HUNGRY GERALD

Last night, BSK placed a platter of delectable adobo dusted pork chops on the table and anoounced: “P’ok chops.” HG replied: “Thanks, Daisy Mae.” Older followers of Hungry Gerald know this was a reference to Li’l Abner, the immensely popular and influential comic strip created by Al Capp (1909-1979). Since the strip ceased publication in 1977 after a 43-year run, younger folks might not be familiar. L’il Abner was set in the impoverished mountain town of Dogpatch, Arkansas. L’il Abner, a strapping and guileless youth, was a member of the Yokum family of hillbillies. Daisy Mae Scraggs, a shapely lass in flimsy clothing, tried (to no avail) to marry Abner. The innocent lad was oblivious. His major interest was his favorite dish: “P’ok chops.” The strip featured numerous imaginatively named characters: “Moonbeam McSwine”–a gorgeous girl who liked to loll about with pigs; “Evil Eye Fleegle”–a zoot suited New Yorker capable of giving adversaries the “whammy”; “Senator Phogbound”–a Dixiecrat windbag; “Stupefyin’ Jones” –a woman so beautiful she reduced men to instant paralysis after one glimpse; “J. Roaringham Fatback”–the quintessential greedy capitalist; “The Scraggs”—Daisy Mae’s terrible (shudder) relatives who lived in Skunk Hollow; “Joe Bftplsk” –the unlucky guy who lived under a perpetual black cloud. One of Capp’s inventions was the Shmoos, loveable, ham shaped creatures who fulfilled all food needs: They produced excellent milk and butter; when roasted or baked they tasted like ham or pork; when fried, they tasted like chicken; when broiled, they tasted like steak. Capp’s characters became part of the American language and folklore. He even spawned an event: Sadie Hawkins Day. Two examples of Li’l Abner influence: An unattractive neighborhood in Fire Island, the lovely barrier beach off New York’s Long Island, is known to the present day as “Skunk Hollow.” BSK spent a number of years guiding the public/media/government/community relations of developer Greg Stevinson as he successfully built a vast, diversified retail-office-residential community on a large family land holding — sneeringly dubbed “Dogpatch” before BSK came along and worked her magic. At its height, the Li’l Abner strip reached 60,000,000 Americans in 900 newspapers and appeared in 100 foreign periodicals in 28 countries. It spawned a movie and a Broadway musical (Julie Newmar played Stupefyin’ Jones and became a star without saying a word). John Updike called the character, Li’l Abner, “a modern Candide” and John Steinbeck suggested Al Capp for a Nobel Prize in Literature. HG is sorry the strip no longer exists. The hedge funders, oligarchs, sexist bigots and nay saying-Republicans could use a blast of Capp’s withering satirical wit.

During HG’s many years as a public relations expert HG interacted with many important architects and interior designers (HG has particularly pleasant memories of the renowned architect Mies van der Rohe and the interior designer Jay Spectre — both deceased). HG has continued to be interested in architecture and design. Some 300 books on these subjects (as well as 30-years worth of World of Interiors magazine) adorn (or clutter) HG/BSK’s shelves. Viewing the latest James Bond extravaganza (HG misses Sean Connery), HG thought of previous Bond films, specifically Goldfinger. HG began humming the memorable theme song of the film and this led HG’s thoughts to Erno Goldfinger, the emigre architect who played an important role in bringing modernist architecture to Britain. Goldfinger designed and built 1-3 Willow Road, a group of very modern terraced houses adjacent to London’s Hampstead Heath. Goldfinger occupied one of these houses. They replaced some old cottages. This aroused the anger of Ian Fleming, writer of the James Bond novels. Some violent verbal battling between Fleming and Goldfinger. Fleming’s revenge was to name his gold-obsessed villain after Goldfinger (Fleming wanted to call his villain “Goldprick” but was talked out of it). Erno Goldfinger was continually maddened by telephone callers humming the “Goldfinger” movie theme. One of the other Willow Road houses (beautiful, clean lined interiors) was occupied by HG’s friend, the multi-talented Bob Judd, auto racing novelist (he is to auto racing what Dick Francis is to horse racing); poet; former ad executive. In his Goldfinger-designed kitchen, Bob once served HG/BSk a dinner of a poached Irish salmon with fennel braised in chicken broth and much butter. Memorable.

