HUNGRY GERALD

The late, great journalist and press critic, A.J. Liebling, wrote the best book about dining (and Paris): Between Meals. He enjoyed many things besides food and drink (though he literally ate and drank himself to death). The Sweet Science reflects his love of boxing. The Jollity Building, The Honest Rainmaker and Earl of Louisiana are testimony to his fascination with raffish and outsize characters. He also had a nice habit of linking amorous pleasure with gustatory delight. He said the hearty eater thinking about the next fine meal is like the lover contemplating a future assignation. There is a threefold pleasure: Anticipation. Consummation. Reflection. HG thought about this as he opened a Fed Ex box from the wonderful Lower East Side smoked fish emporium, Russ & Daughters. It was packed meticulously and everything arrived in perfect condition. Smoked salmon. Sable. Salmon Caviar. Herring. Various fish salads. Cream cheese. Creme Fraiche. The bialys were a pleasant surprise. Oniony. Lightly browned. The real deal. When the last bialys from Russ were not gold standard, SJ admonished HG: “You don’t order herring from a bakery. You don’t order bialys from an appetizing store.” This batch of super-bialys proves SJ may be in error. As the chef/writer/television personality Anthony Bourdain has written: “Forget the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty…New York’s greatest living institution is very likely Russ & Daughters: A temple of uniquely New York deliciousness, Zen-like perfection and a repository of generations of wisdom and experience.”

Anyway. The Polish vodka is in the freezer. Anchor ale and Muscadet are in the refrigerator. All is in readiness for a David F. birthday party. Known as “The Dude,” (because of his resemblance to the protagonist of The Big Lebowski,) David F. is a bon vivant, novelist and former innovative educator. Should be a swell party. Meanwhile there is Anticipation. Consummation and Reflection will come later.

HG’s heart swelled a bit while watching the beautiful, elegant couple — Barack and Michelle — dance together at the Inaugural Ball. And, it followed the magnificent speech in which the President linked the battle for gay rights to this country’s ongoing efforts to achieve civil justice (sadly, much work has to be done). Memories were stirred: HG’s shock when, as a teenager, HG saw the omnipresent “Whites Only” signs in Atlanta. HG being physically assaulted when HG joined a picket line protesting the exclusion of an African-American war veteran from a New York swimming pool in 1946. HG in the 1948 student strike at CCNY which battled discriminatory practices at the College’s dormitory. HG’s shameful and reluctant acceptance, while a journalist in the early 1950’s, of the virulent racism in New York City law enforcement. On the brighter side: HG’s pride in meeting Martin Luther King and giving him strategic counseling concerning the civil rights movement and the Jewish community. And, most beautiful, the glow enveloping BSK when HG welcomed her back from Washington where BSK joined the historic March and heard Dr. King’s eloquent oration. HG and BSK watched the Inauguration and toasted the future. It all happened in one lifetime. Still hard to believe.

Escaped a cold snap in New Mexico by weekending in the luxurious casita at the Carefree, Arizona home of our hospitable friends, Henry and Judy G. Some of the highlights: Saw a delightful musical adaptation of Jane Austen’s “Emma.” The venue was the Herberger Theater Center in Phoenix, an elegant jewel of a theater with comfortable seats, excellent sight lines and good acoustics. The production was flawless. Perfectly sung, acted, staged, lit and costumed. HG and BSK agreed. Nothing beats good live theater. This experience was preceded by brunch at the nearby Chelsea’s Kitchen. Lots of beautiful people, Pretty room. Dazzling white wine sangria. HG relished hot cakes with real maple syrup, fruit and rashers of bacon. BSK knocked off a substantial platter of huevos rancheros. A sophisticated lineup of food and beverages. HG noted an Aperol Spritz and a bottle of Duvel Ale on the drinks menu. Chelsea’s is run by true professionals. Brunch was reminiscent of the weekend midday feast at Daughter Victoria’s Five Points Restaurant on Great Jones Street in New York.

HG had an Arizona food surprise. HG loves a good hot dog but hasn’t had one in years. HG’s thoughtful hosts transported HG to a very unlikely place. Costco. That’s right. Costco, the mammoth retailer that sells mammoth amounts of food and wine (among many other things). The modest sum of $1.50 buys a foot long Costco tube steak with relish,mustard, chopped onion plus a soft drink. HG managed to get down a pair of dogs. As good as Nathan’s Coney Island. That’s right. Sounds unlikely but so be it. The Costco bow wow is right up there with best of class.

