HUNGRY GERALD

SJ here. Last week a photograph of mine of a Chesapeake Bay Oyster topped with a slice of hard boiled egg caused HG such a wave of food envy that he was prompted to write a post about it (see An HG Sin: Food Envy) Well, as much as I love HG, I love to fan the embers of his Food Envy into a roaring fire. Soo….let me tell you a little about that oyster…

Last week, myself, my wife — the aptly named Exquisite Maiko — and our son decided to forsake our beloved NYC for a weekend in Baltimore. The drive down took only about 3 hours and along the way we stopped in Wilmington, Delaware at the Charcoal Pit for absolutely great hamburgers and milkshakes.

The Charcoal Pit is a Road Food classic — been there since the 1950s and still as popular as ever. Places like this often become parodies of themselves, existing in the squinty light of nostalgia — but the Pit avoids that trap by neither seeming cutesy nor precious and instead just serving up good, well made classic food at very reasonable prices.

The last time I had been in Baltimore I went to Obryckis in Fells Point for crabs. They were dumped right on the table onto butcher’s paper, and hammer in hand I demolished a number of these wonderful crustaceans steamed in a heady black-pepper seasoning. I was excited to return and excited for Exquisite Maiko to taste such a regional specialty. Alas, Obryckis has closed (note to all restaurants who close and have websites: MAKE BEING CLOSED THE FOCUS OF YOUR WEBSITE!!!) so we had to find an alternative. Now, not being from Baltimore and not really knowing a lot about the city, it can be hard separating out the tourist crap from something both authentic and authentically good. So, reading between the lines of numerous blog postings and Best Of Baltimore lists, we decided on a spot called Canton Dockside who seemed to be the spot for year-round crabs. Well, we got there and guess what…NO CRABS! Why? Because Canton Dockside gets their crabs in the off-season from Louisiana and this being Mardi Gras week all the Louisiana Crabbers were either too drunk to ship crabs or they wanted to keep all crabs within the state for Mardi Gras. Either way, we were thwarted but soothed ourselves with great broiled crab cakes (light on the mayonnaise and breadcrumbs), plump shrimps steamed with Old Bay Seasoning and a rather horrifying pretzel like thing smeared in cheese and crab dip (the less said about that last dish, the better!).

I also made a new friend in the Baltimore beer known as National Bohemian Beer or Natty Boh.

Extremely cold and extremely yummy!

The next day, we woke up early to take in some real touristy stuff (Huge Aquarium! Dolphin Show!) and get hungry in preparation for my focus — The covered markets of Baltimore. Since 1763, Baltimore has maintained a group of municipally owned covered markets that serve specific neighborhoods. There are seven markets remaining in Baltimore and the largest is the Lexington Market located right in the heart of Down Town. I had heard tell of some serious food happening at this Lexington Market so off we went. Well…I absolutely fell in love. Lexington market is an urban institution — while tourists like myself might pass through, the market is unadorned, gritty and absolutely true to itself.

This is the spot for discount groceries, cheap cell phone plans, butchers that specialize in the rough bits (chitterlings, hog maws, ham hocks, pig ears, fat back and more), fish mongers and stall upon stall of prepared foods — many of which hawk the fact that they accept CDC vouchers and food stamps. So what were in these stalls? Well, oddly, the majority seem to have been taken over by Chinese and Koreans who are serving up a mixture of cheap Chinese and soul food staples — beef and broccoli alongside stewed chicken and dumplings not to mention the happy guy I saw munching away on a scoop-full of pork fried rice accompanied by a bowl of Chitterlings doused with hot sauce.

There is no pretensions of regional food-ways purity here at the Lexington. Its cheap and good? Yes! Lots of fried chicken spots with a heavy focus on the livers, backs and gizzards — not something you see at KFC! Many sandwich spots selling (I think) Baltimore produced smoked meats — courtesy of its Polish and German immigrants. And, fruit salad — big containers of very fresh and very cheap fruit salad. Interestingly, I noticed that you could use your food stamps to buy fruit salad, fruit smoothies and groceries, but not a lot of the heavier prepared foods — I am imagining that this was a bid by the Health Department to influence healthier eating standards. And all the way in back — pretty much a separate enclave all to itself is http://hungrygerald.com/dress-for-dating/.

