HUNGRY GERALD

HG/BSK celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. BSK is about one-fourth Irish. HG is 100% Belorussian-Jewish. HG grew up in a Jewish-Irish-Italian Bronx neighborhood. HG drank in Irish bars, had many Irish-American pals and found Irish-American girls, in their Catholic school uniforms of pleated navy skirts and white blouses, exotic and enticing. At age 13, HG’s first romance was with Irish Peggy R., a delicious, lightly freckled Rockaway maiden. (HG has a thing about freckles. BSK’s freckles are very chic and soignée). When HG was a New York journalist, HG and reporter buddies made the rounds of Third Avenue Irish bars on St. Patrick’s Day. They were accompanied by N.O., a tough Jew. He was a newspaper motorcycle messenger and former driver for gangsters in the Williamsburg and Brownsville sections of Brooklyn. Strangely, N.O. had a pure Irish tenor voice and a vast stock of Irish songs, both sentimental and revolutionary. (Up the rebels!!). After a rendition of County Down and Kevin Barry all Irish cheeks were tear streaked and drinks were on the house for our group. When quite drunk, HG and buddies (Italian and Wasp) headed for Moe Dubiner’s bar on Stanton Street in the Lower East Side for gefilte fish, chopped herring and chopped liver. Pumpernickel bread. Jewish rye bread. Chicken fat More booze. And, then off to the Russian Baths for blazing steam and the shock of the ice plunge. HG would then sleep like a babe and was ready for a day’s work the next morning. Much less booze for HG on St. Patrick’s Day 2016. Sipped Guinness Stout and IPA ale with dinner (Drink is called Black and Tan after the hated British soldiers who, with brutal and murderous tactics, tried to quell the Irish revolution). Later, watched a favorite movie, John Ford’s “The Informer.” Set in Dublin during the revolution, it has a foggy and poetic black and white atmosphere, a great performance by Victor McLaglen and juicy bits from a host of Irish character actors. All of the revolutionaries wear dashing trench coats and fedoras. (HG wears a trench coat and fedora occasionally but does not look like an Irish revolutionary. Alas.) While watching the film, HG sipped a discreet amount of Bushmill’s Irish whiskey. HG Does not miss the New York Paddy’s Day parade (except for the bagpipes). Too many drunken louts.

During the 1950’s when HG was busy combining careers as a journalist and Broadway press agent, HG would often overindulge in strong drink. (BSK maintains this tendency has not wholly disappeared). The favorite boozing venue of HG and his raffish pals was Moe Dubiner’s bar/restaurant (long closed) on Stanton Street in the Lower East Side. When Moe shuttered his joint at 4 AM, the vodka and whiskey stoked group would often visit the nearby Second Avenue Russian Baths. Immigrant Jews believed in the health benefits of a good “shvitz” (sweat) so the Lower East Side had many bath houses but the Second Avenue was acknowledged as the best (the last remaining Bath House in the LES / East Village is Tenth Street’s Russian and Turkish Baths). HG followed a strict ritual at the Second Avenue. First, a visit to the Eucalyptus Room. Here, HG lounged in dry heat as herbaceous aromas wafted through the room. Then, a warm soapy shower. Into the Russian Room. Six rows of bleacher like marble seating. Hot steam. Macho guys like young HG sat on the very top row where the steam was blazing hot. Sweat poured off HG. Wandering through the room were the attendants/masseurs, hefty fellows clad only in jock strops. They carried bunches of birch branches. HG would beckon and an attendant would swing the branches through the air, sending a stream of hot air to a designated part of HG’s body. After being poached and losing pounds of water (vodka ?), HG would leap into the ice plunge. Yes, it was what it sounds like. A pool of ice cold water. Young HG managed to survive the shock to his system. Then, HG would stand against a wall (protecting his private parts) while an attendant directed a stream of warm water from a high pressure hose at every part of HG’s body. (Some older gentlemen oped for a “high colonic” or a “low colonic”, an internal cleansing. No details. You don’t want to know). HG would shower and then repeat the ritual: Dry heat, steam heat, ice plunge, high pressure hose, shower). The attendants also offered a “playtzeh”, a vigorous, painful massage. HG tried it once. Sheer masochism. After all the steaming and showering, HG picked up a cotton nightshirt and robe and slept a peaceful eight hours in the bath house dormitory. Awakened with an appetite like a ravenous beast. Fortunately, the Second Avenue served a hearty breakfast buffet: Many varieties of herring, smoked whitefish, boiled potatoes, sliced tomatoes and onions, sour cream, cream cheese, cottage cheese, rye bread, pumpernickel bread, bialys, bagels, onion rolls. Coffee. Tea. And, the thoughtful management provided a few bottles of brandy and chilled vodka. All of this took place in the era before bath houses became boy-meets-boy hangouts of the gay community. The Second Avenue was relentlessly heterosexual and ethnic. HG would leave the Second Avenue sober, rested, clear headed …and very, very clean.

Kasha (also known as buckwheat groats) is one of HG’s favorite foods. HG is always puzzled why it’s so seldom on restaurant menus (except for the rapidly diminishing number of Jewish “dairy” restaurants) and is so rarely used in home cooking. Simple to make. The kasha grains are mixed with beaten egg and sautéed until dried. A few cups of chicken broth are added to the saucepan and the mix is cooked until the grains become soft (Warning: Never overcook into a mush). HG likes kasha topped with fried onions and mushrooms (accompanied by a bowl of sour cream and plenty of ground pepper and sea salt flakes). Great topped with fried chicken livers and onions. Kasha Varnishkes used to be a staple in traditional Jewish eateries. In these kosher (non dairy) restaurants the mix of kasha and butterfly (farfalle) pasta would get an exhilarating hit of crisp fried onions and a big dollop of chicken fat. A young HG would accompany this treat with plenty of cold vodka and beer at Moe Dubiner’s eponymous non-kosher restaurant (long closed) on New York’s Stanton Street. It was a big favorite of the Jewish gangsters and gamblers who came to the restaurant for a late night snack. Kasha is versatile. Great in a big bowl of steaming chicken broth. Excellent as a filling in traditional blintzes (an egg crepe topped with kasha, rolled and then fried gently) or knishes (a flaky stuffed pastry). Best of all as an accompaniment to slow roasted beef brisket. Obligatory is lots and lots of savory gravy.