There has never been an in-depth culinary history of the American Presidency. HG thinks this would be a worthy task for a historian. It might provide a variety of cultural insights and make good reading. A food obsessive like HG would like to know what was served at state dinners and what Presidential families ate in the White House dining room. Did Calvin Coolidge spoon up New England clam chowder? Did Herbert Hoover and Richard Nixon (both California guys) predate Alice Waters with Golden State cuisine? What did George Washington chomp on with his wooden teeth? It turns out that Thomas Jefferson was a pasta fiend (importing both dried varieties and a pasta machine) who served Marcaroni with Parmesan cheese to his guests, but did this Italian bent extend to wines? No, it was French all the way (influenced by his residence in Paris). He was a regular importer of excellent vintages.Sure, LBJ and Bush Senior and Junior stressed their love for Texas barbecue but was this just politicking? We know that FDR and Eleanor served lousy food. We know Nixon liked cottage cheese with a splash of ketchup. We know Bill Clinton liked down home, good old boy food when he was on the road but what did he, Hillary and Chelsea nosh on in Washington? Was JFK and Jackie’s cuisine really that good or was it just fancy French? Michelle, with her emphasis on health, seems to have undermined the opportunity for Obama food pioneering. HG was hoping for some Chicago style soul food in the White House but this has been overwhelmed by kale and broccoli.

Yes, little HG loved Shirley Temple (who just died). HG was not alone. In those dreary days of the Great Depression, everyone loved that spunky, adorable, talented little girl. Gloom disappeared when she appeared. Every morning little HG had his milk (or cocoa) in a cobalt blue Shirley Temple pitcher/cup. They are still available on e-bay for about $45. Hazel Atlas Glass Company and U.S. Glass company manufactured millions of them. They were a giveaway with a box of Wheaties or Bisquick. (The following may annoy HG’s Gifted Daughter Lesley R., a beautiful woman with a great heart and a great arsenal of talents and skills). The closest approximation HG/BSK ever found to Shirley Temple was daughter Lesley in her early years.. The endearing little lady with a head of tousled curls was precocious and talented. A true lookalike. And, very spunky.

Does HG do anything but eat, drink, think about food, write about food, reminisce about food and plan future travel/dining adventures? Yes. HG swims an hour a day. HG strolls in the meadows surrounding his New Mexico home; HG builds a nightly blaze in the fireplace, visits BSK in her art/pottery studio, listens to chamber music (namely Mozart, Bach and Beethoven). And, HG reads. Obligatory periodicals: New Yorker, New York, Economist, New York Review of Books, Vanity Fair, World of Interiors, Saveur, Bon Appetit, Santa Fe New Mexican, New York Times (online). And, non-fiction books. For some obscure reason, HG shuns fiction. Two recently read books HG recommends: Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth by Reza Aslan and Reappraisals: Reflections on the Forgotten Twentieth Century by Tony Judt. A critic summed up “Zealot” accurately: “Aslan rips Jesus out of all the contexts we thought he belonged in and holds him forth as someone entirely new. This is Jesus as a passionate Jew, a violent revolutionary, a fanatical ideologue, an odd and scary and extraordinarily interesting man.” Judt’s book Is a searching analysis of many things: Marxism, evil, history, foreign policy, Israel, the role of intellectuals. Judt (he died a few years ago, tragically too early, of Lou Gehrig’s disease) was a historian and thinker of great insight and uncompromising moral rigor. His landmark book, Postwar, an account of Europe’s recovery from the horrors and wreckage of World War Two, is obligatory reading if you wish to understand the troubled world we live in.

