HUNGRY GERALD

Advice from HG if a “Springtime In Paris” is contemplated. Bring a good raincoat and walking shoes. Paris is a great walking city and nice surprises lurk around every corner. Rent an apartment. Cheaper than a hotel and you can feast in your own kitchen on all the great cheese, bread, charcuterie and wine that is easily available. Wine is much cheaper in Paris than in the United States, so indulge without guilt. A restaurant lunch is a much better value than dinner, so make that your meal of the day. Always nice to have some oysters (and bulots) in a brasserie in the early evening and then purchase a good roast chicken for dinner in your apartment (The places that sell roast chickens usually have tasty little roast potatoes as an accompaniment). Paris has the world’s best chocolates. Buy some and have them with red wine for dessert. A fresh baguette with French salted butter and cafe au lait should be your daily breakfast. Paris is a movie town and scores of American films are usually on view. Just check to see if the movie is “v.o.”–In English with French subtitles. Be disciplined about museums. Yes, the Louvre, Gare d’Orsay, Pompidou. Musee Picasso, Musee Rodin are great. But, be selective about what you want to see. HG and BSk rarely spend more than two hours at a museum or special exhibit. Beyond that eyes get glazed, feet get heavy and artistic insights diminish. Though New York is really a better and more cosmopolitan food town, the ambiance, sparkle — and affordability — of Paris restaurants remain unique. Your best online dining guides are: Alexander Lobrano’s “Hungry For Paris”; John Talbott’s Paris and the blog Paris Update. If you log into Paris Update you will not only get the latest on dining, shopping, etc., but you can access David Jaggard’s “C’est Ironique,” a witty and perceptive chronicle of life in Paris. Jaggard is a journalist, translator and composer. He’s lived in Paris since the 80’s and is one of the funniest writers around. Don’t miss him. Bon appetit!!

Montmartre, that steep hill in Paris, has always attracted tourists in droves. They are drawn to the storied artistic and literary traditions of the neighborhood and the film Amelie, (set in Montmartre) only fueled that tourist fire. At the highest point of Montmartre sits La Basilica du Sacre Coeur, the big wedding cake of a cathedral with fabulous views of the Paris panorama. A few blocks away from La Basilica is Place du Tertre, the low point of international tourism. Souvenir junk. Lousy restaurants. And, scores of “artists,” all busy at their easels turning out vapid crap. With all of this in mind, HG has some reluctance about telling you of his favorite Montmartre hangout — La Cave des Abbesses (relatively untouched by tourism — at least for now). It’s just up the hill from Place des Abbesses, the busy, colorful square often enlivened by a carousel and street musicians. The Cave is a wine shop with hundreds of tasty, modestly priced wines. Unadvertised by any signs is a back room cafe with old tables, battered chairs, nondescript posters and a bar. Slightly dingy. Poorly lit. Dusty. In a word, perfect. It has been HG’s custom to sit there drinking white wine and slurping oysters (usually the very good oysters are priced at one Euro an oyster). There are very pleasant platters of cheese and charcuterie. Good bread (there’s a prize winning baguette baker across the street). The atmosphere is welcoming. All pretense is left at the door. Time passes in a wine drenched haze. When HG first discovered The Cave, he and BSK were lodged in a rented Montmartre apartment. HG dropped into La Cave to pick up some wine before crossing the street to buy smoked salmon, pate, ham, cheese, a baguette (and, possibly, a roast chicken) for an evening meal with BSK. What harm could a glass of wine do before the errands? Well, that “one glass of wine” proved fictional. For a day or so, multiple glasses of wine were drunk, errands were forgotten, oysters were eaten and roast chickens remained shop-bound, turning slowly under the rotisserie as HG fell deeply in love with The Cave. This did not make a famished BSK happy as she waited for meals that never came. Finally, BSK solved this bibulous problem by taking the intelligent “if you can’t beat em, join em” step and accompanied HG on the evening shopping (and drinking). Sometimes the errands were postponed. After all, what’s wrong with a meal of oysters, sausages, grilled vegetables and cheese? (With wine, bien sur.).

