HUNGRY GERALD

Leon Trotsky, the fiery Russian revolutionary (murdered with an ice pick by Stalin’s henchman), said about his defeated political opponents: “Go where you belong from now on: into the dustbin of history.” Americans are equally unforgiving about losers. Witness that very silly, super hyped, mega commercialized, goofy event known as the Super Bowl. Peyton Manning was idolized as the ultimate quarterback, deserving of monuments and immortality, following his surgical dissection of the New England Patriots. Today, after being overwhelmed by the Seattle Seahawks, Peyton and the other Denver Broncos, are losers, locked in “the dustbin of history.” Yes, America treats losers badly. Statesmen once touted as the hope of the nation, become pathetic losers after being defeated in a presidential election. Aged HG, armed with the wisdom of advanced years, is dispassionate. HG knows nobody wins all the time and losing is just another aspect of life, a wondrous thing from which no one emerges alive.

HG will watch the Super Bowl with discerning BSK. The lady knows football having grown up in Ohio where football is a religion. BSK’s first boyfriend (HG is still jealous) was a high school All-American. Given that Super Bowl Sunday is (next to Thanksgiving) the biggest food consumption day in the United States, HG has given the day’s menu some thought. HG’s guide is SJ. Yes, when it comes to barbecue, pork roasts, gumbo and many other hearty culinary items, SJ is the ultimate authority, proof of Brooklyn’s leadership in robust dining. So, following SJ’s lead, HG will be off to the Pojoaque Super Market for a pork butt rimmed with a goodly amount of fat (the fat will baste the roast as it cooks). With a sharp knife, HG will make many small incisions in the butt and fill them with slivers of garlic. Then a rubdown with chile powder, adobo, cumin, smoked paprika, salt, pepper. (HG will add his own touch–a bit of soy sauce mixed with brown sugar). Let that sit in the fridge for the night wrapped in plastic. Then, come Sunday, HG will take the pork butt out, place in a cassarole dish, cover with tin foil and pop it into a 300 degree oven for a bit over four hours (which will hopefully conclude with the end of the game) Sounds good, right? Accompanying the roast will be warm tortillas, canellini beans, chopped raw onions, avocado slices, pico de gallo and an array of salsas (hot and sweet). Giving the meal a gala touch will be BSK’s green chile sauce (thoughtfully preserved in the freezer) plus BSK’s version of Calabacitas (a melange of fried zucchini, peppers, onions and corn). Dessert: Salted Caramel Gelato. During the three hour (or more) game, commercials, half-time extravaganza, learned analysis, HG will be sustained with a bowl of red chile menudo from El Parasol in Pojoaque. Menudo (for the uninitiated) is Mexican tripe stew. The way it is prepared at Jose and Alicia Atencio’s delightful, casual restaurant, it tops tripes a la mode de Caen or any other French or Italian tripe stew. While watching the TV, HG will drink (a modest amount) of tequila with Samuel Adams Ale chasers. BSK will nibble olives, Marcona almonds and Manchego cheese with her white wine. And, who will we root for?. The Broncos. But, because of HG/BSK’s love of the Pacific Northwest, there will be no mourning if Seattle wins. The overall winner, of course, will be HG and BSK’s happy, Southwestern-fed bellies.

April 1949. HG was in his third year at the uptown campus of the City College of New York (CCNY). The tuition free college was dubbed “the Harvard of the proletariat.” Tough to get into and an academically rigorous institution, CCNY was noted for producing Nobel Prize winners, scientists (Jonas Salk, conqueror of polio, among them), journalists and left wing activists. That spring some 65 years ago, CCNY was gripped by a student strike, a protest against anti-semitism in the Spanish language department and racial segregation in the college dormitories. The misguided college administration called in the police. With cries of “No cops on campus”, students battled the police. (HG was whacked in the arm with a billy club). Some 16 students were arrested. HG remembers a pal shouting defiantly as he was hurled into a paddy wagon. Big rally the next day in support of the jailed students (almost immediately released by a sympathetic judge). And, there on an improvised platform was Pete Seeger. He was 29 then but already an icon in folk music and left wing circles. With Pete leading, the campus burst into song. HG, his hand bandaged, shook hands with Seeger. “Keep fighting the good fight,” encouraged Seeger. Well, HG’s activism and political ardor cooled over the years. Pete remained the same, always present when “the good fight” was being fought. May that good, brave, talented man rest in peace.

