HUNGRY GERALD

HG had to pass up a Cookshop lunch (alas) today with witty friend Stevie P. Annoying cough interfered with sleep so aged HG is resting. This means HG has had a chance to ruminate about spending the last seven days in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Here’s a cluster of random thoughts: Brooklyn’s brownstone lined streets have unique Christmas charm. The long time Italian residents decorate their homes with exuberant displays of multi-colored lights and decorations both inside and out (most street level homes have their trees in the windows allowing open viewing). Recent arrivals decorate their trees with only the most discreet and tasteful little, white lights with no baubles and no decorations. In any case, it all spells home in a way high rise buildings can’t express. Subways seem very clean and efficient (Much better than the Paris Metro or the London Underground where changing trains can often mean a half mile trek). HG is accompanied by HG’s wooden cane. Observing this, HG was always offered a subway seat by the courteous riders. (New York City’s reputation for rudeness is a fiction). Manhattan and Brooklyn are populated by the young. HG was often the only aged person in every shop, subway car, restaurant, food market visited. Have all the oldsters fled to Florida? Visitor tips from HG: Don’t miss strolling the High Line, a supreme urban amenity. And, wind up at the new Whitney Museum. Unforgettable in every aspect–architecture, art, light, intelligent museology. And, what visit to New York/ Brooklyn would be complete without food? HG has covered HG’s happy experiences in recent posts. When it comes to food, New York/Brooklyn rules the world. Ethnic and racial diversity puts the world’s cuisine within easy reach. And, wonderful experiences are affordable. HG is lucky. SJ is an informed guide. He is a culinary adventurer and has led HG/BSK to such places as a rousing, kosher Uzbekistan cafe in Queens. The thought of Uzbekistan barbecue and pickles washed down with vodka and beer makes HG plan another visit to the Big Apple (before HG becomes too feeble).

Every year at Christmas season HG meets restaurateur daughter Victoria for lunch. (The tradition started five years ago.) Vicki manages to obtain a comfortable corner table for two at Balthazar. This is no mean feat since the French style brasserie is preposterously busy during the holiday period, even packed at the usual “dead’ hours like 4PM. HG usually sees Vicki at one of the four restaurants she runs with husband/chef/partner Marc Meyer (Cookshop, Hundred Acres, Vic’s, Rosie’s). This means HG and Vicki don’t have the opportunity to review life, voice opinions, etc.. HG has to share Vicki with customers, chefs, waitpersons, etc. Thus, the Balthazar lunch. As usual, the duo dove into a mammoth plateau de fruits de mer–oysters, clams, mussels, shrimp, lobster, ceviche. Superb, fresh-from-the-sea quality. Downed two carafes of the house Muscadet. Finished with creme brûlée and a (comped) wedge of cheesecake. Lunch began at 1:30. Finished at 4:30. Three hours of delightful father-and-daugher companionship. Lucky HG. One would think that after this briny marathon, HG would be through with food for the day. One would be wrong. At 8PM, HG/BSK, EM, Handsome Haru and super cute Teru were knocking off big bowls of ramen at Naruto Ramen on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood. The special “Naruto Ramen” is a soy broth based noodle soup with a hard boiled egg, roast pork, scallions, dried seaweed, fish cake and bean spouts. A hearty dish, indeed. There was also a platter of very good gyoza and some fried rice (for Teru). Surprise of the night: Japanese pomme frites. The spice dusted French fries were the best HG has ever tasted (BSK agreed). They were served with a fiery dip. HG wondered: “Where have these Asian spuds been hiding all these years?” HG drank some icy sake: “Ozeki One Cup.” BSK drank Sapporo draft beer. Great casual dining.

