The sixth game of this 2011 World Series was the most exciting baseball game HG ever watched. Brought HG back to his youth when the New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers used to battle. HG’S capacity for diamond thrills may have been enhanced by the large amounts of La Pinta Pomegranatee infused tequila HG was downing. Just discovered this unusual tequila (a gift from a thoughtful friend) and it’s now a favorite after dinner drink. Don’t know how widely La Pinta is distributed (pretty well actually! check here.) Worth the effort to find it.
SJ here. Christians have their Church bells. Muslims have the sound of the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. In my gustatory devotion, I have the sound of a dim sum cart rattling about while shouts of “Har Gow!” pierce the din of a crowded hall.
My place of worship is now the East Harbor Seafood Palace (714 65th Street in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn). Consistently packed with mostly Chinese clientele, East Harbor is modeled after the huge, dim sum palaces of Hong Kong. It is loud with crowd noise, shouting dim sum cart attendees and the badly amplified voice of the maitre d’ calling waiting diners to their tables. Expect a good 30 to 40 minute wait. Trust me, it is worth it.
I’ve tasted great made-to-order Dim Sum in Manhattan’s Chinatown and in Vancouver and always reveled in the fresh flavors and textures of that methodology. But the carts at East Harbor– owing perhaps to fast turn-around –dish out food that is every bit as fresh as those made-to-order spots and packed with even more flavor. The basics are covered to perfection — Shui Mai, snappishly fresh Har Gow, silky rice noodles, pillowy pork buns, crunchy spring rolls; but the carts keep arriving with things we’ve never seen before: finger length peppers stuffed with pork and crab, garlicky Chinese greens, tiny cockles stir-fried table side in black bean sauce, dumpling varietals with cashews and nuts, and definitely a few things I can’t even name. You see, when the carts keep coming, and you had your 45-minute-starving-to-death wait, you enter into a dim sum frenzy and begin grabbing just about anything for fear that it may all just disappear. At most dim sum spots, this fear is justified — dishes do disappear and the glum Dim Sum car attendants will look at you like a madman if you dare ask if that steamed pork rib dish is going to return. However at East Harbor dishes DO reappear and if you ask for something — crazily enough! — the staff is actually helpful! Yes, East Harbor Seafood has polite staff. They are nice! Nice to us! Nice to my son! They brought water when asked and more chili sauce and even said “no problem” and rushed off to get me some Hoi Sin sauce for my pork buns. This is an amazing thing for a Dim Sum palace — unparalleled actually!
So, the Dim Sum at East Harbor was completely top notch. I would hasten say it is the best in New York, except I know that there are some spots in Flushing that I have not yet tasted. But great dim sum AND a pleasant staff? Don’t know if that will happen in Flushing.
While noshing on our dim sum we noticed that the table next to us was filled with some mighty serious eaters. There were about 15 of them, a family — grandparents down to grand kids — and simply enormous. Each of them hitting upwards of 300+ pounds. All Italians from the neighboring community of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. And they were being brought enormous and extensive casseroles of seafood — lobsters, crabs, prawns, crayfish maybe — and eating it with unmatched gusto. Shells cracking, fingers pulling at shreds of crab meat, juices dripping onto chins — pure joy!
And I didn’t taste it. So, a trip to East Harbor for a non Dim Sum meal is in order and all HG readers should prepare to read all about it!
Shout it from the rooftops. Let joy be unconfined and laughter relentless. HG’s pal, Stephanie Pierson, has a new book out: The Brisket Book–A Love Story With Recipes. Twelve lively chapters that tell you everything you want to know about delicious, life enhancing brisket. Barbecue. Your Bubbe’s brisket. Simple brisket. Complex brisket. How to cook it. What to eat with it. What to drink with it. What to do with leftovers (Tacos, anyone?). There’s Cuban brisket, Aquavit brisket, brisket in sweet and sour sauce (HG will pass on that one). The publisher is Andrews McMeel Publishing LLC.
The book has a cautionary note about the noble institution of marriage: “You know what marriage is like at the start–all briskets and blow jobs–then it’s downhill from there.”
HG does not wish anyone to infer from HG’s “Faux Pas” post that he harbors animosity toward Turkey. In fact, HG has long been an admirer of that country, its art, architecture and, of course, its cuisine. One of HG’s heroes is Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, first president of modern Turkey and creator of that secular state. Ataturk was the commander of the Turkish forces at Gallipoli, that misguided slaughter house of World War One where so many young soldiers from Australia, Britain, New Zealand, France, India and Newfoundland lost their lives. Obviously, the present day parallels are many.
In 1934, Ataturk unveiled a memorial to “Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives at Gallipoli.” The inscription reads: “You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore, rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”
In case you HG followers hadn’t guessed, the post entitled “Oh My!” was written by SJ. This is a man who can taste and write and convey tastes in words. HG is proud and fortunate. When HG was a Broadway press agent (back in the dark ages) columnist Walter Winchell was the acknowledged media king. In that era before television, WW’s newspaper column and radio program reached millions, influenced government policy and made and broke careers. When HG sent his first contribution to the Winchell column, WW printed it and responded in a brief note: “Keep ’em coming, Keed–WW.”
