HUNGRY GERALD

The sun played hide-go-seek with the clouds today and the wind whistled above a sea sprouting whitecaps or “whitecats” as Grandson Haru has dubbed them. Perfect day for strolling around the Prince Edward Island bushes harvesting (and eating) raspberries, blueberries and the hundreds of serviceberries that have just ripened — HG predicts some some tasty crumbles in the HG future. The autumnal hints in the air called for steaming bowls of chowder. And, that’s what BSK produced for dinner. BSK’s “chowda” (as its called in New England) consisted of a plenitude of little neck clams, an abundance of fresh corn, chunks of PEI potatoes, thick cut bacon, milk and tarragon. Accompanied by a ciabatta from the master bread maker who sells out of the Cardigan Farmers Market. This chowda is what New England Clam Chowder should taste like — a luscious soup where the briny sweetness of clams is highlighted by the porky under-notes of bacony goodness instead of the gummy, over-thickened and under-clammed nightmare that most restaurants are happy to pass off as Clam Chowder. BSK’s sister, Noel, and husband, Yossi M., are on a brief PEI visit. As landlocked Coloradans, the couple is appreciative of these treats from the sea.

Does anyone read the works of Max Beerbohm anymore? Or look (with amusement) at his brilliant caricatures? HG has been a lifelong fan of this adroit and elegant personality, an English dandy of the Edwardian era. Dead for some 57 years, his prose (described as “lapidary” by one critic) still sparkles. As rain lashed Prince Edward Island, HG found solace sipping locally distilled pastis from the Myriad View Distillery and reading Mainly On the Air, a collection of Sir Max’s BBC radio broadcasts and essays. What is magical about this collection is that Beerbohm writes about forgotten writers, obscure playwrights, antique music hall songs and performers and makes HG smile in remembrance of a life HG never lived. There are wonderful archaic phrases and English words that have withered from disuse. Max makes them live again. George Bernard Shaw called him “The Incomparable Max.” Very apt. Beerbohm, during his lifetime, published many books of prose, fiction and dramatic criticism as well as volumes of caricatures. A nice introduction to his work and character is the charming book, Portrait of Max, by S.N. Behrman, a collection of articles Behrman did for The New Yorker Magazine.

In the past, HG enjoyed mackerel in its traditional marinated form, often found as an entree in Paris bistros and modest French eateries in New York’s West Side. Other than that, mackerel was an unknown food for HG — a mystery fish sometimes spotted in lurid tins in the dusty shelves of the supermarket. Little did HG know that he would one day meet Exquisite Maiko and sample her deft way with this fish, a fish that is found in abundance in the seas off Prince Edward Island. Yesterday, EM visited the fishing port of Naufrage and came away with a gift of a dozen mackerel pulled from the sea just hours before (Yes, the fishermen gave EM the fish for free because the catch is so abundant and there is no market for fresh mackerel on PEI. Go figure.). Last night, EM served the mackerel in three different forms: As thinly sliced sashimi on a platter beautifully garnished with slivers of tomato, scallion and ginger. As tataki, finely chopped and mixed with rice vinegar and other flavors and then topped with scallions and nori. As then as filets, grilled simply and consumed with a bit of soy sauce and sriracha. In addition, EM cooked some Mapo Tofu, tofu in a spicy, ground pork sauce. Sensational. Prince Edward Island is far from Japan but EM has made the HG/BSK kitchen into a tiny corner of culinary Tokyo.

Mussels are a significant part of the Prince Edward Island economy and a significant part of HG/BSK’s cuisine when they are in residence on the gentle green Island. Mussels steamed with onion, garlic, white wine, clam broth and parsley was on the menu last night. Gifted Daughter Lesley did the preparation and added her own touch: Chunks of hot and spicy Chorizo sausage. Made the dish memorable. Lesley preceded this with something she had enjoyed many times while living in Venice with her family: “schie” (tiny, baby shrimp) with soft, white polenta. Lesley reproduced this using the flavorful Newfoundland fresh water shrimp (purchased from the By the Bay Fish Mart in St. Peter’s) and stone ground grits. Demanding Lesley complained the American grits were not as smooth as Venetian polenta. No complaints from HG. Lesley had gently heated the shrimp with a nice mixture of white wine, olive oil and garlic. A sprinkling of hot pepper. HG found the shrimp married happily with the grits and did not pause before going in for a second…nay, third helping.