http://hungrygerald.com/do-men-prefer-younger-women/

Faidley’s is a working seafood market hawking the rather impressive bounty of the Chesapeake Bay and other southern water-ways, but they also have a raw bar and a simple lunch counter serving up hot foods. Well, I sidled up to the raw bar — packed with working people simply gorging on oysters and clams and plastic cups of Natty Boh — and ordered myself a half dozen “Prime” oysters. The oyster man was astonishing; as fast and precise a shucker as I have ever witnessed even while keeping up a running commentary as to whether or not (based on his emotional speech at her funeral) Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston ever had sex (Yes! we raw bar denizens agreed). I was asked, as the plate of fat, shimmery bivalves appeared before me, if I wanted an egg with my oysters. An egg? Madness!!! Nope. Just hit me with some lemon and a touch of hot sauce and I am good. Well I slurped those six down and they were cold, briny, firm with a touch of cucumber snap that I just love. Ahhh…The joy of a good oyster. Well, as I let out a sated breath I glanced at my neighbor, who was there with his girl, drinking beers and preparing his oysters with a slice of hard-boiled egg!!! Yes! He had a hard-boiled egg slicer and was layering the egg slices on top of his oysters with horseradish and hot sauce. This guy looked like a serious Baltimorean, so I had to ask if the egg was the Baltimore style? Oh yes he said. So, I had to give it a shot — six more with a boiled egg. Well, they brought them over, I peeled the egg, used the slicer and got to work. My new friend guided me — “You got the horse radish first, then you got to hit it with the black pepper…yeah that’s it, don’t be scared of the black pepper! Then squeeze that lemon right on top and lay that egg right right up on there. Yeah! Hit it with the hot sauce now!” — and then I was ready.

Wow! Oh boy was this a good thing. Somehow, the smoothness of a boiled egg blends with the brine of the oyster and the bite of hose-radish to create something unique that doesn’t distract from the very oysterness of the experience. While I probably won’t be putting hard-boiled eggs on my beloved Prince Edward Island oysters, the whole experience, the specificity of the place, the very real connections that you can make with strangers when you express interest in a local specialty put a giant smile on my face and made those oysters amongst the most special I have ever eaten. Exquisite Maiko (very pregnant at this point and simmering with jealousy that she could not eat an oyster) took in some crab cakes from the counter and pronounced them unbeatable.

Faidley's Crab Cake

So, if you ever find yourself in Baltimore, ignore the Yelp and Google and Yahoo reviews that describe the Lexington Market as being scary and sketchy and filled with drug addicts and homeless people and march your way in and have a chilled Chesapeake Bay oyster topped with hard boiled egg on me. Thank me later and tell HG about it as soon as you can!

It occurs to HG that HG possesses an intrinsically noble nature. However, even saintly HG is susceptible to a sin: Food envy. Yes, HG is wildly covetous of other people’s food adventures and experiences — HG’s own children and even his grandchildren are not immune from the focus of HG’s envious thoughts.

Two examples: SJ recently sent HG photos of succulent Chesapeake Bay oysters topped with slices of hard boiled egg that SJ ate at Baltimore’s Lexington Market. SJ said they were delicious. Oh, the injustice! HG has visited Baltimore many times and thought he sampled all of its crab and oyster delicacies but this dish eluded him. While drowning in bitter reflections about SJ and oysters, HG received a communication from Gifted Daughter Lesley R. who was weekending with her daughter SR in Paris. The duo were dining at a modest bistro, Le Comptoir Marguery, and Lesley R. reported that SR ate “the biggest Ile Flottante you ever saw.” Fury and envy, regrettably, filled HG’s being. Another injustice. Ile Flottante is HG’s favorite dessert, enjoyed many times at Stella and Le Vaudeville, two delightful Paris brasseries. Oddly, it is a desert item rarely seen on American menus. An Ile Flottante (floating island) is a simple affair: a meringue of softly whipped egg whites floating atop creme anglaise (cream custard) and decorated with a drizzle of caramelized sugar. The dessert (aslo known as “oeufs a la neige” or “eggs in snow”) is sublime. It is both light and sumptuous, the perfect conclusion to a meal. Of course, HG loves his children and grandchildren. But…..

HG was delighted to see the wedding pictures of Saveur editor-in-chief James Oseland and his partner Carlos Daniel Dos Santos in the current issue of the magazine. Typical of Oseland’s sophisticated (but unpretentious) style is the fact that the wedding feast was held at the Excellent Pork Chop House, a seemingly simple but very good Taiwanese restaurant in New York’s Chinatown. Oseland, in his comparatively short time leading the magazine, has made Saveur the best food magazine in the world. Gourmet was getting good with Ruth Reichl at the helm but Oseland has taken Saveur to another level.

