HUNGRY GERALD

HG grew up in The Great Depression of the 1930’s. In little HG’s home, HG’s Mom made sure no drop of food was wasted. (In those days a penny bought one cigarette or a small handful of pignoli nuts in the shell). When she peeled a banana there was a bit of banana in the tip of the fruit. Mom called it the “crychik” (Yiddish) and squeezed it out and added it to HG’s breakfast of cereal and sliced bananas. HG does the same today, adding the “crychik” to HG’s daily breakfast of yogurt, banana and maple syrup. BSK tosses the “crychik” with the rest of the banana skin. And, that’s the difference between growing up in the 30’s and the more prosperous 40’s and 50’s. HG does not accuse BSK of lack of thrift. Little goes to waste in BSK’s household management and BSK finds bargains galore in everything from snow boots to cosmetics. But, BSK wastes the “crychik.”

Many years ago, HG/BSK toured Sicily with daughter Lesley R. and her husband, Profesore Massimo R. The distinguished Profesore (who grew up in the Sicilian city of Siracusa), was an invaluable and learned guide. The family (which included very young granddaughters, Arianna and Sofia) had a wonderful time absorbing Sicilian history, scenery, architecture (including the ruins of Greek temples), food, wine and sweets. (Best Pasta a la Norma ever and dreamy pastries). When the R. family returned to Italy, HG/BSK booked into a luxurious hotel in the hilltop town of Taormina with incomparable views of the Ionian Sea. Taormina was a favorite vacation spot for Winston Churchill and for many years a haven for gay writers and artists. The hotel dining room (as well as HG/BSK’s bedroom) was perched over the sea. At a table set with beautiful silverware, dinner plates and crystal, a courtly waiter served HG/BSK a Sicilian specialty—Pasta con el sarde. This was perfect linguine covered in a mind blowing sardine sauce that reflected the Arabic influence in Sicilian cooking, the omnipresence of the sea and the shimmering sunlight. BSK vowed to make an effort to duplicate the dish when HG/BSK returned to the USA. BSK has been successful. BSK’s version is sumptuous. HG/BSK enjoyed it last night on Prince Edward Island. This is how The Wonder Woman made it. First, a sofrito of olive oil, white wine, anchovies, pignolia nuts, garlic, shallots, saffron and dried cranberries (the Taormina version used currants but these were not available and the cranberries were a tasty substitute). Finally, this was mixed with a tin of very good plump Porftuguese sardines. Poured over linguine, the dish brought back many happy memories of sun and fun.

A classic Ashkenazi Jewish dish is kasha varnishkes. It is an HG favorite. It was served in every Jewish “dairy” restaurant in HG’s youth. Because of kosher dietary code, it was cooked without animal fat and smothered with onions and mushrooms simmered in olive or corn oil. Topped with sour cream and loads of black pepper and kosher salt. When HG’s late Mom cooked it, dietary laws were not followed and the dish got a big load of tasty homemade chicken fat. (That’s the way it was served at Sammy’s, New York’s now closed temple of schmaltz.) So, what is kasha varnishkes ? The dish consists of kasha (buckwheat groats) gently toasted with a beaten egg and then simmered in chicken broth and olive oil (chicken fat if you can source it). When the kasha is cooked into softness (but not mush) it is mixed with cooked farfalle (butterfly or bow tie pasta). Always accompanied by a bowl of sour cream. HG made it last night for BSK’s sister, Noel) and brother in law, Yossi, during an alternate Sunday dinner at HG/BSK’s home. HG used Russian kasha from an international grocer in Moncton, New Brunswick. N. & M.had never had kasha varnishkes before. They approved to the tune of second and third helpings.

