HUNGRY GERALD

Santa Fe seems to have more restaurants per capita than any place in the West. A very wide range from the pretentious and pricey to the down home and cheap. Permanent population is small but when the legislature is operating there is a deluge of politicos, lawyers, lobbyists, etc. And, of course, there are the omnipresent tourists. Once more a wide range: Dusty drifters, plain folks, multi-millionaire art collectors — and everything in between.

HG is often asked for dining advice in “The City Different.” Here are some must-visit spots that HG has posted about previously: 12 minutes north of Santa Fe in Pojaque is El Parasol and O’ Eating House. El Parasol is where the Latino folks eat and it is homey, cheap, delicious. Real Northern New Mexico cooking. Do not miss the green chile menudo and the chicken tacos. O’ serves sophisticated Italian food and creative, thin-crusted pizzas. In Santa Fe, go to Tia Sophia’s for Tex-Mex food, Jambo Cafe for Caribbean and African food, Tune Up (a real neighborhood hangout) for a great breakfast burrito smothered in green chile sauce. Tune Up also has wonderful pies and cakes (so save room). Shohko Cafe has surprisingly good sushi and crisp, light tempura. HG’s favorite New Mexico chef, Eric Stapelman, has two wonderful places: Shibumi Ramenya (ramen and Japanese izakaya dishes) and Trattoria Nostrani (sophisticated Italian food and splendid wines). Be forewarned: Eric runs fragrance-free restaurants so omit perfume and cologne. HG;s luncheon favorite is The Compound on gallery-lined Canyon Road. Do not miss the chicken schnitzel with caper sauce. Bon appeit!!

It says it on the New Mexico license plate: “Land of Enchantment.” This isn’t silly boosterism. New Mexico is enchanting. There are very few places in the United States that combine diversity, scenic grandeur and centuries of history. Santa Fe contains an almost unbelievable number of first rate museums and art galleries. Music, theater and an internationally famous opera house. And more. Much more.

BSK and HG are happily home at their Santa Fe County estate. No it’s not really an estate, just a five acre oasis, green and lush amidst sun bleached mesas and 200-year-old adobe dwellings. Trees and shrubs are gradually changing color. Looking forward to gold, rust and red in coming weeks.

Oh, it’s good to be home. HG celebrated homecoming with a copious bowl of green chile menudo at El Parasol in Pojaque. BSK visited a nearby farmers market and scored shishito peppers; and, as it is the season for green chilies, the scent of roasted green chiles filled the air and BSK made sure to pack her basket with those as well. Green chili sauce and green chili stews will warm the winter months. Scrambled eggs, green chili sauce, broiled tomatoes and lots of warm corn tortillas. Those are the ingredients of HG’s favorite cold weather breakfast.

The answer to this question is: Yes and No. If you are talking about food and the price/quality ratio, New York tops Paris. Also, Paris is, for the the most part, a one trick pony. True, many of Paris’ most edgy restaurants and 3 Star Shrines have increased the use of Asian spices and cooking techniques to touch on a type of fusion cuisine; but overall, what you get in the majority of Paris Restaurants is French food. With the exception of Moroccan, other ethnic cuisines are dumbed down to suit conservative Parisian tastes. Compare that to New York which has three distinct Chinatowns each with an enormous amount of eating spots. There are whole neighborhoods in Queens (and in other boroughs) devoted to ethnic dining: Korean, Vietnamese, Indian, Greek, Italian, Mexican, Argentine and Colombian, Russian, Jamaican — and much more. And those are just the outer boroughs. Within Manhattan itself, you are able to go on a veritable world cuisine tour in just a 4 block radius. And, yes, great Jewish pastrami still lives in, alas, fewer and fewer places. Makes Paris seem very provincial. Small town. In addition, New York has steak houses like Peter Luger’s and Spark’s that are true carnivore heavens.

