HUNGRY GERALD

There has never been an in-depth culinary history of the American Presidency. HG thinks this would be a worthy task for a historian. It might provide a variety of cultural insights and make good reading. A food obsessive like HG would like to know what was served at state dinners and what Presidential families ate in the White House dining room. Did Calvin Coolidge spoon up New England clam chowder? Did Herbert Hoover and Richard Nixon (both California guys) predate Alice Waters with Golden State cuisine? What did George Washington chomp on with his wooden teeth? It turns out that Thomas Jefferson was a pasta fiend (importing both dried varieties and a pasta machine) who served Marcaroni with Parmesan cheese to his guests, but did this Italian bent extend to wines? No, it was French all the way (influenced by his residence in Paris). He was a regular importer of excellent vintages.Sure, LBJ and Bush Senior and Junior stressed their love for Texas barbecue but was this just politicking? We know that FDR and Eleanor served lousy food. We know Nixon liked cottage cheese with a splash of ketchup. We know Bill Clinton liked down home, good old boy food when he was on the road but what did he, Hillary and Chelsea nosh on in Washington? Was JFK and Jackie’s cuisine really that good or was it just fancy French? Michelle, with her emphasis on health, seems to have undermined the opportunity for Obama food pioneering. HG was hoping for some Chicago style soul food in the White House but this has been overwhelmed by kale and broccoli.

HG’s heart swelled a bit while watching the beautiful, elegant couple — Barack and Michelle — dance together at the Inaugural Ball. And, it followed the magnificent speech in which the President linked the battle for gay rights to this country’s ongoing efforts to achieve civil justice (sadly, much work has to be done). Memories were stirred: HG’s shock when, as a teenager, HG saw the omnipresent “Whites Only” signs in Atlanta. HG being physically assaulted when HG joined a picket line protesting the exclusion of an African-American war veteran from a New York swimming pool in 1946. HG in the 1948 student strike at CCNY which battled discriminatory practices at the College’s dormitory. HG’s shameful and reluctant acceptance, while a journalist in the early 1950’s, of the virulent racism in New York City law enforcement. On the brighter side: HG’s pride in meeting Martin Luther King and giving him strategic counseling concerning the civil rights movement and the Jewish community. And, most beautiful, the glow enveloping BSK when HG welcomed her back from Washington where BSK joined the historic March and heard Dr. King’s eloquent oration. HG and BSK watched the Inauguration and toasted the future. It all happened in one lifetime. Still hard to believe.

Post election dinner was relatively spartan — tomato and mozzarella salad; some very good mortadella and a baguette. (Okay, HG had a celebratory “tin roof”: vanilla ice cream smothered in Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup and topped with salty Planters Cocktail Peanuts. Hey, got to do something piggy after a wonderful win). HG continued to muse about the election. HG liked the comment of an African-American voter: “I watched the Republican Convention. It looked like a Klan meeting. I watched the Democratic Convention. It looked like America.” (HG felt the morose Romney Boston headquarters on election night resembled the membership of a midwest country club that had just learned the greens fees had doubled). HG liked Rachel Maddow’s overview of the election. The woman is super-super smart. If you missed it do your best to source it. Very rewarding.

As an old fogey, HG thought about his days as a New York journalist and the political analysis he received from an Irish big shot in the Democratic Party who said: “The Micks vote. They all want civil service jobs so they want to be on the good side of me. Jews vote, 100%. (The big shot knew HG was Jewish or he would have referred to the Chosen People with a denigrating term). Can’t rely on Italians unless an Italian is running. (Referred to Italians with a denigrating term). African-Americans don’t count. They don’t vote. (Of course, he referred to African-Americans with a traditional denigrating term). Hispanics? Fuhgeddabout it!! (Yes, he used another denigrating term).” This pol expressed the political wisdom of the mid-1950’s. It seems more than a half-century has gone by but the Republicans seem to be trapped in a time warp,still sharing — to a considerable extent — the racist and ethnic cliches of that disgusting old pol. Yes, Republicans. African-Americans vote. Yes, Hispanics vote. And, they are willing to face all the voting machine hazards you have created and have their say about the future of this country. Hooray, says HG.

Election night was fun and frolic. Our great friends, Polly B. and David F. joined HG and BSK before the TV. Naturally, there was plenty of vodka, wine, garlicky chicken, fried potatoes and other good things. Strong Obama supporters, the group’s joy kept mounting as the results came in. Now, the morning after, HG is in a contemplative and cerebral mood. Some observations. The American elections are mad, bloated, excessive. (Funny, the Europeans who disdain us often use these words to describe Americans). However, how else can one describe an election process that costs billions, goes on endlessly and is unable to efficiently handle the process of voting? No other industrialized nation has such an irrational system.

Another observation. Plutocrats must seem frustrated today. What’s the of having billions if you can’t buy an election? After all, you can eat just so much caviar.

Observation three. Republican party leaders must make it mandatory that rape cannot be discussed and all mention of women’s reproductive processes be banned.

Observation four: Republicans would be better served if they stopped listening to Limbaugh and Rove and spent more time reading Nate Silver, The New York Times’ extraordinary polling prognosticator. As usual, he was 100% accurate in his forecasts.

Observation five. It is time for civility and consensus. The present division in our country is dangerous and unproductive. One or two mishaps could trigger violence — and that would be terrible. HG spent time this morning talking to two saddened Republicans: HG’s long time (almost 40 years) accountant and the banker who, for some eight months, has been trying to refinance HG and BSK’s home mortgage. The accountant felt that our federal deficit is a true danger and Mitt Romney, a sophisticated financier, was best qualified to reduce it. The banker pointed out that Obama regulations governing bank mortgage policies were an overreaction to previous excesses. He said that HG and BSK’s refinance had been approved (good news). He added that the Obama regulations had made mortgage financing unwieldy and cut off financing for many credit worthy applicants. Perhaps, mused HG. This is being mentioned because the two Republicans are not mad right wingers but decent people who have differing views on taxes and economics. There is a middle ground. Let’s hope that it is reached in the next four years. Republican leaders have to realize that demonization and intransigence don’t work. Obama’s triumph proves it.

While waiting to hear President Obama’s DNC speech, HG began to think about history. HG realized that he is now old enough to have a visceral link to the Civil War. The Memorial Day (usually called “Decoration Day”) parade on the Grand Concourse in The Bronx was a dramatic and memorable occasion. HG’s famiy watched the parade from a vantage point on W. 164th Street. Marching bands. Flags. World War One Veterans. A few Spanish-American War vets. Then, a true dramatic moment, one that drew loud cheers and applause from the crowd. A convertible auto drove by slowly. In the back seat (with a nurse) were two very, very frail old men. Civil War veterans (Union army, it is presumed). They waved. Feebly. Six-year-old HG was thrilled. After the parade, HG’s family went to a favored delicatessen on Mt. Eden Avenue for pastrami sandwiches and garlicky hot dogs doused in sharp mustard. Inevitably, that food has become linked in HG’s mind to that special occasion; and it was those memories that re-surfaced during the closing night of the convention. Many hopeful (and ominous) thoughts.[/caption]