HUNGRY GERALD

HG has enjoyed some of the world’s great fish dishes. Sole swimming in fragrant butter at Le Dome in Paris. Perfect grilled Dover sole at J.Sheekey in London. Crisp sauteed Long Island flounder at Esca in New York. Shad and shad roe at two New York landmarks of yesteryear–Christ Cella and Gage & Tollner. Sublime striped bass at the greatest of all seafood restaurants–New York’s Le Bernardin. As good or better than any of these dishes is the sole prepared by HG’s Japanese daughter-in-law, Exquisite Maiko, the talented chef/caterer. HG has enjoyed this EM creation with fish purchased from Whole Foods (Santa Fe); Fairway (Brooklyn) and By The Bay Fish Mart (Prince Edward Island). All splendid but the PEI version is the best since the fish is just hours out of the sea. Here’s how EM does it. First, garlic slices and then shredded, preserved kombu are gently browned to a crisp in canola oil and drained on a paper towel. EM then places the sole in the remaining oil — still fragrant from the garlic and seaweed. Adds sake. Covers the pan and steams over a medium/low flame. When done, the sole is placed on a warmed platter. EM adds soy sauce to the pan with the oil and sake mix. Swirled and reduced slightly, this sauce is poured over the sole. The final touch is topping the dish with the garlic chips and crisped seaweed. As interpreted by EM, this is Japanese cooking at its best. Light. Fragrant. Flavorful. HG/BSK will try to replicate this dish in EM’s absence. Are sure it will be tasty but will lack that special Maiko magic.

Americans are amused and sometimes repulsed by oddly named British desserts: Spotted Dick, Toad in the Hole, Roly Poly, etc. They are missing a treat. Many of these desserts make ample use of expertly made custard plus dates, raisin and other good things. There is a club in London (Members are mostly “old boys” of posh schools like Eton and Harrow) which meets periodically to consume abundant amounts of these yummies. HG is fond of bangers, the rather bland but good British sausages, and Scotch eggs, the pub treat of fried and breaded hard boiled eggs. An unpleasant habit of the British is serving canned baked beans and tinned mushrooms with a breakfast of eggs and bacon (plus cold toast, of course). At “chippies” (Fish and chips eateries), the classic duo of fish and chips (French fries) is often accompanied by “mushy peas,” a vile concoction. Most of the old criticism of British cooking (bland, mushy, boring, over-cooked) no longer applies. As a foodie destination, London is on a par with New York, filled with excellent restaurants of every description and ethnicity. But, if you are on a budget, it is wise to concentrate on Indian and Korean food. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding still stars at Simpson’s on the Strand and Dover sole rules at J. Sheekey. These are two of the world’s best dishes and are unsurpassed at these historic restaurants. A very good, properly brewed pot of tea is available all over London, even at museum cafeterias. HG/BSK always interrupt their visits at the Tate Modern and Albert & Victoria with tea plus crumpets lavishly adorned with jam and clotted cream. Londoners bemoan the fact that there are only one or two traditional “eel and pie” shops (specializing in jellied eels) remaining. HG does not share their sadness.

HG loves sole. But, like most romantics, HG is often disappointed. The filets at Whole Foods are usually cut too thin to be cooked. They lose firmness and turn to mush. However, HG is nothing if not persistent. Spotted some very fresh looking sole at Whole Foods a day ago. Filets looked reasonably thick. Had earnest discussion with young woman behind fish counter. Pick me a pound of the thickest, said HG (Firmly but courteously). Efficient woman held each filet up for HG’s approval. Bought six beauties. They were dusted with flour and sauteed in very hot grapeseed oil. No more than a minute or so a side. Served with cold soba noodles flavored with Vietnamese fish sauce, stir fried bok choy (with a dab of oyster sauce), bean sprouts (sesame oil and soy sauce). Cooked sole in two batches. Went straight from pan to plate. Very good. Of course, it wasn’t Dover Sole, that princely and pricey fish served at J. Sheekey and other great London seafood restaurants. The Dover Sole at Le Dome in Paris swims in lemony butter and is served with delectable potato puffs. Priced for Russian oligarchs. HG is watching out for Petrale Sole, that excellent fish from California’s Pacific waters. It appears sporadically at Whole Foods. Paragons of Petrale are served at the venerable Tadich Grill in San Francisco.