HG was a charter subscriber to Saveur when Dorothy Kalins, an outstanding journalist/editor, launched the publication with the scintillating Bobbi Schlesinger of Freeman Public Relations — HG’s successor firm — being the magazine’s effective publicist. HG had been concerned about Saveur’s future as Metropolitan Home, Gourmet, House and Garden and other excellent magazines have not been able to weather these difficult economic times. Saveur is, in fact, thriving. And, that’s good news for anyone who loves to eat and cook. James and Carlos, HG wishes you many, many happy years.

HG’s Mom often prepared HG’s favorite after-school snack: A slice of Pechter’s Pumpernickel liberally covered with chicken fat and topped with sliced onion and kosher salt. As HG matured, he pondered his Mom’s heritage which encouraged such obviously unhealthy food. Well, the small town — well, shtetl really — Belorussian lady knew something. Chicken fat (aka Schmaltz) is rich in lineolic acid, an omega 6 fatty acid with many health benefits. So, comrades, schmaltz it up with impunity. It is essential with chopped liver. Very good with garlicky chopped eggplant. Enhances fried onions. HG likes to stir it into a bowl of Goya garbanzos topped with microplaned garlic and sea salt. (HG intends to pair it with Duvel Belgian Ale while watching key NCAA basketball games).

Chicken fat can be ordered online from: mykoshermarket.com. Or, make it yourself (many easy recipes — such as this ONE — to be found online ). DYI chicken fat provides crispy and delicious bits of chicken skin known as “gribenes” — Jewish cuchifritos. For a carnivorous meal drenched in chicken fat go to the Shrine of Schmaltz: Sammy’s Roumanian Restaurant on New York’s Lower East Side. Wash the golden grease down with plenty of frozen vodka. L’chaim!!

Often, the Big Game is a Big Bore with the commercials outshining the combat. Not this time. A close nail biter with a Manning/ Manningham Magical Moment..Giant fan HG was a happy guy. Watched at the home of Polly B. and David F. All generations were there. The kids were face painted to show their loyalties. HG turned down an offer to have his face painted Big Blue. BSK brought gravlax, perfectly cured slabs of salmon. There were three kinds of meatballs: Italian, Asian and “Spicy.” New Mexican Green Chili Stew. HG quaffed much vodka and beer. Drew some modest frowns from BSK but all was forgiven in the joy of victory.

Yes, It’s cold and snowy in the lovely Italian city of Bologna. Some 18 inches of snow drifted down upon the city, smashing every meteorological record for the region. Gifted Daughter Lesley R., who resides in Bologna, reports that the Bolognese are puzzled. There are no snow plows. Few snow shovels. Some folks are trying to attack the drifts with brooms and the city is almost completely shut down. The photographs Lesley R. has sent show a bleak, frozen city and HG hopes that she is able to keep warm and full by stocking up from the few shops that have managed to open.

A storm in Bologna of all places has caused HG to muse about cold weather food. No, not the food prepared at home, but the food HG ate on the street or at lunch counters when the winds whistled from the Hudson, Harlem and East Rivers. During the Great Depression, little HG ate “Hot Mickeys” (roasted potatoes) shared with his buddies over an improvised wood fire in an empty lot. HG also bought, for a penny or two, hot sweet potatoes, chicken fat doused chick peas (“hayseh arbis”) that were served in a paper cone and the ubiquitous roasted chestnuts sold by street vendors. In later years HG favored the big bowls of steaming cabbage soup sold in bleak Ukrainian diners on the Lower East Side. Glorious Pho, a byproduct of the very inglorious Vietnam War, had not yet arrived.

But, the best cold beater HG ever had was on a chill December day in Bologna. This was a glass of espresso, liberally enriched with grappa, and topped with almost three inches of whipped cream. Virtually all of HG’s senses were warmed and delighted.

When Hershele Zvi Freimann, HG’s late, beloved father, arrived in the United States in 1906, he immediately went to work in a Lower East Side sweatshop. Salary: $7 a week. He slept on a cutting table. Bathed in the public baths on Forsyth Street (fastidious HZF went every day). His principal meal of the day cost 12 cents. A schmaltz herring. A pumpernickel bread. A schooner of beer. Irving Howe, in his seminal book on the migration of East European Jews to the United States, World of Our Fathers: The Journey Of The East European Jews To America And The Life They Found And Made, notes that the pioneering labor union organizers plotted strategy over meals of herring and boiled potatoes.

