HUNGRY GERALD

The Rhode Islanders — Gifted Daughter Lesley, Profesore/Dottore Massimo, Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia (and visiting friend from Bologna, Valeria) are here. Our Prince Edward Island pals, Philosophy Professor Neb and architect/wife Silva (designer of HG/BSK’s PEI home) came to dinner before setting out for European conferences and trips. Lots of folks. Time to create a spread: BSK poached a chicken for HG’s Shredded Chicken Pan Pan (chicken in a spicy Szechuan peanut-scallion-garlic-Chinese pickle-soy-vinegar-oil sauce served room temperature on a bed of thin pasta.) Lesley made a Newfoundland fresh water shrimp salad with mayonnaise, lemon juice and tarragon (from BSK’s herb garden) plus a platter of sliced tomatoes with feta cheese and freshly picked basil. EM did her signature salad of room temperature cellophane noodles with shredded ham, cucumber and egg. Plenty of wine, locally brewed beer and excellent bread from the Cardigan Farmers Market. Neb and Silva brought olive oil gelato for dessert. Sounded strange but tasted great. A fine and joyous feast for family and friends.

Rhubarb (classified as a fruit by American agricultural agencies) grows easily in warm weather and is abundant on Prince Edward Island. In conversation, BSK noted that in the Ohio of BSK’s youth, rhubarb “always grew behind the garage.” Prince Edward Island neighbor Chuck P. presented HG/BSK with a big bunch. “Where did you get it?”, queried HG. Answer: “Behind my garage.” Okay. Mysteries of the world outside of New York continue to abound. BSK promised to cook it. HG took this news glumly. HG’s Mom would always cook up a big batch during the summer and did nothing to mitigate the fruit’s tartness. “Roobock (her pronunication) is good for you. Cleans you out.” Mom was referring to rhubarb’s properties as a laxative. Well, BSK cooked a batch of rhubarb with sugar and the first strawberries of the season. Delicious. HG is gobbling it up with fresh fruit and Greek yogurt. Needless to say, HG has the cleanest colon on PEI. Moral: Always listen to your Mother and always rely on BSK’s culinary skills.

Clams Posillipo was one of the long time menu fixtures of New York’s red sauce Italian restaurants that has gradually faded into obscurity. A simple dish of clams steamed in a marinara sauce. On Prince Edward Island, fortunate HG/BSK can purchase very fresh cherrystone clams (known in these parts as quahogs) for less than five bucks a dozen. So, nostalgic HG/BSK decided to revisit this dish last night. BSK got busy chopping: onions, garlic, garlic scapes, basil, parsley, oregano. (Oops. BSK doesn’t chop basil — BSK tears the leaves apart). These are sauteed in olive oil. They go into a pot with good quality canned San Marzano plum tomatoes, white wine and clam broth. When all is boiling away, the clams are added. They get a dusting of red pepper flakes plus some Pimenton( smoked Spanish paprika). The clams are added and the pot is covered. Due to the magic clam clock in BSK’s head the heat is turned off the moment the clams open and before they turn rubbery. The result of BSK’s endeavor is a dish of tender clams floating in a magical, smoky broth redolent of the flavors of Italy and Spain. Chunks of ciabatta are dunked. BSK says the secret is slowly cooking the broth to develop full flavors and making sure the alcohol in the wine has burned off before adding the clams. Whatever. Sure tastes good.

As noted previously, excellent Nova Scotia smoked salmon (affectionately called “Novy” in New York), is available at HG’s favorite Prince Edward Island seafood vendor, By the Bay Fish Mart, in the town of St. Peter’s. Before setting out on a long sea walk, HG/BSK fortified themselves with a platter of scrambled eggs with onions and “Novy” (accompanied by toasted English muffins and coffee). BSK’s version of this dish is masterful. Eggs are scrambled with a bit of milk and a dash of Frank’s Red Hot Sauce. Spring onions are fried in a just a drop of canola oil (butter is traditionally used but BSK is a confirmed enemy of cholesterol) in a non-stick pan. The heat is turned to low, the “Novy” is warmed. Then, BSK adds the eggs. Using a wooden spoon, BSK stirs the eggs with slow, gentle movements. The eggs form soft, delicate curds. Perfection. And, then comes a master stroke that is uniquely BSK. The dish is given a shower of freshly chopped dill. Wow. The dill enhances the salmon flavor and brings the right touch of color. Sure, dill and salmon are traditional partners (as in Gravlax). But, in years of consuming “Novy” (or lox) and eggs in New York “dairy” restaurants, HG never encountered dill. That is the distinctive BSK flourish, also evident in her unexpected, and rewarding, use of fresh rosemary, tarragon, oregano and basil in a host of unexpected and savory dishes.

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.

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.

