HUNGRY GERALD

Some 26 years ago, HG and BSK left New York and New Jersey for a 100-acre horse ranch on a mountainside (9,000 feet) between Golden and Black Hawk, Colorado (45 minutes from Denver). Not such a radical change for Canada and Midwest-reared BSK. But, for HG? HG was born in The Bronx, educated at CCNY. Lived and worked in Manhattan (except for a Montclair,N.J. interlude). Summered on Fire Island. Didn’t get his driver’s license until age 50 (strictly a taxi and subway guy). Get the picture? Mr.Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk. If you can make it there, etc.,etc.!!! Well. Within a year HG was on a horse five hours a day. HG said: “Howdy!” HG wore cowboy boots. Every Colorado male wore cowboy boots (including lawyers…who wore cowboy boots with their conservative suits).  HG occasionally wore a cowboy hat…a large Stetson.  It did not enhance HG’s appearance.  HG resembled a mushroom, according to BSK.  HG fell in love with big skies, barrel cactus, pinon trees, sagebrush, friendly people, neighbors who came to your rescue when you were in trouble, aspen leaves that turned to gold in September,  star filled nights and mountain Columbine.  Food was a problem  (this was before glorious Whole Foods invaded). Supermarket bread, meat, fish (frozen), chicken, cheese.  Sub par. Tasteless. The solution was Vietnamese food (scores of  Asian markets and restaurants were located on Federal Boulevard in Denver and the pho and fresh fish were New York quality). Also, the Mexican (really Tex-Mex) food was very good.  No, there was no Santa Fe green chile or New Mexican posole  and menudo but there were plenty of enchiladas and fiery salsas. Chipotle Grill started in Colorado so a giant burrito was always available.  And, Pete’s Diner on Colfax Avenue served a breakfast burrito that could sustain a growing boy or HG for a day. Each year  Denver’s dining options became better and more diverse (now the city has about a dozen really world class places…Fruition and Bones are among HG’s favorites). Strangers called HG “Pard.” Once, happily, HG was called “Hoss.”  Restaurants had no dress code.  Dave Barry rightly called Denver “world capital of acid-ashed jeans.”  Folks ate early.  Breakfast at 7 AM and dinner at 6PM.  HG adjusted.  Today, HG and BSK live a bit north of Santa Fe, The City Different.  Lots of good architecture, art, opera, music, food, stylish people and –in general– left and liberal in politics and cultural outlook.  In most cities, older people look like they’re candidates for assisted living (older women are often pastel polyester fashion victims).  Not in Santa Fe.  Oldsters look good. In addition to handsome people, Santa Fe has great mountains and mesas.  Glorious sunsets. New York? Still the center of the universe. Still has an atmosphere that vibrates with energy.  Still suffering from the same problem. If there’s something really good to do  (see a movie, look at art, eat a great meal) a million people want to do it at the same time. Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk..if you can make it there you can make it, etc. etc.

BSK gave warning in reference to upcoming trip to Paris: “No raw meat. I am not a savage. I am not a primitive.” This in response to a meal HG, BSK and ravishing granddaughter, Miss A, had at a Ninth Arondissement bistro a few years ago.  Main dish was Cote de Boeuf (accompanied by garlic potatoes, watercress, mustard and sauce bearnaise). Yum. Well, not so yum. The huge steak was only minimally singed. It was not rare. It was raw and bloody. HG suggested the meat could use some more time on the fire. Consternation. No, no, no, Monsieur Ignorant Americaine. This is the way the chef does it. He has pride in his craft.  He will not desecrate superb meat.  Finally, the large hunk of deceased bovine went back on the fire for a moment. HG managed to devour a great deal. BSK and Miss A, out of courtesy, took a nibble and glared at HG. Okay, BSK, no raw meat on this trip and HG will be restrained concerning innards and offal.

El Parasol is a deservedly successful chain of  roadside purveyors of down home Northern New Mexican food.  Most of the El Parasols are in Santa Fe and its outskirts (there’s also an El Parasol in dreary Espanola).  HG’s favorite is the El Parasol on Highway 84/285  (about 15 minutes north of Santa Fe and close to Highway 502 to Los Alamos).  If you’re in the area (for skiing, art, opera, etc.)  don’t miss it.   There are all the usual suspects:  Tacos, Burritos, Arroz con Pollo, Tostados, Posole, Menudo, Frito Pie,  Tamales, etc.  All traditional and full of flavor.  But, what makes El Parasol special is its manager, Jose Atencio.  He radiates welcome and kindness.  El Parasol draws (to understate)  a varied clientele.  There are a lot of big Latino families with their adorable babies and toddlers.  Teen age girls in very snug jeans. Macho high schools guys.  Many Sikhs in their striking clothing and headgear (there’s a big ashram in the area).  State Police. Tribal police from the Pojoauque and Tesuque Pueblos.  Off duty dealers from the Indian casinos.  Painters.  Potters. Writers. Musicians. (The neighborhood has a long time creative tradition).  And, just folks…natives and tourists.  Jose is in perpetual motion, making sure the kids have enough water and napkins; getting more salsa and tortillas for the adults;  popping into the kitchen to make sure things are going smoothly.  Always smiling and always ready with a warm comment for regulars and first timers.  If you’re in a foul mood go to El Parasol. Jose banishes the blues.  The world would be a better place if the maitres d’, hosts, hostesses and captains at pricey restaurants would emulate that class guy…Jose Atencio.