Warm (not blistering) sun. Cool sea breezes. Spectacular sunsets over the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Gentle green farmland. Yes, HG and BSK are on Prince Edward Island, once again, for the summer. Happily, Andrew McDonald and his lovely daughters are stlll running their shellfish and chowder emporium at St. Peter’s Bay Landing. After a year’s separation, Andrew gazed at HG with fondness and deftly shucked some South Lake oysters. These oysters never appear in the United States. Plump. Sweet. Briney. They are a PEI secret, happily devoured by local gourmands like HG. Having gobbled oysters in Paris, London, New Orleans, Amsterdam, Florida, New York and locales bordering the Atlantic and Pacific, HG vows these are the best in the world. And, when shucked by Andrew not a speck of shell mars the interior and not a drop of lush brine is lost. Besides oysters, Andrew stocks quahogs, soft shell clams and mussels harvested in St. Peter’s Bay. In addition, a lip-smacking cauldron of mussel chowder is always steaming away. There will be happy feasting ahead.

SJ here. Last week a photograph of mine of a Chesapeake Bay Oyster topped with a slice of hard boiled egg caused HG such a wave of food envy that he was prompted to write a post about it (see An HG Sin: Food Envy) Well, as much as I love HG, I love to fan the embers of his Food Envy into a roaring fire. Soo….let me tell you a little about that oyster…

Last week, myself, my wife — the aptly named Exquisite Maiko — and our son decided to forsake our beloved NYC for a weekend in Baltimore. The drive down took only about 3 hours and along the way we stopped in Wilmington, Delaware at the Charcoal Pit for absolutely great hamburgers and milkshakes.

The Charcoal Pit is a Road Food classic — been there since the 1950s and still as popular as ever. Places like this often become parodies of themselves, existing in the squinty light of nostalgia — but the Pit avoids that trap by neither seeming cutesy nor precious and instead just serving up good, well made classic food at very reasonable prices.

The last time I had been in Baltimore I went to Obryckis in Fells Point for crabs. They were dumped right on the table onto butcher’s paper, and hammer in hand I demolished a number of these wonderful crustaceans steamed in a heady black-pepper seasoning. I was excited to return and excited for Exquisite Maiko to taste such a regional specialty. Alas, Obryckis has closed (note to all restaurants who close and have websites: MAKE BEING CLOSED THE FOCUS OF YOUR WEBSITE!!!) so we had to find an alternative. Now, not being from Baltimore and not really knowing a lot about the city, it can be hard separating out the tourist crap from something both authentic and authentically good. So, reading between the lines of numerous blog postings and Best Of Baltimore lists, we decided on a spot called Canton Dockside who seemed to be the spot for year-round crabs. Well, we got there and guess what…NO CRABS! Why? Because Canton Dockside gets their crabs in the off-season from Louisiana and this being Mardi Gras week all the Louisiana Crabbers were either too drunk to ship crabs or they wanted to keep all crabs within the state for Mardi Gras. Either way, we were thwarted but soothed ourselves with great broiled crab cakes (light on the mayonnaise and breadcrumbs), plump shrimps steamed with Old Bay Seasoning and a rather horrifying pretzel like thing smeared in cheese and crab dip (the less said about that last dish, the better!).

I also made a new friend in the Baltimore beer known as National Bohemian Beer or Natty Boh.

Extremely cold and extremely yummy!

The next day, we woke up early to take in some real touristy stuff (Huge Aquarium! Dolphin Show!) and get hungry in preparation for my focus — The covered markets of Baltimore. Since 1763, Baltimore has maintained a group of municipally owned covered markets that serve specific neighborhoods. There are seven markets remaining in Baltimore and the largest is the Lexington Market located right in the heart of Down Town. I had heard tell of some serious food happening at this Lexington Market so off we went. Well…I absolutely fell in love. Lexington market is an urban institution — while tourists like myself might pass through, the market is unadorned, gritty and absolutely true to itself.