The coming Academy Awards reminds HG that dining is always treated in a perfunctory manner in films and television. Yes, there are elaborate dining room scenes in such Masterpiece Theater epics as Downton Abbey. The clothes are great and the service (butler, footmen, etc.) looks exquisite. But, what, exactly, are these aristocrats eating? And, is it any good? Drinking gets lots of attention. Much tippling but little tipsiness. Last night, however, HG discovered an exception to cinema’s superficial treatment of dining. After watching brilliant, funny Bill Maher, HG channel surfed. HG stopped at the film adaption of John Le Carre’s, The Constant Gardener. Here’s the scene HG watched: The film’s protagonist, played by Ralph Fiennes, is in London to meet with the aristocrat, Sir Bernard Pellegrin. Meeting place, of course, is the aristocrat’s venerable Pall Mall club. Nice camera work detailing all of the palatial spaces and antique detailing of the club. Into the dining room for lunch. Dark woods. Nicely spaced tables. Subdued lighting from chandeliers. And, here comes the great, cinematic food moment. Sir Bernard suggests sole. Mentions that it is available “Meuniere” or grilled. Fiennes’ character chooses grilled. There are some murmurs and then all action ceases as the camera focuses on an alluring still life. There is the sole, dusted with chopped parsley and glittering with melted butter. Nestled beside it on the plate are small boiled potatoes and what appears to be some fresh asparagus spears. The camera does not move. The food obsessed viewer has plenty of time to absorb this perfection. Mind you, this has nothing to do with the plot. Obviously, there was a food nut in the cutting room. If you want to experience a London Dover Sole experience, HG suggests J. Sheekey in the theater district. The dish will bend your credit card but is well worth it.

HG and BSK haven’t been in London for ten years. The changes are immense. The city is shining, crackling with energy, spruced up, diverse. A true world city. Makes Paris look a bit diminished and dingy.

Off to the Victoria and Albert. Wandered the sculpture galleries. Wonderful Rodins and Canovas. Outstanding collection of postwar Britons (Eric Gill, etc.) not seen much in USA. Design section with all of the usual suspects (Mies, Corbu, Aalto, Breuer, Ruhlmann, Hoffman,etc.). Beautiful screen of lacquer cubes by Eileen Gray and one of chrome and mirror by Syrie Maugham. Timeless glamour approached in two different ways by two very different female sensibilities. Came away with renewed appreciation of inventive genius of Israeli/Brit Ron Arad. (HG must confess, however, that nothing tops the bravura rhinoceros bar by Lalanne at the Paris Arts Decoratifs).

Tea. Scones. Clotted cream. Marmalade. Strawberry jam. HG and BSK nibbled it all in the V & A’s civilized complex of cafes. A glimpse at the state of English dining 2011: The cafe has a tea bar, of course, but another counter of French treats like pates, terrines, celeriac and lentil salads, etc. A counter offers some very good looking hot meat pies and steak and kidney pies, British staples. There’s deli, fresh salads, soups, etc. All fresh. All savory. This is London mass feeding today.

Dinner at J. Sheekey, the venerable theater district seafood restaurant off Leicester Square. J. Sheekey is a collection of small, nicely lit old rooms lined with red leather banquettes and theatrical photos. Noisy buzz in the air. Deft, professional (but warm) service. Chiiled Muscadet. HG and BSK shared eight oysters from various spots along the British coast. Better than the best of Paris (but missed those French bulots). Then a dish of two razor clams. The long shells were filled with tender strips of the clam, very thin crisps chips of Spanish chorizo, fava beans, chopped herbs, fragrant olive oil. No garlic. Nothing to interfere with the purity of the dish. This was followed by perfectly done John Dory, moist, firm and flaky. The fillets nested on a bit of whipped celeriac and were topped by sea kale and a few long strips of poached celeriac. This was seafood cuisine that followed the Mies dictums: Less Is More. God Is In The Details. Need HG say more? HG got robust with a Welsh Rarebit (splash of Worcestershire) and a glass of Spanish Tempranillo. Sweet Italian Muscat for BSK. Finale: Salted caramel ice cream.

Home to sleep the sleep of the good, the pure and the blessed.