Two events, one tragic and one sad, took place in New York City some 18 years ago. For HG, these events marked the end of New York’s Jewish ambience. Sure, the New York of that time, like today, had multitudes of Italians, Irish, African-Americans, Asians, and Hispanics. But, it was the Jews who set the overall tone of the city. The tragic event took place on March 5, 1996. On that day, Abe Lebewohl, the proprietor of the original Second Avenue Delicatessen (2nd Avenue and 10th Street), was shot and killed as he delivered cash receipts to a nearby bank. Lebewohl not only ran a great Jewish delicatessen, he was also a direct link to Second Avenue’s colorful past as the home of Yiddish theater. And, he honored that past by naming one of the delicatessen’s dining rooms after Molly Picon, a Yiddish musical star (and a favorite of HG’s Mom). Wonderful Jewish delicatessens like Gitlitz (79th and Broadway) are gone. Katz’s remains on the Lower East Side — a stalwart in these lean deli times where the venerable Carnegie Deli has devolved into a grotesque tourist trap known only for the over-stuffed size of their sandwiches.

The sad event was the closing of Lou G. Siegel’s on June 29, 1996. It had been in business for 79 years. Lou G. Siegel was a distinguished and dignified restaurant in the heart of New York’s Garment Center (38th Street just west of Seventh Avenue). It was strictly kosher (there were two Rabbis on the payroll) and the food was delicious, hearty and caloric. It was where observant Jewish (were there any other?) clothing executives dined. The non-observant big shot Jews ate at Al Cooper’s, further east on 38th. The garment workers frequented Dubrow’s and the other very good cafeterias in the vicinity. They are all gone. Seventh Avenue has been named “Fashion Avenue”. The Garment Center with its rabid union members, gangsters and famed lunchtime schmooze is now the Fashion District. The habitues of Siegel’s kingdom of chicken fat and rugelach would have a sardonic laugh. Siegel’s was the best of a host of traditional kosher restaurants that served meat ( Kosher law, “kashriuth”, forbids the mingling of meat and dairy products). Some of the other restaurants of that type were Moskowitz & Lupowitz and Gluckstern’s. Sammy’s Romanian (Allen and Delancey) is a survivor. The food (non-kosher) is tasty. The prices are steep. The atmosphere is a Jewish parody, a broad dialect joke. The great, strictly dairy (and fish) Jewish restaurants (Ratner’s, Rappaport’s, Steinberg’s, Paradise) are gone although some smaller operations still exist. This is not to say that there aren’t kosher restaurants left in New York — There are plenty of them spread throughout the five boroughs, catering to a new generation of the observant and a new group of Israeli and Russian Jewish immigrants. The menus would be un-recognizable to the observant Jews of fifty years ago as they feature kosher sushi, kosher Italian and kosher Indian food (amongst others). The restaurants HG misses most are those that were not kosher and had wide ranging menus that included, but were not confined to, Eastern European Jewish food. The three greatest, of course, were Lindy’s, Reuben’s and Tip Toe Inn. Gone. New York has, for better or worse, lost much of its Jewish flavor. It is now a truly international city with a cuisine to match. No, New York is no longer Jewish but it if you are hungry it’s a great town.