SJ Here. Last night my good pal Jay brought over some Pepperoncini that a friend of his had smuggled over from Italy. Tightly packed in a jar of golden oil, the peppers were finger length and a glorious vision of home made craft. I slipped one of these bad boys out of the jar and chomped into it. Oh My. The flavor was like a great short story that unfolds in stages — the first bite, crisp and almost pickle like; then a whoosh of unctuous fat tingling with licorice undertones and finally a revelation of almost meaty flavors with an umami tang of woody mushrooms. Amazing.
I’ve never tasted anything like them and pestered Jay for more information. The following description of these glorious peppers is taken verbatim from the Pepper Smuggler himself:
“These Pepperoncini are cured in a broth called Salamoia, which is a brine consisting of Sicilian Lemon, onion, olive oil and finochietto (baby fennel seed). After soaking in the brine for several weeks, they are then placed into barrels with sea salt and cured for one year. This is where the maloactic fermentation takes place. The peppers are sliced lengthwise and the belly of a tuna is inserted prior to the curing.”
Sunday New York Times had a “Food and Drink” issue. Some good stuff from Michael Pollan and Mark Bittman. And a few nasty/dopey items. Christopher Buckley did a short essay: “What’s The Golden Rule of a Business Lunch?” He used this as a springboard to dis Ed Berberian’s Balkan Armenian Restaurant, an ethnic gem that shut its doors some years ago. Buckley seems to have inherited all of his late father’s (the conservative/reactionary William F.) snarkiness and has coupled it with an uneducated palate (probably honed at a white bread prep school). The Balkan Armenian (on E.27th near Lexington) was the type of small, affordable. family restaurant that made Manhattan so delightful for residents and tourists. It had a wonderful pastry appetizer (cheese borek), stuffed vine leaves, Armenian chopped eggplant, the best lamb (not mutton, as Buckley stated) kebabs, rice pilaf. All tasty treats. And, the desserts? Heaven. An HG favorite was Ekmek Kadayiff with Kaymak. This was a sweet, but not too, pastry topped with the Armenian version of English clotted cream. HG tastes it in his dreams. HG took BSK there on their second date (March 1963) and BSK sure knew she wasn’t in Ohio anymore.
The other goof by the Times was perpetrated by the usually perceptive movie critic, A.O.Scott. He called “Ratatouille” the best food movie ever made. Could he have been kidding? While Ratatouille was sly and knowingly funny about French cuisine and the shadowy world of restaurant kitchens — it is in no way the best. Anyone who loves film and food knows the best “food” movie ever made is the Japanese-language “Tampopo.” Mixing humor, eroticism and a satirical riff on “Shane” and other Hollywood westerns, Tampopo will have you lusting for Ramen, dreaming about oyster diving girls and speculating on the reality of fresh, Japanese wild boar sausages. It is a paean to the joys of eating, to the joys of movies and to the joy of life.
Good news for all lovers of Asian cuisine. SJ has agreed to do regular posts on great eating in Chinatown, Sunset Park, Flushing (and maybe some other Queens neighborhoods). SJ has a fine tuned palate and turns out rollicking prose. Get your chopsticks ready, let SJ be your guide and enjoy.
Back to the sun drenched HG/BSK New Mexico paradise. Adding to the splendor of mesas and cliffs are the trees in all their Fall glory — a resplendent golden shimmer. The Santa Fe Farmers Market remains lively, colorful, eccentric. The air is filled with the smell of roasting chilies. The best little chilies in the world — Shishitos and Patrons — sizzle in pans so customers can sample. Shisitos are skinny (and can back some heat). Patrons are plump, succulent and mild. HG and BSK sampled Patrons in Madrid (where they are a staple at bars and bistros) and became instant converts. Also at the market: ripe tomatoes; tiny fingerling potatoes; green onions; leeks and other good things.
No corn. Few apples. These autumn glories seem to have been knocked out by the destructive forest fires that plagued New Mexico this summer. Lots of music at the market including a guitar and bass fiddle duo that played and sang the best version of an HG country favorite — “Dixie Cannonball.”
And, the people crowding the market? As diverse and outrageous as ever. A reasonable sampling of former movie stars — now properly matured. As a sage Hollywood observer once reported: “At a certain age there is a choice. Santa Fe or Forest Lawn.”
Brunch at the Toronto home of Nir B., the renowned photographer, and Wendy W., the recently retired big time TV journalist. A beautiful old house lovingly remodeled from designs by Nir (a pal for 40 years; yet never suspected he harbored such architectural talent). Big windows bring the rear garden right into the home and saturate the space with such light that you feel miles from urban noise and angst. Lots of wonderful art and photography on the walls.
Nir and Wendy provided a true international feast. A smoked salmon frittata, guacamole, baba ganoush and made-from-scratch hummus. And you know what? If you want really great hummus, let an Israeli like Nir make it — hummus redefined! Dipped Wendy’s biscotti in Nir’s home made red wine. A wonderful meal with civilized, talented loving friends.
