HUNGRY GERALD

During HG’s young years, HG’s late, beloved father, Hershele Zvi Freimann (anglicized at Ellis Island to “Harry Freeman”), would arrive home after work in a breathless state. It was a long, uphill trudge from the Bronx’s 170th Street subway station (later the Kingsbridge station). Hershele hung up fedora and coat. Opened the refrigerator to get a piece of schmaltz (or home pickled) herring. Tore off a hunk of pumpernickel bread (Pechter’s or Stuhmer’s). Poured a substantial glass of Park & Tilford rye whiskey (tiny glass for little HG). Hershele and HG clinked glasses and said: “L’chaim !! (To Life). Hershele knocked off the big glass in one mighty gulp and followed it with the herring/pumpernickel chaser (HG opted for a small piece of bread). Yes, immigrant Jews like Hershele enjoyed alcohol. The pre-dinner drink was known as a “brumfen.” At the end of dinner, a dessert of fruit compote was served with a glass of home brewed “vishniak” (cherry brandy). Thus, HG grew up believing alcohol was part of dining. Hershele (and HG in later life) always accompanied spirits with food. HG sips bitters and soda before a meal with one or two shrimp, ceviche from the Pojoaque (New Mexico) Super Market, or a simple, salted cracker. Wine accompanies dinner and HG sips an after dinner TV-watching-snifter of brandy (or Scotch) with a sweet: peanut brittle or Belgian Butter Cookies. Tonight, HG’s meal will be an homage to much missed Hershele. There will be a bottle of icy Aakavit on the table plus dark ale brewed by New Mexico monks. Two kinds of herring: Pickled and Matjes. Gefilte fish and Jewish Rye Bread (both from New York’s Zabar’s via visiting Peter Hellman). Sliced sweet onions (from Texas). Boiled potatoes. Sour cream. For dessert: a thin slice of New York cheese cake with a snifter of brandy. HG will raise his glass of Aakavit and say “L’chaim !!. With a second glass, HG will raise it and say: “To your blessed memory, beloved Hershele.”

HG, like his beloved late sister, Beulah Naomi Katz, is fond of sweet Vidalia onions. In New Mexico, HG has discovered Texas Sweets, an onion as sweet as Vidalias. They’ve got an advantage: A longer pantry life. Sliced raw sweet onions enhance many dishes. Essential with a hamburger. Delightful with Tandoori chicken. Good canned sardines, sliced onions, Kalamata olives and artisan bread make a pleasant lunch. The best use of sliced onions: In a sandwich of rare roast beef, Jewish rye bread well lathered with chicken fat, coarse salt. (A delicatessen in Harlem, when it was a Jewish neighborhood, made a specialty of this sandwich. Long lines awaited the robust treat). HG likes finely chopped onion in tuna salad. Even better is canned Italian (or Spanish) tuna mixed with cannellini beans, chopped onion, parsley, Sicilian olive oil, squeeze of lemon and plenty of ground black pepper. The late Italian food guru, Marcella Hazan, proposed a dish of slowly cooked, slightly caramelized onions over pasta. Sounds good but have never tried it. One of HG’s favorite, appetite enhancing aromas is that of frying onion. Good times are sure to follow. HG has a happy memory of the after school treat prepared by HG’s Mom. Thick slice of Stuhmer’s Pumpernickel Bread. Chicken fat (rendered weekly by Mom). Sliced onion. Coarse salt. Properly fueled, HG would be off to star in Bronx street games like punchball and “association” football.

HG misses the high caloric New York breakfast treats of yesteryear. Greenberg’s Sticky Schnecken Buns. These honey, nut and cinnamon drenched little guys were more addictive than heroin. Sold by a shop — William Greenberg Jr. Deserts — on Madison Avenue, they were expensive and madly delicious. It took self discipline not to demolish an entire box before they were brought home. When the effects of weed smoking brought about a passion for sweet goodies, all senses cried out for the Greenberg’s product. Apparently Greenberg’s son is alive and well and making these wonderful buns according to his father’s recipe which are for sale HERE.

Croissants from the Sutter bakery on Greenwich Avenue in The Village. Flakey, crisp, outrageously buttery. Much superior to anything in Paris. BSK was partial to slices of Zito’s bread (from the old Bleecker Street bakery which closed in 2004) drenched with honey. With softly scrambled eggs, HG liked buttered Jewish rye or Pechter’s (or Stuhmer’s) pumpernickel (obtainable at Zabar’s).

Sometimes nothing tasted better than a warmed (not toasted) bialy liberally smeared with Daitch’s cream cheese (or Zabar’s scallion cream cheese). HG never fancied bagels. HG is concerned that bialy baking has entered a period of decline (are the old masters dead or basking in Florida sunshine?). Have not had a truly great bialy in years. Sadly, bialys shipped recently by HG’s much loved Russ & Daughters didn’t have that old time oniony zest. (SJ will interject now. The old time great bialy still exists at Kossar’s Bialys on Grand Street. A serious treat when warm from the oven and eaten whole right from a brown paper bag. Says SJ: You wouldn’t order fish from a baker, so don’t order bialys from an appetizing store.)

Possibly the best breakfast treat of all was the “pletzel.” This was a roll covered in baked onions. Good? As my Mom would say: “Nu,nu, don’t ask.” These were on the table at Jewish dairy restaurants like Ratner’s and Rappaport’s on the Lower East Side and at Jewish bakeries throughout The Bronx. Gone, all gone. HG’s eyes grow misty.

An Onion Pletzel

When I was growing up in The Bronx of the 1930’s a major controversy divided the Jewish population. It made the battles between Democratic Party loyalists-Socialists-Communists-Trotskyites seem very minor league. (No, children there was no such thing as a Jewish Republican. A Jewish quasi-Republican like Joe Lieberman would have been as rare a sight as a yamelkeh-wearing unicorn). What divided the Chosen People was the choice of pumpernickel bread. Some (stupid,gross) people chose the Stuhmer brand. Some (intelligent, elegant) people swore by Pechter. (these were not packaged breads like the dreaded Silvercup but delivered daily to grocers and bakery shops from lower East Side and Brooklyn ovens). Pechter, of course, was my family choice. The loaf sustained us. French baguettes? Feh! Bring back my Pechter (and my youth while you’re at it).