HUNGRY GERALD

“March Madness” is almost finished and HG has been enjoying the basketball battles of the lengthy athletes. When the ball goes in the basket, HG murmurs: “Good like Nedick’s !!”. The late Marty Glickman, the radio voice of New York sports for many years, used that phrase when Nedick’s, a New York hot dog chain, sponsored Knicks games.(Glickman also intoned “Swish!!” when a ball went into the net without hitting the backboard or rim). The phrases became part of New York street language. After making a good shot on the asphalt courts that dotted The Bronx, the player would shout: “Swish!!” or “Good like Nedick’s !!”. (HG had previously mentioned the excellence of the super-cheap Nedick’s lunch of the 1950’s: Two hot dogs on toasted buns. Special, tangy mustard relish. Good orange drink. Cost was less than a dollar). Glickman’s voice was ubiquitous on New York radio. Staccato delivery. Accurate coverage of games. In addition to the Knicks, he was the voice of the New York Giants football team; the Jets; college basketball from Madison Square Garden. Glickman was born in The Bronx of Jewish immigrant parents and raised in Brooklyn where he was known as the “Flatbush Flash.” He was a star football player (Scored two touchdowns in a famous upset of Cornell) and a track team sprinter at Syracuse University. Selected for the U.S. 400-yard relay team in the 1936 Berlin Olympics (along with another Jewish dash man, Sam Stoller). One day before the relay event in Nazi Germany, the Jewish athletes were replaced by Jesse Owens and Ralph Metcalfe, both African-American. The American team won the event in record time and helped Jesse Owens attain immortality by being the first athlete to gain four Olympic medals. Glickman claimed that he and Stoller were replaced because of the anti-Semitism of US Olympic Chairman Avery Brundage who wanted to appease Hitler by not having two Jews standing on the winner’s platform. Glickman was always bitter about the incident even after the US Olympic Committee apologized in 1998 and gave him a gold plaque (Sam Stoller had died earlier). Some other notes: Contrary to the legend, Hitler did shake hands with Owens and Owens carried a photo of the handshake in his wallet the rest of his life. Owens was angered that President Franklin D. Roosevelt never invited him to the White House or sent him a congratulatory message. (Hitler said Black athletes should be barred from future Olympic games because their physiques were “superior” to those of Whites). Two years after the Berlin Olympics, in 1938, Hitler awarded Brundage’s construction company the contract to build the German Embassy in Washington, D.C.

HG has been looking at the March 21 cover of The New Yorker for some days. Each look brings a smile. The cover, “Spring Forward,” features a gentleman with a green mustache; pink, white and green blossoms; a small black and white dog. The artist is Maira Kalman, an HG favorite. A joy looking at the cover and walking in HG/BSK’s gardens alive with daffodils, hyacinths and golden forsythia. Spring is alive and well in New Mexico. Maira Kalman is a delightful, multi talented artist, illustrator and designer. Born in Tel Aviv in 1949. Came to USA when she was four. Lives in Brooklyn (of course). She was married, until his untimely death (at age 50) to Tibor Kalman, founder of the very successful cutting edge design company, M & Company. Maira Kalman shares HG’s love for dogs and Pete, a cute little guy, was her companion for many years. Maira is prolific. More than a score of books, a number of New Yorker covers and illustrations for other magazines. Wrote a blog for The New York Times, “Principles of Uncertainty” which was later published as a book. She’s done a number of very funny books of illustrations featuring, Max, The Poet Dog. These including “Max in Hollywood, Baby” and “Ooh, La, La , Max Is In Love” (in Paris). HG/BSK’s gifted daughter, Lesley R., introduced HG/BSK to Maira with a Christmas gift of Beloved Dog, a charming book inspired by Pete and dedicated to Maira’s children. Buy it if you enjoy dogs, quirky and witty art, life. Published by Penguin Bookis