But, Paris still has that indefinable something, Call it charm. Call it elan. Call it sparkle. Whatever. HG is thinking about late night meals at the art deco brasserie Le Vaudeville which seemingly hums with joy and the promise of good times. Brass. Aged, cigarette-smoke stained marble. Perfect lighting. Or, dinner at the brasserie Le Stella on posh Rue Victor Hugo. Low voices. Women who know how to tie scarves. Men in well cut tweeds or blazers. Soaring towers of fruits de mer. Or, the died-and-gone-to-heaven grilled sole drenched in the best butter at Le Dome. Or, the intimacy, warmth and sheer sexiness of many small bistros serving unassuming food. There was a left bank place called Balzar where the clientele and atmosphere were so diverting that the so-so food was forgiven. (Taken over by a chain some years ago, HG does not know if the place still pleases). Other Paris pluses: Steak tartare (always bad in New York); Belon oysters; blood sausage (boudin noir); tete de veau and offal. (An exception: Paris tripe doesn’t compare to New Mexico menudo as served by places like El Parasol near Santa Fe).

Probably, the most beguiling quality about Paris restaurants is their sheer professionalism. No surprise. The restaurant, as we know it, was invented in Paris. But, if your interest is in variety and getting a dining bang for your buck, New York is incomparable. Yes, “What street compares to Mott Street in July, sweet pushcarts gently gliding by?”. But, an after dinner walk in Paris with the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance is nothing to sneer at.

When HG utters the word “tripe’, A certain high percentage of HG’s listeners respond to HG with a grimace of disgust and a collective: “Ech-h-h!!”. Unfair. But, understandable. Years ago, HG was in the glorious Italian city of Firenze. HG went to the wicker market where at lunch every day a truck pulled up and a grizzled old guy dispensed tripe sandwiches. These were famous throughout the city and there was a long line waiting for the delicacy. HG took one bite of his sandwich. Spat. Threw the sandwich to the ground. The Florentine tripe lovers turned to HG with anger. HG heard the word “Americano” whispered and everyone quickly calmed down. Of course, the crowd reasoned, HG was an American. This excused HG’s behavior since all Americans are crazy and know nothing about food.

HG overcame his anti-tripe prejudice three years ago when HG and BSK moved to New Mexico. HG became an obsessive lover of New Mexican tripe — menudo — as it is prepared at El Parasol in Pojauque. HG limits himself to one bowl a week since menudo is mega-rich in cholesterol. HG remembers a mournful essay by M.F.K. Fisher, the late, great food writer. Living in a small California town, Fisher could find no one who would share a tripe meal with her and cooking tripe for a solitary meal seemed too arduous and too sad.

HG has written before about HG’s favorite “go to” eatery in New Mexico– the delightful El Parasol. There are a number of El Parasols throughout New Mexico but HG’s hangout is the location on Highway 285/84 in Pojoaque (some 15 minutes north of Santa Fe). This one is under the gracious and efficient stewardship of Jose Atencio. Eat in or take out. You place your order at the cash register and it’s delivered to your table in a flash — with a smile. Place is clean, hospitable and friendly. A good time is guaranteed. Usually, HG has menudo (a tripe stew) with posole and green chile. Blows the socks off tripe in the style of Caen or any other tripe HG has had in Paris. Recently, however, HG ignored the menduo and ordered a roast pork and guacamole burrito smothered in green chile. This dish would win the World Wide Ultimate Burrito Olympics if
such a worthwhile event could be organized. Big, juicy hunks of roast pork. Green chile sauce that had a kick but didn’t numb HG’s mouth. Cold shredded iceberg lettuce and chopped tomato on the side for a nice texture contrast. A giant plate of heaven for only seven bucks.

They are not good for you since they are virtual cholesterol bombs. However, HG, like virtually the rest of the world excluding the U.S.A., loves innards. Kidneys. Splendid in a steak and kidney pie. Lush in a creamy mustard sauce. HG liked them at Sardi’s, the New York theatrical hangout, where they were grilled and served with lamb chops. Of course, rognons (kidneys) rule in France where they are often cooked blood rare.

Don’t see tongue on menus very often (Except when eating Korean food!). Al Cooper’s, a steak house in the New York garment district, served a thick cut of tongue with creamed spinach and super hot mustard and horse radish. Sweetbreads are a treat. Hotel Algonquin on W. 44th used to serve grilled sweetbreads on a slice of Virginia ham accompanied by thin cut French fries and Sauce Bearnaise. Yum.

