Vidalia Delight

May 22nd, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

BSK, a talented potter (among many other accomplishments and skills, both practical and artistic), has made a special pot for storing lemons, limes, oranges and avocados. Out of this wonderful artifice, BSK extracted an avocado, squeezed it and announced: “I’ve got some Vidalia onions. Let’s have an onion-avocado-orange salad.” HG is a passionate lover of sweet Vidalias. Combining them with ripe avocado slices and blood oranges is a heavenly marriage that HG first tasted in a Cuban restaurant in northern Manhattan. No, they did not use pricey Vidalias, but ordinary onions — delicious nonetheless. When eating at this unnamed restaurant, HG accompanied this salad with fried shrimp or flounder or “ropa vieja” (a type of Cuban pot roast) or sometimes a slice of chewy but flavorful rare steak. Obligatory was a big bowl of “Moros y Cristianos” (Moors and Christians, a colorful name for black beans and rice). So, for the mutual delight of HG and BSK, this meal was reproduced last night. HG sizzled a garlic rubbed flap steak in a trusty cast iron pan. (Flap steak is a butcher’s secret. Cheaper than a conventional sirloin and full of beefy flavor). A can of Goya black beans (the best) was warmed and served atop white rice (adorned with plenty of chopped, raw Vidalia and splashes of picante salsa). There was a bottle of Rosemount Austrailan Shiraz (big and fruity). Django Reinhardt (circa 1936) on the Bose. Joy.

The Cedar Bar – The Good and The Bad.

May 21st, 2013 § 4 comments § permalink

The last remnants of the Cedar Tavern (always referred to as the Cedar Bar), 82 University Place in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village, are being demolished to make way for a waxing salon. Nostalgia can can cloud vision. But, not Lee Siegel’s vision. The writer has a very balanced account of Cedar Bar in a New York Times Op-Ed piece and comes to some surprising conclusions. Permit HG to review the Cedar Bar history. In the 1950’s and early 1960’s it was the hangout of the hard drinking, rambunctious New York school of abstract expressionists and other painters who became modernist icons — de Kooning, Rivers, Pollock, Kline, Guston, Motherwell, etc. Their presence attracted writers, film makers, poets, musicians and a motley crew of bohemians. It was a macho crew so there were plenty fisticuffs and alcohol fueled rage (and hilarity). Needless to say, misogynistic and homophobic language and behavior flowed free. Siegel points out that women were always treated badly. He quotes Lee Krasner, Jackson Pollock’s wife and an extraordinary painter in her own right: “I loathed Cedar Bar. Women were treated like cattle.” Gays were insulted and made uncomfortable. One saving grace of the Cedar was it was very inter-racial. It was a bar where HG always felt comfortable drinking with his African-American girl friends. (Yes, women were treated shabbily. But, not African-American women. The Cedar’s ferocious leftists saw to that.)

HG was a man of his time. HG loved the Cedar Bar and shared most of the nasty attitudes of its habitues. When HG lived in the Gramercy Park neighborhood (more than 50 years ago) HG had a Saturday routine. Little daughter Victoria (now the distinguished restaurateur — Five Points, Cookshop, Hundred Acres) was placed in her stroller and the duo was off on a stroll through 23rd Street (great bookshops), Gramercy Park (HG had a key for a short period), Irving Place (a grilled cheese sandwich for little Vicki at Pete’s Tavern), Washington Square Park and, as a final destination before returning home, Cedar Bar. Vicki was perched on the bar where she munched pretzels and peanuts and was admired by all for her remarkable blonde cuteness. As for HG, there were numerous martinis while HG participated in vigorous discussion. A very boozy and joyful afternoon indeed.

Philadelphia Cream Cheese

May 20th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

Okay, Philadelphia Cream Cheese, available in every super market and grocery in the United States, is a dumb cheese. Thoroughly generic, absolutely processed and totally boring; however, HG admits, the cheese has its place. HG likes it with a chunk of guava jelly. Goya produces guava jelly in a big round, flat can. Very cheap. Very good. HG also likes it spread on buttery Ritz crackers (yes, HG likes some proletarian treats) and topped with fiery jalapeno pepper jelly. The best cream cheese ever was produced by the Daitch Dairy stores in The Bronx and Manhattan. Today’s closest approximation can be obtained by mail order from Zingerman’s in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Be forewarned. It’s not cheap.