Lent is ending. Easter Sunday just a day away. The Holy week is very special in northern New Mexico where HG/BSK live. The Pentitntes (Members of the religious brotherhood, Los Hermanos Penitentes) have started to appear trudging along Highway 285/84. They walk for many miles to El Santuario de Chimayo, the church in the little town of Chimayo. The taxing walk serves to link them with “the passion and pain of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” They believe El Santuario has curative powers (Some eat a bit of the earth upon which El Santuario stands). Los Hermanos was founded in Spain and Italy some 800 years ago. It has been active in New Mexico for 400 years. Many New Mexican restaurants like Pojoauque’s El Parasol and Sopaipilla Factory offer Lenten specialties. HG’s favorite is El Parasol’s crisp fried cod on a bun lined with shredded lettuce and mayonnaise. Though an atheist, HG celebrates the Passover Seder meal (Aprill 22 this year). HG/BSK’s Seder is a rather irreverent affair featuring plenty of drinking, laughter and song. After all, Passover is like most Jewish holidays: “They tried to kill us. They failed. So, let’s eat and drink a lot.” Traditionally, HG/BSK start the meal with jarred Manischewitz gefilte fish. HG is not fond of this product (It is a mere shadow of the savory, handcrafted gefilte fish–think of it as a Jewish Quenelle– made by HG’s late Mom.) HG is lobbying for Baba Ganoush, a wonderful Middle Eastern eggplant dish made from scratch by HG. (It’s nice scooped up by matzos). The Seder main dish will be brisket or lamb kefte (Garlicky cigar-shaped meatballs). Dessert: Passover cookies plus strong drink–Slivovitz, Vishniak, Grappa, Limoncello, Cognac. Hey, Pharoah. Gotcha!! If there was a Jewish order of Penitentes, HG would join. Might help atone for a sin of HG’s youth: When HG was ten, HG and his pals paid a visit to a large appetizing store in the Bronx. Besides traditional smoked fish, the store offered nuts, dried fruit, hard candies–all in big, open burlap bags. Maxwell House Coffee Company distributed free Hagadahs (the little book used for the story and songs of the Seder) to stores in Jewish neighborhoods (a PR gesture). Having the sunniest and most honest face, HG approached the owner (who worked behind the smoked fish counter) and asked for some free Maxwell House Hagadahs: “We all want to study them before the Seder.” The owner praised the pious lad and while he searched for the religious tomes, HG’s buddies filled their pockets with many goodies. HG believes HG’s diversionary chat with the store owner was the seed which later sprouted into HG’s successful career as a public relations counsel for New York’s mightiest landlords and real estate developers. All goniffs. Like HG’s childhood pals.

HG grew up during The Great Depression. Never had a dog pet. Dogs were scarce in those days. Folks had enough trouble putting food on the table without being concerned about nourishing an animal. BSK always had a dog (Her favorites were Bambi One and Bambi Two). So, soon after they married (almost 53 years ago) a dog came into HG’s life. His name was Peaches, an Apricot Standard poodle. HG loved Peaches, even though he was a difficult dog (BSK claims this was due to HG’s objections to having Peaches neutered). Many mishaps with Peaches. He once trotted out of HG/BSK’s Fire Island dune house to urinate on a carefully prepared clambake hosted by neighbors. Peaches was perpetually hungry (like most dogs). Ate everything in sight. Peaches once grabbed a big steak off a barbecue. HG (faster in those days) chased the naughty dog, Pried the steak out of his jaws. Cut away the piece Peaches had nibbled. Served the rest to appreciative dinner guests. When children arrived, each had a dog. Lesley R. had Sassafras, a Golden Labrador. SJ had Jesse, a floppy eared Springer Spaniel. They came under HG/BSK’s care after the kids left the house. Sassy was a very smart and loving dog. Jesse was needy, and nervous. Soon after HG/BSK moved to their Colorado horse ranch, Sassy was shot in the head by a neighbor. Because of Sassy’s coloring, the aged neighbor mistook Sassy for a coyote. A veterinary student lived nearby and her emergency care saved Sassy. months. Health deteriorated but the brave dog survived for a number of years. Finally, the end came. HG was responsible for Sassy’s euthanasia. Very sad and tearful moment. A few years later, Bobo arrived. Bobo was a Newfoundland. A very big (150 pounds) black dog. Looked like a friendly bear. Gentle, sweet, loving and very, very smart. HG/BSK had not planned for Bobo. He was inherited from Lesley and Massimo R. when the couple moved from a Massachusetts home into a Hartford rental condo where it was impractical to keep a dog when they were both away at demanding jobs (Massimo was teaching at Brown and Lesley was editing The Hartford Advocate, an alternative newspaper.) Bobo proved to be a delight. When HG or BSK were seated, Bobo would rest his giant head in their laps. At the appropriate time, BSK would say: “Bedtime, Bobo.” Bobo would trot downstairs, use his giant paw to open the door to the garage, close the door behind him and go to sleep on the garage floor. Because of his massive fur coat, Bobo liked to sleep in the cool garage. Bobo enjoyed eating leftover pasta. Because of the olive oil, Bobo’s black coat glistened. He was also fond of stale baguettes. He would have a few bites and then bury the rest. Bobo would wander the hills and mountain slopes of the 150-acre ranch and bring back bones and parts of dead animals. He once parked half of a dead elk in front of HG/BSK’s home entry door. Bobo accompanied HG everywhere, often riding in the passenger seat of HG’s Camry. Gave fellow motorists a shock. HG would take Bobo to lunch at a dim sum restaurant on Denver’s Federal Boulevard. HG would feed Bobo Chinese tidbits while the diminutive waitstaff would look on, semi-paralyzed with fear. Once, BSK looked out the rear door of HG/BSK’s kitchen and saw a large black form. It’s Bobo, thought BSK. Looked around. Bobo was lounging near BSK’s feet. Uh oh. The black form was a bear.Trotted away without doing any harm. Unfortunately, big dogs like Bobo are not long lived. It became time for euthanasia. At the pet hospital, Bobo turned around to give HG one last soulful look. Saying farewell and rest in peace, a pained and tearful HG hugged and kissed the faithful companion. HG vowed: No more dogs. The parting was just too emotional and painful. And, then came Toby, The Wonder Dog. Hopefully, the young fellow will outlive ancient HG.

