HUNGRY GERALD

Log into Bob Judd’s blog if you like good writing and original insights.  Recently, HG relished Judd’s poetic evocation of the New York Christmas blizzard.  While others cursed and took Bloomberg’s name in vain, Bob relished the whiteness and the sound of music drifting from Greenwich Village doorways.   His lyrical mood was helped along by sambuca topped by a few coffee beans.  This is one of Beautiful Sharon’s favorite after dinner tipples since she claims it blunts the effects of garlic indulgence.  That’s why Italy gave birth to the drink.  As HG noted in a previous post, Judd played football at Williams College (Team nickname: The Ephmen).  Judd claims to be one of the last men to play both ways (fullback on offense and line backer on defense).  HG watched Stanford demolish Virginia Tech in the Orange Bowl last night.   Prominent among the violent Stanford scholars was Owen Marcik, the only player in major college football who performs both ways (like the Judd of yesteryear he’s a fullback on offense and a line backer on defense).  So, HG lifts his snifter of sambuca and says Happy New Year to Marcic and The Ephman, guys who can do it all.

CHEETOS. HG loves them. Bowl game, beer, these yummy little orange devils. Ah, it’s good to be an American. Tonight’s the Orange Bowl…opportune time for a CHEETOS fix.

Most fish mongers throw away fish heads or sell them for pennies. A pointer from HG: Get some of the larger (non oily) fish heads like cod, halibut, sea bass or snapper. Poach in water enriched with an onion, carrot and herbs. When done dig out the cheeks. They are delicious (Proper Bostonians have been devouring cod cheeks since the Pilgrim days). Heat the cheeks gently with olive oil,garlic and parsley (the noble trio). Cook some linguini fini. Moisten slightly with some of the poaching liquid. Add the cheeks and the oil-garlic- parsley trio.   Sprinkle with some red pepper flakes and parsley.  Uncork a modest red.   Enjoy.

There are no truffles in truffle oil. Usually, it consists of inferior olive oil and some, often chemically created, truffle aroma. HG’s favorite food writer, Alec Lobrano, recently pointed out that many chefs now ruin perfectly good dishes with this junk. The same goes for balsamic vinegar. Rare, aged (and prohibitively expensive) balsamic vinegar can benefit some dishes. Otherwise, stick to a good wine vinegar. Cheaper and better.  Back to truffles for a moment.  Dean & Deluca’s truffle salt is a good product. Sprinkle some on a saute of mushrooms.  HG likes it on buttered noodles.

Take out food from top flight groceries and delicatessens always look great and tastes insipid. HG has tried Zabar’s and Balducci’s in New York  (plus many other Manhattan big time places).   HG has ordered from Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. Only three winners: Balducci’s kidneys in mustard sauce; Whole Foods’ baked Virginia ham; Trader Joe’s Vietnamese shrimp rice paper roll.  Even in Paris take out suffers.  Typical Paris experience:  HG bought a touted roast Bresse chicken and roast potatoes.  On a par with your neighborhood Safeway at six times the price. The question is: Why?

HG reflections after some days in New York. Rents look like telephone numbers. Apartment prices look like the gross national product of a third world country. Every hip male under 40 has a beard (or some other facial adornment featuring hair).   Brooklyn has become the center of the food universe.  This is momentary. Renown brings high rents. High rents eliminate chance taking, creative dining.  Farewell to the chefs with a few pots and pans and a multitude of tattoos. The Bronx will have a comeback. Prediction: The Grand Concourse will be the site of hip cafes and Puerto Rican nouveau cuisine. The cuchifrito will be the cool guy’s caviar.   Three New York dishes have resisted all change and remain perfect (give thanks): Mutton chop at Keen’s Chop House; Sturgeon and eggs at Barney Greengrass; Oyster pan roast at Grand Central Oyster Bar.