BSK came up with some tasty surprises tonight. Chilly eve. HG was busy at he fireplace following a long swim at the HG/BSK indoor pool (Yes, the duo have some modest luxuries.) Some nice aromas from the oven. But, what? HG poured an aperitif of cold Yolumba unoaked chardonnay (Australia). BSK opened the oven and plated some dark green little spheres, HG speared one. Goodness!! Crispy flakiness on he exterior and a slightly sweet unctous interior. “Brussel sprouts,” said BSK. (Brushed with olive oil and roasted at 350 degrees for one hour.) That wasn’t all. At the end of the meal BSK presented some thin slices of golden beets flanked by roquefort cheese and walnuts. Perfect with red wine. (The beets were peeled, brushed with olive oil and roasted for 75 minutes). Fine. But, what are you going to do tomorrow, BSK?

HG’s late mother, a woman who grew up in pogrom plagued Czarist Russia, believed that all non-Jews harbored an ineradicable hatred of Jews. HG found this ridiculous, but understandable given her background, and cited BSK as an example of a non-Jew devoid of any trace of ethnic, racial or religious animosity. “Just wait,” warned HG’s mother. That’s why, after almost a half-century of marital bliss, HG was startled by an incident last week. HG suggested a breakfast of post-Passover matzo brie. (For the uninitiated, matzo brie is an Ashkenazi Jewish staple — a mix of softened matzos and beaten eggs fried into crisp pancakes. When sprinkled with ground pepper and coarse salt, they are heavenly. Alternatively, sweet toothers like them with a pour of maple syrup.) BSK’s response: “Matzo brie is disgusting. Tastes like eggy old pieces of cardboard.” Wow. Could this be latent anti-semitism rearing its ugly head after all these years? HG then recalled BSK’s distaste for the chicken fat drenched food at Sammy’s Roumanian Restaurant in New York and her luke warm response to kishka (a goose or chicken neck stuffed with garlic and chicken fat enhanced matzo meal). And now this blistering attack against one of the cornerstones of the Jewish table…HG responded angrily: “So, BSK if you are through delighting in Mein Kampf you might want to browse the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and embroider your nightie with swastikas.” HG continued in this vein until BSK exploded: “Go on with this craziness and I’ll cover you in tuna melt and freeze you in a lime Jello mold.” HG has desisted. An uneasy peace prevails.

In the early 1950’s, a scrawny kid named Alan Konigsberg was writing gags for New York press agent David Alber. Alber, of course, would submit these little bon mots of humour to the reigning Broadway columnists in exchange for mentions of his clients. At the same time, HG (in his morally conflicted role as journalist and moonlighting press agent) was writing gags and newsy tidbits for the columnists (Walter Winchell, king of the columns, liked HG’s stuff). As HG has often remarked: “I went on to fame and fortune. Wonder what happened to the Konigsberg kid?” Well, Konigsberg changed his name to Woody Allen and has been busy lighting up the world with his comic genius for more than 50 years. These were some HG memories last night as HG and BSK watched Whatever Works, the Allen comedy starring Larry David. Allen originally wrote the movie with Zero Mostel in mind but Mostel died before it could be made. It would have been better with Mostel. Larry David, a gifted comedy writer and a funny man in his improvised riffs on the television program Curb Your Enthusiasm, is not a film actor and can’t really carry a movie. Zero, a mad comic monster, would have been a smash. Still, HG enjoyed the movie because, once more, Woody Allen displayed his intense love for New York. Lots of Greenwich Village street scenes and Chinatown food shopping (lovingly photographed). There’s even a vignette featuring the Yonah Shimmel knish shop on Houston Street. In Allen’s New York everyone seems to live in great apartments or lofts. There’s lots of dining in pleasant restaurants. Best of all, beautiful shiksas (non-Jewish girls) find neurotic, verbal, physically unprepossessing Jewish guys sexually irresistible. As the saying goes: “From Allen’s mouth to God’s ear.” But, maybe Woody has a point. After all. HG met and won the heart of BSK in New York.

There seems to be a prevalent belief among American professional chefs and home cooks that vegetables should be cooked al dente — just a shade softer than raw. The technique (fostered by the late Julia Child): Blanch vegetables in boiling water. Remove. Stop the cooking by rinsing in ice water. Saute briefly. Serve. HG disagrees. Like our neighbors in the Southern states, HG likes soft vegetables cooked into creamy goodness. (There is an exception. BSK cooks a very al dente broccoli di rabe with lots of garlic and red chili. It’s good. Would be better if she left it in the pan for another ten minutes). HG likes the well done haricot verts in Paris (and the glazed carrots served in bistros with some beef stews). Italians, who can be immoderate in politics, choose a middle way in cuisine. They don’t like things too hot or too cold. And they like–as is proper–vegetables cooked beyond the al dente stage. HG has very few cooked vegetable allies. But, an outstanding advocate of slow and long vegetable cooking is Lesley Porcelli (a woman of Italian lineage, of course). You can find an excellent article by her in the October 2011 issue of Saveur Magazine. Take a peek at her recipes: Slow-coked broccoli di rabe with crushed red chiles and garlic; olive oil braised mixed vegetables; Indian- style carrots with mustard seeds; braised celery and tomatoes; Lebanese-style green beans with chick peas in olive oil. All savory and full of lush flavors.