Scrambled Eggs – A Royal Breakfast Dish

May 18th, 2013 § 2 comments § permalink

There are few things better than a plate of softly scrambled fresh eggs with buttered, toasted bread. Brew robust cafe au lait and a super breakfast is at hand. Unfortunately, you cannot have this dish in a diner, cafe or restaurant. Always disappointing. You must do the dish at home. Whisk together two eggs with a bit of milk (or heavy cream if you are feeling decadent). Melt butter (lots of butter — this is an indulgent dish, not a heart healthy, everyday treat like HG’s beloved Cheerios). Keep the heat very low. Add the eggs to the pan and stir gently. As mellow curds start to form, add a touch (little bit, don’t douse it) of heavy sweet cream. After the soft golden mix of eggs absorbs the cream, serve immediately. As for the bread. Forget the toaster. Grill thick slices of country bread on your range and have softened butter in readiness. For some extra zing give your plate of eggs a few drops of Tabasco or a discreet dusting of smoked Spanish pimenton. If you really want to go overboard, top the eggs with a spoonful of good quality red salmon caviar (try Zabar’s or Russ & Daughters for sourcing) and a bit of creme fraiche. Bacon (or ham) and eggs is for the common folk. This dish is the province of aristocrats, Kings and Princes.

Caught Between Two Menudos

May 16th, 2013 § 4 comments § permalink

HG, as fans of this blog may have noted, is a big fan of menudo, the very pungent and flavorful Mexican tripe stew. Among menudo’s many benefits is the fact that a bowl banishes a hangover. HG, a conservative imbiber (ahem!!), has not been able to vouch for this. In any case, HG’s menudo go-to place is the plain spoken eat in/take out El Parasol in Pojuaque. EP’s menudo, fragrant with the heady aroma of offal, contains plenty fiery green chilis and is accompanied by chopped raw onion,lemon slices, Mexican oregano and soda crackers. Discerning SJ, during a recent New Mexico visit, said he prefers the menudo at Sopaipilla Factory, a New Mexican eatery a few hundred yards from EP. So, HG had to test SJ’s judgment. Well, SJ is on to something. The Sopaipilla Factory menudo is a bit more refined than El Parasol’s funky version: the tripe itself is very tender and the smell of the red chili broth is cleaner and less earthy than El Parasol’s; lots of spice but not lip searing. You get the obligatory chopped onions-lemon-oregano. But, here’s the big difference. At Sopaipilla Factory you get their specialty: fresh, warm sopapillas (Mexican popovers). As many as you want (“a volonte” as the say in Paris bistros). Smeared with honey butter or drizzled with plain honey they enhance the menudo experience. Another Sopaipilla Factory advantage is the fact they have a liquor license, making it possible to accompany menudo with an icy beer or margarita. HG Still loves El Parasol’s hearty menudo but will vary it with Sopaipilla Factory’s suave version.

Jewish Montreal

May 15th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

On the way to summer fun (kayaking, sun bathing, swimming, beach walking, cycling, oysters, mussels, lobsters, fresh fish) on Prince Edward Island, HG and BSK will spend a week in Montreal. Have leased an apartment in the colorful Plateau district and will be joined by SJ, Exquisite Maiko and their 2 children. Gifted Daughter Lesley says she will join us for a few days. And, admittedly a long shot, Restaurateur Daughter Vicki and chef/husband Marc say they will try to get away for a brief visit. Guaranteed: Loads of fun and feasting. HG is eager to try the much vaunted Jewish food in Montreal. This means Schwartz’s (smoked meat); Fairmount Bakery (bagels); Wilensky’s (fried salami with mustard on a “pletzel”/onion roll). Will pass on Moisha’s, an expensive steak house, but will dine at Au Pied de Cochon, A Quebecois restaurant that is on the cardiology black list (savory foie gras and snout-to-tail pork specialties). Have heard good reports about Montreal dim sum, Lebanese take-out and cheap, spicy Portuguese chicken. A full report will be forthcoming. While noshing on Jewish specialties in Montreal, HG will ponder why some of his favorite Jewish writers come from that city — Saul Bellow, Mordecai Richler and the New Yorker Magazine’s brilliant Adam Gopnik. Of course, Montreal’s Leonard Cohen is an HG favorite in his roles as poet, song writer and performer.

Wishing For EM

May 14th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

HG’s adorable daughter in law, Exquisite Maiko, makes the best tempura in the world. Superlatively light, greaseless, flavorful. There are few better things than a bowl of cold soba noodles accompanied by her freshly prepared tempura warm from the wok. Ah, if HG only possessed a genii who could bring EM to New Mexico in a flash. But, in the absence of such a miracle worker HG must prepare his own soba, crisp fry some sole, slice scallions, scissor sheets of nori, steam some shu mai and pork buns. If not up to EM’s lofty standard, these items make a pleasant Asian dinner. HG adds some yakisoba sauce to his soba. Otafuku is the manufacturer of the sauce and HG likes the motto: “Taste That Creates Smiling Eyes.”