HG honors these traditions of Labor and family. In years past, HG watched the Super Bowl while imbibing herring, boiled potatoes, raw onions and vodka straight from the freezer. This Super Sunday HG and BSK are invited to the home of friends so herring is off the menu, but BSK is curing some salmon — converting the fish into delicious, dill strewn gravlax. Even without the herring there will be abundant vodka so the day will be joyful even if the Giants lose.

In Europe, herring isn’t identified with Jewish cuisine. Most Paris brasseries have pickled herring on their menus (The best is at Stella and Le Vaudeville). At the excellent bistro, Chez Georges, The pickled herring is passed to customers in a big crock. Take as much as you want and seconds are given with a smile.

HG’s best herring memory: Raw herring filets in Amsterdam. Rolled the morsels in chopped, raw onion. HG threw his head back and downed them whole accompanied by Genever Gin and Dutch beer, of course.

A note to New York herring lovers: Russ & Daughters, the Lower East Side temple of smoked fish has these raw herrings in season as does the Grand Central Oyster Bar. Now, there’s the perfect meal. Raw Dutch herrings followed by the Oyster Bar’s wondrous Oyster Pan Roast. Precede it with some oysters and Long Island little neck clams on the half shell. A meal for sea lovers.

SJ here. In the recent post Chicken Soup From a Mexican Mom, HG described a soup that had me twitching with envy. The soup HG ate was called Caldo Tilapena and it was a hearty Mexican dish, brimming with chicken and chipotle peppers and many good things. I had a similar soup once, years ago, when I was visiting a town called San Miguel De Allende a few hours south of Mexico City. This soup was tomato based, cut through with fresh herbs, poached chicken, strips of crunchy corn tortilla and topped with crumbly white queso Fresco and Mexican creme fraiche. I loved this soup. I had it in the late 80s and probably not a week has gone by where I don’t think back to it with a nod of appreciation and mumble under my breath…That was damn good soup.

I never had another soup like it until 1996 when I was living in Chicago and got hit with a tremendous cold — maybe it was a flu, even — whatever the case, I was miserable. My nose was raw, my ears hurt, a steady cough made my stomach muscles hurt, and a fluctuation in my body temp had me going from shakes to sweat in five minute intervals. Plus, I was hungry. So, I took my sad, sick body to Artuto’s — a fine 24 hour Mexican spot around the corner from my house that specialized in food from the Jalisco region. I ate there a lot so everyone knew me and were concerned by the sad state of my health. A suggestion was made and I was brought their Caldo Pollo: a HUGE, piping hot bowl filled with chicken, potatoes, carrots, yucca all in a very rich and very greasy chicken broth that REALLY tasted of chicken (you could just imagine that stock pot in Arturo’s kitchen slowly simmering for weeks on end being fed chicken scraps and bones all through the day). Served alongside was chopped onion, cilantro, limes and a stack of warm tortillas. Boy. I tell you, if you are sick and alone and meet a soup like that, it is akin to stepping off the orphan train into the arms of a true Mom goddess who will rest your head in her breast and let you sleep for a million years. The Arturo’s soup touched my soul, nestled it, loved it, warmed it and brought it back to health. A soup for the ages. A soup that I have pined for since I left Chicago.

Well, reading HG’s soup posting made me think back to those two soups, and not just think…but obsess. Here in NYC, I couldn’t just take off to New Mexico, or Chicago or Mexico for that matter, so I had to satisfy this craving on my own — and as it was a craving for all three soups, I decided I would take the best elements of each and create a monster of my own. So I read a bunch of recipes for Tortilla Soup both on-line and in Mark Bittman’s excellent cookbook: The Best Recipes In The World and then I thought to myself about what I liked about the two soups I remembered and the HG soup that I imagined and using those as a guideline I then created a really great soup that satisfied my craving absolutely. And I — kind and gentle and giving SJ that I am — will now share it with all of you:

SJ’s BIG BOWL OF HG INSPIRED CHICKEN-TORTILLA SOUP

First! Gather these ingredients:

1 onion (roughly minced)

6 cloves garlic (minced)

1 lb of chicken thighs

4 cups chicken stock (store bought is fine, but honestly make your own stock! It is easy, it makes you feel good about yourself and it is 100 times better than what you can buy)