This is the spot for discount groceries, cheap cell phone plans, butchers that specialize in the rough bits (chitterlings, hog maws, ham hocks, pig ears, fat back and more), fish mongers and stall upon stall of prepared foods — many of which hawk the fact that they accept CDC vouchers and food stamps. So what were in these stalls? Well, oddly, the majority seem to have been taken over by Chinese and Koreans who are serving up a mixture of cheap Chinese and soul food staples — beef and broccoli alongside stewed chicken and dumplings not to mention the happy guy I saw munching away on a scoop-full of pork fried rice accompanied by a bowl of Chitterlings doused with hot sauce.

There is no pretensions of regional food-ways purity here at the Lexington. Its cheap and good? Yes! Lots of fried chicken spots with a heavy focus on the livers, backs and gizzards — not something you see at KFC! Many sandwich spots selling (I think) Baltimore produced smoked meats — courtesy of its Polish and German immigrants. And, fruit salad — big containers of very fresh and very cheap fruit salad. Interestingly, I noticed that you could use your food stamps to buy fruit salad, fruit smoothies and groceries, but not a lot of the heavier prepared foods — I am imagining that this was a bid by the Health Department to influence healthier eating standards. And all the way in back — pretty much a separate enclave all to itself is Faidley’s Seafood.

Faidley’s is a working seafood market hawking the rather impressive bounty of the Chesapeake Bay and other southern water-ways, but they also have a raw bar and a simple lunch counter serving up hot foods. Well, I sidled up to the raw bar — packed with working people simply gorging on oysters and clams and plastic cups of Natty Boh — and ordered myself a half dozen “Prime” oysters. The oyster man was astonishing; as fast and precise a shucker as I have ever witnessed even while keeping up a running commentary as to whether or not (based on his emotional speech at her funeral) Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston ever had sex (Yes! we raw bar denizens agreed). I was asked, as the plate of fat, shimmery bivalves appeared before me, if I wanted an egg with my oysters. An egg? Madness!!! Nope. Just hit me with some lemon and a touch of hot sauce and I am good. Well I slurped those six down and they were cold, briny, firm with a touch of cucumber snap that I just love. Ahhh…The joy of a good oyster. Well, as I let out a sated breath I glanced at my neighbor, who was there with his girl, drinking beers and preparing his oysters with a slice of hard-boiled egg!!! Yes! He had a hard-boiled egg slicer and was layering the egg slices on top of his oysters with horseradish and hot sauce. This guy looked like a serious Baltimorean, so I had to ask if the egg was the Baltimore style? Oh yes he said. So, I had to give it a shot — six more with a boiled egg. Well, they brought them over, I peeled the egg, used the slicer and got to work. My new friend guided me — “You got the horse radish first, then you got to hit it with the black pepper…yeah that’s it, don’t be scared of the black pepper! Then squeeze that lemon right on top and lay that egg right right up on there. Yeah! Hit it with the hot sauce now!” — and then I was ready.

Wow! Oh boy was this a good thing. Somehow, the smoothness of a boiled egg blends with the brine of the oyster and the bite of hose-radish to create something unique that doesn’t distract from the very oysterness of the experience. While I probably won’t be putting hard-boiled eggs on my beloved Prince Edward Island oysters, the whole experience, the specificity of the place, the very real connections that you can make with strangers when you express interest in a local specialty put a giant smile on my face and made those oysters amongst the most special I have ever eaten. Exquisite Maiko (very pregnant at this point and simmering with jealousy that she could not eat an oyster) took in some crab cakes from the counter and pronounced them unbeatable.

Faidley's Crab Cake

So, if you ever find yourself in Baltimore, ignore the Yelp and Google and Yahoo reviews that describe the Lexington Market as being scary and sketchy and filled with drug addicts and homeless people and march your way in and have a chilled Chesapeake Bay oyster topped with hard boiled egg on me. Thank me later and tell HG about it as soon as you can!

It occurs to HG that HG possesses an intrinsically noble nature. However, even saintly HG is susceptible to a sin: Food envy. Yes, HG is wildly covetous of other people’s food adventures and experiences — HG’s own children and even his grandchildren are not immune from the focus of HG’s envious thoughts.

