HUNGRY GERALD

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.

Here’s a legendary tale from the Lindy’s press agent community from way back when. It may give readers an insight to HG’s beginning career in show biz press agentry. Louis Sobol was the kindest and gentlest of the Broadway columnists (circa 40’s to 60;s). Jack Tirman was a classic movie press agent. Jack calls Sobol: “Louie, Louie. This is a movie you must see. It’ll break your heart. The human characters. The realism. At the same time it’s got humor and a million laughs. Tears, a lot of tears, yet you’ll be rolling on the floor.” Sobol tries to interrupt. “Jack! Jack!” Tirman can’t be interrupted.  He’s on a roll. “The direction, the dialogue, the lighting. Unbelievable. The greatest.” Sobol gives up. “Okay, Jack. I’ll see the movie. What’s its name?”   Pause. Pause.  Says Jack: “Call you right back, Louie.”

Famed in fact, fiction and fable, Fire Island in the 50’s and 60’s was one continual, raucous party (at least in the Ocean Ridge section where HG and Beautiful Sharon had a dune house). There were the hearty partying topless ladies playing volleyball (this got the rapt attention of five-year-old son Jeremy). There was the “sixish”….a very heterosexual boy-meets-girl impromptu cocktail bash that took place on a stretch of sand near the ferry. There were the spur of the moment parties that took place on the rear decks (built high off the ground) of dune houses. These sometimes became so crowded that the deck collapsed. That was serious. There were injuries. But the rear deck parties went on. (A long out of print book, “Saloon Society” by an HG friend, Bill Manville, captures the spirit of that Fire Island/Greenwich Village era). Alcohol and weed fueled those parties, not food. However, there were some good catch of the sea events. Juan Junyer, the Catalonian sculptor and friend of Picasso, would join with his medical writer wife, Dolores Canals, and do a backyard fish barbecue. Juan would buy striped bass, sea bass and some other varieties..whatever was running..from local fishermen. The fish would be gutted. Dolores gave them a big hit of garlic infused olive oil.  Juan put them in a hinged grill of his own design.
Barbecue for a few moments. Lemons. Tabasco. Beer. Magic. Then there was the moules meuniere feast  by a woman who had spent some years in France. Mussels by the bushel, garlic, white wine and crusty bread (from an Italian bakery in Patchogue). Possibly best of all was the fried fish bash hosted by Hobby Miller, unofficial Mayor of Ocean Ridge and the neighboring community of Davis Park. Hobby had some huge cast iron pans and these were filled with bubbling Crisco. Filets were dipped in a spicy batter. Into the pan for a brief bath. Perfect. The most eccentric parties were those thrown by Willa A., a colorful, acid-tongued lady. She was the queen of misguided excess. Once, she served a shrimp curry that was so blazingly hot it seared the inside of HG’s mouth and caused HG’s lips to puff  into a ludicrous pout.  There was nothing to drink.  No beer. No wine. No water.   HG commented, with some difficulty, on the degree of heat and lack of liquids.  Willa retorted, in a shout: “It’s supposed to be hot!! Here’s some yogurt. It will cool you.” It didn’t work. It took ten days before HG’s mouth was back to normal.