After the serenity and quiet of HG/BSK’s homes in New Mexico and Prince Edward Island, Canada, the duo find New York and Brooklyn intense and tempestuous. There are sweeping changes on every avenue. New shops. Flashy condos. Neglected neighborhoods have now become fashionable. The population diversity is extraordinary. The streets are cleaner than HG remembers but the noise has become intolerable. Very heavy, rude hands on the auto horn. Super honking. Despite the noise, crowds, traffic, etc., HG/BSK are having a wonderful time. It is good to see old friends. And, of course, there is the food. Still the best in the world. HG/BSK had a pleasant brunch with Peter H. and Susan C., old pals of many decades and quintessential New Yorkers. The venue was Dim Sum Go Go on Chatham Square in Chinatown. Good dim sum (not as good as Asian Jewels in Flushing, the dim sum champ). Long stroll though Chinatown, Little Italy and Soho before arriving at HG/BSK’s favorite clothing supplier, Uniqlo, the Japan-based creator of affordable, comfortable apparel. Dinner was at Numero 28 Pizzeria on Bergen Street in Brooklyn. This is a warm and welcoming restaurant. A jazz trio (saxophone, bass, keyboard) filled the room with great sounds. HG/BSK, SJ/EM and their family supped happily. Crisp, tender fried calamari; beautifully prepared tuna tartare; a big arugula salad with shavings of parmesan. Rare to find such great starters in a pizzeria. The pizzas were very good, Crisp, with nice charred edges. Fresh toppings. After drinking much red wine, HG finished the evening with a very inventive after dinner cocktail prepared by the Japanese barman. A wow. Next day was sunny and unseasonably warm, perfect for strolling on the new guttering ornament of Manhattan: the High Line. Riveting Hudson River views. Lovely plantings. High design seating. The High Line ends at the new Whitney Museum. The museum dazzles. It is perfect in every detail. Lighting. Art arrangement. Gallery flow. Indoor and outdoor access. Comfortable seating where one can rest while concentrating on the art. Ah, the art. HG/BSK saw two shows. A Frank Stella retrospective which bowled HG over. Stella’s ambition, power and ability to expand the boundaries of painting and sculpture are given dramatic emphasis in this mind boggling show. There is also a remarkable retrospective of the African-American painter, Archibald Motley. HG/BSK had never seen the works of this remarkable artist. HG/BSK were particularly impressed with his work of the 1930’s. The energy and color of African-American culture (sometimes treated satirically by Motley) pour out of these canvases. The Whitney has an elegant restaurant, The Untitled. HG/BSK rested their eyes and had some creative small plates: Smoked char salad for BSK and steak tartare for HG. Each was a diminutive wonder of culinary creativity. In the evening, HG/BSK met old friends and former business colleagues, Donald and Susan K. They dined at Blue Ribbon Brasserie in Park Slope. Wondrous oysters from British Columbia. A splendid, generous platter of escargots (with plenty of good bread to soak up the buttery, garlicky lustiness of the sauce.) Pork chops with kale and mashed potatoes. HG finished with the largest hot fudge sundae ever confected. Fortunately, SJ joined the party at dessert time and was able to consume part of the mountainous high calorie treat.

SJ suggested dim sum brunch in Flushing, the Queens neighborhood that is populated by Chinese (and some Koreans). Chinatown in Manhattan seems like a Chinese neighborhood. Flushing is China. HG. a lover of Chinese food, believes Flushing, block by block, has the best dining in New York. SJ led HG/BSK to Asian Jewels Seafood Restaurant, known to many as the top dim sum restaurant in New York. A huge space seating hundreds of happy diners. Busy women steer carts laden with good things. HG was blown away. Every dim sum dish was perfection. Clusters of juicy shrimp in silken wonton wrappers. Har Gow. Shumai. Tiny squid in seafood sauce. Pork dumplings. Vegetable dumplings. Fish topping slices of tofu. And, more and more and more. As SJ and BSK pushed their chairs away from the table, HG was happy to consume a scallion topped bowl of congee (best ever) and a dessert of warm tapioca pudding with a caramelized crust. SJ will soon be visiting Hong Kong, alleged world capital of dim sum. HG doubts Hong Kong can top Asian Jewels. HG awaits SJ’s balanced judgment. After brunch, SJ motored through some Brooklyn neighborhoods that illustrate the borough’s diversity being challenged by a mad maelstrom of gentrification. Greenpoint (still some signs sign of the indigenous population of Polish immigrants). Hipster and foodie Williamsburg. Jewish Chassidic Williamsburg, a glimpse into Eastern European “shetls” of yesteryear. African-American Bed-Stuy, still rough around the edges, but quickly gentrifying as real estate values escalate. Tree lined Ft. Greene. The brownstone streets of Boerum Hill, Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens. The low rise quality and the architectural uniformity of these neighborhoods have a European ambiance and sense of household comfort.

A dosa is a delicious food staple from South India. Basically, it is big, round crepe-like lentil and rice flour pancake. It is freshly cooked on an oiled griddle and served plain or rolled around a variety of fillings–fish, meat, chicken or vegetables. The dosa is dipped into “sambar,” a rich, soupy dip and accompanied by a variety of chutneys. HG’s favorite brunch when HG lived in Vancouver, B.C., was a dosa at Chutney Villa in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood. The restaurant, run by a warm and friendly Indian woman, was a hundred yards from HG/BSK’s loft (best views in Vancouver). Few things were more delightful on a rainy (very frequent) Vancouver morning, than eating dosa, sipping chai and reading the Toronto Globe and Mail newspaper. HG revived these memories with a Sunday brunch at Dosa Royale on Court Street in the Cobble Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn. Tucked at a comfortable round table overlooking the colorful street scene and attended by a gentle young waitperson, HG devoured a very large, crisp edged dosa rolled around a filling of spinach and paneer (a white Indian cheese). Very good sambar and chutneys. HG sipped chai, read the Sunday New York Times, people watched. Many young Moms and Dads with their babies. Lots of beards. HG strolled along lively Court Street and then veered over to Smith, anther street lined with shops and restaurants. Bars were crowded on this grey Sunday with loud fans watching pro football games on TV. Much elation over victories by the Jets and Eagles.

