HUNGRY GERALD

HG has not smoked a cigarette or cigar or puffed on a pipe (always hated it) in 20 years. A battle with cancer (won by HG due to the extraordinary skills of a renowned surgeon) snuffed out the habit. HG is startled that smoking is not missed. No Marlboros with morning coffee. No Gitanes with red wine. No Sobranies with pre-dinner Martinis. No Upmann Brevas (Maduro leaf) with after-dinner Port. And no lovely cigarettes while writing, reading, thinking, waiting, etc. Still love, with passion, food and drink — even without tobacco accompaniment. HG has been pleased that trattorias in Italy and bistros in Paris are smoke free. BSK would complain that her hair and clothes smelled of cigarettes after a long, wine-filled dinner at these excellent eateries. In Paris these days, smokers (and there are lots of them) are relegated to the terraces. Passing through a terrace to enter a bistro is like walking through a mini-forest fire. Bistro owners, however, are considerate of the smokers. Many terraces are now heated even though hardy, flimsily dressed Parisiennes would gladly ignore biting winds in order to indulge in their unfortunate addiction.

Since HG and BSK have visited Paris very often, the duo are often asked for advice from first time visitors. HG AND BSK speak almost no French so their expertise is limited. However, here are some pointers. Rent an apartment. Cheaper and more spacious than a hotel. Breakfast at home. Go out in the morning and pick up a baguette, brioche, croissants (and a copy of the Herald-Tribune and Pariscope — the latter will give you info on everything happening in Paris including movies, music ,dance, galleries, theater, etc.). Visit museums in the morning (less crowded) Make a 1:30 lunch reservation at a bistro (cheaper and more Parisian at lunch). Stroll, shop, wander after lunch. When you lunch out have dinner at home. Cheese, charcuterie, fruit, etc. are unsurpassed in Paris. Best of all, good wine is cheap. If you have dinner at a restaurant, reserve no earlier than 8:30. If you reserve too early you will find yourself in an enclave of American tourists. Always reserve. Paris restaurateurs honor reservations so if you have to cancel be sure to call. The food departments at Bon Marche and Galeries Lafayette department stores are spectacular — and fun. A must for gourmands. The best guide to dining in Paris is Alexander Lobrano’s Hungry For Paris. Indispensable. Also check out John Talbott’s blog. Paris dining is not just about food (HG thinks New York is vastly superior in terms of raw ingredients and the encyclopedic choice of ethnic foods). But, Parisian restaurants have an ambience that is magical. Some other pointers: Avoid the Champs Elysee. Big chain store heaven. Avoid “tasting menus.” Too much food. It all becomes a jumble. Indulge in oysters and crepes (Breizh is a good place).Go to the movies. Paris is a town for cinema lovers There are theaters that function as repertories, showing numerous films from the past every day. Few things are more fun than a movie followed by an oyster feast at a late night brasserie like Le Vaudeville or Wepler’s. M’sieu, another bottle of Muscadet, si vous plais.

Many foreign gourmands have commented, unfavorably, on the tremendous size of American restaurant portions. They infer that this contributes to the tremendous size of Americans. HG believes that a reliance on snacks and sugary drinks is a bigger contributor. But, HG does admit restaurant portions in the U.S.A. are too large. HG feels light, sprightly and well fed after a Paris lunch where the portions are small and the fat content is large. A U.S.A. lunch can give HG leaden feet and a heavy head. There is big and then there is really big and into that category falls a dish that used to be served in the fancier restaurants of HG’s youth. This was planked steak (usually served in a portion meant for two but could feed eight at a Paris bistro). Here’s how the dish was constructed: A very big steak was centered on a very big plank of wood (basically a cutting board). It was surrounded by every seasonal vegetable –spinach, broccoli, asparagus, beets, carrots, peas, zucchini. The steak got a big blast of buttery steak sauce and the vegetables glistened with additional butter. Piped around the entire border of the plank and creating a picturesque frame for the meat and vegetables were mashed potatoes mixed with abundant butter and heavy cream and then browned under the broiler for a brief moment. Planked steak was a very nice All-American dish that paid for the college education of the chidlren of cardiologists.

Now that autumn is rolling around, HG expects to see Cassoulet, the French casserole based around a mix of duck confit, sausage and beans on many restaurant menus. HG has dined on Cassoulet in many estimable Paris and New York restaurants. The dish sounds so good but, inevitably, HG is disappointed. In fact, the only really good Cassoulet HG ever enjoyed was prepared by his talented cousin, Wini Freund, in her Port Washington. L.I. kitchen. Deeply flavored, robust and rich, with every ingredient retaining integrity. The memory lingers on.

HG likes beans. They know how to handle them in Tuscany. In Florence, Steak Fiorentina cooked blood rare and gilded with great olive oil is usually accompanied by abundant, firm white beans with lots of that good olive oil, rosemary and plentiful garlic. HG replicates this dish in New Mexico with New York strip steak and Goya beans. HG has never liked Boston baked beans. Too sweet. Serving it with Boston brown bread just adds to the saccharine quality. The only cook who can do anything good with conventional Heinz or Campbell’s baked beans is BSK. The excellent woman adds lots of sauteed onions and ketchup to the mix (and a dash of Tabasco). Serves the beans with grilled Hebrew National all-beef frankfurters. Mustard pickles on the side. A -once-in-a-while, funky, teen age, down home treat.