Followers of Hungry Gerald note that the initials BS (for Beautiful Sharon) has unfortunate associations. True. Henceforth, Madame shall be referred to as BSK (for Beautiful Sharon Kent).

Yesterday,HG and Beautiful Sharon exit for gas and food at Holbrook, Arizona.  Peckish.   Signs indicate two food choices: Denny’s and Subway. Understandably glum HG and BS head for Subway. Spot a roadside joint that proclaims: Alberto’s–Menudo Served All Day. Hmm! Menudo is a good indicator of soulful Mexican food. Are served some splendid chicken enchiladas (juicy, chunky chicken…not shredded glop). Pleasant red chile sauce. Grated cheese (not cheese “product”). Shredded lettuce.  A side of home made guacamole.   Tomatillo salsa.  Pickled carrot and onion salad (a tasty find..HG never encountered it before). Washed down with really good horchata (Mexican rice drink…much better than it sounds) and fine Mexican pineapple juice drink. A happy meal. Reminds HG and BS of serendipitous meal Famille Freeman had some years ago in Phoenix. Booked for Easter vacation skiing in Colorado, Famille Freeman switched to a Phoenix condo resort when warm weather decimated the Colorado slopes. Ten days of tennis and swimming under the blazing Arizona sun. Nightly dinner was chimichangas and other goodies plus pitchers of margaritas at a Mexican bistro with a long waiting line. Last night in Phoenix. Famished Famille Freeman arrive at the bistro and are informed: Two hour wait for a table. Aargh!! Into the auto and try a steak house, Italian restaurant, Benihana, etc., etc. No room at the inn. Finally BS spots the forlorn Golden Phoenix, a Chinese place with a flaking stucco exterior and few cars in the lot. Bad sign. Hearts sink.  But, no choice. HG tells the manager: “We are in your gracious hands. We have been eating in New York’s Chinatown for 50 years. We love real Chinese food. Just serve us a meal of food that you like to eat when the restaurant is empty of tourists. And, lots of ice cold beer, please.” Wow. Coors in frosty glasses. Duck. Shrimp. Pork. Noodles. A really memorable feast. Serendipity, indeed.  Kowtow to the Celestial Kingdom

A reason to live in The Bronx: Arthur Avenue. A reason to live in Brooklyn: The Red Hook Fairway. A reason to live in Queens: Flushing. A reason to live in Staten Island: None.

The outrageous, neurotic, showboating Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk Jets triumphed. Sweeter than a Mallomar. More delicious than an Egg Cream. Nice to see Tom Brady thwarted. Guy looks like a movie star. Dresses like an Italian fashionista. Is married to a world famous, gorgeous model.  Makes about $50,000,000 a year. Not fair.  Why should he have it all? HG relished his throwing the ball away with an “Oh,drat!!” expression. HG watched the game at the opulent Arizona home of his pals, the G’s. In tribute to a Noo Yawk win we dined on delicatessen (faux New York) from Chompies of Scottsdale. Corned beef was quite good. Tongue passed muster. The rest? Reasonable. As the sage (HG) said: You don’t go to Paris for the sun and you don’t go to Arizona for the food. Following the Chompies feast HG repaired to the G’s wonderfully comfortable media room to watch “The Social Network”. Brilliant film. Made better for HG because the thoughtful hostess, lovely Judy G., provided HG with a large slab of Chompies halvah for movie munching. That’s a hostess with the mostess.

Whole Foods critique: Breads (baguettes, sourdough, ficelles, ciabatta)  are all splendid and well priced. Produce: Spotty and pricey. Recently, some over the hill scallions were priced like caviar. Meat: New York strip is steakhouse quality. Great.  Rack of lamb is badly trimmed. You pay for a lot of fat. Pork chops are mediocre (dry). Note: Trader Joe has fine pork chops (from the USA) and lamb chops (surprisingly, from New Zealand) at a very reasonable price. Chicken: Splendid. Fresh sausage and bacon: Ditto. Cheese: Good variety. Good condition. High prices. Take out prepared food: Lousy. Fresh soups: Good (chicken noodle is the best).   HG’s conclusion: There’s some good stuff. The 365 brand has value.  Shop with caution. They don’t call it Whole Paycheck without reason.

Beautiful Sharon spent some of her earliest years with her English emigre grandparents in Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. Every Sunday, she had a very traditional dinner served at 4PM, the same hour Freeman Family enjoyed Sunday Dinner in The Bronx. The Grandmother and Grandfather Kent menu: Juicy, rare roast beef au jus. Creamy mashed potatoes. Yorkshire pudding. Overdone brussels sprouts or carrots and peas. Dessert: Plum pudding well soaked in brandy and topped with hard sauce. There was fiery English mustard and freshly grated horseradish on the table. Pre-dinner ceremony:  Sharon’s grandfather vigorously sharpened his horn handled carving knife  (Fortunately, Sharon has inherited this knife and the accompanying fork and has put it to good use). Post-meal ceremony: A leisurely drive along the St. Clair River. Confession: HG is envious and wants to eat that dinner. Beautiful Sharon has never prepared it, not even once, in 48 years of (otherwise) marital bliss.  Oh well, a London visit is scheduled in the near future.