HG has enjoyed some of the world’s great fish dishes. Sole swimming in fragrant butter at Le Dome in Paris. Perfect grilled Dover sole at J.Sheekey in London. Crisp sauteed Long Island flounder at Esca in New York. Shad and shad roe at two New York landmarks of yesteryear–Christ Cella and Gage & Tollner. Sublime striped bass at the greatest of all seafood restaurants–New York’s Le Bernardin. As good or better than any of these dishes is the sole prepared by HG’s Japanese daughter-in-law, Exquisite Maiko, the talented chef/caterer. HG has enjoyed this EM creation with fish purchased from Whole Foods (Santa Fe); Fairway (Brooklyn) and By The Bay Fish Mart (Prince Edward Island). All splendid but the PEI version is the best since the fish is just hours out of the sea. Here’s how EM does it. First, garlic slices and then shredded, preserved kombu are gently browned to a crisp in canola oil and drained on a paper towel. EM then places the sole in the remaining oil — still fragrant from the garlic and seaweed. Adds sake. Covers the pan and steams over a medium/low flame. When done, the sole is placed on a warmed platter. EM adds soy sauce to the pan with the oil and sake mix. Swirled and reduced slightly, this sauce is poured over the sole. The final touch is topping the dish with the garlic chips and crisped seaweed. As interpreted by EM, this is Japanese cooking at its best. Light. Fragrant. Flavorful. HG/BSK will try to replicate this dish in EM’s absence. Are sure it will be tasty but will lack that special Maiko magic.

HG doesn’t spend his days only writing and thinking about food and drink. Today, HG thought about wit. No, not funny. There are lots of funny people around. Woody Allen, David Sedaris, Steve Martin, Jack Handey, Paul Rudnick, Marshall Brickman and Ian Frazier (yes, the author of On The Rez and Travels in Siberia can be hilarious) and others make HG laugh.(Alas. Dave Barry discontinued his column, a weekly shower of laughs). Wit, however, is scarce. What HG has in mind when he thinks of wit are the off-the-cuff, un-rehearsed one liners, retorts, apt insults, swift characterizations and satirical comments that have bite and savor. The French call these (and HG paraphrases) “staircase remarks,” meaning that they are the remarks you would have used to demolish the dinner party boor; unfortunately, you only thought about these cutting words after you have left the party and are walking down the staircase. Wit takes many forms, not all destructive (although malice does contribute a certain spark). Here are examples of wit that HG treasures. You may have heard many of them but bear with HG and allow the Hungry Guy to bore you: Lady Astor to Winston Churchill: “If you were my husband I’d put poison in your coffee.” The retort: “If I was your husband, I’d drink it.” The legendary British politician Benjamin Disraeli’s description of an unfortunate dinner party: “Everything was cold but the champagne.” Disraeli’s culinary advice (true then and now): “Vote with the liberals. Dine with the Tories.” Truman Capote to a rowdy who displayed his male member and said: “Autograph this.” Capote looked at the unprepossessing organ and said: “Well, I could initial it.”

Show business folk have been responsible for many memorable lines. The great playwrights George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart were summoned to the hotel room of the volatile, brilliant director, Jed Harris. Harris received them in the nude. There was a heated discussion of the play they were working on. Nobody mentioned Harris’ lack of clothing. But, upon leaving, Kaufman murmured: “Jed, your fly is open.” Screenwriter Harry Kurnitz was a renowned Hollywood wit. When Ernst Lubitsch was fired from his job as a studio head but didn’t leave his office immediately, Kurnitz remarked: “Forgotten. But, not gone.” And, it was Kurnitz who characterized the marketing campaign for the film The Outlaw, a campaign that emphasized the actress Jane Russell’s robust cleavage: “The Sale of Two Titties.”

Jewishness and its many manifestations have elicited some memorable lines. Walter Matthau (who began his career on the Yiddish stage) wrecked his sailboat and was forced to make an emergency docking at a very exclusive, WASPY (and presumably anti-semitic) yachting club. The club commodore asked Matthau: “And, who are your people, Mr. Matthau?.” Matthau’s answer was succinct: “Goyim.” Groucho Marx once inquired of the director of a restricted country club: “I’m only half Jewish. Can I play nine holes?” And, it was Marx who said of the Presidential hopeful Barry Goldwater (who was of Jewish ancestry): “I always knew the first Jewish President would be an Episcopalian.” HG will leave the last word (a bitter and sardonic piece of wit) to Otto Kahn, the very elegant and cultivated Jewish financier and art patron. When asked for a definition of a “kike,” Kahn retorted: “A Jewish gentleman who has just left the room.”