The Maghreb is the culturally distinct region of North Africa (Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco) fronting on the Mediterranean Sea. HG loves the food from this part of the world and enjoys its splendors whenever possible. There’s a good article on Maghreb food in Paris by Jay Cheshes (SAVEUR–Nov. 12, 2012). Cheshes mentions two great street foods: Casse-croute (Tunisian tuna and vegetable sandwich) and Mahjouba (Algerian crepes rolled around grilled vegetables). Why do working class Parisians have all the luck? Why can’t we Americans have these treats instead of hamburgers? Cheaper and healthier. In a recent post, HG mentioned the excellent (at a very modest price) chicken and preserved lemon tagine with couscous HG enjoyed at Restaurant Jour et Nuit on Paris’s gritty Boulevard de la Chapelle. Close to that place is Dar el Houma (mentioned by Cheshy) which specializes in chicken tagines atop Maghreb noodles. Sounds pleasing. Also in the area is Les Trois Freres which in addition to couscous, does a mean steak et frites. Makes HG want to hustle back to Paris. Sadly, Maghreb food has not really proliferated in the United States. Surprising, since dumbed-down Mexican, Italian and Chinese food is available everywhere. Couscous has gained a foothold in American kitchens, but has not really infiltrated US restaurants. In all of HG’s many years in New York, HG remembers only one good couscous joint. This was a place in the West Greenwich Village where a jolly Israeli guy dished out maximum couscous dinners at minimal prices. Long closed. Sad.

HG has often noticed that plane travel makes HG ferociously hungry; and in a sad twist of fate, satisfying this hunger on a plane, in an airport or in the environs of an airport is close to impossible as the edible offerings are typically terrible. Well, on HG/BSK’s recent travel from New Mexico to Denver to Rhode Island to Paris and back, HG found himself pleasantly surprised. On the trip out from Denver, HG’s thoughts turned to sandwiches. There are times when nothing satisfies quite like a good sandwich. Of course, such specimens aren’t so easy to find. Been a long time since HG has really had a top flight bacon-tomato-lettuce-mayonnaise-whole wheat toast sandwich at a local diner. And, of course, a really big time Jewish pastrami on rye can only be found at Katz’s in New York or Langer’s in Los Angeles. But HG found a great sandwich in an unlikely spot — Elway’s, a nicely designed eatery at the Denver International Airport. John Elway is a Denver football icon who has two steak houses in the city plus this place. Don’t know if John knows anything about food but Elway’s served HG an exemplary blackened fish sandwich on a brioche bun. It was enhanced by New Orleans tasso ham and chipotle dressing. And, accompanied by a nice bowl of chipotle infused cole slaw. Good, spicy stuff. Made HG think over a lifetime of hand-held treats — HG is very fond of big, robust Italian sandwiches (called heroes, grinders, subs and po’ boys–dependent upon geography). The best ever was served in a deli on the main street of New Paltz in the Hudson Valley. John Goodman, that exemplary actor (who looks like a world class eater) likes the mufaletta sandwich prepared by an Italian grocery in New Orleans (it features vinegary olive salad with an array of salami and ham). Take a look at the website of The Italian Corner in East Providence, Rhode Island, to see its encyclopedic array of grinders. One of the stars is the sausage pizzaiola grinder (sausage in a sauce of tomato, capers, spices and Romana cheese). On Fridays, there’s a special of a Calamari steak grinder. Chilean squid is pounded thin, grilled quickly to a point of juicy tenderness. It is then nestled between two slices of good Italian bread with plenty of lettuce, tomatoes, peppers and olive oil. A gift from the sea.

On HG’s return trip: winding back to New Mexico via the erratic airline system, HG had the pleasant experience on the plane of watching Denver beat San Diego (with the ever dangerous Philip Rivers) and San Francisco defeat the upstart Panthers. Checked into the Holiday Inn Express at Denver International Airport. Pleasant hotel with the world’s worst shuttle service (be forewarned). BSK peckish. Went to nearby Sporting News Grill. Expecting the worst. Surprise. Had a sliced flatiron steak salad. Really first rate. And, the IPA brew on tap hit the spot. Off to New Mexico in the AM. Sunny day and nice motoring to Pueblo. Oops. Highway blocked (chemical spills, high winds, etc,). Lengthy detour to Salida. Hungry HG/BSK lunched at Carmelina’s and had a platter of fresh, healthy food — fish tacos with toothsome corn tortillas, salad, tangy salsa, good refritos with melted cheese. Learned later that Salida has a Vietnamese restaurant. Colorado’s small towns are not provincial when it comes to food and fortunately this aesthetic has extended to its airport.