The best, cutest, smartest, most lovable, most idiosyncratic dog in the world is HG/BSK’s fragrant and furry companion, Toby, The Wonder Dog. Toby came into HG/BSK’s life two years ago. BSK (accompanied by granddaughter, Gorgeous Sofia, living with HG/BSK at the time) found Toby at a dog shelter. He had been abandoned and mistreated. (must have been owned by a deranged individual). For HG/BSK and Sofia, it was love at first sight. Toby is a Havanese (a Cuban breed) with a bit of poodle in the mix. Toby has never had an “accident” in our home. Toby is discreet where he does his “business.” Toby is not destructive. Toby likes to lounge on HG/BSK’s leather sofa or lounge chair. No scratching. Toby does not shed. Toby is a watchdog, alert to any human or critter intrusion on HG/BSK’s property. Toby is not a finicky eater (though he is perpetually on the lookout for something edible). Toby is a perfect auto traveler, perches on the space between the front seats and admires the view. Toby is a wakeup dog, better than an alarm clock — When it’s time for HG to arise, Toby perches on the bed and licks HG’s ears. And, Toby smells good and has a sweet breath. Idiosyncrasies? When Toby is called he comes or does not come. Depends on his mood; however, a dog treat will always fetch him. Toby is very indecisive about being outdoors or indoors. (“Make up your mind, Toby!!!). Toby is probably spoiled. However he projects an abundance of love which HG/BSK return. In abundance.

No, not the vast, chilly region of Russia but the equally frigid and unattractive part of a restaurant where tourists, bad tippers, poorly dressed or unfashionable couples are banished by a maitre d’. HG is very choosy about where HG/BSK are seated in a restaurant. In addition to Siberia, HG does not wish to be seated facing or adjacent to restrooms. Ditto service stations that are sources of clatter and destroyers of conversation. Ditto doors to the kitchen. In winter, HG does not wish to be seated near front doors with their chilling drafts. HG always tries for a larger rather than a smaller table. HG loves the banquettes in many Paris bistros where HG/BSK can be seated side by side and enjoy the animated scene before them. BSK finds HG’s finicky attitude about seating maddening. However, HG persists. That’s because dining out is, in part, a theatrical experience. Ambience and people watching are part of it. So, having the right seat, as in the theater, is essential.