Yes, HG becomes concerned about the beauty of the English language at a time when “fun” has become an adjective rather than a noun; a time when the adverb has been banished and “You’re welcome” has been replaced by “No problem.” However. There is still England and The Economist, a magazine that calls itself a newspaper. Every issue contains memorable English prose. Over the last months there was a review of a book: “God’s Doodle: The Life and Times of the Penis.” The review (as does the book, says the reviewer) proves that one can write about this significant appendage without prurience, pornography, puritanical fastidiousness or forced hearty jollity. And, there’s an obituary of Brian Cobby, “Britain’s Male Speaking Clock.” From 1985 to 2007, it was Cobby’s voice, on the other end of a telephone line, that gave Britons the correct time — accurate to within five milliseconds. This is an obituary that muses amusingly about Time and its various manifestations while, at the same time, painting a portrait of a delightful, typically English, eccentric. And any fan of HBO’s wonderful series Treme will love the article “Home-Grown and Spirit-Raised: An Exuberant New Orleans Ritual Commemorates the Friendship of Escaped Slaves and Native American.” in the Dec / Jan double issue. HG is no Economist press agent and HG is only faintly an obsessed Anglophile, so HG recognizes that good English prose can be found in some American publications. Adam Gopnik in the New Yorker always gives HG pleasure.

HG enjoys good (and eccentric) Rhode Island cuisine: Fried calamari with hot pickled peppers. Del’s Frozen Lemonade. New York Systems (wieners on a bun with celery salt, onions, mustard and a unique, Greek influenced meat sauce). Briny, clear clam chowder (no cream or tomatoes). Snail salad. HG does not share the Rhode Island obsession with Dunkin’ Donuts (highest per capita doughnut consumption in the US). But what stands Rhode Island apart is the quality of their clams. Yes, HG, a long time enthusiast for Long Island clams, must confess. Rhode Island clams are the best. They are tender, full of brine and juicy with clam goodness. Ornaments of the sea. HG and BSK are at the Riverside, R.I., home of Daughter Lesley and Profesor/’Dottore Massimo R. for family Christmas. Their home faces Naragansett Bay and their dining room is the venue for many sea treats. Tonight the treat was clam chowder prepared with potatoes, onions, tarragon and many, many, many juicy cherrystone clams. Lesley treats clams with respect. Never overcooked. The big, steaming bowls were a joy. There was a lovely bottle of white wine from Romagna. HG finished the meal with Stilton, grapes and Beaujolais. Grappa for a friendly nightcap.

This might be the best Christmas holiday ever. It began with the surprise gift to Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia R. of Pippy, certainly the most enchanting puppy HG has ever encountered. Then the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes (Jewish-Japanese-Italian style as befitting the multi-ethnic group). Three types of smoked salmon; smoked tuna; wasabi enhanced flying fish roe (Tobiko); whitefish; sable; red salmon caviar. All prime stuff from Russ & Daughters on New York’s Lower East Side. SJ also provided the table with plenty of scallion cream cheese and superior Kosar’s bialys, bagels and that baked rarity — the old fashioned “pletzel” (onion roll). Big bowls of sour cream plus raw onions, capers, lemon wedges and three varieties of pickles (sour, half-sours and green tomatoes). Lesely R. made her ethereal blinis and crepes while SJ sizzled his superb, crisp potato pancakes. But, for HG, the star of the feast was herring, namely raw Dutch herring from the cold waters of the Netherlands coast. HG coated the delicious morsels with chopped raw onions. Chilled Tito’s Vodka. Black and Tan (Guinesss Stout and Bass Ale, mixed half-and-half). HG drank these accompaniments to happy excess. Christmas morning, HG received gala gifts — a cane topped with the ivory head of a fierce eagle from Lesley and Massimo R.; a soft and warm flannel nightshirt plus nightcap; A Russian faux fur hat emblazoned with the hammer and sickle (warming gifts from BSK who likes a Heated Hubby); old time candy bars and a wanted book from SJ; a copy of the latest installment of Robert Caro’s monumental biography of LBJ and other literature from L. and M. R.; granola of the gods handcrafted by Gifted Granddaughter Arianna R. L. and M.R. gave BSK the complete Hellen Mirren/ “Prime Suspect” DVDs (perfect for chill weather viewing), SJ presented BSK with her own website, putting BSK’s glorious pottery online. Everyone else received thoughtful and glorious gifts. Wishes were fulfilled. Joy was unconfined. Sometimes materialism is sheer fun. Christmas Day dinner was a rerun of the previous feast with the addition of chopped liver plus pastrami and tongue from Katz’s Deli in New York plus smoked ham sourced by SJ from the illustrious Polish butcher, Jubilat Provisions in Brooklyn. Because of eccentric schedules and the arrival of Restaurateur Daughter Victoria F. on the day after Christmas, the Christmas dinner of brisket and assorted good things will be delayed for a day. Worth waiting for. (Also, HG must fully recover from much ingestion of an after dinner alcoholic digestif, Limoncello, handcrafted by Lesley R. for her bibulous Dad).

