HUNGRY GERALD

HG’s favorite philosopher, the Hyman Roth character in “Godfather Two,” says to Michael Corleone: “Good health. The most important thing!!”. The old villain had a point.

Paris cold and damp, crowded Metro cars gave undeserving HG pneumonia and landed the food maven in the acute emergency ward of London’s University College Hospital on Euston Square. Entered hospital late Monday afternoon (had to cancel trad Sunday roast beef gluttony at Dean Street Town House) and was discharged midday yesterday (Wednesday). All in all, a diverting stay. Was cared for by a platoon of sympathetic women led by a respiratory disease specialist. Lovely accents. Irish. Jamaican. Russian. Indian. Nigerian, etc. Food was not shockingly bad though still don’t understand the English love of cold, breakfast toast. (Horror food is that served on the Eurostar Paris to London train.)

Side effect of HG illness: A big scare for HG and BSK kids. All had read the touching Joyce Carol Oates piece in the the New Yorker about the unexpected death of her husband (much younger than HG) from pneumonia. Pneumonia can be scary stuff.

However, all seems to have ended well. Victoria and Albert museum today and dinner at J. Sheeky, HG’s favorite seafooder. HG and BSK had lovely light lunch yesterday (after hospital leavetaking) at the Mess Cafe in the Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea. Duck legs and greens salad for BSK and Bufala mozzarella and caponata salad for HG. Early to bed after light supper of smoked salmon, smoked mackerel (best ever) and buttered Poilane bread. Good to be back among the living.

HG has been a bit under the weather here in London, but not to worry! Soon to return with full reports!

Posted too rapidly. No plain chicken broth for ailing HG. Resourceful BSK garnered some marmite (very strong consomme).  Beat two eggs into the boiling marmite.  Added some mini elbow macaroni.  Comfort food that was truly comforting.  HG is fortunate to have BSK.

A nasty bug has attacked HG and BSK.  Sneezes, coughs, discomfort, etc. On the menu today is chicken broth, mint tea, Sudafed and cough syrup. Not gourmand dining.  Oh, woe. Taxi to Gare du Nord tomorrow morning for Eurostar to London.  Hope we feel better.

Nobody has ever credited HG with visual wit. Their analysis is correct. So then, where do the witty, sly illustrations that enliven the Hungry Gerald blog come from? They are the product of Son Jeremy’s research and provide (in HG’s opinion) the perfect counterpoint to HG’s sometimes over exuberant prose. A gifted son, indeed. SJ also writes, with judgment and humor, about food and restaurants. SJ has promised to contribute his observations to the HG blog. Continue to log in and be enlightened and amused.

During HG’s college days HG spent a lot of time in Harlem. And, loved it.  HG attended C.C.N.Y. The college was located at 137th Street and Convent Avenue, the heights of Harlem.  This was a rather classy neighborhood that housed the Harlem elite of judges, lawyers, doctors and city officials. Nearby Hamilton Terrace had elegant brownstones (you can buy one now if you’ve got $3,000,000).  Some blocks to the north was prestigious Edgecombe Avenue, once home to Duke Ellington, Joe Louis and other African-American luminaries.  (This was also known as Sugar Hill).

Central Harlem (the area around 8th Avenue, 7th Avenue and Lenox Avenue) was another story.  It was run down. It was tough. There was plenty of violence.  And, the welcome mat was not out for white folks.  College senior HG was a “youth counselor” in Central Harlem.  This was part of an experimental program where college athletes (including HG) worked with violent Harlem gangs in an effort to lead the gangbangers (then called “boppers”— violent gangs were “bopping gangs”) down a more peaceful, constructive path.  HG was not successful in this endeavor.  HG made no positive impact. HG’s gang, the “French Dukes” (neither Gallic nor of noble lineage), was very protective of HG since having a “youth counselor” enhanced its reputation.  As soon as the neighborhood realized HG was not a cop, social worker or narc, attitudes became friendly. HG managed to eat a lot of fried fish & chicken, pork chops smothered in gravy, sweet potato pie and other staples of Harlem cuisine with the young “Dukes” and their friends. HG liked to walk along lively (to say the least) Lenox Avenue and often popped into the Red Rooster bar which was near the subway. The Rooster welcomed a few white folks and catered to a number of Harlem intellectuals. It was a stimulating  place (It closed in the 1970s). Recently, Marcus Samuelsson has revived the name with an ambitious and exciting new Red Rooster on the site of the old Red Rooster at 310 Lenox  Avenue.  HG loved the food and atmosphere at Aakavit, the Swedish restaurant once owned and run by Samuelsson.  HG hopes the new RR is equally successful and that some of the “French Dukes”  (now rather senior aristocrats) are around to enjoy the fried yardbird.

Yes, that might be construed as an irreverent headline. Nevertheless, it is impossible to overrate the importance of cod in world history. Don’t believe HG? Read the fascinating book: “Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World” by Mark Kurlansky (who has also authored books on salt and the oyster). Cod’s history is interesting but for HG, cod’s significance is that it tastes good. Also, it’s a very versatile fish and can be prepared in an almost endless variety of ways.

HG will soon be off to Paris and Paris is a city where cod is much beloved. HG will have gently baked cod with a puree of potatoes enriched with black truffle juice at Le Vaudeville. HG will have brandade (a puree of salt cod, garlic, potatoes and sweet cream) at Chez Grisette. HG will have cod covered with an abundance of root vegetables at Chez Grenouille. HG will have cod stewed with tomatoes and peppers (Spanish style) at Ch’ti Catalan.