Calf’s liver. Should be served pink. The accompaniment of fried onions and crisp bacon is obligatory. The dish reached Olympian heights at Dinty Moore’s (not to be confused with the dreadful line of canned beef stews) a long shuttered restaurant in the theater district (Dinty also did the classic corned beef and cabbage). HG likes chicken livers sauteed crisp and pink. Good with scrambled eggs or in a frisee salad or served over pasta (with plenty of olive oil, garlic and parsley). The chicken fat, fried onion and black radish drenched chopped chicken livers at Sammy’s Romanian are a naughty treat.

HG likes head cheese, tete de veau and all the other elaborate things done with the interior of a cow’s head. One of the best edibles in the world is a cow’s (or lamb’s) brains. The French do brains best, sauteed gently in butter, topped with warm capers and accompanied by a potato puree.

HG has dined on lungs and heart. Got them down, but not a treat. HG does not know if bull’s testicles should be classified as an innard. In any case, prairie oysters are un-yummy.

HG’s favorite innard is tripe. In the form of green chili menudo, HG enjoys it every ten days at the delightful El Parasol restaurant in HG’s New Mexico neighborhood. The ten day limit is self imposed, HG’s response to BSK’s gentle health warnings.

'Offal Taste' Photo Series by Stephanie Diani

Going to be a family Christmas at the HG/BSK hacienda compound. SJ, Exquisite Maiko, Adorable Haru plus Family Martonovich will be in attendance. Some food stuff HG is anticipating: Christmas Eve smoked fish feast courtesy of Russ & Daughters. SJ’s super creamy, yummy mashed potatoes. BSK’s stuffing and cranberry chutney. SJ & BSK’s roast turkey. HG pouring frozen vodka to accompany schmaltz herring. Adorable Haru gobbling up red caviar, rice and crisp nori. Noel M’s baked goodies. SJ’s Christmas morning potato latkes with red caviar and Greek yogurt. BSK’s soft, buttery scrambled eggs (with red caviar and sour cream, of course) and warmed (not toasted) New York bialys and cream cheese on the side. Lightly toasted New York bagels with scallion cream cheese, Nova Scotia smoked salmon, thin slices of sweet onion and capers (a couple of Kalamata olives on the plate).

Pre-Christmas birthday celebration for SJ at Gabriel’s with margaritas, sangria, tableside-mixed guacamole, pork carnitas with onions, peppers and warm tortillas. Charro beans. House-made flan for desert. (Maybe some breakfast burritos smothered in green chile the next morning at Tune Up–a continuation of the birthday festivities). Menudo at El Parasol with SJ to chase away any vodka hangovers.

One thing for sure: The best family cook, Expectant Mom Exquisite Maiko, is not allowed to display her skills. Time for her to rest and be pampered.

HG has long discovered that even the most humble of restaurants (excepting the very worst) have something that they do wonderfully. And, that’s the way it is in Jacona, HG’s New Mexico neighborhood some 15 minutes north of Santa Fe. There’s El Parasol for a wonderfully soothing and earthy menudo. Gabriel’s for the ultimate mixed-at-the-table guacamole. Sopapilla Factory for (you guessed it) sopapillas ( they also do a giant chicken burrito smothered in green chile and a killer bowl of charro beans). All eateries are located on Highway 84/285.

HG never eats New Mexican food in Santa Fe. Too touristy. Santa Fe is HG’s venue for Japanese food: Shohko Cafe for sushi and tempura and Shibumi for Ramen.

On a cross cultural note. Last time HG was in Sopaipilla Factory, HG saw a large gent in a turban, long cloaks, etc, digging into an appetizing and spicy
platter. HG made inquiry. Sikh gent replied: “Tofu carnitas in red chile sauce”).

Back home in New Mexico. Enveloped by beautiful light, colors, views, serenity. Some winter chill lingers so HG nourished body and soul with a steaming bowl of green chili menudo at El Parasol in Pojoaque. Pure Northern New Mexican soul food. Menudo is tripe, of course, enriched with roasted chiles and the bite of oregano and cruchy onions. It is not an innard favored by the great American gringo population. In fact, HG doesn’t know any innard that gets a seal of approval from real Amurrican 100% he guys. Their loss. HG and his European (and Latino) comrades will continue to savor the yummy esoterica lurking inside cows, pigs, lambs, etc.