HG’s late father, a socialist Russian-Jewish immigrant, often quoted a sardonic Russian proverb: “God loves the rich and the rich love God.” This characterizes America’s right wing with its blather about “family values”, “traditional marriage”, “right to life”, “religious belief.” Meanwhile, they wage war against America’s poor and helpless. The tax loopholes that protect the rich are sacred but food stamps and every program designed to alleviate suffering is characterized as “wasteful” or “ineffective social engineering.” The late Jewish carpenter JC expressed loving concern for the least among us. He didn’t mince words. His remarks about “One Per Cent America” would be scathing. Economist/ Columnist Paul Krugman put it well in a recent column. He examined the idea that the Social Security benefits age be raised because Americans were living longer. Krugman found that more affluent, better educated Americans are, indeed, living longer. However, life expectancy among less educated and affluent Americans is decreasing. Krugman summed up the Republican attitude: “Because lawyers are living longer, janitors shouldn’t retire.”

Yes, HG’s birthday was marked by a gift of some great spices from Gifted (and thoughtful) Daughter Lesley R. and family. Four savory spices:  Berbere mixture, Aleppo pepper, ground Sumac berries and Charmushka. Berbere is North African in style and is powerfully hot and spicy. HG sprinkled it on grilled chicken. Gave it a big lift. Aleppo (from Turkey) is good on everything. Nice mixed with oil, oregano and garlic. Slather it on your broiled chicken or pan broiled hamburgers. Sumac (also from Turkey) is a whiff of the Middle East and is an essential ingredient in many Middle Eastern dishes and spice mixtures. HG likes its lemony flavor so plans to add it to Zaatar, add olive oil and coat gently warmed pita with the mix. Charnushka (from India) has many uses. In Eastern Europe, it tops rye and other breads. In India, it is carefully blended with other spices to create the complexities of great curries, vindaloos, etc.. The flavor is something between caraway and cumin. HG intends to sprinkle some on on Greek yogurt and also add it to broiled tomatoes. HG loves the sound of the spice’s name. Can hardly wait to say: “Hey, pass the charnushka.”

That was the headline of a brilliant and moving work of journalism by the Washington Post’s Eli Jaslow (read by HG a few weeks ago). Saslow details the impossible challenge of feeding a family of five on the standard government allotment of $1.50 per meal. Says Jaslow: “The cheap foods this affords tend to be among the least nutritious–heavy in preservatives, fats, salt and refined sugar.” This is a recipe for morbid obesity, diabetes, high cholesterol and other ailments. There are millions of kids in the United States whose minds and bodies are being destroyed by a reliance on unhealthy food. But, what can an impoverished mother do, someone living on foods stamps, when her child cries that he’s hungry and must eat? Pour some cheese sauce directly into a bag of Cheetos. Costs a buck. It is part of a vicious circle. The Republican war on the poor is going to mean more illness and higher health costs. What happened to “Family Values”? And, for that matter, “Christian Values”? HG must stop. Fury is boiling.

Simple and foolproof. That’s the Macchinetta, the stove top utensil in which HG/BSK brew strong, Italian home-style coffee. That coffee is essential for the HG/BSK breakfast of cafe au lait, Greek yogurt and fresh fruit. No, the Macchinetta doesn’t make espresso (though it does use finely ground dark or “espresso” roast coffee beans). Just strong coffee. Espresso can only be made by a skilled barista using an elaborate machine. HG only drinks espresso after lunch-with-wine at a restaurant. Necessary to ward off alcohol induced drowsiness. When in Italy, HG marvels at the stylish Italians who pop into an espresso bar, dump a lot of sugar into a tiny cup and down the espresso with one gulp. They seem to do this three or four times a day (or more). These quick bursts of caffeine/sugar energy might explain Italy’s political volatility. (Doesn’t explain Berlusconi, however).