Driving to Brooklyn on I-95 South, HG/BSK felt pangs of hunger as they whizzed by the Stratford, Conn., exit. Years ago, an eccentric Englishman set up a wonderful barbecue joint in Stratford that HG/BSK frequented on their many trips to New England. The Brit’s cue was authentic — he had become beguiled with Texas barbecue so the obsessive fellow spent more than a year eating in Texas and trying to learn the secrets of the pit masters. Don’t know whether the Texans cooperated with the foreigner but the Stratford barbecue was mighty tasty. (He later closed the Stratford operation, opened a place in Long Island City, sold barbecue at Zabar’s and then disappeared. Don’t know if he brought ‘cue back to Britain). In any case, when HG/BSK met SJ, grandson Handsome Haru, granddaughter Adorable Teru, there was some delightful serendipity. A hungry Haru asked for barbecue and within minutes the group was seated at Fletcher’s Brooklyn Barbecue in Park Slope. Great barbecue sourced form organic farmers who raise happy animals. Ribs. Brisket. Pulled pork. Hot links. Plus sides of beans (best ever), mac and cheese, pickles, cole slaw. Iced tea. The real deal. A hearty introductory meal in Brooklyn, new world capital of excellent eating. Tonight, Exquisite Maiko, HG/BSK’s talented daughter-in-law, will be preparing a Japanese hot pot of fish, tofu and vegetables. Pastries from an old fashioned Court Street Italian bakery will follow. SJ promises dim sum in Flushing soon. Are you turning a nice shade of envy green?

HG grew up in a Yiddish-speaking home. There was English, heavily accented English. It wasn’t until HG began elementary school that he learned the proper pronunciation of many words. HG accompanied Mom on bargain seeking forays to busy Bethkit Avenue in the East Bronx. Much later, HG discovered the street was pronounced BATH GATE Avenue (As in the Doctorow book, Billy Bathgate, the basis of the Dustin Hoffman-Bruce Willis film). Similarly, HG thought the far off section of Brooklyn where Mom’s relatives lived was Brunzville. Yes, Brownsville. Little HG enjoyed visits to Brownsville. HG’s cousins showed HG all the local sights: The candy store that was the hangout of Abe “Kid Twist” Reles, “Pittsburgh Phil” Strauss, “Tick Tock” Tannenbaum and other members of the lethal “Murder, Inc.” crew (These bad guys all wore natty wide brimmed fedoras, HG observed); the gym where Al “Bummy” Davis, “Schoolboy” Friedkin, Morrie Reif and all the other Jewish fighters trained; Pitkin Avenue with its movie theaters and Wyona Street with pushcarts and delicatessens. That Jewish enclave, settled by immigrants fleeing the Lower East Side, produced more than killers and prize fighters: Many show business stars (Danny Kaye and Shelley Winters among others); literary lights (Alfred Kazin); doctors, lawyers, Nobel Prize winners. For many years, Brownsville has been an African-American ghetto with few redeeming features. Mike Tyson is probably its most prominent alumnus. Mayor DeBlasio has promised new housing, policing, etc. for Brownsville. HG is hopeful this will mean a better life and future for Brownsville’s citizens. They deserve it.

That’s the title of a wonderful cookbook, a Christmas gift from thoughtful SJ. Franny’s, of course, is the Brooklyn restaurant owned and run by Francine Stephens and Andrew Feinberg. HG dined there a few years ago. Best cured meats, salumi and pizza HG ever tasted. Franny’s has become a mini-empire and success has been based upon Stephens’ and Feinberg’s watchwords: Simple. Seasonal. Italian. The original Franny’s on Flatbush Avenue has moved to a larger space. The original space is now occupied by the couple’s trattoria, Marco’s. (They also operate a food market, Bklyn Larder). The Franny’s cookbook is beautifully written and illustrated, filled with appetizing ideas. HG/BSK cooked Franny’s version of penne with zucchini and mint a few days ago. (Hadn’t previously known how mint enhances zucchini). A beautiful dish when topped with a goodly splash of extra virgin Sicilian olive oil. Tomorrow HG/BSK will cook Franny’s paccheri with swordfish, olives, capers and mint. Paccheri is a tubular pasta (literal translation from the Italian is “a slap in the mouth”). HG/BSK will use rigatoni (easier to find).