That was the motto of the early women’s prohibition movement. BSK doesn’t go that far. However, BSK has often taken a very dim view of HG’s intake of strong white spirits. Namely tequila and vodka. Can’t blame her. BSK’s war hero father had problems with alcohol which led to a stormy family life. The only time HG ever saw BSK drink strong spirits was on their first date in March 1963. The duo met at the bar of Lombardi’s, a Greenwich Village restaurant. BSK ordered a Dewars scotch on the rocks. (Later, BSK confessed feigning sophistication on a first date with an older, worldly New Yorker). HG had two extra dry Martinis (BSK did not heed the warning). BSK loved dining at Fornos, a wonderful Spanish restaurant (long closed); however, BSK did not like HG’s habit of drinking Fornos’ Margaritas (best ever) throughout the meal and finishing with two Banana Daquiris (best ever) for dessert. Matters came to a climax on Fire Island: HG/BSK were guests at a smorgasbord prepared by the late New York Times journalist Glenn Fowler and his Swedish wife. Famished and thirsty after a day of sun, swimming, body surfing and football tossing. The array of herring, meatballs, red salmon caviar, ham, sausages and cheeses was enticing. HG ate a lot (as did BSK). Jolly time. Unfortunately, HG drank a great deal. There were bottles of near-frozen Aakavit in a block of ice and ale nestled in a bucket of crushed ice. HG took a bite of food. Then a snifter of icy Aakavit. A chaser of ale. This was repeated and repeated and repeated. Later, HG/BSK walked home on the narrow boardwalk (no cars on Fire Island). All of a sudden BSK noticed she was walking alone. BSK looked off the side of the boardwalk — There, laying in the sand, was a prone, very happy, very drunk HG. The next morning there were some stern warnings from BSK. If such a drunken scene was repeated marriage would be ended. HG never again became falling down drunk. (BSK was magnanimous about HG being tipsy, high, slightly sozzled, etc.). Lately, strong spirits have had a bad effect on mature HG. The combination of vodka or tequila with HG’s old guy medications has proven dangerous. HG has stumbled and passed out briefly (for about 30 seconds). BSK has expressed concern. HG now adheres to a regimen of bitters and soda (Aperol, Campari, Punt a Mes, Cynar, Angostura) before dinner. A glass of wine (a large one) with dinner. A very small shot glass of bourbon sipped while watching a movie DVD. No, this is not a liquid diet approved by Carry Nation, the temperance women and the health police. However, it keeps HG upright and soberly joyous. Moreover, BSK approves (barely). That’s the only approval HG seeks.

Bernie Sanders, a Jew, could be the first Jewish President. “Oy vey!!”, comments HG, a long time Hillary Clinton supporter. HG is a Jew, although a confirmed atheist and opponent of organized religion (The present Pope is an exception). The Sanders candidacy has caused HG to muse about the singularity of Jews. It was William Norman Ewart (1885-1977), an English foreign affairs journalist (and a Soviet spy in the 1920’s), who composed the epigram: “How odd of God/To choose the Jews”. The epigram drew many reposes through the years: “Not odd of God/His son was one” (Dorothy Parker); “Not odd of God/Goyim annoy ‘im” (Leo Rosten); “But not so odd as those who choose a Jewish God yet spurn the Jews” (Ogden Nash); “Moses, Jesus, Marx, Einstein and Freud/No wonder the goyim are annoyed” (Jim Sleeper).

HG/BSK rarely eat in Italian restaurants. BSK is an expert Italian cook as is daughter Lesley R. (who has the advantage of spending many years in Italy). SJ, not only makes top shelf latkes, barbecue, Cajun stews, the talented guy makes a sumptuous bowl of linguine con vongole. Growing up in The Bronx, HG confined Italian dining to one restaurant, Dominick’s. Located in the Arthur Avenue/Belmont neighborhood, the prices were low, tastes were hearty old school, decor was no frills to the extreme, waiters were brusque. It’s still in operation. Still has huge portions. No credit cards. Communal seating. Pizza was not a universal American food in HG’s youth. First tried some, age 5, on busy Bathgate Avenue. Thought it was cherry pie. Mom finally bought little HG a slice (cost 2 cents). Big disappointment. HG has never been a big pizza fans though, when young, HG did fancy the very oily, very cheesy pies at Joe’s on Jerome Avenue (Kingsbridge neighborhood) and Half Moon (Arthur Avenue). The years rolled by. HG/BSK made many trips to Italy. Favorite dishes: Seppie stew with linguine in Venice (plus all the fish and shellfish); Bollito Misto in Bologna as well as (natch) Tagliatelle con Ragu Bolognese; very rare Steak Fiorentina with Tuscan beans in Florence; pasta smothered in delicious, expensive white truffle shavings in Rome. Mouthwatering memories. In New York, HG/BSK’s favorite Italian restaurant was Delsomma on W. 47th Street. HG/BSK were introduced to it by the late (and very much missed) composer Michael Small and his wife, Lynn. This was the restaurant where HG/BSK had their very first meal with Massimo R., then the nervous boyfriend of daughter Lesley. (Massimo and Lesley celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary this month). Read all about Delsomma (closed for more than 20 years, alas) on hungrygerald: Gone But Not Forgotten Restaurants: Delsomma. Paul and Jimmy’s on Irving Place was another favorite (Pesce –fish– Livornese was a specially). That’s gone but two other favorites are still operating –Patsy’s on W. 56th Street and Patsy’s Pizzeria and Restaurant on 1st Avenue and 118th Street. The 56th Street Patsy’s was a favorite of Frank Sinatra and mobster Frank Costello. In 1956, HG had HG’s first public relations office on the floor just above the restaurant. Knowing that HG was struggling financially, Patsy’s kind and generous owners would feed HG delicious food at discounted prices.(“Hey. Kid, you’re a neighbor, right?”). The other Patsy’s was a favorite during HG’s days as a journalist. Favorite dishes were clams oreganato and spaghetti olio et aglio. In those days (1951-1955), Patsy’s was a busy place much favored by cops and mob guys. Specialized (as it still does) in pizza. HG/BSK visited it one night in the 1970’s when BSK was in the mood for pizza. Drugs had taken over the neighborhood. HG/BSK were the only customers except for junkies who kept darting in the bathrooms to shoot up. The pizza, however, was devastatingly good. Prepared by two old people who cooked with knowledge and love. Business picked up at Patsy’s (In business for more than 75 years) after Woody Allen, surprisingly, showed up with a group of showbiz pals in the early 80s, ordered pizza and raved. Word got around. The restaurant now thrives under a second generation of owners. Still a cash only policy. HG is sure it’s good but when next in New York, will continue to get an Italian food fix at Vic’s, daughter Victoria’s new venture on Great Jones Street. Superlative, innovative Italian cooking.