HG/BSK first tasted Cincinnati chili when visiting Noel and Yossi M. (BSK’s sister and brother-in-law). The couple were then living in Kentucky but doing graduate work at Cincinnati U. Chili was served in numerous low cost eateries. Budget conscious N. and M. consumed much during harsh Cincy winters. On first tasting, HG/ BSK found it distinctive. No hint of Texas. Very middle east in spicing. Cinnamon, cumin, etc. Served over spaghetti and showered with chopped onions, grated cheddar cheese and Frank’s Hot Sauce, it was addictive. With no plans to visit Cincy in the future, HG thought about Cincy chili as a delicious memory. Surprise. Dinner (a cold night) a few weeks ago at N. & M.’s Ocean Mist Farm near Prince Edward Island’s south shore, was Noel’s version of the chili. Flavorful. Hearty. Warming. Thanks, Noel.

Many decades ago during the infancy of television, journalist HG was employed by International News Service/International News Photos (long absorbed by United Press–thus UPI). For INP, HG wrote a TV news program illustrated by still photos (known as “telops”). Very primitive. TV news improved. “Telops” were gone and HG went on to other news chores. HG got to know many illustrious news photographers. They all had a distaste for “lens louses”, individuals who managed to squeeze into every photo opportunity. Fortunately, when the film went into the darkroom they were cropped out (That is, when they were on the periphery of the photo. Alas, they often managed to weasel their way into the center.) The nutbag fascist who occupied the White House was the ultimate “lens louse.” An egomaniac, he wallowed in publicity. The media thought that he was laughable but his outrageous statements and preening persona made lively copy and TV spots. The media made the loudmouth lying fascist an omnipresent image. It projected him into his “reality” TV show. Okay, he’s gone. Our democracy has survived (barely). My message to the media: Ignore the fascist. He will continue to do and say destructive things in order to get print, internet and TV exposure. Ignore him. Let him wither away in his gloomy narcissistic loneliness.

Yes, BSK is a culinary phenomenon. It’s cold and windy (some snow flurries) at HG/BSK’s up-north, oceanfront home on Prince Edward Island.(Borders with USA are closed and HG/BSK await their vaccinations as they stay safe from the pandemic). BSK meets the weather challenges by preparing nightly dinners that warm the body and bring joy to the spirits. Tonight it was savory, lush short ribs accompanied by grits (to soak up the abundant wine scented gravy) and a side dish of sweet peas and mushrooms. In BSK’s trusty Creuset, BSK simmered the short ribs (for hours) in a mix of onions, garlic (much), carrots, celery, red wine (four cups) and a container of pho broth (for a fleeting hint of lemongrass). Drank much Canadian red wine, a lusty beverage that enhanced the robust dish. HG has a question. Why are short ribs so expensive ? Never mind. They’re worth it.

Yes, HG felt like an American patriot on the joyous day of the Biden/Harris inauguration. Democracy, that fragile, humane political idea, still lives!! Joe Biden’s speech was moving, healing.Hopefully, wounds will heal and we can go forward (won’t be easy). Kamala Harris looked beautiful and her vice-presidency (a Black/Asian woman in the White House) is historic, timely and wonderful. And, there seems to be truly warm rapport between her and her Jewish husband. Hey, with a Jewish senator from Georgia and a mensch married to a Veep, things are looking up for the Chosen People. Flags, music, brilliant poetry from a very young Poet Laureate. Rousing songs from Garth Brooks, Lady Gaga and J-Lo. Wonderful military precision from marchers that symbolized America’s might. The Fascist stench is leaving the White House and, once more, HG is proud to be an American.

