few years later, Bobo arrived. Bobo was a Newfoundland. A very big (150 pounds) black dog. Looked like a friendly bear. Gentle, sweet, loving and very, very smart. HG/BSK had not planned for Bobo. He was inherited from Lesley and Massimo R. when the couple moved from a Massachusetts home into a Hartford rental condo where it was impractical to keep a dog when they were both away at demanding jobs (Massimo was teaching at Brown and Lesley was editing The Hartford Advocate, an alternative newspaper.) Bobo proved to be a delight. When HG or BSK were seated, Bobo would rest his giant head in their laps. At the appropriate time, BSK would say: “Bedtime, Bobo.” Bobo would trot downstairs, use his giant paw to open the door to the garage, close the door behind him and go to sleep on the garage floor. Because of his massive fur coat, Bobo liked to sleep in the cool garage. Bobo enjoyed eating leftover pasta. Because of the olive oil, Bobo’s black coat glistened. He was also fond of stale baguettes. He would have a few bites and then bury the rest. Bobo would wander the hills and mountain slopes of the 150-acre ranch and bring back bones and parts of dead animals. He once parked half of a dead elk in front of HG/BSK’s home entry door. Bobo accompanied HG everywhere, often riding in the passenger seat of HG’s Camry. Gave fellow motorists a shock. HG would take Bobo to lunch at a dim sum restaurant on Denver’s Federal Boulevard. HG would feed Bobo Chinese tidbits while the diminutive waitstaff would look on, semi-paralyzed with fear. Once, BSK looked out the rear door of HG/BSK’s kitchen and saw a large black form. It’s Bobo, thought BSK. Looked around. Bobo was lounging near BSK’s feet. Uh oh. The black form was a bear.Trotted away without doing any harm. Unfortunately, big dogs like Bobo are not long lived. It became time for euthanasia. At the pet hospital, Bobo turned around to give HG one last soulful look. Saying farewell and rest in peace, a pained and tearful HG hugged and kissed the faithful companion. HG vowed: No more dogs. The parting was just too emotional and painful. And, then came Toby, The Wonder Dog. Hopefully, the young fellow will outlive ancient HG.

The best, cutest, smartest, most lovable, most idiosyncratic dog in the world is HG/BSK’s fragrant and furry companion, Toby, The Wonder Dog. Toby came into HG/BSK’s life two years ago. BSK (accompanied by granddaughter, Gorgeous Sofia, living with HG/BSK at the time) found Toby at a dog shelter. He had been abandoned and mistreated. (must have been owned by a deranged individual). For HG/BSK and Sofia, it was love at first sight. Toby is a Havanese (a Cuban breed) with a bit of poodle in the mix. Toby has never had an “accident” in our home. Toby is discreet where he does his “business.” Toby is not destructive. Toby likes to lounge on HG/BSK’s leather sofa or lounge chair. No scratching. Toby does not shed. Toby is a watchdog, alert to any human or critter intrusion on HG/BSK’s property. Toby is not a finicky eater (though he is perpetually on the lookout for something edible). Toby is a perfect auto traveler, perches on the space between the front seats and admires the view. Toby is a wakeup dog, better than an alarm clock — When it’s time for HG to arise, Toby perches on the bed and licks HG’s ears. And, Toby smells good and has a sweet breath. Idiosyncrasies? When Toby is called he comes or does not come. Depends on his mood; however, a dog treat will always fetch him. Toby is very indecisive about being outdoors or indoors. (“Make up your mind, Toby!!!). Toby is probably spoiled. However he projects an abundance of love which HG/BSK return. In abundance.