HUNGRY GERALD

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.

If you found HG’s postings on Montreal (Its food, art, cafes, people, ambience) enticing, permit HG to make a recommendation. online gay dating has a listing for an apartment described as: “Bright, Mont-Royal Metro steps away–Rue Saint Hubert.” HG/BSK stayed there with SJ, Exquisite Maiko, young Haru and baby Teru. Three bedrooms. One bath. Very clean. Excellent kitchen, bathroom, beds, TV, internet access, etc. Ample room. Perfect location. Hosts Isabella and Andreas were very kind and responsive. Easy walks to markets, cafes, bakeries and splendid restaurants. Go and enjoy. Tell them “HG” sent you.

The news of James Gandolfini’s death brought sadness to HG/BSK’s arrival at their Prince Edward Island paradise. Gandolfini was a long time friend of HG’s daughter Vicki F., the New York restaurateur (Cookshop, Five Points, Hundred Acres). Vicki met him when he was a bartender. After he met great success he became an investor in her restaurants. HG/BSK only knew him through his acting artistry but Vicktoria attests to the fact that he was a gentle, caring person and a good friend. She said renown did not alter his character. His passing is a true loss in every way.

A very rainy last full day in Montreal. La Famille split up. SJ, EM, and the grandchildren Haru and Teru braved the downpour and were off to Montreal’s Botanical Gardens where they braved the moisture and explored some of the beautiful Asian gardens. Dried off at the Insectarium which has a very diverse collection of creepy-crawlies. Culture Vultures HG/BSK went to the Musee de Beaux Arts. On last visit, HG/BSK immersed themselves in the museum’s collection of The Group of Seven, Canadian painters (of the 1920’s-30’s) who explored modernism while retaining a passionate engagement with the Canadian landscape. Today, HG/BSK started with religious art of the the 14th and 15th centuries. Gems by Veronese, Tintoretto and Mantegna. Then off to a room of contemporaries. Stella, Olitski, Hoffman, Bacon, Soulages, Beuys, Richter,. etc. A very witty Tansey. First interesting Jim Dine HG ever saw. Rested eyes over a ham-cheese-baguette in the cafeteria. With sharpened vision, HG/BSK explored an intelligently curated display of modern design. Yes, all of the masters were on display but there were plenty of the more eccentric innovators like Bonetti, Sottsass, Arad and Starck. HG/BSK reflected: Everything at the museum is beautifully lit and displayed. The attendants are courteous and helpful. Lots of clean restrooms. Two words describe it: Museum Heaven.

Tonight is HG’s last meal in Montreal. Going to L’Express. A true French bistro, Features all the golden oldies: Bone marrow, kidneys in mustard sause, beef tartare, steak frites, pot a feau, grilled calf’s liver, etc. A report will follow.

Though a confirmed disbeliever in organized religion (of all kinds, varieties, etc.), HG loves churches, chapels and cathedrals. Not so knocked out by synagogues. Hasn’t seen enough mosques to make judgments. So, after a modest (Greek salad for BSK and a Greek omelette/fritatta for HG at Ouzeri on Rue St.Denis), HG/BSK were off to Basilique Notre-Dame de Montreal off Place des Armes. Built between 1824-1829, the cathedral has a dazzling interior with plentiful and rather naive stained glass windows, a soaring altar, woodwork full of color (much created by New Yorker Angelo Pienovi). Indifferent paintings. It is a happy, majesric interior full of color and light. Somehow, it reflects New World optimism. A jewel is the cathedral’s chapel, Chapelle Notre-Dame du Sacre Coeur. Destroyed by fire, the Chapelle was rebuilt and reopened in 1982. The altar is a striking work of modernism (seemingly influenced by the best bas-reliefs of the 20’s and 30’s) by sculptor Charles Daudelin. It is much in demand for weddings (about 150 a year). If HG could renew his vows with BSK (in a secular manner, of course), the Chapelle would be HG’s choice venue.