Department of Total Absurdity: According to The Huffington Post, a Brooklyn bar is hosting a “smallest penis contest.” The proud possessor of most miniscule member (How about that for alliteration?) will receive the title: “2013 Smallest Penis in Brooklyn.” HG questions the validity of this news. HG thinks a spoof is afoot. Nevertheless. In terms of food and drink, HG is an advocate of small. HG likes tapas, HG likes “small plate” meals, HG likes ordering a bunch of entrees at Chinese restaurants and sharing it all. Big portions are gross and are tasteless by the time they are finished (as HG has noted many times, portions at a Paris restaurant are half the size of their American counterparts). HG likes wine glasses to be half filled. HG likes downsized salads. HG wants some leaves, not a meadow. The American tendency to oversize is reflected in our huge refrigerators. Italian refrigerators and French refrigerators are quite small. This means daily shopping for fresh food. The cuisine is elevated and since there’s a lot of walking between shops, the exercise diminishes the waistline. Truth is, HG and BSK are guilty of excess — they have a mammoth and much loved refrigerator. This leads to leftovers languishing in the rear of shelves. There are nasty discoveries–vegetables and cheeses that appear to be sprouting new varieties of penicillin, plastic wrapped drips and drabs of pasta dishes from days gone by, a sad half lemon sporting a green, fuzzy beard. It is a commentary on our society based on consumption, that HG and BSK must regulary edit their refrigerator.

Passover is here. Matzos sit next to Easter Bunnies on supermarket shelves across America. It’s that time of year. Boisterous eating and drinking dominated HG’s family Passover celebration, the Seder, when some 76 years ago much of HG’s family was centered in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. Though a very young lad then, aged HG still remembers all the details of the raucous family feast. First, a small glass of wine and a tiny plate of food was placed on the table for the prophet Elijah (in the unlikely event that he would manifest himself in Brooklyn). The table was set with the symbolic dishes (these were not eaten) of the Hebrew captivity in Egypt. There was the reading of the Hagaddah, the tale of Passover (In those long ago days, the Hagaddahs were published by the Maxwell House Coffee Company. They were distributed, free of charge, at Jewish “appetizing” stores and kosher butchers. A canny PR move by the coffee merchants). A matzo (the traditional unleavened bread obligatory during Passover) was folded into a napkin and “hidden.” This was called the afikomen and when found by the young members of the family each got a monetary award — a shiny half-dollar. (Many years later, HG learned that when the lucky children of one of HG’s real estate mogul public relations clients found the “afikomen” each were rewarded with a $10,000 check). The big moment for little HG was when he was called upon to ask “the four questions” — the inquiry as to why this celebratory Passover night was different from any other night of the year. The small boy relished the spotlight and asked the questions — spoken in English and chanted in Hebrew — with many bravura, theatrical flourishes. “A regular Thomashefsky!!,” HG’s uncle exclaimed, approvingly. (Boris Thomashefsky was a flamboyant star of the Yiddish stage. The conductor Michael Tilson-Thomas — who shortened the name — is his direct descendant). The serious eating began with copious portions of gefilte fish (a very robust version of the French “quenelle”) with heaps of fiery, freshly grated horseradish. Followed by brisket, copious gravy, roasted carrots and onions plus knaidels — matzo meal dumplings which had a sponge like capacity for soaking up gravy. All of this was accompanied by many glasses of kosher-for-passover Schapiro’s sweet Malaga grape wine (purchased at the Schapiro lower east side winery – now closed). The wine carried a kick so the Seder became louder and more irreverent as the evening progressed. Dessert was a compote of stewed fruit plus special Passover pastries like coconut macaroons. Bottles of Vishniak (cherry brandy) and Slivovitz (plum brandy) appeared and were drunk in abundance. A Seder song, Chad Gadya, a song about the survival of a symbolic kid, was sung and shouted — loudly. More songs. Some secular and even naughty. More brandy drinking. At one memorable Seder, the group was singing: “We love Jesus, yes we do. We love Jesus, yes we do. Hooray for Jesus. Hooray for Jesus. Damn good Jew!!” Two very Irish looking cops appeared at the door. Asked the family to tone things down. Neighbors were complaining. Invited the cops to have a drink They agreed. Big glasses of Slivovitz. HG’s cousin proposed a toast: “To Ireland, a great land.” More Slivovitz and the cops joined in the next toast, shouting with the family, “Next year in Jerusalem.”