Paul Freeman, 71, HG’s beloved nephew, is dead. He lost his battle–probably the only struggle he ever lost–with a brutally painful cancer. Thankfully, the pain is over and he rests in peace. HG/BSK watched a Zoom of his funeral and were touched by the unlimited love his family had for him and the grief brought about by his passing. Some 20 years older than Paul, HG knew him since his childhood. Paul went through many stages in his life. A warm and loving person, he was no saint. He had to overcome many challenges. And, he did. His devotion to his family never wavered. HG spent much time with young Paul in New York, New Jersey, Fire Island. Always enjoyed his brave, lively, entertaining presence. As time went on, Paul became a very successful investor and real estate developer. HG invested in one of Paul’s land deals and made a generous profit, of course. Paul was a major investor in the New York restaurants of HG’s daughter, Victoria. She was very fond of Paul and described him as the best investor she ever had. HG presumes Paul wrote substantial checks and then let Victoria do her thing. Very typical of Paul. Mies van der Rohe, the great architect, said “God is in the details.” Paul was obsessive about details. This was evident in all the developments and businesses he was associated with. This obsession created lasting quality. His most ambitious project was the St. Regis Hotel in Atlanta. Many difficulties. Paul overcame them and the hotel is an ornament of Atlanta, the city Paul loved. (And, the apartment in the St. Regis he shared with wife, Viki, can only be described as a high rise palazzo). As HG aged, Paul was concerned about HG’s health. HG relished the sound of Paul’s southern voice as he inquired: “Hey, Uncle Gerry, how are you doing?” Paul and Viki’s philanthropies were generous. Viki was always Paul’s stalwart and supportive wife through many decades of marriage. A gallant woman, HG/BSK knows that she and the Freeman family will cherish Paul’s memory (as will HG/BSK). Typical of Paul and Viki, they visited HG/BSK in New Mexico to celebrate HG’s 90th birthday. Photo is of Paul and Viki with HG on Prince Edward Island in 2018. We consumed oysters, drank wine and had, as always, gleeful family time.

HG’s late mother, Ida Kopkind Freeman, lived by this philosophy as she cooked for her family during the dark days of the Great Depression in the 1930’s. Leftovers were never thrown away. They were the basis for subsequent meals. This might explain HG’s aversion to leftovers (not shared by BSK or HG/BSK’s brilliant son in law, Massimo R.). BSK shares the “waste not, want not” attitude with BSK’s late mother in law. Witness what BSK does with a plump spatchcocked chicken. BSK roasts it to a golden brown. The dark meat, wings and drumsticks are delicious with their accompaniment of gravy drenched Prince Edward Island potatoes. The chicken breast is reserved and goes into warming dinner bowls of pho the next day (besides chicken and broth, the pho gets a mix of onions,carrot shavings, garlic, tofu, baby spinach, jalapenos, parsley and lots of wide Chinese rice noodles. Not all of the chicken breast is used for the pho. Some go into luncheon chicken Reubens. Remaining are the bony chicken carcass, chicken skin, the chicken backbone (removed by BSK during the spatchcocking maneuver) and a few stray bones and bits of meat. It all goes into a pot of boiling water with onion, carrots, garlic, celery and parsley. The refrigerator contents are examined by BSK and added to the pot are over the hill greens and vegetables. After hours of simmering and then straining, what emerges is the best chicken stock ever. Pungent. Layers of flavor. Lush. BSK uses the stock in a variety of ways. HG likes the stock in Stracciatella, the Italian soup of cheese, parsley and beaten egg.. Nothing is left of the chicken but happy memories. Inventive and thrifty BSK is a culinary wonder.

Sad, sad news. Sammy’s Roumanian, the New York temple of chicken fat (schmaltz), garlic and vodka has closed. Owners say they will reopen in another location. Won’t be the same as the ramshackle basement on the corner of Chrystie and Delancey on the lower east side. Pete Wells, in a 2014 review (New York Times), called Sammy’s “the most wonderful terrible restaurant in New York.” He added: “Sammy’s is a permanent underground bar mitzvah where Gentiles can act like Jews and Jews can act like themselves.” SJ and HG loved Sammy’s (BSK turned thumbs down). Fueled by vodka enclosed in a block of ice, SJ/HG relished chopped liver (drenched in schmaltz), garlic and schmaltz tenderloin steaks; chopped eggplant (with schmaltz, of course), silver dollar potatoes, kasha varnishkes. Danced the hora. Roared Yiddish songs played by the pianist. Drunk, jolly, Jewish good time. Sammy’s opened in the 1970s and gave its patrons cardiology problems for decades. R.I.P.