One of HG’s favorite food blogs is LauHound.com. LauHound writes about food and restaurants (primarily Asian) in New York, California, Singapore, Hong Kong and other regions. His prose is detailed, straight faced and totally devoid of humor or irony. Lau concentrates on the food (without overwhelming you with his personality) and illustrates the blog with mouth watering photos. Lau is not prolific (unlike HG). You can expect a new LauHound post once a month (or at longer intervals). HG’s only complaint about Lauhound is that there is a lot of reporting on Chinese bakeries. HG is not a fan of Chinese cakes and pastries. In HG’s opinion, this is a culinary art best left to the French, Danes and Viennese. Log in to LauHound’s new post on a New York Thai restaurant called Somtum Der. It will make you hustle down to Avenue A. (New York has changed. Yesteryear, Avenue A was a venue for drugs and violence…not savory dining).

Leon Trotsky, the fiery Russian revolutionary (murdered with an ice pick by Stalin’s henchman), said about his defeated political opponents: “Go where you belong from now on: into the dustbin of history.” Americans are equally unforgiving about losers. Witness that very silly, super hyped, mega commercialized, goofy event known as the Super Bowl. Peyton Manning was idolized as the ultimate quarterback, deserving of monuments and immortality, following his surgical dissection of the New England Patriots. Today, after being overwhelmed by the Seattle Seahawks, Peyton and the other Denver Broncos, are losers, locked in “the dustbin of history.” Yes, America treats losers badly. Statesmen once touted as the hope of the nation, become pathetic losers after being defeated in a presidential election. Aged HG, armed with the wisdom of advanced years, is dispassionate. HG knows nobody wins all the time and losing is just another aspect of life, a wondrous thing from which no one emerges alive.

HG will watch the Super Bowl with discerning BSK. The lady knows football having grown up in Ohio where football is a religion. BSK’s first boyfriend (HG is still jealous) was a high school All-American. Given that Super Bowl Sunday is (next to Thanksgiving) the biggest food consumption day in the United States, HG has given the day’s menu some thought. HG’s guide is SJ. Yes, when it comes to barbecue, pork roasts, gumbo and many other hearty culinary items, SJ is the ultimate authority, proof of Brooklyn’s leadership in robust dining. So, following SJ’s lead, HG will be off to the Pojoaque Super Market for a pork butt rimmed with a goodly amount of fat (the fat will baste the roast as it cooks). With a sharp knife, HG will make many small incisions in the butt and fill them with slivers of garlic. Then a rubdown with chile powder, adobo, cumin, smoked paprika, salt, pepper. (HG will add his own touch–a bit of soy sauce mixed with brown sugar). Let that sit in the fridge for the night wrapped in plastic. Then, come Sunday, HG will take the pork butt out, place in a cassarole dish, cover with tin foil and pop it into a 300 degree oven for a bit over four hours (which will hopefully conclude with the end of the game) Sounds good, right? Accompanying the roast will be warm tortillas, canellini beans, chopped raw onions, avocado slices, pico de gallo and an array of salsas (hot and sweet). Giving the meal a gala touch will be BSK’s green chile sauce (thoughtfully preserved in the freezer) plus BSK’s version of Calabacitas (a melange of fried zucchini, peppers, onions and corn). Dessert: Salted Caramel Gelato. During the three hour (or more) game, commercials, half-time extravaganza, learned analysis, HG will be sustained with a bowl of red chile menudo from El Parasol in Pojoaque. Menudo (for the uninitiated) is Mexican tripe stew. The way it is prepared at Jose and Alicia Atencio’s delightful, casual restaurant, it tops tripes a la mode de Caen or any other French or Italian tripe stew. While watching the TV, HG will drink (a modest amount) of tequila with Samuel Adams Ale chasers. BSK will nibble olives, Marcona almonds and Manchego cheese with her white wine. And, who will we root for?. The Broncos. But, because of HG/BSK’s love of the Pacific Northwest, there will be no mourning if Seattle wins. The overall winner, of course, will be HG and BSK’s happy, Southwestern-fed bellies.