Two examples: SJ recently sent HG photos of succulent Chesapeake Bay oysters topped with slices of hard boiled egg that SJ ate at Baltimore’s Lexington Market. SJ said they were delicious. Oh, the injustice! HG has visited Baltimore many times and thought he sampled all of its crab and oyster delicacies but this dish eluded him. While drowning in bitter reflections about SJ and oysters, HG received a communication from Gifted Daughter Lesley R. who was weekending with her daughter SR in Paris. The duo were dining at a modest bistro, Le Comptoir Marguery, and Lesley R. reported that SR ate “the biggest Ile Flottante you ever saw.” Fury and envy, regrettably, filled HG’s being. Another injustice. Ile Flottante is HG’s favorite dessert, enjoyed many times at Stella and Le Vaudeville, two delightful Paris brasseries. Oddly, it is a desert item rarely seen on American menus. An Ile Flottante (floating island) is a simple affair: a meringue of softly whipped egg whites floating atop creme anglaise (cream custard) and decorated with a drizzle of caramelized sugar. The dessert (aslo known as “oeufs a la neige” or “eggs in snow”) is sublime. It is both light and sumptuous, the perfect conclusion to a meal. Of course, HG loves his children and grandchildren. But…..

As Europe faces an economic meltdown, HG adds a further woe by declaring: North American food is better than European food!

North American oysters (South Lake and Colville Bay) and mussels (St.Peter’s Bay) from Prince Edward Island are better than anything Europe can offer. And, yes, HG speaks from experience as HG’s gobbled up oysters in the best London and Paris locales. Halibut, cod, hake and haddock caught in North America’s Atlantic waters overshadow anything from the Baltic, Adriatic and Mediterranean Seas. HG makes an exception for real Dover sole (insanely, ludicrously pricey). HG lauds Maine/Nova Scotia lobsters and all the clam varieties from New England to points north. Dungeness crabs from the Pacific and Chesapeake Bay soft shells are superb. Canadian and American lamb (especially from Colorado) make Parisian gigots seem like nasty mutton. And, no steak any where or any place tops a noble New York Strip. An American prime rib roast easily beats the John Bull variety (though English Yorkshire Pudding has decided merits).

With farmers markets proliferating Americans can (at last) get the freshest fruits and vegetables. HG is not a fan of Italian or English bread. Yes, a great Parisian baguette or croissant is a treat. But, not easy to find these days. Meanwhile, Whole Foods daily offers wonderful bread and muffins. And, compared to Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, European supermarkets are dismal.

HG makes one concession: Few American restaurants have the warmth of an Italian trattoria, a Paris bistro or the suave elegance of an upper class London restaurant.

The name — Mussel Interpretive Center — is not one to set the taste buds tingling. So, ignore the name for the moment.

Here’s the set up. The Center is one of the stores in the pleasantly grey shingled group of buildings facing St. Peter’s Bay in the town of St. Peter in Prince Edward Island.

One part of the Center is a rather bleak dining room surrounded by the none too exciting implements of mussel farming (one can also watch a video devoted to the bivalve). The rest of the space is the domain of the MacDonald family — father Andrew and sunny faced young daughters, Katie and Sarah. Here you can buy hard shell clams (quahogs), oysters and, of course, bags of freshly harvested mussels. Best of all, one can feast on HG’s daily luncheon treat, the MacDonald mussel chowder. This is simply the best chowder imaginable. A creamy (but not heavy) broth filled with plump, flavorful mussels. Diners can also have big platters of perfectly steamed mussels or quahogs with melted butter (pus a bit of tabasco) and a crisp biscuit with butter.

There’s another treat Chez MacDonald– South Lake oysters on the half shell. Big, briny, lush. At $1.35 an oyster they are an affordable sea dream realized. Andrew MacDonald shucks them perfectly with the deft touch of a brain surgeon. Not a drop of brine is wasted. Not a chip of shell mars the exquisite oyster.

Beyond the wonderful eats to be had at the M.I.C., the MacDonald family are a joyous presence. Andrew, Katie and Sarah take real pride in their establishment and they extend a genuine feeling of welcome to all customers.