2011 in New Mexico made its entrance with brilliant sunshine (which is commonplace in these parts) and chilly (17 degrees) weather which is decidedly not. Yesterday was the usual day of air travel tedium and delay. Relief consisted of some excellent dining. HG and Beautiful Sharon joined son Jeremy and grandson Haru  in Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens neighborhood for a sumptuous lunch at Prime Meats, the latest outpost of the Frankies Spuntino empire. For Jeremy: Pork schnitzel. Perfectly crisp and not a speck of grease. For Beautiful Sharon: Roast beef sandwich on onion roll. Much applause from BS. For HG: An overwhelming Choucroute Garnie. Big mound of perfect sauerkraut. Pork belly. Bratwurst. Knockwurst. Tongue. Boiled potatoes. Pot of mustard. Bengali India Pale Ale. A bonanza of a lunch; a better choucroute than HG has ever had at a Paris Alsatian cuisine bistro. Is Brooklyn trumping Paris as a culinary hot spot? For Haru: A skyscraper of Freedom Fries (HG jokes, of course). The small man made a big dent in the fries. Post-lunch, there was a four hour flight to Denver and a lengthy flight delay layover.   Consolation prize..   Adjacent to Gate B46 at Denver International Airport is Lefty’s Sports Bar.   Lefty serves a Reuben sandwich (and HG kids you not) that is on a par with the one HG devoured many times at the sandwich’s originator, Reuben’s Restaurant on E. 58th in New York. Moreover, Lefty provides fine potato salad, an estimable pickle and artisan brewery beer and ale on tap. Lefty’s is an unexpected treat. Greeted the descent of the Times Square ball with some hot tea and the luxury of HG’s and BS’s own bed. Home sweet home, indeed.

The blizzard of 2010 has been disruptive. HG and Beautiful Sharon are in New York hoping we can make make it to storm warning Denver and then to Santa Fe. Iffy. HG and BS consoled themselves last night with some Congee Village eats—joined by son Jeremy, daughter Vicki and chef husband Marc. Clams in black bean sauce. Fried chicken. Pepper and salt squid. Fried shrimp. Hot and sour soup. Greens and garlic. Much Tsing-Tao beer. We were well nourished. The late Nazi film maker Leni Riefenstahl made a film “White Hell of Pitz Palau” (fleeting insider joke reference to it in Tarentino’s ‘Inglorious Basterds'”). White Hell of Manhattan snow has quickly turned to ankle high slush. HG saw a shapely Russian lady leaving HG’s hotel wearing some open toed Manolo Blahnik six-inch stilettos. Good luck to you, Natasha.  Style demands sacrifice.

HG is a cheapo when it comes to spirits. HG likes after dinner French brandy but settles for lesser labels. However. He has a ploy. A splash of Peychaud Bitters make an inferior brandy sing. Give it a try.

Prof. Massimo, HG’s distinguished son-in-law,created a culinary surprise this Christmas: Budino. This is the Italian version of chocolate pudding..less sweet than the American version, denser than a French chocolate mousse. Chocaholic ecstasy when topped with whipped cream.  There was also a spirits surprise.  Neighbors of  Massimo are Dr. I and his wife, Doctor D. They are both family care physicians serving the uninsured, the underserved and the homeless. Not exactly jolly work but you’d never guess. Dr. I, a long,lean guy, radiates energy and originality. Dr. D radiates goodness without being in the least a goody-goody. The hospitable Dr. I hosts a holiday season tasting of his extraordinary collection of Scotch whiskys. This is no casual gathering of tipplers. Dr. I provides a map of Scotland tracing the location of the whiskys plus a scholarly guide to aid the Scotch nouveau through the tasting process.
Dr. I’s guide suggests that after doing a crititical tasting the taster should: “Pour yourself a second dram, suspend your critical judgement and, in the words of Oscar Wilde,’revitalize the soul with the senses and the senses with the soul'”. Dr. I, a Doc who knows a good pour and good prose.