April 1949. HG was in his third year at the uptown campus of the City College of New York (CCNY). The tuition free college was dubbed “the Harvard of the proletariat.” Tough to get into and an academically rigorous institution, CCNY was noted for producing Nobel Prize winners, scientists (Jonas Salk, conqueror of polio, among them), journalists and left wing activists. That spring some 65 years ago, CCNY was gripped by a student strike, a protest against anti-semitism in the Spanish language department and racial segregation in the college dormitories. The misguided college administration called in the police. With cries of “No cops on campus”, students battled the police. (HG was whacked in the arm with a billy club). Some 16 students were arrested. HG remembers a pal shouting defiantly as he was hurled into a paddy wagon. Big rally the next day in support of the jailed students (almost immediately released by a sympathetic judge). And, there on an improvised platform was Pete Seeger. He was 29 then but already an icon in folk music and left wing circles. With Pete leading, the campus burst into song. HG, his hand bandaged, shook hands with Seeger. “Keep fighting the good fight,” encouraged Seeger. Well, HG’s activism and political ardor cooled over the years. Pete remained the same, always present when “the good fight” was being fought. May that good, brave, talented man rest in peace.

Two events, one tragic and one sad, took place in New York City some 18 years ago. For HG, these events marked the end of New York’s Jewish ambience. Sure, the New York of that time, like today, had multitudes of Italians, Irish, African-Americans, Asians, and Hispanics. But, it was the Jews who set the overall tone of the city. The tragic event took place on March 5, 1996. On that day, Abe Lebewohl, the proprietor of the original Second Avenue Delicatessen (2nd Avenue and 10th Street), was shot and killed as he delivered cash receipts to a nearby bank. Lebewohl not only ran a great Jewish delicatessen, he was also a direct link to Second Avenue’s colorful past as the home of Yiddish theater. And, he honored that past by naming one of the delicatessen’s dining rooms after Molly Picon, a Yiddish musical star (and a favorite of HG’s Mom). Wonderful Jewish delicatessens like Gitlitz (79th and Broadway) are gone. Katz’s remains on the Lower East Side — a stalwart in these lean deli times where the venerable Carnegie Deli has devolved into a grotesque tourist trap known only for the over-stuffed size of their sandwiches.

The sad event was the closing of Lou G. Siegel’s on June 29, 1996. It had been in business for 79 years. Lou G. Siegel was a distinguished and dignified restaurant in the heart of New York’s Garment Center (38th Street just west of Seventh Avenue). It was strictly kosher (there were two Rabbis on the payroll) and the food was delicious, hearty and caloric. It was where observant Jewish (were there any other?) clothing executives dined. The non-observant big shot Jews ate at Al Cooper’s, further east on 38th. The garment workers frequented Dubrow’s and the other very good cafeterias in the vicinity. They are all gone. Seventh Avenue has been named “Fashion Avenue”. The Garment Center with its rabid union members, gangsters and famed lunchtime schmooze is now the Fashion District. The habitues of Siegel’s kingdom of chicken fat and rugelach would have a sardonic laugh. Siegel’s was the best of a host of traditional kosher restaurants that served meat ( Kosher law, “kashriuth”, forbids the mingling of meat and dairy products). Some of the other restaurants of that type were Moskowitz & Lupowitz and Gluckstern’s. Sammy’s Romanian (Allen and Delancey) is a survivor. The food (non-kosher) is tasty. The prices are steep. The atmosphere is a Jewish parody, a broad dialect joke. The great, strictly dairy (and fish) Jewish restaurants (Ratner’s, Rappaport’s, Steinberg’s, Paradise) are gone although some smaller operations still exist. This is not to say that there aren’t kosher restaurants left in New York — There are plenty of them spread throughout the five boroughs, catering to a new generation of the observant and a new group of Israeli and Russian Jewish immigrants. The menus would be un-recognizable to the observant Jews of fifty years ago as they feature kosher sushi, kosher Italian and kosher Indian food (amongst others). The restaurants HG misses most are those that were not kosher and had wide ranging menus that included, but were not confined to, Eastern European Jewish food. The three greatest, of course, were Lindy’s, Reuben’s and Tip Toe Inn. Gone. New York has, for better or worse, lost much of its Jewish flavor. It is now a truly international city with a cuisine to match. No, New York is no longer Jewish but it if you are hungry it’s a great town.