Cookbooks make for pleasant reading and often better viewing (some cookbook photography is so lustfully shot that it is basically pornographic). They often have good cooking ideas and can serve as an active spur to the imagination. But, very few contain recipes that, when followed step-by-step, turn out right. Mark Bittman, the ubiquitous Bittman, is the great advocate of simplicity and a best-selling cookbook author. In HG’s opinion, Bittman’s recipes disappoint. They should be read as creative outlines to constructing a dish rather than precise instructions. The recipes in Saveur Magazine sure read good but make for unfortunate eating (SJ disagrees). HG relies on three cookbook authors: Mimi Sheraton (the former New York Times restaurant reviewer); the late Michael Field and Marcella Hazan, the woman who has had a powerful and positive impact on cooking Italian food in the home kitchen. Mimi Sheraton’s cookbook, From My Mother’s Kitchen, is an HG favorite. There is a strong emphasis on Jewish cooking (but not kosher—there are good recipes for clams, lobster and a ham-and-bean soup). The recipes are can’t miss and they emphasize simple things like matzo brei, blintzes, fish salads, pan broiled steaks and hamburgers, etc. Michael Field’s books feature precise recipes. Do exactly as he says and you have a winner dish. Always. Marcella Hazan is invaluable. However, it is necessary to adjust the quantities. She likes, in the Italian fashion, a lot of pasta and a little bit of sauce. A lot of Americans (including HG/BSK) like the reverse.

www.LauHound.com is one of HG’s and SJ’s favorite food blogs. While it is indispensable for lovers of Chinese and other Asian food, the reviews touch on a wide range of deliciousness (even introducing HG and SJ to the best Greek pastries in NYC). Lau’s restaurant reviews have unusual depth, analyzing anywhere from six to a dozen of a restaurant’s offerings. But, like any restaurant reviewer, Lau is not infallible. He recently called Hong Kong Cafe the best restaurant in Chinatown. Based on that praise, SJ (and famille) and HG’s Restaurateur Daughter Victoria dined there. Their unanimous verdict: Ungood; however SJ’s faith in Lau is unshaken — every restaurant can have an off night, and SJ will give Hong Kong Cafe a second chance. What makes reading Lauhound a delight is his straightforward prose, devoid of any hint of irony or humor — a sort of Friday (from Dragnet) of culinary delights — “Just the food ma’am.” He can be unconsciously funny. HG was beguiled and amused by his recent review of Main Street Imperial, a Taiwanese restaurant in the Flushing neighborhood of New York. In particular Lau discusses a dish of “Putz Fish” with seemingly no mention or understanding that “Putz” is the Yiddish word for penis (turns out the Taiwanese “Putz” is a berry or fruit — in Lau’s own words “The thing that I ended up liking the best about this dish was the putz; it reminded me of a sweet olive”). Irregardless of Lauhound’s lack of Yiddish skills, HG and SJ will continue to look forward to his posts and discovering wonderful food based on his acute observations.

SJ, in his role as the head of Deadly Dragon Sound System (esteemed selectors of Jamaican music) entertained a crowd last week gathered at Caracas Arepa Bar located at Seaside Avenue (103rd Street) and the Rockaway Beach Boardwalk; it was once the home of Sligo Tavern and other raucous Irish entertainment venues. SJ reported that while many repairs are still needed, Rockaway was full of life and strongly recovering after the Hurricane Sandy devastation. Brought back memories of HG’s teenage days at that proletarian playground. At various times during the summer, HG’s boy and girl pals would have a night time beach party on the Rockaway sands. Communal blankets were brought to the beach. If a couple who were “going together” brought their own blanket it was a tip-off that they would wander away from the group for some serious intimacy. A bonfire was built and hot dogs and marshmallows were toasted in the flames. Much beer was drunk. In those days underage youngsters could easily purchase beer. One night, HG’s buddy, Larry M., brought a bottle of vodka. Mixed it with grapefruit juice, it proved potent. Larry M. had an interesting career. Unlike most of us, Larry did not go to college but pursued a profitable career as a marijuana dealer. After some years, he abandoned illegal activity and became a very wealthy shopping center developer and Democratic party fund raiser. An ironic note: His close friend, Willie, became a New York City policeman and was shot to death in a West Side hotel during a drug arrest.

There is an addition to HG/BSK’s Prince Edward Island kitchen. It is a Russian poster advertising caviar. An appetizing — and rivetingly beautiful — piece of art. Featured in the poster is what appears to be a one pound tin of Beluga, a smaller tin (Sevruga, perhaps?) and a leaping sturgeon. All set against a background of intense blue. This is a gift from our recent houseguest Nir Bareket (and his lovely long time companion, Wendy W.). Nir, who lives in Toronto, found it in a Toronto gallery. It is another example of Nir’s remarkable eye. Nir is a distinguished photographer. His 50-year career as a photographer will be the subject of a retrospective sponsored by the City of Toronto. The show will open in April 2014. HG/BSK hope to be there.