Yes, HG will be watching the 50th Super Bowl on Sunday, February 7. Yes, HG will feel twinges of guilt. The contest will take place in the wake of the recent death of former Giant player Tyler Lash, age 27. His autopsy revealed severe brain damage–C.F.E.–the result of the numerous concussions and brain collisions he suffered during a football career that began when he was very young. The deadly statistics concerning football’s destructiveness are mounting. Yet, the NFL and the major college conferences are doing little to protect players. The NFL is a multi,multi billion dollar business which provides the billionaire owners a useful tax shelter plus an ego boost. The big time college football factories pay their coaches millions and the players (mostly African-American) often end their college days with debilitating injuries. Just one more thing that’s wrong in an America which takes a TV buffoon like Donald Trump seriously as the leader of the world. Nevertheless. Nevertheless. HG will watch the Denver Broncos do battle with the Charlotte Panthers. HG/BSK lived in the greater Denver area for some 25 years before moving to New Mexico. It is very hard to be cured of Bronco fever. Unfortunately, HG believes Cam Newton and his Panther comrades will demolish the Broncs. Newton is the most extraordinary quarterback HG has ever seen. He is bigger and faster than most famed running backs. He is an accurate passer, comfortable throwing short or long. White football fans (enchanted by splendid white quarterbacks like Manning, Brady, Montana and Starr) have been reluctant in acknowledging Newton’s greatness.(Newton’s celebratory dances annoy them). Sorry, white folks. Newton is symbolic of a new generation that will change football forever (unless the game is banned as being more dangerous and inhumane than bullfighting). HG has watched every Super Bowl, beginning with the first. Vince Lombardi coached the winning Green Bay Packers. Now a sanctified figure with numerous schools, playing fields, streets, etc. named after him. A number of statues and plaques on public buildings. He was a brutal exponent of winning (“Winning is everything.”) and delighted in bone crushing “nutcracker” drills during his team’s practice sessions. “Football isn’t a contact sport. It’s a collision sport.”, he said. Of course,it is all of those collisions that lead to early Alzheimer’s and C.F.E. Lombardi lauded bravery and toughness but managed to avoid serving in World War Two through numerous deferments. In 1967, Lombardi complained of digestive pain but refused his doctor’s suggestion of a proctoscopic examination. He died three years later of colon and rectal cancer. Age 57. Hey, amateur Freudian analysts, theorize about all of these anomalies in Lombardi’s life. A culinary note. HG will soften Super Bowl guilt by consuming a half-time meal not endorsed by the health police. Rare roast beef on rye or pumpernickel bread liberally covered with a layer of duck fat. Topped with sliced sweet onion, Malden Sea Salt Flakes and smoked black pepper. Accompaniments: Sour dill pickles. Cole slaw. Potato salad. Anchor Steam India Pale Ale. Guinness Stout. Go Broncos!!!