A favorite HG pastime in Paris is breakfast on a sunny cafe terrace. The key elements are a baguette, sweet butter, cafe au lait and the International Herald-Tribune, of course. HG replicates this on Prince Edward island. The baguette is provided by an extraordinary artisan baker in the little town of Cardigan (he also does super ciabatta and whole grain loaves). The baguette is better than any of its Parisian counterparts, attests HG. Baked goods, in general, are very good on PEI. There are excellent biscuits, very nice when warmed and drizzled with honey. Butter tarts (that unique Canadian taste treat) are omnipresent in addition to very good peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies. The butter is Kerrygold Irish Butter. The morning newspaper is the Prince Edward Island Guardian. Lots of homey news, lengthy obits of locals. HG particularly likes the newspaper’s restaurant critic, Bob Gray. He has never found a dish he doesn’t like and is very complimentary about table settings, waitperson smiles and friendly atmosphere. He waxes lyrical about the simplest tunafish or BLT sandwich. He nicely complements the green and gentle farmland of PEI.

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.

HG rarely waves the flag, believing, to paraphrase Dr. Johnson, that patriotism is the last refuge of fools and knaves. However, when it comes to steak, HG is a red-blooded, Yankee Doodle boy. Nothing compares to American steak (prime,of course). HG never had a good steak in Paris. Much lauded steak frites in a Paris bistro would get thumbs down from discerning New Yorkers (men and women who learned to eat steak on Steak Row and at Peter Luger’s). Alec Lobrano, the most informed and fair minded of Paris food writers, likes the steak at Le Severo in that city. HG and BSK sampled the steak there and found it only passable. However, steak tartare at Severo and at Le Stella and many other Paris eateries is exemplary. German restaurants in New York prepared great steak tartare in years gone by (Luchow’s covered its steak tartare with a generous layer of black beluga caviar). The great raw beef dish disappeared along with New York’s most fabled German restaurants.

If you rent an apartment in Paris, visit the Hugo Desnoyer butcher shop in the 14th and buy a rump steak (Lobrano’s suggestion) and grill it at home. And, if you’re renting a New York apartment, pick up a New York strip at Lobel’s on Madison Avenue. One pound strip: $47.98. (Hey, you only live once).

According to my favorite Paris food blogger, John Talbott. the City of Light has become crazy for hamburgers. HG is sure Pareeburgers are terrible but then so are American burgers as dispensed by Mickey Dee, Wendy’s, etc. Fast food vileness.

HG has written about the one and only proper way to make a burger. HG is no snob. There are few better things than a good burger topped with a slice of sweet onion and a slice of summer ripe tomato (preferably a Jersey tomato). Accompany it with buttered corn on the cob and ice cold beer. Delicious!

Sadly, Americans — and now Parisians apparently — have degraded the hamburger with their love of ketchup. Yes, the noble burger is often drowned in great gobs of ketchup, as if grilled-to-perfection ground beef were but a transport for the red paste. Ketchup does not enhance the juicy, slightly fatty taste of a proper burger. It disguises that taste. HG is not in favor of disguises. Only one HG ever liked was The Lone Ranger’s cunning little mask.

Paris. Autumn of 1966. HG and BSK’s first trip to Paris. Trip was paid for by an American surveillance equipment firm (an HG pubic relations client). HG was in Paris to meet with important French electronics company which was the European and African distributor of the equipment. So, while BSK strolled the boulevards with two-year-old daughter Lesley, BSK met with the partners in the French firm — a tall, suave Frenchman (sales and marketing) and a short, tough Jew (technical and manufacturing). The French guy took HG to a nearby bistro in the Bastille arrondissement.

“I know you Americans like a cocktail to start and Jackie, the barman here, is famous for dry martinis,” he said. Thus, HG had a huge (served in a chilled ballon) excellent martini. Sensible French guy had a small Kir. Then followed: Parma ham with ripe melon accompanied by Macon-Villages Chardonnay. Quenelles in a sauce Nantua (small helpings) and some glasses of Chablis. A braised daube of beef and carrots in a powerful wine sauce. Accompanying wine was Morgon. A wedge of ripe camembert and a glass of Pommard. Creme brulee. A few shots of fiery marc. Cafe. A tidy lunch. Back to the office.

While the Frenchman responded to a phone call, HG — overpowered by lunch — fell fast asleep. To the amusement of the staff, HG was revived with an ice pack. The business meeting was interrupted later by the arrival of the most dangerous man HG had ever seen. French. Six feet. Some 190 pounds of muscle, Shaven head. Face carved out of rock. Deep scar down cheek from eye to lips. Black suit. Black turtle neck sweater. He and the small Jew greeted each other with wild laughter and hugs. Hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. Turned out small Jew was a Resistance leader and Very Tough Guy was directed to his group.

Very Tough Guy explained, pointing to small Jew: “He was suspicious. Thought I could be a rat. Shoved a gun in my mouth. I had to open wide or I would have lost teeth. Asked questions. I nodded yes or no. He was satisfied. We had good group. Killed a lot of Nazis. And, Vichy scum.”

Very Tough Guy was in Paris to buy surveillance equipment. He was the security consultant to a number of small, independent African republics. Small Jew confided in me: “Probably has a few sidelines that aren’t strictly kosher. He had been a very bad boy in Paris before the war. But, was my very good, brave comrade during serious times,”

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.