10 soft corn tortillas cut into 1/4″ strips

1 can whole plum tomatoes

6 limes

2 Zucchinni

12 or so dried Red Chili Pods (mild) and 1 dried chipotle pepper (with stems cut off and stripped off seeds)

Start by simmering your dried chili & chipotle pods for about 20 minutes in 3 to 4 cups of water until they are pulpy and tender

While you are doing that begin frying up those strips of tortilla. If you have never made fresh tortilla chips before, well, time to learn because NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING will make friends, spouses and lovers think you are an amazing cook and super person and a sexy motherfucker like making fresh, hot tortilla chips and NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING is as easy as making fresh, hot tortilla chips. Biggest bang for your buck in the 21st Century. Here’s what your do: heat up about 4 to 5 tablespoons of canola oil in a wok, on high, for about five minutes. Cut round corn tortillas into quarters. Test the oil heat, by slipping a chip into the pan. If the oil furiously bubbles around the chip. Then you are good to go! Don’t overcrowd and cook to golden and drain on paper towels. So, using this method fry those tortilla strips in batches until they are golden. Instead of a wok use a big soup pot. When you are finished, pour out half the oil, return to heat and then add your onion and garlic. Cook until the onion and garlic are soft and just beginning to caramelize into golden yellow. Remove your peppers from the water and add to onions. Also add the can of tomatoes, the broth and 3/4 of the tortilla strips you prepared. Bring the whole thing to a gentle boil. When you have a moment before the boiling begins, put your chicken into the water that you cooked your peppers in, bring to simmer and cover. The chicken should take about 20 minutes to be ready.

While the chicken cooks add whatever seasonings (oregano, salt, white pepper, thyme) to your broth and then get your damn immersion blender out and go at it! Blend that soup until SMOOTH!!! When you are satisfied and the chicken is done, then you have to shred the hot chicken which is not fun at all, but do it under cold, running water and you should be protected. Add the shredded chicken to the broth alongside your zucchini which you have cut into quarters. Add the water that your chicken cooked in, the juice of all those limes and bring the whole thing to a lazy boil. If the soup seems too thick, then add water. Cook until the zucchini are ready. Taste, adjust for seasonings, and then serve the soup in a BIG bowl with chopped, fresh onion, cilantro, more limes for squeezing, the rest of the tortilla strips, Queso Fresco and avocado. If you like, you could add rice, chick peas or hominy to the soup to make it even MORE filling.

There it is. A great, delicious, healthy soup that will nurse you through any cold and keep you full and smiling no matter the season. Thanks HG for the inspiration.

HG has long been a fan of the writer James Salter. Though he has written many books, scores of excellent short stories, screenplays, searching criticism (he recently did a beautifully objective appreciation of Ernest Hemingway’s achievement for the New York Review of Books), he has never been very well known. He has received many awards and honors and been described as a “writer’s writer.” An aviator and fighter pilot (combat during the Korean War), no one has ever written better about flying. He also writes very well about food. For bedtime reading, there is nothing better than the book he wrote with his wife, Kay: Life Is Meals: A Food Lover’s Book Of Days. There are 365 brief essays (one for each day of the year) in this beautifully illustrated volume (published by Knopf). James and Kay Salter are a wonderfully civilized couple without an ounce of pretension but much erudition. There are some nice recipes and acute observations about people, places, art, history and, of course, food and dining. The perfect book for a bedtime browse.

Betty Miller, a wonderful woman, died this week at her retirement home in Florida. The words “public servant” are very misused these days. But, that is what Betty was — a person who served the public. And, served it well. In Colorado, where she spent much of her life, Betty had many important jobs. She was a significant aide to former Colorado Senator Tim Wirth. She was the mayor of one of Colorado’s largest cities. She was a county commissioner of populous Jefferson County. She was an FHA official. She served on the board of a major educational institution. She was loved, admired and respected by many. An active Democrat, she was a tireless battler for the party and its principles. Even her Republican foes had to grudgingly admit that Betty was special. Betty was down to earth, effective and incorruptible. She got things done. Betty was a good friend and ally of HG and BSK.

Betty grew up in North Carolina and HG once mentioned his fondness for Southern cuisine. Soon afterward, HG and BSK were asked to dinner where Betty cooked a dinner of stuffed peppers and macaroni and cheese. Plenty of sweet iced tea. Pure Carolina soul. Best ever. Topped anything HG ever had in the citadels of down home Southern cooking. A delicious memory. Rest in peace, dear Betty.