Dim Sum Go Go represented a new wave of dim sum in New York’s Chinatown (at East Broadway and Division) when it opened more than ten years ago. No huge noisy space with inscrutable women pushing carts. Just a pretty, modernist room with dim sum dishes served a’ la carte from an extensive menu. The Dim Sum was a revelation. Served piping hot, the flavors, ingredients and shapes of the dumplings broke the mold of what New Yorkers (up to that point) had come to expect from Dim Sum — there were green Sea Food dumplings as delectable as a tiny purse, a variety of strictly vegetarian choices with fillings like Chinese parsley and bamboo hearts, there were delicious sharksfin dumpling, pale yellow and springing with freshness and flavor. After some good years, Dim Sum Go Go seemed to go into decline. Yes, it was much favored by tourists because of guide book praise. But, gourmands like SJ and HG found it wanting. The good news is that the eatery seems to have regained its form. Daughter Victoria, the renowned proprietress (with husband Marc M.) of Cookshop, Five Points and Hundred Acres, hosted a brunch and it was splendid. Particularly enjoyed the crab dumpling, shrimp dumplings (har gow), the steamed spare ribs, spring rolls and pork buns. The place has retained its popularity so make a reservation.

Bao, that puffy Chinese bun often filled with a savory or sweet interior, is becoming New York’s new trendy nosh. HG has always loved Bao since his first encounter with the tasty treat — stuffed with savory pork — at Nom Wah Tea House in New York’s Chinatown during the early 50’s (at that time, Nom Wah was the only place in New York serving dim sum). HG is not suffering Bao deprivation in New Mexico. Ziggy’s, a splendid shop in Santa Fe, stocks frozen pork buns from O’Tasty Foods, Inc. (along with scores of other international culinary items). O’Tasty’s Bao is a great product (HG likes them with his morning coffee). O’Tasty is a leading supplier to good Chinese restaurants throughout the United States (you’ve probably enjoyed their products without being aware of their origin.) The company produces gyoza, dumplings, su mai and potstickers in addition to the buns. They are mostly a wholesale supplier but if you want them to ship some good dim sum products to you, give them a call. 1-800-953-1229. (Company is based in California).

HG has not smoked a cigarette or cigar or puffed on a pipe (always hated it) in 20 years. A battle with cancer (won by HG due to the extraordinary skills of a renowned surgeon) snuffed out the habit. HG is startled that smoking is not missed. No Marlboros with morning coffee. No Gitanes with red wine. No Sobranies with pre-dinner Martinis. No Upmann Brevas (Maduro leaf) with after-dinner Port. And no lovely cigarettes while writing, reading, thinking, waiting, etc. Still love, with passion, food and drink — even without tobacco accompaniment. HG has been pleased that trattorias in Italy and bistros in Paris are smoke free. BSK would complain that her hair and clothes smelled of cigarettes after a long, wine-filled dinner at these excellent eateries. In Paris these days, smokers (and there are lots of them) are relegated to the terraces. Passing through a terrace to enter a bistro is like walking through a mini-forest fire. Bistro owners, however, are considerate of the smokers. Many terraces are now heated even though hardy, flimsily dressed Parisiennes would gladly ignore biting winds in order to indulge in their unfortunate addiction.

HG has very mixed, odd feelings about that estimable vegetable — fennel. Does not like it roasted. Does not like it slicked thickly in salads. However, shaved paper-thin and mixed with slices of radish and young turnips, doused with good Sicilian olive oil and plenty of sea salt and cracked pepper — a very nice appetizer. Fennel seeds are worthy additions to traditional Italian sausages — the kind that used to be sold (grilled with onions and peppers) off Greenwich Village trucks. Frankies Spuntino in Brooklyn does a very good fennel salad which HG and BSK have been unable to duplicate at home. In HG’s opinion, fennel is at its best braised in chicken broth with plenty of butter. Serve it with poached or grilled salmon. Perfect. Radicchio is another vegetable that arouses mixed emotions. Don’t like it raw but grilled it’s a treat. Belgian endive is always wonderful — leaves in salads; braised; grilled lightly or served in a gratin with cream and cheese. No ambiguity. An odd thought about fennel. The Italian word for fennel is finocchio. This is also an Italian derogatory term for homosexuals. (Recall the scene in “Godfather One” where Marlon Brando upbraids the Sinatra-like singer for acting like a “Hollywood finocchio”?). Don’t understand the derivation.