This is HG/BSK’s second visit to Montreal. Last one was more than 40 years ago in the midst of an April blizzard. Spent much of that time eating oysters and sole at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Not a shabby way to sit through a blizzard. Yesterday was a sunny contrast and Montrealers filled the streets, shops and cafes in all their astonishing diversity. The young sported multiple tattoos and costumes varying between grunge, hipster and post-flower child. Shopped on Rue St. Denis. BSK scored great Camper sandals (on sale, natch, the well groomed lady is constitutionally opposed to paying full price). Then off to Musee des Beaux Arts on stately, classy Rue Sherbrooke. A revelation. This is truly one of the great museums. Incomparable collection of Canadian painters and sculptors, great artists totally unknown in the United States. BSK introduced HG to The Group of Seven, Canadian landscape painters of the 20’s and 30’s. HG was overpowered by the paintings of Lawren Harris. Dramatic evocations of Canadian natural beauty. Much better than the American regionalists of that era. Once more, HG was struck by how provincial the American art world is and how that causes unjust ignorance in regards to Canada’s cultural treasures. (Though the emphasis is Canadian, the Musee has some rooms of important French impressionists plus a great later period Picasso and superb sculpture by Arp and Lipschitz). Since HG/BSK cannot live by aesthetics alone, the duo took a long early evening stroll through the low rise, tree lined streets of the Plateau District (urban living at its best) and wound up at Philinos, a Greek restaurant on Rue du Parc. Very pleasant service and a perfect warm weather meal. Superior feta cheese crumbled onto cucumbers, tomatoes and Kalamata olives. A refreshingly subtle version of Skordalia which avoided the typical garlic overdose. Warm, cheese filled phyllo pies. Room temperature grilled octopus in a lemon and oil sauce with thin slices of red onion and a shower of herbs. The tender octopus had a distinct charcoal tang which melded beautifully with the lemon’s acidic punch. Home made baklava for dessert. Drank a very good, inexpensive house Italian wine. Much better than the retsina one usually gets in modest Greek restaurants. Walking back to his rented apartment in the fading July light with a full, but not stuffed belly, HG mused how suitable Greek cuisine is for summer days.

Department of Total Absurdity: According to The Huffington Post, a Brooklyn bar is hosting a “smallest penis contest.” The proud possessor of most miniscule member (How about that for alliteration?) will receive the title: “2013 Smallest Penis in Brooklyn.” HG questions the validity of this news. HG thinks a spoof is afoot. Nevertheless. In terms of food and drink, HG is an advocate of small. HG likes tapas, HG likes “small plate” meals, HG likes ordering a bunch of entrees at Chinese restaurants and sharing it all. Big portions are gross and are tasteless by the time they are finished (as HG has noted many times, portions at a Paris restaurant are half the size of their American counterparts). HG likes wine glasses to be half filled. HG likes downsized salads. HG wants some leaves, not a meadow. The American tendency to oversize is reflected in our huge refrigerators. Italian refrigerators and French refrigerators are quite small. This means daily shopping for fresh food. The cuisine is elevated and since there’s a lot of walking between shops, the exercise diminishes the waistline. Truth is, HG and BSK are guilty of excess — they have a mammoth and much loved refrigerator. This leads to leftovers languishing in the rear of shelves. There are nasty discoveries–vegetables and cheeses that appear to be sprouting new varieties of penicillin, plastic wrapped drips and drabs of pasta dishes from days gone by, a sad half lemon sporting a green, fuzzy beard. It is a commentary on our society based on consumption, that HG and BSK must regulary edit their refrigerator.

A writer (might have been James Salter), once noted that most people have three self delusions: That they look younger than they are. That they are good drivers. That they are good in bed.

HG thinks there is a fourth self delusion. Most people think they know something about food and dining. They are wrong. Whether or not they know it, they like their fish and steak overdone. They blunt the taste and aroma of white wine by serving it too cold. They fill up with bread and butter before the waitperson brings the first dish. They miss out on rewarding tastes and textures by refusing to eat innards like liver, sweetbreads, tripe. kidneys and brains. They refuse to obey their own taste preferences and buy expensive wine when they prefer cheaper varieties and blends. They accept the worst table in a restaurant (next to the bathroom or adjacent to a noisy service station) rather than risk appearing brutish by requesting a table in a more pleasant location. They keep cheese in the refrigerator and don’t bring it to room temperature before serving. They order risotto in a restaurant and wonder why it is gummy (because a bowl of risotto, done properly, takes at least a half an hour to prepare making it a non-cost effective restaurant item). They kill the essential briny taste of oysters by dousing them with red “cocktail” sauce. Likewise shrimp. They squeeze too much lemon on fish destroying the elusive sea flavors. They overcook pasta and serve it swimming in sauce. They overdo the Parmesan. They make salad dressing too elaborate rather than relying on excellent olive oil and a tiny bit of vinegar. They love the insipid, sweet junk that is sold as balsamic vinegar in this country — REAL balsamic vinegar is aged for years, is excruciatingly expensive and is best when moderately drizzled on fruit or cheese. They have no idea what to order in a decent Chinese restaurant and opt for cliches of the Kung Pao and General Tso variety. HG could go on and on but doesn’t want his misanthropy to triumph.

Okay, Philadelphia Cream Cheese, available in every super market and grocery in the United States, is a dumb cheese. Thoroughly generic, absolutely processed and totally boring; however, HG admits, the cheese has its place. HG likes it with a chunk of guava jelly. Goya produces guava jelly in a big round, flat can. Very cheap. Very good. HG also likes it spread on buttery Ritz crackers (yes, HG likes some proletarian treats) and topped with fiery jalapeno pepper jelly. The best cream cheese ever was produced by the Daitch Dairy stores in The Bronx and Manhattan. Today’s closest approximation can be obtained by mail order from Zingerman’s in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Be forewarned. It’s not cheap.