Plutography

May 13th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

If there is no such word as plutography then there should be. How else can one explain a magazine like Architectural Digest? The reader (or viewer/voyeur–since the magazine is basically a photo book) wallows in the conspicuous consumption of plutocrats. There is something creepily pornographic in the portrayal of these multi zillion dollar homes and apartments. What the photos arouse in HG, however, is not lust but the full force of the angry left wing feelings of HG’s student days. “To the barricades, citizens,” HG feels like shouting. The owners of the burnished palaces in AD don’t make anything except money. They are financiers, money managers, hedge fund executives, and investors. Though each palace has a huge, lovingly photographed kitchen, HG refuses to believes that any real cooking (or eating) goes on there. These aren’t homes. They’re statements. And, the statement is: “I am rich. Very, very rich.” (Please enlarge the photo below. No, this isn’t a posh shop on Madison Avenue, Rodeo Drive or Rue St. Honore. It is one rich woman’s dressing room complete with an illuminated floating rack of handbags. Grotesque, says HG).

Greeks

May 11th, 2013 § 2 comments § permalink

In one of the great quirks of the American immigrant experience (think Chinese laundries, Indian motel monopolies, Korean grocers, etc.) Greeks have long been the dominant force in New York and New Jersey’s numerous diners and coffee shops and, in fact, in inexpensive dining establishments throughout the U.S. and Canada. The domination is so ubiquitous that the iconic New York take-out coffee cup was long emblazoned with illustrations of classic Greek art and architecture. Unlike fancy Greek fish restaurants (or traditional Greek restaurants), these diners and coffee shops are not gourmet destinations or particularly ethnic, but places where you can get a fast, square meal at a fair price. New Jersey’s Tick Tock Diner (famed for its “Eat Heavy” motto) has been in the news lately. Owned by a Greek family, the Tick Tock has never been a favorite of HG. However, its proximity to the Lincoln Tunnel and Meadowlands sports and entertainment complexes has made it popular (location, location, location). The news interest in the Tick Tock now is a case of murder. It seems the manager (relative by marriage) felt ill used by the head of the family (and Tick Tock boss) and hired a hit man to torture and kill the guy. As is often the case, the hit man was an undercover cop (with a nicely functioning) recording device. Too bad for the manager. HG’s favorite Greek greasy-spoon operator was Chris, a sweet, hard working guy who–some 60 years ago– ran a hole in the wall operation in the old Daily Mirror building at 235 E. 45th Street in New York. Chris had a thick Greek accent. This made him a favorite of Dan Parker, the Mirror sports columnist, who would often quote Chris as part of his humorous riffs on dialect. Chris fed the impecunious journalists, lithographers, pressmen and others who worked in the building the inevitable “cheeburger, cheeburger, cheeburger.” But, Chris also turned out great fried scallops and fried flounder. Splendid greasy French fries. Chicken livers and onions on rice. Other good things. Not too many vegetables, unless you count cole slaw as a veggie.

As a side note, it is fascinating that some of America’s great regional cooking from Cincinatti Chili to Rhode Island’s New York System wieners to Detroit’s Coney Island Hot Dogs can be directly traced to the blending of classic American food and traditional Greek flavor profiles (middle eastern spices, etc.).

A Little Nosh

May 9th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

Many, many years ago, young newlywed BSK hosted a party (lots of showbiz folks) at HG and BSK’s spacious apartment (a former artist’s studio) on Manhattan’s W. 67th Street. The exuberant actress, the late Shelley Winters arrived and loudly requested a nosh. BSK had been a New Yorker for only a few months and her knowledge of Yiddish was zero (Now, after a half-century with HG, BSK could be a diva on a Second Avenue Yiddish stage). BSK was puzzled. Did loud Ms. Winters want a drink? Was a nosh an exotic variety of martini? Of course, what the loud lady wanted was a snack. Nosh is Yiddish for snack. Noshing (snack eating) was mostly non-existent in the HG boyhood home. Meals were capacious. HG had a modest bite after school (before four hours of violent and active street games) and a glass of milk and a graham cracker before bed. HG is always shocked to see the massively stocked snack aisles at supermarkets and shopper carts filled with salt and fat laden chips and crisps and crackers (plus disgusting sugar and chemical loaded soft drinks). The point has been made many times. The French eat lots of fat and butter. Wash it down with wine. No snacking. Stay slim. (It helps that French portions are much smaller than American and the non-autocentric population does a lot of walking).

Here’s another Shelley Winters anecdote (Obviously, HG cannot vouch for its authenticity. Show biz is replete with nasty anecdotes.): Her ardent lover at the time, an actor, returned from two weeks filming in South America and met Shelley for a quick meal before a lovers’ tryst. Shelley, a gourmand, kept lingering at the table. Her lover, furious, said:”Shelley, it appears you want to fill the wrong cavity.” The affair, needless to say, was over.

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