There’s some good cod in New York. Brasserie Balthazar does a very good brandade and HG has had great brandade at Jonathan Waxman’s Barbuto in Greenwich Village. A number of Vancouver restaurants do black cod with a maple syrup glaze, an inventive touch that offsets black cod’s oiliness. That oiliness enhances HG’s favorite smoked fish: glorious Sable, the fish that defeats Nova at the Sunday bagel and cream cheese brunch. HG has not solved the mystery of why smoked black cod is called sable.

Daughter Lesley does a tasty Provencal dish of cod layered with potatoes, onions and tomatoes. Here’s the DL recipe: In a skillet (with cover) warm olive oil and add thinly sliced onions and garlic. Cover onion and garlic mixture with thinly sliced potatoes. Add chicken broth and white wine. When potatoes are almost done add cod on top. Sprinkle with chopped tomatoes, parsley and slices of kalamata olives. Cover. Watch carefully as cod falls apart when overdone. Delectable. DL also does the second best codfish cakes in the world. HG does not believe in nepotism. First place for codfish cakes goes to the Downyflake Cafe in Nantucket where they are served with a unique egg sauce. DL serves hers with a tomato relish obtainable only on Prince Edward Island, site of HG’s summer home. When HG does mussels meuniere HG pops some chunks of cod into the sauce pan before the steaming process ends. Some hot pepper enhanced mayonnaise goes nicely with this. Once more, beware of overcooking. Happily, codfish cheeks remain a breakfast favorite in Boston.

So, let HG end with the Boston bon mot: Here’s to Boston, Home of the Bean and the Cod. Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells. And Lowells speak only to God.

Fat Man on Sugar Hill was an HG hangout way back when. Location: Upscale Harlem. 155th Street off Edgecombe Avenue. Sugar Hill. Like Joe Louis and Duke Ellington, you needed plenty of sugar to live there. Fat Man was founded by a fat man—jazz bass fiddler Charles McKinley Turner. When asked what he weighed he said, “Ten more pounds than Fats Waller.” His partner was Edward Mallary, jazz trumpeter and former husband of Ethel Waters. Originally, it was a late spot. African-American and white show biz and musical celebs were among the customers. Duke Ellington, Paul Robeson, Jimmy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, Jack Teagarden, Katherine Cornell and Tallulah Bankhead. Tallulah loved the ribs. By the 50’s the food was mundane but the array of bourbons was splendid. A great R & B jukebox (called “race music” then.) :The atmosphere was lively and joyous. HG loved every minute. How can you go wrong with a name like Fat Man on Sugar Hill?

New York is a steak eating town. Every now and then promoters of good health manage to decrease the number of steak houses but the carnivores always manage a comeback. HG was literally at the center of the golden age of New York steak.. A Hearst journalist, HG in the 50’s worked out of E. 45th Street and could take few steps without stumbling into a steak house. Beef Valhalla.

The East 40’s was known as “Steak Row” and these were the places that grilled well marbled, perfectly aged beef: Christ Cella (HG’s favorite); Palm; Danny’s Hideaway, The Assembly, Press Box, Pen and Pencil, Pietro’s, Joe & Rose, McCarthy’s. Some blocks away on W.36th Street was Al Cooper’s (beloved by garment center biggies and HG). The theater district standbys were Frankie & Johnny’s and Gallagher’s. Off the beaten track were Cavanagh’s on E. 23rd Street, The Steak Joint in Greenwich Village and venerable Peter Luger’s in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn.

All wonderful. But, HG’s private joys were steak and vinegar peppers at Delsomma on W. 47th and steak with Spanish potatoes and onions at Fornos on W. 52nd. HG would search but it was very difficult to obtain a nice plate of tofu and sprouts.

Long, leisurely Sunday roast beef lunch. Yes, waiter, a bit more Yorkshire pudding, please. Savory? Yes. Welsh Rarebit. Good accompaniment to the remains of the claret. No, I’ll pass on the Spotted Dick. Is that trifle I spy on the pudding list? That’s the dialogue HG is looking forward to during London visit in a few weeks. Classic English dining in London is sheer delight (BSK agrees). It doesn’t come cheap, however. The Euro goes further at a modest Paris bistro. What London does have (and Paris emphatically does not) is a huge variety of very good and inexpensive Indian, Korean, Lebanese, Chinese, Turkish and Japanese joints. Fish and chips in London is overrated. The best fish and chips can be found on HG’s beloved Prince Edward Island. The true essence of aristocratic London can be found at tea time at classy hotels like The Ritz, Brown’s, Claridge’s. Stylish, elegant, high caloric, chloresterol defying, pricey fare. Even BSK, The Moderation Advocate, is heard to mutter “The hell with moderation,” when confronted by scones, jam and overflowing mounds of clotted cream. BSK has also been know to do considerable damage to fruitcake and smoked salmon sandwiches. Of course, HG and BSK will be walking off the treats at the Tate Modern, the National Gallery, Albert & Victoria, British Museum. But, HG and BSK will manage to snare some edible good things at Harrod’s capacious food hall to eat in front of the TV. Though Anglophiles to the hilt, HG and BSK will still manage to pass on the jellied eels.